Why Do I Run?

Why do I run? As you prepare to run what may be your final race of the season, you may or may not examine your own reasons for running. Be warned, some of this may sound Debbie Downer to you. But, I hope it may inspire you, too!

Let me take you through my timeline of running. I remember my first race. I remember what I was wearing. Of course it was a hand me down from my oldest sister, already an established runner. It said, "Runner, runner, runner" in an orange and yellow rainbow. It was probably a Nike shirt. I also had on a pair of hand me down running shorts, terrible shoes, and my glasses. I was in 5th grade running my first road race. It was a 2K, and I was scared out of my mind. But, I was also excited. Now I can't remember how I finished or if I won an award or anything. But I can remember that I was disappointed in how I finished. So, I was determined to train more for the next year. Did I? I don't remember, but I do know that it made me want to train for track and field day in 6th grade.

That was my 2nd foray into the running world. My sister was already, as I said, an established, somewhat of a small town hero, high school runner. When I was in 6th grade, she was a junior in High School. She had already gone to state in track and field 4 times and cross country 4 times. She achieved her fifth time, not long after my epic track and field day fail.

Every day of my elementary school career I walked past the track and field day record board outside the elementary gym where Miss Ulmer held court. Every day, I saw my sister's name under the record for the 600 yd run. Every day, I wanted that record. So, I trained...a little....a very little. I visualized myself on that awards podium every night as a fell asleep. I thought I could pull it off, but sadly...I couldn't. And I was disappointed. It doesn't matter that I won the long jump for the 2nd year in a row, or that my 4x100 team had done well (after much 6th grade drama), I had failed myself.

So, I decided to go out for 7th grade cross country. And, if a person ran 100 miles over the summer, that person would earn a tshirt that said "Century Club." That was my goal. I'd like to say I made it, but alas, I think I covered something like 62 miles that summer.

I did well my 7th grade CC season, and in fact placed first in my very first JH race in 7th grade at Ortonville. I even ran a few varsity meets. I probably should have lettered and thought I was going to do so. But, at the banquet, there was no asterisk next to my name denoting me as a letter winner.

I considered volleyball, but truly, I was terrible at that sport. So, I decided to go with CC again. Every year after that I lettered. I was determined to be better. I knew that I might aspire to be as talented and accomplished as my oldest sister, but that I was not as runningly gifted as she. I made the Century Club every year, I ran hard, made my school's honor rolls. I even placed 10th at Regions my senior year in Redwood. This was a course that I still think of as the hardest I have ever run. I was thrilled with 10th place, but only two things marred my accomplishment. First, the top 6 advanced to State (which was later changed to the top 10, and still is different today), and one of my teammates who was picked to go, didn't make it in. Most of my high school career, in fact, I hated running. It was a chore. Something that caused me anxiety, stress and fear.

Track was a little different, more team oriented. I made it to state two years in relays. Some of that was joyful, some of that was not. My junior year at Osseo was great. We medaled and it was thrilling. My senior year at Blaine was filled with angst and disappointment, even though we medaled. I remember that I CHOSE not to run an open event in Districts because I thought it would help our relay team to advance. Looking back, I can see that I CHOSE to run only relays because my psyche really couldn't handle individual disappointment.

It wasn't until I didn't HAVE to run, that I was able to find joy in running.

I watched my sister collapse at a couple of meets, since then I've watched numerous HS girls collapse from exhaustion, poor nutrition, high expectations, and stress. And I'm sure people look at them and think....WHY DO YOU RUN!?

And, I have asked myself that question numerous times. I have taken hiatuses from running, I have quit running with a watch, I have quit racing. But, now, at 41, still I run. Why?

I will tell you. Running has been one thing that has been truly constant in my life since literally the age of 10. Running has inspired me, motivated me, disappointed me, cheered me, angered me, sustained me.

I run when I am happy. I run when I am mad. I run to celebrate. I run when I am frustrated. I run when I am sad.

Running now gives me joy, peace, stress relief, thinking time, time alone, time with nature, time with the spirit....time.

