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My Choice

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I didn’t know it then, but when I arrived in Tanzania a few weeks ago, I made a choice. Had I known how that choice would affect me upon my return, there are moments when I think I would have chosen differently.

I chose to immerse myself completely into the experience. I willingly opened my heart and mind to everyone I met and invited them in. I chose to get down on my knees so I could be closer to the children. I chose to play and get dirty with them. I held their hands and I picked up the little ones. I gave hugs when it was welcomed and tried to make them smile and laugh. I showed them pictures of themselves on my camera. I learned a few Swahili words which were never enough to really express how I felt. But enough to assure them that I would be back the next day. I fell in love with the people that spend their lives teaching and caring for these children every day. By comparison, my six days seem so insignificant. Each day, I laughed for the small successes and connections made with children who have huge challenges. Children who are deaf, blind, have albinism, and those who were abandoned. And each day, I cried.

The back way

More normal

Each day I made small routine changes to cushion the impact of my choice. I avoided using the compound’s main entrance. Instead I used the back entrance, which connected the compound to the children’s school. It was the longer way, and I walked under a canopy of trees. Going the back way made the compound feel less like a concentration camp and more… normal. I stopped going into or any where near the girls’ dorms. I could not bear to accept that every day, these girls live with an intense stench of full sewage tanks. After being swarmed and rushed by many kids who begged for more gifts, I avoided being alone with them. How on earth would I express, “Yes, I know it’s not fair.” I hid behind my video camera.  I didn’t say goodbye.

Closed, for now.

My heart and mind are closed for now. I seek shelter from the hurricane of emotions that may carry me away. My vocabulary is paralyzed and I’m unable to share the experience with others. Not without feeling a hollow and deeply painful ache in my chest. My fellow volunteers understand. For now, I am somewhat silent about my trip. I hope that soon I will find the way out. Because these children and countless others need help. Please visit www.asante-mariamu.org to learn how you can help too.

My choice

My Adventure

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In a day I go on an adventure. I will be traveling to Kasulu, a village in Western Tanzania. No safari, no SUVs, no smiling bands of tourists. Just me and 6 other friends. We are traveling on behalf of Asante Mariamu, a non-profit organization formed by my dear friend Susan Dubois to help people with albinism in East Africa. In Kasulu we will be spending time at the Kabanga School for the Disabled. We are taking with us supplies for people with albinism, and visually and hearing impaired children. We will help improve various parts of the rather run-down school, teach people with albinism how to care for their skin, launch the first ever Albinism Awareness Day in Kasulu, and capture more stories to raise awareness.  This will be an adventure of a lifetime for me.

In the last week, I’ve been waking up feeling quite ill. In the last month, my stress level related to this trip has gone up. This is an incredible opportunity, a wonderful mission, a great cause. But this ache in my chest lingers.  I haven’t been able to nail down why. But now I know:

Cave woman

I am hardwired to care for my two babies. Yes, even at ages 12 and 8. And yes, even if I have the most capable husband and father to these big babies. I’m hardwired. I’m leaving them and traveling to an unknown place, and may find myself in unsafe situations. This act is causing ruckus in my psyche, and the logical side is losing the battle against the strong, hardwired cave woman/mama bear instinct to protect my babies. I’m fleeing the nest. My babies need food and shelter.

Direct line

iPhone be damned. What good will it be to me if there is no wireless connection? And no, I don’t need it to post my pictures on Facebook, check in, or tweet about what I had for breakfast. Not having a direct line to my family makes me uneasy.

What if I don’t come back?

I was startled when I said this out loud to my husband Scot a few weeks ago. Very startled.

So why am I going?

Because it’s the right thing to do and I want to go. And I’m going because I can. I’ve been handed this opportunity to go beyond my usual comfort zone and do some good for people who are not my family or close friends. It’s time I got off my ass and the comfort of my chair. It’s time I got off the Internet, the reach of social media, and touch some real people. Look at them directly in the eyes and talk to them.  Learn a new language. Make some  lifelong connections with people. People who perhaps cannot imagine owning a smart phone that can connect me with my family thousands of miles away, instantly. But only if I have a wireless connection…

Please learn more about Asante Mariamu, and why I feel compelled to leave my family for a week to be with the wonderful people of Kasulu, Tanzania.

Advice for my daughter

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Last night after an evening at Saleha’s school’s Spring Concert, I inadvertantly got her worked up and mad. All I did was ask a few questions about the performance. She was upset that earlier in the week during the school-time performance, kids were falling asleep during the orchestra program. She was so ticked off at her orchestra director for his music selection. BORING. She was mad as hell that he invites suggestions on what to play, but disregards their input. She was angry that the band director and her band kids composed a song to tell the world that band is better than orchestra. Saleha was pissed off that she is often the one voice among many who has to defend classical music.

