I'm Running On... Running on Empty

Well, it's official.  I just registered for my first 5k.  I might have agreed to it in a moment of mental weakness, but now I'm committed.  Or, maybe, should be committed.

I can't tell you the last time I ran. Not for ANY thing.

Rain.

Being late.

Ninjas chasing me.

So, I'm easing my way into this, at least until Lety gets me in training mode.

I made two very important decisions about this: 1) I chose a race fairly far away, and 2) it happens in the dark.  I happen to think I do some of my best running after dark.  Fear is a great motivator to increase my speed.  But, more importantly, in the dark no one can see all my jiggly bits.

Catching the Wind

I think I might start running.

I know, that sounds crazy, even for me.  It's not something I have done before.  Well, not in the physical exertion way. I'm a marathon runner in the emotional aspect.  But that's a whole other blog.

Running is not something I have ever really wanted to do.  Even as a kid I disliked it.  I was that kid who got a stitch in her side running gym class, or playing tag with the neighbors.  I even told kids I only had one lung in order to avoid running games.

Swimming was my thing.  I could swim laps for hours.  It didn't feel like exercise.  Riding bike was good, too.  Feeling the wind blow on my face and seeing how quickly the miles went by made it fun, not exercise. But running?  Well, running was just so... blah.  It seemed so tedious and monotonous.

A few times during the last couple of years I have heard "start running".  Me? Right!  I have arthritis in my feet and my knees are bad. I'm too fat and everything would bounce around, scaring all the innocent bystanders.  I have no coordination and will trip myself which could mean I'd break a fingernail.

Please.

In '99 I had gastric bypass.  I launched into an intensive walking regime.  It was the only form of exercise I could handle without tremendous physical pain.  As the weight came off and my stamina increased, I had to keep adding to my walking route to keep up the momentum.

And sometimes I'd hear "run".  I actually thought about it, too.  For a fleeting moment.  Then I'd picture myself rolling down a hill or falling off the sidewalk and the thought would fade.

When we moved into the city, I had visions of walking everywhere.  Why would I need a car, right, being so near to everything?  Well, because of this little thing called cold weather.  It's the bane of my existence.  The cold causes pain, but so does the inactivity.

It turns out that science had also debunked some of my myths for not running.  With proper technique and quality shoes it won't tear my knees apart.  The glut of compression clothing would minimize jiggling.  (I still question that one, though.)

When the hubby and I were out to dinner the other night, I  could see people running on the third story of a nearby building.  I wondered at this marvel, in the city, people running in the sky.  Turns out it was the Y and they have an indoor track.  That seems doable to me, running inside where spectators would be at a minimum.

I don't know.  I just might look into it.  And if I get started soon, I'll be in the routine before the warm weather hits and I can run outside.  If you're one of the unfortunate people who happen to see me running, close your eyes.

I Refuse to Keep Being the Chaser

I have lived a lot of places.  That means I have known a lot of people, some of whom I thought were good friends.  It's easy to fall into this false sense of security when you live near someone and see them on a regular basis.  When you move away, however, it becomes painfully clear how one-sided most of these relationships were.

I've fought a long, hard battle (one I continue to fight) to overcome tragedies and pain from my past.  Letting people "in" is still a conscious choice; one I don't make lightly.  But what is the point of all this growth and healing, of letting people in and being vulnerable to them, if they drop me as soon as I'm out of their sight?

I've come to realize that even when we were "together", I was the one who did all the inviting and planning, so I guess I shouldn't be surprised it isn't any different now.  How are people content with this?  How is it okay to just drop people?  It's a sad commentary on the human state, our selfishness and self-centeredness.

Well, I've decided I am important.  I am worth people's time.  I have a lot to offer.  And I'm no longer going to be the chaser.  If you don't have time for me, I guess that's your choice.  And your loss.  I guess you might notice, but I'm not going to hold my breath.  That could take too long.

Steps are Ordered, for a Reason

I'm sure you've all heard the expression "everything happens for a reason".  I'm not sure I believe that, but I do think everything can be used for a lesson. Things don't always make sense when they're happening.  So, then, why is it so easy to see the path it forms when I look back in hindsight?

