Running

I've alluded to this in other posts, but haven't really given it much time/space on the blog (mostly because I'm waaaaaaaaay behind on my blogging).

Shortly before I turned 32 I started running. It was entirely, 100%, due to peer pressure because in the 31.99 years prior to September of 2013 I hated running with every fiber of my being. I'd done spinning (love), pilates (double love), Zumba (meh), yoga (for 13+ years, j'adore), roller skating (used to love), rock climbing (miss that!), swimming (boring), and weight lifting (double boring). But never running.

In fact, I almost failed PE because I walked the mile. I think I passed the class because I always dressed down, wasn't a pain in the ass (other than my refusal to run), and my PE teacher just got tired of badgering me about the run and didn't want to have to deal with it again the next year.

So it's not really surprising that neither my husband nor my mother ever thought I would turn into a runner. I never imagined it would happen, although I was certain it could happen - if only because I suffer under the long standing delusion that I can do anything I want if only I try.

Anyway, Chrissy harassed me about it enough (ok, she didn't really harass me, but she was very encouraging) and the week before I turned 32 I bought shoes and went for my first run.

I ran a mile. I had to stop three times.

I ran inconsistently after that. Sometimes a mile, sometimes a mile and a half. Then I started getting up early and going for runs before breakfast. These were usually 2.5 mile jaunts. Sometimes stopping to stretch, sometimes stopping to walk for a block.

Then I pulled my hamstring after a 3 mile run and a particularly intense yoga class. I was sidelined for over a week and I started to realize that I kinda liked running.

I know.

Once I got the all clear to exercise, I started running more frequently. Taking breaks after tattoo appointments (because running with a new back tattoo is unpleasant) and taking breaks for holidays (although I did run on New Years Eve and New Years Day).

I've done one official 5K and have signed up for 1 more, plus a 10K, and I'm thinking about a half marathon in August.

If my PE teacher could only see me now. Ha!

I really do like running. I like running with someone best, because you push each other to go farther (ok, Chrissy pushes me, I'm not good enough yet to really challenge anyone). But running solo has it's benefits, it gives me time to think, which is nice. I take the dog on occasion, although she is more than a little annoyed that I don't run faster.

I will say this, I am SLOW. For the 5K I clocked in at just over 39 minutes - that's over a 13 minute/mile pace. I never stopped or walked, but it was uphill for the first half and uphill suuuuuuuuucks.

My average pace is a 13 minute/mile or just under BUT today I ran 4 miles and ran a pace of 11.28.

ELEVEN AND A HALF MINUTE MILE.

Yea me!

It would be awesome to run a 10 minute mile. Ok, it would be awesome to run an 11 minute mile. I'm still stoked that I ran almost a minute and a half under my normal pace.

I will never be fast, but maybe one day soon I won't be super slow.

The One Where I Turn Into My Mother

Everyone becomes their mother at some point.

Luckily for me, my mom is pretty freaking awesome. And every year I feel a little more like her - I find myself saying something she would say, or doing something I've seen her do a thousand times. Like cleaning house while blasting Bon Jovi.

We're both ridiculously adorable in this picture

But today, at the grocery store, I had a moment where I feel like I traveled back in time and inhabitied my mother's body. Or maybe she traveled forward in time and inhabited mine. Whatever, time travel gives me a headache.

I was standing in the personal hygiene section, eating a piece of beef jerky (which I grabbed from the aisle prior and had broken into because I was hungry - and also, beef jerky). I stood, one hand on my hip, the other on the cart, trying to find the razor blades for Bryan's razor. I was wearing my Sunday jeans (they have holes, but they are comfortable) and an oversided sweater. I had on no makeup. I said the following:

"Christ on a crutch, where are they hiding these damn things?"

And then the realization that I AM MY MOTHER crash upon me like a wave and at the same moment I realized that I OWNED that. It's like when Harry Potter stops being afraid of being the Chosen One and assumes the role like a badass. It might not seem like a watershed moment to most, but it was.

