When I was 23, I was diagnosed with what can be simplified as Lung Disease. The treatment involved steroids and regardless of what I ate, didn't eat, how much I worked out, or sat on my couch, I gained weight. My young size 0/2 and firm body blew up. I don't know how much I gained; I asked the nursing staff to stop weighing me at my third follow up appointment and they did not argue. The stretch marks left from what my body went through are deep and many. My hips and upper thighs look scarred.
I have always been hard on myself, no one has a greater expectation of me than me. I didn't grow up being self conscious of my body or weight. The after of a disease that could have taken my life combined with other life occurrences at time resulted in me becoming self conscious. My well taken care of skin, look scarred in some places. I stopped wearing shorts and would avoid events requiring a bathing suit.
Life would eventually lead to pregnancy, and the weight loss and gain many busy moms experience. I would eventually begin to scrutinize every inch of my thighs and stomach. My eyes seems to focus on only flaws. I saw every deep scar stretch mark and the eventual cottage cheese cellulite. I never saw survival or strength. I only saw not good enough.
Trying on clothes or even clothes shopping became a chore, something to be avoided. I didn't want to deal with how I would feel in those lights, with those mirrors, in that size.
We moved to Florida at the end of last year for my job. I will say it - I was terrified of the need to wear a bathing suit and shorts again. I almost didn't apply for the promotion.
When taking our son to his favorite store, I saw a Bar Method studio. I longed for something like this, it was not offered where our last move had taken us. Relo and one salary for an unspecified amount of time in a higher cost of living place, I signed up anyway.
I have consistently attended Bar classes 3-5 times a week since January. The group there is amazing and I would do anything for any one of them. The schedule of classes allows me to attend regularly despite my job, which often has me at work at odd times of morning/night (2am, 10pm, etc).
The consistency has allowed me to survive a hard relo, I've concentrated so hard on diamond thigh, standing seat, planks, push ups, that I was able to de-stress and focus on positive. Inches have disappeared, my body leaned out, muscles and definition appeared. I have noticed all of this, but I have been so focused on form, on pushing myself more, that I didn't really notice.
I didn't notice I have worn shorts in public, I didn't notice I walked around in a bathing suit in a public place twice in May. I didn't notice I look at definition now and not the scars. I didn't notice my body self confidence returned.
Earlier this week, I set up for water seat ski, I fell back with a wide arm grip as required and saw, really saw my arms. At first, I didn't believe they were mine. Right there in that moment, I realized how physically strong I was. I realized how physically and mentally strong I had always been, but Bar Method needed to remind me. Bar Method saved my mental state for relo, and Bar Method gave me myself back.
I smiled briefly, remembering how mentally strong I have always been, even when I didn't give myself credit. I smiled briefly realizing I could totally out push up my once athletic brother.
So while Bar Method has changed my body, more importantly it has changed my mindset and improved my self confidence. Bar Method has given me back to me.
Thursday, June 1, 2017
Friday, May 12, 2017
The Blog is Back: Happy Mother's Day!
"Yes, and now I am going to go tell your mother her baby is ok." Those were the words spoken to me post c-section when I asked my OBGYN if my baby was ok. You see Dr. Hill knew my mother longer than me. She was the only gynecologist I had known since 16. She watched me become a young adult and then delivered my child, making me a mom.
I was 25. I was 25 and had a baby. It took her words for me to realize, my mom had a baby too. I was that baby. Of course, I knew my mom had a baby, she had two actually. Until those words were spoken to me, it never occurred to me, she had gone through this entire process too.
You see back then, there was no reveal party with cake to cut revealing a dyed inside, blue balloons didn't fly, no cute staged picture was taken. My mom and I didn't sit around discussing my feelings and emotions during pregnancy, nor did we discuss hers. I was 25 with no idea what I wanted to do with my life and could barely afford my bills.
It wasn't how I thought I would become a mom. I didn't actually plan on becoming a mom. I figured I would look up from my desk one day at 40 and realize I forgot to have kids. Some days that was because I forgot to find a potential child's father too. I am currently writing this blog at 39, with a husband and a 13 year old son. I work for a Fortune 300 company. The dog just licked my leg, apparently he can read and knows he wasn't mentioned.
