The Race I Can't Talk About

 

The Race I Can’t Talk About

I have spent the last year in writers block. I have written this post at least four times. I have thought about what I might say while at work, while I have been drifting off to sleep, while doing just an every day run for my next goal. I have come to the conclusion there is no way I can write this and not offend some one most of all my best friend, my family, my friends, and my husband. I truly do feel awful, however sometimes you have to feel what you feel. Maybe not voice it publicly but here I am posting it on a blog no one reads. So call me what you will but I suppose I do owe it to my one reader (myself) to make a post about the challenge I was so hyped up about.

I went into the Fairy Tale Challenge of 2023 with a lot of hopes and a lot of expectations that I either did not express or did not view in a realistic manner. I had a vision for my 2023 race, I don’t know why I had this vision. I joined a few Facebook groups to try and boost my morale. Get myself ready! All that did was give me some unrealistic or unsupported ideas.

So my thoughts here were: joining a Facebook group helped me when I was going through idiopathic infertility perhaps a Disney oriented running group and the official Facebook page would help me with motivation and help me stay on track. I also thought inviting friends and family to join me in the challenge, no matter what level they were at, to join me, would give me the push I needed. I was gravely mistaken about a lot of things. And before you go blaming family and friends for anything, please remember this was all in my head, my visions are not reality. If there is one thing I have learned in therapy it is this: I cannot expect my family or friends to live up to my expectations or standards. It is incredibly unreasonable of me to do so and unrealistic. I have seen my expectations destroy my relationships so I have had to let them go. I will not lie about how difficult that has been and there have been expectations that I have not been able to let go of that have to this day broken down relationships.

But here we are talking about the challenge I had set for myself for the age of40. I had challenged myself to complete the Fairy Tale Challenge by the age of 40. In fact that is what I wanted to do for my 40^th birthday. I know its weird for someone to want to run a 10k and a half marathon back to back, but that is what I wanted.  I wanted to show my strength. I wanted to show my mediocre success. I mean you hit 40 and you and have to have something to show for it right?

I am trying to take a deep delve into why this challenge meant so much to me on my 40^th birthday. My thirties were all about recovering and discovering what I should have done in my 20’s. I spent my 20’s trying to escape what was my life. I did have some good experiences in my 20’s. I met my best friend in my 20’s. I cannot imagine my life without her. I also cannot imagine my life without the group of people that saved my life. My nursing school group. I just had this vision for my for my 40^th that was unrealistic and a lot to ask of people that know so little about me, through no fault of their own. I don’t share and I don’t get close because I don’t want to be judged and I am still in the phase of life where I measure my self-worth on the opinions of the people I surround myself with. I am trying to move past that because I know my best friend seriously does not give a shit. She loves me anyway. And so does my husband.

The 2023 Fairy Tale Challenge was just that: a challenge. I wanted so much to try and lose Martha, or at least as much of her as I could. If you don’t know WHAT Martha is, sorry, I am not going to explain, but simply: some ladies do not go back to their previous abdominal status no matter how hard they try without surgical intervention. Meaning: I have worked with physical therapy, nutrition, personal training, and a host of others. No matter what I do, genetically, without surgical intervention, or starving myself, I will never go back to having the midsection I had before I had children. Believe me I have worked my ass off. Not literally because I have not been able to lose that since middle school. The literal weight and balance of Martha is painful. There were runs where she made it a struggle to get motivated and make it through. But even without Martha’s input, training was a struggle. There were some good days, but mostly every training run, every weight session, every yoga practice was a mental game for me. It just didn’t seem like no matter how much my husband cheered me on or the supportive words I got from people around me, it was enough to boost me past that mental struggle.  

I don’t know what it is that other runners are doing that they are able to find some sort of Zen or peace or steady state when running. They break through that wall where with in a few meters if their run they just go and no longer think of the distance. Its like they are on autopilot. They slip in those running shoes, strap on their “gear bag”, and just go. There has not been a single time in my life, either in my teens, 20’s, or 30’s where I have ever reached that level of fine-tuned habit, at least not with running. Hiking, yes, running, no. Every run I am thinking about the amount of effort, and it is an effort, I am putting into. Every hill no matter how small is a mountain. No mile just flies by. I even try to distract myself with guided runs. It helps temporarily but my brain always goes back to how much longer I have to go and how much focus it is taking to put one foot in front of the other. Which I am sure begs the question: why the hell do I do it? Because I am an overachiever that has never actually overachieved anything. Because I set impossible standards for myself based on childhood/ young adulthood experiences and expectations that I never quite lived up to. Because I want to eat chocolate and drink wine and not feel godawful about it. Perhaps because I know in the moment of the actual race (they aren’t really races unless you are a competitor), I know I am going to be enjoying the company of whoever decided to do the race with me. Because I know that a runDisney race is a lot of fun and they are more about the experience than the actual challenge of 5k, 10k, or half marathon. With the Fairy Tale Challenge, that was what I was wanting, the experience.

