Suzy-Q - I Scream, You Scream, We All Run for Ice Cream

I'm not gonna lie. Among the selling factors of joining TNT was getting a spot in the Nike Women's Half Marathon. It's a popular event. Finishers of the women's only half and full marathon don't get medals. San Francisco Firemen in tuxedoes and running shoes hand out Tiffany designed necklaces. The finisher t-shirts are Nike Dri-Fit women's shirts, not the boxy ones cut to fit men (oh, are they supposed to be unisex? whatever). Twenty thousand race entries are awarded though a lottery system. Or you can join TNT guaranteeing you a spot.

Here are a few other reasons I signed up in random order:

1: The location: San Francisco. Who doesn't love the city by the bay? And the race course isn't as hilly as everyone imagines. Its a nice run from Union Square, to the fairly recently renovated Ferry Building, along the Fisherman's Wharf, through the Presidio, around Golden Gate Park and out past the zoo for those doing the full.

2: The team within a team: the Marathoning Mamas. Who could ask for a better group of running partners and friends? These ladies are generous, gracious, comical, articulate, attractive, and intelligent to name a few of their more obvious attributes. I could go on and on but a lot of you know them anyway so you have a good sense of who these women are.

3: The ice cream. Yep. I confess and its true. I am tremendously looking forward to a chance to visit Humphry Slocombe Ice Cream (more than once, I hope). At our house we have an annual Liquid Nitrogen Ice Cream Social Experiment when we invite guests to bring ice cream ingredients to flash freeze batches of creative flavors using liquid nitrogen. Flavors like peanut butter and crystalized ginger; black pepper, strawberry and balsamic vinegar; or cherry and bacon. But the likes of the flavors at Humphry Slocombe we've never produced. And I am not sure that I'd want to make 'em. But, I do know I want to try them. I read about the place in a NY Times Magazine article that a FB friend posted and my decision to "recommit" to TNT was sealed. And because of that my friends, tomorrow morning, come 7:15 am I will be panting along yet another metro-area recreational path so I can have an ice cream cone (or a few) seven weeks from now.

Betty - The Perfect Storm

There are many things that happen to everyone throughout the passing of the years that indicate you are no longer the spring chicken you once were. A child you used to babysit is now in college or (gasp!) just got married, the music on popular radio is no longer of interest and the commercials on some of your TV shows are clearly marketing to a different target audience. I, as possibly most of you, take these indications of aging quite gracefully because we all know, it's not about how old you are, but about how old you feel.
Clearly the brain child that thought up that load of bull shit never trained for a marathon.

Since I started training for this marathon, i have never felt so old in my life. The aches, stiffness and joint cracking are starting to make me think that the Hoveround (so cleverly advertised during The Price is Right) is looking like a great thing to have around the house. But nothing comes close to the overwhelming dread of age as what i experienced last week in the span of only 7 small days.

Last Sunday I had a birthday. Now I'll admit that ever since having kids I tend not to make that big a deal out of my birthday - because honestly, when you get to a certain age in your life you have to actually start planning your own birthday celebrations and sometimes it's just too much to think about, so going out to dinner usually amounts to a "fantastic birthday, thank you very much". Well, now that I have these fantastic Mama's in my life, they refused to let this excuse for a celebration go past without recognition.
Enter the wine.
We all got together for a casual evening of drinks and dinner. It all started simple enough until I forgot the fact that i am no longer 23 years old and decided that drinking 2 bottles of wine BY MYSELF was a grand idea. I had a really great evening with friends, laughing and sharing great stories and then...the morning came along and slapped me up against the back of the head. At least it wasn't bad enough to make me utter the traditional chant of "i'll never drink again" because really, who am i kidding.

Then the following Saturday on our long run with the Team, I was taken out of the game by my IT band. If you don't know what that is and don't care, all you need to know is that it hurts like a Mo Fo in my hip and knee. For those of you who want to know, it's called Google - look it up.
I think i caught it early enough so that I won't be out for too long, but it will require PT and multiple stretches and strength training (ie: weights) for my future.

Then just to top off the evening, I attended my 20 year High School reunion.
Enter the Beer.
I genuinely had a good time and enjoyed seeing lots of people who I had forgotten how much I liked. However, there really is nothing like a reunion of that status (20 YEARS!) that doesn't give you pause to realize that no, you are no longer in High School (thank god) you are not even close to college age anymore. You are just old. You could be older, but if you were you might not care so much because somewhere out there I hear there is a wave of peace that swaddles and warms you and protects the self from even giving a shit. I will let you know when that happens, but until then, I will just eat my chocolate, watch re-runs of Melrose Place and live in my own little world of thinking i'm still young.

