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Ronin's breed made the list of Excellent Canine Jogging Companions.
I dug out Garminia for our morning jog. Ronin and I went 1.16 miles with little walking. Lucky was game for a bit of jogging too. He nearly made it around our block before slowing down. I forgot to engage Garminia for Lucky's portion but I think the block is about 1/4 mile around.
In spite of the casualties, the new dog is coming along with his leash manners. It's not perfect, but progress is progress. While Ronin isn't very considerate of Lucky's need for frequent potty stops, when I am walking the two dogs together, Lucky isn't a gem in this area either. If there is any thought of the other dog, on these group walks, it would be to dominate the other in a way so subtle that I didn't notice.
Well, I DO notice. When one dog wants to stop, the other pulls onward. They cut each other off constantly. Ronin pushes Lucky's nose away so that he can get a wiff and when Lucky wants to pee, he doesn't let Ronin's nose stop him from going. Fortunately, Ronin has quick reflexes.
On solo walks, however, each dog has their merits. Lucky is a lot better behaved but his running days are history. On Christmas Eve, I nearly had to drag him home when I got freaked out with numerous police cars on my route. We were only going around the block. My old man just couldn't do it.
Ronin, on the other hand, has plenty of energy. He is learning to stay at my left side and not to cut me off. Tonight, we ran around three blocks. I haven't gone running in nine days now, so running with Ronin was awesome...even if it was only three blocks worth.
It is clear that the Kubler-Ross model of Death and Dying is a far cry from the current beliefs on the grieving process. In spite of that, most information that I have come across marks the arrival of acceptance as a key milestone. But, what happens after acceptance is not clear.
It makes sense that no two people will grieve exactly the same. Regardless of my agreement with this fact, I wish there was a road map that I could check my progress against. I think that it might be helpful.
While my children sometimes question if it is really good to talk about their father's death, I know that it helps me to write and talk about it. Sometimes I write down my thoughts on various note pads, and other times I share my thoughts with the blogosphere at large. Whether or not I share them, it is therapeutic to get it out.
Today, my therapy took on a new form. It all began with the fern appearing to have been mauled by one of the dogs. I'll pretend that I don't know which dog did the offending act. I decided to cut it back off the deck so that it wasn't so inviting of a target.
As has always been the case with me, once the clippers are in my hands, other greenery gets my attention. I began cutting away at the branches of one of the trees. Since we have never cut back the tops of these trees since we moved in, they tower towards the sky. As I cut away at the long skinny branches on one tree, the next called out to me.
It was strange, but cutting the branches and watching them fall to the ground felt good. Before long the whole side of the yard was bright with light. Sunlight is also therapeutic in the winter time. While the trees stood naked and exposed, my previously hidden fence, along with the neighboring houses, was closer than ever. On the ground was a huge pile of leafy branches. Although I was enjoying the new light, I began wondering if I'd done a good thing or a bad thing.
While finishing off the last tree, I heard the back door slide open to the neighbor's house. Half expecting her to shriek, "What were you thinking?", I jumped off the chair that I was standing on so that I was less approachable. I hardly know her and I was not about to get scolded for not calling on her partner the "arborist." It's not like I can afford to hire an arborist for this many trees anyhow.
I looked around at my yard as I began clearing out the pile of branches. I'm not sure, but I think that I may need to even out the yard by hitting the trees on the other side. I can't go into a new year with a lopsided yard. Besides, it will grow back. Right?
In case some of you were getting a little worried about my psyche, this will reinforce those concerns. I've decided to join the cast of bloggers for whom blogging everyday in November (NaBloPoMo) was not enough. We'll all be Blogging for 365 days without fail. I don't know if it is possible but, for fun, I am willing to try.
Just in case I've peaked your interest, Here are the Rules:
- Blog everyday for 365 days.
- Feb.29th is a Free Day and will be the Blog365 day of rest! (Thanks Leap Year)
- You do not HAVE to post to the same blog as long as you post everyday.
- No internet? Write your post locally and post it once you are back on the grid.
- Computer Broken? Grab some paper and do some old school blogging.
- A post is a post, not everything has to be in writing. Photos, YouTube videos, and the like are all considered content.
- Have fun, because that's the whole point!
We've had our Ronin for only five days and, already, there has been a casualty. To make it worse, I actually saw him carrying the duck around. I thought it was cute. I even left him alone with it. I let him take it to his room (crate) and lock the door. I really shouldn't be surprised to see it like this.
As you can see, the poor ducks neck is broken. His insides have literally been ripped out and strewn about the room for effect.
I feel so responsible. I'll have to get Lucky a new one.
The morning was somewhat dedicated to my birthday celebration - well, an hour was anyways. In spite of my taking my expectations down a notch from prior years, in addition to some well meaning emails, calls, and gifts, the day has fallen short of what I would call a "celebration."
I don't know what I was expecting and I wonder if I had any chance of today being "happy" in the first place. It seems that no matter what anyone does, the voice in my head destroys all enjoyment with a critical judgment.
My special breakfast was an infusion of cholesterol and grease. It was the breakfast that Tom would have wanted, but not what I wanted.
