Pam Moore's Blog, page 10

Writing. Speaking. Reading. Running. (Late summer 2017 edition)

 

Writing

You might have seen my essay on Bell’s Palsy on Longreads. If you sat and read all 4k+ words of it, thank you. I know it’s hard to sit at a screen and read anything longer than a tweet or twenty million (or maybe I’m the only one with a Twitter problem?). If you didn’t read it, it was long, it was personal and I was proud that Longreads published it because I’ve never read anything I didn’t love on that site. That experience, which included random strangers reaching out from random corners of the internet to thank me for telling my story would have been sufficiently awesome even if it didn’t lead to me getting my picture on PEOPLE FUCKING MAGAZINE’S WEBSITE. Yes, THE People Magazine.

The actual day after my essay went live on Longreads, friends were blowing up my phone like “OMG did you see Angelina Jolie announced she had Bell’s Palsy!? You’re going to be famous/besties with Angelina!!” And I was like, “Talk about serendipity.” AND THEN A REPORTER FROM PEOPLE MAGAZINE EMAILED ME LIKE CAN I INTERVIEW YOU? And I was like YES HOW SOON? We chatted for a good half hour, and I obsessed the whole rest of the day about all the things I shouldn’t have said and all the things I should have said instead and when Dan asked me why I didn’t prepare more, I said I didn’t think I needed to because she was going to be asking me about me, which is a topic I’m basically an expert on even without any flash cards or cliffs notes or anything. I consoled myself by reminding myself that when I interview someone for a story, it’s in everyone’s best interest to make that person sound as smart as possible and then I tried to chill out and avoid compulsively refreshing my email waiting for the reporter to send me the link to the story. (I was not successful in either venture.)

The story is here. (It did not make me appear to be a blathering idiot, as I’d feared.)

It wouldn’t truly have been a few minutes of fame without some obligatory hate mail lurking in my inbox. Or my Instagram comments. Same diff. Confession: I used to be jealous of people who complained about hateful words being hurled at them from across the interwebs because I thought someone hating you meant you made someone feel something, which is always a writer’s goal, isn’t it? And if no one is hating you, mustn’t that mean no one is reading you? I still think being hated is kind of cool in the theoretical but now that I’ve experienced it, I can say that in the actual, it’s about as cool as being stuck in the driest of dry spells when you see your ex-boyfriend with another woman who is prettier than you, thinner than you, and in possession of perfect ponytail full of flowing, honey blonde hair, and they are laughing and carrying on like they’re in a Prozac ad and your stomach lurches, your face gets prickly hot, and you look down while walking away quickly, hoping they didn’t see you and when you reach for your car keys five minutes later you notice your hand is trembling. So, not fun at all.

Speaking 

I was invited to a friend’s book club as the guest of honor! It was really fun to answer questions about my book, There’s No Room for Fear in a Burley Trailer, and to hang out and drink a Bloody Mary (with homemade pickled green beans!) with a group of cool women. If you want me to come to your book club, whether in person or virtually, just let me know.

 

Reading

I am not going to re-invent the wheel… Here are my Instagram posts of a couple of my recent faves. I post everything I read to Goodreads, but only my favorites make it onto my Instagram feed.

No Apparent Distress was beautifully written and kept me turning the pages way past my bedtime. The author was vulnerable without being overly confessional. The book was in a lot of ways just as political as it was personal, without ever hitting you over the head with its message. That said, I wish everyone who feels healthcare is a privilege, not a basic human right, would read this book. #amreading #noapparentdistress #rachelpearsonmd #memoir #medicine #healthcare #healthcareforall

A post shared by Pam Moore (@pammoore303) on Aug 15, 2017 at 11:31am PDT

Kids are still asleep. Coffee is hot. I have about 50 pages left of a delicious novel. Life is good. . . . . . #amreading #booknerd #bookstagram #theloveaffairsofnathanielp

A post shared by Pam Moore (@pammoore303) on Jul 22, 2017 at 6:01am PDT

Those were two amazing books. I have a few book crushes (e.g. books I am DYING to get my hands on). They are Celeste Ng’s new one, Little Fires Everywhere and two by Elizabeth Crane. I don’t know how she published two books (a book of short stories, Turf and a novel, The History of Great Things) before I knew anything about it but apparently, she did. I know, you’re like “dying to get your hands on them, Pam? There is this thing called Amazon which makes it possible for you to have them in 48 hours or instantly on your Kindle.” I have Amazon Prime. I know. I also have a stack full of books that I have owned for an embarrassingly long time and still haven’t read because of all the books I put on hold at the library, and then they become available, inevitably all at the same time, which means I am in a constant mad rush to finish my library books before they’re due, which means I never get to read the books I actually own, which means I feel too guilty to buy more books, or at this point, to even request more from the library. Fellow reading addicts do you feel me??

Running

I ran a 5k while we were on vacation in Bethany Beach, Delaware. Despite not having run much at all, I am a competitive asshole which means I rarely skip a chance to race at sea level. When I showed up to the start line, I was at turns baffled and impressed by how much school spirit the other runners had. Nearly everyone was wearing something or more than one thing adorned with the name of a college. I thought maybe I’d become so accustomed to Colorado, I’d forgotten how obsessed with prestigious institutions of higher learning us east coasters are wont to be. (That said, Dan doesn’t know which colleges are in the Ivy League and I have a hard time wrapping my head around this gaping hole in his knowledge). Me being me, I failed to understand that the fact that the race was called the College Day 5k had anything do with it until I did my cool-down jog.

Shortest race recap ever: I hadn’t been running because I’d been (and continue to be) going to Crossfit three to four times a week, teaching spin once a week, and running or biking or swimming one day per week. I wanted to see how well I could run on practically zero running, lots of weights, plenty of squats, and mostly HIIT (high-intensity interval training) for cardio. It turns out I actually need to run in order to run fast.

I started toward the front, noticed that my watch read 6:50-something as I passed the first mile mark and also that I was kind of dying, so I slowed down a few notches. While I struggled to establish a sustainable pace, it felt like the entire field was passing me. When I got to the turnaround,  I could see that this was totally not the case, but my slowing pace was demoralizing nonetheless. I kept telling myself every race doesn’t have to be a PR and that I had no business coming here and thinking I’d be able to run my best on virtually no running. As we neared the three-mile mark, I found a pair of women running together, one of whom had the same shorts as me (twinsies!!!). I focused on them and only them. My breath was coming out in gasps and my legs were on fire but seeing that I was making up ground with every step, I resisted the urge to slow down, even just a hair. I pretended like I was relaxed and cool as I passed the slower of the two (they’d separated by the time I got to her) and forced myself to keep my legs turning over as I was still on the hunt for my shorts twin. As I passed her, I said, “Come with me,” but she was feeling rougher than I was apparently, so I passed her stayed in front of her through the finish line.

