Every year, I register for the lottery to run the New York City Marathon. Even though 50,000 runners run through the boroughs on the first Sunday in November, only 2% of lottery applicants are accepted. So the odds are not in your favor that signing up for the lottery affords you acceptance. Each year, I look at my chances like fate; if I am meant to run another formal marathon, I will be selected. And each year, I check my credit card throughout the day, relieved and disappointed that the coveted charge from NYRR never appears. (NYRR tells people to do this as the confirmation emails are sent at the end of the day.)
This year, announcement day fell on a day I was home with Covid. This time, Covid hit me hard- fever, chills, low oxygen, the works. I had forgotten it was lottery day until someone posted about it. I checked my credit card statement. Nothing. I checked a few hours later. Nothing. I had begun to think I had again missed selection when I checked my card one more time. There was the pending charge, just two transactions above my $35 purchase at Crumbl Cookies.
Over the past few years, I have not been anything close to what I would consider a “real runner.” Will I ever really feel like one? Covid and injuries took their toll on my running mojo. However, I’ve had the running bug. My foot has healed completely; I need to find my motivation and run. I’ve had the itch to work towards another marathon and considered signing up for a virtual one. It’s not that I was against an in-person event. I was nervous about completing it alone, taking too long, and being swept.
Every year, when I sign up for the NYC Marathon lottery, I explain that fate tells me when to run a marathon. This is my year! My only goal for this year is to finish – preferably before the busses running the sweep come to offer me a ride to the finish line.
I am also aware that I am alone while training for this marathon. When I signed up for Philly, I signed up with a friend and promised we would tackle a lot of training together. No promises exist this time. I know that the mental portion of this round of training will be challenging, especially as I create a training schedule around Michael’s AAU baseball schedule.
The solo round will be different, But as I over plan for the weekend, book my hotel, and debate the important decision about getting to Staten Island via the very early bus or the ferry, I am nervously excited to embark on another round of marathon training!
It’s been eight weeks since I had surgery to fix two bone spurs and a torn Achilles tendon. It feels like it was years ago and a blink at the same time. It’s been eight weeks of books, bad TV, and sitting around. Getting injured during a pandemic means more time by myself than I’ve ever spent. It’s reassuring that I can do so but makes me fearful to return to work and real life. Because I’ve always been awkward in social situations and tend to avoid them, the pandemic and the injury were not terrible for me.
Two weeks ago, I was cleared to begin putting weight on my foot. After six weeks on crutches, this was a huge step! While I was afraid of overdoing it and causing more damage, my foot is kind enough to let me know exactly when it is done, almost like flipping a switch. Eager to get back to normal, I’ve been doing my exercises every day. Since I’ve been fighting this injury for seven months, I’m familiar with which moves increase strength and flexibility. While being unable to run, I focused on yoga, earning my 200-hour yoga certification. Resuming physical therapy is strange and humbling.
My body can do some things as nothing happens but flat out refuses to do something I never considered difficult. For example, I couldn’t step on my tiptoes. After a few days, I could stand on tiptoes using both feet, but my right foot refused to lift independently.
This week, I attempted a twenty-minute yoga session via the Peloton app. Downward dog, considered a resting pose, made my legs burn. It felt good to stretch. Banjo was disappointed that I laid my mat in his prime morning sunbeam, disrupting peak napping.
Through this entire process, Mike has been patient and amazing. He took care of Michael, me, and the house. He took Michael to practice baseball a few times a week, walked Banjo, and took care of every household chore. As I’m starting to get stronger, our exchange has become a mantra, “Look at me go!” followed by “Look at you go!”
I can stumble to the kitchen to get my own Cheerios. “Look at me go!” “Look at you go!” I can get upstairs to bed on my feet instead of crawling. “Look at me go!” “Look at you go!” I can walk around the block. “Look at me go!” “Look at you go!”
I have big plans as I continue to recover. They begin small, such as walking Banjo. I’m going to complete the virtual Boston Marathon, even if I had to walk it solo as I did for the NYC Marathon. I contacted Rhode Races to get my comp code for volunteering at the Newport Marathon. I will be signing up for next year’s Narragansett Half-Marathon.
Be prepared for many more cries of, “Look at me go!”
