Marathon Motivation

It's been a really long time since I made this kind of commitment.  The last full marathon I ran was a few years back in Toronto.  It was a great girls' weekend with some of my close buds, but the race itself kind of sucked.  I finished poorly and swore that would be my last full marathon for a while.  My energy was spent about three quarters of the way through the race and it didn't help that this Canadian race had the course marked in kilometers instead of miles.  Since my GPS watch was out of whack, I spent the entire race wondering how far I was from the friggin' finish line.  The more I tried not to think of the mileage, the more I obsessed over it.  It was agonizing and all my best mind tricks didn't work.  I'd made up my mind that Toronto would be my last full marathon for a while.

Sure enough, it was indeed the last.  Fast forward a few years and I have done nothing but half marathons over recent years.  None of those half marathons were big accomplishments.  As a matter of fact, my most recent race, which was the Woodlands half, was the piss poor worst I've ever done.  I was seriously ready to quit about 2 miles into it.  If the race route would have gone anywhere near where we were parked, I would have gleefully walked off the course and flopped my butt on the concrete until the rest of my crew finished.  Trust me when I say I was far more concerned with looking for that parking spot than I was with following my race plan.  My music player tanked, the temperatures were hot and humid and I had the constant urge to pee.  This is only worth mentioning because normally when I sweat as much as I did in this race, I don't usually hold on to enough fluids to need a port-o-potty.  However, as luck would have it, I would have to lose even more race time standing in line for an available spot to squat.

My basic problem was that I had no goals.  I signed up for those races without a clear plan to keep me focused and I crashed and burned royally.  Granted, last season was interrupted by foot surgery, but I refuse to use that as an excuse.  Okay sure, my foot is still stiff on random days but it is fully healed and doesn't hurt at all.  My problems were more mental than physical, which is hard for me.  Sometimes I can be my own worst enemy when it comes to training.  I can rationalize and talk myself out of anything I really don't want to do.  When I was rookie to this sport, I was annoyingly paranoid about following the rules and never deviating from the game plan.  I followed the training schedule to the letter and felt guilty about missing a workout, because it would throw off my mileage for the week.  I ate the same boring but nutritious lunch and dinner on Fridays in anticipation of my long runs on Saturday mornings.  I stayed hydrated and went to bed early, after laying out my running gear as if I was prepping for a week-long trip.

It was routine.  It was boring.  Guess what?  It worked.  Somewhere along the last several years, I became a super smart ass that believed, because I was a veteran marathoner, I could magically skip some of the grunt work involved in training and still show up on race day to perform well.  I lost sight of the fact that in addition to knowing how to train, I still needed to actually do the training.  I cannot tell you the last time I did hill work and just the thought of doing speed work makes me want to throw a world class tantrum.  All of this down right laziness has brought my whining full circle and now I'm in search of results.  Some unknown force has caused me to get motivated about racing again.  I needed a big goal to keep me honest and signing up for yet another half marathon just wasn't enough.  This needed to be a bigger gamble with a bigger prize.  It couldn't be something I could blow off when I lost interest.

So what did I do?  I entered the lottery for the Houston Marathon.  Just this morning I received confirmation that my registration was accepted.  It was a shock to feel genuinely excited to get this news.  With six months of training ahead of me, I am making a vow that I will follow the training fully and create a race plan similar to what I followed for my very first marathon.  That first marathon was in San Diego, long before I was anyone's wife or mom.  I treated that marathon like it was the biggest event of my life.  Race weekend in Houston falls in mid-January with perfect running conditions, creating a city-wide buzz that brings out spectators by the thousands to support the local athletes.  I volunteered at a water station last year because I couldn't stand not to be a part of the action in some form.  Although the water station work was fun, I'd been relegated to the sidelines (literally!) and only had myself to blame.  All the hard work and sweat really is worth it to be able to line up on race day and show the world that you earned a spot to run with the big boys.  Sure, it will take me a good five hours to complete 26.2 miles, but the satisfaction I'll feel when I cross the finish line will carry my pride much farther.

Kitchen Trust

I watched my kids today.  By that, I mean I really watched them, their actions, and their weird little habits.  I have two boys, who act like and have the cleanliness standards of pigs.  On their best days, they behave like domesticated pigs, but still pigs nonetheless.  The game room upstairs was meant to be a family area, but has aptly become their man cave instead.  In the game room, they shove dirty clothes under the couch, rather than place them in the hamper just a few steps away.  They are careful enough to sneak food upstairs when I am not looking, but too lazy to hide the food wrappers when they are done eating.  They keep regular books and comic books staked up next to the toilet because evidently that is the best place to store reading materials.  I could go on, but I fear giving you too many examples like this might lead to you to assume they get these weird habits from me.  I assure you they don't get it from me.  Although my hubby is not a messy guy, he is a bonafide pack rat, so that appears to be where the genetic pattern originates.