Miss Jeanne's Toes!

My feet have always been one of my best features. Really. My toes especially are long and slender and my nail beds are on the larger side which makes a pedicure look quite nice. There was a time, I think in Junior High, that my nickname was "bone toes". Although at the time I was probably mortified, I now take it as a complement.

As I age, my feet in general are looking a bit "weathered". The skin is becoming thicker on my heals and around the edges of my feet. Even the best pedicure in the world cannot cure the increasing size of the bunion on my right large toe. Also, the frequency of my pedicures is not nearly what it used to be. I guess if I have a bit of "extra time without kids" I head to the grocery store solo or try to clean up the house. All you Mamas can surely understand.

As some of you know, I participated in Team in Training last fall of '09 and struggled greatly with training and completing the half marathon in San Francisco. My left IT band (runs from the hip to the knee) was a mess. During the training and half marathon ALL of my focus was on that stabbing pain in my knee. Little did I know I had bigger problems. Immediately after the 13.1 miles I took off my shoes and noticed my middle little toe looking a bit swollen and the nail was BLACK! Yes friends, black. I will give you a minute to grab your vomit bags....

I spent the next few months making sure I had nice dark nail polish on hand. I had thought that time would heal this nasty toenail and maybe the nail would just grow out and things would be back to normal. Nope, that was hardly the case. What happened many months later will no doubt shock some of you...MY TOE NAIL FELL OFF! It is true. Even my husband who will go to many lengths to make me happy absolutely CRINGES at the thought of rubbing my feet. He doesn't verbally decline but his scrunched up face and look of sheer terror let me know that it is too much to even ask of him. Oh well.

Now it happens that the same week this toe nail fell off I woke up to an email from one of the Mamas. I'm not sure if she even knew yet of my "loss" but it evidently made an impact on her family. Her email is below:

Last night (kid) woke up at 2 am yelling, "Miss Jeanne's
Toes! Miss Jeanne's Toes!" (husband) and I were both like, WTF?
She was inconsolable, crying about how your toes were poking her. It took
me a minute to realize she meant "Mosquitoes" but didn't know the
word. Would you quit torturing my children with your toes at 2
am?

Doesn't that say it all? Even the kids are afraid of my toes...

Kate: Five

My father is a fantastic artist. One of my brothers is a technical genius. Another brother has the strongest will-power of anyone I've met, while my mother is outrageously kind. I am not any of these things, but I admire them all.

When I start thinking about all the other things my family is - crazy, embarrassing, irrational, emotional - it's not surprising that I've rarely stopped to consider all the things that make them amazing. I don't often appreciate my family for what they offer because I'm too often focusing on what they lack.

Along with being incredibly kind, my mother has colon cancer. She's facing it head on and I admire her greatly for it. She was diagnosed late this spring and went from an active happy life to a near-death experience in two short days. Her cancer, it seems, was not caught early, which is, in short, a bummer as it's very curable in the early stages. My mom is no stranger to poor health. She's already faced other cancers, heart problems, a quadruple bi-pass, diabetes and glaucoma - she literally is a walking catalog of medical maladies. I have been summoned to the hospital to say farewell to her on three separate occasions. Yet she has lived through them all, recovering with a calmness of spirit that astounds me. If asked, she will tell you it's because her faith in God is absolute.

When I hear this I want to shake my fist and gnash my teeth. Despite all the different ways my mom has shown me the path to God over the years, I've never managed to actually knock on his door. Instead I rail and curse and wonder why her loving God puts her though crushing illness, bringing her to the brink of death before allowing her to live. How could he do that to her? That's not love. She calmly points out that he carries her back every time and if that's not love, then what is?

I am not convinced. I don't like watching her go through this and can't contemplate a world without her. Selfish to the core, I know that when my mother dies, so dies the very first and last person on earth who ever really, truly, deep down knew me to my blackest, yuckiest place and still thought I was amazing. I'm not ready to live without her and I told her so this weekend as we talked about death and what comes next. Typically she is at peace while I am a crying, sobbing mess. Part of her calmness comes from the fact that she knows she would be going to see people she loved, lost and misses. She's positive that in the next world they'll be no word for cancer . In that life she'll be able to vacation in Paris as long as she likes and eat Krispy Kreme donuts every day without gaining an ounce . She makes heaven sound like an all-inclusive adult disneyland and, still, I am unmoved.

