This working thing has really been killing my bloguctivity, but yes, I’m still here. 

Many things have happened since I last confessed my sins.  In no particular order of importance . . .

Running:  One more race and I’m officially done until January.  I’m doing a local Thanksgiving Day race.  I didn’t do the half marathon last weekend as I had planned (and trained for) - mostly because my body hurts in weird places and frankly, running 3 last year was enough.  I dropped down to the 8k and had my best race of the season.  I am definitely a cold weather runner.  I ran consistently and quickly (considering how I’ve been running).  I had enough energy that during the last mile to really push myself.  Flying down the final hill to the finish line, I remembered why running is so addictive.  But since then, I haven’t had the urge to do it . . . probably because I’m exhausted, busy, and fighting a cold.  I won’t be able to run until January due to some surgery looming on December 2nd.  It’s nothing major but it requires me to not lift anything over 10 lbs for a month and NO exercise except for walking.  Whee-haaah, I’m going to be insane. 

Work: Really, really busy.  Incredibly busy.  Working on higher level stuff than I’d dared to hope for.  Trying to stay on top of it while navigating the enormity of the organization.  I’m still enjoying the structure and the brain power there, and I’m still not taking the free pens and post-it notes for granted.

I’m Petty and Hurt: I’m mostly over what happened before and after the separation and subsequent divorce from my husband.  Sometimes, though, I discover a landmine under my unsuspecting and blissfully stupid feet. Just when I think I’m immune to those old pains, it detonates and I’m left dazed and muddy, wondering what the hell just happened.  This happened recently.  I want to think that I am a bigger person, that I am not the type to let things bother me, especially petty things. But I’m not big enough yet - and maybe I never will be.  Out of the many things that happened during the worst period of my life, some are still so painful I have to look at them briefly, then look away for a month or two.  I can’t really delve into them because there is no good outcome and there never will be.  It’s just an ugly part of my life that cannot be changed or redrawn no matter how many times I poke it with a stick. 

One of those things was the loss of many friends - 2 in particular - that were nearly as painful as the loss of my marriage.  I’ve managed to come to terms with it, but only in the sense that it isn’t fixable and there is nothing anyone can do to repair it. 

To understand the issue I have to explain the background.  I was the social one in my marriage.  I was the one interested in outings, having friends over, going places, doing things, couples dates, etc.  When I didn’t put them together, they didn’t happen.  I don’t think my ex would disagree with this; he acknowledged it many times during discussions.  He wasn’t all that interested.  He had me, he had his work, and later he had the girls.  I always admired (and despised) his ability to be so content with so few things. 

That being said, he wasn’t all that interested in any of my friends either.  He was polite, went out when asked to, acted socially and attended parties.  But he was never attached or involved with any of them.  So you can imagine my surprise when years after this has all happened, I am reminded that he’s still talking to the one person I’m smarting the most over losing.  Especially when it is dropped casually in the car by my children’s random chatter.  Which lead to Lily asking me why I wasn’t friends with her anymore.  Which lead to a discussion I really didn’t want to have, but had anyway.  I answered her question as truthfully as I could without saying anything bad about anyone and also letting her know that occasionally even best friends have arguments that can’t be patched. 

(on another note, I find it interesting that I am still not willing to drop a bunch of our marital or friendship dirty laundry here - I guess I am “big enough” on some levels to act appropriately). 

After that discussion, I was left wondering what the motivation for both of my exes (ex-husband, ex-friend) is.  You could say that keeping our children in touch with each other is a “good thing”.  After all, many of their early milestones were spent together.  But . . . really?  It would be like me trying to get in touch with his law school friends and hang out with them and their children.  I realize part of what makes me ugly is that I did honestly classify people as “mine” and “his”. I don’t think it’s all that uncommon, but admitting I’ve gone down that road is icky.  And she was definitely “my” friend.  Every time I hear about them getting together, I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut.  There is part of me who also mourns the fact that I won’t get to see her child grow up, a child I loved like my own.  So this means I should be happy my kids will, but I’m not.  I’m not happy about any of it.  In short, anything that reminds me of her and that situation hurts so much I can’t bear it.  I’m frustrated and sad - at myself for caring about it, and at them for continuing to talk. 

