So many of my readers (the ones not related to me, all five of you!) have no idea what I was/am like in "real life", in particular as a youngun. Here's a short description: tall, lanky, thin, goofy, absolutely no coordination whatsoever.
Graceful and athletic were never words you could use to describe me. Funny? Hellz yeah, but gifted in the art of making my body function as a unit? Nope. Not. Even. Close.
So fast forward a good 30 some odd years to when my baby girl started asking me to put her in dance class. Before we moved to the greater Portland area, I had the perfect excuse.
In a small, remote town in north Idaho I could get her into a Gun Safety easier than finding a dance class. There weren't a lot of options. That said, I did my due diligence and I called one studio ONE TIME, and never got a call back. THANK GOD.
I deftly avoided enrolling her for another two years after arriving in Oregon before I had to relent and sign her up for a jazz dance class. The only reason I even considered it was having met the teacher and also seeing the end of the year recital in which all the dancers were dressed age appropriately (so you know, not like budding strippers which is what I remember most recitals to be) and all the dances were also VERY appropriate, no whoreish grinding moves either. These are, after all, little girls.
Against every fiber of my being that SCREAMED not to do it, I signed my sweet girl up for a once a week jazz class.Under no circumstances did I want to be the mom of "that kid" that went the wrong direction in the recital, didn't know the moves and for the love of all that's good and holy, ran off the stage crying.
Not that I ever did the running off the stage thing, but I'm pretty sure based on my current dancing abilities (that certainly show NO improvement after several glasses of hooch I might add) the other two are an accurate description of my performance in the two years I was subjected to tap.
At first I watched my baby girl's class a few times and it was clear to me that my resistance to her being in dance and then suddenly sucking it up and tossing her in was a very mean thing to do.
It was painful to watch. Painful. But, God Bless her, she TRIED. And I mean she was INTENT on learning....I've NEVER seen her more focused on anything in my life, up until basketball season and/or torturing her brother, but that's another post for another day.
I finally quit watching her class, and would just ask her how things were going. She assured me that she knew the dance, and I just figured we would see at the recital.
I feel like such a bad parent, well I know I am. No one's perfect, but I feel like such a schmuck that I allowed my own insecurities to get in the way of my girl doing something she loves. I projected my own fears and insecurities about my dancing ability and lack of coordination onto my daughter. SHAME.
As you all know, Maude (my menopausal alter ego) is emotionally compromised as it is. Tamoxifen Tami was way more fun, she didn't cry so much as she was just kind of bitchy. Maude, however, is just an emotional train wreck. I cry for no reason half the time.
So imagine my emotions during the RECITAL. I cried so much that my sweet husband had to go get kleenex so I could blow my snout and for the love of God pull myself together after she left the stage.
I am so proud of my girl. So, so proud. She danced. She really really danced. Was she perfect? I have no idea. Do I care? Not one single bit. How did she compare to the other girls in her class? Couldn't tell you.
All that fear, all that anxiety, all that worry was for nothing. Here's what I didn't know about me and my baby girl dancing: The only child I had eyes for was mine. There could have been a thousand girls on stage and I wouldn't even notice them. I'm sure it's the same for all of us parents. We're not comparing notes, we're simply watching the angel we created.
I learned an important thing about myself, to never again put my fears
and insecurities in front of allowing one of my beautiful children to
try something new. While both of them contain a variety of genetic
similarities to me, that doesn't mean they can't do something I never
could.
She is so beautiful, graceful, and perfect in each and every way. And she danced. And I've never been more proud.
Monday, June 24, 2013
Thursday, June 20, 2013
Maude VS The Photo Shoot
In all likelihood I can't really add "fitness model" to my resume, but I had the COOLEST opportunity ever today.
I've got to back up the truck just a bit to explain. My BRF is a runner and about 1.5 years ago roped me into running again. OK, it was an EASY sell..... Then she introduced me to the Run Like a Mother and Train Like a Mother author Sarah Bowen Shea who is just totally amazing.
SBS and CBP have long been friends on FB so one day I took a chance and sent a friend request to Sarah which was accepted. To me it was like being friended by Julia Roberts! A celebrity? Friends with me?! OMG. I think I'm still a little giddy about it.
Yesterday SBS posted the following plea: Need help from my Portland pals: I'm trying to find a mother runner by the name of Evelyn. Very tall, Asian, super pretty. I'm fairly certain her family attends Madeleine parish...kids might go to Madeleine school. I'm trying to find her to use as a model for new Sweaty Bands we're selling on our site. Thanks.
Never one to shy away from an opportunity to make fun of my hot flashes I posted the following comment: If you can't find her Maude would volunteer! I sweat all the time w my dang hot flashes! Hope you find her!!!!
SBS emailed me IMMEDIATELY and the next thing I know I'm skipping work to drive to NE PDX this morning to her HOUSE (OMG pinch me, seriously) to have some pics taken with their new Sweaty Bands.
I was so excited last night, I was jumping up & down and giggling like teenager reading the new Tiger Beat magazine with a Justin Bieber cover. (yes they totally still publish that magazine).
Not more than two minutes after I confirmed I could pawn my kids off on my BRF and set a 9:30AM arrival time I realized I had a zit. On my face. Just below my right cheek. CRAP.
I PILED on the zit cream last night, I mean SLATHERED LIKE FROSTING. And as I said my nightly prayers I implored the Good Lord to restore my skin to it's former 20's elasticity and pimple free state.
Not so much.
