New Year New Run

Happy New Year All:



I woke up New Years Day and realized it was time for another long run. I've weaned the 4th baby and am ready for a challenge, but something has been holding me back and I now know what it is.



I need new running clothes. The old stuff is really worn out. Most of it was worn during two pregnancies where I wore the stuff too long and stretched it out. It has all been washed too many times and just looks ugly and makes me feel ugly. With 4 kids I rarely spend money on stuff for me, but I really need new clothes and the requisite new running shoes. Ok budget here comes the line item for Mommy sanity.



I'm going to run the Kentucky Derby Marathon in Louisville, KY. I have a friend who is running it and it is always fun to train together even if this will be virtual.



So, if you are wondering if something is holding you back. Think about apparel and running shoes to start you off. This is a surprise to me. I'll keep you posted.



Part of my reluctance is that I HATE to shop and online fitting is tough. I even hate trying it on when I'm at the store.

Stuck in the middle with you!

There was a recent article in Runner's World Magazine about what distance race best suited you (http://www.runnersworld.com/article/0,7120,s6-238-244--13007-0,00.html).

The quiz results confirmed that I am best suited for the middle distance. I also realized, however, that training with the stroller best supports that distance (8-13 mile races). While I have strapped a child into the stroller to do 20-mile training runs, I was also just a little lucky that her temperament was suited to that sort of thing and I don't know if I have it in me to push the double jogger for 20 miles. On the other side of things, it is nearly impossible to keep the same posture and biomechanics one would need for sprinting when you are pushing a stroller. So watch out 10-milers! Here I (we) come!

Twitter Junkie or Never Twittered?

Have you twittered? Do you twitter all over the place? Love it? Hate it? Tolerate it?

You can now follow seeMOMMYrun on (http://twitter.com/seemommyrun )! If you have no clue what I'm talking about - go see for yourself.

chirp, chirp!

Washing Dishes~ A missed tradition

For the last couple weeks dishwashing has been, well....almost endearing. I know this sounds crazy but.....
Do you remember the days when everyone DIDN"T have a dishwasher or you, as the kid in the family, WERE the dishwasher?
Do you remember standing at the sink with your mom or grandma washing all the dishes after dinner? The smell of those vintage detergents....the conversations...the re-dues after you missed a spot?
I forgot alot of this in my busy grown up life where I put everything except the pots and pans in the machine that cleans them for me.
I keep liquid dishsoap for those pots and pans. Recently I bought a new bottle of Palmolive...because it was the cheapest one that week on the shelves. I didn't think much about it until the first time I used it.....flooding back came memories of my late grandmother. She was my favorite family member the whole time I was growing up and she only used Palmolive....I think it had to do with the whole "hand softening" thing... http://www.truveo.com/Palmolive-Softens-Hands-While-You-Do-the-Dishes/id/2138972249 Anyways the smell the texture it all transported me back to my childhood and I suddenly "missed" doing dishes.

A few weeks after that my oldest son came home from college for Thanksgiving. After dinner I asked him to help me wash the pots and pans from dinner.....of course we used Polmolive. This chore became a great time of the holiday. He washed, I dried, we talked, I made him "re-due" some and we ended up washing ALL the dishes rather than just the pots and pans. It was a great mom/son one on one moment. Now, I don't think he would outwardly tell anyone he enjoyed washing dishes with his mom but I can tell he did. Give it a try, you might be suprised!

Sick Days

On the Monday prior to Thanksgiving I went grocery shopping and as I entered the store I thought, "I can't do this. It's not fair. It's not right. And there is absolutely nothing I can do about it." And there was nothing I could do about it. My brain felt like sludge and my nose was filled with cement, my mouth tasted like boogers. A mere day later, as all of this nastiness settled into my chest, I began to cough and hack. Ah, but I didn't yet know this aspect of my fate.

When I got home, my son, who had had a minor cough, now had a heavy cough and a runny nose. So off to our respective doctor's we went. Luckily, all he needed was cough syrup. Mommy, on the other hand, needed a full ten days of antibiotics.