Ever now and again, I take a step back and just observe them for a few minutes.  Their personalities amaze me because they have always been true their core traits, even in the womb.  One son is high maintenance and always demanding attention, while the other son is ultra laid back and goes with the ebb and flow of any situation.  They are polar opposites, and yet, completely inseparable.  The fight around the clock but can't stand to be apart from each other for any amount of time.  The oldest son is beginning to stake out his independence so much lately that I have to consciously take a step back and allow him to do his own thing without smothering him.  The kitchen is an area where he constantly wants to prove himself.  The kitchen offers a lot of life lessons and metaphors, and watching him navigate his way around the stove and oven is like watching him maneuver his way through an obstacle course of sorts.  Sometimes I take my seat and call out warnings from the other side of the counter, watching and waiting for both of them to show me what they know.

This morning, they wanted to make their own breakfast.  I have allowed this many times before, but I assisted more than they wanted me to.  This time they begged to do it by themselves and I agreed.  Turkey bacon, eggs and biscuits were on the menu.  I still helped them turn the fire on the stove to the appropriate levels, but for the most part I simply observed.  I was curious how they would handle themselves while preparing their own meal if an adult wasn't around.  Would they clown around and horseplay themselves into a dangerous situation or would they remember all the safety precautions I (yelled) spoke to them about all the previous times.  I am pleased to say they did okay.  Yes, they left my kitchen in a complete wreck.  There were egg shells and yolk spilled on the stove.  The bacon was slightly blackened.  However in making this simple little meal, they reassured me they could take care of themselves on a basic level.  They wouldn't starve to death if they were ever trapped in the house alone on another Houston "snow day".  They would remember to turn off the oven and not blow up the house if I wasn't present to remind them.  Heck, they might even remember to wash their hands at some point, but I won't get too crazy with my expectations in that department.  They are pigs, after all.

More than simply satisfying their growling stomachs this morning, I sensed that we quietly crossed into a new era.  An era in which I would ease up a little on my hovering habits and allow them to handle themselves more.  An era in which they would continue to slip and mess up a lot, but I would let them pick themselves up and solve their own problems.  I also sensed that they would need me a whole lot less than I would need them.  Many of my girlfriends are older than me and have children that passed this pre-pubescent phase long ago.  As mothers, they have already been through what I am just starting to experience.  They have already felt those first signs of independence, when your kid no longer wants to hold your hand or show affection towards you in public.  They have already had to stand by when their kid made a bad decision and simply watched patiently as they tried to work out a solution for themselves.

This phase almost feels as draining as cleaning up poopy diapers or running behind them as toddlers so they don't stick their fingers into electrical sockets.  Even worse, I've heard that letting go doesn't get any easier.  Supposedly as parents, we just get better at discreetly watching and waiting for them to need us again.  I try to sneak in hugs and kisses on my baby boy these days and he hates it.  It is taking time for me to understand that he doesn't hate me, he hates my smothering and babying habits.  Every time I force him into a hug, he pulls away, more anxious to prove he is no longer a baby.  I will get better at letting him prove himself, as long as he humors me once in a while and lets his old mom fawn over him a little.  At the very least, I want them to know I trust them.  Right now, I trust them to use good judgement in the kitchen, to be true to themselves in all decisions they are faced with and go after what truly makes them happy.  Now that I think about it, this is probably what I want for them not just today, but for a long time to come.  The watching and waiting will continue, but I believe they will be okay.

Sugar Mama

I miss having a waistline.  These words came out of my mouth the other day when I was talking to my husband and he looked at me like I'd sprouted a second head.  I should have clarified the statement.  I miss having a small waistline.  The small waistline days were roughly 25 pounds ago, but that era still dances around in my memory every time I decide to clean up my eating habits.  Yes, I love being a vegetarian but I still go through nutritional peaks and valleys just like everyone else.  I have this odd dietary battle that I fight all the time, because I love eating vegetables (spinach and zucchini are my favorites), but I also equally love sugar.  Tell me to cut out fried foods...easy.  Tell me to cut out bread...no big deal.  Tell me to cut out sugar and I will freak out.  Sugar is my crack.  Sugar is my achilles heel and it defeats me all the time.  If you had never laid eyes on me and I told you I was a longtime vegetarian/occasional vegan and a runner, you would probably picture a super healthy person with a slender build.  Nope.  My body shows the damage of a lifelong sugar habit that hasn't improved one bit.  I am being real here and I hope my story helps others that are fooling themselves into thinking that sugar is no big deal.

I draw the line at calling sugar addictive.  It is different for everyone.  For me, yes, I do believe I have some form of an addiction to sugar because I display the typical withdrawal symptoms whenever I do a dietary cleanse.  Beyond my taste buds missing sugar, the headaches, phantom body aches and mental disorientation are very real indicators that some form of chemical dependency is in place when I try to flush out the white stuff.  Sugar is poison for the human body.  Of every food or fluid you put into your body, sugar is the only thing that has absolutely no nutritional value or benefit to sustaining your health.  It may act as an aid in getting other nutrients into your bloodstream efficiently, but sugar alone is nothing your body will ever need.  EVER.  Ask any nutritionist, study any diet fad, follow any weight loss program and the one universal factor is that they all advise you to cut your sugar intake.