To say the last 13 years of my life have been easy would be the biggest lie ever told... or at least it would be up there with Judas' denial. The last 13 years of my life have been relaxing, strenuous, full of both joy and sorrow, mistakes, denial, questions. Full body shaking laughter, and full body shake crying, the kind where you stop breathing and may throw up, filled in the gaps. The real deal teeter totters between a Lifetime movie and the next King novel.
The last 13 years of my life, have reiterated one simple fact. My mom is an angel on Earth. She is the strongest, bravest, most fearless woman I know. My mom has a work ethic matched by no one. My mom has the strength of an elephant and the ferocious protection of a lion. Don't let her holiday themed sweaters, hair bun, and perfect skin fool you. She's pretty tough.
My mom was a divorced single mother of 2 under 4, one in diapers, and a full time nursing career. On 2nd shift. In ICU. She was on her feet all shift, came home to sleeping children she was working hard to raise, but not seeing often, at least not awake. Then an entire other job started at midnight or so when she packed lunches, and did laundry, and often cooked dinner for the babysitter so she only had to warm it up the next day. This was life until I was in 8th grade and she moved to Same Day Surgery, with better hours, hours she wishes she had when we were younger.
Of course there is more to the story, but that isn't my story to tell.
I never realized what those years were probably like for my mom until I became a mom. In an exhausted state of doing laundry in the middle of the night with a few week old baby and two grade school aged step-children, it occurred to me how very tired my mom must have been, every day, for a decade.
As a child, I never saw her break. She was a strong pillar of strength and perfection. I asked her once how she did it, she just shrugged and said you just do, no other choice. She probably doesn't recall this conversation, but every day since then, I have just done it, maybe not always the best way, but the best way I knew at the time.
My mom raised two children always putting us first. Always. To be honest, she may have had the same underwear for a long time while we ran around in KSwiss, Tretorn and Jordans. She put us both through 12 years of Catholic school and then paid for our Bachelor's degrees at expensive Liberal Arts Ohio colleges.
Today she called me to tell me her mother's day gift was too generous. I would have laughed and said "really, mom?", but my toe had just slammed into one of the kid's Jordans on my way to answer call.
If I end up being half the mother my mom has been, my kid will be very lucky. I am a product of my mom's perseverance and strength.
I was 25. I was 25 and had a baby. It took her words for me to realize, my mom had a baby too. I was that baby. Of course, I knew my mom had a baby, she had two actually. Until those words were spoken to me, it never occurred to me, she had gone through this entire process too.
You see back then, there was no reveal party with cake to cut revealing a dyed inside, blue balloons didn't fly, no cute staged picture was taken. My mom and I didn't sit around discussing my feelings and emotions during pregnancy, nor did we discuss hers. I was 25 with no idea what I wanted to do with my life and could barely afford my bills.
It wasn't how I thought I would become a mom. I didn't actually plan on becoming a mom. I figured I would look up from my desk one day at 40 and realize I forgot to have kids. Some days that was because I forgot to find a potential child's father too. I am currently writing this blog at 39, with a husband and a 13 year old son. I work for a Fortune 300 company. The dog just licked my leg, apparently he can read and knows he wasn't mentioned.
To say the last 13 years of my life have been easy would be the biggest lie ever told... or at least it would be up there with Judas' denial. The last 13 years of my life have been relaxing, strenuous, full of both joy and sorrow, mistakes, denial, questions. Full body shaking laughter, and full body shake crying, the kind where you stop breathing and may throw up, filled in the gaps. The real deal teeter totters between a Lifetime movie and the next King novel.
The last 13 years of my life, have reiterated one simple fact. My mom is an angel on Earth. She is the strongest, bravest, most fearless woman I know. My mom has a work ethic matched by no one. My mom has the strength of an elephant and the ferocious protection of a lion. Don't let her holiday themed sweaters, hair bun, and perfect skin fool you. She's pretty tough.
My mom was a divorced single mother of 2 under 4, one in diapers, and a full time nursing career. On 2nd shift. In ICU. She was on her feet all shift, came home to sleeping children she was working hard to raise, but not seeing often, at least not awake. Then an entire other job started at midnight or so when she packed lunches, and did laundry, and often cooked dinner for the babysitter so she only had to warm it up the next day. This was life until I was in 8th grade and she moved to Same Day Surgery, with better hours, hours she wishes she had when we were younger.