My birthday gifts were wonderful gestures. I received a digital frame and an radio/iPod speaker and alarm clock. The voice in my head has passed criticism on these too. Not only does it not match my room, but I have an alarm clock, and also a speaker system for my iPod. As for the frame, it has to be plugged in.
Honestly, these gifts are great and I should be happy. BoBo was so sure that I'd be thrilled with it. I am disappointed that I am not. I don't know why I can't just enjoy them for what they are - gifts. I wonder if I can appreciate anything.
The kids were too noisy and so I let BoBo go out when he asked. Of course he was in no hurry to return. Now I feel unimportant as he keeps coming up with excuses for why I can't pick him up. His new skateboard is in somebody else's car but they aren't where the car is right now. I'm lucky that I can even reach him by phone and he thinks I'm "gay" for "freaking out" all of the time.
I spent so much energy in anticipation of the holidays. I had convinced myself that I would get through them. I did. But, I never prepared for the let down that follows. It's very similar to when everyone leaves as soon as the funeral is over. Just like that; it's over and done with. Today is turning out just the same as after Tom's funeral, or Christmas dinner. My Birthday breakfast and gifts were followed by a rapid exit. I have been left to enjoy my pity party all by myself.
Everyone goes on with their lives while you are left to deal with every feeling that you have pushed aside just to get through the holidays. You see, it doesn't just end with getting through Christmas day. Even when I took down the dried out Christmas tree, packed up the ornaments, and took down the stockings, the season is just getting going. My birthday is just another reminder of what my life isn't anymore. New Years is the grand finale and I am petrified.
What will 2008 bring? I am scared to find out. I wish Tom would reach his hand down from heaven so I could hold it as we bring in the new year. I keep chanting, "It has to be better. I just has to." But there are no guarantees.
It's just shy of midnight. I am tired from a day of many dog walks, baking cookies, and trying to sneak off to do some wrapping of gifts. Everyone is asleep except me.
I just finished setting out the presents beneath the tree. From the looks of it, Santa has already come and gone. The number of presents under the tree has drastically increased and the stockings are now filled. All that is left of the cookies, milk and carrots that YaYa put out are a few crumbs on the table.
The boys be so excited in the morning. I'd better get to bed. Tomorrow will be a busy day.
Merry Christmas to everyone!
My key gift to the family is gong to be one that requires a lot of work. There were a number of ways the idea crept into my head - and then stayed there nagging me until I acted. Although it probably wasn’t' my best decision, I am hoping that I didn't make a BIG mistake.
He is a real sweetie. He's black, like Lucky, only with long hair (Lil Sis laughed at this one), and 10 months old. I'll post a picture later. He is finally lying down on his own and I know that, if I get up to grab the disk, I may never enjoy this luxury again. If only I had some coffee.
My blogging is likely to suffer for an unknown time period. Don't worry too much if you don't hear from me for a while.
Another area of my life that is likely to be compromised is my running. I expect this to last at least until my furry friend is better behaved on the leash. I'm motivated to train him as I have plans for him to be my running companion on early morning runs. He certainly has enough energy for it. The question is, do I?
He was given the name of Ronin. In my initial Internet search, the name doesn't thrill me. According to wikipedia, "The word rōnin literally means "drifting person". The term originated in the Nara and Heian periods, when it referred to a serf who had fled or deserted his master's land. It then came to be used for a samurai who had lost his master." While it may be true that this dog lost his master, I don't want to set the stage for pet that leaves any time his herd is at work and school. Hopefully, our love and consistent return to the home will assure him that we have not deserted our land.
We took home at about 4 pm yesterday and the Family F is adjusting slowly. Although Lucky is clearly having to adjust, DD seems to be having the hardest time. He is bit more intolerant to the "accidents," even when the elimination occurred outside becaus part of it came in on the long rear dog hair. I've since cut this shorter. I admit, it was gross, but he is a "puppy." The problem is that he looks like an adult dog.
Our first night, he whined and fussed in his crate. I have no idea what the previous owners did, but it is clear that a crate was not part of it. Without the time to get him acquainted to it, he learned all about it. We all did get some sleep, but it wasn't until 10:30 pm until I finally heard him completely relaxed.
Now, after a good night sleep, we are ready for another day of getting him used to his new herd. By Christmas, he'll have a whole lot of visitors (young kids included) that he'll need to be around. I am hoping that we will all survive this transition period.
I realize that you may think me crazy. "Loco en la cabeza," is what my niece says. Dog gone it, I may very well be. Please send some good karma, well wishes, and other good, and preferably calm, energy our way.
It's two days until Christmas and just past another change in seasons. These changes (solstice and equinox) are another mark of time passed since Tom's death. I have a new rush of melancholy. I often think of my own death and easy that would be.
It's hard for me not the think that Tom chickened out; he took the easy way. I guess I am angry too. I watch my kids and hear BoBo talk of what's wrong. It's more of the same. No matter how hard I try, I just can't fix it. It feels like all my fault. I try to make it right with more time together, a tutor, and the new dog. It's no use.
When I run, it's worse. I am alone with my thoughts and they aren't fun. I have my own hurt and I would rather not feel it. When will it end?
Unfortunately, I know the answer is never.
