Natural Disaster

3 weeks ago, I returned home from my pre-sunrise run laughing as I told my family how wet it was. I don’t run with a headlamp so tend to run on main roads when I go out early in the morning. However, that morning my route included a short stretch of pedestrian pathway devoid of streetlights and nothing but distant traffic and muscle memory guiding me through the thick darkness. I run that part of the path often, but usually in at least partial light. Realizing my mistake too late, my imagination started to stray as I pictured wild animals lurking. I swore if I got through that stretch of path without disturbing a coyote I would be more careful from then on. Just as my fear climaxed, it was converted into surprise and then morphed into frustration as I felt my feet splash in a puddle deep enough to soak my shoes, socks and the bottom half of my calves.

Not knowing how big the puddle was I forged ahead whispering, “Shit. Shit. Shit….” with each slopping footfall. I couldn’t go around it and didn’t want to turn back so took the next thirty paces on my tiptoes in the hopes I could keep my shoes somewhat dry. A futile attempt.  Luckily, I was able to find the humor in it by the end of my run and marveled at the size of my puddle as I retold the story to my family.

The rest of the day, everyone I came into contact with shared my disbelief over the amount of rain we were getting. Boulder is known for dry, sunny, beautiful weather and because of the wildfires we witnessed last year, a bout of rain always brings a collective sigh of relief. It’s no secret we live on a flood plain but we worry more often about things being too dry, not too wet. 

By the time I put the kids to bed that night, a lake had formed in our backyard and a river was flowing by our front door. 

*****

From the comfort of my 2^nd floor bedroom, I listened to flood sirens and nursed a stiff drink while Owen clung tight to my chest. Zoe, asleep on the floor next to us in a sleeping bag, had barely registered the sirens at all.  When they started, I was downstairs settling in for an evening of Greys Anatomy and thought I was imagining things.  When I realized it was the real thing, it took me a few moments to move.  To be honest, I really didn't want to turn off my show.  It didn't take me long to remember the insistent tone of the protocol we've heard each flood season since we moved here: "If you hear the sirens, GO UP", and so I did.

My first stop was the kid’s room because Owen is terrified of the sirens.  The city tests them once a month and whenever they do, the poor little guy runs for the nearest warm body in order to snuggle and cry.  That night, when I opened the door to their room, I found them huddled together on Zoe's bed, Owen whimpering, Zoe quietly soothing her little brother, half asleep herself.  I ushered them into my room.  Climbing into bed with Owen, I felt grateful to have thought to bring my drink up with me.  This was going to be a long night.

I didn't sleep much. Checking my phone every two minutes for updates on Facebook and emails from coworkers, I worried about friends in harm’s way and wanted to be sure to stay on alert.  I work as a resident manager in CU's Family Housing and although I would not have been permitted to leave my house, felt I should be available in case anyone had questions or felt afraid.  It was frightening, but for the most part I was concerned for those I knew to be in much more precarious situations than we were.  Our apartment is only 1/4 mile from Boulder Creek but I knew from the flood training we go through for my job every year that we were very safe.

The next few days were a roller coaster.  The rain slowed down and let up here and there but there was always more on the horizon, threatening.  We stuck close to home and stayed in contact with those friends who were evacuated or on the brink.  The nights were particularly terrifying because the threat of flash flood was at its highest when the city was already swimming in darkness.  On the second night, I was texting a friend who was reaching her breaking point, taking shelter on the second floor of her near creek-side building with her young family. She had just said "I just want my precious babes to be safe and out of this mess" when I noticed an alert from the city saying there was a 30 foot wall of water coming down the creek carrying cars and other debris. The wall was expected to hit at midnight and it was 11:52pm.  Midnight came and went and we could only assume the wall had been absorbed by the creek.  This was the way it was around here for 4 days. 

After the rain stopped and the emergency officially passed came an awful awakening.  While we felt great relief knowing our city was safe, we began to open our eyes and focus our attention on surrounding communities and roadways.  The reality of the tremendous loss and scope of damage became almost too much for me to comprehend.  Part of me wanted to go on with life feeling grateful for coming out of it all unscathed.  I didn't have the right to feel sad.  The moment I made the decision to go with that outlook, another part of me felt guilty for going about my day as if the whole thing was no big deal.  I spent a good 5 days going back and forth between those parts of me and in the meantime, my priorities were washed clear off the table. 

