Mary D(ee)

Mary and Hoyt-young and in love

I was Mary's favorite granddaughter. And before you go replacing "favorite" with "only", just know that it doesn't matter to me.
When you visualize the word grandmother, you more than likely picture an old woman with white hair, a low bun, reading glasses, sensible shoes, and matronly clothes.
That was not Mimi.

Mimi at our wedding

Now I'm sure that her siblings could tell you lots of stories about her antics as a child. My mom and her brother and sister could entertain you with stories of her parenting style.

I only knew her as Mimi.

Independent, witty, stylish, opinionated, graceful, loving, intelligent, and thoughtful.

Mary was only 43 years old when she rushed to the hospital to welcome her first grandchild. I will be that same age in just over five short years, and my only child will merely be eight years old, so I can hardly imagine grandmotherhood.

At that point in her life, she decided to be called Mimi by her future grandchildren. After all, it could easily be mistaken for a name when we were out together. I don't blame her, especially since we've already established that she didn't fit the "grandmother" type cast.
The title, Mimi, fit her perfectly.

Mimi was someone that I always relished spending time with.

As kids, we could play with objects that she had collected from all over the world. Explore her backyard and house. Swim in the hot tub and eat all of the hot dogs we wanted afterward.

She sent postcards from far-away places and brought back cool souvenirs.

She was the grandmother that didn't knit me socks or scarves when I was a teenager, but instead let me pick out my own gift while we were on our annual Black Friday shopping trip. She'd always wink and say, "Now, act surprised when you open this on Christmas, okay?"

She was the grandmother who attended recitals, graduations, parties, and special events.

And she always looked fabulous doing it.

I remember the year that I got my first teaching job, I invited her to Grandparents Day at the school. I thought my kids would get a kick out of my grandmother being there. She drove from Atlanta to Cartersville to be there. She was so proud of me. She mingled with the other grandparents, ate lunch with me, and then headed back home. Back in the classroom after the events, one of my students approached me. He quietly said, "My grandfather likes your grandmother. He thinks she's pretty."
I thought to myself, "Of course he does. Everyone loves Mimi."

Mimi holding Annika

I will miss her hugs, her witty remarks, her gold shoes, her green beans, her beauty mark, her rum cake, her cards, and her voice, among so many other things.

I am eternally grateful to God that she only had to experience being old for a very brief time.
I love you Mimi.

Independence

Solo is not a vocabulary word that I use a lot.
In fact, I've done very little on my own over the past 37 years.
I've lived in 13 different houses/apartments with a total of 22 people who were either roommates or family members.
I lived alone for a mere two years.
But it really didn't count because I was approximately three miles away from my parents' house.

You get the idea, right? Independence is not my thing. I'm a pack animal.
I approach my running the same way.
Until lately.
The Tortugas (pictured above) have kept me running the past three years.
Then one moved to Denver. Then there were two.
Lately, those two have had a tough time meshing their schedules. Bummer.

I panicked the first time I headed out for a long run ON MY OWN.
(Have I mentioned that one is a lonely number?)
But then, surprisingly enough, I did it.
Seven miles alone.
The next week, I ran eight.
This weekend, I will embark on my third consecutive solo long run.
If I survive the NC hills of this weekend's run without my faithful companions, I will consider myself independent.
(Girls, don't get the wrong idea. I miss you desperately. But what a good feeling to know that when push comes to shove, I can do it by myself.)


Butterbean is sowing her independent oats lately, as well. This past weekend Geoff went outside to water the flowers in the front yard. Who peeps around the corner of the house?
"The Curly Wonder"
Apparently, she discovered how to unlock the front doors. . . SOLO!

The Patriarch

Tonight while running a three miler, I ran past two older gentlemen shooting the breeze in my neighborhood. As I approached them, I smiled at the easy way they talked and laughed while petting the adorable puppy that one of them was walking.
I bowed my head in greeting as I ran past them huffing and puffing. One of them must have been wearing cologne or vintage soap because the smell that overwhelmed me was the scent of my Great Grandaddy Sam.
I was immediately filled with the memories of the years with the wonderfully sweet soul that was my mother's paternal grandfather. . .