The number of Christmas cards arriving in my mailbox this year is small. I guess people just don’t know what to say. Who can blame them? I didn’t know what to say myself, and I just don’t like sending out the card without a little personal, handwritten note. So my batches have been few and far between. Batch two went out in yesterday’s mail and I still have to hit my side of the family.
Then there is the shopping. Somehow, I lost momentum on that. I forgot some of the key items that seemed so obvious before and have since slipped my mind. I fear that on Christmas morning it will look like Santa forgot to visit.
I’ve tried to limit my shopping to pretty much the immediate family. It’s hard to do that when gifts start arriving on you desk at work each morning. I take a deep breath and remind myself that I can’t take on the added pressure of finding a small gift for my co-workers in my department. I just don’t have the energy.
Yet I had every intention of bringing a little gift for my friends in bereavement “group.” My plan was to give the girls pretty journals that they could use to write in. I thought that perhaps they could use writing as a healing, as I do. I’d visited the journal section at Borders Books, but none of the options appealed to me. So, in my pickiness, I left without buying anything at all and arrived at group empty handed. To my surprise, I was the only one empty handed. They had all found the time to find the perfect gift for me. What was my problem?
How is it possible to walk in and out of so many stores and still not buy a thing? I just don’t feel the holiday spirit. There is no joy of giving this year as I can’t seem to find any gifts that give the message I want to give. I want my gifts to say, “I see you for who your are” and because of that “I found the perfect gift.” Instead, I sneer at the package carrying people with anger.
I, like the Grinch who stole Christmas, often view the world as if they were the Whos down in Whoville (an endlessly cheerful bunch bursting with holiday spirit), and have become so sickened by their joy in the season that I barely fall short of hijacking the holiday from those that I care for most. I know this isn't me. I try to avoid all Grinch-like actions; however I fear that I have been predisposed to the manifestation of these tendencies. I desperately want to be more like Cindy Loo Who than the Grinch. Then I remember that even little Cindy was searching for the “true meaning of Christmas.”
Dr. Seuss once explained, "… the Grinch in my story is the Hero of Christmas? Sure... he starts out as a villain, but it's not how you start out that counts. It's what you are at the finish." I’ve got four days to make the transformation from villain to hero - four days to find that true meaning of Christmas.
It’s been about 40 minutes since the completion of my run. My body is settling down and quickly cooling off. I stare at the half of a banana, and small container of leftovers which sit on my desk waiting for hunger to hit. Then, I feel a sudden rush of cold hitting. My head feels cloudy too. The feeling forces me to eat out of obedience to the assumed need for post-run nutrition rather than the feeling of hunger.
But, of course, once the food hits my stomach, my body starts to realize that it IS hungry. Now, I am on the search for more food.
The end result of the raindrops falling on my face was my waking up. As if hibernating, my new found alertness was vastly different than the protective bubble that I have been sitting in. There are no roses to smell, even here in California, as it is nearing the winter equinox. Still, all of my senses were aroused into a playful awareness.
I looked around to see gray skies with a back drop of amazing colored leaves on the trees and on the ground. The birds sat on fences nearby and watched as I ran past. They seemed to be taking in my presence as much as I took in theirs. With each turn, I was fascinated with an intense awareness of how breathtaking a gloomy day can be. I was more amazed that I was actually experiencing it.
On this murky, yet peaceful, day there were only four runners were out on the trail. We waved as we passed each other, acknowledging the dedication to each of our journeys. I smiled as I listened to the sound of our feet splashing through the puddles.
I finished my run, soaked to the bone and content that I had found some separation from my grieving in order to experience life with a little more intensity and appreciation, even if only for an hour.
At a small table, within a mall-based Starbucks, YaYa and I sit. A decaf latte and a hot chocolate sit cooling between us. He quietly reads his book while I resist the urge to ask him questions.
He is reading the first book in the Harry Potter series, and I desperately want to know where he is in the story. I want to know what Harry is up to, if he's met Hermione and Ron yet, and whether or not he has arrived at Hogwarts. It is exciting to watch his finger move across the page. His lips nearly, but not quite, mouth the words.
If only I could read YaYa's mind; then I would know what he thinks about the story, and feel the excitement of wondering what will happen next - just as I did when I was reading the story for the first time. Instead, I sit quietly watching him and patiently waiting for him to offer commentary.
Once upon a time, when a day really felt like 24 hours worth of time, people would advise me to cherish my children’s youth. “They grow up so quickly,” they would say. I would acknowledge the comment with a nod and think them silly for making the statement. Time is a constant measure, and certainly my son would grow at the usual rate.
Indeed, when young BoBo was in his terrible twos, he seemed to defy all norms. He moved as if propelled by a tornado, and bounced right back up from each of his falls. All the while, I was wishing that the time would speed up just a little bit so that the terrible twos would end. He wore me out. In a flash they were gone, only to be replaced with the trying threes. But as BoBo grew more capable with each passing day, I began to realize that time was passing too quickly. At that point, I was wishing that time would slow down.