Other than my family, I couldn't sort out what was important.  I continued to run because I felt I should stick to my training, but found zero joy or fulfillment in it.  As the days passed I watched the city dry and could feel myself getting back into a regular daily rhythm only to be reminded, by army trucks and helicopters passing through and flying over us, of the very real struggles going on in neighboring towns. I felt paralyzed by guilt and sadness.  Normally when I'm feeling this way I write my way out of it,  but I couldn't seem to do that either. I witnessed grass-roots groups form, helping people shovel mud out of their basements before mold had a chance to set in.  Heroic people who dropped everything to help those in need while I sat on my computer and felt sad.  I told myself I couldn't help because I have kids to take care of, but wondered if I was relieved to have the excuse.  More guilt piled on.

Finally I reminded myself of Raising Little Heroes.  The purpose of the group is to show our kids that we don't have to feel helpless in times like this.  There is always something you can do, and every little bit helps.  Here was an opportunity to get our kids involved in helping our community in the wake of a huge natural disaster and to teach them that things can be scary sometimes, but then they can be beautiful.  I got together with RLH board members and we decided to organize a food drive.  After our meeting, I began to feel my energy returning.  I knew our food drive wouldn't generate enough goods to help very many people but just knowing it would help some was all I needed to find my momentum again. 

It's returning slowly but it's returning.  I still have a lot of guilt.  I've wanted to write this for a few weeks but haven't been able to bring myself to.  I feel pretty selfish and silly, having all of these emotions even though we were completely safe the whole time and our daily life hasn't changed at all.  The emotions are there though, and I think they are for a lot of people who witness disasters first hand like we did.  We live in a world where people can fly planes into buildings full of people, where tornadoes can mow down entire towns in mere minutes, where a person can decide to open fire on a school full of children and where a meandering creek can suddenly resemble a freight train, barreling through communities, showing no mercy.  I think it's important to talk about how scary that is.  Not to dwell on it, but to talk about it.  If no other reason but to add to the strong community we are a part of.  It's what holds us all together, for better or worse.

Peering Through a Foggy Window

My mom's father died when she was just fourteen years old, so I never had the chance to know him.  In fact, my mom didn't really have a chance to know him.  When she was very young, he went off to fight in World War II and when he came home, seemed to have trouble assimilating into the regular day to day.  He was a hard worker so wasn't home much.  He was also an alcoholic, so even when he was home I gather he was fairly distant, although I'm not positive of that.

Although she has few memories of him, my mom remembers her dad mostly as a kind man.  His alcoholism didn't translate into abuse, mistreatment or even the other side of the spectrum.  He was neither cruel nor boisterous. According to my mom, he was simply a man who did the best he could in a time when much was expected of men and fathers in terms of maintaining pride and stoicism in the face of great challenges and triumphs.  He quit drinking a year before he died, knowing he had a problem but eventually succumbed to a heart attack.

What I just wrote above are the only facts I know about my grandfather.  I've come to terms with it in my adulthood because I've talked with my mom about him and I understand.  His legacy in our family never had a chance to form because he wasn't around long enough.

When I was younger, I longed to know more.  The only picture I remember having of him in the house was one small framed picture that sat on top of my mom's dresser in her bedroom.  I used to sit and stare at his warm, friendly smile and try to imagine what he had been like.  I wondered if he had been anything like my mom.  I assumed she had gotten her generous heart from her dad but I couldn't know for sure.  His face in that picture made me believe it though.  I remember wishing I could sit and chat with him, to find out if there were things he and I had in common too.  Once in a while, if I had misbehaved, I would go to my mom's room to look at his picture.  More than once, I imagined his disappointment and laid the picture face down, not wanting him to have to look at his naughty granddaughter.  I never told my mom this, and part of me has always wondered if she found it curious.  To come into her room and find the picture of her father laying face down on her dresser.

I still have this longing to know my grandfather but I think about it less often.  I don't have his picture but the memory of that one from my mom's room is burned into my brain.

This morning, my mom sent us kids a letter she just received from one of her brother's children.  Her brother died recently so his kids have been sorting through his belongings.  They came across this letter, written by James C. Hanrahan to my uncle in December of 1955.  I'm transcribing it here with my mom's blessing:

Dear Richard:

Your mother has written to me about the wonderful news of your approaching marriage on the 29th of this month, and since I regarded your father as my dearest and closest friend I want to offer my congratulations to you and my best wishes to your bride.

Your father was one of the most lovable men I have ever known.  The extent of his popularity among men was just wonderful to behold.  He was a very manly man and was literally as cool as a cucumber under fire.  He never panicked, he had a priceless sense of humor, he had a terrific brain, and all of these fine characteristics were wrapped up in the highest sense of honor.

