Do Something!

So, if you've been reading this blog you know that a) I enjoy running (or jogging, to all those "fast" people out there) and b) I enjoy food.  Oh, and I also like soccer.  But training for a marathon/long weekend runs don't mesh well with the fall soccer season, so that's on hold for now...but I digress...

I enjoy putting one foot in front of the other for a long period of time...and very much like when I can run a race faster than I've been able to finish before.  However, I've seemed to somehow manage to surround myself with a bunch of overachievers.  And when I say overachievers, I mean even potential olympians.  So, whereas I might have felt I was doing pretty darn good "jogging" wise...as I neared the end of the trail last weekend, I happened to pass a few of our new friends from the NJNY Track Club and instantly felt as if I was running under water...these guys make running look so effortless at a speed that I'd likely die of a heart attack running for more than a few minutes!

Then reality came back and slapped me in the face.  Of course I'm not going to be as fast as these guys...it's literally their job to be doing what they do, and the other super speedy people around, well, they're just a little on the nutty side (sorry, Eric & Mike, but you really are).  I just very much enjoy going out and doing what I do - why mess with a good thing and make it torture?  I guess I'm a little competitive, so I like doing well...and that's good enough for me! 

So the moral of this blog is...do what you like to do - but get out there and do something! 

Hook, Line & Sinker

Adrenaline is one heckofa thing.

I went from feeling like I was struggling to "plod" along on a 6 mile training run at 9 minutes per mile to running a full 13.1 miles averaging 8:45 per mile...and feeling GREAT nearly the entire time!  The hype, excitement and maybe what you'd call a buzz in the air the day of a big event is something that I have come to love - and look forward to every year. 

I think it all started when, almost 11 years ago, I ran the NYC Marathon in honor of a HS friend who passed away from complications from Acute Promyelocytic Leukemia...at age 23.  I wasn't much of a running enthusaist then...in fact, I think I might have run as far as 5 miles once or twice, but that's about it.  After my friend passed it was quite a shock to my sheltered self - this was not the result of a car accident or old age - this was a seemingly robust, healthy kid who had her whole life ahead of her...how in the world could something like this happen? 

I worked in a building adjacent to the hospital where she recieved her chemo treatments, and had the opportunity to visit her often.  Often at first...but then as she got more sick from the treatments, I wanted to give her more space - and it was difficult to see her vibrancy fade away the longer she was there.  I have to give kudos to the nurses, doctors and staff who oversee those patients...it's a special breed of person to work in that environment for any length of time.  After her 3rd and final round of chemo, she got very sick and developed blood clots which eventually traveled to her brain, causing her death. 

Her passing was tough...tough to come to terms with and tough to face the fact that I and my peers were not invincible or immune to disease...sure, we all made stupid mistakes like driving too fast or taking dumb risks, but ultimately those things were under our control, whereas things such as leukemia were not.  Disease happened to other, older people.  Not 20-somethings.

Fast forward a month or two...a few people at the gym were discussing putting their names into the lottery for the NYC marathon that fall...would I be interested in putting mine in, too?  What!?  A MARATHON?  That's how many miles?  Someone mentioned something about Team In Training...and I thought how cool it would be to do something in my friend's honor...but a
m-a-r-a-t-h-o-n?  Yeesh.  That's really far...

I think in a moment of pure bravado, without truly thinking...I said I was in...it was only a lottery after all...what would be the chances I'd get picked?  Ha!  I'm pretty sure I cried a little when I got my official entry notice in the mail (as in Oh, CRAP!).  Now I had to do it.  No turning back...so I promptly told as many people as I could that I was going to do it so I couldn't back out...

I signed up with TNT (Team in Training) and bought a book for "first time marathoners", enlisted the help of a marathon veteran (my father in law) and mapped out a training plan.  I mapped out my long runs by odometer...I "planted" bottles of gatorade and bananas along my training routes...strategically placed areas on my route where bathroom accessibility would likely be needed, nursed bruised toes, tight IT bands and cranky knees...and still remember the triumph of completing my one and only 20 miler...after which I promptly took a long nap (while Mike raked the many, many leaves in our yard).  Most often, though...I thought of my friend.  She was the reason I was out there...I was able to see some beautiful sunrises I never would have if it weren't for her.  I never would have thought I could run more than 6 miles if it weren't for her.  I wouldn't have appreciated the fact that I could get up, get out of bed in the morning and just run anywhere I wanted to if it weren't for her.  I had so much to be thankful for...and she made me realize it.  It was an incredible gift.