Why do I run? Because three steps into a run, I feel....well.....I feel better! I feel like things are right in my world again. I feel strong, healthy and fit. I feel accomplished. I feel like myself.

Now, as I coach cross country and track and field I run because of my athletes. I run so that they can see that you actually still CAN run over the age of 40. I run to show them that I feel their pain during the mile repeats, the hills, or the long run. I run so that they know that I know how frustrating it can be to not be physically able to achieve what you want to achieve. I run because, to them, I am the fun police. I run so they are not alone.

Mostly, I run because I can. And I will continue to run, in spite of those who think I'm crazy.

Collecting My Way

If you read my previous post, you know that my number one son's collections drive me a bit crazy. I like things orderly (although you might not guess that if you visit my house). When I vacuum, it makes me feel better. A clean purse, makes me think more clearly. I know it's unfortunately rubbing off on my kids when my number two son spends his play time at night cleaning up his room because "I don't want you to be stressed out." I feel chastened, but a little bit proud when we cuddle in his spotless room.

When I was a kid, I was a bit of a collector. I collected stuffed animals, Holly Hobby dolls, and Garfields. My husband collected baseball cards and basketball cards that he plans to share with our boys as they grow older. Much to his chagrin, I've also discovered his binder of scratch and sniff stickers and Garbage Pail Kids. It reminds me of the little boy (her number two) that drove his mom a little crazy, but yet managed to snake his way into her heart permanently.

My husband - still a collector - saves Husker memorabilia, ticket stubs, jerseys. Me? not so much. My family thinks I'm hard to buy for because I'm not a collector or saver. I throw away my kids' school papers (but save art projects) and birthday cards.

My mom gave me an article last summer on collecting, ostensibly to help me understand my collecting son. But, something from that article resonated with me. It said...collect what you love. Well, what do I love? My husband, my kids, my family, food, shopping, running....you get the picture. I love things that aren't simply collectible.

So, this became what I call a niggle. Something I think about and ruminate about and something that just sits in the back of my mind until I figure it out. What do I collect, what should it be, what, what, what.

The answer came to me on a warm night in July on the shores of Lake Carlos. It had been a near perfect summer day. We spent the afternoon on the pontoon, enjoying conversation and sun. We had stopped at Bug A Boo Bay and had happy hour and I was relaxing on the beach soaking inthe last of the day's rays. I watched Ben and his over 70 year old Nanny snorkeling in the shallow waters of the lake, swimming a little, standing up and having conversation, gesturing to each other and snorkeling again. It was then that I thought "I love THIS. THIS is what I want to collect."

So, it was decided. I was going to collect moments. Since then, I've collected many moments. It's those happenings that you want to freeze, those that you want to remember forever. There were many this summer. Summer is often when I have the time to appreciate the little moments and not rush through them like the daily to do list.

Lyndee catching fireflies in her brother's hulk costume, sporting a messy ponytail...
Finishing a 10 mile race with Matty while his dad cheered us on....
Endless snuggles in bed.....family cuddle time determined by my husband, the ultimate cuddler....
Gabe's grand slam homerun in 2nd grade baseball when he jumped in the air after crossing homeplate, his joy palpable to all those who witnessed it....
Playing in the woods with my kiddos, after they had already been there for hours...
Tossing bean bags at my mom's, merlot in hand, while my daughter hugs and laughs my mom with great joy.....
Giggles of Lyndee as she rides a two wheeler for the first time....
A campfire with my sister, brother in law, and nephews - till 2 am.....
Watching my nephew/Godson graduate from HS....
Hanging out on the new patio, drinking a peach dacquiri with my mother-in-law....
Visiting the zoo with the kids on my own....
Helping my sister move in to her WI home, after being gone from the States for 22 years....
The hot, hot, hot wedding of two dear friends....
Going to the Douglas Saloon with my sister-in-law and my hubby....
Any moment when I catch my oldest reading a chapter book, or my middle son searching out bugs and nature, or any time my daughter is dramatic about something.....
Hanging out at the pool while our kids swim and we hold hands....
The fireworks and good friends in Park Rapids...