Halfway through our conversation she stopped to empty the bag that now functions as her makeshift-portable bathroom. She does this with the slight exasperation of someone having to retie an unruly shoelace instead of a complicated, multi-step process that she'll have to repeat many times a day for the rest of her days. This procedure would have me complaining from the moment I opened my eyes in the morning until my head hit the pillow again at night. The gulf between our attitudes never seemed so great to me as at that moment and I asked her how she could love the God that did this to her. More to the point, how could she love the God that would take her away when he knew how much I needed her?

She held my hand and asked me, "Haven't you noticed that God gave you five moms this year? Just when you think you might be without a mom, he provided you with a bunch of them. How can you doubt that he loves you?"

And, of course, she's right. Like a miracle I've been surrounded by five women who are kind, generous, loving, supportive, caring and fantastic. It's now no coincidence to me that we're called the Mama's. I've always known that no person could ever replace my mother.

God knows, it takes five.

Betty - Again, Again and Again....

Here's the thing you need to know about being a stay home Mom - your job never ends, your employees are constantly yelling and/or throwing hard objects at your head and there is rarely ever any appreciation for a job well done. Of course there are those moms out there who love their job more than anything else and could never imagine something more rewarding than staying home with your children. Yes, you will hear stay home moms saying this to those who have never performed this job, but we all know that when they are home alone with the wee ones and one is screaming because "she wanted to do the buckle herself!" and your son currently hates you because you made him turn off the computer after an hour and there is a sink full of dishes and you have to make dinner in 1/2 hour, they hate their job too.

Yesterday when i came home in the afternoon from a morning full of errands and park time, i had to first clean up the breakfast mess then throw together some lunch. There were dishes to do, laundry piling up and my shoes were sticking to the kitchen floor...again. It was then that i realized that this, all this shit, is going to happen everyday for the rest of my life. There will always be dishes to wash, laundry to do, meals to be made and cleaned up after. And lets not forget the sticky floors.

Some days it's just a little overwhelming, and it's very easy to understand why a stay home mom would hire a 'gardener/lawn boy' just to have a wild affair. If only I had the energy.

But here's the thing...when my husband does a good job at work, his boss will take him out to lunch and tell him how great he is and how much he/the company appreciates all his hard work. Or he gets a bonus, or a raise or at the very least some respect from his staff or co-workers.
When a stay home mom does a good job, like making sure the kids are eating healthy meals, getting some exercise, cleaning up the house and generally nurturing and improving upon the next generation, you know what we get? Unless you count and occasional 'suck it' from my son, absolutely nothing.

Yesterday in the midst of the self pity party (don't worry, next time i'll remember to send out invitations) I realized that it's because i do this thankless job that i really like running. I don't have to think about it, I don't have to cooperate with anyone or be part of a team and worry about everyone working together and no one getting left out, and there is an end. Whether it's once around the lake, 30 more minutes, or the finish line there is an end to the running and a feeling of accomplishment upon completion. Running gives me instant satisfaction. Of course, there really is nothing better than when your little ones spontaneously give you a kiss or tell you how much they love you. But in the mean time, I'll be out running.

Suzy-Q: The Tropics Come to the Great White North

When K-Dubs, Kate, and Betty all got the great idea for forming the Marathoning Mamas, there was a little voice inside my head whispering, "No need to attempt blowing out you knees. Its a big time commitment. This summer will probably be the hottest its been in years."

And wouldn't you know. This summer has been the hottest in years. My electric bill indicates the temperatures this year for the same billing cycle as last year have been seven degrees warmer. Its also been plenty rainy. Those two factors combined (not to mention juggling family stuff) have made getting runs in pretty interesting.

The other day, I got up before 6am to put in a quick 3 miles in an effort to avoid running tonight in 90 degree temps. Wouldn't you know I ended up running by a co-worker I don't know very well. He was headed to the bus stop. All red-faced and panting, I managed to eek out, "How come I knew I'd see you this morning?" Truth be told, I still looked pretty good. I had only run about a mile. My hair wasn't too frizzy and how red could I have been?

