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Weeds

Folks are always commenting about our lovely landscaping and I like to joke that we have nothing to do with it because the previous owner was a landscape designer.  We do have to maintain it, which was not a problem. Until now.

After several days of rain and hot weather, the weeds multiplied by the thousands. Our beds are covered in green, and not the pretty kind. This situation is particularly frustrating because just a few months ago, my husband weeded and sprayed every bed before laying down mulch.  But now those gorgeous beds are being choked by massive weeds.

My morning run did little to clear my head so with time to spare, I decided to tackle the weeds with the “Fly Lady” approach –tackle the yard in 15 min increment because when I look around the yard, I get completely overwhelmed by the number of weeds.  Good god, maybe we should have stayed in our town house, beautiful yard be damned!

Just so you know, yard work does not come naturally.  As a child, my brother and I weeded as part of our summer chores.  How I hated it!  I wanted to play or go to the pool, not weed the yard.  So here I am many years later with a shovel and a yard full of weeds.  Fifteen minutes, I only need to do this for 15 minutes, I kept saying before I began.

I grabbed the shovel and went to work.  Hmmm… when was the last time I had my hands in the dirt?  The soil, rich and earthy smelling, had worms, lady bugs, mysterious seeds and rocks, scattered here and there. Some weeds were definitely harder to pull than others and I had to dig deeper or make my hole wider to get at the roots.  Other weeds were so pretty with delicate flowers making me question if they were really weeds.

I continued to dig and pull, finding myself in a bit of a meditative state and the fifteen minutes passed quickly.  After another five minutes, I had to put my shovel down and start my day.  That afternoon, while the boys played outside, I found myself at another bed and one hour later, I felt such a sense of accomplishment when I saw that I had cleared out an entire bed of weeds. 

This approach continued throughout the weekend and I’m happy to report that we only have one bed left to weed, which I hope to attack one early morning this week.

I surprised myself and found the whole process therapeutic and so unlike my experience as a teenager.  I was brought back to the earth, pulling weeds, one at a time as I cleared out space in each bed.  What satisfaction I felt when I walked past a weeded bed – “I did that,” I thought. “Look how nice it looks.”  

As I was digging in the dirt, I thought about how weeding is a metaphor for life –  how something so overwhelming and BIG and scary can be tackled just one task (or weed) at a time in small increments.   With some problems you have to work harder to remove them from your life and dig a little deeper, other times it is easier to make a change.  But easy or hard, you need to tackle whatever you are facing -one thing at a time.  You can’t clear a bed unless you pull each weed out.

And what about those “weeds” in our lives – those negative thoughts, patterns or behaviors which no longer serve us and cause us harm?  How often have I held onto an old way of being because it was comfortable and the way I always reacted to a situation?  What would happen if I cleared some space in my life for new things to blossom?  What if one by one, I pulled out the negative patterns and made room for new behaviors?

I have a tendency to want to change everything at once, and I know I’m not alone in that.  How many of us have pledged that we’ll exercise every day while starting a diet, consuming only certain foods in an attempt to lose weight? And how many of us are successful when we try to do everything at once? 

What I was reminded of in the garden was that that my hands will get dirty and I may have to dig deeper to remove something that is stuck, but if I take it one step at a time, I can confront the problems facing me.  New ones will certainly crop up, just like new weeds will grow in my garden, but a few minutes of work every day can keep my garden cleared of weeds and my mind clear.

Just like my garden, I am a work in progress.   

Looking back on a difficult time

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A friend called me with some sad news last night, which compelled me to pull this out of the archives.  It is five years old, and yet reading it again brought me straight back to that pain and anguish.  To say it was a difficult time for me would be an understatement.  About a year after this post, we found out we were expecting Peter’s little brother.  That happy news was dampened by my father-in-law’s cancer diagnosis and quick passing.  SO much has happened in our lives, both wonderful and challenging, since this post.  And I pretty much stopped writing (not that I ever really started in the first place.) I’ve come to learn that life is filled with moments – both good and bad, and I am grateful for the friends and family who have held me up during the difficult moments and have celebrated during the good times.  Our struggles are a part of us, but we are so much more than those struggles.  And so, to my beautiful friend, please know that I am here for you: as a shoulder to cry on, someone to yell at, someone to sit with you quietly – whatever you need right now.   I know there are no words that can make this right, but please know that I am holding you in my heart right now.