I could write 5,000 pages on everything that happened over the years to make me snap when I did during my relationship with her.  But I’m not going to.  I’ve hashed it all out over the years in therapy, and I’m done with it.  It will always hurt but I also realized that the letter I had written to her was never going to be sent.  I didn’t want to talk about anything, which was really the first time in my life I accepted that I couldn’t - and didn’t want to - fix something that was broken.  I needed to be okay with her thinking I just went crazy and accept that she has one view of what happened.  There was no real point in trying to explain how I got to that point, because it wouldn’t have changed the outcome. 

So the question is now how I handle her infrequent interactions with my children, and how I handle processing why in a million years my ex would even be slightly interested in maintaining a relationship with her.  Still working on this issue and trying to find a way to be a better person. 

[Someone asked me recently if I thought she, or my ex, or my ex’s girlfriend reads this blog.  No idea - but if they do - hi to all of you.  I am positive I would never read anything like this if they were the ones writing it, but if it gives them a charge or helps them feel superior, more intelligent, and more together than I am, I’m happy to provide that platform.]

Running Boy:  Running Boy and I are still, well, running.  Sometimes it feels like that’s all we ever do.  I’d love to be able to say things are going to calm down, but they won’t.  The facts: between us there are 4 kids, 4 custody schedules, one bitter and unhappy ex-wife and 2 dogs.  I’ve had to accept some facts that are very hard for me.  In my fantasy world, I had a view of how my future would look and though I am very happy now, and feel settled and at peace with my life, the real vision of how things will need to be in order to function is very different than my original feeling.  I’ll get into details at some point when it’s more appropriate to do so, but let’s just say that I really wish I didn’t live in a highly conservative state right now.  The laws here that dictate what is right or wrong really bother me.  In short, the fact remains that from a strictly legal perspective, it’s ok to have different men in and out of your life (and your kid’s lives).  It’s not ok to have a serious committed relationship, however, because if one lives with another in the Commonwealth of Virginia without being married, your custody is up for discussion.  It’s really freaking bizarre. 

In the meantime, we have lots of fun, we rile each other’s children before bed time, run together, talk about how love makes you fat and generally enjoy life.  We both have earned some time to enjoy. I’m hopeful that very, very soon he’ll be one step closer to real freedom, or as free as one can get when you have children with someone else. 

In December, we’re celebrating our first year together.  Not sure what we’re doing yet, but hopefully it will involve a lot of either skiing, spa-like excesses, sleep or running.

State Hospital:

In a completely unrelated and almost bizarre manner, a friend posted this video on Facebook today.  The State Hospital in Traverse City was always one of my favorite places there. My earliest memory of the grounds dates back to elementary school. I had to do a leaf collecting project, and the State Hospital was famous for having a huge variety of trees.  I still remember my dad helping me pull a ginkgo leaf off while we compared it to a page in my textbook.  It was beautiful, albeit scary - too much crumbling brick and decay, but fascinating.  The video really captures all I loved about it.

Between my two jobs, motherhood and summer, my blog has suffered greatly.  Much as I think that everyone is hanging on every word, desperately refreshing their RSS feeds to see if a new post has emerged, you’re probably surviving without my lame updates. 

I’ve been busy with having fun, training for a triathlon, going to strange places throughout Virginia, and oh yes, working a bunch.  My nap mat season got off to a slow start, and thankfully a friend of mine needed a temporary admin person to get them through the summer.  It’s worked out well for all of us (at least I think so). 

The tri training has been rough. I feel woefully underprepared, but I have about a month to kick it in high gear.  Theresa has promised to help me with transitions and I am committed to doing more bike followed by runs; last time I tried that, my legs felt like they were glued to the ground.  It was misery, but it was also incredibly hot.  I’m slowly getting over my fear of cycling alone; this after a number of falls and being stung in the face while riding by some large black hornet thing (on a happy note, I managed to stay upright during the stinging incident).  1/2 Marathon training team starts August 6 so I’m going to chill out on any long runs until then.  I need to focus on other things and frankly my hip needs a break. 