After I crossed the line I bent down and put my head between my knees and told Dan to please please please remember that if an hour from now I was ruminating on whether I’d truly given it my all, to remind me that I had, no question. Though it wasn’t my fastest 5k it was the best effort I could give on that day and I am proud of that. My time was 22:45, which put me at second in the 35-39 age group and tenth overall woman. (In comparison, last year, after months of consistently logging 20ish miles of running per week, albeit at a slow to moderate pace most of the time, I ran a flat, sea level 5k in a time of 21:59.)

And like I mentioned… I’ve been doing CrossFit (CrossFitting?) and I am loving it. It’s efficient, it’s different, and I’m always pushing myself in new ways. Running will still be there when I get the urge to run again, but I just haven’t felt like it. I love running but I’m not married to it, so a break feels right for the time being. Also, I have my eye on a totally non-running goal… pull-ups. Even a single pull-up would be a huge accomplishment for me.

 

The post Writing. Speaking. Reading. Running. (Late summer 2017 edition) appeared first on Fitness and Running | Motherhood | Marriage | Whatevs Blog.

Excited, but a little bit scared

I wrote this a couple of weeks ago, on Sweet Pea’s first day of kindergarten… before Trump pardoned Arapaio and Hurricane Harvey. It feels like a lifetime ago now.

I could take my left if only the beige Toyota Camry blocking the intersection would scoot forward. The driver has at least a car length of empty road in front of her. I wave my arms like “What the hell, lady?,” but she ignores me, so I roll up a few feet so that my driver’s side window is even with hers. She rolls her window down.

“I didn’t put this traffic here. This is NOT my fault!” she shouts.

Her skin is brown and her face is pinched in anger like if one more goddamned rich white woman expects her to accommodate them she’s going to lose her mind. I pretend I wasn’t just waving my arms at her like she was a fool and in my kindest tone, attempt to explain.

“It’s just if you moved up a bit, I’d have room to—“

She drives forward, shouting, “Fucking rude lady!”

From the backseat, my daughter says, “If you can’t say something nice, you shouldn’t say anything at all.”

I want to tell my daughter that lady was probably stressed but if I talk I’ll cry. We’re on the way to school, where I will drop her off for her first day of kindergarten. So I nod my head and meet her eyes in the rearview mirror instead.

NPR comes through the speakers of our minivan. It’s the clip of Heather Heyer’s mom saying she’s not interested in talking to Donald Trump. Her daughter was murdered by a Nazi at a white supremacist rally and Trump said there were bad people on many sides. My heart breaks for this other mother.

  *     *     *

To wake my daughter, I rub her bare back as morning’s gray light trickles in through her magenta curtains. Her skin is still velvety but I can feel the outline of her ribs. She opens her eyes halfway and says she’s excited about school but also a little bit scared.

I tell her I’m excited for her. I don’t tell her I remember the hours I spent with an awkward, moon-shaped, mint-green paisley breastfeeding pillow strapped to my waist while she suckled at my breast. I don’t tell her I miss the sweetness of her silken, bald head against my chin. I don’t tell her I remember the way she looked as a toddler, beaming up at me on shaky, pudgy legs, her first ponytail sticking straight out from the top of her head, then flaring out like a blonde geyser. I don’t tell her how this day I’ve longed for has arrived too quickly, and that

I know if I’m lucky, this is just the beginning of a lifetime of letting go.
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We walk toward the sea of nervous, proud, excited kindergarteners and their parents. My daughter marches straight up to the double glass doors.

“Wait,” I whisper. “The teachers will take you inside.”

When the teacher motions for the kids to follow her, I’m grateful my daughter and I have already hugged because now her focus is sharply on school. I leave with tears in my eyes and the tickle of a sob at the back of my throat. I will not cry, I tell myself. But of course, I do. I’m driving away, thinking of yesterday when I overheard Sweet Pea tell the babysitter her spirit animal was a goldfish.

“A goldfish?” I’d scoffed. “More like a cat. She’s so independent. She does everything on her own terms.”

How many times had I said I hated cats, didn’t trust them, that I’m not a cat person? I am ugly crying when I call my husband.

“I‑I think we should get a cat.” I can barely speak through my tears. “I said Sweet Pea’s spirit animal was a cat. She knows I hate cats and I’m afraid she’ll be in therapy about it someday. Maybe a rescue cat?”

“Just tell her what you told me. That you love her independence and you love her.” My husband pauses before saying, “We don’t need a cat.”

I am not convinced. I know my girl. She’s constantly listening, absorbing, making connections. When she was an infant, I’d be holding her and whenever we entered a room, her eyes would widen while she’d crane her neck to take in every detail. She’d sit in her Fisher-Price swing, scanning the room, her tiny forehead wrinkled in concentration. The lactation consultant at my weekly Milk Club said a furrowed brow is a sign of overstimulation, but I knew my baby was just focused.

I take a video of Sweet Pea on our front stoop before school. The air is crisp and it smells like fall. I ask her what she’s excited about (her friends), what she’s nervous about (nothing), her favorite food (pepperoni pizza!), her favorite activity (climbing with Daddy) and who are her favorite people are (Avigail, Alexi, and Mommy). I ask her what she wants to be when she grows up. She spreads her arms out over her head, takes a dancer’s leap, and exclaims, “A scientist!” My baby was never overstimulated. She was making observations. I want to be there for her science fairs someday. I wonder about all the somedays Heather Heyer’s mom is going to miss and fresh tears flood my eyes.

I can’t stop scrolling through Twitter, listening to NPR, and hate-watching Fox News. I obsess over the unbelievable-ness of it all. He said it was ok to grab women by the pussy. We were outraged. He made fun of a disabled reporter. We were astonished. He made a white supremacist his right-hand man. We were agog.

He said Nazis are fine people and I am wondering when it will finally feel like an emergency.
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I wonder if the woman who said I was a fucking rude lady has been obsessed with the news, too. I wonder if the color of her skin feels like an emergency to her, when all a white supremacist, now emboldened by the president, has to do is look at her to consider her less human. Maybe we’re all excited to see how our one crazy, beautiful life will unfold, but also more than a little bit scared.

 

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If you want to know what it feels like to get naked in public….

Write the most honest thing you know how to write about something shitty that happened to you, even if (especially if) that shitty thing wasn’t actually earth-shatteringly tragic. Vomit up all the words and then revise them so many times you don’t know if anything you wrote makes sense or is even remotely good but submit it to an editor anyway. Wonder if your words (read: heart) went into an abyss or her actual inbox. Wait for her to reject it, not because you have such low self-esteem, but because that’s just how writing is. Forget about it entirely until you remember again and bug the editor, like “Did you get it? Do you want it?” only way more professional than that. Be elated when she says “We want to publish this.” Count the days till publication. When it is actually published feel a little sick because it is out there and anyone, everyone, can read it.