2010

It is a beautiful Saturday afternoon and Peter is still napping, giving me a few moments to relax outside before the madness begins again.  I’ve “wasted” a good part of nap time chatting on the phone, reading parts of Oprah’s newest magazine and reading email.  Where does this efficient, “I have to always be doing something” persona come from?  I have some ideas, but am really not in the mood to analyze at the moment.  No, instead I want to type my first post for my new blog.  For years, I’ve wanted to write.  I’ve taken writing classes, joined a writing group, only to skip all the meetings except the first one.  I even taught a writing class to nursing students at a local university. And still, I don’t write. You see, I’m scared that no one will think my work is any good, or care about my thoughts, or find any relevance to what I have to say.  And yet, today, in Oprah’s magazine, in an article there was this very quote – “Accept that you’ll never get rid of self-doubt.  An adventurous person will always have moments of feeling like a fraud – it is a sign that you are creating new roles for yourself – that you’re evolving.”  (Oprah Magazine, June 2010, p. 141)  Oh it felt like a message to me.  Written just for me. And so, even though I feel like a fraud, I’m writing at this moment.  It feels scary and a little exciting.  So much crosses my mind that I’d like to share.  Little things – like the extraordinarily beautiful peonies that sit on my kitchen table or reading the paper outside before Peter wakes up.  And the big things  that eat away at my heart, like secondary infertility or disagreements with my husband.  Or the mundane – like how will I ever potty train Peter? The infertility feels like a huge weight holding me underwater.  We’ve been trying for over 20 months to get pregnant with our second child and have been unsuccessful to date.  I’ve put on a brave face for people around us and know that we’re truly blessed, but there is also a part of me that cries and hurts and screams because we’ve been unable to get pregnant again.  Everyone, and I mean everyone, around me has gotten pregnant with their 2nd or 3rd child (and they’ve all had their babies already).  Of course I’m happy for my friends – especially those who’ve had a difficult time conceiving or happen to be of “advanced maternal age” like me.  And then there are others -who seem a bit smug about their second (or third pregnancy) and say, “Well you need to stop trying so hard and you’ll get pregnant” or “You’re so blessed.” Do they not know that I already know all that?  That I try really hard to stop trying so hard and relax – except it is darn hard when you’re close to your period and you are focusing on every part of your body to see if there are pregnancy signs. (I’ve given up on pregnancy tests too early in the process as they throw me in despair when they are negative, which they’ve always been of late) As I write I worry about how people will judge my thoughts.  Are they going to think, ‘Oh get over it.. Get a life! Who cares about your infertility?’  And yet, I’m still compelled to write.  I can’t be the only one who feels this way.  I know there must be other women out there who suffer as I do each month when we find out that we’re not pregnant and then suffer again when we hear about someone else’s ease at getting pregnant.  Remember the “smug marrieds” from Bridget Jones?  Oh how that struck a cord with me at the time.  I didn’t marry until I was 35 and in hindsight, I am so glad I waited because I had so much growing up to do (but that’s another posting).  That said, it doesn’t mean that I didn’t suffer through the endless heartache of wanting to find “the one” while all of my friends were getting married in their late 20’s and early 30’s.   Like the “smug marrieds”, it seems like there are the “smug fertiles” out there  – the ones who “weren’t trying, but can you believe we just did it once and got pregnant again?” Or the folks who tell me to relax and it will happen. It is much harder to get pregnant than we realize, especially if you’re older than 35.  But this blog isn’t just about infertility because there is so much more to me than my infertility.  It is about trying new things – like cooking new recipes, growing a vegetable garden for the first time and trying new foods. It is about rediscovering old passions – like swimming, bike riding, spending time in nature and traveling to new places. It is about the simple moments filled with such grace and joy – my son’s and husband’s laughter as they play together, going on a bike ride with my family on a perfect spring day, laughing with friends or how great I feel after a 6 AM yoga class. And the things I hope to do someday, like complete a triathlon, make new friends, travel the world, potty train my son and continue to write this blog, as much as it may scare me.