Of course there is more to the story, but that isn't my story to tell.
I never realized what those years were probably like for my mom until I became a mom. In an exhausted state of doing laundry in the middle of the night with a few week old baby and two grade school aged step-children, it occurred to me how very tired my mom must have been, every day, for a decade.
As a child, I never saw her break. She was a strong pillar of strength and perfection. I asked her once how she did it, she just shrugged and said you just do, no other choice. She probably doesn't recall this conversation, but every day since then, I have just done it, maybe not always the best way, but the best way I knew at the time.
My mom raised two children always putting us first. Always. To be honest, she may have had the same underwear for a long time while we ran around in KSwiss, Tretorn and Jordans. She put us both through 12 years of Catholic school and then paid for our Bachelor's degrees at expensive Liberal Arts Ohio colleges.
Today she called me to tell me her mother's day gift was too generous. I would have laughed and said "really, mom?", but my toe had just slammed into one of the kid's Jordans on my way to answer call.
If I end up being half the mother my mom has been, my kid will be very lucky. I am a product of my mom's perseverance and strength.
Saturday, March 26, 2016
The Move: A Look Back to the First Few Months
I tried hard not to cry as Michael put each suitcase and box in the car. I tried to delay my leave, but it was inevitable, I had to get on the road soon - daylight hours, long drive.
I swallowed hard as the boy and the husband said good bye and told me to be safe. Michael looked emotional. He's never emotional. Gabriel was strong. Later, I would find out as soon as I was gone he broke down in tears, saying he kept them in until I was gone so I would not get upset.
I backed out of the driveway and started the journey. I had left little notes for Gabriel, he would end up finding most of them within days. What I didn't know is he put a note in my make-up bag, which I would find in about 9 hours. The note is still in my make-up bag.
I don't recall crying on the journey. I do remember feeling slightly sad once I passed Columbus, the rest of the drive would be completely new. Crossing the Ohio/Indiana line, I swallowed hard.
I had no idea what the journey would bring, but I never questioned participating. The second I received the offer, I knew we would move. There was never a question of not doing so. There were many questions later of why, and a few times the thought of going back played in my head for longer than it should.
I didn't know how hard it would be to live apart from my child, husband, and dog for almost 3 months. We had it mapped out based on my training schedule, which would bring me back to Cleveland. The first seperation would be 3 weeks, but the others would all fall into 2 weeks. Easy peasy we thought...
Three weeks was too long. Something happens between week 2 and 3. It's too much. The hour time difference didn't seem like much, but my time frame to call never seemed to match up just right with what was happening back in Ohio. Our conversations were brief with little substance. Michael was figuring out move logistics with the relo team and being a single parent. I was learning a new job, new place, and trying to find a rental property in a town with no rental properties. The little things were gone - no idea how his day was, what they had for dinner, any little funny things that happened during day. I couldn't tell him how lonely I was, that I felt like I would never make friends, that I wanted to go home. That I was certain we would have no place to live. There are barely any rental properties in Effingham. As a matter of fact, the realtor assigned to me from the relo team, did not return my calls after finding out I need more than 2 bedrooms and had a dog.
As I type this in the kitchen of our rental house, I smile at how life works out while I wipe away the few tears writing this is causing. The renters prior to us had moved to another rental property - they needed something smaller. Our landlord had been traveling a lot and hadn't listed the rental property as soon as she would have normally. In talking to another person, who started a few months before me, I discovered the name of another realtor, who the company had approved. She had the listing for what would become our rental. A series of circumstance gave us a place to live.
Weekends were the worst. Sleeping in seemed like it would be amazing, and as it turned out is was just a depressing reminder that I was living in a hotel and far away from my family and friends. I decided I needed weekend homework. I started finding places (library, the school, the running path, places the locals went, etc.). I drank too much wine at Fridays, but ended up making friends with much of the staff - the good kind of friends, the ones who will pick you up if your car breaks down, or take your kid when you didn't know there was no school.
I couldn't wait for my family to move. I was counting down the days until their arrival. Mother Nature was going to strike during their 7 hour drive across two states. A part of 71 would close, multiple semi trucks would jack knife off the free way, they would pass two 30 plus car accidents, Michael would have prime location to watch the terror on a woman's face as she lost control of her car, Gabriel would decide to sleep as much as he could after seeing a fire truck spin.