So, fast forward again to November 2, 2000.  My very first experience with a HUGE endurance event...thousands of people everywhere.  I was so nervous I hardly slept the night prior...it also didn't help that I had just come down with a cold and my throat was on fire.  At the starting line, or should I say village, there were people everywhere...hanging out...some jogging around, some just sitting down and chatting over some bagels and bananas...there was even a huge tent with a mass being said inside (jam-packed, by the way)...but man, was it COLD.  Shivery cold...and overcast...miserable to me then, but probably a great racing day for those competitive runners. 

I remember being corralled like cattle and shuffled over to the Verrazano Bridge and then all of a sudden...time to go!  Everyone jogged a little...then walked a bit...even had to stop short a couple of times because everyone else just...stopped.  Then it was jog..weave...jog...jump over some water bottles, dodge some clothing left behind...sidestep some other garbage, but don't forget to try to look out and appreciate the amazing view from the bridge!  There was a sea of people in front, next to and behind me...as far as the eye could see.  Not to mention the last minute "relievers" who likely didn't get in the porta-potty line early enough and had to veer off  along the course for nature's calling.  Very strange.

So I tried to soak in the experience as much as possible...and thus remember a few parts vividly...around mile 5 when two girls running nearby decided they'd had enough and quit (ugh!), mile 7 where my father in law proudly jumped in and ran a stretch with me, the Queensborough Bridge where it was so depressing breathing in the exhaust fumes and running uphill in the dark I almost quit, but right after emerging into a bar-dense part of town lined with TONS of people cheering and then seeing my sister in law jump the fence to join me...the sun coming out for just a bit after that...after crossing into the Bronx the guy yelling that we were all awesome because we'd just come into Yankee territory, Mike jumping in with Amy to bring me all the way into Central Park (which wound up as the longest distance he'd ever run)...having to stop and stretch around mile 20 because my hamstrings were cramping terribly...not having enough strength to even keep my jaw closed because I was so tired after mile 24...coming into Central Park and hearing people yell "GO KELLY!" because I wore my friend's name on the front of my shirt, then crying not only because they were yelling and cheering for her, but that I was almost there, and I hurt like hell.  The finish line of that race was the most incredible, welcome sight I'd ever seen...and I had done it.  A marathon.  All because of my friend.

I hobbled around for the next few days...high from what I had accomplished...but vowed never to run another again.  In fact, I think it was over a year until I put my sneakers on again to run just a little bit.  I didn't hate it..but didn't love it either...and still felt pretty burned out from the whole experience.  It took a while...8 years, in fact...but eventually signed up for a half marathon in 2008.  Training for and running the Lehigh Valley Half was much different from a whole marathon, and after the race, I was HOOKED.  The commitment wasn't too much, it was a distance that did take training to cover, but didn't steal most of my time, and I really liked the feeling of accomplishment and actually running again. 

Since 2008, I've completed 7 half marathons and this year have mustered up the courage to try another full length marathon.  Training is quite different this go-round, but definitely takes up a lot of time.  I'm actually enjoying my long runs on the weekends and find my thoughts periodically travel back to my friend, sometimes just for a brief moment...but when they do, I always tell her hello and thanks.  I owe her a lot.

Training? We don't need no stinkin' training...

So there's this little thing called a half marathon I'm supposed to run in this weekend...and yet I've only logged 6 miles in the past 2 weeks.  Yeesh.

Call it the curse of the coming winter solstice, but something's got to give if I'm to continue training for a marathon on 10/30.  This summer was great - I could leave work and get a run in before it got too dark out...but now...not only do we have the craziest time of the year going on at Pro-Activity (translation:  Mike is away a good chunk of the time), but we've got not one, but TWO kids playing travel soccer - practices, practices, more practices and games on Saturdays and Sundays.  Not that I'm complaining...not really.  But just thinking back to the "old" days...I could wake up and go for a run before work, or go right after work.  Or around dinner time.  Basically, whenever I wanted.  Ah yes, pre-kids. 

