That’s what I have. A Kindergartner and a 2nd grader.  Freaks me out!  They are huge!  Mouthy!  Lily even gets sort of bitchy!  Arden does everything by herself, even if that means destroying herself in the process!  They’re awesome, however - and so funny. 

Arden’s first day went splendidly and I remembered to take a bunch of pictures. I promptly forgot to take pictures of her exiting the bus, but let’s face it - I was obnoxious enough for 8 moms during the morning bus pick up.  At one point I was body blocking other parents from getting near the bus so I could get my final picture.  I want my girls to learn by example, yo. 

Lily has decreed that she DOES NOT love 2nd grade and WILL NOT love it.  She misses her old school and her old house and the fact that the old house didn’t have “those weird cricket thingies” in it.  She misses our neighbor and her children and she probably misses having her daddy around a lot.  This was evident when we had the fabulous awkward moment of, “Mommy, do you still love Daddy?”  This was spoken to me, in front of Mike.  I answered what i would have answered alone or with others - “Yes, and I always will.”  Unfortunately his answer, when she asked the same question a few minutes later, was not similar to mine, although it was probably more honest.  Frankly I just don’t believe that the kids really need to know anything other than Yes, I Love The Person I Made You With. 

The first day was great because Arden was so excited, and Lily was in full-on big sister mode, but having Mike show up to see Arden and Lily off was very hard on all of us.  He looked like he wanted to puke the entire time; I felt like I was stuck in a bad movie where only the two of you know you are divorcing and everyone else thinks you’re the new happy family who just rented the house “down the block”.  No one saw him driving off as soon as he could, or me going for my run with the music as loud as I could tolerate to drown out the thoughts in my head.  Seeing the girls cling to him and scream excitedly when they see him makes me always, without fail, want to wave a magic wand and return our lives to the way we all thought it should be.  My pretty house in Wyndham, made for entertaining.  My well-dressed children walking down a spotlessly manicured street to see their other well-dressed children, waving to the other kids being driven to school in their Lexuses (Lexi?) or BMWs.  Their pretty rooms, their new carpeting, the lush grass, the Labrador (oh wait, they still have that), their bikes and their play dates.  It kind of reminds me of how I feel about Thomas Kinkade paintings. 

(image source)
At first glance, they are pretty, if not completely expected.  You think, “Aww, how cute!  What an adorable cottage.  I bet fairies live in there!”  After about 2 days, you start to get nauseous because of the kitsch and goofiness.  After a week, you want to put the painting in the attic because your life looks nothing like that stupid glowy stone thing (perhaps the glow is a kitchen fire? NO!).  After a month, you consider using the painting as a floor mat in your car.  Not everything with a polyurethane coating on it is actually as glossy as it seems. 

Onward we march.  My own little cottage in the woods is really a brick rancher in the suburbs (but not overly suburban - let’s be clear about that).  Any glow inside it comes from my laptop screen, and there are no fairies here.  There is, however, a LOT of estrogen.  It’s total Girl Power up in this joint, and we’re all making it the best we can. 

In these pictures, you’d never know the girls had been through the most difficult year of their lives.  Although I’m sure it won’t be, I’d like to think that it’s going to be the worst year of their life so I can say “CHECK!  That’s done.  Now they can move onto happily ever after.”  If that’s the case, I’d be very, very happy. 

My mother arrived Friday night to handle the children early Saturday morning when I left for my (6!!! Mile!!!) run.  She ended up hijacking me and the girls after the run and taking us to Smith Mountain Lake for a couple of days.  After I got over an intense crabby fit on Saturday (my body hurt, I was tired from not sleeping, I wasn’t feeling well, the DVD player for the car was broken, etc etc etc), I calmed down and enjoyed watching the girls play in the water, ate ice cream at inappropriate times of day, and stayed up way too late trying to type quietly so as not to wake the three other people in my hotel room. 

It was a nice way to end the summer officially. 

I sort of have a running coach, though I don’t pay him well - or at all.  I’m not really sure what he gets out of the deal.  It’s probably humorous for him to watch me struggling or maybe it’s nostalgia for the old days when he made “rookie” mistakes.  Sometimes he tries not to laugh at me, but he fails, so maybe he does it for the amusement factor. Whatever the reason, he’s helping me run better - at least when I listen to him. 

Most of my life I’ve compared myself to others.  I always tend to hold myself up against people who are “better”, “prettier”, “faster”, “smarter”.  Whenever I pull out the yardstick it’s always me on the losing end.  Apparently the yardstick disappears when I’m “better” at something.  I don’t give myself much credit for the things I do well.  Writing is so simple for me that it has no value in my mind; it seems like something a monkey could do, and do better than me. 

I was all hopped up on Saturday because my run was fun, and it was not difficult.  I couldn’t wait to share the news with my coach.  Then I got a text from him that simply said, “1st place!!!!”  He had run a 5k and won overall.  He’s won plenty in his age group but it’s big deal to be the fastest out of everyone.  Suddenly my 5 miles didn’t seem so newsworthy.  I’m not in competition, so I became very irritated with myself that I could be so happy for him and so negative about myself.  We don’t even run in the same universe so one is not equal to the other. 

