Or so it was named if you lived here in college, as opposed to "The Jewel", but I love Del Mar. It is magical and majestic, serene and quaint. I love running the cliffs along the railroad tracks and breathing in the Pacific gray air. Our friend Barry in FL refers to me as a "Pacific Dweller" and I think he nailed it- of the Atlantic, I am not.
Owen continues her Junior Guards every day on the beach and life is good, drinking Starbucks and taking in the many tourists from Arizona while killing time at the park. I am nothing short of exhausted, still living as a single mommy and running from one end of San Diego to the other for parks, play dates, swim team, and guards, lunch and dinner dates, birthday parties and everything in between...I fall into bed exhausted but elated.
70 degrees and no bugs. Did I mention life is good? I love a storybook day- I hope tomorrow's chapter brings more joy and adventure. How can I take for granted even one day of pure goodness? I really try not to, knowing it is drawing to a rapid close. 4:15 am for some punishment from Susan tomorrow.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Weekend Warriors
Today was absolute bliss along the coast. We met at our old stomping grounds at one of many Starbucks in the hood. Jen and Susan carpooled and met Tracy and me at our starting point. None of us had done this particular 15 mile course north along the coast in ages.
We headed our in total darkness (for something new and different) and freezing air (this is still nothing short of amazing and miraculous to me) up the hill and into Del Mar, a magical place. What I thought might be an awkward and uncomfortable run, trying to settle into a pace with three other girls who had not been together in a year, turned into pure bliss. It was as if not a day had passed between us, loping along the highway, waiting for the sun to come up. I am never sure how pace and conversation will sort themselves out after time away from each other, but somehow we managed to roll right into a beautiful run.
We weaved in and out of my favorite streets of Del Mar, hardly aware of the million dollar homes around us, almost taking for granted again the hills above and cliffs below. The sound of the waves under us whispered their peaceful presence against the cliff side and sky was pitch black, though dotted with stars.
We headed toward the scene of the terrible cartilaginous crime, the sea monster who attacked the unsuspecting triathlete last year. I still shudder every time I pass that surf spot and wonder how his family is coping now, how they might continue to love the ocean that took their beloved. If I think about it too long or too much in depth, I think I may never swim in that sea again. So I push down the negative thoughts and try to calm my frayed nerves, reminding myself we are on land at the moment, in awe of the endless blue of unknowns.
After passing Blood Alley (named for the bikers and runners who have been hit by cars with careless drivers checking the surf), we stopped for a quick squat break and dodged one sleeping homeless man. I told Tracy she could just as easily squat behind a No Parking sign and still be hidden, her slight frame all of maybe 86 pounds. She was not amused and quite annoyed that the bathrooms were still not open yet for business as usual. This coast or that, runners are still the same, ducking in bushes and jumping behind trees to tend to nature that calls at the most inopportune times.
We turned around and traced our footing back, though failing to account for the added steps in looking for an open restroom, and falling just short of 15 once in the Starbucks parking lot. Susan made us run laps around the parking lot until her Garmin read the official number ("Are you for real?") and the onlookers inside were amused by this senseless act. I am glad we did, however, because in killing that time (and our feet), we bought the necessary minutes to catch Sue, Kathleen, and Jan who were rolling in from the other direction from their early morning run, and jumping in cars to get to the swim workout. I was elated to see them and catch up for a few minutes, as well, until I felt faint as though I might fall over. I think it had something to do with the torrid pace Susan set for us coming home (even Jen gave up on that), and upon abruptly stopping, my mind had not yet caught up with the program. I think my brain was still in fast jiggle mode- nothing a latte couldn't fix, however.
How happy I am to know a group of strong and self-assured women, who each bring something unique to the run and the conversation. Why was I worried? Why did I think we would somehow not connect again? How could all of the miles and roads and races shared between us not forever connect us? Why would I even doubt that bond? Maybe because time does change people and circumstances- I am a different person than I was two years ago, with different expectations and different dreams. But under all of the layers, I am still a runner to the core, and so are my girls.
We headed our in total darkness (for something new and different) and freezing air (this is still nothing short of amazing and miraculous to me) up the hill and into Del Mar, a magical place. What I thought might be an awkward and uncomfortable run, trying to settle into a pace with three other girls who had not been together in a year, turned into pure bliss. It was as if not a day had passed between us, loping along the highway, waiting for the sun to come up. I am never sure how pace and conversation will sort themselves out after time away from each other, but somehow we managed to roll right into a beautiful run.
We weaved in and out of my favorite streets of Del Mar, hardly aware of the million dollar homes around us, almost taking for granted again the hills above and cliffs below. The sound of the waves under us whispered their peaceful presence against the cliff side and sky was pitch black, though dotted with stars.