That drive here would end up being the easiest part of my husband's life for the coming months. Living together again, would be more adjustments and stress than we realized.
I swallowed hard as the boy and the husband said good bye and told me to be safe. Michael looked emotional. He's never emotional. Gabriel was strong. Later, I would find out as soon as I was gone he broke down in tears, saying he kept them in until I was gone so I would not get upset.
I backed out of the driveway and started the journey. I had left little notes for Gabriel, he would end up finding most of them within days. What I didn't know is he put a note in my make-up bag, which I would find in about 9 hours. The note is still in my make-up bag.
I don't recall crying on the journey. I do remember feeling slightly sad once I passed Columbus, the rest of the drive would be completely new. Crossing the Ohio/Indiana line, I swallowed hard.
I had no idea what the journey would bring, but I never questioned participating. The second I received the offer, I knew we would move. There was never a question of not doing so. There were many questions later of why, and a few times the thought of going back played in my head for longer than it should.
I didn't know how hard it would be to live apart from my child, husband, and dog for almost 3 months. We had it mapped out based on my training schedule, which would bring me back to Cleveland. The first seperation would be 3 weeks, but the others would all fall into 2 weeks. Easy peasy we thought...
Three weeks was too long. Something happens between week 2 and 3. It's too much. The hour time difference didn't seem like much, but my time frame to call never seemed to match up just right with what was happening back in Ohio. Our conversations were brief with little substance. Michael was figuring out move logistics with the relo team and being a single parent. I was learning a new job, new place, and trying to find a rental property in a town with no rental properties. The little things were gone - no idea how his day was, what they had for dinner, any little funny things that happened during day. I couldn't tell him how lonely I was, that I felt like I would never make friends, that I wanted to go home. That I was certain we would have no place to live. There are barely any rental properties in Effingham. As a matter of fact, the realtor assigned to me from the relo team, did not return my calls after finding out I need more than 2 bedrooms and had a dog.
As I type this in the kitchen of our rental house, I smile at how life works out while I wipe away the few tears writing this is causing. The renters prior to us had moved to another rental property - they needed something smaller. Our landlord had been traveling a lot and hadn't listed the rental property as soon as she would have normally. In talking to another person, who started a few months before me, I discovered the name of another realtor, who the company had approved. She had the listing for what would become our rental. A series of circumstance gave us a place to live.
Weekends were the worst. Sleeping in seemed like it would be amazing, and as it turned out is was just a depressing reminder that I was living in a hotel and far away from my family and friends. I decided I needed weekend homework. I started finding places (library, the school, the running path, places the locals went, etc.). I drank too much wine at Fridays, but ended up making friends with much of the staff - the good kind of friends, the ones who will pick you up if your car breaks down, or take your kid when you didn't know there was no school.
I couldn't wait for my family to move. I was counting down the days until their arrival. Mother Nature was going to strike during their 7 hour drive across two states. A part of 71 would close, multiple semi trucks would jack knife off the free way, they would pass two 30 plus car accidents, Michael would have prime location to watch the terror on a woman's face as she lost control of her car, Gabriel would decide to sleep as much as he could after seeing a fire truck spin.
That drive here would end up being the easiest part of my husband's life for the coming months. Living together again, would be more adjustments and stress than we realized.
Sunday, August 30, 2015
What if We All Did This?
Last week, two people, I love and care about received tragic and unexpected news telling them of the loss of a loved one. In one case, a sister; in the other, a nephew.
Over the last 72 hours I have given death a lot of thought. I do not mean in a morbid, sad, or dark way. I mean in a mature, thoughtful, retrospective way. Death is, afterall, one thing we will all experience multiple times throughout our lives, and one day, we too shall die leaving our loved ones in the wake of our departure.
Experiencing loss can be earth shattering, even when you know the loss is coming. I have known several people, who have experienced the death of a loved one due to long-term illness. They have all told me the same thing: you can prepare the logistics, you dabble on the verge or various stages of grief, but until the loved one is actually gone, the full spectrum of the loss, the full spectrum of grief doesn't really hit you.