When BoBo was in pre-school he learned about “Apricot Lincoln,” and the miraculous birth of Jesus. He wowed us in the school concert when he recited, “R is for reverence, warship and praise.” He drank in the holiday magic as much as he enjoyed opening his presents. Then one Christmas BoBo stopped believing in Santa. My husband, Tom, and I had figured that it was only a matter of time before the opinions of the older kids would sway him. Even thought I was anticipated, it was still very disappointing.
Tom pulled BoBo aside and reminded him about miracles and just how wonderful believing had been. He pointed out, to BoBo, that YaYa deserved to enjoy the magic of Christmas too. BoBo understood the message loud and clear, and asked if he could help make the magic for his little brother. We agreed.
That Christmas, at BoBo’s suggestion, we began leaving carrots for the reindeer as well as cookies and milk for Santa. BoBo helped YaYa to let Santa know that he had been good by writing the letter to Santa. He even made sure that Santa ate the cookies and milk, and the reindeer ate their carrots. He even saw to it that Santa wrote back to YaYa. It was the only year that Santa took the time to write a note back to any of the kids. It was truly a special year.
Many years have passed since that Christmas. BoBo has still not ruined the magic for his younger brother, even though there have been many other kids that have tried. With eight days left, I have much left to do. I have yet to buy the ingredients for Santa’s special cookies, as well as many of the presents. Like all of the rest, I want this Christmas to be one of good memories too. As much as I know that we cannot forget Tom’s absence, I don’t want to let the sadness suck the joy out of the season.
I do not know what miracles will fill my Christmas this year, but I hope that I can continue to believe enough to let a bit of magic do its work. You are never too old to believe.
I'm not sure what I was looking forward to most, the run or the coffee afterwards - both with old friends. It seemed like neither would happen as I finally pulled out of the driveway. We were at least 15 minutes behind schedule and I considered skipping the whole thing, but I stayed the course. When I recognized the correct exit, only after I passed it, I began to question if we'd ever make it for the meet up with my friends.
At the trailhead, we unloaded YaYa's bike, donned our Santa hats, and met up with Mark, Tori, Camille, and Margaret. As we have done every year since 2001, we greeted everyone with a "Ho Ho Ho" and a "Merry Christmas".
It was great having YaYa join the tradition this year. He made me so proud as he rode up ahead, waited for us to pass, and then continued on saying, "on your left" as he passed us. Everyone was so impressed at his trail etiquette, especially his Mom.
We traveled about three miles down the trail, hooked up with Cindy, and then turned back towards the cars. After our jolly ol' run, we all went out for coffee and more conversation....spreading holiday cheer where ever we went.
Ho Ho Ho everyone!
We have been on the receiving end of some amazing acts of kindness in this past week. The generous giving of time, gentle words, and gifts coupled with the randomness of each occurence, reminds us that there are really "good" people out there.
To begin with, the facilitators and volunteers at the hospice where we get our counselling opened their doors to invite grieving youngsters in for a pajama party. The kids were fed, and entertained for three hours while the surviving parent got a night out to shop, have dinner, or just plain relax. I dropped YaYa off in his PJs, did a little Christmas shopping, and then went to dinner with BoBo and Cindy. When we picked YaYa up, we discovered that each of the kids had been given a handmade crib size quilt to keep. As if the night out wasn't enough. It was pretty special.
On the following night, the Frieda C. Fox Family Foundation and the Jester and Pharley Smile Cart were at the hospice donating books and puppets to the kids. It was quite a production, as the mother of David Saltzman (who was the books' the author and illustrator that died just prior to his 23rd birthday) autographed books for every one of the kids who were there for grief counseling. I was amazed at the kind words that this woman had for each and every child. Knowing what I now know about grieving, it is even more incredible knowing that she has and still is working through her own pain. To YaYa she wrote, "Don't ever lose your jiggle."
The kindness didn't stop there. We also got to enjoy the Nutcracker Ballet free of charge. Apparently 100 tickets were donated to the district for under priveledged families. There were some left over and I was included on an email asking for anyone who could make the Thursday night show to respond. So tonight, YaYa, BoBo, Justine (BoBo's gal), and I enjoyed lovely music and amazing ballet dancing. I think the girls enjoyed the show more than the boys but we all had a good time. YaYa had only one question. He asked me why the boy dancers forgot their pants. I didn't quite know how to answer that one. Do you know why the male dancers wear nothing but tights?
More than seeing the ballet, I enjoyed spending time with my sons. So often our evenings are spent being stressed out over homework, meals, and messes. This week has been a good one for balancing the two worlds. It's nice to get a little help via these random acts of kindness.
Another six-week session of bereavement support group is nearly done. As before, I want to assess how I have progressed. My improvement is not as apparent this time. I feel more broken than before.
Today we talked about grief in a way that is different from the stages presented by Elisabeth Kübler-Ross. Instead of a linear progression through stages, it was presented as a multidimensional process that waxes and wanes through time. “How much time?” that’s what I want to know.
I don’t recall at what point I quit counting the day, weeks, or months since my husband’s death. One day I realized that the 21st had slipped past without me falling deeper into my grief as I normally would each month. The thing that I miss about my monthly exacerbation of grief is the predictability of my falling apart. Although I am still able to cross off another month survived, there is no longer any roadmap to the path. This whole idea of a multi-dimensional (emotional, mental, health, spiritual, etc.) process that has ups and downs without any linear path is pretty unsettling.
