Iphones are not sweat proof

Three seconds after I came across the finish line at my first half marathon with my limping Italian Stallion husband, I started contemplating running another.  We'd been making great time at that race until he hurt his ankle.  The wheels in my brain started churning wondering what our time would have been if there hadn't been an ankle injury.

I couldn't leave well enough alone and signed up for a 2nd half marathon several weeks later. It's amazing to me that I ran a half marathon. It's practically an out of body experience that I decided to run a 2nd one all by myself just a few weeks later.

I picked the race to run based primarily on logistics. Convenient location on a date I liked and the course was going to be pretty flat. I tried hard to maintain my endurance over the weeks in between races. But finding time for 10 mile runs can be hard when your husband is still in full nomad mode and I only ended up doing it once and there was some walking involved. It was not a great lead in. I should have read the writing on the wall at that point.

I like how I took the time to pin the bib on but too dumb to remember to pull the chip timer off and put it on my shoe. 

A few days before the race I also discovered that the formerly nomadic travelin' husband needed to catch a flight roughly 2 hours after I'd cross the finish line.  So we'd be cutting it really close.  Then we arrived the morning of the race to traffic jams and major parking issues that led to a delayed start time.  30 minute delay to be exact.  I was busy fretting about the flight and getting to the car in time to drive to the airport. I also started thinking about my daughter at a sleepover that had to be picked up on the way to pick me up after the race.  I have the attention span of a gnat when I run. I need absolutely no distractions to fret about. Flight schedules and pick up schedules in the back of my brain do not help me focus.

This is the face of a fretting woman.  This is also the face of a woman with smile lines around her mouth and bags under her eyes. 

So I'm fretting and looking for a port o potty.  I had been busy hydrating since I woke up knowing I'm one sweaty wench.  A pit stop before the race started was essential. I wasn't the only one that felt that way. Here was the line for the port o potty.

The port o potties are the blue thing all the way on the right.  The line starts on the left and wrapped around.  I had plenty of time to count and there were at least 100 people in front of me. 

 If this were a large race with 100 port o potties to choose from, that line would have been nothing. Unfortunately, this was the inaugural one of these races and the planners thought 5 port o potties would be enough at the starting line. WTH. Seriously. WTH. 5? Who in their right mind came up with that? In what universe is 5 a good guesstimate of how many port o potties you should order for a race with over a 1000 runners. 

The port o potty oasis.  4 blue ones and 1 green handicapped one.  Genius.  I had 30 minutes in line to decide it was in fact the stupidest port o potty situation I've ever witnessed. 

The only thing worse than waiting in line 30 minutes for a port o potty is getting in the port of potty and realizing it's one of 5 overused port o potties.  I'm a girl that hates port o potties.  I hate overused port o potties even more. Dis. Gus. Ting. To compound my feelings of revulsion, I made the mistake of looking down inside the port o potty. I know. That's so vile I get the heeby jeebies even now just remembering that I did that.   Let's all agree to never speak of this again.

From there it was on to the starting line. I stood around sending my husband reports on the horror of the port o potty and repeatedly tying and retying my shoes.  Then it was time to go. The first several yards were perfection. A lovely breeze. Not super crowded. But crowded enough that I couldn't get too carried away going too fast.

Smiling and not yet hating life.  Swiped from the official photo people.  I'd feel guilty for swiping it except the whole 5 port o potties experience left me feeling like someone somewhere owed me.  Just sayin'.

About mile 1.5, I realized I had a really, really long way to run. I started contemplating stopping.  I was figuring out a plan to call my husband and where he could pick me up.  Thinking about quitting is my usual modus operandi.  I know this.  I  know I just have to stop thinking about it.

So I just kept chugging.  Then I started thinking about how I had a really, really long way to run all by myself.  I felt a wave of longing for the Italian Stallion. I thought about him running with me the first time and how even though he's not big on chatting and running, it was nice knowing he was right there to talk to when I wanted to. It made me blue and my overly dramatic brain started thinking I should never run without him again ever. I know. Overreact much? Cuz I do.