He constantly collected dimes, so that when each grandchild and great-grandchild was born, he could give them a five dollar roll.

He visited the "old folks" at the nursing home at the young age of ninety.

He would sit and talk for hours all while patting his hands softly on the arm of the leather chair in which he sat.

And he was the kindest man that I believe I have ever known.
One to truly be admired.

When I turned twenty-one, my mom asked me to come home and celebrate my birthday with him. Our birthdays were a mere three days and seventy years apart.
I remember pouting because I wanted to stay in Athens and "party" with all of my friends.
My mother said softly, "One day you'll be grateful that you came home for this."

She was right.

Based on my hair color, I am twenty-two and Grandaddy Sam is ninety-two in this photo.

Why?

Annika is currently in that infamous stage of asking "Why?" about a zillion times a day.

I keep reminding myself that this is an important phase in her cognitive development. It's going to improve her reasoning, vocabulary, and allover intelligence, right?

Most of the time. . . yes.

And, let's face it, sometimes she's just trying to annoy me.

It's human nature to ask, "Why?" We like resolution in our lives. Have you ever been watching a fabulous made-for-television movie and had the power go out? Or had a call drop just before a friend was about to tel you some interesting news?

Exasperating, huh?

As a believer, I've always grappled with the question "why?"

Why do small children get terminal cancer?

Why do some people who desperately want children never conceive?

Why do countless humans suffer from starvation, illness, poverty?

Why does a woman lose her husband on their honeymoon when he falls to his death in the Grand Canyon?

Yet, these kinds of things happen every moment of every day.

Yesterday our neighborhood was hit with tragedy, and we all found ourselves asking,

"Why?"

once again.

Why would a loving father/husband/friend/neighbor/church member choose to take his own life?

We'll never know any of the answers to the above questions. At least, not in this life.

But, rest assured, we are being Held.

Crash Course

In April 2006, I walked away from this.
It's a long story that involved hydroplaning across five lanes of traffic on an interstate and landing untouched in the emergency lane. Only to be hit moments later by a truck driving approximately 60 miles per hour while I was on the phone with my husband.

The major point, again, being I walked away.
ALIVE and WELL.

Last Sunday, Pastor Heather, preached on how God recycles. Though he does not cause the trash in our lives, he re-purposes them into something useful.
The moment above is a great example of this.

After flying in an uncontrollable car across five lanes of traffic and landing safely, I had a few moments to revel in the miracle that had just occurred. I thanked God and then picked up the phone to call my husband because I was shaking uncontrollably.

While on the phone, a second accident happened to me-the truck mentioned above slammed into my car, which held me. Geoff's whole car, a Ford Focus, collapsed around me. The windshields both exploded upon impact, but the airbag didn't deploy.
Though I was transferred to the hospital on a backboard, I came home hours later with some small cuts on my face, some back and neck pain, and a large bruise where my leg was pinned between my seat and the door.

Home.

I am certain that this accident was NOT caused by God. But I know without a doubt, that he re-purposed this moment and used it in my life.
I knew (and know) that I had more to give, more to love, more to write, more to try,
more to share,
more to do.

I've tried to remind myself of that every day since.

Wedding photos

Well, it's official. Butterbean is obsessed with weddings. Brides, veils, flowers, The Wedding March, and the first dance.
Princess Ariel and Prince Eric are the key players in this drama.
Guess which one I have to play?

Tempo Schlempo

I attempted to run my first tempo run last night. Admittedly, I had to actually look up the definition when I saw it on my training schedule. I almost collapsed during the last third, but iTunes and the thought of Butterbean saying, "Run to the beat, Mommy!" spurred me on.