I woke up this morning at 6:15 (yes on purpose) to hit the gym for a quick Spin (part of my tri-training) and when I looked in the mirror I lost my schmidt. Not only do I now have TWO ZITS on my face, but my left eye was swollen, pink and oozing. Yes, oozing. OMG.
I thought to myself "I am sure she's got photoshop." Then, maybe I should cancel....pink eye isn't a big selling point for most products...
This has happened before and I hoped after a good sweat session and a shower that it would just have been allergies and almost look normal. Thank goodness that was the case. However, the zits did not miraculously disappear....
Nothing like prepping for a "photo shoot" to make you realize your shortcomings (thank you aging) like the crows feet and the giant shrubs for eyebrows. No time to wax them (not like I would anyway, here's why: previous blog post: A Story Never Told) so I used my little trimmer thingy and spiffed them up.
But then, oh crap, never got around to bleaching my Tom Sellek worthy 'stache (referenced in my post from yesterday) and I've got no time left. Please, I pleaded silently, let her have photoshop.....
And oh no, should have bleached my smile too.....coffee how I love you for waking my ass up and hate you for the stains you leave behind.
And the hair. Oh crikey. When WAS the last time I dyed it? Holy shnikes, this is for HAIR BANDS.....she's GOT to be able to make my hair look brown, right? You won't be close enough to see the gray? Right? RIGHT?!
After making a mental list of about a dozen beauty treatments I'll need to take care of as soon as humanly possible, I did my best to cover up my pimples (about the only thing I could control today) and put that lightener under my eyes so you don't (hopefully) see the big ass bags I'm sporting cuz I got up at 6:15 after a night of tossing & turning because I was worried about a pimple.
I headed out the door to drop children off and make the short (and easy) drive to Sarah's home. Giddy. I was just giddy to be there. She is so gracious and made me feel like I was doing her a favor, but oh no, it was so fun to just be invited. I asked if I could live in her basement. I am pretty sure I freaked her out...just a lil' bit.
I got to meet two of her kids and also her husband, plus Miller the cat who was so freaking soft I could have sat there and rubbed his ears all damn day.
Anyhoozer, to say that I can't wait to see how the photos all turned out is an understatement. I did get to see this one:
I immediately changed my Twitter profile pic to this...I love the shirt and I think Bonnie & Clyde look spectacular in this tank, not to mention the coordinated Sweaty Band. AND I am NOW the proud owner of a Bad Ass Mother Runner tank and matching BAMR Sweaty Band.
I'm wearing the tank RIGHT NOW THIS VERY MINUTE and I am in love. I might sleep in it. And I've also got he sweaty band on too and will sport both of them on my bike (band under the helmet of course) and run during the Wahine All Women's Sprint Triathlon on August 3, and well, like every time I go running for the rest of my life!
So, Sarah Bowen Shea you are the one who has done ME the favor! I feel like sort of famous and like model-y AND I've got some sweet new running swag, but the MOST important thing you've done for me is remind me to: dye my hair, bleach my mustache & teeth (could be at the same time, yes?), wash my face twice a day and to smile like I'm having more fun....
PS - please don't look at the crows feet or gray hair. It's all about the product folks!
Love,
Maude
I've got to back up the truck just a bit to explain. My BRF is a runner and about 1.5 years ago roped me into running again. OK, it was an EASY sell..... Then she introduced me to the Run Like a Mother and Train Like a Mother author Sarah Bowen Shea who is just totally amazing.
SBS and CBP have long been friends on FB so one day I took a chance and sent a friend request to Sarah which was accepted. To me it was like being friended by Julia Roberts! A celebrity? Friends with me?! OMG. I think I'm still a little giddy about it.
Yesterday SBS posted the following plea: Need help from my Portland pals: I'm trying to find a mother runner by the name of Evelyn. Very tall, Asian, super pretty. I'm fairly certain her family attends Madeleine parish...kids might go to Madeleine school. I'm trying to find her to use as a model for new Sweaty Bands we're selling on our site. Thanks.
Never one to shy away from an opportunity to make fun of my hot flashes I posted the following comment: If you can't find her Maude would volunteer! I sweat all the time w my dang hot flashes! Hope you find her!!!!
SBS emailed me IMMEDIATELY and the next thing I know I'm skipping work to drive to NE PDX this morning to her HOUSE (OMG pinch me, seriously) to have some pics taken with their new Sweaty Bands.
I was so excited last night, I was jumping up & down and giggling like teenager reading the new Tiger Beat magazine with a Justin Bieber cover. (yes they totally still publish that magazine).
Not more than two minutes after I confirmed I could pawn my kids off on my BRF and set a 9:30AM arrival time I realized I had a zit. On my face. Just below my right cheek. CRAP.
I PILED on the zit cream last night, I mean SLATHERED LIKE FROSTING. And as I said my nightly prayers I implored the Good Lord to restore my skin to it's former 20's elasticity and pimple free state.
Not so much.
I woke up this morning at 6:15 (yes on purpose) to hit the gym for a quick Spin (part of my tri-training) and when I looked in the mirror I lost my schmidt. Not only do I now have TWO ZITS on my face, but my left eye was swollen, pink and oozing. Yes, oozing. OMG.
I thought to myself "I am sure she's got photoshop." Then, maybe I should cancel....pink eye isn't a big selling point for most products...
This has happened before and I hoped after a good sweat session and a shower that it would just have been allergies and almost look normal. Thank goodness that was the case. However, the zits did not miraculously disappear....