The next several miles were a ridiculous blur of back and forth between me and some older chick in a crazy leopard running outfit. She was running just slightly faster than me but she was stopping to walk and drink water like every half mile. I'd pass her during her walk breaks. She'd frantically push ahead of me when she was done drinking.  So freaking annoying.  But on the bright side, several miles flew by playing tag with her.

We did a turn around and were headed back the way we came against the wind.  Then I saw the 2:15 pace girl in front of me. And then it became my life's mission to get to her. And I did.  I ran with her for several miles despite running directly against 12 mile an hour wind. Life was beautiful and visions of a 2:15 finish time were dancing in my head.  I wish I could go back in time and punch myself in the face for even daring to think like that.  

Still holding it together around mile 9.  Attempting to drink water while still breathing.

Somewhere around mile 9, to pay me back for thinking crazy 2:15 thoughts, the music on my iPhone started periodically stopping. I had to unplug my headphones and then plug them back in to hear music again. Pretty sure it was sweat related.  Somewhere around mile 10 my iPhone stopped playing music altogether.  And then it was like there was a slow leak in my brain and my will to live was slowly dribbling out and down the side of my neck.

I started walking and working on the phone. I was obsessively convinced that I could get it going again and get my pace back on track. I turned it off and on at least 4 times. I unplugged and plugged my headphones back in at least 63 times. My focus fell to the ground and was left for dead somewhere around mile 11.

And if you lose focus, the next logical step is to start worrying about whether or not you need to go to the bathroom. My panic over the lack of music was at Defcon 2 inside my head and successfully clouded my judgement enough that I voluntarily used another port o potty.  2 in one day.  Super.  And, no, I did not look down that time. Proof old dogs can learn new tricks.

Confused.  Why am I running this far again?  Why did this seem like a good idea?

Mile 11 began the silent no music panting hell against the wind. It sucked.  So bad.  I was periodically running and periodically obsessing over fixing the phone. Then we hit some weird horrifically bad portion of the route that took us against the wind across the top of a rocky levee. I'm not joking.  A rocky levee.  Not pebbles.  Not gravel.  Actual rocks.  And it was almost single file each direction. I was convinced I was going to turn an ankle. And I swear I passed at least one barefoot runner. What the hell did he do during this section? My feet hurt just thinking about him. 

And as if that wasn't an annoying enough surprise this far into a race, at the end of the levee you had to turn around and run back over it. Perfect.  More rocky levee.  The only consolation was that you wouldn't be against the wind anymore.  They also had a water station at the turn around.  Except that wasn't a consolation prize because they'd run out of cups by the time I got there.  There were grown adults sticking their faces under the little spouts of the igloo cooler things just to get some water. I was too busy wishing I was dead to even contemplate doing that. Not that I wouldn't though. Because if you're thirsty, water is water. 

Mile 12 my husband was calling my phone wondering where I was and I was attempting to answer only to realize that my sound issues were also preventing me from hearing him on the other end. How did I even know he was calling you might ask given that I had no sound? Well, that, of course, would be because I was still obsessively staring at my phone hoping sheer will would get it working again.  I answered my husband's phone call and just sort of shouted into the phone that I was trapped in an outer ring of hell with no music but that I'd at least be done soon.

Then I started texting him. I'm pretty sure I used the word "frustrated" in one of those texts.  If you've got enough time, energy and coordination to text the word "frustrated" your run is off track.  Life lesson right there.  Stitch it on a pillow.

I walked fast, ran a little now and then and somehow the finish line was finally in sight.  Seeing it, I couldn't believe I'd gotten so off track in the last couple miles. To put in 9 really good, strong miles and let myself lose focus just killed me. I should have just run with no music. I should have just sucked it up.  But I hate hearing myself pant.  And I'm used to music to distract me.  And a million other reasons every one of them more annoying than the next as I came to the finish line.