I have two children.  My daughter, the older one, was always easy.  There were no "terrible twos", adolescent tantrums, drugs or running away.  She followed the rules, accomplished the things she set her mind to do, and thrived in whatever situation she found herself.  We never had any worries about how she'd turn out.

My second child is a son.  He's as different from his sister as night is from day.  As a toddler, I couldn't turn my back on him for a minute.  If it was quiet, I'd better go see why.  He pushed every boundary we set.  He disregarded anything he didn't find important, like homework or chores.   But he made it through high school.

The other day, my hubby and I were reviewing the past year and a little beyond.  We started out talking about how things went financially and what we were able to accomplish, though not quite everything we'd hoped.  Then, we moved on to our kids and the places they are in their lives and what they achieved over the past year.

Our daughter in a preschool teacher in a head start program on the Cherokee reservation in North Carolina. She's also going to college. Her plate is full, but her life is rewarding.

Our son attends culinary school in New York.  I mentioned to my husband how glad I was that our son had attended pastry school prior to culinary school.  I thought he needed that extra time just to get ready for the pressures of his chosen industry. My husband said he was glad for the job our son had, working in a fast-paced kitchen under a chef who saw his potential and urged him on.  Then we realized he'd never have had that job had he not worked in a German bakery prior to that and made friends with the pastry chef there who, ultimately, got him the job in the restaurant.

Each step was needed to build up to the next.  There's no doubt that his "personality", his tenacity, as a child helped prepare him for a really tough industry and will enable him to thrive there.  Looking back and seeing how each step happened is humbling for a parent.

Let's keep taking steps and making strides.  Don't be discouraged when, in the moment, it seems like progress is slow-going.  I challenge you to set aside some time, on a regular basis, to look back and see just how far you've come.  Recognize the steps, knowing if they happened in any other order, you'd be out on a limb.

Dun Dun Dun, Another One Bites the Dust

Wow!  Another year has passed.  This one seemed particularly long, while passing quite quickly.

One of last year's resolutions was to write more, and I got off to a great start.  As do most resolutions.  As you can probably guess from the name of my blog, this one has mainly been a place for me to vent; often with humor, sometimes with pain, and mostly dripping in sarcasm.  But I also made a resolution to be a kinder, gentler version of myself.  This presented a conflict of interest.  It became increasingly harder to do both of these well and, well, the writing suffered.  Add to that that I became involved with a GREAT group of young people this year.  People who look up to me.  People who make me want to be positive and really think about what I say and write.  (Thanks, guys!)

So, I am carrying over those two resolutions (choices, improvements) from last year.  I will to write more this year, whether it be here or in my food blog.  While I am hoping to control my venomous tendencies, I will continue to write from my heart, raw emotions and all.  I believe it's important to keep being honest and true to myself, while challenging myself to do it better.

I'm choosing to continue to grow. There's still many layers to this onion, but I'm committed to peeling them back and chopping it up!  If I know one thing, it's that you can't shut it back up once you've started.  It just doesn't work!  Pain is, well, a pain, but it does have it's positive aspects.  I've connected with a great group of ladies this year who are going through this same process.  While our stories may not be the same, our journey really is.

I'm choosing to continue to temper what I say.  I'm not saying everything is going to be filtered.  Come on, you know me.  That's so not going to happen.  But I am going to remember those looking to me for leadership and guidance.  I don't want to let them down or turn them into me.  (The world isn't ready for that!)

Last year I also resolved to let people know how I feel about them, positively.  I pretty much rocked this one!  While this one was/is really hard for me, it got/gets easier the more I do it.  I was often surprised at how people reacted to this.  I am reminded everyday of how important this is.  Tomorrow is not guaranteed.  I never know when it might be too late.

So, Happy 2014!

Chicks Fledge Regardless

Being a parent is hard.  Not just the sleepless nights and terrible twos.  Not the painful adolescence or awkward teen years.  Those are horrible, but nothing compares to seeing your child in pain.  I'm not talking about scraped knees or bloody noses.  It's the letting them go, allowing them to make potentially bad choices-- within reason-- to let them learn and grow.