As many of you know, I haven't always been a runner. I half-heartedly ran on my high school's Cross-Country team. Then I didn't run for years. After being certified as a step aerobics (Please don't try to picture this!) instructor in 1998, I picked up running as a form of cross training.

Then I randomly signed up for a half-marthon in 2001 with my then roommate, Amy. We gave it our best shot at the Runner's World Half-Marathon in Allentown, PA. I loved the feeling of pride after completing the race, but then I let my running shoes gather dust in my closet for a few years. I did a few 5ks and even a Peachtree thrown in every couple of years, but I definitely wasn't serious about running as a form of exercise or enjoyment.

I caught the bug again while fighting the side effects of infertility in 2006. In case you don't know these side effects include, but aren't limited to: fear, depression, a total lack of control, weight issues, and personality highs and lows.

Since I could not control conception, I focused on reaching a goal that I had control over. . . the Inaugural ING Atlanta Half-Marathon. I began my training on January 1, 2007.

Unbeknownst to me, I became pregnant just a few weeks later. When I discovered that we were going to have a child, I was overcome with joy. I spoke with my doctor about the perils of running during pregnancy, and she assured me that if I listened to my body, I would be fine.

Well, I ran that half-marathon with my beloved Tortugas (pictured below before another race) while I was 11.5 weeks pregnant. I let them in on my secret the day before the race, so they could help me out if there were any complications.

I finished that race through major pain in my shin from mile seven to mile 13.1. Unfortunately, I was diagnosed with a stress fracture the next day. My running shoes went back to the closet until 2008.

Fast forward to today. Now I have multiple 5ks and 10ks under my belt, four half-marathons, and one marathon.

Now I need more.
I need to challenge myself to PR at the Denver Half in October.
Here goes nothing.

An old friend: A sermon revisited

I'm not sure that pain can become a friend, but faith and hope are often developed during painful times.
Faith and Hope? Well, they are definitely friends of mine. We got to know each other very well during my first bout with infertility. They are loyal, committed, loving, and sometimes even funny. We've been hanging out a lot together lately. It seems I really need them around these days.

This is a sermon that I preached (Yes! From an actual pulpit!) after establishing my kinship with Faith and Hope and rekindling my reliance on God and His Sovereignty.

*This post will officially be my longest, but go ahead and try to summarize 18 months of your life-it's tough! Please forgive the summary of Job's life, but he has an entire book in the Bible; read it if you need to know more.

Thank you notes to God
March 8, 2009
Martha Brown United Methodist Church

Scripture Reading:
1 Thessalonians 5 16-18 Be joyful always, pray continually; give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.
Have you ever given a gift to someone and seen their face fall because it wasn’t what they asked for? I imagine that God feels this pain all of the time.
I’ve never been too good with thank you notes. I’m sure that my mother raised me to write them, but I’ve just never been that good with the follow-through.
Recently, I heard from a couple, Jason and Anna, about the bowls I gave them for their wedding approximately ten years ago. I doubt that these bowls were on their wedding registry. I’m guessing that when they opened that gift, they were probably disappointed to find that it wasn’t the china pattern they asked for, or the bath towels embellished with their new monogram. Their response was probably, “Oh, wow, bowls.” I feel sure that they thanked me for the gift at the time, probably saying how it was a great gift and that they would use often. But now, that gift of bowls has become something they use on a weekly basis. They have been durable and functional gifts. Anna and Jason seem to truly appreciate those bowls.
So I started thinking about how much more sincere a thank-you note would be after you learned to appreciate the gift that was given to you.

