"But what do you have in common?"
This is the question Marc kept asking me over and over about my relationship with Roberta on the way home from Georgia. Coming back to Vero has left me with a serious low feeling after so much bliss in Atlanta. There were so many highs there (being with friends, the chilly fall weather, the marathon, the community), it is difficult to come back to the lows here (the heat and humidity, the cranky elderly people, the old, run-down feeling this town resonates). Some days I feel like there is really nothing here for us. Maybe this is just the normal Post Marathon Blues I always seem to suffer from? The kids are excelling in tennis and all their extracurriculars, but apart from the time and financial freedom we have gained, I still feel empty in so many ways. How can this be our lives? How did we really land here, in Florida? Not possible.
Talking to another swim team mom at the pool tonight rekindled the warmth of the weekend. When she asked what we did for the Thanksgiving holiday and I told her, she emoted, "Oh! I LOVE Atlanta! I would live there in a SECOND! The schools, the town, the people....but my husband is from Vero and he will never leave here..." her voice trailed off as he threw her a disparaging look. I had to agree how fabulous Atlanta really is, at least what we experienced of it. This mom, Alisa, is from Los Angeles, too and we are in agreement that Florida is just not where it is at. We agree that we need not be back in LA necessarily, but that this is not where it is happening for us. We complain about the schools and the seasonal people and the pace of life at every practice.
It is funny because I always read my kids the Clifford The Big Red Dog books. The characters live on Birdwell Island, some little fictional island off the East Coast that seems the ideal place to raise kids. On Birdwell Island, the kids and their dogs roam the town and run on the beach and grow up in a wholesome neighborhood with exactly the perfect mix of various ethnicity and no racial tension. It seems the perfect little beach town, and they never seem to have any insect issues? Vero could almost be like Birdwell, except that there is racial tension (this may as well be the South) and the Confederate flag flies proudly here (say it with me: scary). The bugs are ridiculous and there is a racial divide.
Anyway, today I had to think about why Roberta and I are such good friends and how we have managed to remain so tight for all these years. What is it about our relationship that works? We met almost 14 years ago when she trained me as a server at the restaurant we worked at together in Malibu. She was going through a change of career after a life crisis and I had transferred back to school in LA out of Santa Cruz liberal hell. We both needed the money that place brought us and we closed the bar together many nights. We knew how to work the tables and customers and we always took the best of both. She was like a sister to me, always watching out for me and my best interest with men, dating, money, and school choices. I think I was her security blanket of someone who was always around once we moved in together and I was her biggest fan and cheerleader. That woman is Mother Earth. She was an amazing teacher and now that she has kids, she is Super Mom. She is the super volunteer, the team mom, the cake baking extraordinaire, the substitute teacher for all ages, and the fill-in-the-gap for any other need the school/neighborhood/community has. Roberta is the one they call when they need food, carpools, clothes, or babysitting.
So, what do we have in common? She is a Jewish Democrat, I am Christian non-partisan. She loathes exercise and sweat, while I am a cardio junkie who laces up my Nikes twice a day. She is the amazingly laid back, semi-messy mom who does not require her kids to use seat belts. I am the Paxil-needing, strung-out safety supervisor who cannot stand it when water spills in the car. She loves to cook and allows her family to indulge in many of life's guilty pleasures. I hate cooking and think of food as the Enemy. Our differences have become magnified now that we have kids. We parent with very different styles and with very different ideas. But, we both love our kids more than words can say and we both want to nurture in them a love of learning and curiosity and wonder. We want them to love reading and sports and have tons of friends and shoes.
But I know I want more of what Roberta has...she has a serene, carefree way about her that blows through the room like a warm summer afternoon breeze (in Malibu). She is fanatical about cleaning her kitchen counter tops, but she lets the kids draw on the windows ("It comes off with Windex"). She has a particular way she loads her dishwasher, but she doesn't care if the kids spill snacks in between the couch cushions. She is insistent that the kids always brush their teeth, but she only requires them to shower every third day and laughs about how stinky they get. She runs her kids ragged with activities and takes them to the ends of the earth. I, on the other hand, am such a stickler for the schedule and allowing for downtime. Her TV is on midday and her kids trudge in and out of the house in shoes. In our house, TV is a rare treat and we are a shoe-free zone. Her kids call her by her first name and their crayons are stored in empty frosting cans. I am not sure my kids even know my first name, and I cannot bring myself to allow my kids to eat anything with hydrogenated oils, let alone save the can for storage. I cannot skip reading the labels and counting the grams of sugar my kids might eat, constantly tallying up fat grams I do not want them to ingest. Roberta just lets her kids be kids and I want more of that. I want to be more of the person I am when we are together. She is almost haphazard in her parenting, and I desire to have more of that tendency. She is so creative and carefree, while I sometimes feel so "in the box" and "follow the guidelines" in my parenting.
What do Roberta and I have in common? Not at lot, quite honestly, but she teaches me that I want to be liberated. I want to put into practice the freedom she lives with in rearing her kids. She takes her little people to (gasp!) fast food, and while I don't think I can ever really go there, I recognize the need for balance. Berta fed our kids Lucky Charms the morning Marc and I were at the race. My knee-jerk reaction was to cringe (I hope I didn't show that outwardly). But, at the end of the day, is sugar cereal really going to kill them? We told them it is only sold in Georgia, by the way, now that we are back home and my four year old is asking for cereal with marshmallows in it.