When my daughter moved out at 17, I had concerns.  But I also had hope.  She was mature and responsible.  "We had raised her that way", I say, thumping my chest.  Okay, not quite, but there is a certain sense of accomplishment when your child does well.  And a sense of self-doubt when they falter.  Overall, she is doing well.  Perhaps even thriving.  But her success is not mine, just as her failures aren't.

My son has yet to fledge.  He sits, perched, upon the edge of the nest.  Until now, he's been content to just let his foot dangle over the edge while being securely nestled in the nest.  Now he wants out.  He stands on the rim, longing to spread his wings and soar way above where we can see.  This is scary, to him (not that he would admit it) and to me.

You see, it feels like I have more invested in him.  Now don't go getting all up-in-arms about loving your children "equally" and "treating them all the same".  That's not what this is about.  I do love my children equally.  She is my favorite daughter, and he is my favorite son.  But any parent who tells you they treat their children exactly the same is lying right to you face.  My children are individuals and, as such, must be treated differently.  I'm not talking about favoritism, and now I've hopped down a rather curvy bunny trail.  

Back to my point.  I had one such gut wrenching experience today as my son took another lurch toward the edge of the nest.  He bought a motorcycle.  That's not the horrible part.  That came when it didn't all turn out like he hoped.  It's nothing that can't be resolved (I hope).  It just broke my heart to see him struggling with the thought that he might have made the wrong decision.  And it angered me to think someone may have taken advantage of him.  That person is not someone you want to be, believe me.

I coached him through the steps he needed to take, even though he tried his best to get me to do it for him.  I took the steps beyond what he was able.  Then, when I got a chance to breathe, I began to question myself. Had I let him down or ill-prepared him for this situation?  No, not at all.  But it didn't make it hurt any less. You see, growing up isn't easy.  Not for the child, and not for the parent.  It gives me a whole new appreciation for what my parents must have experienced.

Tomorrow is another day, and he is one step closer.  Soon he, too, will soar. Just like his sister. And I will once again thump my chest with pride.

It's not me, it's you. Or is it?

I live right across the street from a church.  That means when I come home from church each week, I can't park anywhere near my house.  This aggravates me to no end!  It's bad enough that they take up their side of the street, their parking lot, all the side streets AND the school parking lot.  Do they have to park immediately in front of my house?  For all three services.   Today, I came home and there was a car parked in my grass.  Not an easy feat since he had to jump the curb to do that.  You'd think he would have noticed something like that.

So, I just went outside to walk the dog and the guy parked in my grass was getting something out of his car.  I toyed with saying something about being in the grass, but decided better.  I thought he was leaving.  Then I realized he was going back into his church!  We had made eye contact, and he turned and went back into his church.  Really?  No "sorry I'm parked in your grass" or "sorry I've been taking up your parking for 3 hours". My irritation started all over again.

This irritation grew as I walked the dog.  Everywhere I went, I encountered people coming out of this church, all wanting to pet my dog.  I just wanted them all to be gone. To go park at their own house, and leave me alone.  What a great person I am, huh?

As I was coming up the last block, I noticed a small woman getting out of her car.  There was a little girl with her. Then I saw she was also carrying a pretty large, sleeping toddler.  I watched for he to go into the house where her car was parked. Instead, she struggled down the street, carrying her sleeping child and trying to keep hold of the little girl.  She walked the whole way down the block, then half-way down the next street before she finally turned into her house.

I was angry for her.  These church people had parked in front of her house, too, majorly inconveniencing her.  Then I heard the voice.  "And you're angry because you had to walk across the street, all by yourself, carrying nothing but your purse."  I began to feel about an inch tall.

It's interesting how quickly my attitude can change when confronted by someone who could honestly be justified in their anger at the same event.  Now, I don't know what was going on in this woman's head, and that's not the focus of this blog.  It just helped me to look outside of myself for one minute.  It doesn't mean I'm not going to get ticked about the lack of Sunday parking.  But it does mean I will be more aware that I have no clue what is going on with other people.