My essay, Twelve Truths About My Life With Bell’s Palsy is up on Longreads. You can click here to read it.

Like being naked in public, it’s scary at first, but then you get used to it and it’s fine. (Unless you’re at the Wind River Reservoir on a hot July day and just when you’re feeling super relaxed in the water, a park ranger comes to tell your husband his wife needs to put some clothes on because there’s a family who wants to picnic on the beach and nudity is not permitted, in which case it is not fine at all.)

 

illustration credit: Hannah Perry

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Sweating. Writing. Loving. Reading. (July)

Sweating

I haven’t been running much. While I was training for the Horsetooth Half, I formulated a plan: I’d finish the half marathon un-injured, take it easy for a bit, run a Mother’s Day 5k, run the Bolder Boulder, and then jump back in and train for a fall marathon. But as the days turned into weeks and I remained uninspired to run, I ditched the Bolder Boulder and the idea of a fall marathon.

I had been on the verge of an injury for most of my half marathon training. I had to skip or modify workouts and cut back on my mileage much more frequently than I wanted to. I didn’t feel like jumping into marathon training without being 100% healthy. Meanwhile, my running mojo had yet to return. In May I went to a fabulous event at Skirt Sports where Mara Abbot, former Olympian cyclist, gave a fabulous talk. And something she said resonated with me. “When the sports gods talk, you need to listen.” The sports gods had been trying to tell me to give running a rest for a while, probably since Lady Bug (who just turned three) was born. Finally I decided to listen. Some say I’m stubborn. I prefer the word “determined.”

I decided to try to CrossFit and I am fully enjoying it. I love that all I have to do is show up and I get an intense workout in an hour. Even though the actual time spent with your heart rate elevated is pretty minimal (sometimes as short as 16 minutes), the effort is INTENSE. Meanwhile, I am learning to use a barbell (totally brand new to me)  the foundations of a pull-up (another feat I have yet to accomplish), and getting my ass handed to me on the rower.

I love being a beginner. Starting something new means I have no expectations. It means I can only get better. We had to do this thing with a really heavy duffel bag the other day. I don’t know what you call it, but you basically had to grab it by the handles, deadlift it, and then flip it about 45 degrees and into your arms while squatting. The coach made it look easy. So did everyone else.

It wasn’t.

Did I mention it was extremely heavy? On my first try, I stood in front of the bag, reached down for the handles and then looked up at the coach and said, “Wait, what?” The second time was not much better. The third time, I deadlifted it, but when it was time to try the flippy thing, I sort of short-circuited and stopped moving. It was too heavy and I was too clumsy. On my fourth try, the coach told me to try it with a smaller, lighter object. On my fifth try the coach said I could just deadlift it for today. Still, I kept trying and failing while everyone around me sailed through it. On my seventh try, I nailed it. This made me insanely happy.

The thing is, you can’t have the joy and satisfaction of nailing it unless you are willing to endure the discomfort of being totally out of your element. In other words, pain equals growth. I had an amazing opportunity to speak about my experience with pain, growth, impostor syndrome, sport, and what happened when a mean girl denied me a handful of fries in high school at a Skirt Sports’ flagship store in Boulder last month, which you can watch here.

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Writing

I’m still writing weekly for Parent.co and for other places here and there.  It’s amazing what a deadline will do for your productivity. Some of my recent faves:

My first ever viral post. I might or might not have spent days obsessively hitting refresh to see how many shares it was getting on Facebook. I got to talk to pro athlete/ barefoot guru Jessi Stensland for this one. She was awesome.

Why the Best Shoes for Kids Might Be No Shoes at All

 

My second ever viral post! Apparently I’m not the only one having a hard time getting my kids out the door in the morning…

The One Thing Parents Can Do to Make Mornings Smoother, According to Science

I have zero memories of my mom ever being awake before 8am. Somehow we survived.

My Mom’s Genius Strategy for Making Mornings Insanely Easy 

I love, love, love books, so this was a fun one to write. Well, sort of. It was a fun one to outline.  It was a lot harder writing short blurbs about each book than I thought it would be. (Hopefully I made it look easy!)

Eight Novels Featuring Moms You’ll Fall in Love With

A post I wrote last year, about the misadventures of taking my kid to a bris (a Jewish ritual circumcision) found its perfect home.

I Took My Preschooler To A Bris… This Is What Happened Next…

I got to interview Marjorie Ingalls, one of the editors of Sassy magazine. There is no shortage to the regret I carry for having given away my bankers box of back issues. As you would expect, she was smart and hilarious. We talked about her new book, “Mamaleh Knows Best,” raising kids in the digital age, and more.

An Interview with Marjorie Ingall, Author of Mamaleh Knows Best

Loving

My new cordless Dyson vacuum has changed my life. I’d had my eye on it for about two years. By the time I saw it at Tuesday Morning I was so over the sensation of crumbs on my feet when I walked barefoot in my kitchen, no matter how often I vacuumed or swept, that I was nearly ready to adopt a dog. It was expensive but a) cheaper than a dog and b) worth it. The feeling of a clean floor against your bare feet is so unbelievably satisfying. Not only that, but I can do our entire first floor on max suction on one charge.

I am loving the fact that our kids are getting a little older and more independent. We rented a house in Hotchkiss (Colorado’s wine country) with another family and it was amazing. Our kids entertained each other all weekend while the grown ups hung out. It sounds so ordinary but the ability to relax for an extended period of time in a house that is not 100% childproofed is a luxury that is perhaps even more precious than a crumb-free kitchen floor. I’m not saying we were on vacation but we thoroughly enjoyed ourselves.  (Read this hilarious article to find out the difference between a trip and a vacation.) Below is a pic from our trip.

Movie night

A post shared by Pam Moore (@pammoore303) on Jul 7, 2017 at 7:59pm PDT

I just discovered Grammarly. It’s not perfect but for a free tool, it’s pretty good at finding and correcting my grammar mistakes. Also, the competitor in me loves the weekly email where the good folks of Grammarly tally up my stats.

 

Reading

I got to read Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing to Sweet Pea this summer. Yes, I miss her baby giggles, pudgy thighs, and toothless grins. I miss her mispronounced words (she does still say “aminal” instead of “animal” and if you correct her I swear I will cut you). But having a kid who loves Judy Blume perhaps as much as I do fills my heart with so much joy. I am loving this phase, too.

I dare say I'm enjoying reading it with my five year old even more than I did the first time around. It is so fun to watch her face light up as Fudge gets up to yet another mess… . . . . . #amreading #talesofafourthgradenothing #judyblume #bookstagram

A post shared by Pam Moore (@pammoore303) on Jun 18, 2017 at 7:10pm PDT

Oprah has never steered me wrong… I tore through Ellen Foster in a few days.