My oh my. So this is one of those teaching moments us parents have to grab and run with right? I hope I passed the test.

“All the kids say that music is not going to take me far in life.”

Did you know there are studies that show that music actually helps students in areas like math?

“Yes, music is like fractions.” (She went into a complicated rapid explanation on how she breaks down music notes to keep time and rhythm)

Huh.

“I wish we would play more modern music in orchestra so kids wouldn’t fall asleep.”

But you love classical music right?

“Yes, but I was the only one in Spanish class this week who thinks classical music is cool. Everyone else thinks it is boring.”

You know if you ever want to stop playing violin because you don’t want to, I would never stop you. But I hope you never stop playing because other kids say it isn’t cool.”

Silence

You feel bad because you have to defend yourself all the time, ya?

“Ya.”

This is just the beginning my love. It’s going to get harder. You should always be true to yourself.

Silence.

Saleha, I believe there are two things that bring the world together. Food and music.

Smile.

It’s hard to explain why you love your music, right? And if you meet someone from Russia, China, Germany, or anywhere in the world, they may not speak English. But if they can play the piano or violin like you, they can share the same love you have for music. And it will bring all of you together. You don’t have to use words to communicate. It’s like music is a language understood by everyone in the world.

“So what you’re saying is music is part of the International Baccalaureate program?”

It sure seems like it, doesn’t it? You tell that to those IB kids in band and in your Spanish class.”

Grins.

Tomorrow do some research on studies that have been done on how music helps students with learning. And next time you have to defend yourself, you will have the facts. Maybe you can also somehow use these findings for the school science fair next year.

Eyes get huge. (Can see brain working in her head)

Good night my love.

“Good night Mama. I love you.”

I love you too.

Yoga on my mind

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Last week, I almost wept in my yoga class. Nothing hurt. No twisting, bindings or inversions (I’m terrified of inversions). No pulled muscles or ligaments. No injuries.

.

.

.

I’m hesitating as I write this, because I’m still grappling with why I fought back tears during the closing sun salutations.

I am relatively new to yoga. An injury last year was the final push I needed after years of saying, “when will I find the time?” Yoga is now a critical part of my running/triathlon training regime. It is a conduit to achieve more flexibility, balance and strength. Until about 3 months ago, yoga was simply a way to take care of my body, to ensure racing longevity. And in the 9 months I’ve been practicing yoga weekly, my body is thanking me. And now, it seems my mind wants some of the action too.

A few weeks ago, I found myself reverting to Shavasana at night when I can’t sleep. I also started to set my intentions before each run or swim just as I do before a yoga class. Then last week I found myself weeping in my husband’s arms when I got home from my yoga class.

Sarah Lynn, my yoga instructor and owner of Journey Yoga, is a very lively and active instructor – often playing music I would love for my running playlist. She’s passionate and energetic. If you’re looking for a quiet and gentle yoga class, Sarah Lynn is not the instructor for you. Last week, however, it was a quiet class. There was no music. No loud chatter, just thoughtful instruction. We were asked to simply engage or activate various muscles during the practice that would in turn elicit a reaction from other muscles in the body. Shoulders, back, legs, hands, arms, you name it.

During class, Sarah Lynn helped us with visualizations and regular reminders to breathe. And reminders that it’s okay to underachieve. That it’s okay not to work our muscles as hard as we possibly can. About half way through the class, my movements became more fluid, my poses were more balanced and strong, and my stretches were deeper than usual. Sweat was streaming out of every pore in my body. As we went through the last few sets of sun salutations, a tsunami of emotions moved up my feet and through my whole body. I wanted to sob. I almost did.

Why? I don’t really know. It took me by surprise. This practice was easy, yet so hard. The hard parts (consciously using all my muscles) made the balancing and poses seem easy, fluid and strong. On the drive home, so many images and emotions flashed through my mind — like fast-forwarding a movie. What continues to stand out in my mind is the journey to achieve my goal with running, racing, triathlon-ing… and all the training that exhausts me, frustrates me yet thrills me. But I don’t know what my actual goal is, or where my journey is taking me. Is it really okay to underachieve? Or not work as hard as I possibly can?

Oh this is cheesy as heck, I know. But I can’t shake how I felt that night. And I still don’t really know what it meant. Or why I think it’s supposed to mean something. Or anything for that matter.

But whatever it was, I think I may have started another journey.

Thank you Sarah Lynn.