Speaking of running, I was in Galax this past weekend.  I had the pleasure of running on a heavenly (read: flat) trail that paralleled the New River - hence the name the New River Trail.  Stretching 57 miles, I ran 12 of them over the course of 2 days.  I got to see horses, deer, rabbits, and thankfully, no black bears (Running Boy’s dad had told me I might).  We were also able to meet up with friends from his childhood running days and did a group run this morning.  We spent a large portion of the weekend at the Smoke on the Mountain BBQ Festival.  I learned a lot about southern culture, including how to flat foot.  It was strange to see a lot of older men dancing while the women held back; apparently flat footing appeals mostly to large white men wearing overalls or suspenders, jamming out in the middle of a street.  It was a lot of fun. 

Unfortunately I missed the overalls in this picture.  The band had switched from a rockin’ tune to something called “All That’s Left To Do Is Leave”, which had a lot of lyrics about taking your car keys and gettin’ the hell out.  It was actually really good. 

We stayed in Running Boy’s childhood home, which is a mix of old and new and full of antiques and random things (a spinning wheel next to a grand piano, a million books on bookshelves, large tomato plants ready to eat you as you exit the front door).  It was a little strange for me (and probably his parents) being in the same spaces he used to inhabit with his wife, but I soon forgot about most of that weirdness and embraced the joy of small town living. 

Although southwestern Virginia is a far cry from Northern Michigan, his home town and mine are very similar.  Walmart is the place to hang out on Saturday nights (just as Meijer is the happening place in Traverse City), the water plays a big role in the town (a large river as compared to one of the Great Lakes, but still wet and freakishly cold), you can’t walk down the street without running into someone you went to school with or knows your parents or god forbid, used to date you when you a.) had hair (in Running Boy’s case) or b.) had bad hair (in my case).  Most everything is family owned (or used to be), and a handful of industries supports the majority of the town.  Up until this morning I thought I could definitely live in Small Town Virginia; then I tried to get coffee after my long run.  Nope.  It’s Sunday.  Everyone’s in church.  Running Boy warned me about this and said everyone goes to church.  My retort?  “Well, shee-yit (getting my southern on) . . . even churchgoers need coffee!”  I was wrong; when God said rest, he also forbid coffee. 

We did things like soaking swollen and tired feet in icy evil creek water:

nearly kill ourselves on moss-covered rocks at Elk Creek:

And eating badly at the BBQ competition and a coffee shop specializing in ganache-covered brownies.

2 weeks ago, we spent some time in Waynesboro, a favorite place of mine since first visiting it in 1994 when I still worked for Artrain.  Dan surprised Nicole by dragging her out and surprising her with the gift that keeps on giving (me of course!).  They stayed at a B&B down the road from ours and we spent a lot of time walking and yakking and practicing cannonballs in our B&B’s pool.  (Sorry about that, B&B owners)

Next weekend I’ll be in Blacksburg again visiting Dan and Nicole, but this time I’m taking the girls tubing with our hosts in Radford.  They are very excited.  The following weekend I’ll be in Wintergreen for a partial girl’s/spa weekend and some much needed time with Andrea and Joe.  In between these things I’ll be training and working and trying to squeeze in some sleep. 

All of this travel has reminded me:  travel can be inexpensive, and I can have fun doing just about anything.  I love road trips and I love seeing new places; it’s really nice to have someone who enjoys these things as much (or maybe more) than I do. 

By the way, I’m blogging from the passenger seat of my car.  I love Running Boy’s Verizon hotspot.  Now even my work can follow me in the car; I just processed an order while going 80 through the Blacksburg area. 

I ran my first mud run this weekend - a lil’ trail run affectionately called the Filthy 5k.  Sponsored by a beer company, how could one go wrong?  A hilly course, rock hopping, a swinging footbridge, 2200 other people wandering around in the setting sun trying not to break a leg or fall face first into the muddy James River . . . sounds like fun!

And it was, don’t get me wrong.  Running Boy told me I would like it.*  I guess he figured that since I appear to like being sweaty and gross with all the running I do, I would just LOVE to be sweaty, gross AND muddy. 

I went into it with realistic expectations.  It’s not really a race; the trails are very narrow and if the people in front of you slow down or walk over the scarier parts, you have no choice but to do the same.  I enjoyed the scenery, ran at my own pace, and because of the fear of water and mud, I ran without both my Garmin AND my iPhone, a first in who knows how long.  Not knowing my pace or my elapsed time, combined with listening to the cadence of my feet on the trails and the speed or slowness of my breath was refreshing.  I only missed my music once - when the frat boys (literally) behind me started talking about their latest conquests in the bedroom.  At that point I would have even enjoyed Running Boy’s death metal over that. 

