Tag Archives: life

Fix it

Posted on by
Reply

Babies without their mamas
Mamas without their babies.
Children in cages.
Families separated.
I’m so sorry Mama.

Women are standing up. Shouting. Crying. Remembering.
So angry.
No one believes us.
I’m so sorry Mama.

Hate is king.
Protect the racists.
Celebrate them.
Racists walk free and proud.
I’m so sorry Mama.

Hundreds of children.
Dead from gunshots.
So many of us screaming for help.
Money makes them deaf.
I’m so sorry Mama.

Innocent young black men
Dead from police gunshots.
So many of us screaming for justice.
On our knees. They are deaf.
I’m so sorry Mama

Where is kindness.
Help him. Give him shelter
Give him hope.
No. The rich won’t get richer.
I’m so sorry Mama.

Good will is wrong.
Cruelty is right.
We have to catch the good ones.
Before they give up.
I’m so sorry Mama.

There’s so much to fix.
So many broken spirits.
So many hopeless thoughts.
Show us the way.
I’m so sorry Mama.

Love

Posted on by
Reply

It’s not enough. 

To just love is not enough to raise a happy child.

I am guided by love that allows me to feel her sadness, and to always know where to find that missing shoe. This love also allows me to offer up the last juicy shrimp in my bowl, and to know exactly how much salt to put on her eggs. Every time.

It’s not enough.

My legs and my heart, they’re a little wobbly. It’s getting harder to stand back up when I get knocked down by this growing, beautiful child. Her cold shoulder and harsh words overwhelm me, they make me weak. I should hide so she won’t have a target. Oh my love.

It’s not enough.

I am her ugly monster. The source of her anxiety, her stress, and everything that is wrong with her life. I can’t be spoken to, trusted, or treated like a loved one. But I have so much love.

It’s not enough.

Stay low, move quietly, and avoid direct contact. I need to repair the damage within and protect my fragile, cracking shell. She needs more than love.

It’s not enough.

Listen

Posted on by
Reply

In 2015 I approached the start line of my second Marine Corps Marathon convinced I was ready to kick ass. But instead my ass got kicked to the curb. I was not fit enough or ready. I didn’t listen to my body. In fact, I realized I never REALLY listen, and I have never really been honest with what I hear.

Listen2

When I finally stopped feeling sorry for myself, I started fixing a few things. I got myself a personal trainer who taught me how to get stronger, leaner and more muscular. He changed the way I looked at food and nutrition. Almost a year later, With my new hardware in place I started running again. And I failed again. Still slow, still hard.

Hire a running coach, the husband said. So I did. And that’s when I learned to listen. And respond honestly.

At my first pre-dawn track workout in years, my first listening lesson began. It was hard to run and listen to my pounding heart and my mind telling me to slow down. I couldn’t silence it. But that morning, the twice-deployed soldier coach asked me if anything hurt. And an honest mental check revealed that nothing did. My exploding heart really wasn’t exploding. My hip, my legs, my knees, my feet, they all actually felt good. But it’s so hard, I said. It’s supposed to be hard he said. Keep going, said the soldier coach. And enjoy the run.

 

It was a fast track workout. And that was the beginning.

No music. Trust your body. 

Then he told me to ditch the music. Listen to your body he said. Don’t rely on music to help you when it gets tough. His instructions for my first 60-minute training run without music: 30 minutes out, and 30 minutes back. And see if you can make the second 30 minutes faster than the first. Oh, and ditch the Garmin too. Just pay attention to how you feel.

That day I listened to my footsteps and my breathing. I listened to my head saying I was tired and uncomfortable when I sped up. I asked my legs if they could go faster.  And I responded as honestly as I could. And my second 30 minutes was faster.

Week 5:

Me: I’m a little scared for Wednesday’s track workout

Soldier coach: LOL. Don’t be scared, I wouldn’t make you do anything you couldn’t do.

Me: I know. That’s what I’m afraid of.

Soldier coach: You should be scared. Scared of not doing it because you know what you can achieve when you do.

I realized then, that I have to silence the negative thoughts. I have to be completely honest with myself. If I don’t, I will fail. Again.

Homework.

For eight weeks leading up to a 10 mile race (my first in 18 months since the failed marathon), my training homework had me running, lifting weights, and paying attention to how I responded to what I heard and felt. Especially when things got tough, like that sucky 9 mile run in week 6.

Soldier coach said to mentally prepare myself and visualize how I’m going to handle it next time, so my mind will be conditioned to combat it (see reference to soldier). And for good measure he told me that if I change the way I think, I will change what I believe I’m capable of. And this is running homework, people.

I listened hard and the honesty paid off. Even during those pre-dawn 800 meter sprints.

Listen4

No, nothing hurts.

This sucks.

Hey, my heart isn’t exploding!

Why can’t I catch up to that old guy.

That felt goooood.  

I hate doing 800s.

WHAT?? I RAN 800 IN 3:50???

 

Race day.

The eternally patient and beloved husband humored my usual race-day neurosis.

No music, no Garmin. Just my watch, some water and a gel. Each mile I checked the official clock and checked in with myself. I listened.

