What Do You Do?

...if you're sick and you're training for a half-marathon? I stewed and stressed about this very quesion starting on Monday morning when the sting in my throat wouldn't go away. I figured it was from sleeping with the windows open on Sunday night, but when it didn't go away after drinking my regular 32 ounces with breakfast, I knew something was brewing. Not good.

Last Saturday I did 7 miles. The last time I did 7 miles was back in March in preparation for running the 10K in April. I ran over the 6.2 miles just to make sure that I wasn't dragging across the finish line come race day. I haven't run that far since, and it wasn't pretty.

I started out late in the morning. I think it was around 9:30 when I set off on Hines Drive going west towards Northville. It was already warm and a humid day. The first 3 or 4 miles weren't too bad. But when I got to the 5th I started getting really hot and tired. I drank my water and kept plugging along. By this time, I had turned around and was heading back the same way I'd come to complete the loop. Around mile 6 I ran into the sister missionaries who were walking along, out contacting on a Saturday morning. Seeing them kind of lifted my spirits for a minute. I chatted quickly with them, and felt bad for them having to walk along on a hot summer morning wearing long skirts and dresses and clunky shoes. I remembered those days and was glad I had the freedom to be running, by myself, on a Saturday morning. Up another hill, and then I hit a wall. I got to the top and had to stop and drink. I walked through my drink and then started at it again. By this time the sun was getting hotter and I was too. And then up another hill and I stopped. I needed another drink and walked while I drank it. And then I started up again. I don't know what it was about those last two hills, but they were hard, really hard. They required more energy than I had especially in the last mile and a half of a 7 mile run.

I finally finished and for some reason, instead of feeling great about finishing 7 miles, all I could focus on was having to walk 2 times and not finishing in the time I had anticipated. I seriously doubted my ability to actually do this thing. And you know what it did? It made me sick!! I'm really wondering if all that negativity accumulated in my sinus and chest and decided to slam me upside the head with a nasty summer cold! "Take that! That's what you get for stinkin' thinkin'!!"

So come Monday morning, I was not feeling great. Come Tuesday it was worse. Congested sinus, sore throat, headache, feverish, the whole sha-bang. I forced myself to run 4.2 on Tuesday and keep the strength training session appt. I had made with trainer Rob. But I knew by that night, it wasn't a good idea. My head was throbbing, and I just needed my bed.

I dragged myself into work on Wednesday and called my guru. I asked her, "Guru, what do I do when I'm sick and I'm supposed to run 3 times during the week, and an 8-miler on Saturday?" You know what she said? "Don't do it." And I sighed and (tried) to breathe out of my left nostril (since the right one is completely plugged up...gross, huh?)

I guess that's it. If I try and push myself, it'll just make it worse and then I might be in jeapordy of falling off the whole program. If I rest and try to get better than I can just make up for this week next week. It'll work out, it'll be okay.

I felt the negativity from last weekend kind of melt away when I said those words to myself..."it'll be okay, you need your rest, take care of yourself". I felt like instead of having this training program be about disappointment, punishing myself, and being super strict with myself, it should be more about giving to myself. Allowing myself to grow and progress and learn, and especially enjoying the process, not dreading and being scared of it.

So the reason for no updates in my "Log Your Run" sidebar is simply that..."Suzy's sick and she needs her rest". It feels really good to say that.

The Difference a Year Can Make

I started my blog over a year ago…July 27 to be exact. One of my first real posts was about attending the Chelsea Parade with our friends, the Yawney’s. Last year, at this time Becky had just had her third baby and was still recovering from a c-section, and was actually really sick with mastitis. She soldiered on, and nursed the baby in a lawn chair while it rained right on top of her. The rest of us tried to catch candy before it fell into the wet gutters and turned to mush. The girls had fun wearing their raincoats and using their umbrellas, but I recall a very humid, wet day. Still fun nonetheless. And we looked forward to doing it again next year.

So this year we had a bit of a scare with the Yawney’s. They threatened to move to Canada a few weeks ago. We all panicked because of we would be so sad to lose them, but especially because we’d have nobody to go to the Chelsea Parade with! (Not really! We love them anyway!) Well it turns out they’re not leaving quite yet, and we were able to go to another parade with them.