I'd say my collection is growing daily. And I do love these moments. In the hustle and bustle of mid-life, I forget to hold on to these. They are fleeting. As every parent/grandparent tells me. ENJOY the time when your kids are little, it goes so fast. And yes, it does. But, I will put these moments in my memory jar and remember that while the days may be long, time is short. Love it and don't forget to live it.

My Son, the Collector

I read an article recently about collecting. Immediately I thought of my oldest. He is a collector extraordinaire. Anything shiny, ugly, valuable, or the least bit interesting goes into one of his collections. I first noticed his collecting habit when he was four and sleeping on the top bunk (chastise me later, I KNOW the warnings say he was supposed to be six!) and I was changing his sheets. Stuffed between his mattress and the side board of the bunk was a veritable conglomeration of items representing my son: pine cones, dried flowers, Happy Meal toys, broken crayons, a plastic fork, and a Starburst candy wrapper. "What is this stuff?" I asked him.

"That's my collection, Mommy."

"Hmmmm...some of this looks like trash." (Great parenting moment - trashing, literally, what your son thinks is sacred and valuable. Start the therapy fund.)

"No, Mommy, please don't throw it away! I took a long time collecting those things!"

"Okay, let's think about this. Plastic fork?"

"That's from our picnic on the deck. Remember, Daddy came home from work to have lunch with us on the first day of school?"

"Broken crayons?"

"I took those from preschool, they were going to throw them away. Mrs. S. said I could have them."

"Pine cones?"

"From our hike at Quarry Hill."

"Okay, at least give me the Starburst wrapper. That is trash."

"Nooooo Mommy," he wailed, "that's the first wrapper I ever read!"

Sigh, battle lost. Collection returned to the side of the bunk bed.

Currently under his bed he has four shoe boxes. One is his treasure collection. It holds pretend coins, a pirate map, real coins, sparkly jewels, mardi gras beads (don't ask), and anything shiny he can lay his hands on. One box is cards, notes and valentines from me, his friends, and his teachers. And two boxes are filled with random items of varying significance. Rubber bracelets? Check. Yugioh cars? Check. Broken erasers? Check. Nest? Check. I could go on and on. This doesn't even take into account the four peanut butter jars, one tub, squinkie collection or the silly bands collection he has in his closet. The peanut butter jars are his nature collections sorted by type: leaves, rocks, shells, and for lack of a better term - other. The tub contains notepads, sticky notes, and small notebooks that he can't resist buying because of the art and writing possibilities they represent.

We address these boxes (and jars and tub) about once every two months. During that two months (my mother probably wishes it were more often), other items find their way to the top of his dresser, his closet, the end of his bed, and his back pack. Also, via his pockets, we have a interesting mix of items next to the washing machine that he has found at school or on the playground.

I remember watching a show called "Clean Sweep." I have no idea if it's still even on television, but the premise went something like this: the featured owner's house is out of control so the clean sweep team comes in and does just a couple of rooms. They take everything out of those rooms and have just an hour or two, with the owner's input, to sort the items into 1. Keep 2. Sell and 3. Donate (maybe it was even throw, I can't remember).

Well, G and I do the same thing. We take out the collection boxes and gather the items that have accumulated around his room in the preceding two months. We decide - do we keep this, throw it or sell it? If we keep it, it has to fit in one of the existing collection boxes. If the collection boxes are full, some items have to be taken out to throw or sell. If we throw it, it simply goes in a plastic bag to be tossed. G also has a thing for recycling, so many things also go in a "to be recycled" pile.

Then comes the sell bag. Since I live in the country, and I'm kind of beyond the stage of having a garage sale, I use the term "sell" loosely. It applies to me buying his items from him. Did I mention that he likes money? He's a saver (go figure) and money has turned into a good motivator for controlling his collections. However, his idea and mine are quite different about what things are worth. A Happy Meal toy? He wants $3, I will give him $.25. We negotiate back and forth until we reach a fair price. He will also pick things to give to our little friend Evan or things to donate to Goodwill.

At the conclusion of the "Clean up the Collections" project, we both feel so much better!

I think there are two reasons he puts up with going through his collections with me. First, he loves the one on one time with me. Second, he loves the money. Me? I love the end result - a clean room.