               On the actual days of the challenge, the experience was not what I had in mind. First, we struggled to find a trail or an area to run the 10k since it was a virtual race. I truly wanted to do the 10k and half marathon back to back and I wanted to do it on Disney grounds. While a map of Disneyworld shows walking trails throughout the grounds and the resorts, there are warnings that a lot of the trails are not to be used by persons not staying on the resorts. So, to find trails where we could run without getting in trouble was a challenge. In the end for the 10k we settled on a 5k loop near the campgrounds and cabins on the resorts. We went in the morning. It was a nice morning, for Florida. Something should have clicked in my brain when we went through a ticket gate when we arrived at the campgrounds. It did not occur to me that we would need a gate key to get out…we didn’t, we got lucky. We parked and attempted to find a trail head without success. The map was not very clear, so we settled for running what sidewalks and trails we could. That was not a well thought out plan. We ended up at a dead end at a lake, turned around and ended up at a dead end at a bocce ball court. It threw off my rhythm and much to my frustration I ended up walking/ running at the four mile mark. It took a lot for me not to scream at myself in frustration. I had really wanted to run that whole 10k. Rick stayed with me the whole time and we managed to finish the 10k in 1hour 20 minutes. My dad was impressive. At the age of 65, he ran a 10k without stopping in 1hr 10mins. I was pretty proud of him. A little upset at myself for getting my butt kicked by my old man, but it was my own fault for not training harder. My best friend died somewhere around two miles, it turned out she had some sort of stomach bug and we found her half alive in the grass where we started. Needless to say the rest of the day was rather frustrating for me. I tried to enjoy Hollywood Studios simply for the sake of my children, but I kept focusing on Bri and Dan not being there. The kids not getting the full experience. And my lack of forethought on ear pro for the kids. I just tried to paint on a smile an focus on the good things. Ben got to say hi to Donald and Daisy Duck. They both enjoyed the Star Wars experience. I have to say the Millennium Falcon ride was a lot of fun and the work that went into making it real was incredible. Both kids got to enjoy rides and see Fantasmic, but that is where I failed their little ears. So while I finished, I felt like the day was a loss for me.

               Where do I start about the half? Rick, Dad, and I got up before the sun even started to think about getting up. It was already foggy. It stayed foggy throughout the race, which I didn’t mind. It kept things cool. Only at Disney do you have to walk three miles to run 13.1. It was the joke I came up in my head. I don’t know about other people, but when I know I am about to do something physically exerting I just never know what to talk about. Do I talk about how I feel? In the crowd of thousands even with my husband standing next to me I felt alone. Very alone. I was looking at groups of girlfriends all dressed in costumes. Ladies that had come to purely challenge themselves for whatever reason. Fabulous costumes everywhere, clever, and beautiful. Full makeup which made me wonder how the hell it was going to stay in place in the heat in humidity, let alone the sweat of running a half marathon. But I was focused. I was not going to get “swept”. Which meant the “balloon ladies” catch up to you and in effect your race is done. I tried to break the whole race into challenges. My first challenge was to make it through the castle without walking. Close to six miles. The most I had been able to run without walking in training was five miles. When we finally crossed the start line that was all I could think about. I turned on my playlist and wove through the people from my gate and from those that came before. My beginning miles were slow. Slower than my training runs. But I was focused. I was going to make it through Cinderella’s Castle without stopping, with hopefully, a good photopass shot. At mile five through Tomorrow Land, what happens to most women who have had children happened, good thing I was wearing black, and something to help. I kept going. But has I stared at the castle looming over my head my first thought was “Great, I peed my pants…and now I am going through the castle. At least I made it this far.” I felt a small joy, if not serious need to walk for a minute as we entered Frontier Land. If your wondering how my running partner was doing, I honestly have no idea. He as still there when I finally slowed to a fast walk in Frontier Land. My thoughts were only for my own goals for that first main drive. I made it through the castle without stopping to walk. After that, it was just getting through knowing my wall would come, as it had in the past, at mile ten.

I finally took a second to enjoy the fun. It was honestly a beautiful morning. Foggy, cool for Florida, and as always humid. Rick was still alive right next to me. I have no idea what we talked about. I think at one point he asked if I wanted to do a character experience along the way, but I was so focused on finishing stopping for any reason was not part of my plan. Rick and I developed some sort of pattern. I have no idea how we fell into it. It worked until both of us needed a long walk. We would walk about a quarter of a mile and run the rest. I think we both hit that wall, you know the one where you either puke, fall over, or push through. I wasn’t about to do the first two and embarrass myself, so we pushed through, limping just a little. I think we both got to a point somewhere near the end going through Epcot we just stopped sweating. Our clothes were soaked anyway from sweat, I think that was partially keeping us cool. I will say they were a touch dryer than my clothes were on what I call: The Hike of Death. If you want to know the story feel free to ask. Going through Epcot my mind went through my expectations again. What I had envisioned crossing the finish line. I had hoped my babies would be there with hugs and cheers. Or my friends would be there with hugs and cheers. I had hoped for a good picture at least of us crossing the finish line. It was not what I had in my head.