Story of Job
Job was a very wealthy man. He had land, farm animals, a wife, children, and extended family.
Satan asks God if Job fears anything. God says that Job is a blameless and upright believer.
Satan challenges that it is because God had blessed him significantly. Satan tells God that if Job loses everything, he would probably curse God to His face. Satan takes EVERYTHING-his land, farm animals, wife, children, grandchildren, servants, all of it.
Job responds to this devastation by saying, “The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away; may the name of the Lord be praised.” Satan dares God again that if Job’s actual flesh is affected, then he will begin to curse God. Satan does this to Job. He covers his body with oozing painful sores. In fact, the Bible says that it was so painful that Job took broken clay pots and scraped at the sores. After many hours and days of discomfort, Job eventually curses the day he was born. Job begs God to alleviate his suffering and pain, but seemingly, God doesn’t answer. The Book of Job goes on to describe a discussion between Job and two other men regarding his tribulations. Eventually Job is healed, and all of his wealth is returned. He is blessed beyond belief with a new family and anything he could ever want. In the last chapter, after his many trials, Job offers up a thank-you note to God.
Job 42: 2-5
I know that you can do all things. No plan of yours can be thwarted. You asked, “Who is this that obscures my counsel without knowledge?” Surely I spoke of things I did not understand, things too wonderful for me to know.
You said, “Listen now, and I will speak; I will question you, and you shall answer me. My ears had heard of you, but now my eyes have seen you.

I’m certainly not comparing myself to Job, but I have some experience in asking God for things and not receiving them. We all have wish lists that we offer up to God. We may not write it out and put it in the mailbox, but we definitely know what we want, right?
Over the course of my life, I’ve wanted a lot.
When I was little, I wanted rain boots and a coat to match.
I wanted to live in a neighborhood with lots of kids around instead of on a rural farm.
I wanted to go to the University of Georgia even though my dad wanted me at Jacksonville State.
I wanted a teaching job.
I wanted a husband.
The list goes on and on.
Some of these things I received from God, and some of them I didn’t.

Well, in August of 2005, I decided that I wanted a child. Geoff and I were looking forward to beginning a family right here in East Atlanta Village.
I lifted this request to heaven and asked God to grant it.
The following months brought disappointment. It seemed that God didn’t add this gift to my list. So I made a big point to be very straightforward with Him. I reminded Him that I always wanted to be a mother. I even threw in a few reminders to Him that I would certainly commit the baby to His care as soon as he or she arrived.
God must have said no, because the following months brought even more heartache.
After a year, the heartache turned to despair, frustration, and anger. While I was thrilled for those friends and acquaintances around me who were being blessed by babies, I was angry with God for not granting me the same.
It was during this time, that as Martha Brown United Methodist’s children’s council chairperson, I was asked to help prepare a nursery for the church. No one at Martha Brown knew of my ungranted gift. I agreed with a smile on my face, but when I got home, I fell to my knees in tears to ask God why He would ask this of me in the middle of this anguish that I was feeling. He told me to push forward, but I was not thankful. In fact, I was angry and distraught.
By December of 2006, I was not a fun person to live with. (Too bad my husband, Geoff, left for Puerto Rico this morning and can’t chime in with specific examples. I’m sure he has plenty!) All of my prayers were about having a child. I found it more and more difficult to be thankful to God for all of the gifts he HAD blessed me with over the last year and a few months. After a particularly big emotional explosion, I saw my reflection in a mirror, and I realized who I had become, and I wasn’t pleased. I fell to my knees once again, this time to beg for forgiveness for being oblivious to the many blessings around me.
God assured me that night of His forgiveness, and He threw it into the Sea of Forgotten sins. I began to focus on the joys in my life-my family, my friends, my job, my 5th grade coworkers, my church family, and my wonderfully humorous, loving, forgiving, husband. I also began training for a half-marathon in January of 2007 in order to give myself a goal on which to focus.
At that point, I changed from a someone who spewed a lot of rhetoric about trusting in God to a woman who was simply trusting God, as my Father who loved me and intended to bless me with the gifts from His list, not mine.
In the beginning of February, Martha Brown dedicated the Firefly Nursery that I had helped put together. I had tears in my eyes that morning, but I was happy and content with the life that God had given me.
Two days later, on February 13th, I found out that Geoff and I were expecting Baby Butterbean. The first thing I did? I fell to my knees in tears, once again, and thanked God first and foremost for the lessons he had taught me over the previous 18 months. Then, of course, I thanked Him for that precious tiny baby and I woke up my sleeping husband.
A few days later, we held our Ash Wednesday service here at Martha Brown. That night, David Collins, our pastor, passed out index cards, on which to write what was on our hearts.
This is the actual thank-you note I wrote to God on that night:
2-21-07
Thank you, Father, for the faith and hope that you have been building within me over the past eighteen months. I am so grateful for the journey that I have taken with you. Forgive me for doubting your plans for me. Please use me as a witness. Help me communicate with others. Give others the same hope and strength that You granted me with. Thank you for my loving and humorous husband and my supportive family. Thank You!

