Just What I Needed

5 am wake up call, late for me , but it is Saturday. Met the girls at Starbucks with their plan of running 22 miles to La Jolla Cove and back. I felt nervous, having not run with them since AFC Half Marathon training, and with each of them having a marathon on the horizon, I felt a little anxious to know if I could still hang. I did not need to go that far, so I thought I would just run about 2 hours. Of course we started at the Kenyan pace that defines those women who run 3:30 marathon pace and under, but it actually felt good. Even down the long, rutted, dark stretch of Carmel Valley Road, as we tripped on and jumped over the pot holes, I was happy to be there, happy to be with them, happy to be running.

My groin ache was chewing on me today, with the hamstring talking a little bit, as well. I am not sure where it came from, but I wish it would go away. I first noticed it a few weeks ago after a speed workout at the track and it has not yet subsided. On and on we gabbed until we climbed the mountain of Torrey Pines. Up and up we went, into the darkness and the fog of the morning. The miles flew by and we just moved forward into more stories of kids (new schools) and husbands (mine just got hooked 4 days ago by a fisherman's hook while running on the same beach!), mother-in-laws (challenges Tracy faces) and carpools (swim team, karate, etc). These girls are my lifeline as far as being a female. These are the women who understand what exactly works and does not work in relationships, communication, and the female brain, in general.

I said good bye at the top of La Jolla shores, 1:01 into the run, and reluctant to see them go as I turned around to head back to our cars solo. The time did me well, with so much to think about and reflect on. I often forget how great it is to run solo. It was the perfect combination: friends and chatter on the way out, the quiet of my head on the way back. I am still moved everytime I see the ocean below Torrey Pines cliffs. Where else can one enjoy the scenery of such beautiful trees, mountains and sea? I know the Northern California coast is equally as beautiful, having lived in Santa Cruz for a stint, but something about this particular course is magical. The ocean here is not dark and forboding. It almost seemed enticing, though I know it has gotten cold as of late. I fell into a groove and even wearing an ipod, I was able to hear the rhythym of my feet and the heaving of my chest as I hurled myself down the grade. I felt sorry for the guys on bikes I saw climbing the mountain as I was effortlessly going down. The fishermen were out in force (was the same guy there who is responsible for hubby's battle wound?) on the shore and the groups of Team in Training and others were loading up on their nutrition and strapping on their water belts. I was so happy to bein the home stretch with maybe 2 miles to go, give or take. Back to the car and my watch read 1:55:56. Close enough, I decided, to 2 hours and ready to quit.

There were the other usual suspects at Starbucks: the geeks on their bikes heading out to the coast and the ultra runners' cars who had gathered there a little earlier, as well. I love this community and this circle I call friends. I love that we all understand each other and support each other. We ask about races and we challenge each other to greater things. It used to be running a marathon was an accomplishment. Now that is old news. Now we need to compete in three sports to feel worthy of our morning cup of coffee.

I headed off to the gym and lifted legs and shoulders. My legs were shaking under the weight of squats and lunges. I think I might pay for it tomorrow, but today it was just what I needed.

Second Best

Who decided that first is best? Why is it from a very young age, we decide we need to be first? My kids "race" each other to the top of the stairs and say, "I'm gonna win! I'm first!" Today at the park, 3 year old Dillon tells me ,when my boy was running ahead of us, "I need to be first." He sprinted as fast as his little legs would carry him to catch up. The reward at the "finish" was a pinata at the party we crashed. It didn't matter who was out in the front, since all of the park kids got a turn to hit Scooby Doo and collect the treats that fell from his innards. What have these little boys seen, what have we already taught them, knowingly or silently, about first being superior?

I have been reflecting on Soma like a looming deadline, a dark curse closing in on me. It feels as though a rush judgement was made to sign up for the half Ironman. It feels like a huge final I kind of half studied for, hoping I can simply fake my way through. I am hoping that I know the material, that I have retained the important information to pull off an acceptable result. What is acceptable to me? Well, I know I am not going to be first in anything there, certainly not my age group. Chances are, I may end up last, knowing how little I studied the bike. And, now, the crash course tutorial in swimming. It is kind of humorous, really. My only hope is a decent run with all of the miles I have logged, but I am terrified that my legs just will not carry me through after the workout that will preceed it that day.

