It’s been quite a hiatus, between the holidays, traveling and eating myself into an early grave.  I swear I don’t do it on purpose but Running Boy is right:  writing when I’m happy is a lot harder than writing when I’m sad. 

Work has kept me busy, as well as the myriad of commitments and fun things that happen every December.  My kids had a great Christmas, and Arden lost both of her two front teeth just late enough where I couldn’t sing “All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth”.  She has an adorable lisp now and a huge gap to accommodate her incoming fangs.  I spent most of their winter break trying to live in the moment and not think too much about the various uncertainties of my near-future.  I did well at that for a time, but am now back into planning mode.  It’s my nature to examine situations from all angles and attempt to have a game plan for any outcome.  Perhaps I should have been a lawyer, since that’s what most of them do for a living – figure out worst-case scenarios and ways to avoid them. 

I still love my job, but I occasionally mourn the loss of my mom-life where I could set my hours and spend time in the afternoons with the girls.  I don’t miss not having money and the times work would happen inevitably right after the girls got home, and I’d end up telling them to quiet down so I could get some stuff done or take a phone call.  My life is much more compartmentalized now than it was, and that’s been good for me. I thrive on routine and I love being able to come home from work and for the most part, shelve any feelings or ideas about it until the next morning at 8 am. 

Running Boy got me an iPad for Christmas, which was really unexpected and over the top but I am in love with that thing like whoa.  I think my recent bout of insomnia and sleep deprivation is directly related to the amount of time I spend glued to it, and Netflix is probably going to go bankrupt because of how many movies I have already downloaded.  I’ll get my $7.99/month worth, dammit. 

For our one year anniversary, we headed to Grottoes, VA for New Year’s weekend.  Two of our close friends joined us.  We stayed at a placed called the High Laurel Inn and it was amazing.  Perched on the side of a mountain overlooking the Shenandoah Valley, we had our own side of a converted barn complete with fireplace and private balcony.  Our friends had the other side of the barn.  Their big selling point to us was an outdoor 6 person hot tub sharing the same view with the rest of the property.  Much champagne and wine was consumed from that perch.  I slept a lot – more than I probably should have.  It had been awhile since I’d been able to unwind enough where I felt lazy and slothlike.  After a day of that, we spent New Year’s Day hiking.  Prior to that hike, I had run once and worked out on an elliptical machine once since being released back to normal life activity after a month off post-surgery.  Feeling cocky, lazy and slothlike,  we chose a “strenuous” 10 mile hike because our inn host offered to drop us at the trailhead.  Another selling point of the inn was the proximity to trails in the Shenandoah National Park.  We could hike the trail, then hop off when we passed by the inn. 
Although I’d looked at the trail map before we attempted the hike, I hadn’t really grasped the fact that the first 5 ½ miles were uphill.  And I mean straight uphill. Additionally, the idea was to hike the first half and run the trail the second half.  Anytime the ground began to “flatten out”, we started running.  By the time we got to the actual flattish part of the terrain, my quads were shot from going downhill and my calves were screaming up the uphill bits.  Run that trail once or twice a week and you’d be in great shape. 

The scenery was gorgeous, and would have made an excellent natural headstone for my dead body.  However, Running Boy kept pushing me onward and cheerfully pestering me with comments and questions.  Then he figured out the key to getting me through the hike: promising me dinner and another soak in the hot tub. 

After the immediate feeling of death passed, we talked about doing another hike soon since we did have a good time and it’s a pretty inexpensive (and healthy) way to spend a day.  I don’t want to make the same mistake I made while living in Northern Michigan.  Growing up around the beauty we had at our doorstep made me nearly immune to it.  As much as I gripe about Virginia, there are some amazing places to visit and things to do.  So as we save our money this winter and spring, we’ll probably be doing quite a bit of mountainous exploring and trail running. 

My lease is up in May – big decisions about what to do and how.  The only thing I know for certain is that I want to stay in the same school district.  I finally feel 100% happy with where they go, and I don’t want to rock that particular boat quite yet.  It makes my living options very limited as it’s a small area that feeds into their school.  Half of it is $500k and up homes; the other half is tiny brick ranchers that are still overpriced because of the school district.  I’m not really into either option.  That’s one of those areas I’m avoiding thinking about. 