If I can be honest, I am fully aware of my need to only post positively on social media. I have never mentioned the death of a loved one, accidents, or illnesses. Call me old-fashioned, but I believe in delivering such news person to person. That being said, I am always thankful when others post about the passing of people close to them so I can attend arrangements and pay my respects. So this is a weird double standard I’ve created for myself.
Anyway, I’ve been trying to be positive and keep things in perspective, but it is hard. I’ve spent five weeks sitting on my butt, watching documentaries, mind-numbing movies, rewatching my favorite TV series, and reading books. I’ve cleaned the photos from my phone and spent an embarrassing amount of time on my phone. I’ve attempted upper body exercises while watching reruns.
Here are my biggest takeaways:
I need to get dressed each day, which was challenging initially, but I feel better when I do so.
I need to make myself go outside, which is also challenging, but my mental health benefits from sitting outside rather than on the couch in the living room. I ordered an outdoor swing, which Mike put together last weekend, and make myself get out there, even when I think I’m content on the couch watching Friends reruns (again).
People who check in on me are excellent. I fall into a funk, but people reach out, which makes my day.
When I fall into my funks, I genuinely fear that I have forgotten how to be social. I also fear that people have completely forgotten about me. When much of your social interactions involve physical activity, getting injured just as we returned to normal after Covid fosters more loneliness. While I fear that I will never return to the level of activity from which I was once capable, my mind also creates a fear that I will never return to the social interactions that were crucial to achieving milestones pre-injury. (Does that make any sense? TLDR: I’m afraid that my running and NP friends have forgotten me or will not at all care when I can resume activities.)
As the weeks go by, I need to let go of things that used to seem important. Mike and Liam have been amazing. But since everything falls on them, not everything gets done. And that is okay, even if the entertainment stand is covered in dust.
Progress is progress. In the past five weeks, I’ve gone through two casts and a boot. Progress is happening, and it is mine to observe. Seemingly simple tasks, such as taking a shower or going upstairs, are now victories. I need to recognize and celebrate them.
Diet is so important to health. I’d been eating as healthily as I can but miscalculated how many calories sedentary me required by 200 a day, resulting in even more weight gain. I’m up twenty-five pounds from my marathon weight and look forward to being active again and getting rid of the extra weight, which will further aid recovery.
In the past five weeks, I’ve seen a lot of progress, even if it comes in the form of moving my foot side to side. There will be a lot more progress in the next few weeks and months!
When teaching The Catcher in the Rye, I ask my students to write an essay about explaining that Holden was either psychologically damaged or just a kid going through a tough time. While debating the character, a student, one who suffered from bouts of mania, said one of the most profound observations:
“Everyone is psychologically damaged. What makes some people seem insane is their inability to hide it.”
I’ve carried his words with me for over a decade, reminding myself to “hide my insanity” when it might be showing.
I have struggled with anxiety for as long as I can remember. I remember creating escape plans to get out of my classroom if various catastrophes arose. It has taken me over forty years, but I have learned to live with and manage my anxiety. I do not talk about it; talking about it makes it available to creep into my head. I greatly admire people who are open with their struggles, but my journey just isn’t something I am comfortable sharing with the world.
The silver lining to managing my own anxiety is that I am equipped to help Liam manage his anxiety. He’s learned breathing and grounding techniques and I encourage him to talk about things that worry him. We create plans to help him cope and discuss strategies to keep his anxiety from taking over his mind.
For the past few weeks, my anxiety has been creeping back onto the scene. We’ve had a bunch of small, first-world type issues come up that have required hours of attention at a time. It started around Christmas, when my car broke down, forcing me to purchase a new one on Christmas Eve. This spiraled into me not being at all ready for the holiday, a holiday I wanted to be as great as possible since it was most likely the last Christmas that Liam will believe.
Those few days reminded me of my need to be a “precrastinator,” or someone who gets things done early. Interestingly, Liam follows this trait, getting his homework done immediately after school. I have suggested that he spend time at afterschool care playing with his friends. He explains that his brain won’t let him do that; he cannot relax and play until he knows his homework is completed. Since his mom has lesson plans done at least six weeks ahead of time, I totally understand where that comes from. If skipping an after school round of four square is what he needs, then I support that.