We crossed the finish line with cheers from the crowd cheering on other runners. We crossed, sweaty sore, and tired and a little chaffed in areas we wouldn’t really feel until we showered. It hurt not to see my babies on the other side of that finish line. It hurt to see people splitting off to get their Challenge medals. It hurt to see the ladies with the make-up, still perfect by the way, gather with their friends in their costumes. It hurt to sit and try and eat a snack and drink some electrolytes. It hurt to see the unbearable long line for the celebratory beer and champagne with the sparkling Mickey ears I had planned on getting but knew I wasn’t going to get. I REALLY wanted the cup, but my dad was waiting to return to the condo and I didn’t want to be rude and make him wait. He tried hard to get good pictures of us crossing the finish line, but alas, you cannot predict the movements of other people in a crowd when you have a camera in front of your face. The race pictures themselves were not great. Red faced, exhausted, hair slicked and soaked with sweat, Martha jiggling. There were no cute jumps or couple kisses, looking good, and with a workout glow. Even the post-race pro photos were not great. Maybe its just that I hate photos of myself or maybe it was all the emotions I had wrapped up in the race itself. I walked away from the finish line and the festivities feeling hurt and disappointed. No one in particular had hurt me, and I couldn’t exactly pinpoint what I was disappointed about. I had finished the race with Richard supporting me all the way. I had finished in a better time (2:56:52), I had in fact, ran a 10k and a half marathon back-to-back and did not feel horrible after. So, what was wrong?

I didn’t really reflect on it on the drive back to the condo. For the first time in years, maybe since my 20’s, my brain shut off. All the noise, all the racing thoughts, the ongoing to-do lists, the multiple worries, the daydreams, the reflections on past events, the stress over future events, the anxieties over things that will most likely never come to pass, the continuous dialog that doesn’t stop even when I sleep (I have crazy vivid dreams), just stopped. I wasn’t even sore. I wasn’t bothered by how I smelled or how gross my clothes were. I wasn’t hungry or thirsty. For once it was an overwhelming sense of calm. It wasn’t euphoric, it was just calm. I remember staring out the window of the minivan on the way back to the condo just watching the grass and thinking and feeling literally nothing. Is that the sensation that devout runners chase? I have never experienced a “runner’s high.” In fact, I think it is a myth, a giant lie that gets people to run, just to experience the sensation. Even after a long run training all I felt was exhaustion and the start of the muscle pain I knew I would feel for two days even if I stretched out completely. I don’t remember getting into the shower, but I do recall it being difficult to get out of it and the water stinging like hell on all the chaffed areas. When you have chub, you chaff. I don’t recall my nap being glorious or the food I ate that night being fantastic. I don’t even think I got into the pool or the hot tub that day. The day passed, as I recall, without any sort of sense of accomplishment on my part. Richard I am sure felt like death. Poor guy didn’t even train and managed to finish with me.

A person reading this might think I am completely ungrateful for this experience. I am not. I got to spend quality time with people I loved, I was able to afford the experience, I was able to finish both races with people I loved without injury (although Bri died from some sort of virus and my parents ended up getting sick on our last day), and I did have fun. The look on my kids faces at the theme parks was worth all of it. So why am I stuck on the disappointment at the finish lines? The truth is: I don’t know. Perhaps something is fundamentally wrong with me that I cannot let go of something I cannot change. That anything less than perfection is not acceptable? Except I am not a perfectionist. I am, however, grateful for the people who put up with me during this experience. My husband, my kids, my best friend and her husband, and my parents. Without them it’s not even worth it to try.

So, because I am, who I am, I am going to try again. Next time with realistic expectations and a reminder to myself to just enjoy the fact that I am healthy enough and have the means enough to do these things and be grateful that I have people that put up with my nonsense.  For now, I am focused on beating my husband at the Army PFT, hopefully motivating him to do better and be healthier, and I have decided to take on the Coast to Coast in 2025, with Bri reluctantly in tow, because she supports my insanity…I think it amuses her.

On Being 40

 

On Being 40

I had planned to write for 40 days before I turned 40 about the things I was grateful for, the lessons I have learned and the things that have had an impact on me during my 30’s, I usually don’t talk a lot about my 20’s, my 20’s are a chapter I don’t share. I sat and tried to list 40 things to write about, but sadly I was only able to come up with 24. If I listed things out one by one I might come up with 40. I am more disappointed that I just didn’t have the time or the energy to write all that I was going to write. I have time now. Perhaps not enough to write everything I want on the 24 subjects I came up with but enough time to write a little.

Well…I started rambling and decided to not write about the list just yet so I am redacting the paragraph I have hand written and continue with the next…

I feel like I am rambling because I honestly don’t know what to say on this occasion. This morning as I was getting ready for work I put on my Disney Enchanted jewelry inspired by Mulan, I thought about the song “Reflection,” not the one Christina Aguilera sings, but the one from the movie, where Mulan walks through her family garden to pray to her ancestors. That is what my 30’s have been about. Being able to look in the mirror and having was is reflected back the true picture of who I am and no be afraid of what the world sees when they look at me. One of the hardest truths to accept is sometimes that reflection is dark and ugly (what I would consider a hard Eucharisto…from I book I may discuss at a later time), but acknowledging the ugliness helps you change and grow.