I am trying to conquer the many dimensions of grief and mourning that manifest as depression, scattered thoughts, despair, anorexia, insomnia, and ill faith. It takes a lot of effort to do this and there are times when I wonder if it is worth it. Then I look at my sons and realize that if I gave up, they might too. I can't let that happen.
I try to convey myself as a woman who has it pretty together. I take care of my appearance and go about my business as usual (or so it seems). My children arrive at school on time, clean and fed. Our house is better kept than it was before my husband died. The yard is kept up, thanks to the gardener. It would seem that all is well.
However, things aren’t always, as they seem. What people don’t know is that sometimes I barely get out of bed on time to get everyone out the door on schedule. Thankfully, since I never wore much make-up, it doesn’t take a lot of time to get ready. It’s a big enough struggle just to pick out something to wear. Then there are the boys.
My eldest takes care of his own grooming. He’s a teen, so sleep is precious and grooming is mandatory. At least I don’t have to pick his clothes out too. I must only be sure to wake him on time, which is easier said than done. He is going through his own issues moving on without a father. I think that he would like to sleep the days away as well.
The darkness of winter mornings isn’t helping any of us to rise out of bed. The youngest is the worst. He sleeps so soundly and wakes so painfully. I hate to wake him up. If he doesn’t wake up right, the whole morning routine is shot.
Still, whether it starts out good or bad, the day must go on. I must pick up the pieces and rebuild our lives again. Then, one of these days we won’t have to eat our breakfast in the van on the way to school. One of these days, we will feel like a whole family again rather than a broken one.
I've been Tagged again. This time, Jen has included me in on a Holiday Meme which is very similar to the one I did last year.
1. Wrapping paper or gift bag? Paper please.
2. Real tree or artificial? Real, but I am thinking that a fake one would have stood up straighter.
3. When do you put up your tree? I the past many years, we haven’t gotten the tree until about a week before Christmas. This year, we had our tree up and decorated five days after Thanksgiving.
4. When do you take down your tree? The year that I took the tree down the day after Christmas Tom had a fit. I miss took his depression, and thought taking the tree down would somehow help (he suffered a great loss many Christmases ago.) One of the reasons that I put the tree up early this year is so that nobody will complain when I take it down the following day. I’m being selfish, but I like the idea of having my Birthday be separate from Christmas (even though it is two days later).
5. Do you like eggnog? Yes! I love Silk Nog
6. Favorite gift received as a child? It would still have to be my stuffed Snoopy since my overalls were actually a Birthday gift (even I mix my Birthday and Christmas up).
7. Do you have a nativity scene? Yes, although it is still in the box.
8. Hardest person to buy for? DD. He has everything that he wants.
9. Easiest person to buy for? YaYa. He loves everything that he is given.
10. Worst Christmas gift you've ever received? This is a tough one. I must have blocked out the not-so-perfect gifts because I don’t have anything for this one.
11. Mail or email Christmas cards? They’re in the mail (at least some of them).
12. Favorite Christmas movie? Charlie Brown Christmas
13. When do you start shopping for Christmas? I begin my shopping when ever I can get the time. Generally, this is well after Thanksgiving.
14. Have you ever recycled a Christmas present? I am not against the idea (as the giver or the receiver) if the re-gifting is genuine.
15. Favorite thing to eat at Christmas? It depends on my mood and on who is cooking. I have so many favorites.
16. White or colored lights? I like white lights on the tree and colored lights on the house.
17. Favorite Christmas song? Oh Holy Night and Silent Night
18. Traveling for Christmas or stay home? We will be home with everyone else coming our way this year.
19. Can you name all of Santa's reindeer's? Probably not. Let's see. Dancer, Prancer, Donner, Blitzen, Comet, Cupid, Rudoph, and...Vixen. No? Wait, I got it. Chet. I think that was the name of that new one who was leading Santa's sleigh all crazy at the end of the movie The Santa Clause 2.
20. Angel or Star on top of tree? Star
22. Most annoying thing about this time of year? Parking
23. What I love most about Christmas? I love driving around at night and looking at the lights on everyone’s homes.
It's fun to see which answers remain the same, and which ones I have a new response to.
Now, it is YOUR turn: I tag my sister, Linda (who's blog is closed to her running group) and challenge you to tag everyone in your group. I also tag Cindy, YaYa, and Jeff.
You may remember when Christmas was about things other than presents. It still is about these other things. But since I have been asked to produce my Christmas list, I decided to share it with you as well (just in case).
I'm not the only one putting lists out there. I love how Runner Susan puts it: "Let's get one thing straight; Runner Susan celebrates all holidays that involve the giving of gifts to Susan."
It’s no coincidence that I also celebrate all holidays involving gifts for ME – and there are two coming up quick. Truthfully, this is prompted by my boys’ request for gift giving ideas, so I’ve started putting together a list of gifts for your gift giving pleasure. Ha-Ha-Ha, I mean Ho-Ho-Ho. As you will see, most of the items on my list are out of their price range unless funded by none other than me (which can certainly be arranged).