By the time I made it the full three miles I could feel moisture running down from my eyes. I initially attributed the sensation to crying, but it couldn't be tears. I was barely awake enough to register emotions. Then I realized my eyelashes were sweating! As I cooled down and downed a bunch of water I figured out my chin and insides of my elbows were dripping, too.

The up side: I no longer need to fantasize about travel to the tropics, I can just step outside to experience the same sensations they do in the rain forest...and I get to run while doing it. : )

Kate: Math x Me (-skill)=I hate my (e)x.

I think it was Homer (Simpson) who said, "Brain, I don't like you and you don't like me. Let's just work this out so I can get back to killing you with beer." That's how I feel about math. When I try to do more than the simplest of mathematics, the right side of my brain goes on strike. I've always pictured it to be severely atrophied and, if ever get a CAT scan, assume I'll see a normal left brain next to a right side that resembles a chimpanzee playing the accordion. Friends of mine couldn't wait for tenth grade because it meant they could get their driver's license. I couldn't wait because it meant I could opt out of algebra. At the time I considered the fact that you could flat-out quit math half-way through high school as a tacit nod to the fact that no one needed it in the real world. Now I'm equally convinced that a generation of women like myself, wandering around department stores asking complete strangers what they think 30% of $175 comes to, persuaded the school boards of America to reinstate compulsory mathematics through the twelfth grade.

Math and I now exist like two divorced parents, occasionally and begrudgingly meeting to exchange offspring. Like any ex, I'll admit that he's of some use, but he never works out like I'd hoped and he goes out of his way to make things difficult, such as silently mocking me when my checkbook doesn't balance and smirking when I can't calculate the tip on a bill that's not in increments of ten. I was delighted to give math the heave ho and I don't like his implications that I still need him.

And I need him now, the bastard. Because to get through this running thing, I've resorted to, god help me, math.

It's all because I'm a huge baby about running. I do not like it when it's hot. I do not like it when it's not. I do not like it when I'm sweaty, I do not to get all wet(ty). I do not like it in the park, I do not like it in the dark. This means I run a lot on a treadmill at the gym. And for all you "real" runners out there, yes, I know treadmills aren't "real" running. They are so much better! The treadmill let's me know how painfully slow I'm running, then hides it at the touch of a button. It tells me exactly how many seconds I have left to endure and how many minutes I have already triumphed over. It doesn't smirk or mock me and it never takes me so far away from home that I contemplate calling a cab. In short, I Heart Treadmills.

However, treadmills present math problems to me, because I'm also technically impaired. Many is the time I've accidently hit the emergency stop button instead of the pause, causing me to come to a dead halt and my iPod to go skittering across the gym. But the worst part is that I then have to quickly calculate in my head exactly how much time I ran before I screwed up and then reckon in how much longer I'm going to run. Sounds simple, right? For most people. But then I have to factor in my willingness, at this point, to cheat. Consider: was me stopping the treadmill God's way of telling me to go home? Sure I intended to do another 45 minutes, but what about just 20? How many calories had I burned? Enough to negate breakfast? It all turns into one of those complicated word problems that kept me from attending a college without the word "State" after it. If Suzy runs 30 minutes + walks for 10 more (-minus five minutes of screwing around with her earphones) x 3 trips to the bathroom, exactly how many donuts will she be able to eat on the way home?

It's complicated, but in truth, it distracts me from all the running, which, for me, is a wonderful thing. So if you see me muttering while I run, it's not that I'm crazy. I'm just having a fight with my (e)x.

The Wall

... no, it is not just a Pink Floyd song, nor simply something to keep undesirables out. It is a very intense physical and psychological barrier that I have run up against, no pun intended, several times during my very short running career.

As I mentioned in a previous post, I was never a runner. Last year was really the first time I ran by choice, not by chase. I went from running 4 miles once a week, to running nearly 10 on Saturdays and one other shorter run during the week. I successfully, and comfortably, completed Women Run the Cities, a gorgeous 10-mile race on a perfect fall day. I figured what's 3 more miles?