Nothing like prepping for a "photo shoot" to make you realize your shortcomings (thank you aging) like the crows feet and the giant shrubs for eyebrows. No time to wax them (not like I would anyway, here's why: previous blog post: A Story Never Told) so I used my little trimmer thingy and spiffed them up.
But then, oh crap, never got around to bleaching my Tom Sellek worthy 'stache (referenced in my post from yesterday) and I've got no time left. Please, I pleaded silently, let her have photoshop.....
And oh no, should have bleached my smile too.....coffee how I love you for waking my ass up and hate you for the stains you leave behind.
And the hair. Oh crikey. When WAS the last time I dyed it? Holy shnikes, this is for HAIR BANDS.....she's GOT to be able to make my hair look brown, right? You won't be close enough to see the gray? Right? RIGHT?!
After making a mental list of about a dozen beauty treatments I'll need to take care of as soon as humanly possible, I did my best to cover up my pimples (about the only thing I could control today) and put that lightener under my eyes so you don't (hopefully) see the big ass bags I'm sporting cuz I got up at 6:15 after a night of tossing & turning because I was worried about a pimple.
I headed out the door to drop children off and make the short (and easy) drive to Sarah's home. Giddy. I was just giddy to be there. She is so gracious and made me feel like I was doing her a favor, but oh no, it was so fun to just be invited. I asked if I could live in her basement. I am pretty sure I freaked her out...just a lil' bit.
I got to meet two of her kids and also her husband, plus Miller the cat who was so freaking soft I could have sat there and rubbed his ears all damn day.
Anyhoozer, to say that I can't wait to see how the photos all turned out is an understatement. I did get to see this one:
I immediately changed my Twitter profile pic to this...I love the shirt and I think Bonnie & Clyde look spectacular in this tank, not to mention the coordinated Sweaty Band. AND I am NOW the proud owner of a Bad Ass Mother Runner tank and matching BAMR Sweaty Band.
I'm wearing the tank RIGHT NOW THIS VERY MINUTE and I am in love. I might sleep in it. And I've also got he sweaty band on too and will sport both of them on my bike (band under the helmet of course) and run during the Wahine All Women's Sprint Triathlon on August 3, and well, like every time I go running for the rest of my life!
So, Sarah Bowen Shea you are the one who has done ME the favor! I feel like sort of famous and like model-y AND I've got some sweet new running swag, but the MOST important thing you've done for me is remind me to: dye my hair, bleach my mustache & teeth (could be at the same time, yes?), wash my face twice a day and to smile like I'm having more fun....
PS - please don't look at the crows feet or gray hair. It's all about the product folks!
Love,
Maude
Tuesday, June 18, 2013
Maude VS The Dentist
I don't think I've yet mentioned that I am sort of like the Hulk of menopausal women. When I get angry, something happens to my body. I don't turn green and get all creepy giant sized, but I do turn all red and flushed like a tween girl gushing over that Harry kid from One Direction. As soon as I start to get upset I can tell the fire is stoked and ready and all it takes is a little more oxygen and then......Maude Angry....
I also tend to hot flash when I'm nervous, scared, curious, walking, talking, breathing, etc. Imagine the hot mess I was as I prepared to go to The Dentist for a filling repair.....you could fry an egg on me, jussayin'.
Without going into too much detail, I had several really bad experiences in the dentist chair as a child. I don't want to risk a good therapy session so that's all I'm gonna say about that, needless to say I've carried a little anxiety with me over the past 40 years.
I've done a good job, for the most part, of avoiding having a lot of dental work done. I floss (OK, not EVERY night, but once every other month, that's regularly right?!), brush twice a day for two minutes at a time and I avoid eating & drinking crap that eats away my enamel.
I've worked hard to minimize time in the dentist chair, but as we've discussed in the past, time (and aging) is not our friend. It's given me bifocals, the ability to pee when I sneeze and a lot of gray hair. Time has also wreaked havoc on the dental work of my youth.
I knew this to be true, and did ALL I COULD to avoid going, but eventually I had to cave. Mostly because the Hubs made a dentist appointment for me and made me go. So of course I knew there would be work needed. And I was right. I did get my teeth all cleaned up & sparkly the last time I was in there, and we set a date to get one of my old fillings repaired.
I deftly avoided my original appointment a few weeks ago, and when I called to cancel, the receptionist swiftly and kindly rescheduled me before I had a chance to hang up.
God bless them, they email you and text you to remind you of your appointment. But alas, that's not enough to make sure I won't avoid going anyway. I conveniently "forgot" about the appointment (what I mean is the trauma of my childhood allowed me to block the appointment from my memory) but my husband was quick to remind me. Gee, thanks.
I arrive at the dentist, having completely forgotten to self medicate with Valium. Damn. But, I did drive myself, so there's that....
The dentist is a good friend of a good friend of mine, so there was of course lots of small talk (well, OK, I just kept asking her LOTS of questions hoping we'd run out of time to do the actual dental stuff) and she is soooooo nice that she humored me for a bit.
THEN she showed me photos of my teeth. She is very smart and was pointing out all kinds of things, and all I could focus on is the fact that the blown up photo of my face made me look like Burt Reynolds rocking the 'stache back in the day.
NOTE TO SELF: Bleach that damn mustache BEFORE you go to the dentist next time. So, yeah, I'm not sure what she was trying to tell me.
Then it was time to numb my face. She asked if I needed anything before they got started. I said Tequila, and I don't think they knew I was really freaking serious. About the time she was getting ready to give me the shot I totally lost my shit. TOTALLY.
