My 3.1

Finally, here I am. I'd been pacing the kitchen in my running gear, waiting for Mark to get home so I could make my escape. The longer, brighter days have meant that my runs haven't needed to be confined to the treadmill at the gym anymore, and I'm ready to break free.

Outside the condo, I look to the left and set the stopwatch on the iphone I put in my running belt. I zip my jacket a little higher against the gentle but stubborn March wind and a few scattering raindrops, and adjust my belt so that the bottle compartment rests on my back.

I begin.

My body feels relaxed and easy, my arms loose. Across the street, a runner is heading in the same direction as me. He looks much more like a typical runner - tall, thin, his long legs seems to effortlessly gobble up the sidewalk. In no time he's a few blocks beyond me.

I head up the hill on my traditional 5k loop of the neighborhood. This is the only serious hill on the route, and I'll see it again at the end of the run when I return home. Somehow, it always seems easier at the end. Maybe I'm warmed up, maybe it's shorter and less steep returning, maybe I'm delirious. Whatever the reason, I'm glad it's here at the beginning, too, so I can get it out of the way before I have too much time to think about it.

I lean into the hill, running with my weight on my toes, and feel the weight lift off my quads as I crest the top and fall forward. My breath is now coming as it will for the rest of the run, in a two-step rhythm that dictates my pace: breathe in, step, breathe out, step. I concentrate on filling my lungs fully to combat a creeping stitch after the hill, and think about how I probably shouldn't have filched the kids' leftover pizza right before the run.

I pass the Thriftway with its bold display of flowers out front and continue on the sidewalk toward the Village, the gathering of shops in our neighborhood, about a mile away. I can see all the way down the road to the blinking red light at the place I turn. It seems so far away, but I'll be there in about 10 minutes. I keep my eyes focused up on the road and the distance. I've run this sidewalk enough to know by now where the cracks and bumps are.

The road I'm running on is a main thoroughfare, and although the sidewalk is set away from the street by a greenbelt the sounds of cars whizzing by this time of night is constant. I wonder briefly what they see when they look at me? I've gotten past the point of feeling like a "fat runner," although I still break the mold in terms of typical runner physique. I remember a few weeks ago when I was lifting some weights and looking at myself offhandedly in the mirror, and suddenly an uninvited thought zipped into my brain: "I look strong." That was a first. Is that what the cars going by see, too? It's a small neighborhood, I probably know at least a handful of these people driving by. Did they know I was a runner? Would they ever expect it? Thinking back to my pre-running days, I'm not sure I even registered runners on the sidewalks or roads. Now, it's sort of like being pregnant and seeing pregnant women everywhere. Everywhere I drive, I see runners on the road. I find myself wondering if they're training for something, checking out their gear, wondering how far they've run and how far they have left to go, if they think that hill they're running up is hard. If there are any runners in those cars, they are thinking the same thing about me. And they might be just as jealous as I am when I see my brothers and sisters out on the road instead of where I am, trapped behind the wheel.

If I register with the non-runners, they are probably thinking I'm borderline insane, as the rain has now started in earnest. It's not the large drippy rain that other climates experience, but that uniquely Pacific Northwest rain shower that is more of a really dense drizzle. My face is covered with condensation, and large drips accumulate on my eyelashes and the tip of my nose. I thank myself for remembering my jacket. I've turned by the church now and am passing the ball field on my right, where the baseball players are huddled with the coach in the covered dugout, listening to instructions for the next practice. They've ended early because of the rain. Those kids don't know what they're missing, trying to stay dry like that.

I turn the corner to the right to circle the ballfield and make my final approach to the village. I only know this because I've been here so many times, but this will be a long, gradual downhill all the way to my next turn, one of those downhills that you really only notice because you once tried to run it in the opposite direction and realized that yes, it is a hill. I've been fooled before by this hill, when I forgot to enjoy it until it was too late and it was over. I let my body fall slightly and revel in the more open pace while I let my breathing come a little easier.

Now, I'm in the village and making my second right turn around the ball field. I have a flashback to a year ago, when Mark threw on his running shoes on a whim and ran to the Village and back. He came back sweaty and happy. I didn't think I'd ever be able to make it to the Village and back running the whole way, and he got up one night and did it because he felt like it. I was insanely jealous.

I view the slight hill at the end of this block. It's short but steep, and a precursor to the slow incline for the next block after the corner that is the sibling of the slow decline I enjoyed just a few minutes ago. For a while it was my Waterloo on this course, the place where I needed to walk to catch my breath for a minute before running home. Now, I concentrate on running on my quads and return to my pace around the corner, and cruise by the middle school on the home stretch.

