Freedom is Not Free
What liberation looks like.
Scene: Denver Airport, headed to Florida for spring break. (Yes, this post is over a month late.)
Seat assignments: In a crowded plane that had 5 seats across, we had two + two, with an aisle in between.
The amazing thing that happened: The kids, ages 3 and 6, sat by themselves!
I’ll repeat that in case it didn’t sink it: They sat by themselves.
Granted, Grant and I were just across the foot-wide aisle from them, and they chanted, “Mom, I need…” or “Mom, can you…” or “Mom, I’m hungry…” or “Mom, I spilled…” every 90 seconds without fail. But the facts remains: We didn’t have to carry on a car seat. I didn’t have a child on my lap. I wasn’t parked between them. I wasn’t constantly picking up toys or holding their legs down so they wouldn’t kick the seat in front of them. I actually read a few pages of my own book (and reread them and reread them because I kept getting interrupted). I tasted, for the first time, in almost seven years, what it feels like to be an autonomous adult while still traveling as a family.
The liberation didn’t end when we touched down in the Sunshine State. In mid-March, the temperatures were cool–there were days on our vacation when it was warmer in Denver than it was in the so-called tropics–so I wasn’t super psyched to go in the chilly Gulf of Mexico or slightly more temperate pool. As Juney B. Jones always says, guess what? I didn’t have to. I waded up to my knees or so in the Gulf, and my body never touched the chlorine-soaked waters. Amelia was intent on mastering backwards somersaults, and Ben, with his floaties on, was fine tooling around the shallow end. I read (and reread and reread) a couple more pages of my book, keeping one eye on them. The first time ever, in nearly 84 months, I haven’t had a child clinging to me, unknowingly pulling down my suit to expose my sad, sagging tube socks– I mean my chest.
And on it went: they made sand castles and friends by themselves. They went lizard hunting just outside the house solo. They could run a spatula down to the BBQ pit for Poppy by themselves. At times, I almost felt like an accessory.
As amazing I thought feeling unnecessary would feel–Lord knows, I’ve waited for this day for almost 2,100 days –it also made me feel surprisingly empty. I wasn’t sure what do to with myself. Paint my toes? Read a magazine? Fold the laundry? Make a key lime pie? Dream about having another baby? So used to being their life jacket, transporter, entertainment and a gazillion other roles, when they emerged from the shadow I cast over them 24/7, I was thrilled–and saddened–to see two semi-independent kids that will only grow stronger and more capable every day.
I remember I felt this way after both my marathons. All I did was look forward to the Liberation Day: the day–and weeks–after the race when I’d sleep in and cook leisurely dinners and drink too many beers on a Friday night because Saturday morning was F.R.E.E.! and finally be able to stay up for and comprehend Lost. Then I crossed the finish line, and I enjoyed my freedom for a week or so–or until my quads were no longer sore. Soon enough, though, I was restless and missing the routine. I knew I wasn’t ready to train seriously again, but I’d spend way too much time combing the Internet, wondering what challenge I was poised to take on next. I know I don’t need another 26.2, just like we don’t need another kid. But I do need the possibility.
As we flew home from Florida, we had the same arrangement: two kids on one side of the aisle, two parents on the other. As they drifted off (predictably, 30 minutes before we landed) and drooled all over themselves, I closed my eyes too. I wanted to process the vacation, to make sense of why, when I finally arrive at a day I’ve been wishing for, it can feel so bare.
All I could come up with was this: maybe the structure of training and demands of parenting that I often feel stifle me–they seem so mandatory, so inflexible, so mundane, so out of my control–are actually far from stifling. Maybe they give me the feeling of being needed, important, loved and confident. Maybe they’re actually the best part of my life.
And maybe I need to remember that when I hear, “Mom, can you…” at least fourteen times before school drop-off tomorrow.
P.S. #1: If you’re in Colorado, or will be coming to the Zooma race in Colorado Springs on July 17th, and want to be a part of our Zooma Run Team (bonuses include a 10% discount to the race and lots of support as you train), send me an e-mail at runmother at gmail dot com. I’m going to organize the group and put up training plans and have group runs and all that, and I’m hoping to kick it off May 3rd, so let me know if you’re interested.
P.S. #2: A great Ma’s Day gift to give yourself: Skirt Sports, original creator of the great trend, is giving away four Mother Running packages: A swishy athletic skirt + A copy of Run Like a Mother. Enter here.
Today’s Your Day
With all your great suggestions, we could make a pamphlet: 100 things to say on the race sidelines. Included would be these:
There’s a guy there at every race each year who always says “You girls are having too much fun!” and I love that, because it really is the spirit of event for us. Also “cute skirt” never feels bad!
“Say cheese” when the cameras are around the corner. That gives you time to perk up before they snap the pic.
“Wow, you look so much skinnier than when you started!” (One commenter said she’d trained her husband to say that, post-race.)