My appraisal of your father is based upon hard knowledge gathered from almost two years of constant day-and-night, seven-days-a-week living with him from southern England to beyond the Elbe River in Germany over the route we traveled together with the 83rd Infantry Division in World War II.  I had the honor of meeting your dad at a place called Shrivenham in southern England where we both awaited assignment to a combat outfit prior to the invasion of Normandy.  I was older than your father and this is the only reason and the only respect in which I ranked him.  As I began to know him better and better, I began to scheme and plan as to how I could get him assigned to whatever outfit I might draw.  Initially we both were assigned to the VIII Corps from which I almost immediately was assigned down to headquarters of the 83rd Infantry Division which was a part of VIII Corps.  The chief of the staff section up at VIII Corps, Colonel Azel Hatch, had the same idea I had.  He wanted Gordon Briggs (my grandfather).  He kept him.  Never before or since have I been called upon to use as much salesmanship as I was during those weeks when Hatch refused to give up Briggs.  I finally won out, and I venture to think today that this pleased your father, and I know it was one of the luckiest breaks I enjoyed throughout the war.

I don't need to tell you that your father conducted himself brilliantly through five major campaigns in northern Europe - beginning with the Normandy Invasion, the Hurtgen Forest, the Ardennes, better known as "The Buldge", and the eventual meeting with the Russians about twenty miles east of the Elbe River and almost directly under Berlin.  Your father was with a unit of the United States Army which was in actual contact or combat with the Germans for 224 days.  He was exposed intimately to every hazard that such a contact implies, and it was only by the rarest good fortune that he emerged alive and unhurt. 

It was after the Battle of the Bulge when what was left of the 83rd Division was pulled back into a rest area that the Army made its only use of your father's legal training so far as I know.  There was to be a court martial of a young captain....who was accused of failure to obey orders and of cowardice in the face of the enemy.  It was understood that the death penalty was to be asked of the court.  Your father was appointed defense counsel in what was generally regarded around division headquarters as a lost cause.  The thumbs appeared to be down so far as the young captain was concerned.

As his defense counsel your father was premitted to spend many hours with the young man who was held in close arrest.  Your dad confided to me that he was convinced the young captian was a good officer, that he was not a coward, that he had been given stupid orders and that what was left of his company did not have the capability of carrying out the assignment given to him.  Your dad told me he was going to work towards obtaining an acquittal for the boy although the "best" advice seemed to be that your father should aim to try to get a prison term instead of the death penalty for the boy.

Gordon Briggs won his case.  During all of the preparation for the trial your father and I were bunked together in a little Belgian farmhouse, and night after night I would awaken to observe your dad still at work on his case although it was two or three o'clock in the morning.  The young officer was acquitted and immediately transferred to another infantry division...In his new assignment the young man went on to win the Bronze Star and the Silver Star and at the close of the war had been promoted to major and was an acting battalion commander.  Your old man had a lot of stuff on the ball.

With affectionate regards to your mother, your brother, and your sister, and the best of good wishes to yourself,

Yours sincerely,
James Hanrahan

I don't think I need to tell you I was in tears reading this and have been misty eyed all day, thinking about it.  I feel so grateful my mom now has this picture of her dad to add to her memories and that my suspicions are officially confirmed.  My grandfather was a great man.

Here's to the heroes out there, past and present.

The A-List

Okay listen, I'm not one to gripe, especially when it comes to other people's parenting choices.  We all do what we believe is best for our families.  Every single one of us has a our own personal set of ideals and expectations that are rooted in differing backgrounds.  We also have children who prove to us over and over that they are their own tiny selves with unique personalities, keeping us on our toes and forcing us to change said expectations more than we ever dreamed we would before meeting them.

I have great respect for people who are sure of what is important to them, no matter what the status quo may be at any given time.  I also have respect for people who trust science and feel more comfortable making decisions based on what their friends think or what the studies are showing.  Basically, if you put any thought into your parenting at all and if you (as best you can) treat your kids with respect and let them know they are loved no matter what, I don't feel it's my place to judge.  Sure, your choices may not jive with mine and I might think you're a little cuckoo at times but I won't say that to your face (taking this moment to mention one of my favorite mottos: "treat others as you would like them to treat you"... hint hint).  I may have to take a few moments here and there to compare our differences with a close friend (or two...or ten) in an effort to justify the oftentimes random parenting choices I make.  In the end though, I always end up at "we are all different and that's cool."