And this three days before hosting Thanksgiving. Three days before guests and cooking and, and, and...

I got through it. Don't we always? I mean, really, don't we always just put on a show and save the day.

But my muscles ache. Not from illness, but from lack of exercise and I feel guilty and am not looking forward to the sore muscles once I have resumed my crazy, whacked out, completely obsessed fitness routine. Well, maybe the sadist/masochist in me is looking forward to it just a wee little bit.

Mommies, if you are sick, REST. We make our kids and husbands do it. Pull some of that Mommy Power on yourself. I did. And come Monday, that road is all mine.

Running with my boy- a Mom's happy Day.

What a great feeling!! Yesterday at 8AM on Thanksgiving Day I ran fun 5K run with my 10 year old son, Max. He was so brave, so cute, so determined... just ate my heart up. Max is my high spirited one. He's the one I'm afraid I'm not connecting with as he matures. He's the one I really try not to get out of bed without praying for him. These past two months we've seen a big positve change in him. When I decided to find a turkey trot for me to get out of the house and enjoy my husband I signed the three of us up. The reasons were twofold. I think Max needs some extra loving from us and alone time with the two of us and I was concerned with leaving my 12 year old in charge of him and his younger siblings. I woke him up early, he did not complain at all. We got out there. Usual race environment and fun stuff going on. He looked a little nervous, but did not say anything. The gun went off and he ran a little too fast for my liking and almost a mile in he was upset and not having fun. I talked him into happy and pacing himself. Gave him some tips on form (you could hear his feet hitting the pavement). I made jokes and told him funny things that happened to me during races. I made a joke about the fine line between inspiring and annoying and asked him if he wished he brought an ipod. That sweet boy genuinely looked at me and said, "oh Mom, you're better than any ipod." I just about gushed. I just love that boy. It spilled over to the entire day and we're still basking in the closeness.

Plan B

I now understand the importance of having a Plan B.

Yesterday, I ran the Philadelphia Marathon, my third marathon, but my first in six years (first since getting married and having kids, though I have done plenty of halves and other distances). I was very well trained and my Plan A was a 3:50 finish. I even had my PaceTat (I love these). At the start, I found the 3:50 pace group. I focused on staying with them and missed the first few mile markers. At about 5 miles, I realized that they were running 8:20s-8:30s, far faster than the intended 8:45s. (Do I misunderstand what pace groups are supposed to do?)

I decided to drop off and do my own thing since the group was doing more harm than good. But some damage was probably already done. I knew I was in a little trouble before the halfway point. But I grit my teeth. I knew I was going to see my 4-year-old and my husband at the half. (My 17-month-old was with my husband’s aunt, inside, warm, and fussed over.)

Plan B was a sub-4:00 finish.

At about mile 16, I decided that I would take walk breaks at every water stop. It was so cold (maybe 30 degrees by then – it had been around 25 degrees at the start) that walking at the water stations was a good idea anyway; the road was covered in ice from the inevitable spilled water. A friend who was also running found me walking at the station near 18 miles. She was cheerful and looking great, with a blue fleece scarf waving behind her. I picked myself up and ran with her for three miles. I owe her a drink, dinner, something for perking me up.

Then I decided that I would walk for a minute every mile (in addition to very water station) and stretch my quads, which had turned to rock. My friend went on ahead.

At mile 23, the 4:00 pace group passed me. I drew on every last bit of strength and pure stubborness and joined them, determined to run the last 3.2 miles with them, without walking. And I did. As I passed Boathouse Row, I knew less than a half mile remained. I pulled away from the pace group and climbed the last little hill wrapping around to the front of the Philadelphia Museum of Art. As spectators closed in (reminding me of the Tour de France crowds on the mountain stages – that I’ve seen only on TV) and yelled “Adams!” (my last name, ironed on to my shirt), I raised my arms and roared, “Yeah!” (Yes, I was losing it a bit by then.)

I finished in sub-4:00, just: 3:59:12.

I can’t believe I did it.