Ellen Foster was AMAZING. Told in the voice of a ten year old biracial girl in rural NC in the 60's (or 70's?) whose mother dies, whose father is worthless, and who ultimately finds a loving family… You just can't help falling in love with Ellen. She's sharp, funny, and unfussy. I read this one in about 3 sittings. . . . . . . #bookstagram #amreading #oprahsbookclub #bookworm #ellenfoster #kayegibbons

A post shared by Pam Moore (@pammoore303) on Jun 9, 2017 at 8:25am PDT

I read “Hourglass” for book club. Although it’s not exactly a book club. It’s just some women friends who decided to read this, threw a date on the calendar, and met at my house to talk about lots of things (including the book), eat chocolate,  drink wine, and try to ignore my kids (Dan was out of town and I hoped the kids would fall asleep before the ladies arrived so I could enjoy my friends without having to get a sitter. I overestimated my kids’ fatigue level and underestimated their tenacity.)

Hauntingly beautiful, candid without feeling confessional. @daniwriter . . . . . #hourglass #amreading #instabooks

A post shared by Pam Moore (@pammoore303) on Jun 4, 2017 at 1:10pm PDT

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Colorado Women’s Classic 5k: Race Report

Race morning, Sweet Pea is in my room at 5:45 am.

“Can we snuggle? Open your Mother’s Day present!”

She’s standing an inch from my face. I mentally berate myself for convincing her to wait until Mother’s Day to give me the present she was dying to give me the day before. My alarm is set only fifteen minutes from now but sleep is delicious and I want more. Through half open eyes, with the gray light peeking through the cracks in the curtains, I tear off the wrapping paper, revealing a picture of my big girl in a bedazzled frame.

“I love it!” I exclaim.

“Turn on the light so you can really see it!” she implores.

“I can totally see it! Let’s leave the light off. It’s great.”

It’s sparkly and full of personality, just like my girl. She made me a mom five years ago and now she’s ready for kindergarten. I ran the same race I’m about to run today when she was three months old. I nursed her in a booth at Panera right before the start.

When I’m actually awake, I open the blinds so I can fully appreciate my present and I invite her back into my bed for a snuggle.

*     *     *

En route to the race, we listen to one track from a Strawberry Fairy CD the girls insisted on but that’s all Dan and I can handle. After that we rock out to one of my spin class playlists on Spotify. Please remind me to visualize my kids dancing in their car seats to Vibin‘ and the sound of Lady Bug’s little almost three-year-old voice imploring Dan, “Dada, move!” (e.g. “Dad, get your groove on already!”), the next time I get burnt out on being their mom.

Dan drops me off and then goes to park the car, and after I do the normal pre-race things (get my bib and find a bathroom), I warm up. Ten minutes easy, five minutes build to a moderately hard pace, then five twenty second strides, followed by 40 seconds to recovery. My legs feel fresh. This race will be an fitness experiment, considering since the Horsetooth Half Marathon I did in late April, I’ve run a handful of times, taught or taken a few spin classes, and did three yoga classes (which is more yoga than I’ve  done over the past year). I know my mind remembers how to run fast but I’m not sure if my heart and lungs are up to the task, given they’ve been out of practice for a few weeks.

I snake my way up to the front of the sea of women waiting to start. We begin and immediately a young woman with a long, swaying brown ponytail establishes herself as the leader. Behind her are a pair of girls. I’m hoping I can follow closely behind them, letting them break up some of the wind, but I can see by their loping,  almost playful-looking gait that I won’t be behind them for long. Within the first minute or so, I pass them. Ponytail is far enough ahead of me that it doesn’t make any sense to try to reel her in.

Instead, I focus on myself. I’m breathing hard but I am supposed to be. This will be over in less than 23 minutes. All I have to do is get in the zone and do my best to stay there until the finish. My legs aren’t tired. I tell myself that when they are, I won’t back off. I don’t look at my watch. I don’t want to worry about my pace. I just want to go by feel. I also just want to know how long I’ve been running. I look down and see 5:39. I’m over halfway to ten minutes. At ten minutes, I will be within spitting distance of eleven minutes, and by then I will be at or very near the finish line. I tell myself I only need to sustain this pace for five minutes and 39 seconds four more times.

A slim, muscular lady passes me like I’m standing still. Her breathing is relaxed and her form is efficient. I don’t even try to stay with her. I wonder if she’s doing the 5k or the 10k and decide probably the latter because of how chill she appears. I end up being right.

I pass the first mile mark and my watch reads 7:00. I’ve probably gone out too fast but the course is slightly downhill on the way out. My legs aren’t tired yet but I’m breathing hard and there’s no one around me, just an empty paved trail ahead and open space and big blue sky all around me as I head east.

I can’t see the first place women and the lead biker is just a neon yellow speck, and then they vanish from my line of sight. I turn around at the halfway point and my watch reads 11:07. I’m hoping to run under 22:30 and I just might, but what I really want to do is finish knowing I gave everything.

I’m halfway from the finish and 1.55 miles has never felt so intimidating. Just keep going. Don’t back off. I see practically the whole race stretched out behind me as I pass them going the opposite direction. They’re moms and daughters and sisters and friends and grandmas and they’re all beautiful and I want to yell “GREAT JOB, LADIES!” but I don’t have the energy so I smile when I remember and give a thumbs up to all the women who cheer for me.

I’m nearly at the two mile mark and I feel vaguely nauseated. I wonder why I eschewed brunch at a restaurant with my family and chose this as my preferred activity. I think of a blueberry scone and a mimosa and then my nausea intensifies. Instead, I think of a glass of ice water. I feel a little better.

I think I hear breathing behind me but I’m not sure until I pass a few spectators who yell “Great job!” and a few seconds later, they yell it again. Her breathing is becoming increasingly louder. I force myself to run faster, just to that pole, to the next tree, to that bend in the bike path, but I hear her getting closer all the time. I imagine her giving up, getting discouraged, realizing she surged a bit too early and that she cannot in fact catch me before we run out of pavement, but she overtakes me just before the three mile mark anyway. I look at my watch, which reads 2.92 miles. I have less 400 meters, one lap around the track, to go and it feels like forever.

When my competitor passed me, she took second place along with a heaping cup full of my energy and I don’t have to glance at my watch to be sure my pace has slowed. I see the final turn for the finish chute and I glimpse Lady Bug’s neon orange hoodie on the sidelines. Dan is cheering for me and I muster all my energy to finish strong though my body is begging me to quit.

My time is 22:56, a 7:23/mi pace, good for third overall. It’s not a PR but I wasn’t expecting that. All I wanted was to run as hard as I could, which I definitely did.