We headed toward the scene of the terrible cartilaginous crime, the sea monster who attacked the unsuspecting triathlete last year. I still shudder every time I pass that surf spot and wonder how his family is coping now, how they might continue to love the ocean that took their beloved. If I think about it too long or too much in depth, I think I may never swim in that sea again. So I push down the negative thoughts and try to calm my frayed nerves, reminding myself we are on land at the moment, in awe of the endless blue of unknowns.
After passing Blood Alley (named for the bikers and runners who have been hit by cars with careless drivers checking the surf), we stopped for a quick squat break and dodged one sleeping homeless man. I told Tracy she could just as easily squat behind a No Parking sign and still be hidden, her slight frame all of maybe 86 pounds. She was not amused and quite annoyed that the bathrooms were still not open yet for business as usual. This coast or that, runners are still the same, ducking in bushes and jumping behind trees to tend to nature that calls at the most inopportune times.
We turned around and traced our footing back, though failing to account for the added steps in looking for an open restroom, and falling just short of 15 once in the Starbucks parking lot. Susan made us run laps around the parking lot until her Garmin read the official number ("Are you for real?") and the onlookers inside were amused by this senseless act. I am glad we did, however, because in killing that time (and our feet), we bought the necessary minutes to catch Sue, Kathleen, and Jan who were rolling in from the other direction from their early morning run, and jumping in cars to get to the swim workout. I was elated to see them and catch up for a few minutes, as well, until I felt faint as though I might fall over. I think it had something to do with the torrid pace Susan set for us coming home (even Jen gave up on that), and upon abruptly stopping, my mind had not yet caught up with the program. I think my brain was still in fast jiggle mode- nothing a latte couldn't fix, however.
How happy I am to know a group of strong and self-assured women, who each bring something unique to the run and the conversation. Why was I worried? Why did I think we would somehow not connect again? How could all of the miles and roads and races shared between us not forever connect us? Why would I even doubt that bond? Maybe because time does change people and circumstances- I am a different person than I was two years ago, with different expectations and different dreams. But under all of the layers, I am still a runner to the core, and so are my girls.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Friday Eve
Running the Lake with Jen was great. Uncle John even came out for the occasion and ran with us, or, in front of us. I must admit, I am impressed with my brother-in-law's running stamina right now. We were running around 7:40 pace for the five mile loop and he was a few yards ahead of us. It was nice having a big guy running out in front to take on any random wild animals and all the cobwebs, particularly after he told me a story about his friend's dog being attacked by a coyote right in front of them on a walk around a neighboring lake.
Counting the days until Marc gets here and we can relax together. Tomorrow is another busy day of dual play dates, a birthday party and dinner date. Ahhhh.
Counting the days until Marc gets here and we can relax together. Tomorrow is another busy day of dual play dates, a birthday party and dinner date. Ahhhh.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
California Therapy
I love this time of the night. The kids are snuggled down into their warm comforters and they are reading books or watching sweet videos. They are exhausted from an invariably crazy day of running from this play date to that park, to another commitment and then the pool. I look forward to bed all day after freezing in the June Gloom, clipping around in flip flops with toes frozen. I love it. I think the high today was 64 at one point, but most of the day along the coast where we spent was in the fifties. I love it. I love being bundled in cozy sweat pants and zipping up in a favorite hoodie after a well-deserved hot shower. All is peaceful and delicious.
Tracy came over at 4:30 this morning and we ran our favorite Tour De Poway loop: ten miles of lovely rolling hills with some serious steep climbs in there, as well. Kimmie would die, if only she could see the mountains now. My quads were burning and my calves hated me, but I refused to ask Trace to back off the pace. I refused to give into the hills that have become unfamiliar strangers to me because that would be admitting weakness and slacking off. I had to ask Tracy all the questions near the end of our time together so that she would talk more and I could dedicate all of my concentration toward breathing. It's a beautiful life.
Running with girlfriends is always therapeutic, but something about running here with girlfriends is pure Prozac. They are like a shot of adrenaline to me, fueling the rush and leaving me wanting ever more (I had to corner Jen at the park today and line up the Lake Miramar run for tomorrow). I think Tracy and I solved most of our childhood issues, marital woes, and even touched on world peace- all in an hour and ten minutes this morning. Not bad considering the sun was just up and we had not had but even one cup of Joe yet. Tracy and I share a love for a great many things, but we venerate our main man, Joe, above all else. We love Joe. I am already dreaming about him on my lips tomorrow after the lake run. I love it.
