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.