I’m always wondering why I keep running, and then I’ll have a run - or a race - that reminds me why I do it.  This time, we started out on a flat trail that meandered through a field overlooking the river.  Immediately after, we began traversing a hill and within the first half mile, people were walking.  I may be carrying some extra weight, but my legs are damn strong now and can carry me up hills that before would have scared me into a walk just looking at them.  My breathing and heart rate recovery are all much better, so I know that if I can push through the hill, I’ll feel fine in a matter of 30 seconds to a minute.  Theresa’s voice always reverberates in my mind as I approach a hill:  “We don’t stop on the hills.  We pick them off on the hills.”  I also say stupid things like, “This hill is my bitch,”  but since this is a family-friendly event I kept it internal.  I blew past a bunch of people in my wave and hit the first bridge at an even pace and allowed my breathing to catch up to my feet.  I looked around and reminded myself how lucky I was to be living in a city with events like these, and with views like these.  I get down on Richmond a bit, but for the kind of life I live, it’s pretty spectacular. 

The event organization left much to be desired, unfortunately.  You can ask my friend Sarah how much I like being stressed out before a race - and by “before”, I mean literally the minutes before.  Standing in an unmoving ridiculous line just to get your bib number moments before you are supposed to be at the starting line is not my idea of a runner’s stretch.  For a moment I thought the crowd was about to lynch one of the organizers - there was chanting and more than one F bomb thrown in his direction.  The end result is that many of us started in a later wave than we were supposed to, and the race was delayed a bit.  I was fine since I was in the last wave anyway, but I feel sorry for those stuck behind me and ended up finishing a rocky, slippery trail run in what amounted to twilight. 

For those that ask “how muddy do you get?”, here is a picture. If you look at my legs you will get a general idea.  I am wearing white socks and black capris that went just below my knees, and my running shoes were white:

(what did I do with my shoes?  donated them at the end of the race to an organization who cleans and repairs them, then resells them at low rates to charitable organizations or other countries in need of shoes)

I’ve mentioned before that Running Boy and I, although we run “together”, we don’t run together.  This means we arrive together and leave together, but considering he came in 3rd in his age group and I came in 31st in my age group, our average paces are very far apart.  This is unfortunate because he never sees me start a race and I never see him finish one.  After scrambling my way out of a literal mudslide that landed me in the James River, I was so waterlogged that with every footfall water and mud squirted forcefully out of the side of my shoes.  I was getting a little tired until I realized I was approaching the other side of the river - just one more bridge to cross and it would be over. I picked up the pace and realized I was staring blankly at the face of Running Boy, who was laughing at me.  He’d finished, rinsed off, grabbed some food and water, and futzed around.  He decided to run backwards on the course and ended up meeting me right as I was about to run the long steep ramp up to the bridge. 

Theresa and Gina are famous for “running me in”, but I’m not used to anyone else doing it.  It made a huge difference having him with me, because I wasn’t overly concerned about getting a PR or looking good. I was coated in mud and limping from blisters caused by wet socks; looking good really wasn’t an option at that point.  We rolled in together, Running Boy dropping off right before I crawled under a net and into the final mud pit. 

End result:  44:22.  Considering my normal 5k time is around 30 minutes, I’m happy with my first mud run time. 

The lines to rinse off were ridiculous, so after donating my shoes, I limped over to a small area near the river.  I noticed people dropping articles of clothing on the ground and jumping into a not-very-warm river, so I figured what the hell**:

Best of all, I saw no used needles or dead bodies, so all was good and I was slightly less muddy. 

The other amazing thing about running:  how great food tastes when it’s over.  We met up with two good friends for dinner in Northside - (The Mill - yummy).  I had a pizza with feta, artichokes and kalamata olives and nearly made love to it right there on the table.  Add some chilled conch salad and a giant pitcher of water followed by key lime pie and you have a happy, albeit mud-spattered girl. 

Final notes:  better race organization next year, please, Sportsbackers, and yes please, more mud runs. 

* for a guy who is almost obsessive about his own personal hygiene, it cracks me up how much he loves to wallow in the mud and be covered in sweat.