Now off to snuggle my kids and read to them. I l-o-v-e it.
Tracy came over at 4:30 this morning and we ran our favorite Tour De Poway loop: ten miles of lovely rolling hills with some serious steep climbs in there, as well. Kimmie would die, if only she could see the mountains now. My quads were burning and my calves hated me, but I refused to ask Trace to back off the pace. I refused to give into the hills that have become unfamiliar strangers to me because that would be admitting weakness and slacking off. I had to ask Tracy all the questions near the end of our time together so that she would talk more and I could dedicate all of my concentration toward breathing. It's a beautiful life.
Running with girlfriends is always therapeutic, but something about running here with girlfriends is pure Prozac. They are like a shot of adrenaline to me, fueling the rush and leaving me wanting ever more (I had to corner Jen at the park today and line up the Lake Miramar run for tomorrow). I think Tracy and I solved most of our childhood issues, marital woes, and even touched on world peace- all in an hour and ten minutes this morning. Not bad considering the sun was just up and we had not had but even one cup of Joe yet. Tracy and I share a love for a great many things, but we venerate our main man, Joe, above all else. We love Joe. I am already dreaming about him on my lips tomorrow after the lake run. I love it.
Now off to snuggle my kids and read to them. I l-o-v-e it.
Tuesday, June 09, 2009
Jailed
As I sit and listen to the happy squeals from my kids in the backyard, loving their game of "Jail" with Gramps, I wonder how it has come to this. How am I sitting on a fluffy bed with my beloved husband on the other side of the country? How did we come to agree what is best for our family is to be separated two months out of a year? While I admit being back in my home state rejuvenates me like nothing else, I have to reflect on the obvious: is this the best choice for all involved? In so many ways, I still feel stuck- a prisoner in my own life.
Certainly Marc is alone and, well, lonely in the 4,000 square feet around him back in the inferno. The kids and I are cozy and loving our accommodations here where someone cooks and cleans and caters to our needs. Is this a fair shake? Of course I can justify anything when I think of the "sacrifice" of living ten months over there. Admittedly, Florida feels less and less of an out-of-body experience and more of a deliberate act of endurance. But I never like anything that was not my choice by design and I never like to be told no, therefore, how could I possibly have liked our move from the start?
I ran with the old group here on Sunday. We traced the hills of San Dieguito with our feet, up and down the rolling hills along the golf course. I am pleased to report that I was freezing in 54 degree temps. Some people simply never change, and I think I prefer that to those who have left their spouses and moved on from their jobs. I guess I really don't like change, and yet, with only one life to live, how can we possibly remain stagnant and do the same thing forever? Do I really want to move back to CA so desperately? Not so much when I go out with a realtor and look at houses-it is difficult to assign a value to four walls of grotesque old architecture. How can people really ask for -and get- the numbers they are for what is included? The price of living in Paradise has really not dropped that much. Of course, when I watch my son swim here under the watchful eye of his dad's old swim mates, I think I would do whatever it takes to get back home again. My heart could burst with pride, I am so happy to watch them coach my kids- the cycle starts over again. Just like the kids I used to babysit are now watching my own kids-where did the time really go?
The time I am most homesick is around Halloween when I long for the air that has turned cool and school is back in full swing and fall is all around. Then I am homesick at Christmastime when I long for the mountains and hot chocolate of Julian and caroling with neighbors. Then sometimes I am homesick when I think of all the variety there is here with regard to EVERYTHING (running routes, gyms, swim team, restaurants, parks and recreation) and I feel as though we have nothing on the other coast. But do I really want to move home, the paragon for the good life? Does it have to be here?
Sometimes I think no. I think what purpose would it serve us to run home? We have moved on and settled in and recreated a life that is ours. We have made great friends, and found a new routine and locked the kids into sports and classes and buddies. We can't simply fall back into what used to be our lives. I grieved that loss a long, long, long, long time, but now I think I am looking to what comes next. With only one life to live, why not live as much and as many places as possible? Why not dream the dream of the acreage in Oregon with an apple orchard and horses for the kids? Why not consider the possibility of doing something totally different and off the wall- unexpected. I am a California girl to the core. Every fiber in me lives and breathes the Pacific, but somewhere in there discontent has gotten hold of my heart and it is struggling to make a name for itself. Discontent wants to evolve into Great Expectations and make something bigger happen.
I am applying for Grad school finally. It has taken me this long, but here I stand at the crossroads. Our kids are getting older and more independent, some days so much so that it breaks my heart. At her last swim meet, Owen asked me why I was sad.
"Mom, are you sad because I am getting bigger all the time?"