There are thank-you notes at the end of your pews. Please take one and pass them on. We will have a few moments to write a thank-you note to God if you are so moved.

Then, during the Hymn of Invitation, please feel free to bring your note to the altar if you’d like and someone will pray over them after the service.

Now that's a bright idea!

Butterbean is quite the chatterbox when she's in the car (or her room, or the kitchen, or outside, or basically anywhere).

On the way home from school yesterday she said, "Mommy, turn off the heat." I told her that I didn't have the heat on, but the air conditioner was on to cool off the car. She replied with, "No, I mean turn off the heat outside." I explained to her that I couldn't turn it off because it was coming from the sun.

Her response? "Well, mom, we need a big ladder."

Since I recently posted about "Letting Go", I've decided to let go of using this unbearable heat as an excuse. I began training for the Denver Half-Marathon yesterday, and it was a rough beginnning. Those first three miles of the training schedule felt like the complete thirteen with the point one thrown in on top.

But, you know what? I did it anyway.

Here are some other things I'm letting go of this week because they are outside my hula hoop of control:

1. The fact that I still don't have an official offer from HR for the Instructional Coach job at my school, though my principal recommended me for it.

2. Speaking of hula hoops, I'm letting go of the fact that I can no longer hula hoop. Ms. Taura, Butterbean's super model summer camp teacher, was rocking one yesterday afternoon. My waist is officially too thick to do this anymore. So what?

3. My obsession with limiting my consumption of all things dairy. ( You might think that this is actually within my control, but it's not-I swear!) I heart cheese. I will eat more veggies and run more. Hopefully, this will balance out my cheese intake.

4. My guilt for not "friending" everyone who asks on Facebook and for not returning emails as quickly as I should.

As for you, you should let go of a few things this week.

And embrace the heat, you'll miss it next January!

Reflections on a three mile, 90 degree, 9:00 run

Okay, it's hot out here. I can do this.

Aim for five minutes . . . anyone can do five minutes.

If I can run five minutes, I can run ten minutes, right?

Where is the one mile mark? Oooh! A mile in 8:15, I'm awesome!

Wait, wrong intersection for the mile mark-ugh.

It's really hot out here. Why did I eat shrimp before a run??? Gross.

OK, I really feel sick. I can't get sick right here. That neighbor is pregnant, and if she happened to be watching out of the window, I might make her sick, too. Nobody wants that guilt.

Okay, if I can just make it to the dump truck parked on Braeburn, I can walk up the rest of the hill.

Made it. Yes! Oh-there's a guy watering his plants. I can't stop and walk now, my pride would suffer.

Do you think if I asked him, he would spray me with his water hose?

Umm, that would probably be weird to ask.

Oh, well.

Now that I'm out of his sight, I'm walking. I mean this part of Braeburn isn't even paved, so it doesn't really count.

Okay, your one minute of walking is over. YOU MUST RUN, Ashley.

Down Flat Shoals, this actually feels good. You can do this.

Another hill? Why does this street have a hill no matter which direction you run it?

Make it to the next mailbox. Now the next one.

It's all downhill from here, Ash.