You Decide

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Last weekend Scot and I celebrated our 14th wedding anniversary at this small restaurant that delivered intimacy on a rainy night with lots of delicious promise in a cozy dining room. That night, thousands of yummy flavors and textures exploded in my mouth and my mind, lingering there still, many days later.

At some point, I lost count how many little dishes came out for the antipasti and primi. Eight? Nine? And the wine, oh the wine. All pre-selected and paired perfectly for us. Did I mention flavor explosions? My toes were twitching, it was so good.

The experience was perfect because I didn’t have to decide on anything. I didn’t have to choose. I just had to decide if I wanted fish, quail or pork for my secondi (easy!). I felt so free. Little tasty surprises showed up at our table every 10-15 minutes. Someone decided that morning what I was going to eat. I was so happy I wanted to giggle all night long.

While I was trying (and failing) to make this delicious morsel last forever — this melt-in-your mouth gorgeous ivory white soft cheese that sat in a perfect cradle of olive oil — I said to Scot:

I can’t wait for the day I can just cook or eat what I want, and not have to plan, decide, choose what is good and healthy for the family.

With growing kids, my cooking brain thinks in three parts: healthy protein, good carbs, lots of vegetables/fruit. Making the best choices possible can be a burden. Because sometimes, all I want to eat is a bowl of cereal. Or make that super spicy fish curry, or that delicious eggplant lamb dish I haven’t made in ages because the kids wouldn’t go for it. So I try to choose well. EVERY DAY. Not just with food, but with life. Choices and decisions. The best ones possible. So tiring sometimes.

So back to this dinner – freedom from decisions and choices was so nice.

The next morning, Scot and I ran in a 10 mile race with 4 other friends. And since I’m a control freak about race days, I laid out our race day logistics days before. The guys gave me lots of good-natured grief at the 5:30am call and my control-freak tendencies — some have never raced with me before. Those who have know better.

Heading home after a great morning of racing and a big post-race breakfast, the guys at the back of the van commented that I was not giving proper directions on the best route home. See what can happen when you make the decision to decide and choose?

So I sat back and let it go.

“Antelmo knows exactly where to go.”

“But wait. Antelmo, turn here so you can drop Pete off first….”

Someone bring me another helping of that yummy octopus and whatever else is on the menu…

Just Dance

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Yesterday, I really felt like dancing. So I did. In my home office, in my kitchen, with my younger daughter, with my embarrassed older daughter staring at me, while I was making dinner, even when the kids told me to turn it down. Dang, it felt good.

Today, I’m back in the office cube farm. I have a standing station and it’s very conducive to dancing because, well, I’m standing. I occasionally look over my shoulder to see if anyone is approaching – after all, I can’t hear them because I have my ear buds on. But I’m still dancing. It’s been so long.

In college I used to dance almost every weekend with a few friends. We would forego the drunk, smelly, frat house beer parties and head to the clubs instead to literally dance the night away. I also worked at a dance studio so I could take classes for free. Such a great outlet for many things.

Then years later I married my soul mate. And he’s just not the dancing kind. *sigh* But it’s okay. I took belly dancing and salsa classes, and occasionally I get to dance with him at weddings.

As I got older, I also started to become more self conscious. Do I look like a foolish old lady dancing? Man, do I look like that? Can I still dance? Then I started moving less and less. My music choices also ventured away from the dance/club/hip hop genre, and more to what my husband and friends listen to. Toe tapping, body swaying yes, booty shaking, no.

Then I stopped dancing. Silly me.

Last week, I desperately needed to refresh my running playlist – I needed new material to pump me up for an upcoming 10 mile race, plus I want a cruisin’ companion when I train for a half marathon coming up next month. Then my friend John lent me his iPod, and that’s when it started again. This dancing thing. The kind that makes you close your eyes and just be free. I gave iTunes some of my paycheck to load up my new playlist, and I haven’t stopped wanting to move.

So when I run this weekend in one of the most scenic races ever, I may do more than run. Because all I want to do now, is dance.

Peace?

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Recently I attended a Total Immersion Swimming and Chi Running clinics. I did both with the intention of indulging my laziness – wanting to improve speed and endurance without exerting any more energy than I already am.

Both instructors convinced me that some amount of balance, posture, and relaxation will help improve my swimming or running. Be one with the water and you will swim like a dolphin. Good posture coupled with relaxed arms and legs will help me run forever and ever. I started to imagine I was listening to a yogi sitting on top of a mountain giving advice to triathletes. Seriously.

