5 things I learned running my first race

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Two weeks ago, I ran my first 5K race. Before the race, I was fully prepared to write a post called "I just finished my first race, but here's why I'll never be a runner." Even though I could run 3.1 miles on the treadmill and around the track at the gym, as of race day I hadn't run three consecutive miles outside.

As a result, I was majorly panicking. The night before the race as I picked up my race packet, I said to Hubby, "I can always change my mind and do the the 5k walk instead."

"No, you won't," he insisted. "How do you even know you can't do it if you don't try? If you don't try, you're sure to fail."

That night, I made plans for my friend to pick me up, decided what I would wear, chose my old shoes over my brand-new ones, and loaded my iPod with 40 minutes of funky, happy music. I tried not to think about the crowd (crowds give me anxiety), my shins (shin splints), or the fact that on previous practice runs, I gave up when the going got hard (ie: hills).

Once at the race location the next morning, I was nervous. Surprisingly, it was nervous excitement! My friend, who was running the 10K, started ahead of me; and I was kind of glad that I had just myself to concentrate on. Even standing in the crowd with all the runners jockeying for a spot close to the front didn't bother me.

And then the gun went off. Over a bridge and around a corner. I noticed people already walking, which surprised me. Around another corner and . . . a hill. I thought surely this would be where I would give up.

On my my iPod came one of my favorite Prince songs. No, not THAT Prince, The Fresh Prince. Boom, Shake the Room. Hey, it got me up that hill. I thought about stopping a dozen times, but my legs kept going. Even as I grabbed water, I kept running. It had to be around two and a half miles that I stopped and stretched my calves, but continued on because I saw that same bridge I started on.

Crossing that finish line felt amazing. And my time shocked me: 30:53. I was clocking almost a 13 minute mile before the race.


On Sunday, my friend ran a half marathon. As I looked at her pictures and the pictures and Facebook posts of others who ran the race, I felt jealous. But not the kind of jealousy I'd previously felt when I saw runners. Before I would think, I could never do that. Now I think, maybe I can do that. 

I'm even looking forward to my next race. :)

I'm so glad my friend asked me to run it. Without her - even though it was something I've always wanted to do - I don't think I would have done it. And I definitely learned a few things along the way.

1. If you don't try, you have already failed. I spent so much time avoiding races afraid that I would fail. The failure was in not even trying in the first place. If you try something you've always wanted to try, count it a success.

2. You just have to tell yourself that you can do the hard things. When I was training, I would walk at every hill. I thought surely the hills would be my undoing. But I told myself I could do it, and I did. I've done harder things. My Hubby is right: it's all just a mind game.

3. It's okay to walk. Walking is not failing. Walking is not weakness. Everyone walks in life. Everyone has to realize what their limits are and care for themselves. You're still in the race, after all.

4. The crowd will carry you along. Truly, I didn't care that people were passing me. I was passing other people, too. The energy was keeping me going. I needed it, and my time showed it. There was another time I needed the crowd because I didn't believe in myself, and they kept me going then, too.

5. It's addictive.  I scoffed at people who told me this. I will never be a runner, I said. Once I do this I'm done with races, I told myself. Now? I'm looking for another 5K and thinking of friends I can ask to run with me. I'm even considering a 10K. (Don't talk to me yet about marathons. I still can't wrap my mind around running for 2+ hours.)

So here it is, the words I never thought I would say, the post I never thought I would write. Who knows, maybe I'll tick off some more of the goals on my bucket list - now that I know I can.

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Is It Monday Again?

I have often said I am a Monday person.

Cheated on my healthy eating plan? I’ll start over again on Monday.

Fell off the exercise wagon? I’ll go back to the gym on Monday.

My house is a mess and I’ve been crabby with my sons? I’ll clean up and do better on Monday.

Didn’t write anything all week? I’ll post something on Monday.

For me, life has been an endless series of Mondays. Until Tuesday comes, that is.

Tuesday is when . . . .