Speaking of balance, I am seriously considering running the West Palm Beach marathon this Sunday. I know it seems crazy to run 2 marathons 10 days apart, but the idea of staying here in Vero this weekend is just too mediocre. Truly, the idea of staying here and having nothing on the books this weekend is enough to make me consider taking antidepressants. Berta would go (if she ran 26 miles at a time) and let her kids eat chocolate cake with trans fat in the car on the way. Shoot. She would probably let them watch videos all weekend long with lollipops hanging out of their mouths, too. Whose house would you rather grow up in?
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Atlanta
We LOVE Atlanta! We love the whole city, as well as Peach Tree City, where our dear friends from Los Angeles now live. We love the trees and the colors and the cold air and the kids in the leaves! We love the large houses with huge backyards, and the homey home town feeling here. WE love the golf cart rides around town and the zip line from the trees, and we love the fall colors! Did I say that already??? And, we loved running through Atlanta. It was a beautiful (although hugely hilly) course!The trees here are unlike any I have seen...they are bright red and orange and yellow. The leaves falling on the course today were falling as if in slow motion, and I would put my hands up to catch them.
Marc and I met up with Dr. George and his lovely wife, Lori, this morning. We dropped Marc off at his half marathon start (he only ran the half since this was his warm up race before his marathon in Jacksonville in 3 weeks), which began at our marathon turn around point. We left him in the dark and then hurried to get to our starting line, with time to spare.
George and I started at 7:30, 30 minutes after the half went off. I could not believe how few people were in the marathon. I have never run a marathon in which I could actually see the race start. It was amazing. Apparently only 700 people run the full, but several thousand run the half. I guess with the holiday, most people prefer to get home to family sooner. I wondered how Marc was doing, 30 minutes into his race. He was hoping for a 1:18 today, but we later realized how lofty that goal was with the rain and hills and wind. There George and I stood at that start, as it began to pour rain....a cold, miserable rain.
"George! I hate rain! I hate running in the rain!" I tell him.
George, ever steady, very quiet in his doctor-like measure of calm says, "Don't worry. It never rains here like it does in Florida. It won't come down in droves. It will blow out as quickly as it came in and we will be fine."
The gun went off and off we went. I let him go immediately, knowing he is a consistent 3:30 marathoner and knowing I did not want to try to keep his pace. I told him I am a loner when I run, anyway, and do not like to have to chat the whole way. He was in my sight for most of the first 7 miles, simply because there were not many people on the road in front of me, Honestly, I did not even look at my watch through the miles. For one thing, I loved that not every mile was marked. In the beginning, there were only mile markers every 2 or 3 miles. This was so great, because I did not agonize over the them and count my way down so intently. Another reason I did not check my watch really at all, I woke up and decided I was going to have fun today and not care about the time. I really wanted to finish enjoying the run and I did just that. Lastly, with the rain coming down (Florida style), I couldn't really read the numbers anyway, so why bother?
Anyway, around mile 7, I passed George and yelled at him to come with me. He said his legs were tired. The hills were relentless and I was not at all prepared for just how many there really were. My quads were tired, too, at that point, and I knew it would be a long day. Anyway, I knew George was not far behind, and when I got to the 13 mile turn around, I saw just hold closely he was running behind me. At this point, I did read my watch and it read 1:46 and I thought, "Oh, that's going to hurt later." Some guy who was volunteering told me I was the fifth woman to come through. I hate that he even told me that. I was running so blissfully until that pressure-filled thought. Another hill on the way back out of the turn around. Really, the hills were never-ending. I think George dropped back, because I waited for him at the next water station, but I could not see him coming. Miles 14 and 15 came and went and I still felt okay, trudging ahead....in the rain.
I had had to pee for many miles, so around mile 16, I finally came to a port-a-potty and went in. As I came out, George passed me and I ran in his shadow for a while. He was walking through the water stations, I realized, but I began falling off whatever pace I had been running and lost sight of him. I was desperate for the rain to stop because I was freezing and miserable. My shorts were heavy with water and I could now hear the squish, squish, squish of George's loud feet ahead of me.
Mile 17, I came through a water station and took some Jelly Beans, and out of the port-a-potty in front of me came George. He signed to me that he was done with his hands. I asked him how he felt and he told me his legs were done, that his tires fell off. I told him to come with me and we would just take it one mile at a time. We hung like that until mile 20. We ran in silence with only the "Squish, squish" of his feet, heavy on the wet pavement.
"Where is the water, George??? I need water! I am ready to lick a puddle!" (Did I mention that it was still raining? It rained consistently through mile 18, and then it was intermittent showers from there) I was getting desperate. If I have one complaint about this race, it was that the water stations were not spaced out properly. We would go for miles without any support, then there would be 2 water stations within 3/4 of a mile of each other.
"Water is coming...I think at the bottom of this hill." he told me. George is useless. He was trying to be positive, but I knew he was lying to me in his even tone. We got to the bottom of the long hill that beat up my quads and then around the corner, but no water. I was dying. Then, I saw it....it was like a beam of hope....the water station just before the huge climb they call "Cardiac Hill" just before mile 21. That is where George and I parted ways and that is where I hung it up. I was so done. I didn't care at all what the clock said...I wanted to crawl to the finish. But it was George who told me he was going to fall off and take it easy up the hills to the finish....yes, there were hills all the way to the finish. He started walking and I was in shock. This is the man who never gives in, never gives up and never quits. He is the Hero of Vero, he made the Vero Beach Times Magazine as one of "Vero's 40 most influential people" and here he was walking. He must have been hurting. I started Cardiac Hill slowly, hoping he would get me, but I tired of looking over my shoulder, since I was so exhausted, and I had to keep moving my feet.