I kept saying, through embarrassing sobs (really Maude, get a hold of yourself for Pete's sake) "I'm a grown ass woman, why the hell am I crying about this?" Allegedly (at least according to what they were saying to make me feel better) is dental anxiety is normal. I wouldn't classify my level of anxiety about the dentist as normal, but at least the sentiment is common.
My anxiety reaches the totally bat shit crazy level of anxiety, just one level below being commit-able.
I think it was all of about five minutes to talk me off the ledge, they offered me "happy gas" which I refused, because as I pointed out I'm a grown ass woman, what the hell is wrong with me? I'd rather gut it out and cry like a two year old who has their favorite toy taken away, than just take the damn happy gas.
I figured I'd run 6.5 miles in the morning, I could suck it up as this couldn't hurt any worse. Oh my gosh I seriously did everything but start sucking my damn thumb to calm myself down. I literally said "hold on, let me go to my happy place."
But finally, I relented. It was sunny outside and I could tell that she wasn't gonna let me leave without fixing that filling.
And, in all honesty, it wasn't that bad. Like anything in life that we fear, childbirth, going to work, once you get there it's not always as bad as you thought it might be.
My dentist is really good at putting in the numbing stuff, I hardly even felt a thing. Which isn't to say that I'm not going to totally freak out again the next time, as I mentioned I've probably got a good month's worth of shrink visits to attend to before I'm ever comfortable in the dentist chair again.
But I did learn a few things about myself in the process:
1. My face is hairy and maybe I should look into laser hair removal
2.......
Yeah, just learned the one thing.
I also tend to hot flash when I'm nervous, scared, curious, walking, talking, breathing, etc. Imagine the hot mess I was as I prepared to go to The Dentist for a filling repair.....you could fry an egg on me, jussayin'.
Without going into too much detail, I had several really bad experiences in the dentist chair as a child. I don't want to risk a good therapy session so that's all I'm gonna say about that, needless to say I've carried a little anxiety with me over the past 40 years.
I've done a good job, for the most part, of avoiding having a lot of dental work done. I floss (OK, not EVERY night, but once every other month, that's regularly right?!), brush twice a day for two minutes at a time and I avoid eating & drinking crap that eats away my enamel.
I've worked hard to minimize time in the dentist chair, but as we've discussed in the past, time (and aging) is not our friend. It's given me bifocals, the ability to pee when I sneeze and a lot of gray hair. Time has also wreaked havoc on the dental work of my youth.
I knew this to be true, and did ALL I COULD to avoid going, but eventually I had to cave. Mostly because the Hubs made a dentist appointment for me and made me go. So of course I knew there would be work needed. And I was right. I did get my teeth all cleaned up & sparkly the last time I was in there, and we set a date to get one of my old fillings repaired.
I deftly avoided my original appointment a few weeks ago, and when I called to cancel, the receptionist swiftly and kindly rescheduled me before I had a chance to hang up.
God bless them, they email you and text you to remind you of your appointment. But alas, that's not enough to make sure I won't avoid going anyway. I conveniently "forgot" about the appointment (what I mean is the trauma of my childhood allowed me to block the appointment from my memory) but my husband was quick to remind me. Gee, thanks.
I arrive at the dentist, having completely forgotten to self medicate with Valium. Damn. But, I did drive myself, so there's that....
The dentist is a good friend of a good friend of mine, so there was of course lots of small talk (well, OK, I just kept asking her LOTS of questions hoping we'd run out of time to do the actual dental stuff) and she is soooooo nice that she humored me for a bit.
THEN she showed me photos of my teeth. She is very smart and was pointing out all kinds of things, and all I could focus on is the fact that the blown up photo of my face made me look like Burt Reynolds rocking the 'stache back in the day.
NOTE TO SELF: Bleach that damn mustache BEFORE you go to the dentist next time. So, yeah, I'm not sure what she was trying to tell me.
Then it was time to numb my face. She asked if I needed anything before they got started. I said Tequila, and I don't think they knew I was really freaking serious. About the time she was getting ready to give me the shot I totally lost my shit. TOTALLY.
I kept saying, through embarrassing sobs (really Maude, get a hold of yourself for Pete's sake) "I'm a grown ass woman, why the hell am I crying about this?" Allegedly (at least according to what they were saying to make me feel better) is dental anxiety is normal. I wouldn't classify my level of anxiety about the dentist as normal, but at least the sentiment is common.
My anxiety reaches the totally bat shit crazy level of anxiety, just one level below being commit-able.
I think it was all of about five minutes to talk me off the ledge, they offered me "happy gas" which I refused, because as I pointed out I'm a grown ass woman, what the hell is wrong with me? I'd rather gut it out and cry like a two year old who has their favorite toy taken away, than just take the damn happy gas.
I figured I'd run 6.5 miles in the morning, I could suck it up as this couldn't hurt any worse. Oh my gosh I seriously did everything but start sucking my damn thumb to calm myself down. I literally said "hold on, let me go to my happy place."
But finally, I relented. It was sunny outside and I could tell that she wasn't gonna let me leave without fixing that filling.
And, in all honesty, it wasn't that bad. Like anything in life that we fear, childbirth, going to work, once you get there it's not always as bad as you thought it might be.
My dentist is really good at putting in the numbing stuff, I hardly even felt a thing. Which isn't to say that I'm not going to totally freak out again the next time, as I mentioned I've probably got a good month's worth of shrink visits to attend to before I'm ever comfortable in the dentist chair again.
But I did learn a few things about myself in the process:
1. My face is hairy and maybe I should look into laser hair removal
2.......