This time it didn’t rain, it was a bright, sunny day. It was humid though…whewee!! We were all pretty hot and sticky afterwards. And even though it didn’t rain, we still took the umbrellas and started a new trend among parade goers. Catch the candy with the umbrella. It was perfect. We got lots of candy, some cold drinks, lots of advertisements, and some yummy pizza with some of our favorite friends afterwards. It was a great day, and another really fun tradition being born.

(the girls are on the left, along with Becky and I, feverishly picking up every piece of candy they can get their hands on.)

(Me waving in the back, Maryn, Kate, Avery, Becky, Ruthie, and Noah is in the wagon eating pretzels and anything else he can get in his mouth.)

Be Fearless

My Dove chocolate wrapper’s message today said, “Be Fearless”…it made me think about fear and some of my own hang-ups. It reminded me of something from the past. Here it is for a little Friday afternoon reading:

I remember after we bought our little turn-of-the-century house in Boise, I was scared to death of sweeping out the basement. The house was old, and full of cob-webs and assorted junk. Lots of nooks and crannies hadn’t seen a dust rag or sweep of a broom in probably 10s or 20s of years. It was daunting and a little frightening, especially doing it by myself. I don’t know what I thought was going to happen, or what I would possibly find, but for some reason my fear of the unknown ran rampant in my imagination, and it totally got the best of me. I think I waited for Mark to be home before I attempted it the first time, and if he wasn’t home I avoided the basement at all costs. Eventually, I realized that the job wasn’t going to get done unless I rolled up my sleeves and just did it. Taking baby steps, I began the process. In reality, I found some pretty big honkin’ quarter-sized hobo-spiders who had set up residence for themselves and their extended families, but in my imagination I had built it up to be wielding King Arthur’s sword against a mighty fire-breathing dragon. I would turn every light on, including plugging-in flood lights in order to sweep out the darkened recesses of the root cellar and behind the furnace. Still I hesitated and never really got all the corners because I’d chicken out and run back upstairs, my heart racing, face flushed. But little by little and with more time I began the slow process of going just a couple inches further behind the furnace to sweep, and one time I actually got down on my knees to sweep and look under the bottom shelf of the root cellar. And you know what I found? Not a dead body, or carcass of a decaying rodent, only a few hobo spider nests, but nothing big essentially. I had built my fear of this huge something on nothing. There was nothing to be afraid of and I learned some important lessons from this experience.

• I don’t need to build fear and worry on unsubstantiated ideas or things that don’t exist.
• I need to push myself a little farther every day to go an inch closer to overcoming my fear, no matter what it is.
• I need to never give up.
• I need to remember that I am strong, and capable and that I’m not as weak as I think I am.
• I need to put unnecessary worrying and drama behind me and rely on my common sense more.
• Go forward with faith, believe, and trust.

So here’s to overcoming fear this fine Friday afternoon. Alliteration...love it!! I know I spend way too much time and energy being scared and anxious about the unknown. And it's exactly that, a waste of time and energy. It doesn't get me any further ahead and teaches me nothing. So if you're anything like me, I would encourage you to do what my Dove chocolate wrapper told me today, “Be Fearless!”

Is there something you’re scared of that your ready to face head on???

Passion for Fashion

I have to admit that I enjoy one of our nightly rituals more than the others. Last night, case in point. The girls needed their feet washed after a dusty trip to the park. I just wasn’t feeling it. Mark happily obliged. He’s so good about that kind of stuff. (Thanks for washing their dirty, stinky feet Mark!) However, when it comes time to pick out clothes for the next day, the duties fall solely on M-o-m. We started picking out clothes for the next day after I went back to work. It cuts down on morning drama, and gets us out the door quicker. I actually really like going through their closet and drawers and helping guide them in their fashion decisions. This is one of the fun things about having girls, we all get excited about clothes. I give the final approval on the choices, or if they’re stuck I offer suggestions for possible ensembles. Most of the time, they do really well on their own. They are learning like true jedi padowan apprentices.