I ran the last mile in a sub-9 pace and felt great. I beat my goal. No fuss, no muss. No music, no Garmin, no salt tabs, no cramps, no drama. Just a good run, and I enjoyed it.

I have more in the tank I texted the soldier coach after I crossed the finish line. That means you low-balled it the soldier coach responded when he saw my time. Yes I did.

So listen. And be very, very honest with how you respond. It can be a little scary, but always revealing. I’m listening to many other things too now. Clearly I didn’t just hire a running coach.

I can’t wait to discover what else I’ll hear this year.

Party!

Posted on by
Reply

Start line party

The aches and pains left my body after four days, the “I did my first marathon” high still comes and goes, and I have not taken down the Marine Corps Marathon course map at my office desk. My racing journey this year was not especially pretty, as much as it was insightful. But at the start line on race day, I was at a ruckus party with 30,000 other people. 26.2 miles? Puh-leez. We all knew how many miles it REALLY took to get to the start line.

I didn’t know if I would get here, but I’m on the other side now, I did it. I persevered through hours of physical stress to achieve this huge endurance goal, and I AM mentally strong enough to lace up my shoes and do it over and over again. Alone. That start line party was my graduation.

Do over please

Did I say it wasn’t pretty? There was pain and cramping during the second part of the race and lots of excuses after. I didn’t focus on strength training, broke my foot 6 months before the race, my training time was short, blah blah blah. But wouldn’t you know it I want to run another marathon—in addition to other 2014 racing goals. But I’m hoping this next journey will be different than the one I started out with this year.

Reminders

Reminders

 In the moment

My 2013 racing journey can be summed up in the two weeks before and after the marathon. My emotional state was that of a caffeine addict deprived of her morning coffee. Every day, for two weeks. At a yoga class during savasana a few days before the race, with tears streaming down my face I apologized to my many hurting body parts. Touching my thighs, hips, and legs, and feet, I asked them to hang tough with me for a few more days. Assuming the same pose on my yoga mat a week after the marathon, I tearfully thanked them for being strong and carrying me—literally—on this journey. Then as the endorphins and chemicals balanced out in my body over the next few weeks, Sarah Lynn aka my favorite yoga instructor, repeated a mantra of hers during class—to be accepting of where we are, what we’re doing, how we’re doing it, in the moment we’re in. I finally heard her.

When my body protested with exhaustion during the months of training, and I’d take a 7:30 nap before falling asleep at 9:00, I often asked myself (and the husband) why I often feel compelled to choose the hard road. No answer ever satisfied me. At the end of a rather tumultuous racing year which included letting my body heal, I had these fleeting moments of realizing that it’s okay not to know why, or what my journey is for. Only that I choose to go on it. I have to grab those fleeting moments. Tricky stuff.

 Ohm

So yes, I will be setting goals, and working hard to achieve them. My 2014 journey is to be in the many moments I will find myself in, and be accepting of all the outcomes.  At least that’s the plan.

  • Half Ironman.
  • Marathon #2.
  • Be kind to myself (see first two goals above)
  • Show meaning of true friendship to teen daughter.
  • Lift the clouds away from anxious daughter.
  • Run away with husband more often.

And may the racing goddesses be gentler to me next year.

A phone call

Posted on by
Reply

It was too long to txt.

That’s what my daughter Saleha said after she got a phone call from her friend Evelyn as we walked in the door from a school concert. Evelyn called to tell Saleha that her grandmother died. Some things, I guess, are just too long, or too complicated to txt. Or maybe the 😦 emoticon wasn’t enough. Or maybe Evelyn needed to hear a voice—Saleha’s voice. I will never know. But what I do know is she called. And Evelyn gave me hope.

 I’m sorry Evelyn

It will be okay

I’m so sorry your grandmother died Evelyn

I knew of Sharon’s death earlier that morning from Evelyn’s parents, good friends of ours. So I knew what Evelyn’s call was about. I listened to the conversation, saw the look on Saleha’s face, encouraged her to go on, gave her the thumbs up with each time she offered Evelyn comfort.  

I didn’t know what to say

But she did. For the first time ever, Saleha had to console a grieving friend. Grandma Sharon lived with Eveyln’s family for more than a year while receiving cancer treatments. The whole family entered that world of living with illness and possible death—a place we’re all familiar with, but often not from first-hand experience.

Saleha’s cell phone rarely leaves her side. At 7pm each night she has to put it away–along with any other electronics. No emails, no more Google chats, etc. That’s the rule. I’ve been trying to show Saleha that it’s important to know how to communicate by talking, and not just from that safe txt-ing place.

Well, last night, Evelyn showed Saleha that sometimes friends need to hear a voice. And I hope Saleha learned that sometimes, friends just need to know she’s there to listen. So many lessons with one short phone call.

Sharon, I will listen to Elton John all day today…

Yoga on my mind

Posted on by
Reply

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

Posted on by
2

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

Posted on by
Reply

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?

Posted on by
Reply

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.

Marathons are for Mothers

Posted on by
Reply

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?