Miles 22, and 23 were not memorable. I was hurting and I just wanted to get up that endless hill to the finish. Marc jumped in at mile 24 and that brought mixed emotions for me. I was elated to see him, but knew I would have to keep running and all I wanted to do was stop. My legs were absolutely cooked. The hills got me and they got me in a serious way. Marc went 1:20 in his race, which is great, knowing the head wind and the hills were against us. I was so proud and happy for him.
I walked through the water station at 24 and took some more beans. I felt like I had to vomit and that was not a good feeling, knowing I had 2 more miles to go. More uphill and it was like a bad dream. We finally made it to mile 25 and past the Capitol....and, another hill. At least the rain had stopped. We marched on and Marc kept saying, "Come on Pea, you look so strong. Take the Ironman in front of you." I didn't care about the man with the Ironman tattoo and shaved legs, but I did pass him anyway. The last 800 was downhill, but it was not even a welcome thing. It hurt and my legs were so sad. Ironmand passed me right at the finish. George was still nowhere behind me and I wondered how he was feeling. Not good for a 3:30 marathoner, since I came across the line and heard his wife yelling for me, waiting for him. I am sure she was surprised I came in before he did. 3:46 and I was thrilled to death. I actually felt good, minus my "barfy tummy" as the kids call it and my numb legs. I was cold, wet, frigid, and in need of a shower. I had not been this cold or with this kind of quad pain since Boston in 2000. I did not expect that at all. In the end, I finished 9th woman overall and 3rd in my age group. Apparently most of us finished around the 3:40ish mark, according to my hubby.
We waited for George. He made it in 3:55, shaking his tired head. Marc handed him a Diet Coke and he drank it immediately. That brought him new life and then we headed out back to the house for Thanksgiving Dinner. When we got home, the house smelled wonderful and kids were happy. What a great day. We are loving our time here.
Marc and I met up with Dr. George and his lovely wife, Lori, this morning. We dropped Marc off at his half marathon start (he only ran the half since this was his warm up race before his marathon in Jacksonville in 3 weeks), which began at our marathon turn around point. We left him in the dark and then hurried to get to our starting line, with time to spare.
George and I started at 7:30, 30 minutes after the half went off. I could not believe how few people were in the marathon. I have never run a marathon in which I could actually see the race start. It was amazing. Apparently only 700 people run the full, but several thousand run the half. I guess with the holiday, most people prefer to get home to family sooner. I wondered how Marc was doing, 30 minutes into his race. He was hoping for a 1:18 today, but we later realized how lofty that goal was with the rain and hills and wind. There George and I stood at that start, as it began to pour rain....a cold, miserable rain.
"George! I hate rain! I hate running in the rain!" I tell him.
George, ever steady, very quiet in his doctor-like measure of calm says, "Don't worry. It never rains here like it does in Florida. It won't come down in droves. It will blow out as quickly as it came in and we will be fine."
The gun went off and off we went. I let him go immediately, knowing he is a consistent 3:30 marathoner and knowing I did not want to try to keep his pace. I told him I am a loner when I run, anyway, and do not like to have to chat the whole way. He was in my sight for most of the first 7 miles, simply because there were not many people on the road in front of me, Honestly, I did not even look at my watch through the miles. For one thing, I loved that not every mile was marked. In the beginning, there were only mile markers every 2 or 3 miles. This was so great, because I did not agonize over the them and count my way down so intently. Another reason I did not check my watch really at all, I woke up and decided I was going to have fun today and not care about the time. I really wanted to finish enjoying the run and I did just that. Lastly, with the rain coming down (Florida style), I couldn't really read the numbers anyway, so why bother?
Anyway, around mile 7, I passed George and yelled at him to come with me. He said his legs were tired. The hills were relentless and I was not at all prepared for just how many there really were. My quads were tired, too, at that point, and I knew it would be a long day. Anyway, I knew George was not far behind, and when I got to the 13 mile turn around, I saw just hold closely he was running behind me. At this point, I did read my watch and it read 1:46 and I thought, "Oh, that's going to hurt later." Some guy who was volunteering told me I was the fifth woman to come through. I hate that he even told me that. I was running so blissfully until that pressure-filled thought. Another hill on the way back out of the turn around. Really, the hills were never-ending. I think George dropped back, because I waited for him at the next water station, but I could not see him coming. Miles 14 and 15 came and went and I still felt okay, trudging ahead....in the rain.
I had had to pee for many miles, so around mile 16, I finally came to a port-a-potty and went in. As I came out, George passed me and I ran in his shadow for a while. He was walking through the water stations, I realized, but I began falling off whatever pace I had been running and lost sight of him. I was desperate for the rain to stop because I was freezing and miserable. My shorts were heavy with water and I could now hear the squish, squish, squish of George's loud feet ahead of me.
Mile 17, I came through a water station and took some Jelly Beans, and out of the port-a-potty in front of me came George. He signed to me that he was done with his hands. I asked him how he felt and he told me his legs were done, that his tires fell off. I told him to come with me and we would just take it one mile at a time. We hung like that until mile 20. We ran in silence with only the "Squish, squish" of his feet, heavy on the wet pavement.
