Crossing the finish line...

My first half marathon medal!  I DID IT!

Six months of training. Six months of fundraising. Six months of pushing myself in ways I never dreamed possible.

Countless good wishes, cards and a music mix for good measure, to encourage me, to propel me to cross that line.

Sunday was race day. The ninth annual ING Miami Marathon.

I was nervous. I was excited. I was missing some pretty important people.

My mother in law was scheduled for her second to last chemotherapy Monday morning. My father in law was trying to figure out a way to get down the hours it would take to see me cross the finish line. I put my foot down.

My sister was going to bring my nieces at the crack of dawn, in that multitude of people, to see me cross the finish line. I put my foot down.

My brother and sister in law, so far away in distance, so close in my heart. Their card a few days before moved me to tears. Such powerful words written on such an innocent looking card.

I carried them all in my heart instead.

The night before, as my family and I sat amid over 200 other Team In Training runners, I looked over to my husband. The face that has mirrored my own happiness and sorrow for the last twenty years had eyes filled with tears, bottom lip trembling. When I whispered to him, asking him if he was okay, he held me close. His voice breaking with emotion, he said, "I am so proud of you."

I looked over to my sons as they sat with us. The faces reflected back my own excitement. Their smiles, lighting my way.

It was a restless night. Motherhood does not take a day off just because of a 13.1 mile race. I tossed and turned, worrying I would oversleep and miss the gun. But I would only oversleep if ever got to sleep, though.

In the still darkness of Sunday morning, my alarm went off. I rose, weary. I glanced at the sleeping men in my life, and knew that I could do it.

As I got ready at 4:00 am, I wrote my family an email. In part, it read:

Standing front of the mirror this morning, I do not recognize the woman staring back at me. She is dressed like an athlete. She is ready to undertake the most physically challenging event she could dream of. Yet there she is, and looking back at the last 6 months or so, I know that I could not have done this without any of you.

I did not recognize the face I saw. The face was confident, strong, athletically determined. The face showed none of the fear I felt within my own heart. The face showed preparation, an air of calm, and anticipation that I dared not feel.

Yet, it was my own face. My own eyes that would see the glorious sun come up on the MacArthur Causeway at 7:00 am. It was my face glistening in the heat of this beautiful morning, as my legs carried me, fueled by months of training, adrenaline, joy.

It was me.

During the race, my neighbor and I ran side by side. Much like the past six months, we were able to motivate and carry each other for 13.1 miles.

Throughout the race, there were hundreds of spectators, armed with beach chairs and homemade signs, cheering the brave souls that ran, walked, or hobbled by them. Countless, smiling faces, urging you to go, to run, to do better.

Seeing the kids at mile 11...

At mile 11, I saw my boys. John had gotten on the People Mover, and decided that he would be able to meet there and still have enough time to make it back to the finish line. How to describe the feeling when I saw my boys? When I saw my greatest cheerleader? I was afraid the emotions of the day would bubble to the surface, bringing me to my knees with over two miles to go...

The end came slowly. It seemed that every turn would bring the finish line. The split where the full marathoners came. For an instant, I thought of what that would be like. To complete 26.2 miles. I stayed on my own half marathon track.  I am not ready.  YET.

Racing towards the end...

The drum lines kept urging me on, with each beat pushing me a step or two closer to the finish.

I felt strong. I felt invincible.

And then, the cloud of orange and blue balloons, intertwined to create the arch I would run under. With a sudden rush, I felt myself run faster, harder, than I ever had in my life. I was there. I CROSSED THAT finish line RUNNING!


View of the finish line from our hotel room...

All the emotions I thought I was going  to feel never materialized. Instead, I felt like vomiting. I don't know if it was the strenuous exercise that I had just put my body through, the surprising heat that made its appearance halfway through the run or the fact that I REALLY needed fluids, but the tears I was sure I would have weren't there.