If you can slowly huff up the Van Vleck hill, surely you can run down it . . . at a fast pace.

After all, you told all your FB friends that you were aiming for a PR at this week's 5k, right?

What is my current PR? Better look that up. It never mattered before.

PUSH through the last minute.

I made it!

I love running.

That's what it's like to believe. . .

I am a creature of habit.

I always order the veggie and tofu wrap with fried okra at the EARL.

I always check my alarm clock before falling asleep.

I always leave the coffee grinds in the coffee maker when I leave for work.

(Much to Geoff's chagrin.)

And on Saturday mornings, I get up, make coffee, and eat breakfast with Annika while watching a Nick Jr., Sprout, or PBS kids' show.

Except this morning, we ate breakfast in the living room in a tent.

It was awesome.

Afterward, I went for a run. While huffing my way through four miles, I realized that I used to dread change. Now, I actually crave it.

Maybe it was the forced change that I've experienced over the last month. My job position was cut, my grandmother was diagnosed with advanced lymphoma, our house has had zero showings over the last thirty days, the pastor that we adore announced his departure, and our hopes to grow our family are dwindling.

All changes that I wasn't asking for, but God brought them on anyway.

These changes are just a few weeks old, but I've already come to total peace with all of them.

I'll enjoy twenty more days with my Butterbean next summer, now that I'm a 200 day employee. I'll treasure my Mimi even more than I did.( And she's a real fighter according to her latest CAT scan!) I love my backyard, so why not stay where we are? Pastor David needs a change, and Pastor Heather already intrigues me. I'm up to the challenge of raising a single child.

There's this fantastic song on my iPod shuffle by Francesca Battistelli called, "I'm Letting Go". One of the lyrics says, "It feels like I'm falling, and that's what it's like to believe."

I can honestly say that at this point of my life, I can do just that. . . believe.

So bring on the changes, God.

Experiencing faith

I've been thinking about hope and faith a lot over the last few weeks.

I'm not sure that you can fully experience either one without some "free fall" moments sprinkled in your life. I remember being in middle school and going to Six Flags with my friend, Stacy. We waited in a line for 30-45 minutes to ride one of the newer attractions- "Free Fall". We sat on the bench, buckled up, and held our breath as the contraption climbed higher and higher. Then the machine launched us into nothingness, and we fell suddenly and quickly. I was sick to my stomach and thrilled at the same time. I remember that although I was terrified during those few short seconds, I had faith that I would be okay when I reached the bottom of the ride.

Since then, I've had some of these moments in my real life. God has taken me and launched me into nothingness.

Thrilling and sickening all at once, every single time. I've always come out of it with a better sense of who I am and who He has called me to be.

A few weeks ago my grandmother, affectionately called Mimi, was diagnosed with advanced lymphoma. The very next day she began chemotherapy.

Mimi with Annika-Easter 2009

One day, she's a generally healthy woman who volunteers, attends church, walks daily, and enjoys life and the curves it throws her. The next day, she's a cancer patient.

She was shocked, as were we all.

But she's fighting, and she's having faith that she will conquer this.

And. . . she's rocking her wig.

Sprung!

This past weekend was the first nice one, and we took full advantage! My gardeners and I bought tulips, irises, dahlias, and marigolds to plant in our favorite space. With our house on the market, we decided not to plant any long term items this year. I'm already fighting the urge to dig up all of my favorites if we get a contract on the house!

Do you still have yours?

Loveys.

You've seen the fear in the eyes of a mom who just realized that Lovey is at home when she desperately needs it for her screaming child in the middle of aisle four, right?

Annika adores her Lovey. It is soft, pink, fluffy, and very well-loved.

(Thanks to my wonderful gift-giving friend Anna for the gift of Lovey when Butterbean arrived!)

In fact, when I realized that Annika loved her Lovey as much as I did, I ordered two more so that I would never experience the above-mentioned fear.