 . . . Head on over to Mamalode to continue reading "An Endless Series of Mondays."

 

 

 

The Real "Problem" with Older Moms

It is such a problem being an older mom! Having babies after age 35 sucks. If I could give you a piece of advice, it would simply be this: don't do it! Here are reasons why~

1. Older moms are career obsessed. Why would any child want to have a positive female role model raising them? Smarts, drive, success, passion for something you love? Who wants to learn all those things by example?

2. Older moms have lots of money. Too much money, in fact, after so many childless working years. They might tend to spoil their children with all this extra money they have lying around.

3. They are too old and stiff to play on the floor with their kids. Everyone knows that younger moms make better playmates.

4. They are super uncool and so out of touch with current media and trends. You know what they said in the 1960s: "Don't trust anyone over 30!" That still applies today.

5. Not everyone can live in New York. It's true. Moms in New York are actually considered young if they are under 40, according to my friend Anna of Random Handprints. If you are planning on being an older mom, you should move to New York so you can feel young.

Okay, okay, I'm being facetious here, and I actually can't think of any other ridiculous reasons not to have a baby in your 30's and 40's.

But England can. There is a new ad campaign making a buzz today. It is a picture of a 40-something reporter dressed to look like a 70 year old pregnant mom. Take a look.

Visit NBCNews.com for breaking news, world news, and news about the economy

The purpose of this ad is to make women consider having babies at a younger age. Excuse me, what? Consider it?

I considered it a lot in my twenties and thirties. I considered it so much that it made my uterus hurt. I wanted nothing more than to be a mom. If I could have planned it the way I really wanted it, I would have been married at age 24 and popping out babies by age 25.

But that's not exactly the way it worked out for me. Or millions of other women for that matter.

I am sure that there are women who purposely delay having babies so they can build a career, make money, and feel ready. Nothing wrong with that. If everyone would wait until they are ready to have a baby, we would have a lot less issues in health care, in education, and in society in general.

On one hand, I can see the purpose of this ad. The older parents are when they conceive, the more problems they tend to have - fertility issues, miscarriages, still births, children born with birth defects, Down Syndrome, and the higher likelihood of an Autism diagnosis down the road - among other issues - all of which potentially drive up health care and education costs for the public.

From a short conversation on my Facebook page, it's clear that many women simply didn't have the luck of the draw, so to speak, to plan when they had their babies. I know I didn't. I married Hubby when we were 31, and we experienced fertility issues. I didn't plan on ever having a baby over the age of 40, but I was blessed with one.

The harder having a baby is when you're older, some would say you appreciate it more, you are more ready for the challenges of becoming a parent. Do I worry about not being around for my sons' graduations and weddings and babies? Absolutely. But there's not much I can do about that other than take care of myself and hope I'm healthy in 20 years.

Do I think older moms are better than younger moms? Depends on the person, really. My twenty year old hairdresser is probably one of the best moms I've ever talked to, confident and secure and doing everything she can for her baby.

I've known women who have gotten pregnant out of wedlock and given up their babies. I've known women who have had abortions. I've known moms who married and had babies in their early twenties, and I've known moms who have had their first baby at age 42.

And do you know what the problem is with all of these moms, not just the older ones? We allow society to make us feel guilty for our choices, whether they are ones we have consciously made or ones that were made for us by default.

Being older or younger.

Natural childbirth or drug assisted.

Breast or bottle feeding.

Co-sleeping or crying it out.

Potty training earlier or later.

Cloth or disposable diapers.

Private or public school.

Sports or academics.

And the list just goes on and on and on.

We all do the best we can. Sometimes we have all the information and sometimes we go with our gut. Sometimes we still get it wrong and sometimes we find success.

This ad didn't bother me at all. I didn't purposely choose to be an older mom. And yes, I faced infertility, miscarriages, and medical conditions with my children.

But I'm handling it, and I have the good fortune to have a partner who is handling with me.