However, I do find that I LOVE watching my girls play soccer.  I love watching them learn.  Make mistakes.  Have fun and feel so good about what they can do.  And the fact that the trainers all have British or some other easy-on-the-ears accents...

Both girls have such different takes on the sport - kid #1 is very analytical, deliberate and takes everything very literally, whereas kid #2...well...Mike likens her to a "bull in a china shop"...she's not intimidated by anything or anyone (where did this kid come from?)...and lets everyone know it.  I think it's every parent's right to see their kid excel in something, anything - just because of how proud of them you get for being proud of themselves.  But I digress...back to the running thing...

I suppose I'm just hoping to log a respectable time in Philly this Sunday...and manage to carve out some daylight time to log some serious mileage over the next month and a half.  If not, I'll need to invest in some serious night-vision gear so I don't break my ankles in the potholes that line the road nearby...although if I did, it might spur the local DOT to do something about those things!  Bah, probably not.

Wish me luck!

A Moment of Thanks

As I finally sat down to write my blog, I was planning to cover how hectic my life has been, particularly as of late.  I'm amazed that my kids haven't turned into 3-horned crazy loonies with all the changes and upheavals we've gone through over the past 3 months. 

But then, as I thought more about it...the 10th anniversary of 9/11 is almost here, and I feel like if a little turmoil (all for the good, by the way) is dragging me along a bit, I still have a whole heckofalot to be thankful for. 

We are priveledged to live in such a place where normally, our biggest concerns can be remembering to lock the car and the house up at night. Or making sure we know our children's friends parents before they have a "playdate". On the grand scheme...we are incredibly blessed. Of course, there are exceptions and I'm not trying to make light of true tragedy that some of us or our friends may experience. However, 9/11 was on a scale that none of us have ever experienced before, and hopefully never will again.

When the first plane hit the North Tower of the World Trade Center, everyone was confused.  Was it a plane?  An explosion?  I distinctly recall watching the news and first hand witnesses describing things like a small engine plane, probably a pilot who made a terrible error...then when live footage showed the second jet liner collide with the South Tower...it was unmistakable that this was no error.  In fact, I clearly recall someone on the news saying "we are under attack". 

As I sat, glued to the TV that day, holding my first newborn baby, it was hard to digest that this had really happened.  All the lives lost.  What they all experienced.  Hours upon hours of news coverage on every station...rumors of survivors, tales of the heroic dead...all the result of a terrorist attack.  On USA soil!  How was this even possible?

In the days that followed, I chose to try and focus mostly on the stories of our heros.  Home-grown, bonafide super heros who risked and even lost their lives that day.  What made some step up, take charge and do the incredibly risky things they did?  Or how about all the incredible men and women who did anything and everything they could to help at Ground Zero?  It was hard not to cry a bit - to mourn, but also in pride and awe of the people I share my country with. 

So, rather than bemoan a few nights of minimal sleep, long working hours, and being in the midst of moving...I'd rather say thank you to all our first responders and all the men and women who stepped forward to help that day.  Thank you to our servicemen and women who fight for us every day.  Thank you to all our home-grown heroes - for stepping up when no one else will and being leaders just when we need one. 

This Sunday we'll all say a special prayer of thanks to those who gave their lives on 9/11, and those who continue to risk their lives for us every day.  I will always be in your debt.

This video is about a 9/11 hero named Welles Crowther.  Incredible story, amazing hero. 

Who's raising who, anyway?

Labor Day is one of my favorite holidays.  The stifling hot summer heat is coming to an end...usually by now the nights are very cool and crisp but we still have plenty of sunshine and crystal blue skies during the day.  Kids are going back to school...the normal routine of the year is starting...

And 10 years ago, on the day after labor day, I went into labor with kid #1.  Haha.

TEN years.  My oldest kid is, in her words, almost a decade old.  Gee thanks, kid...way to make your mom feel O-L-D!  Although, I really don't mind because those 10 years have been an incredible blessing to our entire family.  They always say the first kid raises the parents, not the other way around, and I can, with absoute certainty, wholeheartedly agree.