[ By the way the three Lovey trick fails once your all knowledgeable toddler realizes that you have two more (TWO MORE, MOMMY?!?) in her sock drawer.]

Anyway, recently Annika found my Lovey, otherwise known as a very loved Raggedy Ann doll. My mom received Raggedy Ann as a gift the Christmas before I was born. She planned my nursery, clothing, and dishes (still have these too!) around the theme. Raggedy Ann slept with me throughout my childhood, then to college, and she even moved with me to my first apartment. I've never been without her for long.

She's wounded and falling apart, but aren't we all?

I completely broke into tears when Annika saw Raggedy Ann on her shelf and asked, "Who's that, Mommy?" She immediately wanted to hold her, mend her many boo-boos, and has slept with her every night since.



I know that Raggedy Ann will fall apart before Annika passes her to her own children, but a mom can hope, right?

Who can I turn to? 867-5309

I suppose that every working mother has a fear of missing out on something in her child's life due to her career. I know that I do. It was much worse in the beginning . . . believe it or not it gets better once your child can actually communicate what happened during her day.

i.e. Me: Annika how was your day at school?

Butterbean: Atticus screamed at me, and I pushed Atticus down because I had the Weeble Wobbles first! We went to library too, Mommy.

Nice summarizing skills, huh?

These days, the biggest reason that I feel less guilt about leaving my precious little girl every Monday through Friday is Jenni.

Jenni is the owner of Urban Explorers Preschool, and we are fortunate that she is also Annika's teacher. I first met Jenni at a community parent event. She was there advertising her soon-to-be-opened daycare in a bordering neighborhood. She was passionate, fun, and excited about her new endeavor. It just so happened that I had just received a new job and had three weeks to find a new daycare. We reserved the second to last spot the next week!

Why do I adore Jenni? She does this every single day:

(This is one of her 2008 journal entries.)

And she documented when my toddler made a pattern on her own a couple of weeks ago...

. . . and last week she saved this for me. Annika's first drawing of a person is in the top right corner.

Do I often wish I could spend every day playing, creating, imagining, drawing, singing, reading, and dancing with my sweet little Butterbean?

Of course!

But in the meantime, I'm sure glad that we have Jenni.

Will I ever earn that letter?

Several months ago after completing my first marathon, an old rival high school friend sent me a message via Facebook. His message was a nice congratulatory statement punctuated by the phrase, "I never knew you were a runner." I had to remind my old pal that the reason we met was because we both ran cross-country for our respective high schools. He was slightly embarrassed for not remembering, but it actually summed up my early running career rather nicely.

Sure, I ran in high school. But only because my friend Korie signed up for the team and needed a sidekick for comic relief.

Poor Coach Blankenship! It was all he could do to coax one to two miles out of us at weekly practice. I had bird legs, was notoriously clumsy (and have the knee scars to prove it), and carried/puffed on my inhaler during every single run. I ran a very slow three mile race, and I only lettered because you had to earn a letter as a senior. (I'm sorry, but even then I was against participation awards-letters should be earned, just like trophies!)

And to top it all off, apparently I ran in a pair of my mom's old tennis shoes!?!

In hindsight, it's really kind of humiliating.

Running is now one of my favorite things to do. I tend to obsess over my training schedule and revel in my mileage sums (however low they may be). Running is my time to think, huff and puff (minus the inhaler these days), refocus my energy, and reflect on my life.

Coach (and Korie) would be proud.

While attempting to push Annika up a hill in the jogging stroller yesterday, she said, "Mommy, why are you breathing like a tiger?"

Apparently, the humiliating runs aren't competely over. . .

Blind Dating 101

I am so thankful that at the age of 29 I went out on my 20th blind date.
Believe me, I had enough horrible dates (both blind and not) that my friends and family would have completely understood if I refused to go on any more.
I continued to put myself out there.
My motto was, "If I don't have a good time, at least I'll have a good story."
My 20th blind date turned out to be both.