Tag Archives: strong women

Be the one.

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Saleha, my oldest daughter texted me, “I’m in fucking Rockville, I’m angry and nauseous.”

“Want to talk?”

She kept going.

“This lady said she was a better immigrant because she’s white and from a European country. And that I’ve been brainwashed by the media to think that what’s happening at the border is bad. And she told us that we had no idea because we’re not immigrants. I told her I was a child of an immigrant, but she told us how bad SHE had it and that whatever is happening now isn’t as bad.”

“At what point did you walk away?”

“She wouldn’t stop talking. I interrupted her at some point and said have a nice day. Next time I’m going to tell people that I hope they are capable of developing some compassion.”

Saleha is canvassing for the ACLU this summer, raising money for immigration and abortion rights. She wanted to help the best way possible in a short period of time, and she’s one of the top fundraisers on her team. She’s never done this before. She’s studying to be a biomedical engineer, and her team is filled with passionate and determined young adults who aspire to be lawyers, journalists, activists. Saleha looks white. Her black teammates don’t raise as much money. Her canvassing partner is black AND bi-sexual. That’s two strikes against him.

When she decided to do this, I knew she was going to get a very quick lesson on humanity – the good, bad and ugly. There have been a lot of good days. Like when that little kid gave her a penny for the cause, when a guy gave her his last $20, and when people filled up her water bottle on those hot humid days.

Then there are days that leave her angry and nauseous. It breaks my heart, she’s my daughter.

Hate swirls around us each day. Hate makes us angry and invites an infinite amount of negative energy into our lives. And it’s easy to give in to hate.

It’s so easy to hate the people who support the cruel treatment of children at the border. Have you ever felt helpless when your little baby has a fever? Do you hold and comfort your toddler when she wakes up with night terrors? Have you ever felt like you can’t breathe when your teenager goes missing for a few hours?

It’s so easy to hate the people who dismiss the black men and boys who are killed by cops. Have you ever listened to a black mother lecture her teenager before he leaves the house in the morning, so he won’t get killed by a cop? And feel her fear that he won’t come home from school?

It’s so easy to hate the people who think my gay, lesbian and transgender friends are immoral. Do you have friends in this community? Are they kind and respectful human beings? Have you ever been awed by their strength and grace for being proud of who they are despite the amount of hate they receive?

It’s so easy to hate the people who don’t believe women who’ve been raped. Are you a woman? Have you ever been sexually assaulted? Do you remember every single detail like it was yesterday, even if it happened 30 years ago? Wait, what? You’ve never been sexually assaulted? Hang on, you’re a man? Then fuck you.

It’s so easy to hate the racists. Have you ever avoided reading stories of white people proudly declaring their superiority as they are celebrated by leaders and politicians? Have you ever just closed your eyes and tried to wish these stories are fake?

See? It’s so easy to give in to hate. If I do, I can be just like them. Hateful. Angry.

The next day, I picked up Saleha from work. And we had our usual 10:30pm chat. The only time during the week I get to see and talk with her this summer.

“I met a really nice guy who believed the ACLU will change the world, and also a really nice and cute old lady who could only see with one eye. And at this one house, after I got a donation from this woman, her daughter gave me a big hug.  It made me want to cry. Today was infinitely better than yesterday.”

“Maybe that’s what we need to do. To be the one who makes others see that this world has good people. To help others see that there is love around us, not just hate. To be the one that makes others feel disproportionately happy with acts of kindness. To be the one that you tell your mom about at the end of the day.”

Saleha’s experience taught me that I can’t avoid the hate and there are many people who need help. She dived in with the best way she knew how to help. She’s unapologetic about her beliefs and is very outspoken about them. I hope that one day I can be as brave as her. But until then, I can be the one.

“I’m glad this is your last week of work.”

“Me too.”

Fix it

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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.

Listen

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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.

ROCKS.

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It’s impossible to prepare for parenthood. Yes you can anticipate the sleepless nights, the constant vigilance on kids as they grow, making sure they are safe, healthy and happy. Easy stuff. But who can honestly anticipate the acute heart break that eventually settles in your soul as these babies turn into little adults, and learn how to navigate the world. It’s the stuff that was written in small print when you bring these wonderful creatures into the world. And you can’t walk away from it.

I give life lessons and love willingly. I also have to be strong enough to receive the mental and verbal rocks that get thrown at me, and have to be resilient enough to either avoid them, or if I’m hit, stand back up and continue giving life lessons and love.