Kid #1 made her debut after 12 hours of labor, one full week before the events of September 11th.  It was quite an experience...she was so little!  Little fingers & toes...little skinny legs (which she still has), but what a big mouth!  She wasn't too noisy at first - all she did was eat, sleep, and...well, you know how it goes.  Soon though, things started changing...I really don't think I managed to log more than 2-3 consecutive hours of sleep at a time and she rarely napped for any length of time either.  I just figured that I was "blessed" with a fussy baby, but boy was it a toll on my psyche. 

At about 2-3 months of life, she started getting more and more irritable, and I specifically remember very late (or very early, depending on the perspective) one night holding her tight, pacing the floor...back and forth...praying this kid would just close her eyes and relax...and GO TO SLEEP!!  After what seemed like countless hours, she finally fluttered her eyes closed....I waited for what I was SURE was an eternity and very slooooowly eased myself into a chair, thighs on fire because I was lowering myself so slowly so I wouldn't wake her...managed to sit and sloooowly ease back into the chair.....and BOOM!  Eyes open, kid wailing...mom about ready to throw in the towel to this whole mother-hood thing. 

I started to notice that she would have bouts of inconsolable crying - screaming, if you will - where NOTHING I did would calm her down.  The contents of her diapers changed, too (forgive me, I won't go into details) and despite talking to her doctors during her well checks, raised no alarm whatsoever.  She's just a fussy kid.  Happens all the time.  She'll grow out of it.  Real comforting to a brand new mom.

Finally, at one of her well checks, as I'm reiterating everything all over again to another doctor in the practice, my little one decides to fill her diaper, to which the Dr. takes one look and orders a fecal-occult test to check for blood.  I saw her face become alarmed as the test came back positive...my face must've turned completely white as I sat down quickly to somewhat digest the news that there was something wrong with my baby.  Our doctor quickly reassured me that it was all going to be ok, we'd find out what was going on, and that I was a good mom for continuing to bring up kid #1's issues that everyone else was blowing off.  I felt reassured and was so thankful for that.

With a referral to the pediatric GI (gastro-intestinal) specialist in hand, I quickly made an appointment to get things checked out.  What was interesting to me, upon arrival I filled out an information packet based almost exclusively on family history - all based on issues with food.    Mike's mom swears he had issue with dairy, along with other family members, so essentially once they read my responses on the questionnaire, they immediately diagnosed kid #1 with a dairy and possibly soy allergy.  Her intestines were so irritated from the dairy I ate, that they became ulcerous...hence the icky diapers. 

I decided to continue to breastfeed, which meant that starting immediately, NO dairy and NO soy (we later figured out it was just dairy, not soy that was the problem).  By the time I got home, I was ravenous and the only thing I could find in the house that was ok for me to eat was...nothing.  Not one snack-type item, save fruit and veggies, was without dairy and/or soy.  This was the beginning of a huge wake-up call.  I'm pretty sure the first time I went grocery shopping it took about 2 hours because of all the labels I had to read.  I did get good advice though, which I highly recommend to anyone looking to improve their diet:  shop the perimeter of the store and skip the aisles. All the fresh stuff is located all around the edges of the store - all the pre-packaged, highly processed stuff lives in the aisles. 

After about a month, I finally got the diet part under control, and kid #1 started healing...less screaming fits, sleeping better, generally happier.  Whew.  So by 6 months of age, my baby girl was what was supposed to be her normal self.  And, I noticed that I felt different, too.  Of course better sleep will do that, but I also felt more alert, like I wasn't in a fog all the time, my frequent stomach aches were gone, and for lack of a better description, I just felt more lively.  Hard to explain, but there was a definite difference.  I didn't put 2 and 2 together until much later - after a junk food binge (had to wait until the kid stopped nursing and I could eat whatever I wanted again) left me feeling terrible.  Quite a revelation...eat crap, feel like crap. 

Needless to say, I'm not sorry my firstborn has a dairy allergy.  She's willing to try all kinds of foods and eats a generally healthier than the norm diet - and none for the worse.  She may complain a bit here and there and finds it thrilling when she meets another dairy-allergic kid (so she can finally commiserate with someone else), but is a very happy, healthy kid whose mom has figured out ways to make even a non dairy cheesecake that tastes pretty darn good.  I wouldn't trade those sleepless nights for anything.