One comment that came up over and over on the Facebook discussion was that the moms wouldn't trade all they'd been through - the loss, the problems, the pain and heartbreak that sometimes comes with being an older mom. The bottom line is that most moms see their children as blessings no matter their age or abilities or how much it took for us to get them, whether we birthed them, adopted them, or foster them.

If this ad was meant to "guilt" women into anything, I say, don't let it. Don't let guilt be a problem for moms of any age.

I think we're all doing just fine. Don't you?

What I Learned on My Vacation

I'm back to my blog after about two weeks off. Two weeks away from social media. No blogging, no tweeting, no pinning, barely any commenting on other blogs. I needed a break. Things were getting to me. I was tired, physically and mentally.

I wrote this post, and then went on vacation to San Diego with my family. The perfect time to step away.

In my absence, I received all manner of comments ranging from empathy and understanding to speculation that I am depressed, still grieving, or really ill.

Well, it's nice to know people care.

The truth of the matter is that I am probably all of those things. I am a busy mom, trying to do too much and not taking care of myself.

The truth is that I am depressed - about Joey, about family "stuff", about myself and feeling like I'm in a sinking boat while my only oar floats away.

The truth is that I grieve for Joey every day, but so much harder some days than others.

The truth is my well-being is ill because it hasn't been attended to in a long time. My treadmill broke. I eat like crap. I'm tired, but I won't go to bed because of everything that's weighing on me.

I slept a lot on vacation. As I sat in our bungalow each night waiting for the boys to fall asleep, I'm sure Hubby was sitting outside with a glass of wine waiting for me to join him and look at the stars over the bay and listen to the water lapping against the sand.

But I was sleeping. Because I needed it.

I took two naps, too. Because I needed them.

I didn't bring my laptop, and I deleted a lot of blog posts that were e-mailed to me (I did read the ones from all my most favorite friends - AnnMarie, Steph, Meredith, Kimberly, JD, and a handful of others, but I just didn't comment). I didn't look at Twitter, and I barely checked Facebook.

And you know what?

Life went on.

Bloggers blogged, Tweeters tweeted, Pinners Pinned, Facebookers updated statuses.

And honestly, I really don't think I missed much.

What I didn't miss was having fun with my family at Legoland, watching the sheer exuberance of three little boys who ran screaming through the Mini-Land display to all of their favorite Star Wars scenes.

 



Or the fascination that all my boys - big and little - had with the fish pond at the resort.

 

 

 

Or watching all four boys have a total blast simply playing in the wet sand getting completely filthy.

 

 

 

Allowing myself to allow them to get completely filthy.

 

 

 

My mistake was thinking that things would change once I arrived back home. Thinking that I would have this magic change of heart or profound inspiration or strong motivation to eat tofu and run 6 miles every day.

 

Nope.

 

Monday morning greeted me with two appointments and no babysitter, and Monday afternoon slapped me with two activities and one little boy who didn't want to do either.

 

My treadmill was still broken, I had vacation laundry to do, I had a post to write for HVFH, and I fell back into my old pattern of staying up way too late at night and noshing on too many unhealthy foods.

 

I realized that there were things to be learned from a week away . . . and they weren't necessarily things I wanted to admit.

• No matter how much sleep I get or how many naps I take, I will always be tired.
• I like junk food; and if it's here, I will eat it.
• I am a night owl. I always have been. Old habits die hard.
• There is no laundry or toy fairy who visits your house when you are gone (oh, wait a minute . . . yes, there is. Her name is MOM!! Thanks Mom!).
• I logically cannot spend all of my time on social media. It is not my job. That's great that some people treat it like their job, but I just can't right now. And I can't let myself get upset about certain things not happening because I am not trying as hard as someone else.
• That pile of crap on my desk and all that junk in the "Lego" room is not going anywhere. I will get to it eventually.

Please tell me you have a room like this in your house, too.



I once heard that if you've crossed everything off your to-do list, that means you're dead. I think I am going to be around for a while.