If YOU were already planning to give me a gift, here is your list:
• A new container of Sport Shield - roll on (available at most running stores)
• Running socks for my precious, cute, little feet. (Note: I run in a Size 9 shoe, but my actual foot is Size 8) My remaining pairs are, mysteriously, getting stretched out as if someone, with a very large foot (Size 11 men’s), has been wearing them. I wonder if he lost his present from last year. (I loved the unique padding of SuperSox but the company went out of business, so recommendations are welcome.)
• Coupons to do pampering things for me such as rub my feet (I promise to wash them first), play with my hair, or bring me coffee in bed.
• MAC lipstick (color: Verve)
• Mary Kay® Tinted Moisturizer with Sunscreen SPF 20, (color: Beige 2)
• Ready made (freezable) meals for the tough, or just plain lazy, days.
• Brooks NightLife Podium 1/2 Zip , as reviewed by Runner Susan on CRN.
• A nice headlamp that is suitable for running (recommendations please)
• Black and White (5 x 7 or larger) portraits and/or candid shots of my three sons (need not be professional).
• Replacement print for wall above couch: Wedding Dance by Pieter Bruegel the Elder Art Print (28 x 22 in or larger)
• Of course, I am always open to the surprise gift that someone just knows I will love.
There are days when, given a choice, I would choose to crawl underneath a rock and let the day pass without my knowing. Then, there are days where I am afraid that I will miss out on some critical moment if I were to go to sleep. I suppose, for self-preservation, there are reasons for either of these scenarios. Fortunately, for the kids and me, life doesn’t allow me to crawl under that rock. Still, there are those days.
As far as running goes, I have a similar set of choices. In the past week, I have allowed myself to be under that rock. Coach has allowed me this as well. But, last night the email came asking if I was ready to hit the road. My reply indicated that I wasn’t. Somehow, Coach knew that I would pull up the training plan online. Somehow, he knew that if he entered a few easy workouts that I might lace up and give it a try.
The weather has been perfect for running the past few days, and today was more of the same. At lunch, I laced up my shoes, stretched, and went in search of my happy pace. It wasn’t easy to find. First, there was that I-haven’t-run-in-over-a-week breathing. Then, my calf, ankle and foot all needed to let me know that they were stiff. You know, these are all side effects of being all crunched up under that rock.
Once the kinks were worked out, with a whole lot of stretching (before, during and after), I did find my happy pace…finally. I had about a mile to let my mind wander as my body took me for a ride. It is hard crawling out from under, but worth it.
It was late at night. 10:25 pm to be exact. My man was miffed at me not letting him stay awake any longer. He was hanging upside down off the edge of the bed. His feet were flailing around near my face as he pretended to be falling out of bed. After telling him to cut it out several times, I yelled.
That got his attention. All in a huff now, he got into the bed, turned the other way and bruted for a bit. Then, when I did not react, he grabbed Beary and walked out. Moments later, he and Beary were back.
The calm lasted about two minutes before he was getting himself all energized again. In turn, my impatience was growing…until…I told him to cut out again.
Teddy was taken from the room once more and, as before, returned a minute later in the arms of the little man who was pretending not to be smiling. It is so darn hard to stay mad, and that is a good thing. After all, you know what they say about going to sleep mad. It just isn’t good.
It was the year of the lost rolls of film. BoBo was about 2 years old, and cuter than the cutest of kids. It was the year that Tom's hair was almost as long as mine. And it was a year where one of my most magical Christmas memories comes from.
As you know, Santa Claus already has the challange of getting his presents delivered all around the world in a single night. Sure the time zones help, and there is those flying reindeers that seem to defy all logical sense, and still it remains a remarkable feat. But on this particular year, Santa arrived at our home a bit earlier than usual.
Santa's early arrival was a special gift that he gave to me, as I was to leave for work early Christmas morning for a 12-hour shift in the Pediatric ICU. I did NOT want to miss the first Christmas where young BoBo was aware of the whole Santa thing. Thanks to Santa, I didn't miss a thing.
Let me share the story with you:
At bathtime, on Christmas Eve many years ago, young BoBo heard bells gently ringing just outside of the bathroom window. "HO HO HO," Santa cheerfully said.
BoBo's attention was quickly diverted from his toys. He began scrambling to get out of the tub as quickly as he could. He announced with glee, "It's the Chris-i-mus!!" "Hello Chris-i-mus. I'm coming to play," he replied.
With much excitement, BoBo dressed in his jammies as quickly as he could. DD helped him. As soon as he was dressed, he ran to find the Chris-i-mus (otherwise known as "Santa"). He ran right past the tree several times in his search.
Like magic, the floor underneath the tree had changed from empty to completely filled with a blanket of colorfully wrapped presents. But BoBo didn't even notice.
When he finally realized that he had missed his friend, he was a little sad. DD reminded BoBo that Santa had a BIG job to do that night. Although BoBo had no concept of just what this meant, he did understand that the Chris-i-mus was already on his way to the next house. When he saw the presents beneath the tree, he was even more delighted.
Happy Holidays!
Lately, I find myself reviewing the workouts listed on the BTT sidebar. I look with indifference as I recognize a few of the names and think "she's back at it."