** the dorky hand gesture I am making in the river is a joke; Running Boy makes a silly “hang loose” gesture whenever he sees a camera on a race course and I enjoy ridiculing him whenever I get a chance.  When he runs around 3-4 minutes per mile faster than I do, I need to take any shot I can to knock his ego down a peg. 

I am FINALLY coming out of the funk of all funks.  I’ve been funking so long, I’ve forgotten that I’m even IN a funk.  It started to feel normal to me.  I don’t like that version of normality.

My kids stepped off the bus today.  I haven’t seen them since Thursday afternoon.  They shrieked and squeezed me and told me how much they loved me; within an hour, they were back to fighting.  However, those initial hugs and the “Mommy, I missed you SO much” comments made it all worth it.  We opened their little gifts from Alabama and headed off to the mall so Lily could get her new earrings cleaned and switched out. 

My trip to ‘Bama helped out a bunch.  First, I went with a friend I’ve known FOREVER.  22 years is a long time to know someone.  Hailing from the same state reminds one of all the weird cultural quirks that are indigenous to your wacky homeland; hailing from the same tiny hometown is just hilarious.  A close friend was getting married; I tagged along because hey, who doesn’t want to spend a weekend in Alabama? Not THIS girl!

A couple of things I learned about Alabama and myself while away:

1.  Northern Alabama is pretty.  Hilly, green, and friendly. 
2.  People in Alabama drive even worse than people in Virginia.  Holy god, it’s amazing we are still alive.
3.  If attending an afternoon wedding in Alabama, do not wear these shoes.  It’s overkill. 

4.  Always ask the person you’re attending the wedding with, “Is this an afternoon or an evening wedding?”  Depending on the answer, adjust your shoe preference. 
5.  Alabama is really.  REALLY.  REALLLLLY conservative. 
6.  Rose and Allen were the bomb.  Their families were wonderful and welcoming and Rose made me cry twice, because she was so kind.  You can see her beautiful photographs here.   I wish she lived closer; I’d actually enjoy having her photograph me and the girls.  She’d make us all look amazing. 
7.  Clinking glasses to make the bride and groom kiss is apparently a very northern thing.  I found this out when everyone stared silently at us, wondering why we were hitting our knives on the wine glasses and making hooting sounds. 
8. Running 10 miles in the rain before a half day of sitting on a plane is generally a bad idea.
9.  Sometimes, people from your past can make the present that much better. 

Getting out of Richmond even for a few days helped me shake the fog off my psyche.  Truthfully, I needed a break from my home and the things in it.  I needed a break from thinking too much about things that aren’t good for me.  I needed to stop being indignant and hostile because frankly SOME PEOPLE ARE JUST SO DARN STUPID AND THEIR STUPIDITY AFFECTS OTHER PEOPLE DAMMIT.  Alabama and my friends helped erase the indignation and help me accept that yep, some people are stupid and really, at the end of the day, it’s me that’s stupid for letting them piss me off.  My friend is going through a wacky divorce process too, complete with some serious depression and sadness, so we’ve alternated being each other’s rocks.  There was a morning not too long ago where I didn’t think I could get out of bed.  I was right; I didn’t get out of bed til close to lunch, but with some conversation and texting I made it through.  Those simple reminders of “this too shall pass” and other trite phrases can sometimes be all I need to make it another 24 hours. 

I laugh sometimes about my “impulsivity”.  It was an impulsive decision to agree to go to Alabama.  But as many times as I regret my impulsivity, 75% of the time the most wonderful things happen when I stop overthinking everything and trust my gut.  Therapist Jennifer tells me my judgment is right on, as long as I’m actually listening to what it tells me.  In this case, my judgment WAS right on.  I went, I laughed, I remembered why people like me.  I remembered why I liked myself, and that was the best part of it all. 

In Michigan, it took a blizzard of epic proportions to keep kids out of school.  I clearly remember my dad fishtailing his way up the giant hill to Junior High cheerfully blasting NPR and giving me a hearty “Have a great day, Sweetheart!” at the top of his lungs while I considered the repercussions of flipping him, and the school system, the bird. 