I’ve been focusing on helping Liam learn to live in his head.
I try to pretend that my head is perfectly fine. I try to pretend I have it all together. My need to keep everything organized and orderly may seem like my perfectionism at play, but it is something my mind needs to stay calm.
Yesterday, after a few weeks of first-world problems eating a lot of my energy, I felt a panic attack coming on. It has been years since one managed to surface. I was supposed to stay after school for curriculum building, but I canceled, explaining that I needed to leave for my own well-being. (I am beyond blessed to work with people who understand this is important.)
Here’s what I did to get myself back on track:
Picked Liam up earlier than usual from afterschool care
Played with he and Banjo until Banjo was too tired to chase the ball
Made dinner with Liam- and let him make garlic bread
Went for a run while listening to Mumford and Sons
Put together my new lid organizer, which will help me avoid frustration every time I go into that cabinet
Checked to see how many animal crackers Banjo could catch in a row
Watched the latest Young Sheldon with Liam
After he went to bed, Banjo and I watched This is Us
Tried to put my thoughts into words
I’ve worked so hard to manage it, but my anxiety is not something I should feel I have to hide. As someone who tries to look like I have everything together, this is sometimes hard to accept. The truth is, my need to have everything organized and prepared is a small part of my plan to keep my mind at bay. Running and staying active is another piece of the puzzle. The best I can do is try to better myself, allow myself to struggle and do things that scare me, continue the quirky habits that keep my mind calm, and try to make others feel loved and supported.
Keise Laymon said it best in his memoir Heavy:
“Some broken folk do whatever they can to break other folk. If we’re gon be broken, I wonder if we can be those other kind of broken folk from now on. I think it’s possible to be broken and ask for help without breaking other people.”
While training for my first half, I wrote weekly updates, reveling in my progress as I ran further than I previously had. I had every intention of doing the same thing while training for the marathon. However, the work/home/training routine only had so much give and it just didn’t happen. Before I forget the little details, I need to recap the first (and possibly only) time I ran a marathon.
When Mike and I did our last run Friday night, I was surprisingly fast. After weeks of running for distance, running faster felt good. We headed down to Philadelphia the next morning, arriving a little after one. Whenever the option allows, we stay at a Holiday Inn Express so we can eat our weight in cinnamon rolls each morning. After checking in, I watched Liam get so excited about the printed card listing all of the channels, forgetting that our digital age never requires them for him. “Look, we’re at a fancy hotel that gives us the list of channels!” We have really raised the bar when it comes to lodging.
We headed to the expo, but it was close to the end by the time we arrived. I picked up my packet, feeling self-conscious that there was a long line for the small shirts but walked right up to the people manning the large shirt line. I had wanted to pick up a shirt at the expo, but almost everything was picked over. It was still fun to walk around and explore. On the way back to the hotel, we stopped at a holiday area downtown. Mike and Liam rode the Ferris Wheel and Liam and I rode a merry-go-round. It was a nice distraction. I tried my best to hide the fact that I was really starting to get nervous. Throughout the training, I had been much calmer than expected; going to the expo made everything real!
After going back to the hotel to drop off my stuff, we met a few of the elite runners. They were heading out for a run; we were heading out to dinner. We chatted in the elevator; they laughed at my joke about us obviously being in different starting corrals as Mike, Liam, and I made our way to Shake Shack for burgers, shakes, and fries.
In spite of my nerves, I managed to fall asleep fairly early only to wake up at 3:15 to the sounds of the fire alarm and an announcement to evacuate. I contemplated getting my race clothes on in case we couldn’t get back into the hotel, but left the building in my flannel llama PJs and hoodie. We all stood in the stairwell, me trying not to cry. Twenty weeks of training only to not be able to make it to the starting line. As the alarm went off and on a few times, we were unsure whether we could get back into the hotel or if we had to go out into the cold, rainy street. After walking back up to the tenth floor, we discovered that the fire exits were locked. Someone called the front desk, asking if they could send someone around to open the doors. They refused, forcing us to walk down the ten flights of stairs again, into the street to the lobby, and wait with all the other guests for the three elevators.