“What if”

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Two days ago I woke up particularly worried and out of sorts. We’ve have had our share of challenges over the past year, and on Wednesday, my mind was in “panic” mode. While out for a run, my anxious mind kept churning out the “what if’s.” In this case, the “what if’s” were of the negative, life is over, doom and gloom variety. Isn’t it interesting how when faced with a challenge my mind likes to play out all of the negative and scary scenarios? Yet from experience, I also know that challenging times always lead to something better. But yesterday that knowledge wasn’t helping.

On a recent episode of Super Soul Sunday, Alanis Morissette said something along the lines that “we need to become comfortable with discomfort – walking in the dark.” I know this intellectually and yet it doesn’t make the discomfort any easier. How does one get comfortable with discomfort?

I continued on my way, looking at the river, noticing how the leaves are just starting to change, the “what if’s” still yammering away. A deep breath, another step, and more “what if’s,” but they weren’t as loud this time – I was getting a little distracted by my surroundings. I looked up at the sky. The sun was just coming up and the sky was littered with clouds, the sunlight reflecting off the clouds, everything basking in a pinkish/orange glow. It was beautiful and made me pause. And then I resumed my ruminating and worrying. A few minutes later, a bird flying overhead caught my attention, forcing me to look up, and again, I looked at the clouds. They were in a different pattern this time and the color had changed yet again.

“Your mind is like the sky,” floated through my head. That thought didn’t stop my mind; however, something about it made me breathe and calm down. And then I breathed some more. I stopped worrying, instead shifting my focus to how beautiful everything looked – the water reflecting the sun light, the trees gently moving in the wind, the breeze – so perfect for my run.
It is not an easy time right now and yet, the beautiful natural surroundings reminded me that we have so much to be thankful for, right here in this minute. And then another thought occurred to me. My negative “what if’s” are a self-protective measure, helping me to prepare for the very worst (which sometimes comes to pass and often doesn’t). But what if I started focusing on the positive “what if’s” instead and cling to the notion that all the negative crap in my life is not here to hurt me, but instead push me onto my right path? What if this seemed bad but was instead really good? How can things be bad when there is such beauty right outside my front door?

Great things in life don’t come wrapped in neat, little packages, as I’ve learned time and time again.

And so, I am going to work on transforming my “what if’s” by acknowledging the negative ones that float through my mind (Hey, bud I see you), while also making space for the positive “what if’s” (Welcome! C’mon in!). That does not mean things will change overnight, but maybe it will help me shift my focus a little bit. As I work on changing my mind and getting comfortable with discomfort, I will breathe, and remember to open my eyes to all the beauty that surrounds me, because even in our darkest moments, there is beauty if we are open to receiving it.

Life is what happens….

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“Life is what happens while you are busy making other plans.” John Lennon

While I grasp many ideas intellectually, often times I don’t live them. I used to be one of those people who believed that once X was in order, then everything else would fall into place. Over my lifetime, X has been many things – getting the right job, moving to the right neighborhood, going to the right grad school, meeting the right guy, having the perfect wedding, having a baby, losing 10 lbs. There is always an X to chase after and I continue to learn that things don’t fall into place X is achieved. Or maybe it does for awhile and then all hell breaks loose again. I naively believed that everyone else had perfect lives (especially those who were married when I was desperate to meet someone). If only I could have X, everything would be ok, my little mind thought. HA!

Thankfully I now accept that life happens and understand that there is always something to reach for -there is no “perfect.” Just last week, for instance, we were looking forward to a wonderful weekend packed full with fun family plans. On Thursday evening, my husband’s “gas pains” were instead diagnosed as a ruptured appendix and he was off to spend five days in the hospital.

In the hectic days that followed; with me running back and forth to the hospital and taking the boys to their various events (fun family plans gone), I was overwhelmed with the love and support I received from friends. Several brought dinner, some visited my hubby in the hospital, others watched the boys so I could go visit him alone, and another cut our lawn for us. While last weekend didn’t go as I originally planned, I may argue that it was better in some ways, because I was overwhelmed with gratitude for the love and blessings showered on us. And my husband did not need surgery. It was a nice reminder that things happen in their own time and space and if you look closely enough, there are blessings in EVERY situation.

A Work in Progress

Folks are always commenting about our lovely landscaping and I like to joke that we have nothing to do with it because the previous owner was a landscape designer.  We do have to maintain it, which was not a problem. Until now.