"Where is the water, George??? I need water! I am ready to lick a puddle!" (Did I mention that it was still raining? It rained consistently through mile 18, and then it was intermittent showers from there) I was getting desperate. If I have one complaint about this race, it was that the water stations were not spaced out properly. We would go for miles without any support, then there would be 2 water stations within 3/4 of a mile of each other.
"Water is coming...I think at the bottom of this hill." he told me. George is useless. He was trying to be positive, but I knew he was lying to me in his even tone. We got to the bottom of the long hill that beat up my quads and then around the corner, but no water. I was dying. Then, I saw it....it was like a beam of hope....the water station just before the huge climb they call "Cardiac Hill" just before mile 21. That is where George and I parted ways and that is where I hung it up. I was so done. I didn't care at all what the clock said...I wanted to crawl to the finish. But it was George who told me he was going to fall off and take it easy up the hills to the finish....yes, there were hills all the way to the finish. He started walking and I was in shock. This is the man who never gives in, never gives up and never quits. He is the Hero of Vero, he made the Vero Beach Times Magazine as one of "Vero's 40 most influential people" and here he was walking. He must have been hurting. I started Cardiac Hill slowly, hoping he would get me, but I tired of looking over my shoulder, since I was so exhausted, and I had to keep moving my feet.
Miles 22, and 23 were not memorable. I was hurting and I just wanted to get up that endless hill to the finish. Marc jumped in at mile 24 and that brought mixed emotions for me. I was elated to see him, but knew I would have to keep running and all I wanted to do was stop. My legs were absolutely cooked. The hills got me and they got me in a serious way. Marc went 1:20 in his race, which is great, knowing the head wind and the hills were against us. I was so proud and happy for him.
I walked through the water station at 24 and took some more beans. I felt like I had to vomit and that was not a good feeling, knowing I had 2 more miles to go. More uphill and it was like a bad dream. We finally made it to mile 25 and past the Capitol....and, another hill. At least the rain had stopped. We marched on and Marc kept saying, "Come on Pea, you look so strong. Take the Ironman in front of you." I didn't care about the man with the Ironman tattoo and shaved legs, but I did pass him anyway. The last 800 was downhill, but it was not even a welcome thing. It hurt and my legs were so sad. Ironmand passed me right at the finish. George was still nowhere behind me and I wondered how he was feeling. Not good for a 3:30 marathoner, since I came across the line and heard his wife yelling for me, waiting for him. I am sure she was surprised I came in before he did. 3:46 and I was thrilled to death. I actually felt good, minus my "barfy tummy" as the kids call it and my numb legs. I was cold, wet, frigid, and in need of a shower. I had not been this cold or with this kind of quad pain since Boston in 2000. I did not expect that at all. In the end, I finished 9th woman overall and 3rd in my age group. Apparently most of us finished around the 3:40ish mark, according to my hubby.
We waited for George. He made it in 3:55, shaking his tired head. Marc handed him a Diet Coke and he drank it immediately. That brought him new life and then we headed out back to the house for Thanksgiving Dinner. When we got home, the house smelled wonderful and kids were happy. What a great day. We are loving our time here.
Monday, November 19, 2007
Okay, Now I am Nervous
We leave tomorrow for Atlanta! I cannot WAIT to see friends and not eat turkey! I hate the food, but love the tradition of family and friends. We will make vegetarian black bean soup for those of us (Ro and me) who are not into the turkey and dressing. We have to do the traditional spread for the kids and husbands, but that doesn't mean we have to eat it.
I have all but forgotten about the marathon until today, since I have been so distracted with school obligations and prepping for the trip. This morning I ran with Dr. George and Lori and they reminded me I need to pick up their race numbers, since they arrive in GA after the expo closes Wednesday. I have never run a marathon on a Thursday and it is kind of throwing a monkey wrench into the system. I have run marathons on Saturday and Sunday, even Boston was on a Monday....but, never a Thursday? The taper has been a little confusing these last few weeks, for sure. Should be interesting.
They are forecasting rain, by the way. Rain. There is a freaking drought there, and Thursday the state is going to get rain? I wonder if there will be ample water to drink on the course in the height of a drought? When I ran with Barry, et al, last week, he told me the marathon was cancelled due to the drought situation. I believed him, dry lawyer personality he is. Quadruple A in personality, always training for Ironman something, Barry is not to be taken lightly usually. He is not really known for being funny, but I guess he thought that was? I bought into it for a while when he told me it was on CNN the night before.
Anyway, as I zip up the suitcases tonight, I am acutely aware of my running shoes sitting on the top of the bag. Yikes! The kids are packed, the house sitter is lined up, Marc is signed off at work for the long week. Tomorrow we leave! Now, I am nervous. And I am wound about as tight as a spring.
I have all but forgotten about the marathon until today, since I have been so distracted with school obligations and prepping for the trip. This morning I ran with Dr. George and Lori and they reminded me I need to pick up their race numbers, since they arrive in GA after the expo closes Wednesday. I have never run a marathon on a Thursday and it is kind of throwing a monkey wrench into the system. I have run marathons on Saturday and Sunday, even Boston was on a Monday....but, never a Thursday? The taper has been a little confusing these last few weeks, for sure. Should be interesting.