That said, I do have one bone to pick with all you fellow parents out there, and I hope you don't mind if I get right to the point:  Why the hell do we make such a huge freaking deal about these damned BIRTHDAY PARTY INVITES??!!

Let me explain.

Before my daughter was in preschool, birthday parties were straightforward.  We would have fun decorating a room with streamers and balloons, invite some close friends and playmates, hang out, eat cake and part ways. Then she started making her own friends and forming her own opinions and preferences (WTF??!), making these last two years a smidge more complicated.  I'll admit, in the weeks leading up to her fourth birthday, I myself started getting excited about expanding on the bare bones party idea so I can see how in a way I was asking for it but....I just had no idea that in two short years, we could go from your basic party to the infamous Whale/Meerkat/Chipette craziness.  My only defense is I didn't know any better.  She was my first and I got caught up in the excitement of her having made her very own school friends and finding her own interests. 

Not that I think the birthday party stuff isn't totally necessary and fun in it's headache inducing, overstimulating, sugar coma resulting, meltdown triggering kinda way, it's just that making them memorable and special becomes extraordinarily challenging the older they get.  Part of the reason it gets so complicated is the invite list...

Now that your child is a preschooler, gone are the days when you can stick to inviting close friends and their babies and toddlers with whom your precious kiddos regularly parallel play next to.  No, now you have the social pressures that go along with school friends.  While you'd love nothing more than to be able to invite anyone who might be remotely interested in coming, you either can't afford to buy that many party favors or depending on the venue, are only allowed to invite a certain amount of people.

Anyway, after months of deliberation, you choose the venue or theme (often involving skillful manipulation...on both your part and your child's) for the party and then move into the excruciating "who to invite" phase.  You now have neighborhood friends and school friends to consider and when you start getting them all down on paper it becomes clear some feelings are probably going to be hurt.

These days, many parents believe if you invite one kid to a party you have to invite their whole class (I think some schools even require this). I understand why it's come to that.  I certainly don't wish to be the cause of any sweet feelings being hurt, but I have to be honest: I just feel I can't meet the expectation.  It's too much pressure!  Why can't we encourage our kids to avoid talking about their parties at school and help them understand how to be sensitive instead of forcing these huge parties?  Most people in attendance (parents and kids alike) usually feel uncomfortable because they don't know you or your child all that well (or at all).  They are there because they didn't want to be rude and turn down your invitation, and you invited them because you didn't want to be rude by not inviting them.  Now the birthday girl or boy is overwhelmed and not talking to anyone or throwing a tantrum because it's all just too much and your guests have spent money they didn't really have on a gift they're not sure your kid will like.

Why all the fuss if we can just invite their nearest and dearest and allow them to let loose for a couple of hours with them?

I know many of you won't agree with me at all, but if you do I hope you keep it in mind the next time you're planning your kid's birthday party.  When that time comes, if our family's name comes up, please don't feel guilty if you decide we don't make the cut.  Take that part of the pressure off your shoulders even if it only brings you a moment of relief.  I'm telling you honestly, I understand.

Breakthrough

Fair Warning:  If you aren't someone who runs long distance, it's possible you could read this post and think I'm completely bonkers.  Just know I am not the only person who does this...trust me, okay?  I'm not crazy...well, I guess you could say I am crazy for running long distance in the first place in which case....oh forget it.  I fully embrace and own my craziness.

While I was running my 18 miles this morning, I was playing a lot of mind games with myself in order to help me push through.  I've done this a lot since I started running 6 or 7 years ago, and it's one of my favorite things to talk about with other runners.  In part, because I like to gather new ideas for future runs but also because sometimes it makes me laugh....here are a couple of my favorites:

-"If you make it to that tree, you can walk a bit" and when I eventually make it to that tree and feel better than I thought I was going to: "If you make it to that lamppost, you can walk a bit" etc....

-While doing a loop, every time I turn a corner I threaten the next road I'm headed towards: "Alright Broadway, I'm coming for you" or if there is a particularly hard hill: "You think you're better than me, asshole?"

...and my absolute favorite from my friend Shawn:

-"Speed Limit 35?  Woah, you'd better slow down buddy, or you'll get a ticket!"

This morning I did Bobolink Trail out and back as part of the long trek and as the sun was coming up, I found myself running through clusters of sunflowers.   They were all facing the rising sun behind me, waiting to greet it and I pretended they had been waiting to say hello to me, so I waved.