I've gotten better about his collections. We've learned from each other. I am coming to terms with his habits, but I never want to see him on the show "Hoarders" so I will still try to help him control his desire to collect. As time has gone on, I've come to understand a little more of his need to hold onto things. Because for him, each thing holds meaning, a memory, a moment in time. And, who can blame him for that?

On Becoming a Grown Up

When I turned 18, I thought, "Yes! I am finally a grown up!" I went to college, got a job, went to graduate school, got married and then I started to wonder.

"When will I feel like a grown up?"

I was doing all the things grown ups do...like paying a mortgage, paying various other bills, joining my church, heading up committees at work, coaching a variety of sports teams and finally, having children of my own.

There, that should make me feel like a grown up, right?

It's not like I am a childish person. I'm not. I'm not even silly. I don't run around and jump around. I don't even like to play games with my kids.

I'm really bad at pretend, especially with action figures and Barbies.(Hi, I'm Ken/Superman/Barbie/Green Lantern. Who are you? Are you a good guy or a bad guy? What are you doing? Okay, well, I'm going to go take a nap.) See? I told you I'm bad.

I get bored easily. I don't watch a lot of tv. I'm not particularly crafty or have any hobbies. I am, in fact, pretty boring.

Even when my kids were small and I was parenting 24/7, I still didn't feel like a grown up.

I am just starting to feel more like a grown up now. The transformation is not yet complete, but I think I may have figured out some of the contributing factors.

1. I went back to work.
There is something about putting on professional clothes and teaching history that makes me feel more grown up. Especially since the history I am teaching has to do with Minnesota and the era in which I grew up. See, my childhood life is history!


2. I am now older or the same age as most of my students' parents.
When I first started teaching, I was the new teacher in the school, one of the youngest ones. I didn't have children, so how could I be an authority on your child when I didn't know what it was like to have little ones of my own? Plus, for some of the parents I worked with, they were not much younger than my own parents. A few had children my age.


3. I went through the house buying process a second time.
The first time we bought our house, we really had no idea what we were doing. We survived it, built equity, and then moved on to bigger and better. The second time we bought a house, we knew more - about the process, about our own financial state, about each other. Plus, much to the chagrin of our realtor, HGTV's House Hunters and Property Virgins helped.


4. I have school agers of my own.
This might be the biggest determining factor in feeling like a grown up. I provide birthday treats. Do homework. I get to read chapter books to my boys, good chapter books like Harry Potter. I go to parent/teacher conferences as the parent.

Next year my daughter will be in school. Then, perhaps my transformation to adult will be complete. I mean, I am 40 after all. When my parents turned 40, they were OLD! Am I a grown up? Perhaps, but definitely not OLD!

Sick of Sick

I'd like to preface this post by stating that generally, the family is pretty healthy. We've had our ups and downs, but nothing terminal or really terrible. So, I know there are worse things out there. I know I should be grateful, and I am, and I try to be grateful for my times of trial. I just don't always succeed.

That being said, I am sick of sick in our household. I have to admit that I've developed somewhat of an obsessive side about illness. If you've read any of my earlier posts, you will know that it really began when I was pregnant with Ben and Gabe had an 8 week bout of rotovirus. Ugh. Most of the time when I was a Stay at home mom, I managed it pretty well. After all, if someone got sick, the worst that would happen is we didn't go to the library, or a playdate, or MOMS group at church.

Since I returned to work, it has become ever so much more complicated. It's a dance of negotiation...

Can you stay home today/tomorrow?

No, can you?

Not really, but I suppose I can run in and put in sub plans tonight.

Yeah, I stayed home last time.

But, I'll have to miss a staff meeting, and I'm supposed to be prepping my students for the chapter 6 test that I wanted to get in before the end of second quarter, and it's Wednesday so I have mileage club, and we have AIMSWEB testing this week that I have to administer.

Yeah, I stayed home last time.

Oh, okay, guess I'll find a a sub. Mary, are you available? No? Kay are you available? No? Donna? Jan? Bette? Kelli? Down to my last resort...we all know who that is, the sub who comes in, has no control, doesn't get anything done and it takes a solid week to get pubescent 12 year olds back on track.