When we did have snowstorms of epic proportions, school would be canceled one or two days at the max.  If we got the second day, I can still recall the pure joy burning through my veins - TWO DAYS in a ROW!!!  Later, when I could drive, my diesel Rabbit would be unplugged from the power source that enabled it to start on cold days and my friends would pile in.  Donuts in the high school parking lot (the kind that don’t make you fat), specifically looking for icy roads so we could spin out - it’s no wonder I still remember how to drive in terrible conditions.  Is it possible my parents actually let me drive in that stuff?  They were probably so fed up with me, they would have let me drive the Rabbit across West Bay just to get me out of their hair.  The ice was so thick I could have anyway.  Not that I ever tried it. 

It is true that every 4th vehicle in my hometown of Traverse City, Michigan was either a snowplow, sand truck or a very large 4 x 4 truck with two pieces of triangular metal welded to the front - the makeshift redneck snowplow.  Therefore, it was rare that that the buses couldn’t get anywhere on the days it snowed very hard.  The entire population of hearty corn-fed Michiganders banded together in an ice-fueled festival of “CLEAR THE ROADS!” and got out there, shoveling, snowblowing, welding metal to their cars, and making sure their precious kiddies never missed a day of edu-macation.  I’m sure I’m making this up but I wouldn’t be surprised if Grand Traverse County voted unanimously to outfit all school buses with chains during the winter months of September through May. 

I’m not going to launch into a tirade about Virginia, or Henrico County, or the lack of snowplows and budgets.  It’s rare we get snow like this so okay, I get it, but that doesn’t help the insanity that sets in.  I have to ask:  why is it that the first time in nearly a year, I have a paid contract job and my kids are suddenly home, crazy from cabin fever, and crawling all over me like ants on syrup?  I get that every single solitary freakin’ back road in the entire county has to be cleared before the buses can run because if a single child can’t be bussed in to school, then dammit, no kids will suffer the misery of education! 

I think even the kids are starting to miss school.  And that’s saying a lot. 

Last week was “my” week with the kids.  No school Monday through Wednesday.  Lily went half day on Thursday; anytime there is a half-day Arden’s preschool is cancelled.  Based on the threat of bad weather, schools closed again on Friday.  Yep.  The threat.  Not only does forecasting bad weather send everyone streaming into stores for milk and bread (and according to Nicole and Dan, Rainbow Cookies from Ukrops), it sends the schools into a frenzy of OMG OMG OMG we need to preemptively close schools. 

I know.  Safety first.  But can we mix in a healthy dose of reality?  The rest of the Virginia universe drove around, to work and to Ukrops for more Rainbow Cookies - all week long.  Most were miserable and stressed out, going either 104 mph in their Suburbans and Lexus SUVs.  The rest drove 3 mph and randomly stopped in the middle of the roads.  Oh and by the way?  Did you know that snowplows don’t have to follow basic traffic rules, like stopping for red lights?  Yeah, we were almost creamed by one yesterday.  I even saw a snowplow in a ditch in the middle of 64 over the weekend - that had to be embarrassing. 

We had another wicked snowstorm this weekend.  I’d venture a guess and say it was worse than the one we had last weekend.  If my calculations are correct, this will mean the kids will be out of school for the next week entirely.  And there may be some freezing rain mid-week, the threat of which may cause them to cancel school for a third week in a row.  Did I mention the paid contract due at the end of this month?  Did I mention the ants in syrup reference previously? 

Yesterday the fighting and nitpicking reached a fever pitch.  I clearly recall saying, “I’m going to lock you both in a dark room with soundproofing and feed you through a slot in the door if you don’t knock it off.”  I also lost it entirely when Arden was screaming and crying because she was “cold”.  She was “cold” because I’d let her use my bathtub as a pool and she’d stayed in for nearly 90 minutes.  Why would Arden be cold?  She was running around the house buck naked refusing a towel and screaming at me that she was cold.  It was refusal of towels that caused a psychotic break in me.  We both survived the cold incident, but just barely. 

I have meetings this week that will be canceled.  I’ve already abused my regular babysitter with favors; time to start hitting up the neighbors or just standing on the side of the road with a billboard advertising Two Sometimes Well Behaved Children In Need of Entertainment. 

To those parents like me - hanging onto their sanity by their fingernails - I salute you.  And I actually feel a tiny bit of guilt for the joy I felt when schools closed.  My poor mother.  If it makes you feel any better, mom, I’m paying it back in spades now.