 

As far as my writing goes . . .well, I'm not sure where it's going. What I do know, is that I need to take my own advice.

 

A young person whom I love very much and who has been very important to my family the past seven years, came to me for some advice. I told her one of my favorite pieces of life advice from one of my favorite people from my past.

 

My speech teacher in high school was Mary Kay Mueller. Today, she is an author, a motivational speaker, and life coach. She always had a smile on her face as she repeated to snotty, bored high school girls, "Happy people take risks."

 

Happy people take risks.

 

For 25 years I have been carrying this saying around - and telling other people this, too.

 

But not really living it.

 

You see, I'm scared of risk. With risk comes loss, and I've already lost too much. Loss hurts.

 

But without risk, you may never find happiness. No one was ever happy simply standing still. Content? Perhaps. But happy? No.

 

So yeah, I've got to take some risks. Recently, I applied for a paid blogger job and found out I was a finalist for the position. Wow, 'cause last year when I applied for this same job, I wasn't even considered.

 

I didn't end up getting the job; but I took a risk, and it made me happy.

 

So, going forward, I'm following the old school advice that Kit gave Vivian in Pretty Woman: Take care of you.

 

It seems so simple. Don't worry about anything else. If you take care of yourself, the rest will come. No comparisons, no beating myself up for something I am not. No gimmicks, no trying too hard. I am me, and I am unique. I am not anyone else and shouldn't try to be. I should just be the best me I am capable of being.

 

Without totally exhausting myself again, that is. ;)

 

 

What's the best piece of advice you've ever gotten? Did you follow it? How did it turn out?

 

 

It's Time for a Change in Direction

 

We were sitting in the pharmacy drive-thru. My head was half hanging out the window of the van, my eyes closed. I could hear the soft bing bongs and bleep bloops of the boys' video games.

 

I was tired. I felt myself drifting off, and then, "Can I help you?"

 

----------

 

Driving off with prescription in hand my fog continued. We were stopped at a red light when it dawned on me: I can't remember what clothes Joey was buried in.

 

I know they must have been green - his favorite color was green - but I can't remember exactly which ones. I know we didn't put shoes on him. The only shoes that fit his swollen feet were his tennis shoes, and I didn't think it was appropriate to bury him in tennis shoes. Besides, no one would see his feet anyway.

 

I searched my brain for the visual of Joey, but all I could remember was touching him in his coffin and feeling his cold, waxy face. I couldn't see what the shirt looked like, but I remember hearing crinkling when I touched it, like Joey had been wrapped in Press 'n Seal before he was dressed.

 

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I'm so tired I can't remember what I buried my son in.

 

I'm so tired I can't complete a task without getting distracted.

 

I'm so tired that my brain is having trouble thinking of the words my mouth wants to say.

 

I'm so tired I can't even be patient with my children.

 

I'm so tired I don't want to spend time with my husband.

 

I'm snapping and negative and yelling. And then I wonder why they talk to each other that way. I'm not too tired to realize they are learning it from me.

 

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I'm tired because my house is a mess. Papers are everywhere. Toys and clothes and junk we don't use anymore have piled up and a house that once seemed big is shrinking from too much stuff.

 

I had a baby a year ago. A year's worth of no time to organize, clean out, start fresh.

 

Now, I have made lists and planned my time and I know what I want to accomplish.

 

But it's not happening and I feel like I am chasing my tail.

 

Chasing it into the wee hours of the night.

 

Falling asleep in a chair.

 

School lunches unmade.

 

Dishes in the sink.

 

The pile of photographs from summer 2011 still sitting unlabeled on the dining room table.

 

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I'm heavier than I have ever been in my life. There is a least fifteen pounds of extra weight around my middle that has no business being there.

 

But I'm too tired to do anything about it.

 

And my treadmill broke and my gym membership expired.

 

My husband asked me if we were still married.

 

I need a girls' night out.

 

He wants a date.