My friend and running partner Patty joined me for the last 5 miles today.  Patty and I ran together all this last year.  We got each other through the cold, dark winter and I am so grateful to be her friend.  Unfortunately, she is moving in a couple of days, so this was our last run together.  I decided to arrange it so we could do our trusty everyday 5 mile loop.  When we met up, I almost immediately asked Patty to pretend I hadn't just run 13 miles.  I wanted to trick my brain into thinking we were just on our regular old run.  She was game, and it worked like a charm.  Before I knew it we were done.

I've tried similar mind tricks when it comes to accepting my post baby body.  2 of the strongest are:

1) I imagine myself on my death bed, thinking about my life as a whole.  If in that moment, I decide over 50% of my life was spent worrying about my body I'm going to be seriously pissed at myself.  I know I am.

2) I imagine Zoe going to middle school and high school. I imagine all the other influences that will be present in her life at that time and how many of them will push the "skinny agenda".  I know that her best ammo against those terrifyingly powerful influences will be the messages she gets at home on a regular basis.  I'm determined to never falter on this one and embody the "everyone is different and beautiful in their own way" and "some people have a baby and their stomach flattens out again, and some people's stomachs just stay stretched out" agenda.  Man, that's easier said than done sometimes though.  For instance, I've been struggling lately because this month, 2 people in the span of 2 weeks asked if I'm pregnant.  It got to me.  It got me good.

Then, when I was getting ready for the day ahead after my run this morning and still in visualization mode, I took a moment to look at myself in the mirror before getting dressed.  I looked at my belly and didn't let myself immediately look away.  I looked and looked and didn't look away.... I  don't know where the thought came from, but I started to imagine my body as an underappreciated partner in a relationship.  I imagined my body saying: "I'm allowing you to live a full, healthy life.  I grew the children you adore. You used to smoke, drink and take drugs and I stuck around and stayed strong.  You are 36 years old and you don't have back or knee problems. I withstood 18 MILES this morning, and you STILL don't find me beautiful?  Come ON wake up! What more do you want from me?"  I was shocked at the clarity and truthfulness of my next thought: "I'm sorry, you're right--thank you.  Thank you. Oh my gosh, THANK YOU!!"

Anything is Possible

Lately, I've been thinking a lot on soldiering through difficult life stuff in order to get to the good stuff.  A few weeks ago, Zoe was spending a few days in Denver with Nathan's parents so they could have some special  time with their oh-so-grown-up granddaughter.  The second day they were there I got a phone call saying Zoe was refusing to go on an outing to this amazing, "only in Colorado" type train ride called the Georgetown Loop Railroad.  She had expressed interest in going the day before but had suddenly changed her mind that morning (after the tickets had been purchased).  I asked for Zoe to be put on the phone and after we chatted about some other stuff first, I asked her why she didn't want to go on the train ride.  She said she hadn't realized it was supposed to be so long and was afraid it would be boring.  I told her I understood and then I said "I can't promise it won't be boring--it might be--but it also might be the most fun you've ever had. You wouldn't want to miss out on that just because you think it might be boring do you?  Plus if it's boring, Grandma and Peepaw will be there to keep you company."  She reluctantly agreed to go and told me later she was so glad she went.  It was, in fact, really really fun.

The conversation was a nice reminder for me because I've been worried about our impending move to the exciting land of Who-Knows-Where next May.  We know we'll be wrapping things up in this place we've come to love and call our own and the unknown is stressing us out.  Where will we end up?  Will it be permanent?  Will we like it, love it, hate it, or make the most of it? Will we be able to go back East like Nathan and I both hope to?  Will he have a good job?  Will I find a job I like? Will we be heading toward our "worst case scenario" (ie: no jobs available and sleeping on someone's couch)?...etc.  This past May, reality set in that we had a year left and I completely panicked and these questions were starting to depress me.  I was having a hard time doing any of the things I enjoy doing or seeing the people I love to see without becoming sentimental and teary.  For some magical reason I've found myself in a better place this past month or so, though.  I realized somewhere along the way that Nathan and I have no way of answering any of these unknown questions in this moment.  What if our ideal situation falls into our laps in a few months (or at the last minute even)?  It would  be so sad to think back on our last year here knowing I could have enjoyed it more instead of stressing out so much...it could  be all for nothing.  Also, if we are really bummed about where we are going next, I would be just as sad, or maybe more so, to realize I didn't enjoy Boulder as much as possible while I had it. Besides, no matter where we are next year, I know one thing for sure: I'll be there with Nathan, Zoe and Owen and that is enough to get me through a whole hell of a lot.