I enjoy this mile of flat sidewalk as I always do, getting into my typical post-two-mile mindspace when I really feel the benefit of the run, readying myself for that final hill. When it comes, I'm always surprised that I'm halfway up it before I really even notice I'm climbing. The way down is steep, steeper than it's sibling ascent on the other side, and I let my body fall down the hill again, my arms loose and useless at my sides. I don't think I could stop if I tried.

And back I am at the door of the condo. I fish out my iPhone and notice that at some point around 2 minutes it got jostled and stopped, but it doesn't really matter. As I wait for the buzzer to be answered, my friend from the beginning of the run passes going in the other direction. His long legs are still devouring the cement, and I'm sure that he's covered at least twice as many miles as me. We nod at each other as he passes, and I notice that his clothes are just as soaked as mine, his drenched hat is now in his back pocket.

"I'm back," I pant into the speaker when Mark answers it, although my heart rate has already slowed quite a bit. As I walk toward our door, it's already open for me in anticipation of my return. I walk through it, and three faces turn to me.

"Are you runned, Mommy?" asks the two-year-old, with her typical sweet, expectant expression. Just a few weeks ago, she had grabbed her shoes and headed toward the door with them, declaring that she, herself, was going for a run.

"Yeah, baby," I replied, "and it was great."

Waiting for a sign

When do siblings really become siblings? I think I caught a glimpse yesterday.

Caroline and I went to pick up Sam from preschool and his wonderful teacher, Polly, said with some chagrin that Sam might be a little upset. Apparently, he had wanted to color me a picture about 3 minutes before the end of class, but she told him there wasn't time to get out the paper and crayons. He promptly burst into tears, very uncharacteristic behavior at school for him. I was feeling rushed and didn't really talk to him about it as we headed for the car.

But Caroline noticed. Sam got in the car with his stormy face, and Caroline perked up right away.

"Hi, Sam!" she chirped, waving.

"Hi, Caroline," Sam droned, making his way over to her seat.

Caroline reached up and touched his face.

"Ohhh," she said with sympathy, "Were you class leader today?" Making a guess about why he was upset.

"No," said Sam. Then, he gave her a hug. They held each other for a moment, then they separated and looked at each other and she patted his cheek again.

"Love you, Sam."

"I love you too, Caroline." Another hug.

Did I mention that I was standing by the car in front of the preschool, trying to not bawl?

When you're the parent of two kids, much of your time is spent trying desperately to not let them fight like rabies-ridden badgers in a sack. You wonder if you might as well buy a black-and-white striped jersey and whistle and start selling tickets, because this is just how it's going to be and you might as well make some money.

And then, something like yesterday happens, and you realize that no matter what happens to you and your husband, they will always have each other to look after and be looked after by. The thought somehow makes all the refereeing worth it.

Where was I?

I'm not really sure what I'm going to type here, but I am totally certain that the 5 entries I managed this year is completely lame. I was a little busy, to be fair. Did I mention I did two triathlons and a handful of 5ks? And didn't die? I also shepherded procurement for the Choral Arts auction while singing in the season, held down my new church job, trained like a maniac, and chased an increasingly mobile toddler around the house. Incidentally, I started drinking coffee again. That might be related.

Maybe much of what kept me away from here for so long was that this is very much associated with my mom for me, and there was a lot of grief deposited here for many months. I didn't really want to go revisit that. Plus, it's so much easier to be witty and avoid my feelings in small 140-character-or-less snippets on The Facebook.

But a lot has changed for me since March. Physically, I feel stronger and more confident than I ever have before in my life. I went from screaming silently underwater at my own bubbles in waist-deep water to completing several open water swims this summer, complete with weeds in the swimsuit, fish flitting underneath me, and boat wake in the middle of Lake Washington. I ran an entire 5k in about 37 minutes, and will be running my first 10k at the start of the new year. I saw my dad and my brother tear up when I crossed the finish line at the Skoggins Valley Tri on my birthday in September, and convinced them to do the Olympic distance with me as a team next year.

Emotionally, I'm better. Probably typically, I didn't really realize what bad shape I was in until I looked back at how I was feeling in the months after Mom died. I found myself this fall completely dreading the winter in a way I never have before, and when I really thought about why, I realized how severely depressed I had been last year at that time, and how I was dreading the increasing dark. As a side note, I got my vitamin D checked and it was severely low. It's amazing, though, what some vitamin therapy will do!

I find myself now being constantly reminded of her, but not in the ponderous, over-reaching ways of this time last year. I spend a lot of time thinking about and noticing things that would have made her laugh, things I would have called and told her about randomly throughout the day. And I still tell her, and I still talk to her about them.

Anyway, I don't want this to just be about my mom, although I don't want it to NOT be, either. I've taken on a new challenge for the new year: training for a half-marathon. If you had asked me two years ago if it was even possible for me to think about, I would have snorted with laughter, and then hid just in case you were serious. Now, running has become my sanity. When I have a good run, I am zoned, fluid, steady, almost drooling with relaxation. Every part of my body works together in perfect balance. I told Mark, it's like I turn into some sort of running zombie. Miiiiiiiiiles.....miiiiiiiiiiles......