After an enlightened morning, I realized that both TI Swimming and Chi Running embrace the concept of being at peace with the universe or at least allowing yourself to be one with your environment. When you swim, don’t fight the water, flow with it. When you run, fall into it. Relax. No tight asses in Chi Running. Cue sound of heart beat. Then overlay with deep breathing, and light sound of water or footsteps in the background.  Ohhmmmm. Seriously.

Over the last year, I’ve learned that to be a successful (or at least happy) athlete, your entire body has to be in sync. Putting in hundreds of miles prepping for races and triathlons didn’t hurt my back. A weak core and tight hip flexors did. After years of listening to Beth preach the benefits of yoga, I started yoga. And yoga started me on a different journey. The swim/run clinics also pushed me farther down this road. I’ve learned that it’s not just about “getting a good workout” it’s also about strength and flexibility. And lots of balance — for my body and what’s in my head. And guess what — being at peace with the universe. In this case, being at peace with myself, what I’m doing at that moment (running at 5 friggin’ AM), and being able to embrace the fact that I CAN run and swim and ride. With relatively no pain. Cue happy zen-like music.

Now I have to cross-train to be fit for life. Flow with life and use inner muscles to either move quickly or deal with crap when it gets thrown at me. Be at peace with what comes. Because it just will. Definitely embrace my universe of children and husband. Quiet the mind. Don’t fight it. Fall into it gently. And I can run forever and ever.

Advice from my Daughter

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Yesterday Saleha asked me why I seem so mad lately. I told her I wasn’t mad, just trying to cope with many things in my head and life – work, family, responsibilities, etc. She had lots of advice for me:

 You worry too much about Lily. She’s got lots of extra time in the mornings to do her homework, so maybe she doesn’t have to finish it all in the afternoon, and she can play. She’s fine – just feed her and buy her clothes and she’ll be happy.

 Well I don’t know about that.

 She’s a good kid. Don’t worry so much about her.

 Then she painted a picture for me:

It’s like you’re in a big hole. And you’re trying to dig yourself out. But instead of digging to get out, you’re too busy fixing other problems in the hole, so you can’t get out.

 What kinds of problems am I trying to fix at the bottom of that hole?

 Feeding us, taking care of us, worrying about us

 But I have to do those kinds of things Saleha, it’s my responsibility

 But you still don’t have to worry so much. 

 Huh. She may be right. Is my life really a big hole that I can’t get out of? Then I told her that lately I’ve been trying to find my lost sense of humor, something I haven’t had in a while. She laughed. Later when we continued to talk about this at bed time, I was overwhelmed by her observation:

You try too hard Mama. We’re all fine. You don’t have to try so hard.

I then told her that Worry and Guilt are my constant companions and have been since she was born. She had this to say:

 What are you guilty of?

Since I started working again, I feel like my head is so full of stuff, that I don’t have enough space to be a good and patient mother

When you get home you should flush your head and get rid of all the stuff. That way you’ll have space. So what are you guilty of?

 I always feel that I don’t do enough for you girls, or spend enough time with both of you.

 I know how to fix that.

 How?

 Let’s go away for a weekend. Just you and me. For one or two nights. Then Dada can do the same with Lily. And we can switch.

That sounds like a fantastic idea.  (Long thoughtful silence) I’m really happy we had this conversation.

 Me too. I love you.

 I love you too Saleha. You ARE my guardian angel.

 Yes I am.

Marathons are for Mothers

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Being a parent is like training for a marathon. Or at least I think it is since I’ve never run one (more on that some other time). You must build stamina and endurance, think positive to push for that extra mile, and don’t let the bad training days get you down. Because crossing the finish line is priceless. But where is the finish line for parents?

Lately, my mother marathon training isn’t going well. My mental endurance is tapped, my energy level is low, and I’ve hit a wall. My consistent effort to do the right thing is met with consistent resistance, and I am tired of being labeled the bad guy for trying to teach my kids to be good. 

Go away, GUILT
I also have a cloud hovering over this mental exhaustion called GUILT. She follows me like a shadow, appears in the shower with me when I take that extra-hot-water-minute, or sleep in on the weekends past 7. GUILT doesn’t allow me to peacefully do what my conscience tells me to, and she doesn’t allow me to dole out tough love without quickly stabbing my heart. Ah GUILT. My constant companion since my first child was born.

I do turn into a psycho bitch occasionally when I reach the point of no return. Playing the lawyer and defending my actions with my kids can get tiring. After a tennis match of arguments, it eventually will dawn on me that I don’t have to defend myself to them – and bloody hell, I’m doing this because I love them. So I lose it, and sometimes, I lose it big. Then GUILT slaps me hard. Sometimes, I want to stop this mother marathon training. Sigh.