First is not all that, I know. But "first" in my mind is working as hard as I possibly can to prepare, and I don't feel like I have really done that. Why have I not been more serious about the time on the bike? Why did I think I could do this with such a poor stroke? Why did I think my love of running would conquer all things Half Ironman? Silly. Oh, well. I will be the first to laugh at myself when it is said and done.

Remedial apple

Plucked like a bad apple out of the batch....I was the bad apple. Me. In the swim workout Monday and told I cannot return to the regular workout because I need to "retrain" my muscle memory, my stroke is so poor. Here I was feeling so good about myself and the swim. I got right in with my head down and did a long warmup. I trailed as caboose (what else is new) in the lane and felt like I actually liked what was on the dry erase board. It was a pyramid of sorts: 100, 200, 300, 400, 300, 200, 100 for warm up and I was hanging. I mean, I had lifted chest and back earlier in the gym and was tired, but I was right in there on the interval.

"How patient are you?" Came the coach's voice from above me. I looked up to see his silhouette against the bright lights on deck. The morning sky was still dark and cold, but the pool felt okay, surprisingly.

"Very patient," I answered, somewhat hesistantly.

He plucked me out of my lane and kicked me down to the sandbox lane! Me, I had to get out of my comfortable 1:40 interval (I even chose to get in with some faster girls that day, so we may have been pushing it a little more than that) and go swim in the remedial lane! I felt like the kid who had to leave the regular reading class to go in the remedial group (of course, I have never actually experienced this, but always felt so sorry for those outcasts...). I actually looked around to see if the coach was pulling anyone else into this "special" workout. Nope. Just me. Then I looked to see if anyone else was watching me. A few. Ouch. So, I swallowed my pride and strutted down to the very slowest end of the pool, as proud as I could pretend to be. I pretended it was a unique Half Ironman prep workout and I was getting all of the attention. Turns out, it kind of was.

I am lame for being so arrogant and above it, because the help was really very useful. My attitude inside was so flippant, though I tried my best to appear gracious. There I was, bitter that I was missing out on all the meters in the pool while everyone else was grinding away, and I had to go practice stupid catchup drills! My hubby tells me all the time my stroke is catchup, so how was this suppose to help me again? Hmmm? It did! It was a triffle challenging, even, and coach told me by the end of the drill, I had already improved my stroke. Seems it was turned upside down. My catch and pull is too slow and my recovery and entry is fast and sloppy. Actually, there are a few more things wrong with it, but that is what we focused on Monday. He made me stop and hold my hand for a count before allowing it to re-enter the water into the catch and pull. Interesting....it really worked. Am I missing out on a few good swims before Soma, or will this really benefit me in 4 weeks? I have to hope for the latter.

I am still a little sad that I will not be in the thick of things at tomorrow's workout. But, in a tri geeky kind of way, I am actually looking forward to the private tutoring I am receiving. Sometimes being a remedial apple is okay, as long as I am not rotten with an attitude, I suppose.

Baby Liam 4/21/06-9/19/06

I have not visited this site for so long, mostly because I have felt so uninspired. Somehow, the days have all meshed together and the workouts were taken for granted. I have been consistent with the schedule, running, tracking, swimming, even cycling here and there. I cannot believe Soma Half Ironman is only weeks away now, as it feels like a bad dream. It sounded like a good idea when we signed up for it months ago. Now, it does not even seem real. The events of this past week have made training feel so superficial, that I care nothing about the pending race.

The call came Monday night. Our friend Doug's voice was shakey and far away. "Liam was put to sleep on his stomach his first day at daycare today, " he said. "He stopped breathing and they are calling it SIDS." He told all of this to my husband at first, who then recounted it to me. I had to hear it for myself. Coming from Marc, it was something out of a dream, a bad joke. I could not even wrap my mind around the words that came out of his mouth.