When I looked in the mirror at 30, I realized I had gone so far from who I was, that there was a period of time where I could have gone missing for at least two weeks and not a single person that mattered to me in life would have known. The thought at the time didn’t bother me, but the fact that it didn't bother me, did.

I spent my early 30’s learning how to communicate differently, to accept somethings and some people as they are, I am not perfect. I have worked on letting go, which is not easy and sometimes not achievable yet for me. I relearned how to make friends. I regained my faith, though I never lost it, I am just not afraid to express it anymore. I am not afraid to express much of anything anymore. Still working on tact. I have little patience for it.

When I looked in the mirror this morning I saw my hair sticking out everywhere, my post-partum antenna, dark circles, fine wrinkles, the overstretched belly…then I heard my three year old scream at the top of his lungs (I swear the neighbors heard him) he wanted to stay in his jammies. My husband was trying to get him dressed for daycare, although I don’t think the daycare would have minded or been surprised if he showed up in his Spider-man pjs. I looked back at the mirror and realized: I am ok with being 40 because everything I went through in my 20’s and then in my 30’s got me that screaming bundle of joy and the little ray of sunshine I was about to go wake up. So bring on the 40’s! I cannot wait to see what this decade has in store. 

For more life stories on my 30’s please see the blogs to come in the series titled: My Life at 40, what my 30’s taught me and more. Stay tuned!

A Book Review?

 

               A few months ago I read The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck by Mark Manson. I didn’t agree with everything he had to say, some of what he said made me feel guilty, and he said “fuck” a lot. He did make a lot good points and there were some things I totally agreed with him about. He made some comments about the lives people present on social media. Everyone presents a perfect life. Well dressed, well behaved children, hilarious statement considering the photos I just posted (At the time I initially starting writing this the photos I posted were our professional family photos). Believe me it was a struggle just to get those few, tons of tears, bribes with waffles and fruit snacks and bubbles. A perfect house, a dream vacation, honestly when I post pictures taken in my house I am careful to avoid the gross floors and toys everywhere, the piles of dishes in the sink as well. However, it has now become trendy to have something “wrong” with you. Mental health problems seem to be all the rage these days.

               It is now trendy to “not be ok”, disfunction is chic, which is something discussed in Mark Mason’s book. Every celebrity now has something wrong with them, whether it is gender, sexuality, health problems, or deep seeded childhood trauma. God help you if you question them or doubt them. I know plenty of people who overshare on a public forum. I guess with this blog I could be guilty of oversharing. On some level it is good to open up about some things, opening up about my fertility issues made me feel less alone, talking about my struggles with running gets me advice and encouragement, which helps with motivation and technique. There are some people who make sharing and talking about problems human and relatable. Tiffany Jenkins of Juggling the Jenkins does this. She’s honest, unassuming, and hilarious. I could name people who’s over sharing make you go “ugh, foregodsakes,” insert an eye roll here, but I don’t want to name them to draw more attention to them. I know what some of you are thinking “how dare you criticize people for talking about mental health disorders, fertility, childhood trauma! These things need to be recognized in society! How dare you! You hypocrite.” I am not saying these things shouldn’t be talked about openly, they should. The mental health of a person greatly effects every aspect of their lives. My struggles with infertility affected everything around me and everything in my life. Everything revolved around me trying to get pregnant and trying to figure out and understand why it wasn’t happening. It made me feel better talk about it, not only with my therapist but with a support group I found on social media. What I am saying is, it has become an excuse to stay relevant, especially for celebrities. You could argue celebrities opening up about their struggles might encourage someone else to open up about theirs and seek help. Possibly. But Mark Manson in his book argues, there is a line that needs to be drawn between truly seeking help and understanding and just looking for attention. It has become a true problem in society, especially in young people and especially since the advent of social media.

               Within my above comments I talked about people ardently arguing with me about my opinion, in a lot of cases rudely. Mr. Manson speaks about this trend as well. On pages 56-57 talks about the ever-growing sense of privilege among teenagers and young adults (people of my generation are increasingly guilty of this sensation). The trending thought is the world should bend to my problems, my triggers, my pain, and not the other way around. Has anyone else noticed the lack of resilience in younger generations? Even within our own? Also the absolute lack of respect for the first amendment and other people’s opinions? It comes with an incredible sense of entitlement. It’s almost as if we are losing the ability to actually deal with the realities of life. Mr. Manson calls all of this (above comments included) “Victimhood Chic”, p 110-112. The truth is life is hard. The world does not revolve around you and your triggers. People should not be expected to adjust to you and it is incredibly arrogant and selfish of you to expect people to do so. The truth does not bend to your will. Your opinion is not gospel and everyone is entitled to one, that is the fantastic thing about the first amendment. And sometimes the things that happen to you are in fact your own damn fault and you have no right to blame other people. One of the first steps to being an adult is taking responsibility for your own actions. Being an actual victim of trauma or actually having a legitimate health problem is not glamorous, it is not and should not be a means to make yourself famous or keep relevant. Holy crap, I sound like my dad.