Right up until I spotted my husband and kids there watching for me. They weren't looking for anyone else. Just me. I spotted my husband first and felt proud. Proud for him to see me finishing something difficult. Which seemed weird since he'd been right there with me limping along when I finished the first one. But I still felt proud for him to see me. And proud that he had come to watch me.

Spotting the excited faces of my proud babies.

And then I spotted my kids. My kids who had not been there to see me finish the first one. My kids who looked excited and proud to see me coming.  And it made me feel small and humble. And slightly overwhelmed even though I knew ahead of time that they'd be there somewhere. I waved wildly and started tearing up. And then I took a steadying breath to shake it off so I could actually finish.

Exhaling the steadying breath to attempt to shake it off.

And then I did. Finishing in 2:25.

And then I cried on my husband's shoulder. Crying because I was so relieved to have finally escaped the outer ring of hell those last 4 miles of the race. But also crying because I was so frustrated with myself for giving in mentally. I know good and well it's a mental game. Dang it.

Courtesy of my Garmin, proof that the wheels came off the bus during mile 10.

I've decided 2:25 is apparently the best I can do right now.   I've decided to accept that and wear it like a badge of honor.  I couldn't run anywhere before I started Couch to 5K back in September. So 13.1 miles in any amount of time is an improvement and 13.1 miles in 2:25 is great.  And I'm still on the move and will just continue to improve. I just need to give myself time to get there. So I'm going to.

I'm glad I did it though. But not for the reasons I expected.  I thought running it would solve the mystery of how fast I coulda shoulda woulda finished the first time  I thought that would close the book in my brain.  Instead, it just turned the page and started a new chapter I hadn't realized was in that book.  This chapter is a challenge to push myself harder and further and try again sometime in the fall.  Slightly intimidating.  But I've decided it's exactly what I need.  I'll get there. I like not being done.

Weigh In: This girl lost 60 pounds!

Last year in July, it finally dawned on me that I was overweight.  I was deeply embarrassed by how far I'd let things go and had a little come to Jesus chat with myself.  I won't pretend I had some big plan.  I won't pretend I had some rock bottom intervention.  Because I didn't.  I just realized how far off track I'd gotten and I really and truly felt all of the emotions that come with that.  Mad.  Frustrated.  Embarrassed.  Guilty.  And like a failure.  I hated where I was and something just had to change.

I didn't even think about how hard it would be.  Of course it would be difficult.  But, being overweight was difficult, too.   My pride would be glad to tell you just how difficult it was.

I was also scared I'd fail.  Scared I'd start and do good for four days and then lose focus and be right back in the Taco Bell drive thru.  I'd been down that road before many times.  I decided all that was just too much to worry about.  I decided to just not think about it.  I decided to just focus on one day at a time and one small decision at a time.

I started by giving up fast food and soda.  The caffeine withdrawal was nearly fatal.  I pushed through it one complaint after another.  When that felt less like death, I started trying to eat more normal sized portions.  When that became more palatable, I started counting calories and tracking them on my phone. 

I also started walking.  It was 100 degrees outside and I did it anyway.  But I didn't walk fast in the beginning.  I just committed to going out and doing it for 30 minutes.  Once that stopped killing me to get through, I decided to make an effort and actually try walking fast.   Every time it stopped feeling like death, I'd up the ante some more until I was hauling butt speed walking.  Then I dusted off my Wii Fit.  Then I decided to pretend I'm a runner.  If it didn't feel hard, that was how I knew it wasn't enough and that I needed to think of something new. 

Along the way I've picked up lots of annoying overly healthy habits like not shoveling everything I see in my mouth and drinking tons and tons of water and spending inordinate amounts of time trekking to the bathroom.  And I'm not perfect.  I mess up.  A lot.  I've inhaled crap I shouldn't including cupcakes and cookies and deep fried chicken tenders and lots and lots of Cadbury mini eggs that I'm convinced are addictive.  But if I mess up, I still keep coming.