After several days of rain and hot weather, the weeds multiplied by the thousands. Our beds are covered in green, and not the pretty kind. This situation is particularly frustrating because just a few months ago, my husband weeded and sprayed every bed before laying down mulch.  But now those gorgeous beds are being choked by massive weeds.

My morning run did little to clear my head so with time to spare, I decided to tackle the weeds with the “Fly Lady” approach –tackle the yard in 15 min increment because when I look around the yard, I get completely overwhelmed by the number of weeds.  Good god, maybe we should have stayed in our town house, beautiful yard be damned!

Just so you know, yard work does not come naturally.  As a child, my brother and I weeded as part of our summer chores.  How I hated it!  I wanted to play or go to the pool, not weed the yard.  So here I am many years later with a shovel and a yard full of weeds.  Fifteen minutes, I only need to do this for 15 minutes, I kept saying before I began.

I grabbed the shovel and went to work.  Hmmm… when was the last time I had my hands in the dirt?  The soil, rich and earthy smelling, had worms, lady bugs, mysterious seeds and rocks, scattered here and there. Some weeds were definitely harder to pull than others and I had to dig deeper or make my hole wider to get at the roots.  Other weeds were so pretty with delicate flowers making me question if they were really weeds.

I continued to dig and pull, finding myself in a bit of a meditative state and the fifteen minutes passed quickly.  After another five minutes, I had to put my shovel down and start my day.  That afternoon, while the boys played outside, I found myself at another bed and one hour later, I felt such a sense of accomplishment when I saw that I had cleared out an entire bed of weeds. 

This approach continued throughout the weekend and I’m happy to report that we only have one bed left to weed, which I hope to attack one early morning this week.

I surprised myself and found the whole process therapeutic and so unlike my experience as a teenager.  I was brought back to the earth, pulling weeds, one at a time as I cleared out space in each bed.  What satisfaction I felt when I walked past a weeded bed – “I did that,” I thought. “Look how nice it looks.”  

As I was digging in the dirt, I thought about how weeding is a metaphor for life –  how something so overwhelming and BIG and scary can be tackled just one task (or weed) at a time in small increments.   With some problems you have to work harder to remove them from your life and dig a little deeper, other times it is easier to make a change.  But easy or hard, you need to tackle whatever you are facing -one thing at a time.  You can’t clear a bed unless you pull each weed out.

And what about those “weeds” in our lives – those negative thoughts, patterns or behaviors which no longer serve us and cause us harm?  How often have I held onto an old way of being because it was comfortable and the way I always reacted to a situation?  What would happen if I cleared some space in my life for new things to blossom?  What if one by one, I pulled out the negative patterns and made room for new behaviors?

I have a tendency to want to change everything at once, and I know I’m not alone in that.  How many of us have pledged that we’ll exercise every day while starting a diet, consuming only certain foods in an attempt to lose weight? And how many of us are successful when we try to do everything at once? 

What I was reminded of in the garden was that that my hands will get dirty and I may have to dig deeper to remove something that is stuck, but if I take it one step at a time, I can confront the problems facing me.  New ones will certainly crop up, just like new weeds will grow in my garden, but a few minutes of work every day can keep my garden cleared of weeds and my mind clear.

Just like my garden, I am a work in progress.   

If not now, when?

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Image

Over the past several months, I’ve been getting little nudges from the universe, encouraging me to write.  I saw a post on Glennon Doyle Melton’s Momastery (if you haven’t seen her stuff yet, you should check out her blog:  http://momastery.com/) encouraging folks to write if they feel a hankering to write.  I felt as if it was a personal message just to me.  Then, a few days later, I encountered another message, from a stranger, praising the need for all to share our stories.   I heard it and didn’t do a darn thing.

I’ve stopped and started a blog several times now – almost like a diet – vowing that I’m going to write one post a week, only to fall off the wagon before barely starting, eeking out one post every few months.  I can blame my life of course. I’m a Mama of two young boys, who also works and manages everything in the house.  And if I’m honest, I can also point to the fear of revealing myself.   What if no one likes what I have to say?  What if people think my ideas are stupid?  What if no one reads what I write?  What if they do like it?  What does this all mean?