They are forecasting rain, by the way. Rain. There is a freaking drought there, and Thursday the state is going to get rain? I wonder if there will be ample water to drink on the course in the height of a drought? When I ran with Barry, et al, last week, he told me the marathon was cancelled due to the drought situation. I believed him, dry lawyer personality he is. Quadruple A in personality, always training for Ironman something, Barry is not to be taken lightly usually. He is not really known for being funny, but I guess he thought that was? I bought into it for a while when he told me it was on CNN the night before.
Anyway, as I zip up the suitcases tonight, I am acutely aware of my running shoes sitting on the top of the bag. Yikes! The kids are packed, the house sitter is lined up, Marc is signed off at work for the long week. Tomorrow we leave! Now, I am nervous. And I am wound about as tight as a spring.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Hump Day
I am beginning to think that I try to sabotage my races. Yesterday when cleaning up in the kids' art room, I slammed my foot into a metal chair and destroyed my toe. I immediately crumpled in pain. My toe then immediately became swollen and black, and it was excruciating to walk on. This would almost be funny, if not for the fact that my marathon looms in 7 days. The part that makes it seem like sabotage is the fact that one year ago, I did the same thing, on the same chair, on the same foot, 3 days out from my Half Ironman. What is my deal?
Tonight the foot was so much better and I was able to run 2 whole miles on the dreadmil. I met my workout partner, Lisa, at the gym and we lifted, too. At first, I thought she was not showing, but then I heard a distant cry from across the crowded gym, "Quad! Quad!" I am not sure if I resent or resemble the nickname yet. Behind Lisa came the man who labeled me that dubious title, Gary. Gary is a super fit, super fast Sunrunner who we all call "Skinny Ass". He is so metro sexual, totally concerned with his appearance, and dresses in really loud running shorts or cycling apparel. He is kind of creepy and always stands a little too close for comfort. I told him these things this evening, as well as the way he reminds me of a slimy professor I used to have my sophomore year in college. Skinny Ass quickly made his exit after that and left us alone to workout.
I really like Lisa. She is very real. She has a killer bod, is super fit and maintains a tan year round. She is super mellow and easy going and I think they all call her "Country" because she is kind of a redneck at heart. We really have very little in common. She is a total party girl, loves nightlife and cocktails. She is going through a sad divorce along with her two kids, and working her booty off to get by. But she is so amazingly sweet and funny and she just calls things out as she sees them. We have to respect that about her. She is quiet, but when she talks it is worthwhile and her voice never waivers. She is intentional and steady, just the way she is when she runs. There is no BS about that girl.
On the way out of the gym after picking the kids up from their classes, Owen stepped on a rusty nail in the parking lot. She was not wearing shoes. I am not sure why we are culminating in foot injury this week and I am hoping for less drama tomorrow.
Tonight the foot was so much better and I was able to run 2 whole miles on the dreadmil. I met my workout partner, Lisa, at the gym and we lifted, too. At first, I thought she was not showing, but then I heard a distant cry from across the crowded gym, "Quad! Quad!" I am not sure if I resent or resemble the nickname yet. Behind Lisa came the man who labeled me that dubious title, Gary. Gary is a super fit, super fast Sunrunner who we all call "Skinny Ass". He is so metro sexual, totally concerned with his appearance, and dresses in really loud running shorts or cycling apparel. He is kind of creepy and always stands a little too close for comfort. I told him these things this evening, as well as the way he reminds me of a slimy professor I used to have my sophomore year in college. Skinny Ass quickly made his exit after that and left us alone to workout.
I really like Lisa. She is very real. She has a killer bod, is super fit and maintains a tan year round. She is super mellow and easy going and I think they all call her "Country" because she is kind of a redneck at heart. We really have very little in common. She is a total party girl, loves nightlife and cocktails. She is going through a sad divorce along with her two kids, and working her booty off to get by. But she is so amazingly sweet and funny and she just calls things out as she sees them. We have to respect that about her. She is quiet, but when she talks it is worthwhile and her voice never waivers. She is intentional and steady, just the way she is when she runs. There is no BS about that girl.
On the way out of the gym after picking the kids up from their classes, Owen stepped on a rusty nail in the parking lot. She was not wearing shoes. I am not sure why we are culminating in foot injury this week and I am hoping for less drama tomorrow.
Monday, November 12, 2007
I Have To Admit, It's Getting Better
In the words of the Beatles, "it's getting better all the time...." Not sure if I am still high from the fun and excitement of being at the Clearwater 70.3 Championships to see John PR, or just that, in general, life seems to be moving along more smoothly. I am still desperately unhappy with the school system here and with no reasonable solution or alternative, I cannot imagine it will get better anytime soon. I deplore the idea of our kids getting a mediocre education and Owen repeatedly telling me how bored she is in school. This pulls on the heart strings daily and I want to run back to Carmel Valley in an instant to make it all go away. At least there, if nothing else, we knew our kids were getting a quality education and being challenged all of the time.
Anyway, the weekend was a total success. The drive to Clearwater (clear across the state from where we are) was easy and only 3 hours. The kids did great, Marc and I enjoyed some much needed family and vacation time, and the beaches there were amazing. The kids loved the race scene, with so much going on and so many activities to take part in. I loved reconnecting with an old friend, someone familiar and safe, close to home. It almost felt like we were dining out in San Diego and just talking about another race, as though no time has lapsed since we moved here. Clearwater really is a cool little city with some spectacular beaches. Of course, it gave me the bug to want to race that distance again and soon!