This isn't the first time I've realized I need to take my own advice.  It happens all the time with the kids:

-"Don't worry, airplanes are completely safe.  Those bumps are called turbulence.  It's just like a bumpy road, that's all!"

-"Don't let them bother you, they are probably just having a bad day--it has nothing to do with you."

-"If you make a mistake, just try again or turn your mistake into a different idea. Then feel glad you made the mistake."

-"I know, I miss them too but we can write letters and call.  We are always together in our hearts even if we can't be with them as much as we want to."

-"It takes a lot of time, patience and practice.  Try not to feel frustrated.  If you keep at it, you'll get it!"

-"I know it's hard, but that's why it feels so good to accomplish it.  If it were easy, you wouldn't feel so proud of yourself."

I'm sure this list will be 20 times longer in a few years.

I've had to call upon my own insight all day today.  I ran 17 miles this morning.  The longest I've ever run by 2 miles and I only just hit that milestone 2 weeks ago.  I chugged along pretty steadily during the first half of the run and during that strong beginning, I came to an interesting realization.  I was thinking on this question I've been asked by a few people lately:  "Is it easier than you thought it would be?"  I've had people wondering this about both my long and short runs and I'm never quite sure how to answer.  I'm not annoyed when people ask because I know I would probably be asking the same question if I wasn't the one doing the training but I haven't felt sure why I struggle to answer that question, until my run this morning. The reason I can't answer that question is because it's not easier than I thought it would be, but I'm afraid to say that out loud to people who already probably think I'm crazy for doing it.

The truth is, "easy" is not why I signed up to train for a marathon.  I signed up because I wanted to test my body and mind more than I ever have and see what it feels like to come out on top of that.  There's no way I could possibly use the word "easy" in any form when describing my 17 mile run this morning and sometimes I feel the same way about a 3 mile run.  The second half of my run this morning was tortuous and I was seriously doubting my ability to pull this marathon off.  I was reminding myself that I could just switch to running another half marathon and still be proud of the accomplishment.  While I know this is true, it's not what I want right now in my life.  I want to do it.  I want to push through days like these so when I cross the finish line on October 13th, I can say "Man, remember that day I ran 17 and almost quit?  I'm so glad I kept going!" and then get a huge hug from Nathan and the kids.

So, from now on when people ask me if the training runs are easier than I thought they would be, this is going to be my answer:

"I've learned that it's crazy hard, but possible and totally worth it."

If I Hadn't Gone Running...

I'm officially smack dab in the middle of my marathon training schedule and as the miles pile up, so do the doubts.  Along with that comes the inevitable hesitation to actually get my ass out the door.  On the other side of those feelings are the highs that come from overcoming fears and satisfaction from knowing I didn't give in and stay in bed, but it's not easy to get there. This morning was like that.

I heard my alarm and, in the dark of early morning, found myself wishing I'd pressed the snooze button in a sleepy haze, not realizing my mistake until it was too late to go.  I paused a moment or two, keeping my eyes closed a little longer than I normally do considering, for a moment, the fact that today's run could easily be skipped without any repercussions.  Tuesdays are an "easy" day and on busy weeks I've been known to drop a Tuesday run. In the grand scheme of the training, skipping a workout here and there won't affect my end goal.  I just want to cross that finish line and as long as I steadily amp up the mileage in the weeks leading up to October 13th, my grit and determination will most likely get me to the end.  I know that's not good enough for me though, and that knowledge is what gets me to ignore the nagging voice telling me to sleep in.

I rolled out of  bed and into the bathroom to put on the running clothes I'd set out last night.  Zoe still comes into our room most nights to sleep on a sleeping bag on the floor between our bed and closet.  I've learned from experience that if I don't get my running clothes out the night before, I have a really great excuse to listen to the nagging voice and go back to bed instead of go for a run.  I don't want to wake the kids any earlier than they naturally do themselves, especially if it would mean I'd be leaving Nathan to get up before 6am with them so I can go for a run.  So, I've learned from experience to set my clothes out the night before.

After suiting up, I headed out the door to our garden.  Watering the garden before my morning run has become a ritual this summer and I know I'll miss it when the season passes.  I love having a relaxing stop to make before setting out to pound the pavement.  Sometimes I notice a few weeds and pull them before running off and once in a while I decide to skip my run completely in order to pull every single weed I can find.  I haven't done that since before starting my training but not surprisingly, I found myself considering that option this morning.  I compromised and pulled the biggest ones I saw without looking too hard and forced myself to move along.....