Yeah, just learned the one thing.
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
Maude VS the Half Marathon
It's been awhile since I posted....I've been busy I guess. I keep expecting for a lull in the excitement of life, but it's not happening so I decided I'd better brain dump my 13.1 experience before I kill a few more brain cells on wine and forget the whole thing ever happened.
I've had an on-again off-again relationship with running, for most of my life. Kind of like Katy Perry and (fill in the blank with any male celebrity she's dated). I start running and I'm in love. Then reality sets in and we break up, only to find that we can't live without one another and we're back on again. Granted my most recently revived relationship with running has lasted longer than Katy's first marriage, so that's a good thing.
I've had "Run 13.1" on my bucket list for at least five years. Every damn time I'm supposed to run I'm injured, I have surgery, I get cancer, the usual excuses, you know? So I figured that since three-for-three my efforts were foiled, that I wasn't ever gonna run that race. I could feed a small village in Africa with the amount of money I've lost to bibs I bought and races I never ran. So I figured that this time would be no different.
But it was.
I really think it's because someone else bought it for me....but I'm gonna pay her back. I really never thought I would end up running it, so I fully intended on selling the bib & giving her the money anyway. Ha! That's my new M.O. for races....someone else can lay out the cash for me so I don't feel the pressure as much as I do when I know I'll feel the guilt when I'm injured and can't run. Seems like more often than not anyway....
I trained as much as I could (lost a couple weeks to being sick and some tendonitis) but all in all I knew I could do it, I clocked two 10 mile + runs before the big day. I set a pretty lofty goal of 1:58, which was my A goal, my B goal was finishing under my own power (ie: not on a stretcher).
I had such grand visions of how the race would go down. Imagined it so many times. Always it would be sunny (it was) and my favorite song would be blaring in my ear (it wasn't, my iPhone decided to switch to the "random" mode on my mix, and did NOT play my tunes IN THE ORDER I set them), and I'd come in through the finish line, watching the clock tick up to 1:58, victorious, hands in the air, tears streaming down my face.......Yeah, not so much.
Here's what DID happen:
Mile 1: Feeling good, running with my BRF! She's gonna pace me to a sub 2 hour for my first half. I know it's my first, but I can do this. Oh shit, second song is NOT the second song I programmed....uh oh.
Mile 2: Wishing these walkers would stay left for the love of God, I'm running extra just to get around them. (jussayin' but my watch had 13.24 on it at the end so I was right)
Mile 3: Feeling good, chatting up my BRF, hoping the sun doesn't come out.
Mile 4: Sun's coming out....I can feel the heat. Oh God, here's a hot flash too. Extra calories burned...speaking of I had better fuel.
Mile 5: Where the hell is the aid station? I need some water to wash this chocolate GU off my hands. They're as sticky as a toddler eating a Hershey bar in the hot sun. Gross.
Mile 6: Just a normal Saturday long run, but BRF I don't think I can do much more than this. BRF says: suck it up, yes you can. And I did.
Mile 7: When will I see my family? I need to see them, it's hot, I'm tired and my quads are on fricken fire. What the hell was I thinking? Oh crap, we're going straight up hill to mile 8? Damn. I have no business running this distance.
Mile 8: Passed the family on the way to the turnaround and again on the way back. Thank GOD they were there, sweaty high fives with the kids who were holding signs they borrowed from the neighbor kids who made them for their mom, who is actually a runner and well suited to this event. Me, not so much. (Note: my own children forgot to make any sort of sign but I didn't care I was thankful they were there) Fueled again, even more sticky and gross since I also dumped HEED on my head thinking it was water. Happened more than once, sadly. Yes I know he said "HEED" as he handed it to me but I was confused on what he meant until I tasted the second cup. Gross.
Mile 9: I tell my BRF I'm toast, too hot, quads on fire, I've got no business running 13.1. Save yourself, I'm not gonna make it. BRF: Suck it up, we'll slow down. You can do this. Maude said she didn't care if she missed her A goal, I just don't want to die.
Mile 10: Fell apart. Physically and mentally, mostly mental because I'm mental Maude anyway. But it was hot. I didn't want to walk, but picked some shady spots to recover. I probably didn't even walk a total of 100 yards but I still felt like a failure. Knew I missed the A goal, B goal was in reach as long as I didn't pass out.
Mile 11: Walked another little bit. Only 2 miles and some change. Four songs left, none of which were PLAYING IN THE ORDER I PROGRAMMED THEM! I could see the stadium, it lifted my spirits even if my legs felt like giant water-soaked logs. Picked up another friend to run with, three of us clomping together. They asked how they could help me, I said kill me. Then I said distract me. They started talking and I couldn't focus so listened to my music, still in the wrong damn order. "A" goal was TOAST, B goal was in reach.
Mile 12: Found a sidewalk with shade. Ran on that. Could really sense that missing the last 4 weeks of training and consequently cross training was playing a factor. But whatever, I'm here, I'm almost there, I've almost done it. My pace picked up. How about that? I DO have some left in the tank.
Mile 13.1: No idea how it was possible after the first twelve, as I was fairly certain I would die, or my legs would fall off, or worse case scenario I'd end up crawling the last 30 yards, but my pace picked up a little bit more. As I ran into the stadium I saw my husband waving his arms, saw the kids, saw the big finish and put on the gas. And dammit if the song I wanted to play when I finished the race STILL WASN'T PLAYING. I thought I'd be crying, I thought I'd finish in a sub-2 hour time.