Kids can say anything containing the word Mom, Mama, Mommy, etc. The result can be powerful:
The best sign I have ever seen was at the end of my very first marathon, and my first real race. I was running with my dad. I felt like I was going to die at any minute. I am thinking to myself why I even wanted to do this in the first place as we round a corner and there it is…the finish line. I knew that I was close, but when you see it, it just takes on a whole new meaning. And there to the left of the finish line is my 2 year old daughter holding a sign that said, “You did it, Mama!” and she is yelling, “You did it, Mama…you did it.” I almost couldn’t keep myself from crying. I picked her up and carried her across the finish line with me. I did it to show her that she could do anything that she set her mind to. I hope she remembers that when she is older.
“The body says quit but the spirit says never.”
“Don’t stop – people are watching!”
The random winner of the Road ID is Wendy, a mother of five in Little Falls, MN who started her running blog because, “I had so many women ask me how to start running and I couldn’t answer them all personally.”
She writes: “The best thing I heard at my race last Saturday was: “Great job runners! Enjoy it, today’s your day!” It made me remember how hard I had worked and how privileged I was to be there.”
Wendy’s clever blog is called, Never underestimate the power of a running woman. (Don’t worry, Wendy: we don’t.)
I’d add to that, Never underestimate the power of saying the right thing at the right time.
If you hit a hard spot on your run this weekend–you are running, right?–tell yourself, as Amber heard during her first marathon, “You look like you are gliding over the pavement, smooth and steady!”
RLAM’ing around the Rockies: A Week in Pics
The journey of thousands of miles–and words.
What a fulfilling, gratifying week. Honestly, I felt like Dorothy in Oz, but only the good parts (no scary monkeys or “I’ll get you, my pretty!” moments, thankfully). I clicked my heels–or floored my minivan, more accurately–and hit the yellow brick road otherwise known as I-25.
Meeting so many strong, vibrant women and hearing their stories about parenting, running and other life adventures are memories that I’ll have forever. I met Jen, who is pregnant with her third on the Denver fun run, who quoted me back to me (a pinch-me moment for a writer) when we were talking about how you can only do three things well in your life at once, a fact I mentioned in the post-pregnancy chapter. (And truth be told, I was quoting Oprah, who probably won’t get the same rush if she found out I quoted her.) I met Laura, who is running Boston today (go, Laura, go!) after recently being treated for cancer. I met Gladys, a woman originally from Venezuela, who joined our fun run after five months of injury-induced rest. I even caused Kelly to cry (the good kind of tears, I hope).
But an extended period away from home means my to-do list is ridiculous, my fridge is empty and my kids need attention. (Ben asked today if I was going to write another “Run Mother” book. I asked why he was wondering. “I don’t want you to,” he replied. Point taken.). So instead of writing too much, I’ll let the pictures do the talking.
Plus, if you’re like me, you occasionally appreciate a sparse use of words. At the library, Ben, currently a train addict, pulls out these tomes on the history of locomotives. “Too many words,” I say, imagining the 10,000-word opus becoming his favorite and my reading it daily for 2 weeks straight, “Find one with more pictures.”
Some friends who toasted to RLAM. Organized by Bine, second from left in front row, who did Ironman Arizona last fall, and Katherine, second from right in front row, who trained with me for a half-marathon even though she wasn’t racing. Both are way more ambitious than I’ll ever be, but I love living vicariously through them.
Small but determined Santa Fe crowd, including Miriam, Laura her daughter, Taylor, me, Stephanie, and John, owner of The Running Hub.
Laura, a cancer survivor, and her daughters. Taylor, in the striped band, ran the 5k with us, no prob. Her sister, Taylor says, “Only runs for chocolate.” Totally acceptable reason.
A long-time friend Faith, in the brown, and her business partner, Sara, who own The Glowing Boutique in Albuquerque, a shop with clothes so cute, it almost (but only almost) makes me want to be preggo again.
The youngest audience member, I think: Sara, who was just one month. Adorable. Her mom drove 50 miles to see me at Maria’s Book Store in Durango. Thank you!
Troopers of the tour award goes to the Durango runners–and their two piglets–who rallied despite snow on a Tuesday morning.
My friend Amy, in blue, and her posse. Amy makes a few appearances in RLAM, including in a tale about losing her key on a trail run, a $3,000 mistake.
My old ‘hood moms, from L to R: Kristen, who recently signed up for her first triathlon; Kat, who is (finally) rebouding from a crazy Achilles tear; Karen, who chases after one of the most active boys I know; and Stephanie, who is taking on the Pikes Peak Marathon this August.
Jessica, who pushed a double stroller for the Co Springs run, loved how flat the path was. She’s used to hitting hills just outside her door. Pushing two kids. No wonder she looks so strong.
The regular Wednesday night group–plus some RLAM’ers–at the Colorado Running Company.
Reading at The Tattered Cover in Denver. Best Friday night I’ve had in a long time. (Truth be told, I’m usually parked on the couch, watching What Not to Wear.)