I had a terrible run this morning.  FIrst, I ran too late in the morning.  Coach K says, “Well, dumbass, run earlier!”  (He also repeats, ad nauseam, “there will always be faster runners than you”)  Yes, but unfortunately I can’t leave my sleeping children unattended in the house while I run in the cool shade of 5 AM.  Secondly, there was an air quality alert in effect.  Thirdly, the humidity was killer.  Fourthly (is there such a thing?), I ran too fast out of the gate.  I ran with John, and he still runs a lot faster than me.  I get caught up in this guilt cycle where I feel like I’m holding my friends back so I push myself harder until I want to die.  It’s really counter-productive. 

I texted him after my run today - and admitted I couldn’t finish the mere 3 miles I was supposed to.  I can’t remember the last time I quit like that, but I just had nothing else in my system to give.  He called a few minutes later and chewed my butt for a good 20 minutes.  He was right, of course.  I do know better.  He’s tiring of telling me the same things over and over again, and I know that if I don’t listen to him, I’m not going to make it through the training program.  This probably means I should run alone more often, but I hate running alone. 

I sucked it up and took some money out of my savings account and bought a Garmin 305.  I polled the Twitterverse and it got high marks.  I found one on sale and it should be here in a week or so.  I’ve given up using my iPhone - today it told me I ran 38 miles in 32 minutes.  Um, no.  Unfortunately I need something reliable to pace me while I get used to naturally pacing myself.  If I need to be running an 11.15 when it’s 92 degrees outside, then the Garmin will tell me in black and white whether I’m going too fast.  The heart rate monitor will tell me if I’m being a wuss or truly need to slow down.  It’s definitely worth the money.  Apparently there’s some sort of training log feature and my coach is going to store my runs there so he can gripe at me in person.  It appears that I need the ass chewing and the supervision. 

We talked about realistic goal setting.  Mine for the half:  finish without walking.  So if I’m not focused on how fast I run the half, why am I so focused on it now? 

I’m terribly fortunate to have both Theresa and Kevin in my running life.  Kevin won’t be able to watch me finish the half (and I WILL finish) as he’ll be running with the team he coaches for the marathon.  I’m bummed that he won’t see the fruits of his bitching and the fruits of my labor, but I know Theresa will be there and that means a ton to me.  And maybe I’ll get lucky and be able to keep the back of John and Stanley’s bodies in view.  Sort of the carrot in front of the horse.  I just have to remember that they are kidding when they make comments about my speed.  Theresa has even gotten sensitive about distance - she used to say, “I only ran 8 this morning”.  Now, she catches herself and simply says, “I ran 8 this morning.”  I can handle it, but appreciate the sentiment when I have days like today, where I can’t finish 3. 

PS.  I hate Virginia in the summer.  Passionately.  I can’t tell you how much running in a steam bath sucks the life out of me and makes me want to move to Alaska.  I miss Michigan terribly in the summer months. 

Here’s a few photos of the people that regularly inspire me to run or instill me with so much guilt that I run anyway. Some are nearly professionals, some are just like me (with problem areas and concerns about running tops showing off their “arm or back fat”), some don’t run at all.  Each one flits through my mind as I run - a little bit of extra juice to keep me going.  Color me lucky to have them in my life. 
(note:  i’m posting pictures without their permission.  too bad!!!) 

Theresa, before the Boston Marathon:

Kevin, half marathon: 

Stanley, my personal hero:

John, running partner and teacher in “suspect apprehension techniques”:
>

Robey, who says she never runs but actually does (or she has a tapeworm):

Prissie, who is tiny and fast . . .

Mark and Gina (especially Gina who still is in better shape than me at 9 months pregnant):

Cathleen, followed by Jennifer, who both ran with me in Run Like A Mother:

And of course, Susan, even though she doesn’t run.  She’s the most amazing person I know. 
(love you Susan)

I’ve been really struggling with my runs lately. 

Let me rephrase that.  My runs lately have made me want to jab a fork in my eyes, rip my lungs out with dirty hands and pretend to be roadkill. 

Apparently my problem was fairly simple, but I refused to listen.  I’ve been running too fast.  I took my running friends’ advice and slowed my roll.  It helped that the weather was cooler, and the humidity much lower - but the 5 miles was actually fairly simple.  I didn’t worry about time, how many people were in front of me, or when the run would be over.  I looked around at the big beautiful houses around me and talked to new people I hadn’t met on my training team. 

Tomorrow I go back to the three miles, but I’m going to slow it down there as well.  My biggest competitor has always been myself, but when I’m pushing myself so hard I’m ready to quit everything because it’s no fun anymore, it’s time to step back and be realistic.  My insistence on improving my time has something to do with the people I hang out with.  They are all better runners - they’ve been running for years - and they actually win trophies and medals when they run.  I’m running to burn calories, improve my fitness, and prove that I can do it.  I’m so far from competing I can’t even fathom winning anything, unless it’s the fat girl category (and yes, there actually is a category for women over 150 lbs - the Athenas - and I’ve never wanted to be less greek in my life). 

I’ve traditionally been terrible with any form of slowing down.  This is a bigger challenge to me - nearly - than finishing a half marathon.  I’m going to keep at it, and maybe the heavens will rain a Garmin down on me and I’ll be able to force myself to slow down.  My stupid iPhone running apps are terrible and either tell me I’ve run 0 distance in 3 hours 42 minutes or they say I’ve gone 23.3 miles in 5.45 minutes. 

Mom:  “How are you going to have enough money to go to Disney with the girls?”

Me:  “I don’t know.  I’m going to wing it.  First step is to register.  That might get me motivated.”

Mom: “Well, save money.”

Lily:  “Live Better.”

Arden:  “Walmart.”

(insert rash of giggling and more repetition at the Church Of Walmart’s slogan altar)