On Halloween morning, I embarked on my first half marathon with not one, but 2 of my besties by my side. What could go wrong? Well, for one, it started to snow. For two, it was hilly. And 3? The wall. There came a moment at about mile 10 where my body actually stopped moving. I wanted to keep going, and I tried to think my way around this "work stoppage" but it was as though my body had a mind of its own. I turn to my friend in tears..."I don't think I can do this." She kept me going for a few more steps with a pep talk. Then, I saw my kids. They cannot see mommy in pain, so I have to pull it together for them. After high-fiveing my little Yoda and Darth Vader (It was Halloween after all!) I saw what I thought to be a mirage... my neighborhood workout group had shown up in force and in sweats. They ran the last 3, longest miles of my life with me and I finished. I spent the remainder of the weekend on the couch!

2 weeks ago, the wall and I became re-acquainted. Running had been an entirely different experience for me this season. I had a year under my belt, cross-trained all winter, regularly practiced yoga, not to mention dropped a few lbs. It was incredible! I did not know running could feel this good. Then came our 12 mile training run, which started out just fine. Then, it wasn't. The biggest issue was that I began to doubt my ability to do it. And, if I couldn't do 12, how in the heck would I ever do 26.2? The following week began well yet again. Then, somewhere around 10, I started to fall apart. My coach practically dragged me to the finish. But finish I did. And I realized something. This is a marathon, not a sprint. Duh, right? It is not meant to feel good, or be easy, or quick. So why am I doing it? Because I can, and not everyone has that choice.

Next time I run up against that wall, that's is what I'll remember and as suddenly as it appeared, it will fall. But I will not.

Betty - A low-down on the 1/2 marathon

Ok, so this past Saturday I participated in my first 1/2 marathon. It was the Urban Wildland 1/2 Marathon in Richfield and it would be the longest distance running to date. The race started at 7am and we wanted to be there at 6:30, and i was picking up 2 fellow marathoning mama's, so that required me to set the alarm for 5:15am. I don't know if you know this about me yet, but I am not a morning person. Before children i would easily sleep until 10am every day and consider that getting up pretty early. Anything before 6am is just down right wrong. But I did it and we were at the race by 6:30.

Now blog, I am about to tell you something that no one else before has been willing to to tell you. Kind of like all the things that really happen during childbirth that no one warned you about because if you knew you would just go ahead and refill that Rx for your pills. Well, I'm here to let you know that the most foul smelling thing on this earth is the bathroom before a running race. And i'm saying this even never having been in the men's room, just the ladies. Here's the deal...it is very important that you poo before a race. if you don't it can be very uncomfortable and things might happen that could require you to immediately seek a port-a-potty or, you can get to a point when a nice big bush would do. SO, everyone tries to poo before a race and because you usually have to wake up at some godforsaken hour like 5:15! folks usually wait to go til they get to the race. There, that is your warning. Stay away. Far, far away from any indoor bathroom before a running race unless you need to contribute to the current stench that hangs heavy in the air.

Toxic air aside, i knew it was going to be a good day. First of all, when i got my race bib (the piece of paper with a # that runners wear in their shirt for races) my number was 699. My favorite number is 69. Enough said. Second of all, I not only met, but had an actual conversation with a celebrity! Well, only a celebrity if you watch the Biggest Looser, which i do because it is one of my favorite shows. O'Neil was there with his wife (Sunshine was in another state doing a triathlon or something like that) since he lives in Richfield - where the race was being held - and he was the official start guy. It was very inspiring to see and talk with him and it was such a great rush to see someone that you spent every Tuesday night watching on TV. And, he's a really nice guy.

The rest of the run was less interesting. We started out slow and pretty much stayed slow since we knew that we were still training for a full and we didn't want to get injured or burn out. The 3 Mama's all ran together and really had a great time. We had lots of therapeutic conversations and simply enjoyed each others company. The good and bad part was that it rained for the last 1 1/2 hours of the run. Good because otherwise it would have been really humid which would have been much worse, but bad because by the end of the race my feet were so waterlogged and heavy that it became difficult to pick them up.

It was also very awesome that my hubby was able to come with our daughter to watch and cheer me on. Despite the rain, the put the girl in the bike trailer and rode around to see us at various points along the race and snap some photos and give us some moral support.

But the best part of the race was when we rounded the corner and saw the finish line, K-Dubs reached over and grabbed my hand and we finished the race together. And that's what this is all about for me. Spending precious time with friends, and more importantly ourselves, to accomplish something that we never thought we could do. But here we are - doing it.

Tweet Tweet

...not sure how the situation started, or how it spun so far out of control, but here is what happened...