So if I know all this, why don't I follow my own advice?  It is laziness, plain and simple.  I have always wanted to be a writer, but never pursued it.  I have always wanted to travel more, but never made time for it.  I have always wanted to get rid of sugar, but never made it a priority that would stick.  People always talk about having trouble losing weight.  Losing weight has never been a mystery to me.  I know exactly what to do, but I just don't do it.  I don't eat tons of candy or desserts.  My biggest problems are with sugary coffee drinks, sugary cereals and skipping meals.  Surprised?  You should be.  You thought I was eating mounds of candy?  You imagined me sitting in front of a platter of cakes and cookies?  Sure, I will indulge in a dessert here and there, but the daily intake of cereal and lattes has a much bigger sugar impact than most people realize.  For instance, my "big girl" sized cereal bowl of Cap'n Crunch and unsweetened almond milk may sound harmless, but it contains more than my entire recommended daily allowance of sugar.  Add my daily latte fix and my sugar totals have gone off the charts.  Multiple that by 4 or 5 times per week and you easily see how the pounds have added up over the last couple of years.  Then add that to my so-called vegetarian meals and things are not as healthy as they once seemed.

If I were a world class athlete or a supermodel, where my job and livelihood depended on the condition of my body, then yeah, my priorities would be different.  But unfortunately, my nutritional habits have always been about two (or twelve) notches lower on my priority list.  The good thing is that my hubby is currently restructuring his diet right now, so there are very few diet demons in the house.  Things should be okay for a while.  I expect the extra 5 or 6 pounds of holiday weight to fall off pretty easily over the next month.  But then what?  Will I go farther and try to get my old waistline back?  I want to and plan to, but I just need to get out of my own way and stop sabotaging what could be a relatively simple resolution.  Maybe I need to break up with sugar and treat it like a bad ex-boyfriend and refuse all contact with it.  Don't laugh at me too hard.  I am going to need all the mind tricks I can stand to battle this issue once and for all.  Good luck to me.

Legacy

The start of a new year always causes me to pause and look back.  I remember reading a quote many years ago which stated, in so many words, that the only two things that matter at the end of your life are "what you learned and who you loved".  Those simple words resonate with me as I reflect on the previous twelve months, along with all the promises I made to myself and others at this same time last year.  Did I keep my promises?  Honor my vows?  Improve on the flaws that needed fixing?  These answers are light and simple as long as I did not screw up too severely in any one area.  I could go easy on myself by wiping the slate clean and looking only forward to what the new year could bring.  But what if this was it?  What if the close of this year marked my own personal expiration?  What would be left of me and my time here to warrant any noteworthy memories?  What would be my legacy?

I am not trying to be overly morbid by harping on my demise, but this does cross my mind from time to time.  Surely I'm not the only one.  Although I was raised Catholic and consider myself a Christian, I make a real effort to learn about and respect the religious principles of various groups.  My own spiritual journey is still evolving and leaves me hungry to explore other viewpoints from different faiths.  Beyond the walled garden of Christianity, I know that other faiths follow similar universal teachings of love, forgiveness and charitable deeds.  We all appear to believe the day will eventually come where we will stand in judgement for the life we lived and the choices we made.  I don't live in constant fear of that day when my judgement will come.  I would be a monumental hypocrite if I made that type of declaration.  However, I do wonder if today was my last day and all my second chances were used up, would my goods out weigh my bads?

My point is that we really don't know when that final day or year is coming.  Last year at this time, many people made heart felt resolutions, but did not live long enough to see them through.  Yesterday, someone that died today, planned to still be here right now.  How can I be so arrogant to think my last moments will be come at a convenient and well planned time?  There most likely will not be a warning bell for me to tie up all my unfinished business neatly for a glorious Hollywood ending (complete with an emotional musical soundtrack, I might add).  In true form, my final words will probably be something non-poetic like "aah crap, not now".  In that moment my mind may go to my family, my friends and loads of unfulfilled promises.  Will they be forgiving enough to remember me for my good intentions instead of my poor actions?  Will they be left behind knowing how much I loved them, even if I never said it enough times?

When I look at photos of my deceased and beloved grandparents, I am immediately filled with all the emotions and memories of the lives they led and the experiences we shared together.  My hope is that my children and others will be able to look at old photos of me one day, with my smile frozen in time, and remember my impact on their existence in a positive light.  I want my legacy to be more about what good I did do, instead of what I could have done.  I need to believe that my work on this earth will endure and inspire someone to want to go farther than I my own journey took me.  Maybe they will sense my spirit when they accomplish a personal goal or achieve a life long dream.  By "they" and "someone", I mean my own children of course, but these sentiments are not limited to only them.  If you want your legacy to endure beyond the span of your life, then you need to start now, on this day, in this hour, in this breath to make your best intentions real.  Don't assume that another year is available or guaranteed to every one of us to make good on today's promises.  If we live like this year is our last, we may work harder to make the time count for something better than just our best intentions and create a legacy we can be proud of.

Happy New Year to everyone and may this year find you happy, fulfilled and 

blessed with all the love your heart can hold.