Hubby is very, very good about staying home. But, we do still feel great responsibility to our students. We feel like we are gone all the time, and I'm sure the parents of my students don't entirely appreciate that either. But, when you have sick kids, what else can you do? They're not at the age yet where they can stay home alone, and who really wants that anyway when they are sick? I still want my mom, wouldn't my eight year old want me?

So, it becomes very stressful when someone is sick. Not only because of the dance about who is going to stay home and manage the sick cherub, but also because of the GERMS!

Note from above, remember that I said "obsessive" not "compulsive." I am not a classic germ-a-phobe. I don't run around with my hand sanitizer everywhere, but I have been known to decline an invitation if someone has been sick in the last 4 days. I do go around with my clorox wipes and clean every knob, handle, and floor space that I can when someone is sick. I do loads and loads of laundry. I don't share food or drink, or take bites of anyone else's food or drink. I run my dishwasher A LOT. I spray lysol like room freshener. You get the picture.

But the worst part is, I can't stop THINKING about sickness and WONDERING how long it will be before everyone else gets it! I see germs as super sonic live beings that could hop from a light switch to my coffee cup handle into my mouth. I know that they can't, but it doesn't stop me from the constant worry. Also, keep in mind that I work in a cesspool of germs...an elementary school. So does my husband. And my boys spend all day in that same cesspool. My daughter, well, she's in preschool (cesspool) and daycare (not so much a cesspool, probably cleaner than my own house!). So you see, it's not like my worries are unfounded. Just totally inescapable.

My husband THINKS I am a bit crazy. I KNOW I am a bit crazy, and I tell him all the time....I'm working on it.

So, this brings me back to sick of sick. It started on Halloween, a Monday, Ben threw up. Thankfully, we had grandparents here to help on that day so we could still go to work. Poor little guy couldn't go trick or treating. Friday, Lyndee threw up. Saturday, she was diagnosed with strep. Monday, Gabe stayed home. No strep. All week, the kids didn't feel well. The next Monday, both boys were diagnosed with strep. The following Wednesday, Lyndee had an ear infection. Wednesday, Thursday, Friday after Thanksgiving Gabe had three days of fever. Saturday, Sunday, Monday Lyndee had three days of fever.

I removed myself from facebook mostly because I cannot stand how often people post about their kids or themselves throwing up. I do the whole Kevin Bacon Six Degrees of Separation thing. Only, it's six degrees of sick. I know you live in Nairobi, but we were with someone that was with you? Did we have a playdate with your cousin's best friend's girlfriend so we could have been exposed? How long has it been since we've seen you? If we plan on seeing you anytime soon, I will cancel our date with some lame excuse just because my psyche cannot take the thought of illness.

Back to the sick of sick timeline. Lyndee was not herself all through Christmas break. January came, we started to think, maybe we are done with all of this, maybe we can start fresh. January 12th, Lyndee threw up at preschool, January 13th negative strep. Monday, the 16th, Ben threw up, and up, and up. I went to school, felt sick, came home and now am trying to manage my stress associated with all of this.

It is still the 16th. It is also Lyndee's 5th birthday, some fun birthday, huh? Now begins the extrapolation, how long will we be sick? Will Gabe and Matt get sick? Am I really sick or is the stress making me sick? Your guess is as good as mine. (Side note, after picking Lyndee up at daycare, Gabe did get sick...in the truck...the new truck).

I am trying. I ask myself, what's the worst that will happen. Gabe will get sick. What else? Lyndee will get sick again. What else? Matt and I will both be sick and won't teach all week? Then what? We will get better. Then what? My students will survive. Then what? Life will go on. I know I vowed...in sickness and in health...and I will always, always take care of the kids. It pains me greatly when Mommy can't make it all better. I would take the illness for them a thousand times over if it meant that they wouldn't be sick. But, just so you know....it wears on me.

I know there's a vaccine for rotovirus. Is there a vaccine for the common stomach flu? If there is, bring it on, I would max my credit cards to pay for it. My psyche (and my husband) would thank me for it.