Rock 'n Roll Anniversary

Since the birth of baby Sanders no. 2, I managed to get back into exercising (and back into my jeans) fairly early. (I'm sorry for those of you that have to workworkwork to lose the baby weight. I really am. I think I just have genetics and breastfeeding side effects on my side. It honestly didn't have much to do with the running. Sorry!) My husband had fallen out of regular exercise, and this summer, he decided that he needed motivation to get back to it. Motivation in the form of paying $100 to run a half-marathon some few months down the road. I usually run one once every two years or so, and I was due, so we started researching races together. We landed on the Rock 'n Roll Half-Marathon in STL, which neither of us had done before, and it happened to fall on the weekend before our anniversary. It was meant to be!

Some eight years ago when I was finishing law school, Steve was finishing grad school, and we were planning a wedding, we decided to run a half-marathon together as a way to jump start our plan to get in great shape before the wedding. I'll give you the short version of how that went down: running comes easily to Steve, I have to slog through every mile, I forgot my Ipod in the car, neither of us had a Garmin-like device to determine pace, and we were both sore for days following because it was our first half and WE JUST DIDN'T KNOW WHAT WE WERE DOING. We both swore that we would never run one together, if at all, again.

Well...like the amnesia that women develop surrounding their childbirth experiences, we forgot all about our previous complaints and dove headfirst into training. The first six weeks or so were great. Then, Steve contracted some mysterious virus that sidelined him for two weeks. Then on Labor Day weekend, I sprained my ankle and stayed off of it for two weeks. And in the month leading up to the race, our entire household came down with sinus infections, bronchitis, ear infections, and more, so interval training (yeah right) and speed work went by the wayside, and it was all we could do to get it together for our long runs on Saturdays.

Despite the setbacks, we were hopeful going into that COLD October morning. No body parts were hurting (yet), we timed it perfectly to hit the port-a-potties with about five minutes to start time, and I had my Ipod securely in hand and my trusty Garmin on my wrist.

Look at us: cold but confident!

We waited about ten minutes after the gun went off until our corral was released. Miles 1-3 can best be described in the words of my husbands as 'running like chickens with our heads cut off.' Basically, there were too many people who were in the WRONG CORRAL (don't get me started on that one) and my nerves caused me to run an 8:30-9 minute pace when our goal was to stick around 10. Once the 10K'ers turned off the course, things quieted down and we thought we had it made. WRONG. Then we encountered the first of several loooooooong sloooooooow hills, while staring directly into the surface of the sun (without sunglasses, because Hey, it was dark when we started!). At mile 6 I had a hot flash and needed to get my outer layer off fast, which involved me accidentally ripping out all four safety pins of my race bib (oops). We recovered and moved on. Miles 7-10 were fine. I wouldn't say they flew by, but our pace slowed and there was plenty of water.

After mile 10, my mind said, 'hey, you are less than half an hour away from being done with this thing. So MOVE IT and be done already.' And my body said, 'let's play a game where we take turns pinching and cramping various joints and body parts to make sure they still feel pain.' The highlight of the entire race might have been at mile 12 when Steve was trying to signal me to slow down (headphones were blaring), and I screamed at him, 'I do not want to hold your hand right now!' Good to know we still have the magic 7 years in.

We were SO HAPPY to be done at the finish line, and I had no clue how we finished at the time, because downtown STL was just too much for my trusty Garmin and we lost reception. We learned later that we came in about half a minute under our goal time, so that was okay. Post-race we also stumbled upon free stretches from licensed athletic trainers (nice) and enjoyed a nice cold sip of our complimentary Michelob Ultra (no thanks). Would we do it again? Steve says no. I say 'it's too soon,' which means probably in another two years.

I'll leave you with some of my favorite inspirational signs held up by cheering fans during the race:
-Who's idea was this?
-You paid $$$ for this?

-Hurry, your student loans are catching up to you!

-Chafed nipples turn me on!

Notice how red my face is, and how not-red my husband's is...grr.

Cheers!

Parenting Advice From An Expert

There are certain conversations that every parent will need to have with their child at the appropriate time. Thank God that I have at least a five year window before The Talk!, but the opportunity recently arose to have the 'death' talk.

My human family has been extremely blessed in the health department, so my children have not yet experienced the death of a close family member. But in the pet department, it's been a bad year. My parents lost their dog about a year ago when Forrest was just 2, so naturally, we left things at 'Stu doesn't live with Grammy and Grampy anymore...now they have Sid!' No questions were asked. Easy! And my in-laws took the same basic approach when they lost their dog earlier this year, but this time he noticed. So, I decided that when my parents' cat passed away last week, it needed to be addressed before we visited them the following weekend.

Here's how it went down:

Me: Forrest, Mommy needs to talk to you about something really important.
F: --
Me: Forrest, are you paying attention?
F: What Mommy...
Me: Forrest, eyes on Mommy. I'm gonna pause cartoons so we can talk about something important.

***10 Minutes Later After Screaming Fit Subsides***

Me: Forrest, remember how I told you that Bitty got into an accident?
F: Yeah.
Me: Well, I'm really sorry, but she's gone. She's not here anymore. She died.
F: --
Me: Forrest, do you understand what that means?
F: What what means, Mommy?
Me: That she died.
F: Where is she?
Me: She's not with us anymore, she's gone.
F: If she's not here now. Then, where'd she go?
Me: Heaven. She's with God now.
F: Where's heaven?
Me: Well...that's a good question. It's not here exactly. It's a different kind of place. Sort of like... Um.... ... it's up in the clouds.
F: Up in the sky? Or down here on the ground?
Me: Up in the sky.
F: Oh. Okay. We need to get more dogs and cats and bring them to Grammy and Grampy's house!
Me: Uh, ok. Why?
F: Because they need more.
Me: Forrest, do you understand that Grammy and Grampy are sad that Bitty died. I'm sad, too because she was my kitty when I was a little girl and lived with Grammy and Grampy.
F: Then I'm sad, too. And angry. And frustrated. All those emotions. (Proceeds to make faces demonstrating all the various emotions).
Me: It's okay to feel sad. Do you want to say a prayer for Bitty up in heaven.
F: No, I don't think so.
Me: Do you have any other questions?
F: What are we having for dinner?

Good talk.

Bonus Material (just so I can solidify your opinion of me as the Best Parent Ever):

One night before bed Forrest was flipping through Avery's baby book and kept asking if the baby in the picture was him or Avery, so I got out his baby book to show him pictures of himself as a baby. We landed on the delivery room picture of Steve poised with the giant scissors, ready to cut the umbilical cord (is that weird? I feel like it was a Basic Parenting Requirement to have a cut-the-cord picture? please don't tell me that that is not a thing!). You can tell where this is going, right? 

F: What is Daddy doing there?
Me: He's cutting your umbilical cord. (Duh! What are you learning in pre-preschool anyway?!)
F: He's cutting me???
Me: Yes, but not you. It's your umbilical cord.
F: What's an um-bee-lick-uh cord?
Me: It's a tube that connected me to you while you were growing in my tummy. That's how you got your air and food when you were in there.
F: Why'd he cut it off???
Me: You didn't need it anymore. When you came out you could breathe on your own and you got your food through your mouth.
F: I don't want Daddy to cut my um-bee-lick-uh cord! He hurts me!

***Crying***

And that folks is how you conduct age-appropriate conversations with your children about big picture topics such as the funiculus umbilicalis and death. Bring on The Talk, I'm ready! Gulp.

(Other sound parenting advice: take two kids under the age of 4 to a Cards game in the nosebleed seats when the sun is setting directly into your faces. Enjoy that lukewarm Budweiser!)