It was a typical group training night last Wednesday. The team met, there were some announcements, a mission moment, the cheer, and we were off. This night's workout was the second installment of "Kenyan Outbacks". I actually like this particular workout and was looking forward to doing my best despite the extreme heat and humidity. First one, run out 20 minutes at LSD pace, return to starting point in 16 minutes. The first one went fine. I didn't make it back in 16 minutes but I was just a bit over. I guess that is the whole point- to "go out slow" and to really monitor your pace. Next one, run out 10 minutes at LSD pace, return to starting point in 8 minutes. So I ran slowly out 10 minutes, so slowly in fact that I almost tripped over a baby bird that was lying on the path cheating death. I stopped in my tracks, much to the chagrin of my running partner, K-Dubs. We looked for the nest. We looked for a mama bird. We looked for the candied camera just waiting to see what we'd do. Nothing. We debated about what to do with the feathered finding. I will tell you honestly that K-Dubs looked at me with a look of shock and horror as I picked up the baby bird. I think she also turned a bit white in the face. However, we both remembered our dear friend Sundog telling us that the smell of a human on a baby bird has no bearing on whether the mama will come back or not. I figure she would know- her mom works at the Raptor Center and is a serious bird person. I think I actually asked aloud, "what would the Sundog do?" and then the ball rolled...

Baby bird in hand, we ran back a mile or so back to the starting point. Needless to say we didn't make it back in the desired Kenyan outback time. Oh well. More important issues at this point! Save the bird! By the way, YOU try running with your hands cupped in front of you trying to be still! I thought I knew my plan of attack. I would put my new feathered friend in a dixie cup and drive it to the wildlife rehab center at the university. This was the awesome plan and off I went leaving my Popsicle eating, water drinking teammates by the cooler. I drove around the entire east and west banks of the campus and couldn't find the building. I also had trouble maneuvering the wheel one handed as I tried to keep the bird from leaving the cup on my lap. After quite some time, I started to look for some people that "looked helpful". I knew I couldn't go wrong with some young, cute, college coeds. I pulled over and asked two young men (freshman maybe?) if they could help me find the wildlife rehab building. They immediately got on their phones to find an address. I was not able to do this one-handed on my own phone, as I had the bird...

They found an address as my clock read 8:30pm. ROSEVILLE???? As I profusely thanked the coeds, I squealed my tires and was back on the road to saving the baby bird. On my way "out of town" I got turned around a couple of times and landed in some questionable areas of the city. Dodging a number of police cruisers, j-walkers, and highly intoxicated grown-ups, I took some deep breaths and continued on my mission. Cursing the bird, and myself at this point, I felt like cutting my loss and tossing the bird out the window. But just then the bird looked up at me and CHIRPED! Ok, so I found the highway and headed to Roseville.

As I entered the on-ramp, the sky opened up and torrential rains started coming down. This was most likely retaliation for thinking I may throw the bird out the window. It was seriously raining so hard that most people were pulled over on the side of the highway to wait it out. Like a lemming, I pulled over for a few minutes but then remembered that I was paying a sitter $10/hr at my house so I had to continue on. After hydroplaning a handful of times I finally got to Roseville. I found the "Wildlife Rehabilitation" building and pulled into the parking lot, which was full of cars. Promising! I quickly parked and RAN through what WCCO radio called a "severe thunderstorm warning" to the front door. Anyone want to guess what I saw? Yeah, that's right. A note...

"We are currently closed. Our hours are from (whatever time) to 8:30pm. If you have an animal to leave with us, please take it home, place it in a dark and quiet spot, and return in the morning during regular business hours. Please do not give the animal anything to drink or eat". The sign must have read my mind because when I continued reading it said, "Please do not attempt to access this building. The building is under surveillance". So I was a half hour late. REALLY????

What did I do? I found what I thought was a "dark and quiet spot" (despite the roaring thunder and sheets of rain falling from the sky), under the protection of the front walkway, under a bush, and left the baby bird there inside the tipped over dixie cup. I looked back a couple of times as I walked to my car hoping for some sort of sign that this bird would be alright. I didn't get one.

I really hope the bird made it. I'd like to think it did.

Suzy-Q - Let's Hear It For The Boys (and then some)

As we Marathoning Mommas know, it ain’t easy training for an endurance event, fundraising, being a mom and keeping up with all our other duties. I think I can speak for all of us when I say that our support network is really kicking in these days. Our husbands, friends, neighbors and extended family members have all been chipping in to help with childcare and what you might classify as “other stuff.”