I got back to my room five minutes before my alarms were supposed to go off. I took a quick shower and got ready. Liam was tossing in his bed. Mike joked that he would rather run twenty-six miles than deal with Liam if he didn’t go back to sleep. Knowing he’d never go back to sleep while I was moving around, I left at 5, just in time to catch the first shuttle to the race.
I was one of the first people to arrive at the race, going immediately to the tents set up to keep us dry. To avoid small talk, I went to the back and sat at a table by myself, putting my head down to rest and resist the urge to mindlessly surf my phone, not wanting to drain my phone’s battery. As the tent filled, two other first time marathoners sat with me. I was actually happy to chat with them a few minutes before heading to the porta-potties about 6:10.
This was my only complaint about the race: since it started at 7, 6:10 should have allowed plenty of time to do my business and get to the starting line. NOPE. I didn’t finish until 7:05, leaving my discombobulated and struggling to get to the line as the third wave of runners took off. I was disorientated and panicked. Philadelphia Marathon officials, we need more porta-potties!
I stood in line by myself, having missed the chance to meet up with friends due to a fifty-five-minute potty break. I snapped a quick selfie and posted it to Facebook. It was time for the very last leg to begin. I looked for people I knew at the starting line, unable to find a familiar, friendly face.
We were off! I was fully aware that I was running way too fast, ignoring my plan to do walk/run intervals. I ran the first three miles before I made myself walk for a minute. As I passed long lines at the porta-potties along the course, I was thankful I waited an hour to go before the start. At mile four, I passed my first beer station.
A friend told me that Philly is his “second favorite marathon.” I can totally understand why. There were so many people cheering us on. I passed a church that set up a tent so their choir could perform as racers ran by. There was a line of people cheering and handing out bracelets. It was one of my favorite moments of the race! As I ran much faster than I planned, I got nervous about Mike, who agreed to meet me at mile six before taking Liam to the Linc to see the Eagles’ stadium. However, I didn’t know if they fell back to sleep. If they did, I was afraid of waking them up and making Liam miserable. I wasn’t sure whether to text him and let him know I was ahead of schedule and risk waking them up. My worries were unnecessary; Mike and Liam were right where they said they would be. I hugged Liam so hard, trying not to cry. Mike scolded me, “Slow down!” and I was off.
The miles went by. I went between taking my throwaway hoodie off and on. I took in the scenery while listening to my super guilty pleasure running playlist. As I reached mile fourteen, I received a text from Mike letting me know that he passed the elite runners back at the hotel. Around mile sixteen, the weather changed. I’d stalked the weather all week as it varied between scattered showers, partly cloudy, and downpours. At 6:00 that morning, it was supposed to be clear until 10:00 before a chance of showers and 43 degrees. As I started to get hit by pieces of ice, it became very clear that the forecast changed. As I tried to confirm that it was, in fact, hail, I received a text from Katie about the “f**king hail.”
The last ten miles sucked! It was cold. Hail slapped me in the face thanks to heavy winds. Due to the weather, the crowds thinned out- who could blame them? Running in this was terrible; standing around in it sounds even worse! Whenever I passed a cheer or water station, I made sure to thank everyone there. My favorite was at mile eighteen, people were dressed up in funny onesies and handing out beer. I took a beer from a girl dressed as a turkey, instantly regretting not getting a selfie. The beer was amazing! At mile nineteen, I made my up a hill that leads to the turnaround to the finish. A man looked at me, stepped towards me, and yelled, “Today’s the day you’re going to become a marathoner!” I was ready to start sobbing until I realized that it was painfully clear I’d never done this before. But I didn’t work this hard to only run twenty miles- I had to keep going! I switched from my music to my current audiobook, The Brief and Wonderous Life of Oscar Wao, read by Lin-Manuel Miranda, which seems fitting since Hamilton has been a huge part of my running journey.
Around mile twenty-one, it was clear that I had been weaving to avoid puddles as my GPS was almost a half-mile off. At mile twenty-five, I finally dropped my hoodie. It served me well and kept me warm and dry.
I know the goal of the marathon is supposed to be to complete it. However, my first goal was 5:45 but I really wanted to finish by 6:00. My best half was 2:40; I’m not a fast runner! I took a picture of the Garmin at 26.2 miles- only six minutes off from my goal. Considering the weather, I’ll take it! By the time I finished the race, I’d run 26.92 miles!