...and I'm so glad I did.  If I hadn't, I wouldn't have been able to experience the rare feeling of speed and swiftness I felt during my run this morning.  If I hadn't gone running I wouldn't have been able to see it's possible to feel light on my feet on a run only a few days after running the farthest I've ever run (15.23 miles!)...which led me to realize there have been many days I've been grateful to have forced myself out the door..many experiences that would have passed me by if I'd listened to the nagging voice...many moments of clarity would have stayed buried...many opportunities to set a positive example for my kids would have been missed...if I hadn't gone running.

If I hadn't gone running, I wouldn't have been able to run through "Prairie Dog Town" and witness the new babies with their families warming themselves in the rising sun.  Standing on their hind legs in groups of 4 or 5, quietly facing the orange glow and allowing it to paint the fronts of their bodies, all but putting their front paws around each others shoulders, greeting the new day in quiet reverence.

If I hadn't gone running, I would have missed out on one of the most magical moments of my life.  One day last summer, I was struggling in the late morning heat when I happened to glance to my right at Boulder Creek.  Through a small opening in the trees, about 20 feet away from where I was, stood a Great Blue Heron taking a break from flying to catch a couple of fish from the ice cold water.  I had never seen one in person and was struck by it's size and beauty.  It's legs thin and delicate yet perfectly designed and I couldn't help but feel it was there for me.  I watched, holding my breath until it decided to fly away and perhaps try another fishing spot further up the creek.  I took the energy it had given me and got myself home.

If I hadn't gone running, I wouldn't know that rabbits tend to come out early in the morning before the rush of people.  Almost every morning, I send 3 or 4 hopping away in a frenzy....I also wouldn't have witnessed the deer being escorted across the street a few weeks ago by a police car.  Two bucks, ambling along quietly as the police car and I patiently waited our turn to go our separate ways.

If I hadn't gone running, I wouldn't be experiencing the satisfaction that comes from modeling a healthy lifestyle for my kids.  I love that they know I'm a runner and understand it's hard and something to be proud of.  Sometimes after a particularly challenging run, I'll come in our patio door and am treated to a little crowd of adoring fans cheering for me and my accomplishment. 

If I hadn't gone running, I would have felt guilty for having that chocolate milkshake, that nice big breakfast bagel or that extra piece of chocolate cake.  Sometimes all I need to get me through the end of a long run is the promise of an extra treat when I get home.

If I hadn't gone running, I wouldn't be able to face the still regularly occurring question:  "Are you pregnant?" knowing these same clueless people would most likely have to pick their jaws up off the floor if I told them I can run for 3+ hours without stopping. It takes the sting out to imagine these same people admiring me for that, wishing they could be as healthy as I am.

If I hadn't gone running I'd miss out on the daily connection I feel to faraway friends and family who also challenge themselves through exercise.  I am lucky that I have an endless supply of inspiration in my immediate circle of people and every time I'm out there huffing and puffing I draw upon their strength and spirit to help me feel supported, encouraged and strong.

Tomorrow is a new day.  One that will most definitely include that nagging voice.  It always does, but as I enter into this second half of my training I will work harder to remind myself of these things I listed above.  I have a handful of runs that upon first glance seem at best intimidating and at worst impossible.  I am going to do my best to look at those numbers on that sheet of paper I have hanging on my kitchen wall as opportunities.  Opportunities to experience pockets of time and fleeting moments that I don't want to miss..that I can't miss...that are special because I got my ass out of bed and went running.

Time with our sweet boy

Zoe is off on an adventure with Nathan's parents this week, leaving me with my special guy.  I just love spending time with Owen by himself because we never get to do it.  I have one-on-one time with Zoe regularly while Owen takes his afternoon nap, but I never get to hang with just O-man for an extended period of time.  He is such wonderful company and this week I feel as if I've been able to see the world through his eyes just a little bit, which is so awesome.

When Zoe was this age, I was about to give birth to Owen so I have to admit I was pretty nervous and tired all the time.  It made me a little sad to realize that today because I worried about not having appreciated the preciousness of this age with her.  I know I did soak it up as much as I could and that she and I have always had fun together but I do wish I'd been able to loosen up just a bit.  Hard to do when you're about to have a baby I know, but I think it was also because she is our first born--everything the first time around had much higher stakes and we took everything so seriously.  We stressed out over behavioral stuff that I now understand is just part of being 2 going on 3 years old.  I knew it on some level at the time but let myself get too bogged down with wondering if I was doing everything "right".