In the meantime, I am still waiting for some finality in other areas of my life.  One of my big Christmas gifts came early when Running Boy got some closure.  The second half of that is right around the corner, and I will be so very happy when one less thing is hanging over both of our heads. 

Around this time of year, I always pull some financial reports on my little tiny company to see how badly I’m doing.  I’m not bothering this year because I don’t need a report to tell me how much the economy has wreaked havoc on my websites, only one of which still exists in its original form.

But, I can do a YTD comparison from last year to this one personally.  So much has changed.

I am not sure I really wrote much about last December, but it was horrible.  It was officially the first Christmas/Holiday season without the kids and the husband and the house.  My rental was freezing cold and every night I’d walk around, turning out the lights, and the camel crickets in their half-frozen state would jump half-heartedly in my direction.  It was just so dark around here, no amount of candlelight or faux Christmas cheer could warm or brighten a room.  Forcing myself to put the tree up or lights outside took huge amounts of energy.  I wanted to hide, but when you have kids, you can’t.  I took one for the team, so to speak, and when the girls weren’t with me at night, I’d unplug everything and wrap up in a blanket to kill the perma-frost in this badly insulated house. 

A bunch of things fell apart in December of 2010.  And for the first time since I first hit the big wall of “I give up” in September of 2009, I hit a newer, bigger wall.  Only this time, I knew a hospital stay wouldn’t fix it. 

I gutted my way through two weeks of holiday hell and cheer.  I stayed with friends, buried myself in books, put on a happy face in front of the girls, and waited for whatever this particular brand of crap was to go away. 

There are no words to explain how bad those few weeks were.  I gave up, but held on because I had to.  I had a dog to feed, kids to love, bills to pay. I did not want to be here and I did not want to feel anything - good or bad - ever again.  Normally so in touch with my feelings, I shut down completely and went numb. If someone had asked me to do a self-portrait then, it would have been a painting of a bag of potatoes in a dark cellar.  I couldn’t move. 

It finally lifted, but not until January. 

On December 31st, I ran the Resolution Run.  I needed to prove some things to myself, namely that I still existed in a form strong enough to complete something/anything.  Someone I knew from the running community asked me if I was running it.  This was after I sent out a group text to everyone I knew (including him) going through divorce, wishing them the best.  I said yes.  We decided to meet up there, run the race and have drinks after.  It was New Year’s Eve, after all, and both of us were coming off a pretty crappy year.  Divorce, kids, financial pressures:  we had been through the wringer, in our separate hells. 

Turns out that my “date” for the race became my date for the year.  Running Boy made me laugh that night, and it felt so foreign that it hurt to do it. My ribs weren’t used to expanding and my lungs were still asleep. I found myself talking, the words easier to string together.  I remembered that I had a brain, and a heart, and that I too could make others laugh. 

We were slow in our movements.  Introducing kids took a while, as it should.  Our relationship was complex by its nature.  We both have kids, work, family stuff and commitments.  Because of the complexity, we did everything tentatively.  I didn’t introduce him to any of my friends except those in the running community who already knew him.  He didn’t talk about me much, either.  I know that on my end, I’d been burned so badly by others I had no desire to share anything about my personal life with anyone. 

Most notably, for the first time in any relationship, I had no desire to drag up all my crap and throw it in his face in the name of honesty.  Many experiences have made me who I am today, for better or worse, but I didn’t have the need for him to hear, understand, accept, and look at all of the bad things I’ve said or done.  Important details have emerged when they are needed, but neither of us spent much time dissecting the past.  He’d done a lot of his post-marital legwork and I’d analyzed myself to hell and back.  It was time for me to stop thinking about living life and start doing it. 

So we did. 

In one year, I did more traveling than I’d done in 10.  In January, we took a day and attempted to visit “numerous” wineries to the west of Richmond.  We made it to exactly one because someone (not me) had a few too many samples.  We ended up spending the afternoon with the winery owners, sitting in a beautiful log cabin overlooking the mountains. 

In February we did the Six in the Sticks Chili Run with many of our friends and celebrated a hellish trail run with bandages and coffee and chili. 

In March, we headed off first to Williamsburg for a lovely stay at a B&B, then to Virginia Beach for the Shamrock half marathon after running the Shamrock Shuffle earlier in the month.  Shamrock weekend was legendary, in many ways - friends, togetherness, a great race, beautiful weather, ocean, down time. 

April meant running the Monument Avenue 10K with more good friends, Easter and egg hunts with our kids together, and family dinners. 