Although Big Sis' constantly chides that she would be happy to call me to wake me at some ungodly hour, my response remains, "No." I assure you, I am awake well before daylight.
I am not ready to test my foot. I don't *feel* like running, or spinning on the cycle, or swimming. I feel like a shower and, later, perhaps I'll do some of the neglected yard work, buy a few Christmas gifts, sweep out the garage, or unpack my suitcase.
There are plenty of other things to do and I have no event on the calendar to prepare for. It's time to get on with the rest of my life.
Last year, Tom and I treasured the fact that YaYa still believed in Santa. He has been "told" by many other kids his age that he is wrong to believe, but still he does.
So after Lil Sis' had to take her kids home early, due to some unexpected vomiting and diarrhea, YaYa and I went on the hunt for Santa. He is very busy these days and I wasn’t sure which mall the Real Santa would be at.
We drove to the nearest mall - the mall that I hate because parking is horrible and the crowds aren’t friendly. I knew right where he’d be, if he was going to be there, so we went straight to the little home-away-from-home that had been built for him.
There he was, just as plain as day. He had a short line and he looked to be in good spirits.
YaYa approached Santa with as much caution as he did when he was 4 years old. He stood beside him and Santa began his questions.
“Well…have you been good this year?”
“Yes”
“And what do you want for Christmas?”
“I want…. (mumble)”
“What did you say?”
“I want a lot of 49er stuff.”
Santa smiled big.
“YOU like the 49ers?” he exclaimed, “Me too.”
Now YaYa was smiling as he and Santa were exchanging a high-five.
Unfortunately, the camera girl was not at the camera and missed the precious moment and I, being a good consumer, did not have a camera either.
I did managed to get her to capture the end of the conversation before YaYa climbed onto Santa’s welcoming lap for posed photo that I did not buy. Instead, I bought photo capturing the tail end of the conversation.
So many of these precious moments cannot be captured on film, but they can be forever cherished in your own memory and shared over the years to come.
Prepare yourself, this may be a sign of upcoming posts.
...but Momma Mason thought she'd want to read about, so here you go.
The day started at 4 am. Big Sis (aka Linda) and I headed down to meet up with her running buddies and caravan to Sacramento. We ate oatmeal with raisins and a cup of java helped to stimulate my mind as well as my intestines. We hit the road, Linda, Carlos (Brother-in-LAW), and me.
After the meet up and many photos, we headed to Sacramento. It was all seeming to go as planned. Carlos would study for finals (he is pursuing his degree in law), and we would hit the buses. The energy was grounded but at a high vibration - perfect for a great day.
On the bus, I took deep breaths and concentrated on remaining calm. I did not want to waste a bit of energy; it would all be needed if I was to run my best race possible. What my “best race” would amount to was yet to be seen.
From the bus, to the port-o-potty lines, to bag check, and then the start was a bit of blur. I was cold; I remember that. It was also very crowded. I had to sit on the barricade wall waiting for the race to start as I could not sardine my way into the mix.
After the race began, I lowered myself down on the pavement and began my race. I listened to my breathing. It was nice and easy. My body was relaxed. My mind was nervous and excited.
Down the hill and around the first turn I ran, following the crowd. I watched Garminia’s face to get a feel for my pace. I could not just follow the crowd.
The foot started its complaints subtly. At first it felt like I had something in my shoe. I stopped in the first couple of miles to check. Nothing. Then the funny feeling went away. I was on my way at my target pace. Nice and easy, I told myself. I was careful not to go out too fast, even the 3:50 pace team was up ahead. Each mile clicked off and I congratulated myself for a job well done.
At the first relay hand-off, I began looking for Linda. I made the turn and grabbed a cup of water at the aid station on the left. The 3:50 pace team was on the right hand side. I came out, with cup in hand, just ahead of them. I ran onward, keeping an eye out for Linda. As the pace team gained on me, I felt a bit claustrophobic being eaten up by the group. I moved to the left, watching the camber of the road to avoid stressing my foot. It was then that I saw her.
The plan was for me for me to run with Linda until mile 11 where my brother, Robert, would be waiting with his camera and car. They would travel up the road to Carmichael Park, cheer from there, and then head to the finish. I was doing well at keeping pace, but I wondered if I'd have trouble in the final 10K, so I asked Linda if she'd meet me at mile 20 to run me in.
After Linda had joined me, my foot began feeling numb. I’ve felt this before on many of my runs. But although the feeling was familiar, it worried me. Numbness preceded the injury that took me off the streets for several months. “Come on, foot,” I murmured, “wake up.”
Well, shortly after my 4th or 5th murmuring, it *did* wake up. By this point, Linda and Robert were already on their way to Carmichael Park. I barely noticed them as I stared at the lens of a camera facing directly at me. I was really hurting.
I was also losing time. Garmina’s mile by mile report told me that I was backing away from a BQ pace. Boston Qualification, however, was the last thing on my mind. Instead, I was contemplating whether finishing the race would send me back to the sidelines, thus preventing me from running Boston or any other running for that matter.