"No, lovely, I am sad because you have almost closed in on my swim interval."
Their shrieking continues outside. Poor Gramps- chasing them and dragging them back to "Jail", the relentless "Judge". My kids never tire of this game, running back and forth under the eves of the house, their little bare feet slapping along the bricks where the birds have scattered their mess of seed from the feeders above. All the while, the dogs chasing the kids, never ceasing to be just at their heels-they seem to wear smiles, too. Then they all come inside and the Goldens collapse under the table, where the little people drop crumbs of after dinner delights. These are the memories my kids will grow up with, as mere visitors to California, not the residents I always wanted- assumed- they would be. Just as I was a traveler to New York and Michigan when I visited my grandparents every summer, my own kids will be transversing the States to see family each year. I am not sure how that makes me feel anymore. A prisoner to another state? A slave to our current economy, locked into a promising job that feeds our family?
Jailbreak. My time is up.
Certainly Marc is alone and, well, lonely in the 4,000 square feet around him back in the inferno. The kids and I are cozy and loving our accommodations here where someone cooks and cleans and caters to our needs. Is this a fair shake? Of course I can justify anything when I think of the "sacrifice" of living ten months over there. Admittedly, Florida feels less and less of an out-of-body experience and more of a deliberate act of endurance. But I never like anything that was not my choice by design and I never like to be told no, therefore, how could I possibly have liked our move from the start?
I ran with the old group here on Sunday. We traced the hills of San Dieguito with our feet, up and down the rolling hills along the golf course. I am pleased to report that I was freezing in 54 degree temps. Some people simply never change, and I think I prefer that to those who have left their spouses and moved on from their jobs. I guess I really don't like change, and yet, with only one life to live, how can we possibly remain stagnant and do the same thing forever? Do I really want to move back to CA so desperately? Not so much when I go out with a realtor and look at houses-it is difficult to assign a value to four walls of grotesque old architecture. How can people really ask for -and get- the numbers they are for what is included? The price of living in Paradise has really not dropped that much. Of course, when I watch my son swim here under the watchful eye of his dad's old swim mates, I think I would do whatever it takes to get back home again. My heart could burst with pride, I am so happy to watch them coach my kids- the cycle starts over again. Just like the kids I used to babysit are now watching my own kids-where did the time really go?
The time I am most homesick is around Halloween when I long for the air that has turned cool and school is back in full swing and fall is all around. Then I am homesick at Christmastime when I long for the mountains and hot chocolate of Julian and caroling with neighbors. Then sometimes I am homesick when I think of all the variety there is here with regard to EVERYTHING (running routes, gyms, swim team, restaurants, parks and recreation) and I feel as though we have nothing on the other coast. But do I really want to move home, the paragon for the good life? Does it have to be here?
Sometimes I think no. I think what purpose would it serve us to run home? We have moved on and settled in and recreated a life that is ours. We have made great friends, and found a new routine and locked the kids into sports and classes and buddies. We can't simply fall back into what used to be our lives. I grieved that loss a long, long, long, long time, but now I think I am looking to what comes next. With only one life to live, why not live as much and as many places as possible? Why not dream the dream of the acreage in Oregon with an apple orchard and horses for the kids? Why not consider the possibility of doing something totally different and off the wall- unexpected. I am a California girl to the core. Every fiber in me lives and breathes the Pacific, but somewhere in there discontent has gotten hold of my heart and it is struggling to make a name for itself. Discontent wants to evolve into Great Expectations and make something bigger happen.
I am applying for Grad school finally. It has taken me this long, but here I stand at the crossroads. Our kids are getting older and more independent, some days so much so that it breaks my heart. At her last swim meet, Owen asked me why I was sad.
"Mom, are you sad because I am getting bigger all the time?"
"No, lovely, I am sad because you have almost closed in on my swim interval."
Their shrieking continues outside. Poor Gramps- chasing them and dragging them back to "Jail", the relentless "Judge". My kids never tire of this game, running back and forth under the eves of the house, their little bare feet slapping along the bricks where the birds have scattered their mess of seed from the feeders above. All the while, the dogs chasing the kids, never ceasing to be just at their heels-they seem to wear smiles, too. Then they all come inside and the Goldens collapse under the table, where the little people drop crumbs of after dinner delights. These are the memories my kids will grow up with, as mere visitors to California, not the residents I always wanted- assumed- they would be. Just as I was a traveler to New York and Michigan when I visited my grandparents every summer, my own kids will be transversing the States to see family each year. I am not sure how that makes me feel anymore. A prisoner to another state? A slave to our current economy, locked into a promising job that feeds our family?
Jailbreak. My time is up.
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