My friends surprised me at the finish line. It felt so good to hear people screaming my name!
Here’s where it became a blur. When I signed up for the race, Mike and I discussed the logistics, trying to decide if we should stay one or two days. I said that I wanted to stay the second night because I wanted my moment after the race. I wanted to stay and enjoy myself after the finish; I had worked hard, dammit! However, after crossing the finish line, the temperature dropped and I wanted to get out of there! After quick hugs, I immediately wanted to go back to the hotel and take the longest shower ever! I did not walk through the race area or take my picture with the Rocky statue- nothing. I just wanted to warm up!
The next morning, I was amazed as I looked at my body in the unforgiving hotel bathroom light. While I hoped to lose a few pounds through training, I’d read a few blogs in which people admitted they gained weight during training due to excessive hunger. I was more concerned with building strength than losing weight. As I looked at myself, I admired my curves and muscles for the first time in a while. I’ve always struggled with weight and body image. Because I have a lot of muscle, the number on the scale often seems higher than I think I look, although maybe this is something I tell myself to feel better. I made myself take a few pictures to remember the body that ran a marathon the previous day. I told Mike I was going to try on my wedding dress when I got home. He laughed, thinking I was kidding. I was not!
I asked Mike to drive me to the race start the next morning. I wanted to see the race area and build a sense of the starting line. On the way home, we stopped three times to stretch. It took three days before I could walk without feeling any soreness.
I don’t know if I would do this again. If I do, it will not be until Liam is a lot older. While the runs themselves were not terrible, it took a lot of time, eating large chunks of our weekends. Mike was amazing through training, taking care of Liam and the house for hours each weekend. I am incredibly thankful to him; I would never have been able to accomplish this without him.
It is amazing to think that I only had to run a marathon one time to bask in the glory forever! For a nerdy, overweight child, the word “marathoner” never seemed in the realm of possibility. But here we are, with the sticker on the car to prove it!
I am eternally grateful to everyone who helped me through this journey. I received so much support and guidance through this. I am beyond thankful to be surrounded by people who are rooting for me, who want to me succeed.
Last month, I decided to join my November Project tribe for a month of streaking. Each day, we would run a minimum of one mile, tracking on Strava to keep us honest. It seemed like a good idea- I like the accountability, especially during the holidays. I cannot remember the last time I didn’t gain five pounds between Thanksgiving and New Year then struggle to lose it in January.
The first few days were easy. I usually walk the dog for three-quarters of a mile each evening. It seemed easy enough to change into running clothes and go an extra block or so to complete the mile. Then Mike went to Tennessee for a week, leaving me with Liam and Banjo. During these days, I had Liam scoot along with me. Yes, he could have run, but I wanted to keep a faster pace.
Here are my takeaways after thirty-one days of running daily:
You can make time if you want. One of the days Mike was gone, I had a faculty meeting after school and didn’t get home until 4:30 and had to get Liam to his Christmas concert by 6:30. I still managed to get in my mile! I snuck out after opening gifts on Christmas and ran a mile and a half.
A mile is a short enough distance to run without having to wash your hair. The need to shower and wash my long hair often keeps me from running because it adds an extra hour to the time needed, making longer runs impossible in the morning. (Mike leaves for work at 6:15 and we are out of the house by 6:40; if I were to run in the morning, I would need to get up at 4:30. Yes, I know it is technically not impossible, I just don’t want to do that since I already go to bed before 9:00 to wake up by 5:30.) Because the weather was supposed to be terrible that afternoon, I was able to get the mile in before work. I pulled my hair up and took a quick shower. I also ran my mile one night after going to the hair salon. I didn’t pull it up or wear a hat, and it still looked salon good the following morning.
3. My body craves the movement. Of course, there were a few days in which I procrastinated, but I enjoyed getting out there and proving I could do it.
4. Running is mind over matter. Well, I already knew this, but the challenge reinforced it.
5. I CAN RUN A SUB-TEN-MINUTE MILE!!!!! That has been my goal for years. As a former fat kid, the Presidential Physical Fitness test was my nemesis. To make matters worse, my maiden name started with an “A,” forcing me to go first. The rest of my class struggled to watch my feeble attempts at situps or pull-ups. The standard ten-minute mile forever eluded me. It is nice to know that I am in better shape than I was in 1989.