               Soapbox done. There is more to this soapbox but in all honesty I really just don’t want to read the nasty comments that would come from it because this society has forgotten that free speech works both ways. I am entitled to my opinion, and my opinions are based on my observations, my life experiences, and the amount of written information I consume. Let me tell you it’s a lot of written information, less since I have had babies, but still a lot. The book asks you to consider what you truly care about in life, what you’re willing to spend your energy on. I had to really think about it. If you know me, you know I have control issues. I stress about things I cannot control, I stress about things I can control. I stress about things I make up in my head that might happen if the right conditions are met. So I forced myself to truly look at my life. In the last few months I have been under an immense amount of stress due to a situation I cannot control and have little to no say in. I have allowed it to affect my health and my relationships with friends and family. Letting it go completely is not possible, but I can choose to not let it effect my life completely. That is what I have taken from this book. Problems come up in life and we can choose to let them consume us or we can face them head on. I chose, for a time, to let this consume me. It won’t anymore, at least I hope it won’t. Change and growth are never easy.

               So what does this book review have to do with my running? Well, my running is something I do give a f*** about because it is connected to a lot of things in my life that are priorities. For example, my health is a priority. Showing my children a health lifestyle and being a healthy mom in more ways than one is important to me. I was hoping through my training that I would finally be happy with the body I have so I can show self confidence to my children and what a positive body image is like, while being realistic. While I am not going to fat shame anyone, if you’re overweight and like the way you look, good for you, but be realistic about it. Being overweight is not a good thing, even if your doctor tells you, you are healthy. Science has proven that time and again. While I am not technically considered obese, I am overweight. I was hoping running and weight lifting and eating healthy (which I have somewhat failed at, food and I do not have a great relationship), that Martha, that is the name I have given the thing that has become my abdomen, would shrink. I wasn’t expecting a flat belly, but I was hoping I wouldn’t look like I am six months pregnant anymore. With all the miles, with all the weights, all the saying no to the second helping, Martha has not moved. Not even a little bit. It is incredibly discouraging. So discouraging that I am wanting to chicken out on something I have wanted to do for a long time: a fantasy photoshoot.

               I thought for my 40^th birthday I would treat myself to a day of beauty and find fun outfits and get some professional photographs done. In my head, I didn’t have a flat belly but I sure did not have Martha. It’s disappointing. I was hoping to take some good pictures for once in my life. Even professional pictures I have had taken, while the photographer has done an amazing job, I have never been happy with the way I look. Even on my wedding day (that is whole different problem that I have cried about). And now that I am about 40 days out from my 40^th, after working hard (probably could have worked harder) for the last year, I don’t think I can do it. All I will see is Martha and some other flaws, but mostly Martha. At this point I feel like the only way I will get rid of Martha would be a strict salad and water diet while working out four hours a day every day for a year, or having her surgically removed. Neither solution is possible. So at this point I am at a loss. I am not sure what to do. I cannot accept Martha, but I am being told I cannot back out of my photoshoot because it would be good for me. It is some thing I will have to think about. All I want is one good picture. One picture where I feel like me. Where I feel like, I worked hard for this.  

Progress Not Perfection

#tiredmommy @henrycavill @mingna_wen @ginajcarano

So I tagged people...EEEKKKKK. If I am not suppose to do that...Oh God I am sorry.

Progress Not Perfection

Progress not perfection is a statement I have been thinking about a lot lately. Apparently you can have OCD with post-partum depression and anxiety. It’s an awesome addition to something that is already a massive struggle for me. (The fact I am talking about this is embarrassing, but I figure if I talk about it, it might clear up some of the snow in my head.) The OCD is driving the need for perfection. When I don’t achieve it, it just makes the depression and anxiety worse. In some cases the struggle for perfection is like trying to climb up an ever growing and ever changing mound of soft sand. You sink in and climb and climb and you’re never able to get anywhere. Sometimes I can’t see the top and sometimes I can, but I never seem to be able to reach it. It’s mentally exhausting, and surprisingly physically exhausting.