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Race Report: Horsetooth Half Marathon 2017

When I put the Horsetooth Half Marathon on my calendar, my good friend and running buddy told me not to expect a PR. She’d done the race before and knew the punishing course. Being overconfident and really bad with things like maps and elevation profiles, I dismissed her doubts. After all, I was in a totally different place than I was when I ran my last half marathon. So what if I set my PR five years ago at sea level? Who cared if Horsetooth was known for being hilly? I was more experienced now, fitter, and faster. My kids were older (e.g. sleeping through the night. Sort of). Based on a few recent races, the online race predictors told me I was capable of 1:43. Being an optimist and a masochist (aka a runner), I based all my training paces on that goal time.

Meanwhile, life made sure my training didn’t go perfectly. First, there was my nagging foot pain. I was mostly able to keep it at bay but it forced me to modify or ditch a workout every now and then. Then there was the flu bug that hit me immediately after I nailed a mixed tempo run (five miles alternating 7:30 pace for the odd miles with 8:00 pace for the evens), just as I was supposed to do a few key workouts right before, including a 14 mile run with the last four at goal pace, which I was depending on as a confidence booster, if nothing else.

Instead of doing my important workouts just before my taper, I was in bed agonizing with a fever, the chills, body aches, a wretched cough, and a wi fi signal too weak to let me watch more than a few episodes of Girls in bed. Instead of getting fitter, I was getting weaker. After four days fully off, I tried a two mile jaunt as my first post-illness workout. It was terrible. It was everything normal people hate about running. Side stitches and  shortness of breath were my constant companions. My next few runs were not much better. I had one good track workout once I was feeling up to it. Then I had a bunch of horrible runs. I mean I was struggling to maintain even a 10:00/mile pace. (My easy, just for fun pace is about 9:15-10:00/mile). While I don’t expect every run to feel great, I was getting increasingly anxious as every run felt as lackluster as the one before. Would I ever feel good again? I didn’t want to suffer through 13.1 miles. I wanted to race it and suffer through the final miles.

Meanwhile, I’d paid for and trained for this race. The course was supposed to be gorgeous. I was committed running it no matter how bad I felt. The Thursday before the race, I finally had my first normal run in over a week. I took Friday off, then did an easy 30 minute jog on Saturday and was thrilled that I felt good once again. By that point, I’d had about two weeks since recovering from the flu to readjust my expectations. If I was honest with myself, the flu wasn’t the only reason I might not run 1:43. I reviewed my training log and decided I hadn’t done the workouts to support that time. Instead of nailing my paces and increasing my mileage to the point where my foot would rebel, I trained in a way that was sustainable. Knowing the first 1.8 miles of the course were straight uphill and that the rest of the course was either an ascent or a descent, I resolved simply to go by feel. My goal was to pace it to avoid blowing up before the finish.

Race outfit: Oiselle Roga shorts (love the wide waistband for muffin-top protection and maximum comfort), Athleta Chi Tank, armwarmers I got from Venus De Miles 2015, old Nike sports bra probably purchased at Marshalls, Brooks socks, Brooks Adrenaline running shoes, Tifosi Wisp sunglasses. Same fuel belt I’ve been using since 2001. I don’t know how to drink and run at the same time and I fear that if I stop to sip, I’ll won’t be able to start running again.

The night before the race I stayed in Fort Collins with friends, while Dan stayed back in Boulder with the kids, which was lovely and relaxing (for me, obv). I slept soundly, knowing there was zero threat of either of my kids waking me in the middle of the night, as they had done each and every night for the previous seven consecutive nights. I felt like I was at a bed and breakfast, eating  my instant oatmeal and banana without a sleepy little person asking to be fed on race morning.  Race morning dawned with perfect, clear sunny weather in the low 40’s, my ideal running temperature.

I started with the 1:45 pacer, knowing I wouldn’t be able to stay with him, but hoping nonetheless. Immediately the road went from a manageable uphill to an OH-MY-GOD-IDON’T-KNOW-IF-I-EVEN-BREATHE-THIS-HARD-AT-THE-FINISH-OF-A-5K-THIS-IS-WAY-TOO-HARD-FOR-THE-FIRST-MILE-OF-ANYTHING. And that was at a just-moving-forward pace.

This is about where it started getting fun. Photo courtesy of Horsetooth Half Marathon’s official website

A power walk may well have been faster than my creeping shuffle. But my legs felt strong and I felt ok even if I was breathing like a choo-choo train. I was passing people and people were passing me and I said to myself don’t worry about them, just race your race. The road tipped up and up and up as the blue water of the Horsetooth Reservoir spread out on our left.

People with fun signs, a drum circle, and the sounds of other runners’ ragged breathing made the 1.8 mile ascent pass relatively quickly. I reached the top in 17:04 which was faster than I’d anticipated. We descended, still following the curve of reservoir’s edge. On the one hand it was freeing to go down. But it was stressful too. Was I breathing too hard to fully recover from the burn of the initial ascent? Was my form all messed up? Why did I not practice the messy art of running downhill in training? Was I going to fall on my face? Eventually I settled into a comfortable breathing pattern I termed “light tempo,” focused on keeping my feet light and fast, and relaxed into it. Dan’s business partner’s fiancee, aka) one half of the couple I stayed with the night before approached me at the base of the next significant climb, around the fourth mile. We hung together and chatted for a bit, but then I pulled away and didn’t see him until the finish.

As we descended the second hill, the scenery changed to farmland and it was nothing short of idyllic. A young couple and I took turns passing each other until we finally got into the same groove just before the third and final major hill. Over a couple of miles I gleaned that they were adorable, married to each other, training for the Steamboat Marathon, hoping to run 1:45, and they do their training runs and races together, at the same exact pace. See what I mean, re: adorable? I can’t say I was super jealous however. If Dan had been running with me, we would have had to make childcare arrangements. The Adorables pulled ahead of me on the hill, but I caught up on the downhill. We ran together through about mile 7, at which point I pulled away and didn’t see them again until the finish chute, where they arrived about a minute after I did.

By the time I got to mile 8, I was still focused on keeping my effort in the light tempo zone and my mantra vacillated between Light and Quick, Compact and Efficient, and Nothing Wasted (as in, elbows in, chest up, forward lean, good form). My plan was to maintain the same pace, knowing that soon, light tempo would feel like medium tempo, which would turn into hard tempo, which would inevitably become hard as shit, leading to wishing to puke as long as I stayed consistent. My goal was to feel like vomiting within a half mile of the finish and run out of gas right at the finish line and not a moment before.

Everything didn’t go quite to plan, however. When mile ten came, I was tired, but not miserable, yet I couldn’t make myself dig any deeper. Around mile 6 my right achilles had started to bother me. It got marginally worse as I continued to run and while the discomfort was mild enough to keep running hard, it was achy enough to make me worry that it wouldn’t hold up through 13.1. I’d run hills in training, but nothing like the hills on this course. They were intense, long, and abundant, and though I didn’t mind them too much, my ankle certainly did. So I held back instead of speeding up, telling myself I’d find that extra gear soon, just not right now. My legs were heavy and my breathing was labored, but I’d certainly felt worse in training and in other races. In fact, I’d felt worse during the first 1.8 miles of climbing Monster Mountain. (It’s called that for a reason. See elevation profile, below).