The other thing they have all shared is you have an opportunity to communicate. You say all the things you have wanted, you don't wait until tomorrow to make sure the other person knows you loved them, their kids will be raised with love, their dog will come to your house, and you will make sure the ugly stuffed animal they have had since they were 2 years old does not get thrown in the trash.
But what if death comes and it wasn't expected? What if you never had that final chance at communication? What if the last thing you said was hurful?
We seem to take for granted that we will always have tomorrow. The truth is the rest of today isn't even a guarantee. Every day we wake up and can open our eyes is a gift. Maybe we need to start living like tomorrow is not a guarantee.
Did you ever hear parents speak about how well behaved their kids are in the company of strangers? Or how about how Ms. Temper Tantrum is angelic at her friend's house even eating all of her snack with no complaints? While I am not a psychologist, the reasoning behind this is children will test their boundaries and push limits when surrounded by the safety of loved ones - i.e. parents, the babysitter, relatives they see often. Adults, sometimes, don't seem much different...
Think about your interactions today. You probably smiled sweetly to the cashier at the grocery store. You probably even waived to a neighbor. Perhaps, you paid it forward by buying the person's coffee behind you in the Starbucks line.
But...
What was the last thing you said to your spouse? Have you called either of your parents in the last week? If tomorrow didn't happen, would you be ok with how things are right now? I mean this very second. That's a hard question to face, but face it, we must.
I try very hard to be my best self every day. While I am a work in progress, I know I have made great strides, and I know I have others to make.
I am not perfect, I will never be perfect, but I will continue to be better each day. I will remember the most powerful and hurful weapon is something we all have: the power of our communication.
Over the last 72 hours I have given death a lot of thought. I do not mean in a morbid, sad, or dark way. I mean in a mature, thoughtful, retrospective way. Death is, afterall, one thing we will all experience multiple times throughout our lives, and one day, we too shall die leaving our loved ones in the wake of our departure.
Experiencing loss can be earth shattering, even when you know the loss is coming. I have known several people, who have experienced the death of a loved one due to long-term illness. They have all told me the same thing: you can prepare the logistics, you dabble on the verge or various stages of grief, but until the loved one is actually gone, the full spectrum of the loss, the full spectrum of grief doesn't really hit you.
The other thing they have all shared is you have an opportunity to communicate. You say all the things you have wanted, you don't wait until tomorrow to make sure the other person knows you loved them, their kids will be raised with love, their dog will come to your house, and you will make sure the ugly stuffed animal they have had since they were 2 years old does not get thrown in the trash.
But what if death comes and it wasn't expected? What if you never had that final chance at communication? What if the last thing you said was hurful?
We seem to take for granted that we will always have tomorrow. The truth is the rest of today isn't even a guarantee. Every day we wake up and can open our eyes is a gift. Maybe we need to start living like tomorrow is not a guarantee.
Did you ever hear parents speak about how well behaved their kids are in the company of strangers? Or how about how Ms. Temper Tantrum is angelic at her friend's house even eating all of her snack with no complaints? While I am not a psychologist, the reasoning behind this is children will test their boundaries and push limits when surrounded by the safety of loved ones - i.e. parents, the babysitter, relatives they see often. Adults, sometimes, don't seem much different...
Think about your interactions today. You probably smiled sweetly to the cashier at the grocery store. You probably even waived to a neighbor. Perhaps, you paid it forward by buying the person's coffee behind you in the Starbucks line.
But...
What was the last thing you said to your spouse? Have you called either of your parents in the last week? If tomorrow didn't happen, would you be ok with how things are right now? I mean this very second. That's a hard question to face, but face it, we must.
I try very hard to be my best self every day. While I am a work in progress, I know I have made great strides, and I know I have others to make.
I am not perfect, I will never be perfect, but I will continue to be better each day. I will remember the most powerful and hurful weapon is something we all have: the power of our communication.
Friday, September 5, 2014
Buy a House, Sell a Home
When Gabriel was nearing 3, aka the start of pre-school, his father and I actively started searching to buy a house. We had a specific suburb in mind, a smaller community with diversity and family friendly events. I had lived there from the age of 13 until I went to Mount Union College, with a brief return after graduation.