**speaking of OCD, as I was writing this I transferred to the triage desk. I had to straighten and organize it before I felt comfortable working** {as I am typing, I am keeping one eye on my husband as he organizes the toys to make sure he does it the right way…the way I have set out in my brain}

               In case you are wondering, yes, I also see a therapist. I haven’t seen her in a while because I keep forgetting about my appointments (BRAIN FOG) and I have not had time to see her because I keep having to reschedule the appointments I miss with other people and I freaking out about asking my husband to miss work to watch the kids so I can go do my stuff. The point here is, I think she would say I need to re-evaluate my priorities and what is important to me. I need to accept chaos will now always be apart of my life because I have kids, so having a mess is to be expected. I need to look at where I came from and where I am now and see the progress and not focus on the fact I do not have perfection. Like in Big Bang Theory *spoiler alert*, when Amy points out to Sheldon, it’s the imperfections that can make something perfect. This triggers Sheldon to think of super asymmetry with Amy and they both win the Nobel Prize. Of course I don’t expect to ever win a Nobel. It’s not even on my radar of desires. An Oscar, for some reason, still is. But for some reason my brain can’t wrap around this. It’s like closure. What the hell is closure? How the hell do you “let go” of things? I can sing the Frozen song all day long, but that doesn’t mean I get it. Things certainly fade with time, but do you ever truly “let go”?

               I am sure some of you, or maybe none of you are wondering what this all has to do with my running. Well, I didn’t get a bib for the Fairy Tale Challenge. Let me tell you what happened.

               On registration day I went for a run in my Dad’s neighborhood. We were visiting Colorado and the plan for that day was to take the kids to the zoo. After my run I checked the website to see if registration was open. I didn’t check to see if there a was a time for opening or if I did, I don’t remember (BRAIN FOG). If I did I got distracted getting everything ready for the zoo. But it was honestly something I didn’t think about. When I registered for the half marathon in 2019 I registered a day or two after all the registrations opened and there was no rush to get bibs and I don’t think anything “sold out” for weeks after opening. I didn’t think it would be like a Comic Con situation where you have to lightening quick the nano second the tickets open with your mouse clicking, then pray to the Good Lord, once you’re in the “waiting room” you get selected quick. Then pray again you don’t have any technology glitches that delay you completing all the required fields that keep you from clicking “pay now” before everything is sold out. San Diego Comic Con is an intense blood thirsty competition, like the Hunger Games, nobody really knows how people get tickets if they aren’t connected. Anyway, I did not think that registering for the Fairy Tale Challenge, which takes place at the end of February, in the middle of the school year, would be a challenge to the death. By the time I had second to register and remind those running with me to do so as well, the 5k, the 10k, and the Fairy Tale Challenge were all sold out! All that was left was the half marathon and the virtual races.

               That’s not entirely true. So I went to register for the Fairy Tale Challenge. The 5k was sold out and I can’t remember if the 10k was or not. Anyway, I was thrown into a “waiting room” for almost 20 minutes. Then all the fields I was supposed to fill out weren’t working. Like I couldn’t select a shirt size! I couldn’t pay without a shirt size! To save time I registered myself and my husband. Then, the system wouldn’t take my debt card for some reason. So I used my credit card. By the time I FINALLY got to where I could click “pay”, it sold out! My credit card and debt card were both charged (later refunded) and I was sent a registration email that linked to nowhere. I was devastated. I am still devastated. Some how my husband, my best friend, and myself managed to snag half marathon bibs, but that didn’t keep me from crying. Dream, goal, bucket list item…shattered, smashed, and torn apart.

               This is how it was all suppose to go: I register for the Fairy Tale Challenge, my friends join me for some of the races, I cry crossing the finish line feeling exhausted but accomplished, then we all go celebrate my 40^th birthday at Epcot eating and drinking around the world. What ended up happening was: none of my friends (except two) really liked the idea of running a race (really exercise in general), no matter how I sold it. Flying to Florida for a girls weekend at Disney World is expensive and most everyone has small children, some of whom will be in school. So I got two ladies who said they would go run with me. So I asked family to join. I got a taker from my dad and my brother said he would do one of the virtual races. Of course my husband wanted to run too, so now the kids are coming. Since my husband and dad are coming my step-mom is coming to watch the kids while we race and my best friend’s husband is coming because my husband is coming (and frankly that man is going to need a vacation).

               I should know by now, in my life, when I plan something I would really like, God, most of the time, laughs hysterically at me. So no ladies weekend and girls run, no Fairy Tale Challenge, not even a 10k for dad. I did talk to Disney technical support, but all I got was a big “oh well, we’re sorry” and the only real way of knowing if anything re-opens is Twitter (I am too old for Twitter) or checking other social media several times a day for re-posts.

               In the grand scheme of things this is just a minor thing. I still get to run the half marathon with my husband and my best friend. My parents, my children, and my best friend’s husband will be there at the finish line to hug us and cheer for us. I will still get to eat and drink around the world at Epcot for my 40^th birthday with people I love. And maybe, just maybe, runDisney will open up slots and will all get into the Fairy Tale Challenge and my dad will get into the 10k.

               What does all this have to do with the thought of “progress not perfection”? Perfection would have been the perfectly planned ladies’ weekend. Challenge and all. I would be a lean mean running machine making it five miles without waling by now. I would be wearing all kinds of Disney themed running gear, writing challenges in my blog to Henry Cavill, Ming Na Wen, and Gina Carano (who I was sad to hear did NOT have Cold Smoke while she was in Montana) and secure in my knowledge I would blast through the 5k, 10k, and hopefully the half marathon. By that time the massive flab of fat I carry in my front (let me tell you, it honestly weighs me down and doesn’t feel like it’s part of my body. It’s absolutely disgusting. I can’t stand to look at myself in the mirror), would be melted away, and I can come home from Disney feeling fabulous and accomplished and ready to do a fabulous photo shoot with my photographer and write this beautiful blog about being 40 and the lessons I learned from my 30’s and what I am looking forward too.