We went Andrea and Joe’s wedding - a fabulous experience - combined with another B&B and long run through new territory in southern Virginia.  A fishing expedition at my friend Mary’s house with all 4 kids catching their first live fish.  Run Like a Girl in Charlotte, where Susan and Eddie met him for the first time.  My first Mud Run with him.  Memorial Day weekend with the Greens and part of his family at the Eastern Shore.  Trail runs with Theresa, Prissie, Gina and whoever else felt up to it.  Tubing with Trevor at Dan and Nicole’s - the two of us accepting ridicule for renting the “couples tube” (a figure 8-style inflatable so we could both ride together).  A weekend getaway mid-summer to Waynesboro.  Barbecue and Folk Music festivals in Galax and plenty of runs on the New River Trail, while learning to appreciate Southwest Virginia.  Another weekend trip to Wintergreen with more hiking and running.  Visits to the Children’s Museum with all 4 of the kids, managing not to lose any of them.  Date nights at Sushi-O, taking his daughter to get her first salon mani and pedi, reading to his son while trying to make train sounds without sounding like a psycho.  Hay rides and pumpkin patches.  A weekend in DC with good friends and the Army 10-miler.  Seeing Todd’s band play out for the first time in a long while.  Museums and art galleries (my choice), offset by his need to “mantique” (read: look at junk he doesn’t need).  Thanksgiving together. 

In a year, my life completely changed.  I got a job - one that I like, one that challenges me.  I met someone who complements me in many ways while still allowing me the freedom to stay me.  He’s strong and opinionated; he’s soft and kind; he’s 100% male but has an affectionate side that has warmed even the coldest of hearts in my life.  While it’s been difficult, and the kids have struggled to accept his position in my life, 12 months later we’re doing a whole lot better. 

I think back to the utter hopelessness I felt last year at this time, the dread of seeing my divorce finalized, the sheer emptiness I felt when I left my kids on Christmas Day to force myself on a 10 mile run just to kill the boredom and sadness.  I still have my hard times but they are different now.  The pieces have fallen together, and they don’t look the way I thought they would, but they still make a pretty picture and one I can live with.  I struggle still to be flexible with the direction of my life, but he has made that easier for me.  Even when he irritates the living hell out of me, we both end up laughing about it.  When I push back against the way my life looks, he reminds me of what we both have to gain by being understanding and flexible and it’s usually what I need to hear. 

You don’t need me to spell this allegory out for you, so I’ll just say:  My house is still so cold in winter, but I got an infrared heater.  The camel crickets aren’t around much anymore, and I joyfully put up my Christmas decor this year.  (Running Boy, staring at the excessive decorations: ‘Ummm, do you do this every year?’) I enjoyed shopping for gifts, I’ve been hugging my friends a lot, and even though I’m off from running for a month, I’m happy to be taking steps to be healthier and stronger. 

It’s been a really good year. 

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.

(note:  so very tired, grammatical errors ahead.  cut me some slack.)

In the last three weeks, I’ve started a new job, finished my first big project, raced in Washington DC, had a birthday celebration (small scale) for Arden, had a birthday celebration (large scale) for Arden including mass chaos at a Build-A-Bear followed by even bigger chaos at a slumber party, followed by lack of sleep, a 10 mile run, and a huge, successful and very loud surprise party for Running Boy followed by breakfast, cleanup, dehydration and an overwhelming need for narcolepsy. 

So to back it up:  work.  Work is work, yes, but it’s also way more strategic than I’d hoped and is actually challenging me more than I was lead to believe.  This either means I’ve dumbed myself way down over the past decade or it’s just good and honest challenging work.  I like my team and have only irritated someone one (by putting lotion on a dry ankle; apparently she’s very sensitive to smells and had no issues letting me know about it).  I’ve been cramming my running and workouts into the days somehow.  I’ve also been adjusting to the unfabulous thing that is workplace food.  Communal eating is rampant on my floor and someone is always bringing in some junk or other.  This defies logic, as I work with some of the thinnest people I’ve known.  It’s wreaking havoc on my own self-esteem issues but I am trying to get over. 