And then, this past week I came across another quote (several times, in fact), “What people think of you is none of your business.”  Now the universe is addressing my fears?  It is rather comical, when you think about it.   As a bona-fide people pleaser, I’m so busy taking care of everyone else that I’m great at ignoring that little voice inside of me or asking for what I want. 

There are also the very real obstacles that I encounter multiple times a day.  In fact, mid-sentence, my toddler began screaming hysterically from his bed and it appears his nap is now over.  So there goes ME time for today and forget the flow….  But I know I’m not the only one who lives in a time-crunch, and if everyone else I love to read can manage to figure it out, I can too.

I do take comfort in the fact that many authors I admire, Anne Lamott, Anna Quindlen, Elizabeth Gilbert, and Glennon Doyle Melton have all reported being terrified before writing a story. If they’re scared, then what does that mean for me?  These people are geniuses!

In Mark Nepo’s Book of Awakening on May 30, his reflection is titled, If not now, when? Mark Nepo’s amazing words of wisdom aside, I heard you universe, I got the message.  (And if you don’t know about Mark Nepo’s Book of Awakening yet, check it out.  This one is a keeper!  Even Oprah thinks so.)

So here we go with another attempt at this blog thing.  I’m not going to set “goals” because that seems just like a sure-fire way for me to fail.  Instead, I promise to show up at the page when I feel something percolating inside of me.  I will not worry (too much) about what people have to say and I will somehow manage to find “me” time in the middle of my busy, but wonderful life.

If not now, when?

 

 

THE CHRISTMAS LETTER!

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It’s that time of year when stores put the Christmas items out WAY too early, you start hearing Christmas music and I start to panic about “THE CHRISTMAS LETTER.”

Now, you may wonder, why would I panic about a letter, but see, “THE CHRISTMAS LETTER” has been a factor in my life for 43 years.  It is not my letter, but my parent’s letter, and every year, right before Thanksgiving, I receive a call from my parents saying they need my submission for “THE CHRISTMAS LETTER.”

Why you might ask, is it in quotes and caps?  Because it is this THING – this all important letter which my parents send to their friends, relatives and former business associates.  From the time we were little, we were instructed to always be polite, put other’s needs first, NEVER share anything negative – certainly not family secrets.  We were the perfect family.

For a long time, I bought into that thinking.  I was the cursed “good” girl always trying to please everyone else around me.  That behavior got me into trouble more than once.  I’ve said the most ridiculous things to people in my attempt to be perfect and a “good” girl.  Heck, even now my Mom will  say, “now that’s a good girl,” when I do something that she deems is good.  Thankfully, I’m no longer looking for that approval.

So a good girl’s submission to “THE CHRISTMAS LETTER” must be all about her perfect life, her perfect family, her successful career.  Awards, accolades and promotions with titles are a must: broken hearts, bad career decisions, and fat must not be mentioned.

I have never been driven by titles or winning, for that matter.  When I played tennis in high school, I was most satisfied with myself when I played my absolute best, even if it meant losing.  This used to make my coach insane.  “You need to have the drive to win!  Why are you so chatty and nice to your opponent, saying ‘nice shot’ if she had a good shot?”  It’s just the way I’ve always been.  I want to do my best and if a reward follows great, but I’m not in it for the reward.  I just feel happiest when I work my hardest, even if it doesn’t mean I get an “A” or win or have the highest score.  It’s just who I am.

I’ve had success in my life, and the years that big or interesting things happen to me, “THE CHRISTMAS LETTER” is a breeze. But most years, it makes me insane.  For instance, the Thanksgiving after 9/11, I was living in NYC and had recently broken up with a long time boyfriend.  I was so very grateful that all of my family and friends survived the WTC and Pentagon attacks, and I was relieved that I was no longer in an unsuitable relationship.  I was also terrified of subsequent terrorist attacks and stopped riding the subway for awhile.  There was still such sadness, mixed with kindness all around NYC, but I couldn’t think about a suitable way to convey this to my parents for the LETTER.  When I said as much, I was told to come up with something – hadn’t something happened in my job?  Hadn’t I done something interesting to tell other people?  Didn’t I travel some place fun?

