October 2020

 Pandemic + distance learning + husband working from home + pre-menopause= the perfect storm for this introvert who used to let out a deep, satisfied sigh after seeing everyone out the door in the morning and reveling in a blissfully empty, quiet house.  

I will add the obligatory disclaimer that of course I love my family to pieces, and there are definite advantages to seeing more of my kids, two of whom are rapidly approaching the ages at which they’ll graduate high school and move on.

And it’s nice to have my husband here, rather than jetting off on business trips every week. 

But seriously.

They are ALL here, in the house, ALL. THE. TIME. 

Did I mention that all three of my kids are boys, and two are teenagers? Teenage boys are loud, and at times a little stinky. And given that their younger brother is ten and is endlessly entertained by their obnoxiousness and crude jokes, they have that much more incentive to, well, be obnoxious.  

Being pre-menopausal has also exacerbated my current levels of anxiety and emotional upheaval. Some days I’m on the verge of screaming one minute, the next, I’m collapsing in a puddle of tears the next. I know that issue wouldn’t be solved by being alone, but it would be infinitely easier to deal with if I weren’t also being asked to find a lost phone charger, or help someone log into Zoom, or break up a fight over who gets to sit in which seat in the car.  

Other days I’m the Grinch, with my hands over my ears, yelling “…the noise, noise, noise, noise!” The loud noises, and the small noises. They’re all just too much sometimes.  I am particularly bothered by chewing sounds (google misophonia and you’ll understand). It’s gotten to the point that I have to leave the room when my kids eat cereal, and I only make spaghetti for dinner on nights that I know I will be out of the house.  

I should add again that I really do love them. Really. 

I should also add that I am extraordinarily fortunate that my husband gets all of this, and shoos me out of the house for alone time as often as possible. And I am also fortunate to be able to put on my running shoes and escape for an hour (or more!) several times a week.  

But there is something about having your house entirely to yourself. For me, it’s both freeing and cozy at the same time. I wrap myself in the solitude.  My husband has been kind enough to give me the gift of taking the boys out on several occasions so that I’ve been able to have a few of those cozy afternoons in a quiet house.

And since they’re less frequent these days, I’ve appreciated them even more.  Then they all come tumbling back through the door, as loud and raucous as ever, tossing their phones, shoes, and jackets everywhere except where they’re supposed to be. 

While part of me winces at the disruption, there’s also a little voice reminding me that there will be a day not too far off in the future when silence is the norm, and noisy disruption the exception – and as much as I crave that silence now, I know I will miss the noise when it’s gone. 

I will miss it. Right?

Read more Seven Months into the Pandemic essays.

Back in those carefree (even though I didn’t know it at the time) days of January and February, I cared about the clothing that was on my body when I left the house.

While I wouldn’t say that I could grace the pages of Marie Claire, I will admit that I tried to look like a competent adult who knows how to iron. I wore dresses to work and county government meetings. Even on days off, I maintained a wardrobe of tailored button-downs with non-stretchy pants for errands, simply because I’d never know if I’d run into someone who’d care what I looked like.

After a brief few weeks when I’d “dress” both my top and bottom for work-from-home days, I realized my brain was being ridiculous. My kids, husband, and dogs — the only beings I might physically interact with on any given day — could not care less what I look like.

More importantly, my grown-up clothes were uncomfortable. There was no point in adding more discomfort to a deeply uncomfortable time. 

Somewhere around late April, when Upstate New York moved into its brief spring, I reached into my drawer of barely worn race t-shirts. Pre-pandemic, my opportunities to spend all day in a soft tee were few. But now, their time had come. 

I love my new race shirt (and shorts because I’m not always naked) lifestyle. Not only are these nearly pristine tops finally fulfilling their destiny, they remind me of the time when I used to leave the house to do a hard thing with people I’m not related to. These shirts are souvenirs from Hilton Head and Eau Claire and Pittsburgh and Tucson — cities I hope to visit again someday. Plus, they are soft and light and perfect.

Yes, I do toss on a sweater or a business casual blouse if a zoom requires a nod toward being a professional. But the moment I click “end,” I’m back into my race shirt and ready to get to work.

Read more Seven Months into the Pandemic essays.

When the pandemic took away my ability to control almost everything in my life, I also stopped worrying about trying to control my body. For perhaps the first time in my adult life, I am learning to be proud of the things it can do, even despite its imperfections.

Like so many mother runners, in March I found myself working from home while simultaneously caring for my two young children. My days were filled with Zoom meetings while Daniel Tiger streamed in the background. Inside the pressure cooker of COVID-19, this erstwhile runner found a new sense of relief whenever I put in my headphones, laced up my shoes, and ran away from it all.