Signing books at The Tattered Cover for Carly, a new friend who had just come from yoga, and Whitney, a fellow tall mom.
At the Boulder Book Store; note Ben onthe left side. Clearly, he’s very interested in what I have to say, and will sit quietly for 40 minutes or so. Not.
Fleet feeters in Boulder, where the 5k route was hilly and lovely.
Time to click my heels three times and get back to reality…or at least plan more RLAM stops.
Brag and Boast, or Simply Stating Fact?
SBS as Glee’s shout-it-out Sue Sylvester last Halloween
As many of you know, the seed of our book Run Like a Mother was training for the 2007 Nike Women’s Marathon and writing about it for Runner’s World magazine. I vividly remember confessing to our wonderful editor Tish (a mom and veteran of dozens of marathons), “Readers won’t like me compared to Dimity because I admit to being competitive.” Tish allayed my fears by telling me some readers would actually relate more to me because they, too, are driven at races.
Fast-forward to writing the book, and my “no one will like me” concerns surfaced again. This time it was Dimity calming me down, reminding me we had vowed to be honest and forthcoming in our writing. And, to paraphase Dim’s mantra of, “It is what it is,” I told myself, “I am what I am.” Like it or lump it, I’m competitive. With myself and others.
Thus I was delighted when I read a recent review of RLAM, which read, “Shea somehow remains likable despite her brazen admission that she brags about being speedy.” Alone in my office, reading that, I had a Sally Fields’ “You like me, you really LIKE me!” moment. I was so delighted with the reviewer’s comment, I posted it on my Facebook wall, which elicited some interesting-to-me comments that I want to share.
Laura, who just started RunMommaRun in Eugene, Oregon, wrote, “LOVE IT! I recently re-read some stuff you wrote about getting over being comfortable and pushing your body so your mind learns it can do it. I really struggle with thinking I’ll die, fall over, or have to quit if I push to hard. Dammit, I want to get faster too so I can brag about it! Loved it in the book when you said something like, “thank God for Facebook” so you can post about your speed. That’s awesome.”
Christine, a marathon-mom who lives outside of Chicago was kind enough to write, “I love the parts where Sarah is totally honest about how hard it is to go hard. And how hard it feels, but then how good it feels. So refreshing. That’s what it is. And I so wish more women knew this because we too can do it! We can give birth but we can’t run 8-minute miles? Come on! Yes, we can!”
Finally, my beloved friend and dedicated 5K runner, Joanne, commented, “Women feel good when they accomplish something–I don’t see it as a ‘brag.’ It is a way to convey how proud we are of what we have done.”
Where do you land on the boast v. post spectrum?
Click. Don’t Take A Pic.
Can you photoshop eyes open?
Last week was one of those. During some construction on our street, sewage overflowed into our basement. (It happened on April 1st, but alas, it was no joke.) It was spring break for Denver Public Schools, so I hired a babysitter for M/W/F so I could keep up my regular work schedule except use the library as my office. Little did I know Monday was Cesar Chavez day (which of course means: close the libraries!) and Friday was a furlough day (save some money! close la Biblioteca!). I kinda worked on Wednesday, but that was the day that I squeaked in an MRI with just 3 hours to spare before we switched insurance companies. Wonder if anxiety and stress show up in hi-res.
So I when I got an e-mail alerting me that pics from the Zooma 5k were online, I wasn’t hopeful. I’ve been a runner for over 20 years and have yet to order a race shot. There’s always something wrong: my feet, with 6 cm ground clearance, look like they’re walking; my grimace seems just shy of suicidal; or my clothes are bulging in all the wrong places. Given last week’s events, I was sure these would be no different, even though I dutifully followed the insiders rules we so helpfully dole out in RLAM. (The abbreviated version includes, but is not limited to: wear a skirt to avoid that unsightly race short creep; don’t wear the oversized race tee; tip your hat up; don’t look at your watch; smile. See page 142 for better details.)
I entered in my name, and much to my amazement, I liked what I saw! Finally. I’ve got some air under my feet. I look happy. You can see a genuine, not-trying-too-hard smile. A great pic and the turn of events my Alexander-ish week needed! So I quickly plunk down my digits for the $20 fee, and order the shot. Download, blow it up, take a closer look.
Dang you eyes. Why did I have to blink?
At the risk of sounding like Charlie Brown, I’m not surprised. But I’m not giving up either. I know I’ve got a good shot–or connection with a photographer in me. Do you have a secret to getting a good race shot? Or do you have one that makes you laugh because it’s so bad? (If you’ve got one you want to share, post it on our Facebook page. Seriously. Despite my closed eyes above, I’m a visual person who needs examples.)
p.s. All was not lost last week. I compiled part I of our Mega-Momma-Mix Playlist, which is about 30% of the songs you rockin’ ladies recommended. Stay tuned for parts II and III. I’m gonna need the new version of the Nano. (Mother’s Day? Anyone listening?)