My mind was racing and I could not even comprehend what he was telling me. SIDS? Do kids really die from SIDS? I thought that was only a statistic and that the medical professionals only advised against putting children on their bellies to sleep as a spazy, precautionary measure. Baby Liam was healthy, despite the rough start he had coming into this world, he was given a clean bill of health. He was a chubby, happy, adorable baby...how can he have suffered from SIDS? I called Doug back. Surely there was some misunderstanding...there had to be.

"Wait, what?" It was all I could say at first, when Doug repeated what he had already shared with Marc. It sounded so lame leaving my mouth.

They were at Childrens Hospital and baby Liam, just shy of 5 months old and not quite rolling over on his own, was on life support. He had no brain activity. He had been without oxygen for too long and the mere fact that the paramedics who had arrived at the scene earlier that day were able to revive his heart was astounding. That, in and of itself, was a miracle, so maybe...

"We need a miracle, " Doug choked through tears. " We need a modern day miracle. It's not good. The doctors are telling us it is not good..." and he broke down.

Baby Liam was taken off of life support 24 hours later, Tuesday night, as his little organs were failing him. How can any of this be real? How can he really be dead? We prayed for him, pleaded for his life. We wanted desperately for him to live. We all clung to the hope that he would make it somehow. It was almost ridiculous, I thought, that we held on to that hope, but what else could we do? What else did we have? If we don't have hope, what do we have?

The service was yesterday. We all needed to hear something to make it all make sense. Nothing about it makes sense. No one can understand this loss. No one understands when a child dies. This was not abuse or neglect. It was a stupid accident that did not belong there on that day. This event should not have happened. No one can bare to think of Doug and Kelly walking by his empty crib, or how they can justify it to their other two children. As a parent, no one wants to suffer the guilt and questions that plague our minds after the fact. "What if Kelly hadn't returned to work that day? What if Liam had still been in the care of his grandparents? What if he had not been fussy and not been put to sleep on his stomach? What if he had not been in that daycare situation? What if they had checked on his 10 minutes earlier?" As parents, we bear the burden of living with every decision that affects our children's lives. We want so much to do right by them, and not unknowingly put them in harms way. If only we could take back the moment.

Now it feels as though we are frozen in time; we can't move forward because the past is so repulsive. We want to relive it the proper way, have the day that should have been. Kelly would drop off her precious bundle, work the day, and then return to her content and happy baby to take him home to the rest of the family. Liam was supposed to be safe and sound in that setting. How can he possibly be d-e-a-d?? We cannot move forward without it feeling as though it is disrespectful to Liam. How can we all possibly go on living where we left off? How can we simply return to our job responsibilities, and school work, and social promises? Do we pretend that his short chapter of a life was just that? Something that was part of the story, but now through it, seemingly forgotten for all the rest of the book that is to come? What can possibly come next and feel okay? He wasn't even my baby to hold, and yet, I am devastated by the loss and in need of more answers.

We implored God for a miracle. Why was God's answer, "No" when we all so desperately needed it to be "Yes"? "Yes, baby Liam is going to be okay. Yes, he will live to see the fall and experience his first Halloween costume. He will cut teeth and he will crawl. He will see his first Thanksgiving maybe even eat some turkey and mashed potatoes. He will drool and giggle and pull himself up. And he will have Christmas and gifts and joy. He will see the lights and experience the love the season has to offer. Yes, he will learn how to walk and talk and be a little boy. " My heart aches to think how little he knew of this world. He was born in Spring, thrived in the summer and then died just before the fall. Why do things in autumn die so quickly? He will never know all four seasons. He will never know so many things. How can this be real? If I am this empty with no words to even describe the loss I feel, his family's grief is unfathomable. I want to scream and be angry and distraught, but I try to be calm and look for peace and gratitude anywhere I can find it. There is no understanding or accepting yet. Perhaps the only thing that brings me comfort is what my 5 year old stated so matter of factly.

"Mom, maybe God just thought it was time for baby Liam to go to Heaven."

Maybe, and I guess we will not know any of the answers that evade us until we get there, too. Heaven is going to be an amazing place. Our hope is in that. Little baby Liam's life and death puts things into perspective fast. Live every day. Love every minute. Cherish those you love.

"You give and take away,
You give and take away,
My heart will choose to say,
Blessed be the name of the Lord."