Because it's not about being perfect.  It's just about doing better.  Better than last July.   That's enough for me.  If I'm just doing better than last July, it's a good day.  And I've had more good days than bad.  And my scale shows it.  This girl has lost 60 pounds as of May 3, 2013.

I cried when I saw the scale.  But I quickly moved on to grinning.  Because I'm ridiculously proud of how far I've come.

When I started, my goal was to get under 145.  Before I had children, that was a comfortable weight for me.  And by comfortable, I mostly mean it was a weight I thought was about right for my frame but that I didn't have to starve myself to achieve.  That's how I thought of it and I typically wore loose size 12s at that weight.  Imagine my surprise when I slipped into a size 10 before I even got to that weight thanks to all that exercise.

Since hitting 60 pounds lost, I've had a lot of people ask me if I'd done.  There are lots of super sweet ladies in my office that have actually insisted I hold firm where I'm at. I tell them I'm not sure where I'm headed from here.  I've hit the only number I really cared about getting to.  And this journey that got me here has me in the best shape of my life and made 144.4 lbs. look better than I ever remember it looking before in my life.  I never thought 145 would look like this.  I never thought I could run a half marathon.  I never thought I could run anywhere ever.

I've realized that there's a lot I don't know about myself.  I've also realized that's okay.  So is not having a whole big plan worked out.  I'm just going to keep plugging away doing what I've been doing and see where else it takes me.  For example, I've never done a real push up in my life and I'm consistently amazed that people wear bikinis in public.  I've also never run a marathon.  Who knows.

Challenging the things I thought I knew about myself has been good for me.  The quality of my life has improved including my energy level, confidence and the amount of time I spend per day with a smile on my face.

It was difficult.  But so was being overweight.  I'm a lazy wench that complains a lot.  If I can do it, you can, too.

Wearing the same pair of pants from my 204.4 lb before photo.  Two of me could fit in them now.

60 pounds.  The smile on my face feels permanent.  I love thinking it is.

 

Same swimsuit.  It's a slimming spanx kinda suit from Eddie Bauer that is now so baggy it would be wildly inappropriate to attempt to wear it in public for fear of the straps falling off my shoulders.

Jealous, ladies?

Return of the King

My husband has been traveling extensively for work since October.  He’s always done some traveling for work.  But this amount of travel was more than ever before and would have him away more than he’d be home.  This amount of travel made his trips home "visits" and his hotel on the road "home." The fact that it was going to be temporary was the only thing that prevented me from losing my mind. 

In the beginning, the heavy travel was supposed to end in February.  Back in December, the kids and I went and hung out with him on the road during school vacation.  I remember thinking that trip would get us through the New Year and that it would all be downhill from there.  Just remembering conversations on that topic makes me smirk knowingly at my naivete.  Because February came and went and there was no end in sight.  

From there, we didn't even get a worst case scenario end date.  I told my husband at one point that I’d prefer someone just come right out and say it would last a full year.  Yeah, a full year would suck.  But at least I’d be able to mark a calendar and count down to the end. At least I could make plans for when our normal life could resume.  But even more than that, at least I’d know what to tell my children when they asked why he always had to leave again.  

But there was no new end date. So I mentally doubled the first end date and started secretly hoping for June.  Hope is a dangerous thing though.  It leads to ideas.  It also leads to disappointment.  By mid April, I’d begun thinking about summer.  Thinking about what I’d set up for the kids for summer and what would work with my work schedule.  Not our work schedules.  Just my work schedule.  I was frustrated that there were things I wanted to sign them up for but knowing that with only me to drop off and pick up and see to all the details, some things were going to fall by the wayside.  I only get so many days off per year.  How many did I want to burn taking them to this and that?  Plus, we’d probably want to go see him on the road again.  