I received my medal. As I gazed at it, I thought of the past six months. I thought of the past 37 years. Of keeping myself within these self imposed boundaries. Of wanting more, of being afraid of trying things that scared me. And I thought to myself, from now on, that finish line means the beginning of being a tad bit fearless.

I called John to let him know I had finished. He told me the boys had seen my whiz by at the end.  We made plans to meet up. I called my neighbor, Sande who was just behind me, waited for her. We hugged each other, knowing we had done it together.

I searched for my family. When I finally found myself in my husband's arms, I felt the tears come. Tears of joy, of relief, of disbelief. Had I really done this? Was I really standing here, among all these people, celebrating this accomplishment?

Yes, I was.

And they were here with me, sharing every incredible second.

Even the ones I carried within my heart to cross the finish line...

There is no turning back.  I am changed in ways that I cannot put into words.  I am grateful to have been able to something for others, that helped me do something for myself.

10 miles of me, my thoughts...and my legs running

As many of you who follow this blog know, I am training for a half marathon in late January.

For many of you who know me personally, you must know that Armageddon must be coming upon us rather quickly.

Because I am not an athletic person.

And because up until August of this year, only bodily fluids exploding out of my children's beings (or blood curdling screams), got my ass up and running in record speed.

But my neighbor, who is always full of ideas, decided that this would be a great challenge for us to undertake.

Fortunately, we are not training without serious help. We are raising money for The Leukemia and Lymphoma Society and their affiliate Team In Training, which take a slug like me and makes them marathon ready.

How ready, you ask?

Ten miles in a little over two hours this past Saturday ready.

Yes. Ten miles. 135 minutes. This Saturday. And I am still upright.

At first, I thought my biggest challenge would be raising the $1700 for Leukemia and Lymphoma research. But, as of last month, not only had I reached my goal, I surpassed it.

Then came the REALLY early in the morning runs. We're talking 4:30 am people. And yet, I found that not only can I get up at that time, but I can actually run, if given the appropriate soundtrack, AND feel good for the rest of the day.

And even more surprising? When I don't get up at un-Godly hours to run a ridiculous distance, I feel TERRIBLE. I feel guilty for sleeping until the "late" 6:45 a.m. time.

But what I am enjoying the most on the mornings I run (O.K., besides bragging rights to my thoroughly impressed third graders) is the time to think, by myself, for a good hour.

Because even though a huge range of musical genres are blaring through my wireless headphones, my mind is still. I don't have a thousand jumbled messages getting crossed in transmission. Thoughts are not getting pushed aside by the day's impeding agenda.

It is impossible not to clear your mind when you run. Granted, I didn't run straight through for ten miles on Saturday. I did intervals of two minute, fast paced walks and one and a half minute runs. But when you are exerting that kind of force, you must focus on breathing, on moving one leg in front of the other, rapidly.

And with each breath, each foot in front of the other, I pushed myself to do something I never thought I could do. As I neared the final intersection before reaching our ending point, the smile on my face was huge. I knew I could do anything.

In January, I will run the ING Miami Half Marathon. I will have raised the most money I have ever raised; by myself. I will run for two and a half hours; I will cross that finish line. I will have time to think about the magnitude of what I am doing, and who I am doing it for. I will have done something solely for the good of others.

In February, I will run the Disney Princess Half Marathon. This will be just for me. I will run for two and a half hours; I will cross that finish line. I will have time to think about the magnitude of what I am doing, and who I am doing it for.

I will know that I am strong in body, not just spirit.

And I will have done something solely good for me.

This will be JUST for ME.

Rare indulgences and being Lost...

This weekend was a rarity in my life over predictability, routine and rules. Since Mother's Day weekend, I have been ignoring the fact that my refrigerator and garage freezer were reaching dangerously low levels of nourishment.  You would think that the cobwebs in the pantry would have been a tip-off.