They have been able to share clothes for the past 2 years. It has been a real blessing to be able to just buy a pile of all the same size, right down to their shoes and call it good. It has been a whole lot less complicated and expensive that’s for sure. At this age, they rarely fight about whose shirt is whose, but I know there will come a day that this is not the case. I’m just grateful that’s not the case for now. (As I try to block a flashback of angry yelling matches in the upstairs of our house growing up.) Anyway, I basically just hang up all their shirts in the closet, and then fold their shorts and put them in one of their drawers. That way they can choose a shirt easily without rummaging through a drawer, unfolding all of them, leaving a wrinkly mess behind. Then they find a pair of shorts to match and lay the outfit at the foot of their bed.

Avery inevitably chooses the same 3 outfits, and they usually involve skirts and girly or pink colored t-shirts, or one of the different colored pink shorts and a coordinating t-shirt, either the gray one with pink princess crowns on it, or the brown one with pink hearts on it. She also really likes the 4th of July outfits we bought, but she definitely does not like the khaki shorts, the capri’s, or the “boy” t-shirts (which include anything with colors other than pink or white). Her style is definitely girly, and she is becoming more particular about what she likes to wear. The other day we were going for a quick bike ride after dinner and she had been wearing a dress all day. I told her to just go throw on some shorts or pants and a t-shirt. She couldn’t decide. I picked out a pair of leggings and she said she didn’t like them because “they suck to my legs”. HA! They were also blue, which she isn’t crazy about. But instead of arguing about it for too long (who, Avery? Never!), she slapped her pink sequined belt over her t-shirt and leggings and felt complete. Last night when I got home from work (they stayed home with Mark yesterday because Maryn was running a fever after her varicella booster from Monday…Avery avoided her shot luckily, but I rescheduled for next week…stay tuned), she was wearing the same pink sequined belt with a pearl bracelet, a yellow heart necklace, and her pink velour “Brittney” hat. She was so cute, mostly because you could tell she felt cute.

Maryn is different in her tastes than Avery. She’s more of a Gap girl. She likes her classic basics. She prefers khaki and denim (maybe because she doesn’t stand a chance of wearing the pink shorts because Avery is always wearing them), and will wear the “boy” t-shirts that are blue and green. She has a favorite t-shirt that is olive green and has a turtle on the front. I will save that shirt in her memory box because it reminds me of how she looks most days. She likes contemporary touches though now and then, and usually calls these touches “being hip”. When she was a toddler, she used to call it “fashion” when something was cute or fancy. She’d say, “I’m fashion” as she slowly strutted around the room. She has an activity day coming up on Friday afternoon. It’s a swim party and there will be girls between 8 and 11 there. She asked me eagerly if she could wear something “so hip”. I asked her, “what’s hip?” And she pointed to her pink shrug sweater, and her new (for back to school) black and white striped shrug with long sleeves. I thought it was cute that she wanted to look cute in front of all the older “hipper” girls for her activity. (At least it’s not for boys yet.) Maryn likes looking through my jewelry box too. This past year I have started to let her wear some of my necklaces to church. She is old enough where I know I can trust her and I know it makes her feel grown up and fancy. It’s fun to be able to share these things with both of them.

I’ll admit that I like dressing them more than myself however. Shopping for them is exciting because pretty much anything fits and I can find awesome deals. Shopping for me is kind of excruciating, and not something that I’ve come to really relish in years gone by. I’m slowly starting to enjoy it again. I think the weight loss has a lot to do with it. I can shop in “normal” stores again, and have some choices about what I want to wear now rather than just what’s on the sales rack at Lane Bryant or Target (although I still buy most of my clothes at Target). However, I still have my days where nothing fits right and feel kind of blah about my wardrobe selections. And besides that, I don’t really like spending money on clothes for myself. I’d really rather spend it on the girls or Mark, or not at all. I force myself to get by on what’s in my closet until it’s completely unreasonable…meaning it has a huge unspottable stain or is ripped or completely faded. During my work week, I literally have 5 pairs of pants that I rotate with different tops. Black, 2 brown (with one being plaid), and 2 gray (with one being plaid). I dress pretty conservatively, so there’s not a lot of guesswork in the mornings. One thing I do love about dressing for work is wearing my jewelry again. I had forgotten about how much I love to accessorize.