6. I know my body. Notice the title says “almost.” I caught a terrible case of bronchitis, leading to two trips the doctor, rounds of antibiotics and Prednisone, and even a nebulizer breathing treatment. During the worst days, I knew better than to try and run, but I still made myself go out and walk for a mile. The cold, fresh hair helped my lungs and I felt like I was staying with the challenge.
If I had not caught bronchitis, I would have kept up my mile a day habit. Now that I have pretty much recovered, I’d like to start it up again. After a month of running every day, going a week with nothing seems weird. I am excited to see if I can maintain those faster speeds on longer runs and PR in my next half -marathon in May. Yet again, I am thankful for stepping out of my comfort zone and challenging myself. Also, I managed to not gain my usual five pounds of holiday weight! While this challenge was not about weight, that was a nice bonus!
Here I am, less than one month from my next half-marathon, and I have not run more than six and a half miles to train for it. There have been quite a few reasons for this:
It was unusually hot this summer. We had several heat waves and several stretches of days with heat indexes over 100. I just couldn’t run in the heat.
I’m nursing my knee. I went to the doctor in May and could not find the cause of the pain. Acupuncture helped, but I haven’t made it there in almost a month. I’m so nervous about further damaging my knee that I haven’t gone out as much. And when I do go out, I am not pushing myself as hard as I should out of fear of further injury. I am slower than ever.
Time Time Time Summer is always busy. The new school year has me putting in multiple twelve-hour days each week. I bring my running clothes with me with the intention of changing and getting to 6:00 running club, but I have been staying past 6 and, when I leave, my brain and body are much.
These may seem like valid reasons, but they do not change that fact that, four weeks from now, I will be running thirteen miles. I hoped to shave five minutes off of my first time. I hoped to be a little thinner and a little stronger. I have gained weight instead of losing it. I’ve almost finished LIIFT 4, so I’d like to think I am a little stronger.
So I have four weeks to prepare for this half. I will head out Wednesday for a ten-mile run. At this point, I am no longer concerned with beating my previous time; I am determined to complete a goal I set for myself- to run two half marathons in a year!
While I was upstairs getting dressed, I took a moment to myself to mindlessly scroll Facebook. Liam was downstairs playing and I thought I had a few minutes. Mayim Bialik’s site, Grok Nation, featured a video of her explaining her expectation versus reality regarding how many children she would have. When she was younger, she imagined giving birth to enough children to create her own football team. Once she had two sons, she realized that was what she could handle. As Mayim spoke, she was on the verge of tears as she explained that, even though she knew it was the right choice for her, she needed to mourn the future she originally planned for herself.
Her honesty and her confession made me think of my own plan for having children. When I was younger, I always imagined having two children. It just seemed like the thing to do. I have a sister and (usually) enjoyed having someone to play with and to understand when different things were happening in our lives. She helped me through various times when my mother was sick. When it came to planning my future, I never thought about anything other than having two children.
Fast forward to adulthood. I met Mike, who was adamant that he only wanted one child. We agreed to discuss it again after becoming parents. The months after Liam was born were some of the most difficult of our lives. At four weeks old, we flew Liam to Florida to meet and say goodbye to my mother, who held on long enough to meet her grandson. Two weeks later, we drove to Maine to say goodbye to Mike’s grandmother. We came home to two feet of water in our basement. Our friends all but abandoned us after Liam was born. Liam suffered from terrible colic, eventually taking baby Pepcid to relieve the symptoms. The first few months after Liam was born were some of the most rewarding yet difficult months of my life.
When Liam was almost a year old, we revisited the topic of more children. When he was a year old, we decided we were happy as a family of three.
There are many reasons for this. Some are quite responsible and others are strictly personal:
I was thirty-three when I had Liam. Having more children at a later age increases the chance of complications for both myself and future babies,
Mike’s job relies on contracts; long-term work is not guaranteed. We do not want to have more children than we can comfortably afford.
Having one child allows me to better balance what I call the “triangle of sanity,” or the management of career, marriage, and motherhood.