Instead, I completed my first half marathon in 2:04:44 (official), no tears, just triumph. I went through a lot last year, and I barely even thought about any of it while I ran. That, and the fact that I didn't finish on my hands and knees or in an ambulance made me feel like I'd really accomplished something monumental. Me and Bonnie & Clyde had a great run and finished strong (photo below, snapped by the hubs)
I'll never look back and wish I'd run in under two. Nope, I'm so thankful for my time, for my BRF for running and pacing me, and for the sweet taste of victory I felt in knowing I accomplished something I'd long wanted to do, and that Maude didn't decide to bawl her eyes out at the finish line. I'm an ugly crier...all red and blotchy. Not pretty. So thankful for that.
I immediately said I wouldn't run another one, as my BRF giggled without even bothering to hide it. She knew.....
As soon as we pulled out of the parking lot I said to my husband.....I think I can do better next time. Actually I know I can. And I will. Someday. And dammit all to hell my music better play in the proper order next time....
I've had an on-again off-again relationship with running, for most of my life. Kind of like Katy Perry and (fill in the blank with any male celebrity she's dated). I start running and I'm in love. Then reality sets in and we break up, only to find that we can't live without one another and we're back on again. Granted my most recently revived relationship with running has lasted longer than Katy's first marriage, so that's a good thing.
I've had "Run 13.1" on my bucket list for at least five years. Every damn time I'm supposed to run I'm injured, I have surgery, I get cancer, the usual excuses, you know? So I figured that since three-for-three my efforts were foiled, that I wasn't ever gonna run that race. I could feed a small village in Africa with the amount of money I've lost to bibs I bought and races I never ran. So I figured that this time would be no different.
But it was.
I really think it's because someone else bought it for me....but I'm gonna pay her back. I really never thought I would end up running it, so I fully intended on selling the bib & giving her the money anyway. Ha! That's my new M.O. for races....someone else can lay out the cash for me so I don't feel the pressure as much as I do when I know I'll feel the guilt when I'm injured and can't run. Seems like more often than not anyway....
I trained as much as I could (lost a couple weeks to being sick and some tendonitis) but all in all I knew I could do it, I clocked two 10 mile + runs before the big day. I set a pretty lofty goal of 1:58, which was my A goal, my B goal was finishing under my own power (ie: not on a stretcher).
I had such grand visions of how the race would go down. Imagined it so many times. Always it would be sunny (it was) and my favorite song would be blaring in my ear (it wasn't, my iPhone decided to switch to the "random" mode on my mix, and did NOT play my tunes IN THE ORDER I set them), and I'd come in through the finish line, watching the clock tick up to 1:58, victorious, hands in the air, tears streaming down my face.......Yeah, not so much.
Here's what DID happen:
Mile 1: Feeling good, running with my BRF! She's gonna pace me to a sub 2 hour for my first half. I know it's my first, but I can do this. Oh shit, second song is NOT the second song I programmed....uh oh.
Mile 2: Wishing these walkers would stay left for the love of God, I'm running extra just to get around them. (jussayin' but my watch had 13.24 on it at the end so I was right)
Mile 3: Feeling good, chatting up my BRF, hoping the sun doesn't come out.
Mile 4: Sun's coming out....I can feel the heat. Oh God, here's a hot flash too. Extra calories burned...speaking of I had better fuel.
Mile 5: Where the hell is the aid station? I need some water to wash this chocolate GU off my hands. They're as sticky as a toddler eating a Hershey bar in the hot sun. Gross.
Mile 6: Just a normal Saturday long run, but BRF I don't think I can do much more than this. BRF says: suck it up, yes you can. And I did.
Mile 7: When will I see my family? I need to see them, it's hot, I'm tired and my quads are on fricken fire. What the hell was I thinking? Oh crap, we're going straight up hill to mile 8? Damn. I have no business running this distance.
Mile 8: Passed the family on the way to the turnaround and again on the way back. Thank GOD they were there, sweaty high fives with the kids who were holding signs they borrowed from the neighbor kids who made them for their mom, who is actually a runner and well suited to this event. Me, not so much. (Note: my own children forgot to make any sort of sign but I didn't care I was thankful they were there) Fueled again, even more sticky and gross since I also dumped HEED on my head thinking it was water. Happened more than once, sadly. Yes I know he said "HEED" as he handed it to me but I was confused on what he meant until I tasted the second cup. Gross.
Mile 9: I tell my BRF I'm toast, too hot, quads on fire, I've got no business running 13.1. Save yourself, I'm not gonna make it. BRF: Suck it up, we'll slow down. You can do this. Maude said she didn't care if she missed her A goal, I just don't want to die.
Mile 10: Fell apart. Physically and mentally, mostly mental because I'm mental Maude anyway. But it was hot. I didn't want to walk, but picked some shady spots to recover. I probably didn't even walk a total of 100 yards but I still felt like a failure. Knew I missed the A goal, B goal was in reach as long as I didn't pass out.
Mile 11: Walked another little bit. Only 2 miles and some change. Four songs left, none of which were PLAYING IN THE ORDER I PROGRAMMED THEM! I could see the stadium, it lifted my spirits even if my legs felt like giant water-soaked logs. Picked up another friend to run with, three of us clomping together. They asked how they could help me, I said kill me. Then I said distract me. They started talking and I couldn't focus so listened to my music, still in the wrong damn order. "A" goal was TOAST, B goal was in reach.