The next few weeks will be filled with longer runs, more intense efforts to secure donations and planning for more events including the dinner at Gasthoff's (its soooo good! we would love to see you there) and probably another wee-ones event.

So a big shout out to everyone behind the scenes helping to make being a Marathoning Momma look like a piece of cake. Thank you, thank you, thank you!

KATE: Always Running . . .

As I write this I am running.

Late, that is. I'm embarrassed to say that if you asked my friends to describe me, "Late" would often come near the top of the list. Frenzied, harried and scattered probably wouldn't be far behind. Once upon a time I was a punctual gal. When people asked me to do things, I did them. When someone told me to be somewhere, I was there. Finding my car keys was a ten second affair and I almost never, ever canceled on people at the last minute.

Now I am ten to fifteen minutes late for everything, even on a good day. I forget to do basic things so often that I've taken to leaving myself shaming reminder notes around the house (i.e., Turn Off Stove!!!) in order to complete basic chores. The last time I made a dinner date with one of my best friends, I canceled on her eight times before we finally got together. And it frequently takes me half a day to locate my purse. For someone who says they hate running, I spend an awful lot of time playing catch up.

My husband would be the first person to say that my new-found (HALF) marathon commitment has made my lateness even worse. And he's right. Between the running, the fund-raising, the letter writing, and the blogging, we've been known to go several weeks without clean underwear or dinner that didn't come from a styrofoam container. The hilarious mommy-writer, Vicky Iovine, wrote in her Girlfriend's Guide, that her husband once compared her to a pie. And every time she had another baby or made a commitment to a new cause, it cut her up into smaller pie pieces until eventually he ended up getting no pie at all. I'll admit, between my kids, my clients, my aging parents and my running, it's been pretty pie-free around our house. Not just for my husband, but for me too. Because as every mother knows, there's no "Me" in "Mommy".

But the funny thing is, I've found running is starting to give me back some "me" time. This is something that real runners know, but probably gets pushed aside for discussions of that (mythical) runners high. Running is like cleaning the garage in your head - it stacks up all your mismatched mental sporting equipment, throws away the crumbly old ego-ridden boxes and clears a space for you to actually think about something other than grocery shopping, swim lessons and what having the air-conditioner on day and night is doing to your electric bill. Running is now less of a dreaded commitment and more "me time" then I ever thought it would be. And I'm grateful. Because, if running can make me a better wife, mom & friend, then that's all the more reason for me to stick with it.

Now, if I can only find my car keys, I think I'm going to go pick my husband up a pie.

Betty: Head case

Ok, the reason I signed up for this whole marathon business in the first place was for 2 main reasons...friends and fat. Friends and fat are the polar opposites in my marathoning intentions, for example...

Friends - Love them, want to spend more time with them, look forward to having them in my life for a very long time (if not forever!), i never tire of being around them, and they bring out the best in me.



Fat - Hate it, wish it were gone, hope to never see it again, brings out the worst in me and refuses to show the world who i really am.

So the friends part of the training has been going really well. I get to see the Mama's more often and more importantly when we are running I get to see them with out all the kids in tow so we actually get to have a conversation, at least when i'm able to finish a sentence between beep gasps of breath.
The fat portion of the training however is not going as well as planned. When i began this endeavor i was convinced that i would loose a significant amount of weight and become the sassy svelte knockout that turns heads while elegantly gliding down the running path. Instead, i am the person who turns heads because you can hear my anguished breaths and plodding feet coming up behind you as a warning to get the hell out of my way before one of my hips comes swinging past and knocks you flat on your ass.

So here is the deal with those who are running to loose weight. First of all, running is a public sport. Unless you are at home on a treadmill you are either at the gym or out somewhere in the world where there is a good chance of seeing other humans and of other humans seeing you. Second, if you are running with a team (aka TNT) or enjoy the running paths of the various beautiful lakes and rivers that our lovely state has to offer, you will be encountering several other humans who are also out partaking in some much desired exercise. And third, running provides you with ample alone time to think and ponder about your state of being and if your trying to loose weight, lots of people to compare yourself to along the way. It can all get to be quite demoralizing. Almost everyone that passes by you is thinner, taller, more muscular, more perky and clearly more physically fit that you can ever pretend to be.