Having one child makes it easier for both Mike and I to pursue our interests, partly by having the money to pursue hobbies but also because, when I go for a run or yoga, I am only leaving Mike with one child. When I go for a run after school, I am only paying for one child to attend after-school care. Did I choose to have one child so I can run and practice yoga? No. But having the time and energy to follow those pursuits centers me, making me a better mother, wife, and teacher.
Having one child gives Mike and I more time for each other. More important than the weeks at the beach house, toys, or adventures, Mike and I give Liam two calm parents who have time available for him each day.
Having one child allows me to train for a half marathon, attend yoga twice a week, and enter thirty-seven books into my Goodreads account this year.
This is not an insult or disrespect against anyone with more than one child. I applaud your time and money management skills. I watch you balance sports practices, birthday parties, and overall needs of multiple children with admiration and respect.
I watched Mayim explain that, while she was content in her decision to stop having more children, she also needed to mourn her original plan. That line summed up how I feel. There are times I wholeheartedly wish we had more than one child, simply because that was the original plan. However, I know that I am meant to be the mama of one child. As I watched, I began to tear up, relieved that someone else understands how I feel. Before the video finished, I heard my bedroom door open. My first impulse was to sigh, slightly frustrated that I cannot get five minutes alone to get dressed.
“What’s up, Bug?” I asked.
“I just needed to know where my mama is. I love you.”
Guys! I did something horribly amazing- I gained ten pounds in a very short amount of time. It happened so quickly that I didn’t even realize it until I was back to my “Oh no” weight. (Does anyone else have a hierarchy of weights? (Mine are happy, okay, watch it, oh no- do something)
After finishing the half, I continued to eat as though I was still running twenty miles a week. Liam decided he did not want to continue with Laid-Back Fitness. (Nothing happened, he just wanted a break.) Without Liam’s parent discount and the time for me to workout while he is in class, it didn’t make sense for me to continue. I hurt my calf doing speedwork and couldn’t run for over two weeks. It got ridiculously hot. Then we went on vacation for a week, following the mantra “do what you want” for eight days.
I was up five pounds the day we went away. When we returned, I was up ten. That is what eight days of eating cinnamon rolls and bacon for breakfast will do. I am not a huge drinker, sometimes going weeks without even having a single adult beverage. While on vacation, Mike and I drank beer each night while sitting outside, listening to the waves, watching the stars, and chatting away. With beer came cheese and crackers and, before we knew it, we were indulging in a day’s worth of calories after Liam went to sleep.
When I returned home, I fearfully crept on the scale, learning I was up five pounds in eight days. Time to get back on track! This week marks the official start to training for my second half marathon. Now that I know I can run thirteen miles, I want to focus on getting stronger and faster.
I’ve worked too hard to only come this far. It’s time to hit the reset button and get back on track.
I am a firm believer in compliments. I compliment my students, my family, and my friends as often as possible. I think about compliments that have truly affected me and encouraged me to continue working towards my goals.
You’re a good mom. A significant portion of parenting involves worrying.
“Am I too hard on Liam? Are my expectations too high?”
“Am I being too soft? Am I letting him get away with too much?”
“Am I reading to him enough?
“Am I playing enough games with him?”
“Is it okay that he is the only kid he knows without a video game system? Should I just suck it up and buy him one?”
With all of these daily worries, it was a huge confidence booster when my mother-in-law randomly told me I am a good mom.
You are stronger than you think you are. My “running bully” gets the credit for this one. I lovingly refer to my friend Kerri as my “running bully” because she pushes me when I question myself, causing me to PR at the ever-difficult Gaspee 5K and beat my goal time by fifteen minutes at our first half-marathon. I love my running group because we focus on getting out there and getting stronger over being the fastest. That being said, having someone out there pushing you out of your comfort zone is never a bad thing!
I’m so glad you’re my mama. Liam and I have a really good ability to bounce off of each other. We can make up games on the fly, without stopping to decide rules or goals. Mike and I each have activities that are “our things” with Liam. Liam and I go for bike rides, read books, sing Hamilton, and tell each other silly jokes. Every so often, Liam wraps his arms around me and tells me, “I’m so glad you’re my mama.” It melts my heart.