 

--------------

 

It's all swirling in my head along with the fact that I am doing nothing that I should be doing.

 

Sleeping.

 

Cardio.

 

Yoga.

 

Nourishing my body with healthy food.

 

Starting my novel.

 

Seeking out paid opportunities to write.

 

Spending time with my family before they are all grown up and gone.

 

What I am doing is getting lost. I'm getting lost along a path that I thought I knew. A path I didn't need a map for. A path that came out in a clearing.

 

But somewhere along the way I got distracted by the scenery, led off course to somewhere I thought I should be going.

 

I'm stumbling. I'm drained. I'm flailing. I'm failing.

 

I'm losing myself.

 

And now I need to find my way back.

 

 

 

 

 



A Random Reminder

I usually go to the free yoga class on Tuesday mornings by our club's pool because it makes me so happy.  But yesterday, I thought I would get in some cardio since I had only done so about once in the past week.

I headed out to a local trail for a run/walk.

I always say "run slash walk," complete with air quotes because I'm not really a great runner.  I try, I really do, but the truth is, I just don't like it that much.

Especially not in the 90+ degree heat.  But, I wanted to get out of the house, and I really like this particular trail, so I set out.

I didn't run very far.  I've been having a problem with shin splints (I heard it is from my shoes?), and I just simply did not have very much energy. 

So, I walked.

And I stopped at a bench and did some toning.

And when I was ready, I started to walk back the way I came.

The part of the trail near where I had parked my car was at the top of a hill, and I was huffing and puffing, and my heart was pounding.  I stopped to lean against a fence to catch my breath, and then began the negative self-talk.

I'm so fat and out of shape.

I'm so old and weak.

What's wrong with me? 

I'll never be a runner.

I started off again to walk the last few yards to my car.  That's when I saw this:

It says, "Congrats for getting excersize (sic)."

and this a few steps later:

"Smile"

And I did smile all the way back to my car.

What a great reminder, put there by some random person, that at least I was doing something good for myself and of that I should be proud.

The handwriting tells me that it was probably written by a young girl.  Maybe she wrote it for her mom who has been trying to get in shape.  Or maybe she's just a sweet, happy, positive person.  Whoever she is, I envision that she has a wonderful role model of positivity.

Someone unlike me.  I'm sure there is a reason I never had any little girls.

Some days I'm harder on myself than others.  On these particularly hard days, it's nice to have a random reminder to be a little kinder to myself.

Welcome to May: The Month of Me

"Sweet May hath come to love us,

Flowers, trees, their blossoms don;

And through the blue heavens above us

The very clouds move on."

Heinrich Heine

It's finally May.  I love May.  The spring air has warmed, and the flowers and plants are in full bloom.  Birds sing to wake me in the morning.  School is winding down in a flurry of field trips and picnics and field days.  The beautiful spring clothes are on clearance in the stores and all the summer fashions have been rolled out.  Warm days mean pedicures and cute sandals and beautiful cool evening air for playing outside after dinner.  It also means intense, booming thunder that sends sweet, frightened little boys to my room to snuggle in bed with me. Graduation parties and wedding showers and outdoor barbecues with chips and salsa and plenty of good wine in cute novelty glasses. 

It's hands-down my favorite month.

Oh, did I mention that my birthday is in May?  And that Hubby has dubbed May "the month of Kathy?" He knows how much I love my birthday. I know, at least 19 million other people on Earth have my same birthday; three of my Facebook friends do.  But it's still my birthday, my special day.

Given the fact that I've never really had the utmost love and confidence in myself, it is ironic that I would have such strong feelings about the day I was brought on this earth, but I do.  Actually, there's never been any shortage of love I show myself this month.  I get pedicures and massages, and I get my hair cut and highlighted for the summer.  I do lunches with my friends, and I just relish in celebrating me.