We'll see what the new year brings.

Me This Morning, or The Sad State of A Mother Suffering from Sleep Deprivation and the Aftereffects of T-box.

Well, crap. I need to get up to go swimming. But darn it, my eyes won't open. Ok, ok, I'm up. Wait a second....why do we have a ladder instead of stairs? Hold it....is this a dream? (opens eyes) Yep, there's my pillow. That was a dream. Ok, I'm really going to get up now. Feet on the floor, I'm walking, walking, going up the stairs....hold the phone! These stairs, they don't stop! I'm in our inaccessible attic! How the hell did that happen? Wait a second, I think I know what's happening here. Yep, there's my pillow again. Still a dream. Ok, FOR REAL I'm going to get up now. Yes, yes, I can feel my body getting out of bed, boy am I stiff. Going up the stairs, here's the kitchen...wait a minute, I didn't know Laural was coming over! And why did she put all my feminine hygine products in the sink? Ok, now I'm pissed. I REALLY thought I was awake that time.

This happened, kid you not, about ten times before I actually got up. And I was seriously mad about it.

I eventually made it to the pool.

Random thoughts from the blur

Random thoughts to sum up the past few weeks...

1. When your husband is a lawyer, life sort of sucks when he has a trial.

2. It is entirely possible that Caroline has a "Cry" button on the bottom of her right foot.

3. One cup of caffinated coffee after a 5 year break sure packs a punch!

4. Target is not just a store....It's a destination. Now, if they only had a play area adjacent to a bar from which t-box juice flowed freely, I'd be all set.

5. When your three-year-old says loudly in Target, "Mom! Wouldn't it be awesome if we could just stay here forever? We could eat PEOPLE!" and then starts laughing maniacally, you may get some strange looks.

6. When you smell poop in the Target parking lot, it's best to not investigate. Seriously, just don't.

7. A lot of these are about Target.

8. There is, at this moment, a T-box sitting in my nearest cupboard, open and ready to go. "Come," it says. "Drink me....."

9. Concert week + race day + Mark's trial = tired me. See, I can do math!

10. Met goals on the race (run first half, finish in under 45). Not so awesome? Getting passed by the 80 year old with the prosthesis.

11. That list of spring cleaning items that Martha provided sure is neat, sitting there on my kitchen counter.

12. Snacks help everything.

13. So does alcohol.

Steps...

Caroline turns one

So typical for the second child. Here it is, two days after her birthday, and I'm finally getting around to posting about it! I am at the moment typing while Sam is engrossed in his Geotrax movie (poor guy has a cold and a fever), and Caroline happily entertaines herself on the floor with a Nerf ball. She's regularly standing up on her own now and we've glimpsed a step or two, but nothing dramatic. She's a very careful little girl - so unlike her brother - and always tests, watches, observes, thinks about...and then she finally tries it. I'm convinced that one day she'll just up and walk across the room.

On the day of her birthday, I woke up early to go for a swim and had some time to reflect while driving in the cold to the pool. I had a lot to digest regarding Caroline's first year.

I was thinking about how gentle Caroline's entry into the world was, how unobtrusive. It was hesitant, too, waiting for just the right moment. She faked me out regularly for about two weeks before she finally decided to come, and even then she took a little break to let me watch Grey's Anatomy the evening I was in labor. Just like her...careful, observant, even thoughtful in a way one wouldn't normally think a baby could be.

I thought about how her infancy will always be tied to losing my mom. Her birth was the very last time my mom would come up to Seattle to visit, although I didn't know it at the time. When she was 5 months, she was a model car passenger and guest on a last family trip to Sunriver. I love looking at the picture our friend Pam took of me laughing with Mom while nursing Caroline. She was so remarkably flexible during our trips up and down I-5 during the fall, and a solid anchor for me to my family when Mom died in October. What is truly amazing, though, is that she has managed to both keep me human and sane during a time in childrens' lives that most parents report feeling exactly the opposite. How this happened, how I was sent the perfect baby for the perfect moment, is nothing short of a miracle to me.

So, Caroline, while I drove to swim and turned all of this over in my head, I saw that the sunrise was coming over the horizon and tinting the scant clouds pink, and the cherry blossoms were just beginning to peek out from their places on the trees. And I realized that every year on your birthday I will remember how no matter how dark and long the winter, spring is coming. There may be a few more cold snaps and surprises, but it's coming just as sure as those blossoms will eventually become flowers. Babies always grow, things always change, trees always bloom, hearts always heal. You have helped me realize that this year. I don't know what I would have done without you.