That said, I was at the point in the race where I started using mental games to stay focused. I only let myself think about reeling in the next person. I wondered when I was going to pass Shirtless Loud Music No Earbuds Guy Who Is Probably The Type To Send Dick Pics, who’d passed me on one of the hills. (Sadly, I never did. Pass him, not receive a dick pic.) I allowed myself to think about making it to the eleven mile mark, and then the twelve mile mark. At mile twelve, I was forced myself to move my feet faster. I smiled through the cheering crowds as I got closer and closer to the finish. I grinned upon seeing Dan and the girls, who were spectating at the finish chute. A tiny blonde girl with a perfect ponytail sprinted by me with less than ten meters to go, and it pissed me off enough to find another gear, but not enough to pass her back.

I crossed the line as the clock read exactly 1:49:00, however my real (chip) time was 1:48:40, which translates to an 8:18/mile pace and made me the 14th of 161 women in my age group and 68th of about 700 women.

More importantly, I finished with a huge smile on my face. A huge wave of gratitude overwhelmed me as the volunteers handed me a drink and a medal. If anyone had tried to talk to me in the ten seconds immediately following the finish, I’m pretty sure I would have started sobbing.

While it wasn’t my fastest half marathon, I feel really good about it. I think I paced it well and I did an excellent job of managing my expectations if I do say so myself. Not knowing my achilles would feel 100% fine as I type this a few days later, I think I made a smart choice by holding back a bit. (By holding back, I mean I never wanted to die or puke.) Had I been close to a PR, I think I would have dug a little deeper. Had I not gotten the flu, I might have been stronger and more confident and ran more aggressively, but who knows. Now that I understand how challenging the course is, I think it was a blessing in disguise that I’d gotten the flu and had a couple of weeks to readjust my expectations, rather than having my 1:43 dream shattered within the first mile.

All in all, it was a great race. I would consider doing it again for sure, although I’d train differently and go in knowing it’s not the kind of course where you should expect to PR, as a sage friend once told me.

Splits from my TomTom:

Because of the nature of the course, I kept my TomTom on the average pace screen. It was fun to watch the average pace consistently get lower.

 

Me and the kids about 2 minutes post-finish. They’re carb loading on rice cakes.

 

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Passover, links, and other April stuff

Happy Passover! The holiday inspired me to write The Four Questions: A Middle Aged Mom’s Retrospective for Mazel Tot Together. (Click over there if you’ve ever sat at the kids table, waiting for Elijah. I know you’ll feel me). I struggled with whether to use the term “middle aged” and decided nothing else would do. I am on a quest to find the perfect eye cream and the oldies station plays music from my childhood, and am therefore definitely middle aged.

If you’re not familiar with Passover, it’s a Jewish holiday that lasts eight days. You celebrate the first two nights by getting together with friends/family for a seder, which is a meal featuring four ceremonial glasses of wine, a number of specific foods and customs, and the re-telling of the story of the Jews’ exodus from Egypt. It always coincides with Easter, as Easter was Jesus’s last meal. The holiday is associated with freedom, rebirth, springtime, and matzoh (a flat bread that we eat during Passover to commemorate the fact that when God parted the Red Sea and let the Jews escape slavery, there was no time to let their bread rise).

In other news, I’m tapering for my half marathon, which is coming up on the 23rd. I was supposed to be running my longest run (14 miles with four at goal half marathon pace) when I was struck by the flu. It was horrible. Not only did I have to skip that run and a bunch of others, I feel like I’ve lost a TON of fitness, which is discouraging. But, by the same token, I didn’t become the runner I am from this four month training block alone. It’s all the blocks stacked on top of each other over the past fifteen plus years, so I’m trying remember that.

I’ve been published a number of times since my last blog post. I realize you might have

a) seen my stuff in your Facebook feed and read it (thanks!)

b) seen and it and thought “I’ll come back to that” and maybe even opened it up in a tab to read later, along with 85 other tabs (I can’t be the only one who does this)

or c) maybe Facebook never even showed you my stuff

In any case, here are

d) links to my stuff you’d like to go read any of it now

also

e) The random multiple choices are in my head because I just devoured Amy Krouse Rosenthal’s memoir Textbook. I had the chance to stretch out on the couch and read while my family went out for lunch without me (it was glorious). If you haven’t read it, you should. Maybe you read Modern Love Essay, You May Want to Marry My Husband that went viral recently; she wrote that, too. Her memoir is sharp, funny, poignant, and different.

and while I’m on the topic of books…

f) All the Ugly and Wonderful Things by Bryn Greenwood blew my mind. Never have I rooted harder for a heroine than I did for Wavy. Did you read it? What did you think? I’m pretty sure this is going to make my Best of 2017 list. Also, I recommend checking out Greenwood’s Twitter feed. It’s highly entertaining.

Anyway, here are those links to stuff I wrote:

What Every Parent Should Know Before Threatening to Burn All the Toys

Our Kind, Responsible Babysitter is a Dude (Yes, They Do That)

You Get What You Get

9 Ways to Assemble an Arsenal of Awesome Babysitters

The Secret “=Formula” for a Happy Relationship

How to Talk About Sex: Early, Often, and in Small Doses

Five Reasons Purim Kicks Halloween’s Butt

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Real moms, real stories

I was catching up with an old friend over the phone recently.

“You have everything together,” she remarked.

I nearly choked. “What!?”

According to Facebook and my blog, apparently I look like I know what I’m doing. The truth is, I’m making everything up as I go along.

One of the greatest shocks of my adult life is that, at 38 years old, I’m still figuring out what I want to be when I grow up, and that grown-ups don’t actually have all the answers.

I went to graduate school right after college, got a masters degree in occupational science, and went to work as an occupational therapist. I figured it was a good career for me, as it would let me work with people, give me a chance to work in healthcare, require me to be creative, never force me to be on call, never need me to perform a rectal exam (the reason I rejected the idea of being a nurse), not require any significant math, and the money was decent. I also liked the fact that my chosen career would allow me to work part-time once I had kids.

After we had Sweet Pea in 2012, I did exactly what I thought I would do and went back to work part-time as an occupational therapist. I had enough work to make me miss my baby just enough, and sufficient time with her so I never felt guilty or stressed about work. Life was good.

When Lady Bug was born in 2014, going back to work part-time work wasn’t so appealing. By then, I was burnt out on healthcare and hiring childcare didn’t make a ton of financial sense. Meanwhile, I’d started blogging in 2007. By 2013 I was getting paid to write, which felt (and sometimes still feels) too good to be true. In 2016, I published a book, I presented at the DU Women’s Conference, and my professional life took a sharp turn in new direction.