The May I turned 40, Hubby threw me a wonderful surprise party, which was exactly what I needed given that's when Joey was very sick.  Even though I have always wanted a surprise party, all I really wanted for my birthday that year was to hear Joey say, "Happy birthday, Mommy."  But each time that day I would tell him it was my birthday, he just gave me a mildly interested smile.  By the next time I would tell him, he had forgotten already.

How Hubby planned a surprise party with all that was going on is a mystery to me.  Of course, I had no clue because I was so consumed with Joey.  He thought I knew, though, because I really made myself up that week, getting my hair done, a mani/pedi, and a spray tan.  Even though I was turning 40, I didn't want to look it.  Did I?

It always seems to rain on my birthday, though, which is weird.  So if you have any outdoor plans on the 20th, you may want to have a back-up plan.  Just sayin'.

Of course, Mother's Day is in May, too, just adding to the "month of Kathy."  We go out to brunch and dinner so I don't have to clean up the kitchen all day.  That's present enough for me!

So this year, I'm looking forward to this month and my birthday again.  My boys will be out of school already, and I have lots of plans for us for the summer.  And even though I'm over 40, I feel like my best is yet to come.  I've faced tragedy and been strong, I've held my own in a houseful of boys, and I've found a voice through my writing.

Now that the year is one-third over (wow, that was fast), maybe it's time for me to check in with my new year's resolutions.  As far as spending more time with my boys, it's been hard with school and homework and sports.  But, there's always this summer.  And Hubby and I have been pretty good about having at least one date night a month.  Just last week we went to dinner and a comedy club, which is something we haven't done since we were dating.  We even got to spend some time in the hot tub together.

About trying new things, I haven't really been presented with the opportunity.  But believe me, I've been looking.  Just this weekend, we were at a water park with water slides that were enclosed in a tube.  Seems like no big deal to most, but super scary for me.  I don't like dark, enclosed spaces or the idea that some freak accident could happen to me.  But, I decided to do it...and it was a blast!  I even got Slim to try it with me, and he had a great time, too.

Slim and me swooshing out of the water slide tube.

Hopefully, this summer will present more opportunities to step out of my comfort zone and try something new and fun!

My goal of writing more has definitely been achieved, as I am posting here at least once a week plus a weekly post on Her View From Home.  I've submitted some pieces to other sites, but none have been accepted.  That's been discouraging, and I haven't submitted anything lately.  So, I think it's time I try again.

That leaves the weight loss and the exercise.  And to that end, don't ask.

So here I am in my favorite month, looking outside at the leaves swaying gently in the breeze and the beautiful bright sunshine warming the world.  I have hopes for this month, for the summer, and for the rest of the year.  I think it's May's influence on me.

"The world's favourite season is the spring.

All things seem possible in May."

Edwin Way Teale

What do you like about your favorite month?

At Least I'm Doing It

So, I got the bill for my gym membership in the mail the other day. 

That's $127 I'll never see again.

I know, I know...you're saying, "So, Kath,  how's that New Year's resolution to get healthy going?"  It's going - really, it is.  It's just not going to the gym.

I have a treadmill in my basement, which I use a lot over going to the gym.  It's just that it's right there.  I don't even have to leave the house.  I can hop on when Baby E is napping or when the other boys are watching t.v. or building Legos.  I can listen to my ipod and sing as loudly as I want.  Cee Lo and I can shout out, "Forget You (clean version only around the kids)," or I can obnoxiously agree with Gaga, "Nebraska, I love ya!"  And my boys don't even bat an eye.  They figure that Mommy is just singing again.  Being Mommy.

I like to rock out and dance/walk or dance/run.  I can run like this, and no one is around to see me (the boys don't seem to think it's strange at all).  I can do weird interval sprints or walk backwards or sideways or on my hands if I want to (no, I'm not that talented).  I don't have to worry about how I am working out or how hard or for how long, because no one has to know but me.

Sounds great, right?

Only when it works out (no pun intended).

The disadvantage of trying to exercise at home versus going to the gym is that the baby monitor, not me, determines the length of my workout.  When Baby E is done with his nap, I'm done with my work out. At the gym, someone else is watching him, and I can have up to three hours to exercise and shower (not that I ever use that time, but maybe I will some day - I can dream).