We had lunch with an old colleague of John's while he was racing, a man by the name of Stephen. He was very generous and kind to us, as well as encouraging and funny. One thing I have come to realize about the locals (he lives in the panhandle of this state), is that they quickly forget just how miserable the weather is here in the summer. Stephen was one more person who claims the "3 months" in the summer are difficult, but the other "9 months" make it all worthwhile. It is true, the weather here is finally beautiful. (We went to the beach yesterday and the kids were in the water, 78 degrees, by all accounts chilly to Floridians, but about as warm as the water ever gets in San Diego, no?).
Anyway, I feel like the locals forget about just how dreadful the heat and humidity really are....and they cannot calculate the months properly. I count June, July, August, September, and ALL of October as being disgustingly hot and unbearable, so I am not sure where "3 months" comes from? I told Marc, I liken the weather to being in a bad relationship. When we are in that relationship, it is hard and we long for something better, easier, something with less drama. Once we break up, all we can remember is the good. We reminisce about all the good times and cannot let go of the fond memories. This is what Floridians do: they completely forget how terrible it really was and live in the moment of how wonderful everything here is. I guess that is one way to live, seeing through rose tinted glasses. I am still bitter about the relationship and glad we broke it off with the humidity, since I was becoming dreadful to live with.
The kids and I were out front tonight, cutting back the Bougainvillea that grows wildly out of control. It is a huge and wondrous sight when it is in bloom, as it is now, but becomes increasingly tangled and crazy the higher it grows. They love taking their little craft scissors and "trimming" the flowers back. I have the huge hedge trimmers and crop as much as I can, knowing we will be out there again in 3 weeks time to do more. My boy always saves the flowers for me and puts them in a vase inside. My girl complains that the landscaper is not doing his job. But, in the next breath, she tells me how much she loves the time we spend doing this together, so I think that counts for something? The evening was beautiful and we decided to go across the street to walk on the beach. I took dinner out of the oven and we ran along the shore until the moon was high and it was time to get to the pool for swim team workout. We barely made our way back, since it was pitch black with no lights to follow until we got to the bridge that traverses the jungle path back to the street. It was so much fun to just run in the dark like that, dodging crabs and chasing the surf.
Lastly, I cannot believe my marathon is inside of 10 days now. My buddy Craig said, and I am sure he was quoting someone else, "E, if you hurt at mile 10, you are in trouble. If you hurt at mile 20, you are normal. If you don't hurt at mile 26, you are abnormal." I am sure it is going to hurt. I know I am going to hurt. I just hope I can keep my GI issues in check, otherwise it is going to be a sad Thanksgiving. Oh.
Anyway, the weekend was a total success. The drive to Clearwater (clear across the state from where we are) was easy and only 3 hours. The kids did great, Marc and I enjoyed some much needed family and vacation time, and the beaches there were amazing. The kids loved the race scene, with so much going on and so many activities to take part in. I loved reconnecting with an old friend, someone familiar and safe, close to home. It almost felt like we were dining out in San Diego and just talking about another race, as though no time has lapsed since we moved here. Clearwater really is a cool little city with some spectacular beaches. Of course, it gave me the bug to want to race that distance again and soon!
We had lunch with an old colleague of John's while he was racing, a man by the name of Stephen. He was very generous and kind to us, as well as encouraging and funny. One thing I have come to realize about the locals (he lives in the panhandle of this state), is that they quickly forget just how miserable the weather is here in the summer. Stephen was one more person who claims the "3 months" in the summer are difficult, but the other "9 months" make it all worthwhile. It is true, the weather here is finally beautiful. (We went to the beach yesterday and the kids were in the water, 78 degrees, by all accounts chilly to Floridians, but about as warm as the water ever gets in San Diego, no?).
Anyway, I feel like the locals forget about just how dreadful the heat and humidity really are....and they cannot calculate the months properly. I count June, July, August, September, and ALL of October as being disgustingly hot and unbearable, so I am not sure where "3 months" comes from? I told Marc, I liken the weather to being in a bad relationship. When we are in that relationship, it is hard and we long for something better, easier, something with less drama. Once we break up, all we can remember is the good. We reminisce about all the good times and cannot let go of the fond memories. This is what Floridians do: they completely forget how terrible it really was and live in the moment of how wonderful everything here is. I guess that is one way to live, seeing through rose tinted glasses. I am still bitter about the relationship and glad we broke it off with the humidity, since I was becoming dreadful to live with.
The kids and I were out front tonight, cutting back the Bougainvillea that grows wildly out of control. It is a huge and wondrous sight when it is in bloom, as it is now, but becomes increasingly tangled and crazy the higher it grows. They love taking their little craft scissors and "trimming" the flowers back. I have the huge hedge trimmers and crop as much as I can, knowing we will be out there again in 3 weeks time to do more. My boy always saves the flowers for me and puts them in a vase inside. My girl complains that the landscaper is not doing his job. But, in the next breath, she tells me how much she loves the time we spend doing this together, so I think that counts for something? The evening was beautiful and we decided to go across the street to walk on the beach. I took dinner out of the oven and we ran along the shore until the moon was high and it was time to get to the pool for swim team workout. We barely made our way back, since it was pitch black with no lights to follow until we got to the bridge that traverses the jungle path back to the street. It was so much fun to just run in the dark like that, dodging crabs and chasing the surf.