For some people the witnessing of such physical excellence is motivation. I however find it daunting. Even while running alone on a vacation on the Oregon coast, Mother Nature made sure to remind me of my own physical flaws by showing be natures version of my breasts post children...

Then just as i was beginning to feel at my lowest (and roundest) I decided to take my son to the Mall of America for some quality lego time. As i was looking around at the sea of tourists and mall dwellers i realized....you know, i'm not doing so bad. Thank you obese America for lifting my spirits.

Juanita: Yes, I was a "DAPE" student...

"DAPE" is the title....and yes, I was a participant. What is "DAPE", you ask? Well, read on my friends...

It is a branch of special education that shares common beliefs, knowledge, and goals with physical education. Its focus is primarily on the psychomotor domain, but it also includes the cognitive and affective domain. DAPE involves itself with specifically designed physical education for learners with categorical handicaps that demonstrate a need for this service.

Still confused? Here is another good definition:

"Developmental adapted physical education: special education" means specially designed physical education instruction and services for pupils with disabilities who have a substantial delay or disorder in physical development. Developmental adapted physical education: special education instruction for pupils age three through 21 may include development of physical fitness, motor fitness, fundamental motor skills and patterns, skills in aquatics, dance, individual and group games, and sports.
Students with conditions such as obesity, temporary injuries, and short-term or temporary illnesses or disabilities are termed special needs students. Special needs students are not eligible for developmental adapted physical education: special education. Provisions for these students must be made within regular physical education as described in Minnesota Statutes, section 126.02. (M.R.3525.1352, subp 1)

So yes, I was in adapted phy ed and I'm currently training for a marathon. Does this make sense? Not so much.

What was my "diagnosis" you ask? Ready? Are you sure?

Weak ankles. WHAAAAAAAT????? Are you freaking kidding me??? Yes, it is true. I know "weak ankles" ranks up there with menstrual cramps, acne, and chronic bad hair. What I really wonder is this: who allowed this "sucking of the system" to happen? Now don't get me wrong, I had my fair share of mental problems. Who didn't really? But I was always completely able-bodied. I was always more than able to play dodge ball and capture the flag. Don't get me wrong, my arms most certainly did the "happy dance" when doing the flexed-arm hang, but whose didn't? I feel sad about taking advantage of this great program because there are kids who really need it. I feel lucky that I was never really one of them.

To the "real" DAPE students out there, I apologize. This sucking of the system should never happen. To all of the fakers out there...own up. I wish I had.

Blog, We Need To Talk: A one-sided conversation between the Mamas and our Blog

Hi Blog. We're glad you agreed to talk. I think you know that things haven't been going all that well with you lately. I know you feel like we're ignoring you, but we'd like to state for the record that that's just not the case We should probably clear the air, don't you think Blog?

All right, we hear you. Let's just start out simple. We agree that this relationship is a two-way street and we haven't been pulling our weight. We don't keep you updated like we should, we'll be the first to admit. And we'll be the bigger people and say that the lack of updates is our fault. But remember when we signed our Blogger agreement? We had such big plans and dreams for how we would grow together? What happened Blog?

Whoa, no need to use profanity, Blog! First of all, if you haven't noticed, we're a little busy. As it says right in your header, we have eleven children between us. ELEVEN! That's one more than ten, blog. How many kids do you have? Exactly! Then on top of it we have lives to lead, you know? It's not all about you. There's the running we have to do and the fund-raising, which you promised you'd help out with and really, you've kind of dropped the ball there, just admit it. And some of us have jobs, Blog. Real live jobs. We think maybe we've got a little more going on in our lives that you do.

And Blog, you spend an awful lot of time on the internet. We're just saying.

Okay, okay, enough with the finger pointing. Peace, Blog. We're both at fault. Do you think we can we put the past couple months behind us and move on?

Aw, thanks Blog. You're always so willing to start fresh. We've love that about you.

So let's just say there will be a little more effort from the Mama's about keeping you updated. And Blog, you'll do your best to pull in the fund-raising dollars, right? Be extra sparkly and fun? Give it that extra added oomph? That's just great Blog!

What?!! No, we don't want you to hack into the Wells Fargo website to get donations! What gave you that idea? Can you even do that? Seriously, Blog, no felonies, okay? Let's just be the best we can be together. Agreed?

Is this where we kiss? Just a knuckle bump? Cool.

See you on Wednesday when we put up a new post, okay? Thanks Blog!

Love,

The Mamas