So maybe not so much a “passion” for fashion, I mean we’re not extremely extravagant, but it’s fun nonetheless. We get excited by simple things. This Friday is “Twin Day” at the CDC. Maryn is already planning on wearing her purple shirt and shorts with her friend Sarah. Avery is planning on wearing her brown shirt with pink hearts and hopefully pink shorts with her friend Lila. I think it’s funny that they have their outfits already picked out for the end of the week. When I was their age, I remember doing the same thing, and sometimes still do!

What’s your favorite thing about fashion?

“Shot through the heart, and you’re to blame, you give love a bad name!!”

So I just got back from taking Maryn to her “well-child” check. And she is thankfully, a well child. Apart from the crushing news that she would have to have a shot before leaving that day, she was surprisingly chatty and enthusiastic with the doctor. She explained why she doesn’t like math and writing stories is the best, and then jumped off the exam table, threw both hands over her head in motley crue signs and proclaimed that “recess rocks!!” She was articulate and answered most of the doc’s questions herself. It got to the point where I had to tell her to stop talking so that I could hear what the doctor was saying about the latest immunization boosters. That’s when the ball was dropped…a varicella booster at age 5-7. EEK!

When they were babies, the shots were no big deal. They were obviously irritated by the pokes in their chubby little thighs, but after some snuggles and a binky, life was restored to normal. They still loved and trusted me, and didn’t know what hit them, or that it would happen again…and again…and again. A simple kiss could make it all better.

Now they’re wiser. They hear the word “shot” from a mile away and start getting all weepy, which turns into defiance, which turns into panic, and sheer terror. Maryn curled up into a ball on my lap and begged to leave, to go home, not to get the shot. I felt terrible, but figured it was best to just get it over with, even though I told her going into the appt. that there would be no shots (I didn’t think there would be!) Anyway, the nurse had obviously done this before because she showed me the WWF position I had to get Maryn into in order for her to administer the vaccine. I had to have her on my lap, wrap my legs around her legs, and hold her crossed arm across her chest. Basically I had to strangle her. And even that, wasn’t enough. She was able to wriggle her little 55-pound body out of my grip at least once before the actual shot. And she screamed…oh she screamed!! Loud! To the point the whole office heard, and she made herself hoarse and couldn’t stop coughing, and had to get a huge glass of water to help her stop.

She curled back up in my lap, and sobbed for awhile. Eventually she got up and limped to the treat box, and rummaged through it until she found something she liked. After that, I took her to get a brownie from the cafeteria and she was back to chatting me up again and surprisingly skipped into her classroom. Ugh. The drama, the tears, the panic of the dreaded shot. It’s miserable. I told her afterwards that it breaks my heart just as much to have to hear her cry and scream like that, and that we have to both be brave. She didn’t really respond to that, but I still feel that lump in my throat. I know that her trust in me goes down just a notch after experiences like this and it makes me long for the days when they were babies, and a kiss would make it all go away.

The bad news after all of that is that I have to go back tomorrow at the same time for Avery’s appointment, and she has to get the same shot. I’m taking backup this time. Avery’s a lot stronger than Maryn, and I honestly don’t think I can hold her down.

Wish us luck!!

Thankful Thursday

I'm stealing Jennifer's idea, because it seemed appropriate today. I have much to be grateful for.

1. Cole’s thighs and dimples (got to babysit him on Tuesday night)
2. Mild August temps
3. Riding bikes as a family
4. A raise in this economy
5. LaPita with Mark for lunch

Arby's Melt"Down"

A few months ago we went out to Arby’s for dinner. Sounds innocent enough, right? Lots of people eat at Arby’s and most of the items on their menu are fresh and actually kinda healthy as far as “fast food” goes. Arby’s is kind of an elite version of fast food. When I was a kid, I hated it, but as an adult, I quite prefer it. The only Simpson’s episode I ever really watched (cause I’m not a fan), I remember Bart saying, “I’m so hungry, I’d even eat Arby’s”. Arby’s isn’t a kid favorite necessarily, but still has mostly good food nonetheless. (Maybe cause there’s actually real food in their food…hint, hint.)

As happens often in our house, Mark and I were watching television in the late evening. I think it was around 10 pm, and we saw a commercial for Arby’s. They were advertising their new(er) (rival to McDonald’s) southern chicken sandwich, coupled with a frosty root beer float. It looked delicious. Our mouths watered, but we were too lazy and tired to actually do anything about it. We put it out of our minds and went to bed.