I started pondering things like maybe they should go stay with him where he is for a couple weeks in the summer.  I’d miss them terribly and it’s not something I’d ever thought I’d agree to or even contemplate but fathers are important.  Time with them is important.  And not just fun trips to tourist attractions.  They need quiet silly time doing mundane everyday stuff like brushing teeth or folding laundry.  My husband didn't like the idea of them coming to stay with him.  I’m sure it made him feel crappy to think it might be necessary. It definitely made me feel crappy.  But in the months since October, I've learned that sometimes wearing your big girl panties feels crappy but you do it anyway.

Trying not to smile while her crazy father sticks his crazy nuzzling nose in her face.

Frustration with the travel was ongoing.   My husband and I would periodically bicker over it.  There’s a an ebb and flow to it.  In some ways, absence makes the heart grow fonder.  It makes his arrival an event and his time at home a celebration.  It makes his smile more endearing and the warmth of his embrace more sweet.  But there were plenty of rough days hearing him tell me about dinner out with coworkers while I’m knee deep in homework, dirty dishes and the grind of everyone needing stuff all day every day.  I’d feel pulled in every direction and frustrated beyond belief that it was entirely outside my control and there was no end in sight.

My husband likes to say I’d take it out on him and that it was outside his control.  I like to say I needed an outlet for very understandable feelings of frustration and that I didn't even have the opportunity to complain to his boss or ask when it would be over.  He was frustrated, too, though. He missed home.  He felt like a bad father and a bad husband.   And I’m sure hearing the hustle and bustle of our household on the phone could make him feel even further away and lonely.  I think it must be a tiny little bit like being on bed rest.  Laying in bed all day everyday sounds like heaven until the second or third day.  And then you’d just like to go back to being normal.  Traveling a little can be fun.  Stuck traveling endlessly against your will gets old. 

I like how happy he looks just to be hanging out with his kids.

At the end of April, while minding my own beeswax using the restroom at work, he texted me to tell me his last day would be May 6.  I was zipping my pants and turned sort of sideways in the stall having just flushed.  And I stood right in that exact spot stunned.  I also stood right in that exact spot and texted him back to find out if that was for real and who said it and if that information could be trusted.  I also attempted to let him know that he should not joke with me about something like that under any circumstances and that I’d kill him if it was a belated April Fool’s type thing.  

Part of the series of texts that consisted of me repeatedly asking my joke loving husband to swear he wasn't messing with me.

When he confirmed it really was an end date and it really wasn't that far away, I literally exhaled.  I hadn't even realized I’d been holding my breath.  Holding it for essentially 7 months.  But I had.  And as I felt the relief pour through me I moved right on from exhaling to crying.   All while toilets in other stalls flushed, water ran, and doors opened and closed all around me.  All while facing the crappy industrial grey side wall of the stall I was in.  I stood there for a couple minutes in silence just acclimating.  I wasn't even sure where to go with my day from there.  Best trip to the bathroom ever.

I can’t believe I resisted the urge to tell the kids that night.  But part of me didn't really trust the information. I worried something would happen to delay the end date.  I worried that someone somewhere would think of something else that had to be done first.  My husband didn't mention it to the kids either.  We realized a day or two later that we'd both separately had the same concerns and held off. 

The last 3 weeks passed and I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop.  Sure the plans would get changed.  Sure he'd somehow misunderstood the plans.  Sure my life would get flushed down the toilet for a few more months. 

But then one day he was home.  Arriving late at night.  Suitcases everywhere.  Toiletries again cluttering up his side of the bathroom.  And I exhaled again.  And I cried again.  And then some more the next day.  And then some more the next day after that.  And, even a week later, I still tear up just thinking about it sometimes.

Suitcases and the "We love you" sign he'd kept in his hotel room all those months.

I'm beyond grateful it's over.  Ridiculously over the top spring in my step exclamation points at the end of everything grateful.  But my cold black heart is still learning to trust that it's really over and that it won't start up again next week.  Some days I feel like I've spent 7 months as one giant clenched fist trying to hold everything tight and not drop anything.  And then I remember, it's okay to let go because it's not just me anymore.  I don't have to be responsible for holding the down the fort by myself anymore.  