I stopped to stretch and then moved on. My foot wasn't any better from the stretching. I began walking, and contemplating my options. To not finish (DNF) seemed to be the most reasonable option. I just had to make it to mile 20, where Linda would be waiting to run me in. I knew I'd have some explaining to do.
The only problem with my plan was that I was running horribly behind schedule. I hoped that they had realized that I was crumping and would wait. I sent telepathic message to Linda, "Please WAIT."
At mile 20, there was no sign Linda or Robert. I ran/walked another mile thinking that they might not have been able to get to exactly mile 20. When I'd gone that additional mile, and still no sign of my family, I resigned to walking the rest of the way in.
Beside me was a man who would be walking the remaining miles due to hamstring issues, and beside her was a young girl who had knee problems. We walked and talked for a couple of miles.
When mile 24 approached, I realized that my foot had returned to a happier state. I could still feel a twing but I was thinking that it would let me run on it. I bid my pals goodbye, prefacing my exit with "You might be seeing me again," and started up a run.
And I crossed the finish in under 4:30:00. It wasn't quite 3:50:59, but it's not a DNF either.
I am not sorry that I did not BQ. I am happy that I got a taste of what it could be like to finally accomplish that goal. I know that in time, I'll get it.
It was clear to me, in the time between Chicago and CIM, that my marathon goals are not currently driving me. Jeff and I worked toward me running the best marathon that I could. We both knew full well that my heart was not in the latter part of my training efforts. Because of this, I purposely did not blog about the marathon in the months leading up to race day. I *wanted* you to forget about it.
The best part about CIM weekend was being able to take a mental break from the worry that I am always in. It seems so hypocritical and selfish at this point, but I was at a point were I truly felt beyond help. YaYa's football season ending on marathon day was the result of my prayers for help.
The moment that I stepped foot in the door, post marathon, the responsibility and worry all came flooding right back. "Wait", I screamed, "don't I get a few hours to ease back into this?" The answer was clearly a "No".
The suitcases said it all; my boys were home, or more accurately, they weren't. I called BoBo's cell, but there was no answer. I was just too tired to be dealing with missing children. I hoped that they were at the neighbors, but they weren't. As it turned out, they were chillin' behind the local drug store. They were fine (relative term), so I picked them up and brought them home.
Now, I have been accused of being over protective on numerous occasions. I won't deny it. It's a common reaction to working in the Intensive Care Unit. An ICU nurse sees the results of many accidents, and other horrific events.
I have always held my breath whenever I hear a siren, and fret whenever my phone calls go unanswered. These days, however, the feelings are all the more intense. The constant worry eats away at my insides and, I am certain, I will soon be melting away in a puddle of tears.
I do have reason to worry for my boys. I am not over reacting. They proof trudges into my house each day full of anger, pain, and sadness that I have failed to shield. And I feel like such a failure when ever my eyes meet this unhappiness in either of my boys. Didn't I bring them into this world to protect them from this? How could things have gone so wrong?
I feel that I have to step it up a notch were the boys are concerned or, I fear, something very bad may happen. I wish it were as easy as my taking on the pain and suffering so that these young lads can smile again and find joy. But it's never that easy, and that won't help any of us, will it? I can only help my children by helping myself too. So, our counseling routine will be modified again to work towards something better. That will have to be my Christmas-Birthday gift to myself this year. Hopefully, 2008 will bring a few smiles and some joy to our world.
Will I do another marathon? Yes, I will. But I can't begin to guess how long it will be before I can begin training again. It's been months since I have actually felt like I was truly training anyhow. I've really just been running to work through my own struggles.
You see, it could be worse, but I am not going to let that happen (if I can help it).
Let me just start at the end:
I did NOT BQ.
Here's the rest of the story:
I was doing well with only a little numbness in my left foot for the early miles. I could taste my Boston Marathon Qualification. I stayed focused, relaxed but steady.
But somewhere around the half way mark, the numbness changed to pain. I persisted, hoping that it would pass. I didn’t pass though; the pain got worse and I was losing momentum. I passed my family (Big Sis, Bro and his family) around mile 15. The pain was so intense that I nearly missed them. Shortly after, I stopped to stretch my calf muscle and felt my foot seize up with each release of the stretch.
Then my mind began to contemplate the options. It was clear at this point that I would not be getting my BQ. My head was not defeated, it was rational. If I continued on, would I risk ending up in a boot again?
Realizing that my running has been the primary way that I have been coping these days (the reason that I am not on Prozac or institutionalized), I could not chance injury taking me off the streets again. I was ready to DNF. I just had to make it to mile 20 where the family would be next.
Although I tried to keep running, I couldn’t. I am afraid that I walked a little too much so that my family, convinced that that missed me, moved on to the finish line. I was left to find my way to the end on my own. No cell phone, thus no numbers, I joined up with a couple of other injured runners and we walked for several miles together.
By mile 24, I could barely feel the pain in my foot (although I was still walking). I bid my injured runners goodbye and attempted to run the final miles as best as I could.
I ran mile 25 for BoBo, mile 26 for YaYa, and the final 0.2 miles for Tom. I focused on them and denied my mind the experience of the agony of d’foot. I sprinted to the finish, with my whole family in mind, to cross at 4:27:34.