Lastly, I cannot believe my marathon is inside of 10 days now. My buddy Craig said, and I am sure he was quoting someone else, "E, if you hurt at mile 10, you are in trouble. If you hurt at mile 20, you are normal. If you don't hurt at mile 26, you are abnormal." I am sure it is going to hurt. I know I am going to hurt. I just hope I can keep my GI issues in check, otherwise it is going to be a sad Thanksgiving. Oh.
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
Moving Forward
This has been another busy week of many activities, obligations, and appointments. I started the kids in a new tennis program, which has them playing on clay courts now and being coached by pros. I know I will be accused of being an aggro tennis mom, but I was becoming disillusioned with their original routine: too many kids, too little experience, too much time waiting to hit the ball. Now they are taking at a more "serious" venue under the watchful eye of some spectacular pro, I am told. This is great, as is the fact that they are benefiting from the low numbers of kids to coach. My boy basically had a private lesson yesterday, and walked around today saying, "Bounce, hit. Bounce, hit."
My girl is still carrying around the trophy she won from last weekend's 5K. She won the 9 and under age group and loves her Dolphin Dash win. Marc won overall, and came home with the largest trophy, of course. We are starting a shrine in the bathroom for all of his wins now. We may have to add on another room to the house soon if they continue their earnings at the rate they are going. Personally, I cannot think of a more miserable experience than to hurt like that for just over three miles. I would sooner run 100 miles than have to race three. Ouch.
The weekend also brought some huge surf, courtesy of Noel. When we trudged to the beach Saturday, we were quickly alerted by the lifeguard that no children were allowed in the water due to severe currents and high surf. The kids busied themselves instead collecting shells and climbing on beach driftwood. Marc, of course, had to get in with a board and surf the epic wind blown junk that was out there. The next day, the same decision to surf brought him a gash on his wrist from one of the skegs, at which point he decided to get out before he attracted too many sharks. Good thing, considering we read in the paper the next day a man was attacked by a shark and bit on the tukis that same afternoon. He was surfing just a stone's throw from where we were. Love the nature here in Florida.
Lastly, I came to a startling conclusion today while standing in front of the mirror naked in the gym locker room. I think this is the best shape I have been in since college. I dropped my boy off in his gymnastics class and then hit the shower quickly (since I was in need of one after my gym workout). Standing around and talking to other moms from the class made me feel happy to be part of the Mom Club. I feel honored and privileged to be a mom, have 2 great kids, and be able to take part in all the discussions about school concerns, sports debacles, and homework woes. Being around moms who are pregnant with number three, running around doing the mom thing, makes me ache for a third one sometimes. When I look at my little guy, I can't help but think how totally beautiful he is, how lovely and wonderful and sweet he is. How it could be really fabulous to have another beautiful baby. Then I think about the athlete in me and how kids cramp that style. In my mind, there are two camps: the one in which moms with three or more kids reside, and the one with two kids or less. Three or more is constant chaos, blissful craziness, and never a dull moment. Two or less is seemingly doable, organized chaos and highly transportable. Mother to three is to be part of the inner tribe of the Mom Club, the special sector of the cult with its own language and connection. Mom to two or less seems more connected to the husband and wives club, the willingness to move forward as a couple and back to the intimacy that brings as the kids become more independent.
I know what two kids has done to my time and the havoc it has reeked on my body, which is only now recovering the best way it knows how at 32 years old. I want to be a hot mom and desirable wife. For me, a third kid could virtually spell out disaster. Not just the idea of sleepless nights again, the mile high of poopy diapers or mismatched sippy cups with lids that always leak, but the image that goes along with it. Please don't get me wrong. I am not saying that all women who choose to have three kids are homely and undesirable. I can only imagine what it would mean for me. I think for me it would mean my body would really go to hell fast and Marc might leave me. Period. Today standing in front of that mirror, I almost felt like I have a decent figure that deserves more than the frumpy mom clothes. Maybe I deserve new boobs to boot? Who needs another ankle biter when there are more races to run and silicone to be had? This is what I am going to go with in light of the newest study that came out shedding new light on the connection between heart disease and birth control.
My girl is still carrying around the trophy she won from last weekend's 5K. She won the 9 and under age group and loves her Dolphin Dash win. Marc won overall, and came home with the largest trophy, of course. We are starting a shrine in the bathroom for all of his wins now. We may have to add on another room to the house soon if they continue their earnings at the rate they are going. Personally, I cannot think of a more miserable experience than to hurt like that for just over three miles. I would sooner run 100 miles than have to race three. Ouch.
The weekend also brought some huge surf, courtesy of Noel. When we trudged to the beach Saturday, we were quickly alerted by the lifeguard that no children were allowed in the water due to severe currents and high surf. The kids busied themselves instead collecting shells and climbing on beach driftwood. Marc, of course, had to get in with a board and surf the epic wind blown junk that was out there. The next day, the same decision to surf brought him a gash on his wrist from one of the skegs, at which point he decided to get out before he attracted too many sharks. Good thing, considering we read in the paper the next day a man was attacked by a shark and bit on the tukis that same afternoon. He was surfing just a stone's throw from where we were. Love the nature here in Florida.