               Instead for the last two weeks, well basically since we got home from Colorado, I have allowed my disappointment to fuel my depression and anxiety and I have neglected my training and let life get in the way or be an excuse. So I saw my doctor and we are working on it. Progress. I am back running. I can still make it at least two miles without walking. Progress (at least from the last time I ran a half marathon). Getting back on track. I guess that’s progress. Not letting a minor setback defeat me. Personal progress.

               Things that still need work: my belly, I could use an overall tone up, if anyone wants to volunteer to help let me know. We will set-up times. My OCD, hopefully this medication change up my doctor is recommending will help with that, and the depression and anxiety. My eating habits, I was tracking in MyFitnessPal, but I get so busy and the kids and husband are great excuses for eating poorly and shouldn’t be.

               Progress not perfection, even if I have to do baby steps and have a babysitter. I don’t know who would do that, I am taking volunteers. Progress not perfection.

And holy crap I tagged people...this is not my most elegant piece of work, nor the most inspiring... and I cannot find the photo of my son running with me, which I had planned on inserting. 

What is a Calling?

 

What is a Calling?

               I was talking to my BFF (yes I have one, I call her that, she has many friends, I have few, let me tell you about her for a brief moment). Ok let me rewind. I met my BFF at a time in my life that part of me wishes I could forget, or at least parts of it. We met working in the Nursing School office of the college we both went to nursing school. She was in the accelerated course a year ahead of me, the following year I started the regular course and she encouraged and coached me throughout the whole experience. But more than that she encouraged and supported me through one of the most turbulent and transforming periods of my life. <Please refer to previous blog posts to get some details> So the point is I love this woman and have said on many occasions, if I were to go for a lady (I like the men), but if I WERE to go for a lady, it would be her. We have different views on a lot of things, but she gets me. And I get her and I love her boys to pieces because, well, if you saw them, you’d love them to. Ok so, back on track. I was talking to my BFF about nursing. I was working on a project for my graduate certificate (more on that later), and she said something that made me think. She sees nursing as her calling. Now she’s had some of the craziest, heart pounding, kick ass experiences as a nurse…whereas I…well…there was once this meme posted on Facebook, I don’t remember the general gist of it, but it was two morbidly obese humans in the drive through at Macdonalds on their freaking scooters. That is my job. Dealing primarily with people who just plain do not care and are rude and abusive about it. I will say OCCASIONALLY I get a good one that I just love, but mostly it’s like talking to a brick wall. Actually I think the brick wall will bend before most of the patients I see will.

               Her statement got me to thinking. Is nursing my calling? The simple answer is: no. Nursing is not my “calling”. The way I look at a calling is something you are destined to do. A job, a career, a task that you were born for. Honestly after almost forty years on this earth I have no idea what I am “destined” for. The simple statement is: I am a nurse. Whether my co-workers agree with me or not, I am good at my job (perfect, no, knowledgeable, adaptable, hardworking, yes). This isn’t ego talking. I am not one of those people that walk around thinking I am shit hot. I have met those people, I am not those people. Is there room for improvement? Of course! I am nurse because a) it is a steady job, b) it’s something I do well, and c) I see it as my duty to society. I absolutely love that the generation behind mine (I swear to sweet Jesus if you call me a millennial, I will kick you were it counts), that has gone to college and gone on into semi adulthood following their dreams, following where the wind takes them, a hundred thousand dollar master’s degree in gender studies through interpretive dance (WTF are you going to do with that?!). The best example I have is my former sister-in-law. She was BRILLANT in math. An absolute rock star. Someone that could have inspired young girls for generations to pursue mathematics and become leaders in the field. She could have become a leader in the field. But what did she do? Chose to pursue a career that satisfied her needs instead of contributing to society as a whole. I love to write. I love photography. I would love nothing more than to sit at home and write all day or read the great works of literature. I would love to be back in the dark room were I found peace. Where if found some semblance of self. But I chose to do what would contribute the greatest good to society instead of what would be the biggest burden. So nursing is not my calling. It is my duty. Ps...I took that photo and the one that is the background for this blog.

Learning to give yourself grace...