I don’t mean to make my parents sound like monsters.  I’ve come to realize that some folks look for validation from the outside, and I don’t.  I never have.  My parents letter is their version of Facebook, because let’s face it, doesn’t everyone else’s life look perfect on Facebook?   Maybe we should start a “real” movement.  One where we actually show what we look like after we’ve cried or when we’ve first woken up.  I should do that because my hair alone will make people laugh and laughter is good.  Maybe I’ll do that tomorrow.

Ahh, but I’m off track.  Every day there are things for me to be grateful for, and while I can’t always convey that in a paragraph for my parent’s Christmas letter, perhaps I can try.

I’m not sure what my submission will be this year.  There is so much to be thankful for and there is so  much that has been difficult about this year.

 I’m thankful for my beautiful and healthy boys who bring such joy into my life and I’m thankful for my husband.  I’m thankful that on the days when my boys are sick and fighting, I manage to make it through the day, one breath at the time.  I’m thankful for my friends who have held me up while I’ve cried and I’m grateful to be there for others while they are working through their issues.  I’m thankful for our home and our winter river view. I love the beautiful trees and the chirping birds who accompany me on my morning run as the sun comes up.  It IS a beautiful life, even with all the hard stuff, it is.  Maybe that’s what I’ll say and they can edit it as they see fit.

I am not a runner!

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I am not a runner!

And yet, for the past eight weeks, I’ve been getting up at the crack of dawn most mornings and jogging (slowly) along the Potomac River.

I’m training for the Cherry Blossom 10 miler, in Washington, DC. There is nothing more glorious than running under the cherry blossoms for ten miles, or so I imagine. I’ve never run a race this distance before, so any conjectures I may have about the actual experience, are well, conjectures. Still, the cherry blossoms are breathtaking and I’m looking forward to experiencing them in a different way.

It has been about eight years, a wedding, three moves and two babies since my last 10k. Let’s just say, it was something from my single days, and even then, I didn’t classify myself as a runner.

I fell into running back when I was living in NYC, because so many of the people I knew spent their time running around Central Park. Each November, I’d walk down to the end of my block and cheer for the thousands who were running the NYC Marathon, and get goose bumps. ‘I want to do that someday,’ I thought. The thing is, I’ve never enjoyed running. Ignoring that little fact, I threw my name in the NYC Marathon lottery thinking, they’ll never pick me. But they did.

And so my training began. I followed the schedule for beginners, and simply ignored the fine print about the “base” I should have acquired prior to the official start of training. After about two weeks, I hobbled into my office with a slew of injuries. Thank god I worked with such fine physical therapists – they had me back out on my feet quickly.

Next, I found a training partner who was my speed. The only problem: she did not talk and for me, that was torture. Music didn’t help either. At the end of each song, I’d think, ‘that was only three minutes?’ I felt like I’ve been running for at least ten minutes. Then I found friends who talked and made the time fly, except they were too fast for me, and in trying to keep up with them, I injured myself further. My physical therapists put me back together again, but at this point, my morale was low and it was hot – ‘I’m just not a runner,’ I thought. And so I quit.

Two years later, a close friend (who is also an Ironman triathlete) took me to a trail near our home and encouraged me to jog with her. Me, jogging with a triathlete? Clearly she was crazy.

“I’m not a runner, I told her. Besides, it hurts and I always seem to injure myself.” My wise and fit friend was not going to fall for any excuses. “The first 20 minutes always feel uncomfortable, but if you can get past that, you’ll see, you’ll have a breakthrough. It’s uncomfortable for me for the first 20 minutes.” And so we began. Step by step.

She wasn’t concerned about miles, or our pace; she just wanted us out there for as many minutes as I could go. She encouraged me, and this gave me confidence to keep running longer and longer, which in turn made me stronger and fitter. Three times a week for 60 minutes, we ran along the Hudson River. She was the perfect running partner, each time she pushed me to go a little faster AND she talked! While we ran we discussed everything from her father’s illness and passing to all the other issues we confronted on daily basis. We talked about the future and shared business ideas – it felt like life was so full of possibility during each run. Exercise, therapy and social support all wrapped up into one little hour. Some days were easy and others were tough. Still, I pressed on.

Shortly before my marriage, I moved to DC. Without my partner, my running routine sputtered and died. ‘I’m not a runner after all, I thought.’