Mile 12: Found a sidewalk with shade. Ran on that. Could really sense that missing the last 4 weeks of training and consequently cross training was playing a factor. But whatever, I'm here, I'm almost there, I've almost done it. My pace picked up. How about that? I DO have some left in the tank.
Mile 13.1: No idea how it was possible after the first twelve, as I was fairly certain I would die, or my legs would fall off, or worse case scenario I'd end up crawling the last 30 yards, but my pace picked up a little bit more. As I ran into the stadium I saw my husband waving his arms, saw the kids, saw the big finish and put on the gas. And dammit if the song I wanted to play when I finished the race STILL WASN'T PLAYING. I thought I'd be crying, I thought I'd finish in a sub-2 hour time.
Instead, I completed my first half marathon in 2:04:44 (official), no tears, just triumph. I went through a lot last year, and I barely even thought about any of it while I ran. That, and the fact that I didn't finish on my hands and knees or in an ambulance made me feel like I'd really accomplished something monumental. Me and Bonnie & Clyde had a great run and finished strong (photo below, snapped by the hubs)
I'll never look back and wish I'd run in under two. Nope, I'm so thankful for my time, for my BRF for running and pacing me, and for the sweet taste of victory I felt in knowing I accomplished something I'd long wanted to do, and that Maude didn't decide to bawl her eyes out at the finish line. I'm an ugly crier...all red and blotchy. Not pretty. So thankful for that.
I immediately said I wouldn't run another one, as my BRF giggled without even bothering to hide it. She knew.....
As soon as we pulled out of the parking lot I said to my husband.....I think I can do better next time. Actually I know I can. And I will. Someday. And dammit all to hell my music better play in the proper order next time....
Thursday, May 2, 2013
Maude goes to the water park
Recently we took a quick trip to a regional water park/hotel/money sucking industry to celebrate the birth anniversary of the eldest child in our family unit. We have heard many rave reviews of said water park and our kids (who have no concept of the actual cost of things) have been begging us to go.
Rather than plan a big party where the kid would get a bunch of gifts we'd have to find places for in her already tiny and Lindsay Lohan-esque messy room, we gave her the option of the family getaway or said party. Of course she chose the water park. OF COURSE.
First I sold my grandmother's antique china set to pay for the adventure. Next, we booked, well in advance, so we wouldn't be cursed with our usual hotel room luck: first floor by the door. Seriously, I've never trashed a hotel room in my life, how I have been cursed with bad hotel room location Karma escapes me. Oh wait....there was that one time in college....but I don't remember for sure. Must of been the booze. Oh well.
After a rainy, white knuckled two hour drive where I was forced to listen to the movie "Santa Buddies" (seriously kids? in APRIL?!) we arrived at our destination. I knew in my gut that things would likely go a little south when we passed the LIQUOR STORE, which, aside from the gas station, was the only standing building other than the "resort". Cleverly, they have a sign that says "open late" and are planted solidly within stumbling distance from the hotel.
Check in was fairly smooth, I'll admit, with those clever Disneyland lines that wind and wind and you think "yay! I'm almost there" only to turn another bend until you finally get there. Fortunately for my entertainment people actually (and willingly) wear their swimming attire in the lobby.
No, folks, sorry to report, there wasn't much in the way of eye candy for the ladies. Not even one hot lifeguard. There were a few nice racks on display,on which I placed a keen and nonchalant eye exam to determine if they were fake like Bonnie and Clyde, or were they the real deal. It's a fun game I like to play, and now the hubs and I play it together! Lucky guy.
As soon as we checked in we headed straight for the water park, which was a mistake for a number of reasons. First, when we got to the water park after another Disneyland-like trek UP the stairs, around the bend, through the doors, to grandmother's house, then back down the stairs, past all the lockers and to the teeny tiny itty bitty little locker room to change.
One bench, three showers, two sinks and four crappers. Really. Given the size and availability of restroom facilities there's no wonder that there were a few ARPs in the wave pool (Accidental Rectal Projectile). But what I really want to know is why were the ARPs ONLY in the wave pool and nowhere else? Guess it's that much fun.
I'm not a germaphobe, specifically because I have two children. Nothing teaches you to relax your standards like a seven and nine year old kids that refuse to wash their hands, and constantly puts them in their pants (and nose, and several other available orifices).
That said, the bodily fluid factor tested even my iron will against germ fears. ARPs aside, there was the pile of vomit sitting at the top of the walk-in to the wave pool (seriously, it's ALWAYS the wave pool), which sadly wasn't enough for the lifeguards to empty the pool. So POOP: clear the pool, we've got a floater! VOMIT: Eh, no worries, we'll just clean it up. EW.
The one that I didn't see, but heard ALL ABOUT was the poor woman whose monthly bill arrived, and she had no idea, but yeah, everyone else did. I like to think if I had seen it I would have said something, but likely I would have turned away to hide my inevitable dry heave.
One of the few saving graces of this festering germ pool was the bar. Oh the wonderful adult beverage dispensary, how I love you so. Two margaritas in and I was feeling no pain. I was barely feeling the concrete beneath my feet to be honest. At least a little hooch reduced my inhibitions enough to feel confident in my bathing suit.
That's another fun part of the public water park, clearly the scent of chlorine coupled with the eleventy thousand screaming kids, reduces and eliminates any concern over what parts of your body might be hanging out. Thankfully I never saw anyone's Snuffleupagus, but I saw several near misses that can only be described as wardrobe malfunctions. How you don't realize the cups in your 'kini are two sizes too small is beyond me. And please, the only cheeks I need to see are the ones on your face.