I ran slowly: sometimes 14-minute miles, sometimes 17- or 18-minute miles. But I ran. Day after day. Week after week. Those miles of solitude became my lifeline. And for once, weight loss was not even a part of the equation.

I can vividly remember the last time I stepped on a scale and felt happy with the number. I was a sophomore in high school. I am now 31 years old. When I started running after my daughter was born, and again when my son was born 3 years later, it was to try to lose the baby weight.

To be completely candid, I am someone who needs to lose weight. I am obese. I have health issues related to my weight. Weight loss is not necessarily something that I have been chasing for purely vain reasons all of these years.

While almost everyone struggles with self-image issues, it seems easier to be body positive when you are not obese. As a runner, it seems easier to own your pace when “slow” means a 10- or even 12-minute mile. In the years that I spent pursuing exercise for weight loss, I always envied people who enjoyed the process without worrying about the end results.

I have finally gotten a glimpse at what it means to pursue fitness for the joy of movement. It feels revolutionary.

I don’t know how this change happened. Maybe after fighting and hating for so long, I just became exhausted. Maybe with all of the other problems to deal with on a daily basis, my struggle with my body was the one thing I had to let go.

Somehow, I find myself now in a place that is foreign but also comforting. I look in the mirror and don’t immediately criticize. I look at my watch after a run and don’t immediately wish I were faster. Instead, I feel pride. I feel strong. I feel worthy. And just maybe this will be the ‘new normal’ that I’ve been waiting for.

Read more Seven Months into the Pandemic essays.

We’re seven or so months into this little thing called COVID-19, and we’re wondering:
How is your life and running during the pandemic?

We’re collecting essays from the Another Mother Runner community about life and running during the pandemic during the month of October, and we’d love to hear from you.

Here are the guidelines:

—These are not essays about how you’re doing the same thing every day. Nor are they politically oriented, a call to wear—or not wear—masks, or anything about conspiracy theories.

—Instead, Seven Months: My Life and Running During the Pandemic is an entry into a short, detail-rich story that has some kind of universal theme or resonance.

—The story doesn’t have to be about running, nor does it have to have a happy ending—it can be funny, empathetic, enlightening, scary, whatever.

—500 word limit. (No exceptions!)

—We will run selected essays on this website, in our twice-weekly Another Mother Runner Newsletter, and on our Facebook page.

—All entries up for consideration must be received by October 11, 2020; send essay (again: 500 words max) and a picture of yourself (either a head shot or a vertical one of you running) to bamr@anothermotherrunner.com with subject line: Seven Months.

 

Excavating is more like it. They were buried, as was I, but we are digging out now.

Maybe you know the feeling.  

While friends around me spent the spring and summer energetically redecorating their surroundings, cleaning out long-forgotten closets, or learning to keep sourdough starter alive, I hunkered down to watch Netflix and eat ice cream like it was my job.  

The winds of change blew gently by in late June when a high school friend posted about her local outdoor boot camp classes. I was intrigued and asked for more info. When I saw the 5:30AM start time, I pondered the value of my late nights with pals Ben + Jerry, and was like NOPE. I wanted to do the workout but couldn’t find a way off the couch.

A month later I saw her post again for the August classes to start, and I noticed my BFF comment on it and then saw that she messaged me. Do it together?

My stomach sank while I considered how dark it was at 5:30 and how hard it would be. So very hard. I faltered but then quickly typed out “YES PLEASE!” before I could change my mind. She had reached a hand down to me where I was becoming one with my old sofa and yanked me to my feet.

We ran off to meet sunrise together that week and I have never looked back. 

For 60 minutes, 3-4 times a week, I now attend a hard core workout class that has boosted my spirits, connected me with other humans face to face which I needed more than I realized, rebuilt my confidence in my own body and strength, improved my overall fitness for running, and helped me shake off the pandemic cloud which had been suffocating me.

Also, feeling stronger and healthier helped me break it off with Ben + Jerry…except for occasional weekend flings of course. Now, for the first time ever in my whole life, I can see a legitimate bicep! These arm muscles feel like badges of honor to surviving the hardest few months of my adult life and coming out the other side a little stronger. 

This past weekend, I took my new strength on a tour of two 4000-footers in the New Hampshire White Mountains. When I reached the top of the second peak feeling physically tired but absolutely full of strength and joy, I knew I had successfully climbed out.

Naturally, I flexed.  

Read more Seven Months into the Pandemic essays.