Eight mindless years at the gym on the elliptical or in spinning class (I tried, I really did, but couldn’t get into riding a bike in the gym with all those sweaty people), I found myself back where I started. I was not fit, I was not motivated and I missed the “flow” I used to feel during and after our runs along the Hudson River.

And then one day in early December 2012, I had the wild idea to sign up for the Cherry Blossom Ten miler.

Eight weeks ago, when I started the beginner’s training program, I could not jog for more than a minute without feeling winded. This morning I ran for 80 minutes, without stopping. Surprisingly, I feel pretty good right now. We’ll see tomorrow.

Most mornings, I’m up, all alone running along my street, staring at the river. It is so beautiful to watch the sun come up over the Potomac River and listen to the birds chirp. I love being outside, even on the coldest days.

It has not been easy. My 17 month old has not been sleeping well, it has been cold, and running feels hard to me. Still, I get out there. After each run, I feel such a sense of accomplishment – ‘I finished today’s run and did not keel over in the street!’

Running along the Potomac River reminds me of my runs along the Hudson River with my friend. Those Hudson River runs have been a foundation for me – I did it before, I can do it today. The difference this time is that I’m alone – there is no one there to make me go run, distract me, encourage me, and cheer for me. I’m alone with my thoughts, my breath and the chirping birds. The strange thing is, I find myself looking forward to that time running along the river, even if a part of me is also dreading it.

Step by step and day by day, I’m starting to reconsider things. Maybe I am a runner after all.

Pushing beyond my limits

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I started my day off at a yoga class one of my Mom friends was teaching locally.  Nothing says “Namaste” or “I’m going to have a great day”, as taking a kick-ass class at 8 AM on a Saturday morning.  I sweated and grunted and somehow managed to complete the class without falling over, which was amazing, because even though she said it was Yoga 1 level, what she meant to say was that it was Yoga 1 for people who could do headstands with little effort.

I was proud that I was able to finish, even while discovering that I am really weak.  I mean really weak.  And I’m not joking around.  Those poses may look easy, but unless you’re strong, and even if you are strong, your muscles will quake while you hold them.  I pushed my body and moved it in ways I didn’t know was possible.  This seems to be a theme in my life right now.

In January I began a couch to 10 mile training program (yes you read that correctly, MILES) for the Cherry Blossom 10 miler on April 7th.  (I have tendency to bite off a large chunk) I followed my training religiously and felt great, until I was struck down by the stomach flu.  And then my two boys were struck down by the stomach flu.  All this happened 1 ½ weeks before my race.  Let me tell you, the stomach flu can play with your mind.  It will make you believe that you will NEVER eat again.  And make you doubt your ability to even walk 10 miles.  But on race day, I felt great, besides nerves, and off I went, completing 10 miles without stopping.  Slow, but heck, who cares?  I didn’t – because I did it!  I DID IT!

And then, two months later, I find myself in Jess’ class, moving and stretching and pushing myself beyond my physical boundaries again.  And it felt great.  Really freaking hard, but great.

This is something I’d like to teach my boys by example – how to push through, even when things are really tough.  Someone once told me that just when you don’t think you can stand one more minute, to hold on because the light is right around the corner.  So true and so hard.  It can be hard to grow.  Or run 10 miles, or hold a yoga pose.  As adults, most of us have learned that few things come easy and that you often have to wallow through the muck to find the good stuff and grow.  As I learned in the winter, you have to put the miles on your legs by running five days a week in order to complete a ten mile race. You just don’t go out and run 10 miles.  Unless, of course, you are a professional runner or slightly insane.  And I can’t expect to just whip my legs up into headstand if I can’t even hold myself up in plank pose for 15 seconds.   Practice and practice and more practice.

So I started my day with a challenging but rewarding activity.  I’d like to say that the rest of my day was Zen and just flowed, but 15 minutes after the class, I realized that I had lost my iphone.  I still had to race home because my husband was late for work (some days I really dislike his schedule).  After loading my boys into the car, driving back to the studio, dragging them in and sneaking into the next class, I found my phone.  Perhaps I wasn’t the best example of a Zen-like person for those 25 minutes, but I’m still a work in progress.  And in spite of the iphone mishap, it was a great way to start the day.  I now have another goal in my sight.  Can anyone say chaturanga?