I am my Mother.

Voledmort should be very. f*cking. afraid.

#sassy

The Griff

There are some things about our Goofy 3.5 year old that must be chronicled.

Do not eat the cookies he decorates. You have been warned.

The child cannot be trusted around frosting. Or sweets of any kind. This holiday season he took to sneaking a candy cane off the tree and disappearing downstairs for a few moments to hastily cram the forbidden fruit into his mouth.

Of course, the moment he came back upstairs his sticky face and hands would betray his crime. Also, he would confess without even being asked a question. Do not tell him your secrets.

Too bad for him I won't actually let him play football while he's on our health insurance plan.

The child is silly. Like, seriously silly. Always. He has an overactive imagination that, on the one hand gives us this great game of Mama & Baby Penguin (explained below), but on the other hand contributes to his frequent nightmares and deep fear of the dark.

Mama & Baby Penguin
In this game (or reenactment, call it what you will), G rushes straight to his bed after his bath and curls up in a ball with his towel covering him. I come in and envelop him until he's ready to "hatch" and then he pops out of his "egg" and says "Hi Mama Penguin!" At which point I can now dry him off and he can put on his pajamas. This happens every night at our house and is partially based off of a book the kids have called A Penguin Pup for Pinkerton.

Mama's Boy, 1,000%

Griffin loves his Daddy, even though Bryan jokes that he's the last man on the totem pole with his son. But Bubby looooooooooooves his Mama. And I used to find that a smidgen frustrating when he was smaller and needier. But I no longer feel that way.

One day the scales will tip back. Mama is no good at throwing baseballs or playing tackle/tickle (his favorite game to play with Bryan), so I will take my dozens of kisses a day now and hopefully save the sweet memory of them until, many many many many many years from now, I get a grandchild who will love me with the same unconditional fervor. (Or a niece/nephew - hint hint Nic).

Speaking of kisses, G has taken to counting our kisses. I usually get 10 at a time. I think it's because he loves counting. LOVES. He counts everything.

I get flowers at least once a week.

If there is a flower on the grass, Griffin will pick it and give it to me. Without fail. Often, on the way home from school with the babysitter, he'll pick a few pretty weeds and have them in a cup of water waiting for me when I get home.

It is adorable. It is heart melting. It is awesome.

Little boys can be messy, dirty, and smelly. They can play rough. They often forget their own strength. They are quickly swayed by their emotions.

They are also sweet. And kind. And loving.

Because really? All kids are those things.

Resolutions 2014

For the last few years, I've written resolutions posts. Here's 2013, 2012, and 2011.

Common themes? Loose weight, go to the beach more often.

We actually did go to the beach a lot in 2013. So check.

The weight thing? Not so much. BUT I did a sigificant amount of stress eating and took up running (the running probably helped keep my weight gain in the single digits).

I do not want - or need - to lose a bunch of weight. I look fine. I don't feel fine though. And that has more to do with me needing to increase the healthy eating and less about me actually needing to use the D-word.

I will be stressed the rest of this semester. I will stress eat. I should stock my classroom (and house) with snacks that will either prevent me from stress eating or will not make me feel like the Pillsbury Dough-Boy after I am finished.

So I resolve to not buy the delicious but salt laden and high caloric bag of spicy crackers at Costco.

I resolve to run at least twice a week.

I resolve to enter in at least 4 races (5 or 10K).

I resolve to go to yoga twice a month.

All of these things make me FEEL better - the running especially. Which is ironic since I absolutely loathed running up until November of this year.

Our family resolution is to eat out less. (Note: I didn't actually consult the entire family on this one, as the kids are asleep and Bryan is working).

My work resolution is to LET IT GO. I cannot (and should not) take on anything else. Less is more.

So there we have it. My 2014 resolutions which I will hopefully remember because the next time I read this post it will be right before (or shortly after) the dawn of 2015.

Harley-Quinn and I getting ready to run on the beach 1/1/14