 I am not one of those people that takes getting sick all that well. Growing up, my father’s response whenever I got sick was: take a knee, drink some water, you’ll live. As a nurse, I am exposed to all kinds of germs, but with all the patients I have seen, I have never been so sick so often than I have with children. My personal policy about calling off from work: if I am still standing upright after a shower without a fever, boogers or no, I am going to work. These days that seems to make my co-workers cringe. Sorry guys, we are super short and I have ZERO sick leave to spare for myself. In the last month I have had to enforce that policy, aside from testing positive and being asymptomatic. My daughter ( I believe it was her) gave me the most godawful cold/ sinus infection I have had since…last year when her brother gave me a germ so bad I got my first ear infection ever and lost my voice for two weeks. Being so sick I was unable to run or even do yoga for almost three weeks! I felt…well, a myriad of things: fat, disgusting, exhausted, bloated, boogery, headachey…The point is, I would have done more harm than good to my body I had a pushed myself and did more than just making it through a stretch at work and keeping up with kids and chores on my day off. Part of my brain knows this, my body knows this in part as well, however, that didn’t stop the evil part of my brain from making me feel godawful about sitting around on my duff blowing my nose all day.

As a nurse I know that rest does more for your body sometimes than any medicine out there, but that doesn’t stop me from thinking myself lazy and fat. This is were learning to give myself grace comes in. I have been in therapy for years. Therapy is an ongoing process for a lot of people. Some people only need a few sessions to get them past a hard time, some people go for a while and stop and then go back, and others find it a never ending process that helps them grow. I am part of the never ending process group. Its not that I have a serious mental health problem, I mean I have some post partum right now, but therapy helps me put things in perspective that my brain has a hard time processing. It gives me skills and ways of coping or handling situations that I would not have thought of on my own. One of those things is learning to give myself grace.

What I mean by this is: learning to give myself a break. I am constantly pushing myself to be a better nurse, a better wife, a better mom, a better sister, a better friend…and when I feel like I fail at these tasks, which I do, I beat myself up for days. Sometimes when I am super anxious I relive the mistakes in my head and re-beat myself up. I have to learn to accept I am human and I will make mistakes. There will be days I fail as a mother or a nurse. During this year long journey to the Fairy Tale Challenge there will be days where I fail at my run, where I will go through stretch where I just don’t have the time or the energy to even do a simple 10 minute yoga lesson, but as long as I stay focused on my goal and make a genuine effort, I can count it as a win. I don’t have to be perfect, I just have to finish, even if I crawl across that line. (But I am going to seriously try and run most if not all of it, don’t worry y’all this goal is happening.)

The picture I am attaching to this post is a picture I took of myself after a particularly windy and defeating run. My body just wasn’t into it. The wind was in my face and up my nose the whole time, it was frustrating and I cried. But two days later I ran the first 5K I have run since my mid-20’s. Give myself grace. I can do this.

That being said I have seriously been the slacker lately, I am not being hard on myself this time, I just have been lazy, plus I have had to work night shift last night and tonight...work messes everything up. Not to mention the wind here has been HORRIBLE. I hate running on the treadmill. It hurts. Any advice on how to make running on the treadmill easier, I am open to suggestion. 

Look at me making excuses. I can do this. I really can. Alright anxious rant over. I will layer up and run tomorrow. Its happening. Even if I make it only a mile.

You know your anxiety is bad when...

 

I have been legitimately ill for the last few days. Body aches, chills, horrible cough, fatigue, copious amounts of mucus coming from my nose, I look like I have two black eyes and Rudolph the red nosed reindeer rolled into one. I can only breath out of one nostril at a time. Now a normal person would take medication, drink hot tea, soak in a warm tub, use their essential oils, and humidifier, really do what needs to be done to feel better and recover. But not me. One) I can’t take anything other than plain Tylenol or ibuprofen because I am breast feeding, two) I am breast feeding so any chance of sleeping a whole day through is not possible, three) I have small children who have boogers, who incidentally gave me the boogers, four) while I have a husband that can take care of things…ish…while I am sick I can’t rest if my children are upset or screaming for whatever reason, such as he didn’t want the fresh blueberries for the love of God he wanted the frozen ones (this requires full meltdown with face firmly planted on the dirty floor…because I am too sick to clean the freaking floors), and five and final) I am crazy. See when you lay your head down to rest your brain shuts off, mine decides to go through the never ending list of chores, how I am falling hopelessly behind in my training and letting my friends and family down by not at least trying to exercise (even yoga hurts my face right now and like I said, one nostril), how I am horrifyingly overweight and will never catch up, how much I dread going to work in the morning because I know for certain (although I don’t have any proof) there is favoritism going on and I have to go work in an area I can’t stand, but I have to get both kids ready for daycare tomorrow so I better get up even though I know I am going to hit the snooze button at least twice if not three times, I am going to scramble all morning and be thinking of the pile of homework I have to do and OH YEAH…I need to workout, but my face might explode from pressure and boogers.

<<insert panting noise here>>  <<<imagine I said all that like Delores explaining Mirabel finding Bruno’s vision at dinner>>> #disneymom

So this is part of postpartum anxiety. This is why I run and what happens when I can’t do it regularly. Even though, as a nurse, I know I need to give myself time to heal and recover, parts of my brain don’t allow me, to give myself that grace, that rest, that peace, I need to feel better. I am sorry to my family, that I can’t join in our family healthy challenge right now, I am trying. I am sorry to my Spartan team for not training, I am trying. I am sorry to myself for not allowing myself the grace to recover.