On Friday afternoon, after a "quick" (was there ever a bigger oxymoron?) run to the bank, I picked up Joshua and headed to the grocery store. I knew what I was up against; three tired and hungry children, hundreds of people with the same task at hand, but, I had nothing to serve my family other than frozen sausages, frozen basil, American cheese slices, and milk.

I was also starved, as I had lunch at 11:00 am. It was a bad combination. Very bad.

One hundred dollars later, I had frozen lunches, breakfast foods and fresh veggies to add to my pantry, refrigerator and garage freezer.

I also bought Haagen-Dazs ice cream. I have not been intimate with Haagen since Pregnancy #2. Damn lunch at 11:00 am and no snacks in between.

After a quick stop home to drop off perishables, I went back out to the "fancy" grocery store and decided to indulge in blue cheese burgers, stuffed shrimp and other curiosities. I also picked up miniature roses, that just happened to be on sale. They were glorious, fragrant; just the indulgence my eyes needed on this weary Friday afternoon.

I got home, fired up the grill for the burgers,  indulged in a glass or two of wine, and watched Finding Nemo. There is something incredibly soothing about the underwater scenes, about the message every young child needs to hear: your parents will go the ends of the Earth for you. As I watched the movie, I was surrounded by the loves of my life, and my heart indulged in the moment.

Saturday brought a hair appointment in the never-ending battle with gray and later on, the opportunity to babysit my two nieces. Take out Thai and sushi with even more fabulous wine. Five babies asleep, the right seating arrangements and the acquisition of the remote assured me chick-flick heaven (He's Just Not That Into You and Julie and Julia), accompanied by a torrid tryst with Haagen, as my husband lay sleeping blissfully unaware on the couch nearby. The only evidence of what transpired; an empty carton, a forlorn spoon and the inevitable 5 pounds that moment of weakness with Mint Chip will cost me...

Sunday brought a day of work for hubby and intense negotiations with three children to ensure a couple of hours at the Outlet Mall...Final arrangements for delivery of negotiated goods to be handed over upon completion of said shopping trip, with no signs of Jab, Poke and Whine. Mommy got HUGE discounts on some summery looking clothes and some peace while acquiring them. Children got super soaker weapons and an impressive looking water apparatus that will entertain them for the duration of summer vacation, and with a coupon to boot! Sunday brought much needed and heavily discounted retail indulgence.

As the evening wound down, we rushed through The Witching Hour at warp speed so that we could indulge in FOUR (!) hours of Lost. Although I have not been religious about watching it (seriously, how could I commit to another thing when I barely can remind myself that my bladder needs to be emptied every once in awhile), I have thoroughly enjoyed the twists and turns that it has brought into our family room over the past six years.

The mental challenge of watching Lost last night was invigorating and breathtaking...Without revealing too much, the ending was beautiful. The connections all of these people had made me think of the connections we all have within our lives. Sometimes, the more difficult the situation, the tighter the bond we have with the people we share the experience with.

And that is really it. After watching the finale last night, there were several moments that were immensely spiritual in nature. How people are connected, how our actions affect all of those around us. How we need others, emotionally, physically, spiritually, in order to live.

How we cannot do it alone.

Anyone who is a parent will tell you how much harder it is when your spouse or partner is not available to help you. And sometimes, it isn't even about all the things you have to do physically. It is about having a sounding board, someone to share the incredible joys, and someone to play rock, paper, scissors when there is a sick child and work to go to. Someone to share.

When I think about my life, I know that my existence would be completely different had it not been for certain people, certain circumstances, certain experiences. If I had my own Lost, I am sure that I would have a parallel reality floating around somewhere.

But I am certain that it would not be better than the reality I live every day.

And I think that that was the beauty of Lost. That, in our own way, we are all lost. We are all finding our way, making our own reality, regardless of the smoke monsters and polar bears that might roam our uninhabited island.

But were it not for those who are our constant companions, those that we can rely on and who we help in their own troubles, we would truly be lost.