I can’t say I’m never going to work as an occupational therapist again, but I’m happy with my current situation, as a freelance writer/speaker/ running coach/ stay at home mom. My road to get here has been winding, and I’m not exactly sure where it’s going. The more I talk to other working moms, the more I realize most of us don’t know exactly where we’re going.

We’re all dealing with fear, guilt, insecurity, parenting challenges, and logistics issues.

So I was thrilled when I found out my friend Brooke Jean was hosting a series of interviews with women, specifically to find out how they’re navigating these exact topics, which she too faced in her journey of balancing kids and a career. This series, Moms Living a Life They LOVE: How to have a Flourishing Family, a Fulfilling Career, and Fun in the Process, features interviews with seventeen real women who are balancing career and family… including me.

I’m so honored to be included among this dynamic crew of women—including a few I’ve been following for a while, and whom I admire, like Sarah Bagley and Beth Risdon (aka Shut Up and Run). I am not getting paid for being part of this online event or for promoting it. I just think Brooke’s mission— to inspire women who are thinking about their future and curious about what’s possible and how it might unfold, through hearing the real life stories, tips, and wisdom from women who have been there themselves—is awesome.

It’s totally free to access the interview series, using this link.

After you register, starting April 3rd, you’ll receive one email featuring a 30 minute interview with a real working mom, every day, for seventeen days. These interviews are not edited, professionally lit, or scripted. They’re just real women, sharing the stories, struggles, tips, and wisdom they’ve accumulated through their experiences balancing motherhood and work.

I can’t wait to hear what the other women have to say. Some of the topics we cover in my interview (which airs April 16th) include:

–Impostor Syndrome

–The Listen To Your Mother Show

-Why I’ve become super picky about who I hang out with

-The freebie I’m giving away

You can register for the Moms Living a Life They LOVE Summit (for FREE) here.

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March update

I feel like a March update is easier if I break this down into sections, so…

Shopping/Parenting (which don’t go together at all, but roll with it, ok?)

Sunday felt like spring. The air was all sunshine, soft breezes and bird songs. Also, we were home, doing nothing because Sweet Pea was sick. Puking, avoiding the birthday party and the get-together with friends we were supposed to attend sick. I did sneak out to Pearl Street in the afternoon with Lady Bug to enjoy some fresh air and hit a couple of errands. I was going to return a pair of leggings at Athleta, but Lady Bug fell asleep in her stroller so I couldn’t resist the chance to try on a few things while I had the chance. I picked up this skort and this top,which I did not intend to do.

It has pockets! You can dress it up. You can dress it down. I can’t wait for summer.

 

I got it in white, which is probably a huge mistake. I’m an optimist.

In my defense, my fitness professional discount (I teach spin class every Monday!) makes it hard to resist.

I also picked up a copy of It’s Not the Stork: A Book About Girls, Boys, Babies, Bodies, Families and Friends (The Family Library) by Robbie Harris’s for Sweet Pea, who just turned five, at the Boulder Bookstore. I love this book. I wish there’d been a book like this in my house when I was a kid. Not that my parents (ok, my mom), weren’t available for questions (she was). I just think this book is an awesome resource, not just for kids, but for parents too, as far as including useful pictures and being a good jumping-off point for a conversation.

Sweet Pea wanted me to read some of it to her, and then asked to read more on her own. Later, I was curious about what she thought. We’d talked previously about how babies are made, and once we accidentally picked a library book that was about how babies are made (I really had no idea what it was about until we cracked it open) but I honestly couldn’t remember exactly how much detail we’d covered. Robbie Harris’s book includes lots of (age appropriate) details.

“Anything in there you thought was cool, interesting, weird? Do you have any questions?” I asked. My attempt at breezy failed miserably.

“One thing was really weird!” she said.

“What was that?” I asked.

“The part where the bird says that babies come from a stork!” she said, giggling at the preposterousness of such an idea.

I don’t feel bad about saying I am rocking this part of parenting, considering I cry at least once a week about most of the other parts and how shitty I’m doing at them.

Writing

The past couple of months have been busy for me, as far as churning out the words (which is a good thing).

I wrote The Secret (=Formula) for a Healthy Relationship for Parent.co, which has gotten a lot of engagement on Facebook. I’m not sure if it’s because I revealed the full extent of my inner dork, complete with a hand-made graph, the fact that I got real about some of the struggles Dan and I face in our marriage, or my true, occasional murderous feelings. I actually adapted this one from a talk I gave at Toastmasters.

Other articles I wrote for Parent.co:

What Breastfeeding Moms Should Know Before Smoking Pot , for which I pored over research, talked to experts, and fell way, way down the rabbit hole.

Try This at  Home: 8 Date Night Ideas for Exhausted Parents in which I decided screw the experts and their recommendations that couples do something novel together to spice up the relationship. COUPLES WITH KIDS ARE TIRED AND WE DON’T ALWAYS HAVE ACCESS TO CHILDCARE. We are not going to googly eye bomb stuff (seriously, this article suggested that as a date night activity). We need date nights we can stay up for after our kids fall asleep.

How to Show Your Kids You Love Them on Valentine’s Day. You probably know you and your spouse’s love languages, but do you know which one your kid most identifies with?

I Don’t Mind That My Toddler Has No Interest in Potty Training. Ok, I kind of do. But not enough to actually do anything about it. I’m free range lazy.

I also wrote for Mazel Together, a website for Jewish families in the Denver area…

Six Things I’ve Learned Over Six Years in an Interfaith Relationship… Which they actually published on our meet-a-versay (does anyone else celebrate that date?). Ours happens to be Valentine’s Day.



Five Reasons Purim Kicks Halloween’s Butt. Jewish people (ok, parents) will totally feel me on this one. Gentiles will learn about a holiday you’ve probably never heard of. Believe me, you want to know about this one. Adults are supposed to get rancorously intoxicated on this holiday. ‘

And I got to do some content marketing writing, which was awesome because I got to write about one of my favorite topics (fitness!!)

Achieve Your Fitness Goals in Three Easy Steps Let’s be honest here, they’re not easy. But they’re worthwhile, and they need to happen before you even lace up your sneakers (or put on your speedo, or clip into your pedals, or join a gym, or whatever, you get the idea).

Reading

2017 has been a slow year for me, as far as reading, thus far. I am woefully behind on my Goodreads challenge of reading 45 books this year. I blame it partly on Crazy Rich Asians, which I didn’t love, yet devoted much of January to, breaking my personal rule of quitting a book I’m not thrilled with. (My friend Nina lists avoiding books you don’t love among a bunch of other great tips in her recent blog post “How to Read More Books This Year.” Nina is a turbo charged reading machine.) Also disappointing: Today Will be Different. At 70 pages in and I could not bring myself to like or care about the protagonist. I had to peace this one out, upcoming book club (aka friends who felt like/were roped into reading the same book) discussion notwithstanding.