Army 10-miler: I had a fabulous weekend in DC with Running Boy and our friends Andrea and Joe.  I could go on and on about it, but the Renaissance in Pentagon City is amazing, the weather was beautiful, Ethiopian food doesn’t agree with Running Boy’s internal machinery, and seeing our friends before a moving running experience was really amazing.  The race itself wasn’t what I’d call well thought out.  This is strange, considering it’s a government that can run huge projects with millions of people and . . . oh, wait.  Right.  Government.

The plus side:  running with veterans, some missing legs and arms or both, some with prosthetics and some in wheelchairs, really brings home the cost of a war.  It was an odd race in that many times throughout the 10 miles, I felt myself close to tears and not just because I really wanted to stop running.  Watching mothers and sisters, wives, girlfriends, friends . . . all of them running with pictures of their dead on their backs.  It was a hard thing to take in, especially against the backdrop of a gorgeous day, the sun crashing against the Potomac and the monuments and cherry trees at my back. 

The down side:  Joe had to stop at mile 2 for help with his knee and I ran the last 8 alone.  The first 10k was good.  The last 4 miles was just ugly and miserable.  I was hot, slow, and even all the cute army boys manning the water stops weren’t enough eye candy to keep me going.  I walked the better portion of the last 2 miles, just to find myself dehydrated and overheated while I wandered around a parking lot at the Pentagon, attempting to find a particular Hooah tent in the middle of what seemed like thousands of other tents.  Did they provide a map of what tent contained what unit?  Nope.  Nor did I realize that after 45 minutes and yes, let’s admit it, a few tears of utter frustration and the dire need to sit down, that I’d meet up with everyone just to walk another mile back to the metro station.  Even better - a runner, waiting for the metro, decided that chugging water would make him feel better.  “Chugging” and “post race hydration” do not go hand and hand.  While we all charged through the opening train doors, Chugger expelled the water he’d just inhaled in a 50 mph arc.  The last 1/4 of the arc hit my right side and legs.  Oddly he continued onto the train, still gagging, at which point the doors closed in time for him to release another jet onto a new group of people. 

It was a long ride back to Richmond, and I admit my crankiness at Running Boy’s custody schedule continues to irritate me.  Don’t know why I can’t just accept it for what it is and hope for a change in it soon, but I’m not going to lie:  losing the majority of every other Sunday makes traveling nearly impossible.  And I’m tired of feeling like his situation still dictates what I can and cannot do. 

HOWEVER.  The weekend was great and I got a tiny bit of down time before . . .

Arden turned 7. Family dinner on Tuesday, following by a whirlwind week of school stuff, work and coordination.  Her actual birthday party included 8 kids at Build a Bear workshop.  Yes, I’m still disturbed by a steel pipe shoved up the rectum of an unsuspecting bear or rabbit, but the girls really love it and Arden even stuffed the butt of an owl for me.  After, we had pizza and cake at the house.  I will admit that I overextended the invitation.  3 girls plus Arden is probably plenty; I did way more than that, and I paid the price for it.  This also includes the idea of the girls going home to their parents saying, “Arden’s mom is MEAN!”  I had to do a lot of “mom-voice” and threatening.  One girl actually left at 11.30 because the dryer beeped and she said the noise sounded like a robot. I got no sleep that night, but had to be up at 6 to get ready for a 10 mile training run.

pics:

So why not skip it?  Because the longer runs are important and after running 8 miles alone after 2 with company, I had no desire to try to get 10 miles in isolation.  I had a babysitter come at 6.30 to help get the girls up, dressed and fed before the parents came to pick them up. I paid well; that was quite a task for her.  The 10 miles itself was really nice.  A side note:  that particular route is the one I did on Christmas morning after leaving the girls with Mike.  It was my first Christmas without them since their birth, and it was a pretty wretched day.  The route is one of my favorites because it’s mostly flat and full of good people watching, but the roads still hold a trace of the utter despair I left behind on December 25. 

After, my mother showed up to entertain Lily and Arden.  Through many very complex gyrations and a lot of help from friends, especially the aforementioned mother, Andrea and Renee, not to mention the boys who kept him busy Saturday, I was able to pull off a huge coup and actually surprise Running Boy with a huge birthday party. 