The next evening, as we were driving home we discussed plans for dinner. “There’s probably produce and poultry in the fridge that needs to get cooked before their expiration dates”, I thought. “But doesn’t that southern chicken sandwich sound good right about now”, Mark tempted. “Oh yeah!!!!”, we enthusiastically agreed. We scooped up the girls and I probably changed my clothes (put on my “stretchy pants”…name that movie for $5), and we headed straight for the Arby’s closest to us.

Ignoring the healthier items on the menu, Mark ordered the southern chicken sandwich combo meal that came with 2 sandwiches, curly fries, and a drink. I ordered just the sandwich and a root beer float. The girls each got a happy meal with chicken strips, curly fries, and root beer floats. Oh man, was it good. We were all devouring our food, and having a good time. But, we were still hungry when the last fry got eaten and the last sip of root beer had been drunk, so we went back up to the counter and ordered more. MORE, people!! We ordered another southern chicken combo meal wherein Mark ate another sandwich (totaling 3), as well as myself (totaling 2) and we all ate more curly fries, a side of mozzarella sticks, and split 2 chocolate turnovers between the 4 of us!! Can you believe it?!? There was definitely some binging going on that night. We were kind of amused by it and smacked our greasy lips, and licked our greedy, salt-covered little fingers, feeling gratuitous and indulgent. We finally finished the last crumbs of the turnovers and on our way out, gave 2 clangs of the Arby’s bell for a job well done. We were stuffed, and made our way to the van and that’s when it hit us.

Somebody pushed somebody else, or looked at somebody else the wrong way, and we snapped. Everyone snapped. We turned into snappy, grouchy, cranky cranks to each other. We were argumentative, selfish, unwilling to negotiate, compromise, or discuss things rationally. It was as if we had been possessed with some kind of sugar and grease goblin. We had unleashed our natural man! And what a beast he was!! By the time we got home we had fought about taking showers, going to bed, who had homework, etc.

I was thinking about this experience the other day. I wondered why and how these two events were connected. Mark said the food caused the crankiness. Maybe it was a sugar/carb spike, and then the eventual crash that occurs afterward. I think physiologically he’s probably right, although while we were eating we all felt fine. We were happy and engaging each other in conversation. It wasn’t until afterwards that we were at each other’s throats.

Anyway, it’s caused me to think about the connection our minds and spirits have to the food we eat as well as our bodies. (Bear with me here.) When we feed ourselves healthy, nutritious food don’t we just feel better in every sense? A little calmer, a little more in control of ourselves and our emotions? I know when I follow a plan for the food that I’ll be eating on a weekly basis, I feel more organized, centered, and capable of dealing with my stress a little better. When there are no plans and no groceries in the house, everything seems off and chaos seems to take over. I’m all for spontaneous treats now and then, and even switching up the night we go out once a week, but much more than that and things start to slide or are affected in other areas.

Anyway, I guess the point to my post here today is that I want to get back on a schedule. I’ve been off of one for awhile, it seems like it’s been all summer. You know how summer’s go, right? Anyway, since April the number on my scale has steadily been inching up and at first I didn’t worry too much about it. Now I’m getting worried. My pants are a little snugger, and I’m just not feeling great about things, ya know what I mean? It seems like there is weight loss in the air right now. Erin’s totally in the Zone right now and looking fabulous, as well as my SIL and BIL who are pulling some phenomenal numbers right out of the gate! I also have some co-workers who are kicking serious booty. I want to feel like that too. I’m not as anxious and eager to give up ALL my sweets and treats, but I can make small changes. I can get serious with my menu plans again, and actually follow through with them instead of ditching them for a last-minute run for the border at 6 o’clock. ANYWAY, that’s that. And that’s what I’m focusing on right now.

Who’s with me??? I’m talking one small change…you can make…today…what’s it gonna be? Mine will be to actually make dinner out of the food in my fridge. See? Simple. Tomorrow? Eh, we’ll take it one day at a time.

(Another Arby’s line from one of my favorite movies of all time for five bucks: “Stop it, you’re getting Arby’s all over me.”)