Love, love, love
But here’s the thing — I love my two girls so much, and cannot imagine my life without them. Every day I do my damned best to make sure they are well fed, clean, safe, healthy and happy.  Every day I try to teach them to be kind and respectful. Every day I try to read their minds and actions to make sure they are happy inside, no matter what the outside says. Every day I try to listen to their words and be sure I understand what they really mean. And every day I try to make sure they know that I love them, especially if we say many angry words to each other. It’s just that on many days, I simply don’t have the energy, patience or wherewithal to DO all these right things (SHUT UP GUILT).

What would it be like to have just one day without the cares of being a mother? And be free of the worry, the responsibilities, and of GUILT. It could be like my rest day when I don’t train.

Till I die? Really?
So how do I train for this mother marathon? I know many other mothers (and fathers) go through this daily. But knowing this doesn’t make it any easier. Or strengthen my mental endurance. Recently after yet another battle, my teary apologetic younger daughter asked me why I decided to have children. I said I wanted to love a child or two, and because the world needs more good people. Is that my finish line? When I can witness what kind of people my children turn out to be? 30-40 years from now? Or right up till I die? That’s a long time to be training.

I clearly need to increase my stamina and endurance. I need to introduce a new element to my training regime to shake things up.

HUMOR! WHERE ARE YOU?

Why I do more

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GETTING SHORT
I started running because I was getting shorter. At my annual physical before my 40th birthday, I measured an inch and a half shorter than the previous year (and many years before that). It messed me up. Somehow in a fog of rationale I thought, “If I’m not 5’ 6”, then what else am I not?”

So I started walking, then running. Last time I ran was 20 years before that. Within 6 months, I ran my first 5K with 2 other girlfriends. We had shirts that said “Shut Up and Run.” Before long, I ran a half marathon. Oh, and in addition to the 5am runs, there came the 5am swims and biking in the dark. Now, 4 years, 20 running races and 6 triathlons later, what next? More it seems.

MORE PLEASE
Lately, I’ve been struck (and a little confused) by my desire to keep doing more. To battle my perennial image and weight issues, I lost 15 pounds to prep for the 2012 race season. I am getting stronger and leaner thanks to P90X, and running those hills seem easier. I’m still trying to kick the last 5 pounds or so, but heck, like most women, I’ll never be happy with what the scale says.

But where am I going with all of this? It would be so much easier to NOT do all of this. Sometimes the 4:45am wakeup calls just feel really bad. And I am often tired and cranky by 3pm. And forget sleeping for 8 hours a night. What do I want from all this? A marathon? A half Ironman? Run faster? Swim faster? I am at least 10 times more physically active than when I played team sports in high school. I am in great shape, and I’m healthy. And core, yoga and stretching – are all part of my weekly workout routines. Why doesn’t it feel enough?

MIDLIFE CRISIS
A friend recently said I am going through a midlife crisis. I will be 44 in a few months. So far this year, I have signed up for a 5 miler, a 10 miler, a half marathon, an Olympic Tri, and a Sprint Tri. I will probably do another Century Ride, a few shorter races and hopefully get in the Army 10. Hmm. I DO love how I feel during AND after a run. Swimming has boosted my running in so many ways. And I feel bad ass when I finish a triathlon. Racking up my bike and getting my transition area ready is nerve wracking AND exciting as hell. Open water swimming scares the crap out of me, but I’m hoping to overcome that this year. I love it all. Is that all there is to this? That I love it? I just don’t know.

I do know that I’ve learned a few things over the last 4 years:

• I can do more than I think I can
• If I force myself to run when I don’t want to, I feel really good when I’m done
• There are really good running days, and there are really bad running days
• I thought I was strong until I started yoga
• Stretching is essential to prevent injury
• I love my chiropractor
• I am lazy. I don’t want to expend more effort to increase speed or distance.
• I CAN apparently work out an hour a day, 6 days a week.

Mostly good eh? Oh, and one more: I found another best girlfriend, with whom I never would have done any of this. We push each other, wake each other up for stupid early morning workouts, and have had many heart to heart talks (not related to running, biking or swimming) during, before, after and in between those workouts. I love her dearly for what she has become to me, and for showing me what I can become. Yes Beth, I can squat lower apparently.

BECAUSE I CAN
So what is the lesson here? I do all this because I enjoy feeling strong and bad ass? And because I can? I guess so. Because before long it won’t be my choice. One day, my body is simply going to say, “No more!” I had a taste of that last year and it was a very unhappy and stressful time. I just need to be happy with what I have achieved so far. And go for more. Yes?

YES!