Side note #2.  I had originally thought I’d combine his birthday with a divorce party, because SURELY he’d be divorced by October, right?  Well, I wasn’t right, but I continued on with my planning.  I can’t even explain how complex it was trying to shuttle four kids around without setting off warning bells, but with some careful planning and some crafty lying, I had him convinced we were going “away” for a night.  When it finally clicked, he was pretty impressed.  His friends amaze me; 20+ years of knowing him and they drive all kinds of hours to make it down for this party.  It was a mixed bag of people; some of our running friends, some of my friends who have learned to love him, many of his friends I was meeting for the first time (and who got over how weird it was that I’d hijacked his phone and began sending random text messages to people I’d never talked to about coming to a party I was hosting).  Everyone seemed to click, the beer flowed liberally, and in my second major coup of the day, I managed to talk Dean Fields into doing a house party.

(actually it isn’t that hard.  pick a date he’s available and write him a check, and he pretty much shows up…)

One of my first real dates with Running Boy was to see Dean play at Cap Ale here in Richmond.  It was a ton of fun and I’ve been a big connoisseur of his music since then.  He’s readily accessible through all the social media norms, so I reached out to him when I found out he did these house shows.  Some begging and pleading to move dates around and voila - he showed up at the house, mingled for an hour, played in the backyard in front of a roaring (duraflame) fire until his hands got so cold they went numb, and ended up sticking around for the rest of the wackiness.  It seemed as though most really enjoyed the experience, but for me it was incredibly meaningful.  As I’ve traveled the better portion of the last year with RB, Dean’s music has played on my iPhone and during many an ice bath, hot bath, or afternoon of doing nothing.  His music was the soundtrack to the end of my marriage and the start of my new life, and to have him play songs that are important to me was something I’ll never forget. 

pics:  (warning, not every pic is family friendly)

Arden had yet another birthday party to attend today, so I dragged my hungover, still dehydrated rear to the mall.  We ran after the kids and rode a train and tried not to be cranky as all of us were very tired.  It’s going to feel very good hitting the pillow in the next 5 minutes.  I also was going to post a video I took of Dean in the backyard, but it’s really crappy quality and you can see what his house shows are like by clicking the link above. 

I feel like I am coming off an adrenaline bender, and so looking forward to doing nothing next weekend.  For now, however, I am so grateful to those who made the weekend possible and for the ability to give something back to Running Boy.  He very much needed a bright spot among the few dark ones that remain. 

Half Marathon Training Team started this morning.  Just like a year ago, the day was hot and as the kick off speeches and requisite rah-rahs were belted out, everyone was already sweating.  Me, in my infinite wisdom, decided to skip the Fuel Belt this morning and run waterless.  It was “only” 4 miles - no big deal. 

Turns out it wasn’t 4 miles, though.  The routes were messed up and we ended up running between 5 and 5 1/2 miles, depending on who’s Garmin you trust and how many wrong turns you made. 

Last year, I was running with @stanleyfit and trying to just survive the 3 miles the novice team starts with.  I was just meeting my fellow “Cheetah” teammates and too embarrassed to tell them how close to death I was.  This year was marginally better because so many people were also dying out there with me.  Even Running Boy was struggling.  His planned 8 miles turned to a hot and sweaty 10.  I spent the entire 5 1/2 thinking, “Why am I doing this?  I’m 40, need to lose 20 pounds, and can’t breathe from my stupid asthma.  Who do I think I am?”

Oh, but the joyous fact about running is that whenever the run is done, those fabulous sweaty chemicals kick in and the Conquer the World syndrome sets in.  And thankfully with three 1/2 marathons under my belt, I know that when cooler weather arrives I’ll remember why I run and best of all, enjoy running again. 

Your team is determined by your average pace; usually one team will have people on it within a 2 minute pace of each other.  There are only three intermediate teams - the Panthers, the Springboks . . . and my team, the Red Bellied Cooters.  Running Boy is a Panther, of course.  I’m a freakin’ Cooter. 

Today, the great coaches we have showed up wearing red boas and holding signs that said, “HELLOOOOooooo - it’s a TURTLE!” and “Cooters, NOT HOOTERS!”  I started to feel the beginning of Cooter pride, but I still hated the fact that Running Boy is a hairy tuna-breathed overgrown cat and I’m a swampy turtle.  It was enough to almost send me sprinting back to the novice team of last year, my beloved Cheetahs. 

It’s been a rough summer with me and running; we don’t like each other right now and sometimes I feel like totally breaking up with it and changing my phone number.  I’m just hanging on for the lower humidity and the returning ability of my lungs to breathe.  It can’t get here soon enough.  Coming up this week:  20 miles.  I’m hoping it goes by more quickly than today’s run did.