At the gym, there's obviously so much more equipment than I have at home, and trainers to help me use it.  There is a vibe there, too.  All around, people are getting fit and healthy, and I push myself to get into that same rhythm.  I silently compete with others as I look around the gym.  I've never matched the number of miles I've run at the gym on my home treadmill.  It's too easy to quit at home.

And too easy not to start at all.  Oftentimes, I will lay Baby E down for his nap, and before I even get on the treadmill, I think I can just quickly clean up the breakfast dishes.  And throw in a load of laundry.  And check my e-mail.  And, oh, as long as I'm on the computer, I'll see what people are talking about on Facebook this morning.

And before I know it, my time is up - and so is the baby.

My only inspiration and motivation at home are my too tight spring clothes and my flabby image staring back at me in the mirror.  At the gym, there are lots of other women, the ones I see every time I go, who are in great shape.  And I don't mean in an intimidating, hard-body, spandex type of way.  My gym is not like that - that's why I chose it.  I mean in a way I could be if I would make it a priority to go regularly.  I once met a darling octogenarian who gets a ride to the gym five days a week!  She was beautiful and happy and perky - a true role model for life longevity.

Plus, the scale at the gym has a sign over it that says, "Smile! You're beautiful!"

My scale at home says, "Hey, Fatass!  Why haven't you lost this weight yet?"

This  morning, I had planned on going to the gym.  I even called yesterday to reserve a spot for Baby E in the nursery.  When I woke up, I put my gym clothes on.  The morning was going smoothly - the kitchen was clean, and fresh laundry was in the dryer.  I was right on schedule.

But then, Baby E started yawning, and it became clear I wasn't going to make it to the gym.  So I called and cancelled the appointment.

No matter.  I knew he would sleep after I dropped Lil' C off at preschool, and I could log some miles on the treadmill anyway.

As soon as he was down for his nap, I went straight downstairs and put on my running shoes - no stopping in the kitchen, the laundry room, or at my computer.  I got on and started running.  I could feel the flab melting away.

And then, there was my alarm - the cries erupting from the baby monitor.  He had only slept ten minutes.  I bolted upstairs to try and lull him back to sleep.  He wasn't having it.  Frustrated, I went back downstairs anyway, and resumed my workout.

I knew Baby E was safe in his crib, and I could still hear his faint cries.  I cut my run way short, by at least twenty minutes, but at least I did it. 

I've been so frustrated lately with my lack of time to devote to exercise, especially with spring looming around the corner.  But what I need to remember is that at least I'm doing it.  I may not be working out everyday or for as long as I want, but at least I'm doing something.  That's going to have to be okay for now.

I may not like it, but I can't beat myself up about it.

Did you hear that, scale?  I'm doing it.  It doesn't matter where or when or for how long.  I'm doing something.

So shut up and leave me alone.


How do you find time to exercise or go to the gym?

Always Check the Pockets...And Other New Year's Resolutions

It's that time.  The start of a fresh new year.  Time to step back, or step up, and make some changes that have been a long time coming.  I've been thinking about what my new year's resolutions should be for some time now, and a certain recent "laundry faux pas" helped me to really put them into perspective.

It's been unseasonably warm here in the Midwest, and I thought the holiday break would be a perfect time to wash the boys' winter coats.  When they came out of the dryer, they had red crayon marks all over them.  They looked like evidence in a crime investigation.  It was so typically me to be in a hurry and not check the pockets, to want to just "get it done" but not do a thorough job.  I had a lot of time to think about this as I was scrubbing the crayon marks out of my dryer at 2:30 in the morning.

Certainly, the past two and a half years of my life have been no piece of cake.  First, there was my son's illness and his death.  Then there was the depression that came after it.  Then, the unexpected pregnancy.  And finally, the battle to regain any shred of my former self.  I feel like these years have been such a waste, like I've only been going through the motions of life.  And pretty half-assed at that.