When those rocks come hurtling at me out of nowhere, I have to dig into the recesses of my parenting brain and execute defensive maneuvers. This could include verbal tactics to help illuminate and broaden the small, self-absorbed world of a teen. If the claws come out and further attack ensues, I implement a containment plan: Punishment.  And because their world is so fucking small, their life resumes rather quickly. The rocks get put away, claws retracted. I on the other hand, nurse my wounds for days. My whole body permanently tattooed with more invisible battle scars.

Rinse and repeat.

There’s nothing clinical about this job. It comes with strong emotional and physical bonds. It’s not for the faint of heart. We don’t have armor to be emotionally safe from the havoc of a growing child. The love we feel for these creatures is all consuming. Yesterday I had a fleeting moment of wondering what it would be like to be child-free. Or at the minimum to be free of the anguish, pain and heartache once reserved for the comparatively flighty world of dating.

I need to invest in some serious padding, because I am committed to this job forever. I also need to invest in some self-control because after all, as the husband reminds me, these creatures we love so much are not in control of their emotions. Which makes it all the more important that we stay in control of ours.

And I do so love these creatures.

Party!

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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.

Broken.

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On April 28 2013 I broke my foot during the Nike All Women’s half marathon in Washington DC. It’s been almost two weeks. The foot is healing, it’s in a boot, I’m on crutches, and I feel like my best friends are going on a vacation without me.  

It was going to be a great race, I could feel it. The energy at the start line was high and strong.

Buzzing start line

At the half mile mark I ran through a tunnel crowded with thousands of other runners. One of them stepped on my left foot. I fell, got up, and fell again.

Roar.
I finished the race, and I ran 12 miles on a broken foot. But now I can’t run for at least another 10 weeks.

urgent care leg

I may swim in 4 weeks, and maybe get on a bike trainer. I do the math every day–when I can run again, when I can train for my races this year. But I’m not racing in a fun Mother’s Day triathlon with my best lady friends this Sunday. Deep breath.

My 2013 race schedule  included my first marathon. I had a plan damn it. Later this year, I was going to meet Other Me. Super woman me, in super woman shape, who attacked all these races. Roar!

Head strong.
My Ironman brother tells me injuries like this are part of racing and training. And that it had to happen to me sooner or later. And he’s right. He’s nursed many injuries himself, and he’s come back strong each time. Think Ironman. He also is so Zen when faced with crap like injuries. I always aspire to be like him, and not just when I race. He once told me that when I decide to race the longer distances, I better have answers to all the questions my head will be asking me when I’m struggling in the last 10 miles. I better get started.

The new training plan.
My plan was to get my body in super strong shape this year. Muscles, roaring, leaping over tall buildings, that kind of thing. It’s too early to tell if in August, I will be able to swim in beautiful Lake Arrowhead and run up those crazy steps to T1 at Luray. Or if in September, I will rack my bike in the biggest triathlon transition area in the country. And it’s hard to admit that I simply may not be able to run my first marathon this October.  Deep breath.

So the running and racing goddesses are taking me on a detour. Their plan for me in 2013 is to put my head in training, not my body. My head needs to be in super strong shape this year. It has to be strong enough to believe that whatever happens in the healing process this year, I can and will come back stronger. That’s the Other Me I hope to meet later this year.

And when I do race again, I will remember to pack my health insurance card in my race bag.

Sister Power

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Last night during dinner, Saleha gave Lily some advice on what to do when some girls in school make her feel bad about herself.  Girls who make her think she’s not good enough, not pretty enough, not thin enough.

Start with the little things. Remind yourself of the things that make you feel confident and good about yourself. Then sit up straighter, and walk tall.

Sometimes these words mean the world when they come from a big sister. Times like this I am reminded why I was so happy when I found out I was going to have two girls. And why I always wanted a sister. This is girl power. This is why women need each other when we are adults and why girls should be taught young to prop each other up, not put each other down.

Saleha also shared something else she learned in middle school.

Try this. Think of something about yourself, write it down on a piece of paper. On the other side, write “it’s okay.”

It was hard for Lily. She wrote things like “I’m fat, I’m not pretty…”

But that’s all not true Lily. My friends think you are pretty.

Compliment from big sister! Big eyes, jaw drop, huge smile. Wow.

At bed time, Lily tried again after I turned off the lights.

I’m really scared of roller coasters. And it’s okay. I’m not as pretty as some girls. And it’s okay.

I’m terrified of roller coasters too my love. And it’s okay.

Saleha did have one more piece of advice at dinner.

Tell those girls you can run faster, you are strong, and you can do more pushups than any of them.

That’s right sista. When in doubt, show them how you can kick ass.

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.