Being with Owen right now is pure joy but don't get me wrong--he can drive me crazy.  For instance, you may or may not be able to spot me once in a great while changing his diaper on the Jamba Juice bathroom floor yelling "Hold STILL Owen!  Stop KICKING!!  GRRRRR!!!" as he kicks even harder (aiming for my face I believe) while laughing and imitating my "mad voice" (that happened just a couple of hours ago...ahem...)..

These are a few of the things I know now that I didn't before:

-Time goes by so quickly with these little loves.  They go through phases, changing almost completely within a matter of 6 months

-Sometimes all you have to do to end a toddler tantrum is suddenly exclaim something like: "Woah!!  Someone is walking this way with their dog!!"

-If you can just get through the moment it'll probably be alright in the next one.  It might even be the best part of the day (in a good way...or a mediocre way but still)

-In general, as long as you put your foot down and set some boundaries--the ones that are really important to you--you don't have to get the discipline stuff down perfectly in every crazy toddler tantrum moment

-Your kids will know where you stand as long as you're not a complete pushover all the time.  It's okay if they walk over you a little bit if that's what gets you through a moment or an entire day

-If you can stop yourself once in a while before getting annoyed at their craziness or feeling flabbergasted with their maniacal, senseless laughing (I wouldn't know about this but I've heard from other parents......what?) you might be able to laugh along with them or join in the craziness and end up having a blast

I had heard all of this from seasoned parents while Zoe was this age but didn't really know for myself until I saw her through it.  It's allowing me to focus on the good stuff with Owen and I'm grateful for that.

Anyway because I know you're dying to see a million pictures of Owen doing cute things this week, I'll indulge you.  You're welcome!

Monday was Nathan's day off and the first day Zoe drove off with Grandma and Peepaw, so we took him to The Children's Museum of Denver.  We hadn't been in a while and they've made tons of amazing improvements since.  It was fun to watch Owen choose the stuff he wanted to do the most and go through it all at his own pace.

First stop, the fire truck...learning how to call 911

Yay!

The mini-grocery store.  Always my favorite stop...so cute to see all the kids taking on roles without much (if any) guidance from their parents.  I don't know why, but it cracks me up!

The bubble room...getting ready to catch a falling vapor filled bubble

Trains..I was predicting this to be the longest stop, but he didn't spend much time in here.  Funny how we think we know our kids...

Art room

Ball tracks.  This was very cool but he had trouble following where the balls went so we didn't spend much time.

Mini-veterinary hospital...a new favorite for me.

I love this picture so much..so focused!

"Heh-woh?  Da cat is sick.  Heh-woh?  Da cat is sick....she didn't say anything!!"

Launching paper rockets...lots of belly laughs here.

Learning to use tools with Daddy

Temporary water exhibit outside

Play treehouse.  Another of my favorites at this museum.

The Old Mill

Fishing

Caught one!

Puppet show

In the days leading up to this week, we asked Owen a few times what the "one thing" he wanted to do was and he repeatedly said "Go to the Rocketship Paygound!"...which is just down the road from us.  We don't go much because it's really hot in the summertime and windy in cooler weather but he doesn't ask to go very often.  I was so surprised to find out that it was the "one thing" he wanted to do during his special Owen-week.  Since it was just me and him, I asked him if he wanted to try riding his Strider there and back all on his own and he was PUMPED to do so.  It was kind of stressful/hilarious teaching him to stay on the right on the creek path.  I would tell him to stay along the side, he would do so and immediately float to the middle/left side.  I'd say (while pointing):  "Stay on the right, buddy" and he'd yell (and drift to the left): "I'M STAYIN'!! I'M STAYIN'!!!"

Top o' the rocket

Last night we met Nathan up on campus for a picnic dinner.  It was really fun and reminded both me and Nathan of the days he and Zoe would meet me for dinner at Bryant Park in the good ol' New York days.  After eating we walked around a bit and got a tour of the CSF theatre.  Upon entering and seeing where we were, Owen started running and yelling "The outside thee-tah!  The outside thee-tah!!  Yay!!"

Owen told me today that in this picture, he was "pee-tendin' to watch Daddy in the show"

This morning, after sleeping in until 10:30 (I was so relieved to find he wasn't sick--he's never slept that late without waking up really sick) he and I went to Moe's to get bagels for lunch and then Jamba Juice to enjoy some smoothies, hang out, watch cars go by, play games and chat.  This is another of his favorite outings so I vowed to stay until he was ready to go.  We stayed for an hour and a half!

Ahhh....what a week.