But while sticking said ass out of my dryer (did I mention that it was 2:30 in the morning?), scrubbing out every last remnant of that freaking red crayon so I wouldn't have any more ruined clothes, I thought hard about what areas of my life really needed work.  I came up with my New Year's Resolution List.  Besides resolving to always check pockets before laundering clothing, in 2012 I will:

1. Get Healthy.   I have always considered myself to be a healthy person, but in taking care of five other people, I have put my health (and often my sanity) in a distant sixth place.  So now here I sit, twenty pounds overweight, at risk for diabetes, and unhappy with my appearance.  Getting in shape should be easy, right?  Just make it a priority.  I have a gym membership, a treadmill at home, and a binder full of toning moves that don't require any equipment at all.  I know how many calories I need to continue nursing my baby and maintain healthy weight loss, and I know what trigger foods to avoid.  Lose weight, exercise, get in shape. Check.

2. Try six new things this year.  This one is in honor of my son, who had a precocious spirit of adventure for a five-year-old.  He loved life and approached it with gusto.  I, however, tend to be extremely cautious and a "status-quo" type of gal. My motto has always been, 'If it ain't broke, don't fix it.'  But really, that's no way to live a life.  After all, life is meant to be lived.  Last year, my one new big thing was creating this blog.  Since it took me seven years to do that one, I figure one new thing every other month ought to be challenging enough for me.  I already have a few things in mind.  Check.

3. Spend more time with my kids. This one is a no-brainer.  I need to spend more time playing games, reading, riding bikes, teaching, or just being with them.  I used to feel like such a great mom, and then life kept getting in the way.  More kids, more laundry and more messes.  More problems, illnesses...and I can see the toll it's all taken on the boys.  I can see how they light up and shine when they get special attention.  It's what they need.  Frankly, I need it too, just to avoid some awful "cats-in-the-cradle" moment twenty years from now.  Quadruple check!

4. Spend more time with Hubby.  Also a no-brainer.  Sometimes I think, 'the poor man'.  The only person who takes a backseat to all this madness more than me is him!  With every baby we've had, our marriage has taken a hit.  That's five big hits (six if we count our son's death, but who is counting?).  There's always a period of rebuilding after I'm done nursing and spending every waking, and sleeping, moment with a baby attached to me.  After Joey died, we didn't really have time to rebuild before Baby E came along.  We need rebuilding on so many levels - talking, intimacy, dates, even just doing sweet things for one another like cooking a favorite meal or enjoying an activity together. Check.

5. Write more and more often.  I can't deny that writing has been my passion since I was about ten years old.  It's sad that it took me thirty years to actually start doing it!  I have to make up for lost time.  I have already begun by continuing this blog (as sparse as my posts may be).  I am also taking a writing course and am signed up for another one in February.  I want to see where my writing will take me and my readers. Check.

These resolutions are really just items on a list.  And it's not actually about the list either.  "Always check the pockets" may be sound laundering advice, but it's much more than that.  It's a metaphor for always doing your best.  It's about living life with no regrets.  I don't want to look back and say, "If I had only - " or "I wish I would have - 'If I had only eaten better and exercised more, I wouldn't be one of the 42 million women with cardiovascular disease.'  'I wish I would have tried this new class or that new hobby.'  'If only I would have spent more time with my family or tried to get my writing published.'

I once said that I am a "Monday person."  If I screw up on my goals, I can always start over again on Monday.  But I need to stop thinking of life as an endless series of Mondays.  The fact is, there may not be another Monday.  There may come a time when it's too late for a "do-over."  It's time to stop doing things half-assed and do them full-assed (and smaller-assed).  The new year is now, and every day is Monday.  It's time for me to repair the damage the last two and a half years has done to me, physically, mentally, and emotionally.  It's time to start living a life filled with love and adventure, passion and promise.  It's time to start living a life with no regrets.