Our second mistake was not checking out our hotel room location BEFORE we hit the water park. By the time we got back there, all rooms were full and I discovered that we were, of course, on the first floor, by the door. Also near all the noise that went on ALL FREAKING NIGHT LONG as children participated in the resort wide scavenger hunt that borders on extorsion, for the cost to participate and even purchase the little magic wand thingy required a second mortgage on our home.
So of course I was awake all night long. I woke up tired & hungry and discovered my third mistake: not bringing my own food. If you don't know me, I'm a little OCD about what I put in my food hole, and there was nothing even close to what I would consider acceptable fare for even my children to eat. And what food there was would require me to sell one of my kidneys in order to afford it.
All that aside, the experience was certainly "an experience" and the water park really took the cake. I'm not sure that Maude will ever willingly go back, even after the enticing 50% off your next stay coupon the general manager sent me upon reading my feedback survey. You didn't think I wouldn't say anything did you? I'm here to help, that's what I keep telling myself.
Rather than plan a big party where the kid would get a bunch of gifts we'd have to find places for in her already tiny and Lindsay Lohan-esque messy room, we gave her the option of the family getaway or said party. Of course she chose the water park. OF COURSE.
First I sold my grandmother's antique china set to pay for the adventure. Next, we booked, well in advance, so we wouldn't be cursed with our usual hotel room luck: first floor by the door. Seriously, I've never trashed a hotel room in my life, how I have been cursed with bad hotel room location Karma escapes me. Oh wait....there was that one time in college....but I don't remember for sure. Must of been the booze. Oh well.
After a rainy, white knuckled two hour drive where I was forced to listen to the movie "Santa Buddies" (seriously kids? in APRIL?!) we arrived at our destination. I knew in my gut that things would likely go a little south when we passed the LIQUOR STORE, which, aside from the gas station, was the only standing building other than the "resort". Cleverly, they have a sign that says "open late" and are planted solidly within stumbling distance from the hotel.
Check in was fairly smooth, I'll admit, with those clever Disneyland lines that wind and wind and you think "yay! I'm almost there" only to turn another bend until you finally get there. Fortunately for my entertainment people actually (and willingly) wear their swimming attire in the lobby.
No, folks, sorry to report, there wasn't much in the way of eye candy for the ladies. Not even one hot lifeguard. There were a few nice racks on display,on which I placed a keen and nonchalant eye exam to determine if they were fake like Bonnie and Clyde, or were they the real deal. It's a fun game I like to play, and now the hubs and I play it together! Lucky guy.
As soon as we checked in we headed straight for the water park, which was a mistake for a number of reasons. First, when we got to the water park after another Disneyland-like trek UP the stairs, around the bend, through the doors, to grandmother's house, then back down the stairs, past all the lockers and to the teeny tiny itty bitty little locker room to change.
One bench, three showers, two sinks and four crappers. Really. Given the size and availability of restroom facilities there's no wonder that there were a few ARPs in the wave pool (Accidental Rectal Projectile). But what I really want to know is why were the ARPs ONLY in the wave pool and nowhere else? Guess it's that much fun.
I'm not a germaphobe, specifically because I have two children. Nothing teaches you to relax your standards like a seven and nine year old kids that refuse to wash their hands, and constantly puts them in their pants (and nose, and several other available orifices).
That said, the bodily fluid factor tested even my iron will against germ fears. ARPs aside, there was the pile of vomit sitting at the top of the walk-in to the wave pool (seriously, it's ALWAYS the wave pool), which sadly wasn't enough for the lifeguards to empty the pool. So POOP: clear the pool, we've got a floater! VOMIT: Eh, no worries, we'll just clean it up. EW.
The one that I didn't see, but heard ALL ABOUT was the poor woman whose monthly bill arrived, and she had no idea, but yeah, everyone else did. I like to think if I had seen it I would have said something, but likely I would have turned away to hide my inevitable dry heave.
One of the few saving graces of this festering germ pool was the bar. Oh the wonderful adult beverage dispensary, how I love you so. Two margaritas in and I was feeling no pain. I was barely feeling the concrete beneath my feet to be honest. At least a little hooch reduced my inhibitions enough to feel confident in my bathing suit.
That's another fun part of the public water park, clearly the scent of chlorine coupled with the eleventy thousand screaming kids, reduces and eliminates any concern over what parts of your body might be hanging out. Thankfully I never saw anyone's Snuffleupagus, but I saw several near misses that can only be described as wardrobe malfunctions. How you don't realize the cups in your 'kini are two sizes too small is beyond me. And please, the only cheeks I need to see are the ones on your face.
Our second mistake was not checking out our hotel room location BEFORE we hit the water park. By the time we got back there, all rooms were full and I discovered that we were, of course, on the first floor, by the door. Also near all the noise that went on ALL FREAKING NIGHT LONG as children participated in the resort wide scavenger hunt that borders on extorsion, for the cost to participate and even purchase the little magic wand thingy required a second mortgage on our home.
So of course I was awake all night long. I woke up tired & hungry and discovered my third mistake: not bringing my own food. If you don't know me, I'm a little OCD about what I put in my food hole, and there was nothing even close to what I would consider acceptable fare for even my children to eat. And what food there was would require me to sell one of my kidneys in order to afford it.
All that aside, the experience was certainly "an experience" and the water park really took the cake. I'm not sure that Maude will ever willingly go back, even after the enticing 50% off your next stay coupon the general manager sent me upon reading my feedback survey. You didn't think I wouldn't say anything did you? I'm here to help, that's what I keep telling myself.
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