The prospect of owning a home made me feel like a responsible adult. The majority of my family was in the area and Gabriel would attend the Catholic grade school. It was the same Catholic grade school my brother attended from 4th grade through 8th grade. I had known since pregnant, Gabriel would attend this school. Further, I had started my graduate program at Baldwin Wallace College and was looking forward to a closer drive home after evening class.
After spending what seemed like months (in actuality probably a few weeks) and looking at hundreds (alright about 25) houses, we were frustrated. Then my mom saw a house for sale while walking. It was 3 blocks from her. We had our realtor make an appointment despite this proximity.
From the moment we stepped inside the house, it felt like ours. I went left and Gabriel's father went forward, we later came together in the t-shaped hallway, each having viewed opposite parts of the home, and said to one another "this is the one".
We moved in about two months later. We had bought a house!
What I did not realize, is how quickly the house would become a home. Quickly, memories were made between the walls. Love and joy would radiate throughout the foundation, the walls would absorb the pain and heartaches of life.
We focused on the area to be closer to family. Just like I had grown up riding my bike or walking the several blocks to my grandma's, Gabriel in turn would frequent my mom and stepfather's to swim or play basketball. It became a meeting place for him and his cousins. I became thankful for the proximity we once questioned.
Proximity is changing. We are moving.
After 10 years in HR, I have landed my dream position with my dream company, a fabulous opportunity, which will lead to further fabulous opportunities with my continued hard work.
We are moving to Central Illinois. I leave in less than 48 hours.
I haven't packed. I don't know where to start. How does one pack to leave months ahead of their family and go to the temporary housing of a hotel? I am leaving my home, I am leaving my family. I am leaving proximity.
As I look at the walls of my home, years of memories stream through my mind and vivid flashbacks occur as if I am toggling between the Lifetime and Hallmark channels.
Seven in a half years ago, we bought a house. In less than 48 hours, I will leave a home.
The prospect of owning a home made me feel like a responsible adult. The majority of my family was in the area and Gabriel would attend the Catholic grade school. It was the same Catholic grade school my brother attended from 4th grade through 8th grade. I had known since pregnant, Gabriel would attend this school. Further, I had started my graduate program at Baldwin Wallace College and was looking forward to a closer drive home after evening class.
After spending what seemed like months (in actuality probably a few weeks) and looking at hundreds (alright about 25) houses, we were frustrated. Then my mom saw a house for sale while walking. It was 3 blocks from her. We had our realtor make an appointment despite this proximity.
From the moment we stepped inside the house, it felt like ours. I went left and Gabriel's father went forward, we later came together in the t-shaped hallway, each having viewed opposite parts of the home, and said to one another "this is the one".
We moved in about two months later. We had bought a house!
What I did not realize, is how quickly the house would become a home. Quickly, memories were made between the walls. Love and joy would radiate throughout the foundation, the walls would absorb the pain and heartaches of life.
We focused on the area to be closer to family. Just like I had grown up riding my bike or walking the several blocks to my grandma's, Gabriel in turn would frequent my mom and stepfather's to swim or play basketball. It became a meeting place for him and his cousins. I became thankful for the proximity we once questioned.
Proximity is changing. We are moving.
After 10 years in HR, I have landed my dream position with my dream company, a fabulous opportunity, which will lead to further fabulous opportunities with my continued hard work.
We are moving to Central Illinois. I leave in less than 48 hours.
I haven't packed. I don't know where to start. How does one pack to leave months ahead of their family and go to the temporary housing of a hotel? I am leaving my home, I am leaving my family. I am leaving proximity.
As I look at the walls of my home, years of memories stream through my mind and vivid flashbacks occur as if I am toggling between the Lifetime and Hallmark channels.
Seven in a half years ago, we bought a house. In less than 48 hours, I will leave a home.
Thursday, May 8, 2014
Brains, Independence, and Beauty.
I was about 11 or 12 when it happened.
I was sitting on the concrete bleachers at Morgana Park waiting for my brother's baseball game to start. My mom hadn't arrived yet and my dad was most likely either coaching the game or behind the plate umpire at another. None of my friends had arrived at the summer hang out yet, so I sat... people watching.
My mom arrived and sat down not far from me, but not yet seeing me. I was a little perturbed she didn't see me and decided I would not sit by her.
Then it happened.