And it feels good every time.  It'll feel better to not ever feel that way again.  But for now, I'm grateful enough to not even care as long as I get to keep exhaling. 

I could say something trite about how much I missed him and how he completes me.  And it would be sappy but completely true.  But I'm a big girl.  And he can complete me from another state.  Far more important than me, he completes this family.  And he does that a hell of a lot better right here.  Our life is all the better for having him.  Our life is all the better for having him home.  With us.  For good.

Project 365: Days 98 to Day 118

Wow!  I'm actually still in it with this Project 365 thing.  Tragically behind and hanging my the skin of my teeth.  But in it!  

Day 98:  Laying flat on my back being subjected to "stretching" by my 9 year old in a public park during my son's soccer practice.  Classy.  My husband would like it noted that this crazy little apple doesn't fall far from the tree.  He may or may not be referring to a running joke wherein I attempt to crank his feet back behind his ears as "physical therapy."

Day 99:  Walking together in the park. She's insane but I'd be lost without her. 

Day 100:  Paparazzi shot courtesy of my 7 year old while waiting for his sister to finish her piano lesson.  On the bright side, I like the way the curtains fall and that I genuinely had no idea I was being photographed.   On the downside, 4 chins.

Day 101: Hell on Earth Justice (popular pre-tween clothing store in malls across America) sells volleyball shirts.  This is very good news if you are 9 and are currently obsessed with volleyball. The fact that she can't spike yet does not diminish her love for this shirt.

Day 102:   A heartwarming note from my son.  And I quote from the author, "I am gone for ever so do not look for me.  You do not like me or love me that is why I'm leaving."  And to prove he was truly dead to me, he addressed it to Kim instead of Momma.  Nice. 

Day 103: Waving at complete strangers out the car window en route for Frozen Yogurt.  I find it interesting that my insane husband found this mildly embarrassing whereas I encouraged the random friendliness.  Interesting.

 
Day 104: Another Saturday, another volleyball game.  Another volleyball game, another loss.  Her team is good enough that they're playing up a grade level so we all keep reminding ourselves it's not about winning or losing and that you don't get better crushing easy teams.

Day 105: Chilling after fro-yo. There was a creepy but cute photo bomber on the loose. 

Day 106:  Practicing serving during her brother's soccer practice.  I lucked out and there were high winds sending all her serves back no matter how hard she whacks the hell out of it.  Winning.

Day 107:  Legos in the morning, Legos in the evening, Legos at supper time.

Day 108: A 9 year old visitor in the middle of the night thanks to bad dreams.  Perfect recipe to get me bed hogged to the edge of the bed and terrific night's rest.

Day 109: New bike.  Same goofball Angry Birds helmet.

Day 110: School carnival.  Wheeeeeee!

Day 111:  Soccer game.  Two thumbs up.

Day 112: I said I wanted to take a picture of the ladybug he made in art. He said it should be on his head when I take the picture.  Naturally.

Day 113:  What's a girl got to do to get to brush her teeth alone for a change?

Day 114: Somebody won a scooter in a raffle at school.   I was the voice of doom and gloom pointing out that 3 raffle tickets up against hundreds probably wouldn't get him the scooter.  The eternal optimist was confident.  He also ended up being right.  Shows how much I know.

Day 115:  The new scooter owner convinced me to drop him at the corner so he could scooter the rest of the way to school.  High level cute.

Day 116: Still riding high on his raffle ticket won scooter.  Brushing his teeth while riding through his parent's bathroom in underwear and socks.

 Day 117: Everyone fixated on Mario on the Wii.  It is the activity of choice every time my brother comes to town.  I'd make fun of it except this was the weekend we finally completed World 8 after having been stuck for several months on a level with rolling waves of lava and a screen that constantly keeps moving.  I totally understand if your eyes just glazed over reading about that.  But it was big news.  Hard earned through countless hours yelling at each other.

Day 118: First time in an H&M for both of us.  Dropped a quick hundred and will no doubt be back many times.