Lastly, I came to a startling conclusion today while standing in front of the mirror naked in the gym locker room. I think this is the best shape I have been in since college. I dropped my boy off in his gymnastics class and then hit the shower quickly (since I was in need of one after my gym workout). Standing around and talking to other moms from the class made me feel happy to be part of the Mom Club. I feel honored and privileged to be a mom, have 2 great kids, and be able to take part in all the discussions about school concerns, sports debacles, and homework woes. Being around moms who are pregnant with number three, running around doing the mom thing, makes me ache for a third one sometimes. When I look at my little guy, I can't help but think how totally beautiful he is, how lovely and wonderful and sweet he is. How it could be really fabulous to have another beautiful baby. Then I think about the athlete in me and how kids cramp that style. In my mind, there are two camps: the one in which moms with three or more kids reside, and the one with two kids or less. Three or more is constant chaos, blissful craziness, and never a dull moment. Two or less is seemingly doable, organized chaos and highly transportable. Mother to three is to be part of the inner tribe of the Mom Club, the special sector of the cult with its own language and connection. Mom to two or less seems more connected to the husband and wives club, the willingness to move forward as a couple and back to the intimacy that brings as the kids become more independent.
I know what two kids has done to my time and the havoc it has reeked on my body, which is only now recovering the best way it knows how at 32 years old. I want to be a hot mom and desirable wife. For me, a third kid could virtually spell out disaster. Not just the idea of sleepless nights again, the mile high of poopy diapers or mismatched sippy cups with lids that always leak, but the image that goes along with it. Please don't get me wrong. I am not saying that all women who choose to have three kids are homely and undesirable. I can only imagine what it would mean for me. I think for me it would mean my body would really go to hell fast and Marc might leave me. Period. Today standing in front of that mirror, I almost felt like I have a decent figure that deserves more than the frumpy mom clothes. Maybe I deserve new boobs to boot? Who needs another ankle biter when there are more races to run and silicone to be had? This is what I am going to go with in light of the newest study that came out shedding new light on the connection between heart disease and birth control.
Friday, November 02, 2007
Knowing Is Half The Battle
It occurred to me in the pool on Wednesday that I really never knew how to swim. I took lessons all growing up, both private and group lessons. I swam a short stint on swim team in high school with a coach who was completely inappropriate with his sexual inferences and jokes (he married a former student once she turned 18) and rarely did he do anything to actually correct one's stroke or give pointed direction. I swam in a few rec classes in college, too, but never remember the coach really working with me there, either? Then on to a Master's Program swim where I would painfully grind out the yardage with some occasional help from the coach that I guess I never grasped. I didn't like his, "run your finger tips down the lane line in the recovery" technique. Ouch.
Only Don has ever been able to break it down enough for me to actually grasp and understand what the stroke means. In a word: complicated. But, I also realize that, like with anything in life, knowing is half the battle. Before, I was ignorant. Now, I can see it, absorb it, try to put it into practice. He has not told me again that my stroke looks perfect, so either I am slacking again or he is feeling less generous with his compliments.
I didn't swim today. I did my last (at last!) long run before the marathon in 3 weeks. I am troubled by all the stomach pain I had today...not sure why my belly was so unhappy? We ran at a pretty good clip, so maybe that was it? I was glad to be done before the sky opened up and it started raining again. the wind has been just miserable *miserable* M-I-S-E-R-A-B-L-E this week with that tropical storm that is killing them in the Caribbean. I really should not complain, since people are losing their lives, but at one point this morning, the wind literally took our feet out from under us. Lisa and I were going over one of the bridges, and a gust came up so fast and furious, we both lost our footing and almost went down....no joke. I didn't know it was possible for wind to do that to something with our weight, but it must have been the combination of our movement forward, the way it was blowing, and our footing at the time. It was the craziest thing to experience for a split second.
5K tomorrow for Marc and Owen. I have a feeling Owen's competition will be back for a showdown....this time with reinforcement. I hope Marc can pull it off again, too. I love that geeky guy in his racing flats out there. What is wrong with runners anyway?
Only Don has ever been able to break it down enough for me to actually grasp and understand what the stroke means. In a word: complicated. But, I also realize that, like with anything in life, knowing is half the battle. Before, I was ignorant. Now, I can see it, absorb it, try to put it into practice. He has not told me again that my stroke looks perfect, so either I am slacking again or he is feeling less generous with his compliments.
I didn't swim today. I did my last (at last!) long run before the marathon in 3 weeks. I am troubled by all the stomach pain I had today...not sure why my belly was so unhappy? We ran at a pretty good clip, so maybe that was it? I was glad to be done before the sky opened up and it started raining again. the wind has been just miserable *miserable* M-I-S-E-R-A-B-L-E this week with that tropical storm that is killing them in the Caribbean. I really should not complain, since people are losing their lives, but at one point this morning, the wind literally took our feet out from under us. Lisa and I were going over one of the bridges, and a gust came up so fast and furious, we both lost our footing and almost went down....no joke. I didn't know it was possible for wind to do that to something with our weight, but it must have been the combination of our movement forward, the way it was blowing, and our footing at the time. It was the craziest thing to experience for a split second.
5K tomorrow for Marc and Owen. I have a feeling Owen's competition will be back for a showdown....this time with reinforcement. I hope Marc can pull it off again, too. I love that geeky guy in his racing flats out there. What is wrong with runners anyway?
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