Two woman sitting near me, had also watched my mom arrive and sit down. The one woman turned to the other and said she is very pretty. I was taken aback, and not just because this was Morgana Park. I had always thought my mom was pretty, but I had never heard a stranger say this.
I was speechless, which was pretty unheard of even back then. I was then filled with a great sense of pride. I found my voice and I said to the women, that's my mom. They looked at me for a few moments, as if studying me, and then smiled at me.
I gingerly got up and went to sit by my mom glancing back at the women and smiling.
I had always known my mom was pretty, but I had never focused on this. I focused on how strong she was, how hard she worked, how she was always at games or plays, always doing everything she could to be a good mother. Due to all this, I never doubted that you could be independent, but in a loving relationship, a career woman and a mom, smart and beautiful.
I never doubted because my mom had shown me my entire life you could.
Happy Mother's Day!
I was sitting on the concrete bleachers at Morgana Park waiting for my brother's baseball game to start. My mom hadn't arrived yet and my dad was most likely either coaching the game or behind the plate umpire at another. None of my friends had arrived at the summer hang out yet, so I sat... people watching.
My mom arrived and sat down not far from me, but not yet seeing me. I was a little perturbed she didn't see me and decided I would not sit by her.
Then it happened.
Two woman sitting near me, had also watched my mom arrive and sit down. The one woman turned to the other and said she is very pretty. I was taken aback, and not just because this was Morgana Park. I had always thought my mom was pretty, but I had never heard a stranger say this.
I was speechless, which was pretty unheard of even back then. I was then filled with a great sense of pride. I found my voice and I said to the women, that's my mom. They looked at me for a few moments, as if studying me, and then smiled at me.
I gingerly got up and went to sit by my mom glancing back at the women and smiling.
I had always known my mom was pretty, but I had never focused on this. I focused on how strong she was, how hard she worked, how she was always at games or plays, always doing everything she could to be a good mother. Due to all this, I never doubted that you could be independent, but in a loving relationship, a career woman and a mom, smart and beautiful.
I never doubted because my mom had shown me my entire life you could.
Happy Mother's Day!
Saturday, March 8, 2014
...and I ran...(so far away)
I was a very active child, playing pick up kick ball games in the street, tag in the yard, basketball in the driveway.
In grade school, like most kids, I played basketball and volleyball. I played rec league softball.
I never played a sport for my high school, I made it the furthest in softball tryouts, and realized quickly my volleyball skills, which had been pretty good at the grade school level, did not compare to these other girls.
I was not athletic.
My brother, on the other hand, was the athlete--basketball, baseball, football. He always had a game. I always had a play.
I was perfectly ok with this. I had no dreams of athletic scholarships.
Of course, I loved to hike and rollerblade, I liked to push myself. I just wasn't on a court or a field.
Then at 35 years old, I had this crazy fitness idea. I was going to run.
...Not into a store seconds before it closed, not down the street to chase the escaped dog, not to catch the bus. Not even to get the last pair of cute flats in my size.
I was going to run for the challenge, the goal setting, to prove to myself I could.
and so I started training. I followed an app. I was discplined and dedicated. I registered for a 5K and a 10K.
But then I noticed I wasn't getting distance. I got nervous.
I reached out to a friend. She made me a plan. I followed it like it was my job. I pushed myself, completed each challenge. Refused to quit. I had the drive, the dedication, the discpline. The accountability.
I started getting the distance. Slowly, but like my friend said, a mile is a mile, if you do it in 6 minutes or 15 minutes.
Then the strangest thing happend. I started craving it. I couldn't wait to put my shoes on and run. I was accomplishing goals. It felt good. I felt accomplished.
I noticed small changes in my body and that motivated me more. I knew it would take time, but that I would get there.
Then I got sick. Run down. Stress, worry, life, work. My body had enough. I was sick twice in two months, the last episode putting me down for 3 days.
I didn't run. I felt weak, tired, not strong, not good.
It would have been easy to say well, that was nice while it lasted. I could have said "well, I was never going to do it anyway."
But I am not a quitter. I don't give up. I am tenacious. I am a fighter.
So today, I strap on my shoes again. and I run.
...Not into a store seconds before it closed, not down the street to chase the escaped dog, not to catch the bus. Not even to get the last pair of cute flats in my size.
But towards my goal--I have a 5k and a 10K approaching.
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