There were a few books I have loved this year, including:

Commonwealth by Ann Patchett. My Goodreads Review: Beautiful writing, compelling characters, a story of family, secrets, truth, and reconciliation… What else could you ask for? (Not part of my Goodreads Review: This is one of those books that stays with you long after you’ve put it down).

Grit by Angela Duckworth: Ok, I am about a chapter away from the end, but loving it. It presents the idea that tenacity, or grit, is a more accurate predictor of success than talent is, and the science behind this theory in a funny, interesting, thought-provoking way. There’s even a chapter just for parents on how to raise gritty kids.

Sole Sisters edited by Jennifer Lin and Susan Warner- A heartwarming collection of essays on the friendships and confidence women forge through running. It is the perfect gift for any female runner.

Also, I read a fascinating profile on Pamela Colloff, the executive editor of the Texas Monthly. titled “The Best Damn Writer in Texas.” I dare you to read that article and not feel compelled to read everything Colloff has ever written. I couldn’t help myself. I subscribed the Texas Monthly. I am excited to get some mail that’s not the Athleta catalog or a bill.

Running

I almost left this post without a word on running. Gah! It sustains me. Treadmill, roads, trails, I don’t care. I’m still planning on the Horsetooth Half Marathon in late April. Here’s a shot from my Instagram taken during a recent 10 mile run. Also, if you were wondering how I got that action shot… because I wondered about that quite a bit when I joined Instagram… Do runners bring photographers on their runs? Is there an Instagram fairy I don’t know about? I did some googling and figured out that it’s a matter of using whatever you find in nature as a tripod, making a short video, then  taking a screen shot of whatever frame you like best and using that for Instagram. It’s annoying and it feels phony. Stopping to Instagram feels to me, in a lot of ways, like the anti-running.  But it makes for a pretty feed. So I do it once in a while, but not on every run.

How’s your March? Are you also tired of asking kids whether they want to wear their coat or carry their coat, watching while the drag said coat on the freezing ground, and then howl

 

 

 

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Random February Stuff

February

February has historically been a good month for me. February is the month in which…

-I ran my first marathon (Myrtle Beach, 2001)

–I met Dan (Valentine’s Day, 2008)

-We closed on our house (2010)

–Sweet Pea was born (2012)

Birthdays, Books, and Clothes

It feels like Sweet Pea was born yesterday. And suddenly I’m drowning in my baby’s Hello Kitty birthday party supplies. While searching for Hello Kitty stuff on Amazon, a book called “Hello Kitty Must Die” popped up and I had to click on it, because, how could I not. I then promptly requested a hold at the library. I am at the beginning of Grit right now, and to be honest, I’m anxious, you guys. Really anxious. Because Grit and Today Will be Different made it to the hold shelf at the exact same time and I’m pretty sure I’m going to end up paying a bunch in late fees because neither are renewable. #libraryjunkieproblems.

In other news, I found an amazing top. It’s soft, it’s flattering, and it has thumbholes. I bought it as a running top, but so far, I’ve worn it for general use, including dinner at Linger with a friend (which is certainly not a thing I generally do— it was fantastic and a bit unusual for me to a) go to Denver to b) meet up with a girlfriend c) without our kids). I got paid nothing to endorse this top. In fact, I paid probably way too much for the top. I just like it so much, I feel like it would be rude not to mention it here.

Running

Speaking of running, I don’t want to jinx anything, but I’ve been consistently running 20+ miles a week (this week I got up to 29) without pain. I’ve consistently been doing this 12 minute Foundation Exercises You Tube Video right before I run, and I swear it is magic. I kept hearing about these exercises and filing them away in the “not interested” part of my brain until finally I realized the universe was trying to tell me something. So I listened, and even though they’re meant to to cure back pain, which I don’t have, they seem to be doing something wonderful for me, as far as avoiding the little aches and pains in my hips, glutes, ankle, and foot, which I am convinced are a result of low back/pelvic instability. I have yet to read the book explaining the science behind the exercises, but I’ve requested a hold on that book, too. My plan is to run the Horsetooth Half Marathon in late April.

Vacationing

We went to Lake Tahoe to visit family in January, for almost a week. Very little running happened, as snow was piled up like I’ve never seen. Of course that made my inner runner super anxious but I told her to chill out because life happens and family vacations for total amateur runners do not involve leaving said family for over an hour to find a treadmill. This is what did happen: lots of relaxing, skiing, sledding, reading and Catan. It was lovely. Also, I cracked a little early, while in Tahoe, as far as my No Alcohol in January thing. I was four days from the end of the month when I got the chance to spend the morning skiing on perfect powder day, under a bluebird sky. Dan and I skied together all afternoon, then went to dinner sans kids. I have no regrets about enjoying a glass of wine with that meal. I will say, avoiding alcohol for nearly a month felt pretty good. I never felt deprived. If anything, I felt better. I slept better, and the dark circles under my eyes faded.

Speaking

Right before we went to Tahoe, I had a chance to give a talk on Impostor Syndrome at Flatirons Running, which was a lot of fun. I swear Impostor Syndrome is a real thing. Watch me prove it in this video:

I also gave a workshop on Impostor Syndrome at the DU’s Annual Women’s Conference and it was awesome. There were at least 60 people crammed into the room, with some pulling in chairs, and a few sitting on the floor. I felt discombobulated when I practiced it alone in my basement. When I practiced on Dan, I felt a lot better about it. And when I did it for real, I felt 100% on. I couldn’t have asked for a more engaged audience.

Writing

I wrote How Ten Minutes a Day Changed my Relationship With My Preschooler for Parent.co, and it elicited a ton of engagement on Facebook. It turns out, many of us struggle with our preschoolers. If you’ve ever wondered how so much difficult can be packed into three feet, I have a huge high five for you. As Brene Brown put it so eloquently, “The two most powerful words when we’re in struggle: Me too.”

Other posts I published on Parent.co recently that Facebook might not have shown you:

How to Successfully Take Your Kids Skiing (and a big shout-out to all the knowledgeable parents who gave me tips for this one)

I Don’t Mind That My Toddler Has No Interest in Potty Training (because it’s not fair to just write about her big sis)

How to Show Your Kids You Love Them on Valentine’s Day. I didn’t include giving them candy with breakfast, but I am totally doing that tomorrow.

Several years ago I summed up all Valentine’s Days of my life in a blog post that is one of my faves. Click here if you’re curious about all the unfortunate ways in which I spent Valentine’s Day with before I met Dan, and how I scored an amazing door as a V-day gift in 2005. (Hint: an awesome guy I will love forever whose name rhymes with Brad gave it to me).

 

What are you wearing, reading, writing, or doing lately that’s noteworthy?

Happy Valentine’s Day!

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