Where's My Cape?

Race day

2013-05-13T21:30:43-04:00

In preparation for last Saturday's surprise running engagement, I decided I needed a new pair of sneakers. Granted, my current pair of sneakers don't see too much action, in general, but at 10? years, I figured they've probably lost some key joint-protection qualities, like fiber degradation or something. Plus, they're not jazzy in the least. Jazzy sneakers are scientifically proven to improve your running.

So I made sure I got home early on Friday night to stop at the store and picked out a gorgeous pair of sneakers. Gorgeous. They felt great, light, comfortable - fast. I also picked out some all purpose workout gear to replace the maternity yoga tanks I had been wearing to do my non-sweat producing "workouts." This sports store trip left me extremely satisfied and feeling almost like an athlete. I mean, at least looks-wise.

Back at home, I admired those beautiful sneakers - purple blending into green and yellow. I was about to remove the tags when I read on the little card, "Caution: may result in injury to calves, feet..." and to introduce them gradually into your routine to prevent injury. What?? I looked up the model and I suppose "Minimus" should have been a tip off. They were those barefoot sneakers to simulate running with absolutely no support whatsoever. Awesome.

Mental note: return shoes.

Race day, we showed up in full family force. All wearing race numbers. I have to admit it felt super family fun. The Husband would run with Girl and Boy2 in the jogging stroller, and Boy and I would be the slow-moving barge of walk-running delight.

The 5K/2K was put on by our church: think small, families, local. We saw lots of families we knew, lots of jogging strollers and elderly family members. And then there was this one dude in a blue track suit warming up in the parking lot that we were pretty sure was one of those elite African runners who live in the area. I'm not sure he knew he was competing against 10 year olds.

Stiff competition for the Elite runner.

When the signal went off, the kids took off. Husband and co. were long gone. Boy took my hand as we ran at a nice, sustainable pace. Many passed us. We passed few (elderly, walkers, other small children). I began hoping that Boy would get tired and ask to walk. "Are you tired?" I'd ask, hope in my voice for a running break. The answer was either always "No," or "Yes," followed by an immediate spurt of faster running, dragging me along with him. Boy ran THE WHOLE WAY. Seriously. No break for unconditioned, tired Mama, who hadn't run that far in over a decade. We sprinted at the end, and crossed still holding hands.

It was kind of awesome.

(Oh, and btw, Elite Runner finished his 5K before we did for our 2. He had a head start but still.)

At the finish line, we had sno-cones and snacks and despite it starting to rain on us all, everyone was out and about milling around, being so communal. (Elite Runner and his coach? cousin? taxi driver? sat away from the crowds looking bored out of his gourd awaiting the awards ceremony.) I heard he had arrived 2 hours before it started and asked if the race organizers (aka friends' moms) had special provisions for elite athletes. Have you seen where you're running?

My legs were super sore that day (tiny screams with bending or stairs), but not too bad the next and basicallly normal today. No massive muscle breakdown. No tendon rupture. All in all a success. And a super fun morning with the fam and our community.

Although, at bedtime, Boy had asked the Husband privately that if we did the race next year, could he run with him instead? Since, he really had no chance of winning a medal for his age group having to run with Mommy.

EMTs thankfully bored.

No-fun run

2013-05-09T22:30:00-04:00

Everyone knows I don't run. Not recreationally anyway. I'm not opposed to running - in fact, I would very much enjoy being able to get into it and be that runner type - it's just that I was not built to run. Someone much more powerful than me decided KC + running = injury, fracture, disability and doom. I bike.* I do the elliptical.* Heck, I'll do the stair climber.* But don't make me run for fun and hobby (running for safety and buses still OK if done sparingly).

Which is why when the Husband texted me YESTERDAY that he signed us "all" up for a 5K/2K "fun" run THIS SATURDAY, I immediately texted back:

By *all* you mean...

Husband: Me. And You. And Girl. And Boy. And Boy2 in the jogging stroller.

(The man is on crack. Proof: He's done an IronMan triathlon more than once.)

Me: I hope they have a medical tent.

Husband: I'm a doctor.

/text convo for the day

Yes, I could walk it, but what able-bodied, relatively young person wants to walk it? Not this one. But that means running which is a bit problematic given the whole KC bone death equation.

So, today, I decided I would give it a trial run, so to speak, and hopped on the treadmill at the gym during Girl's swim practice. I seriously can't remember the last time I ran on a treadmill. It was a bad sign when after the first 10 SECONDS of running, I started to feel pain in both hips. Like weird, your-body-is-falling-apart, things-are-too-jiggly pain. Still determined to not make a fool out of myself on Saturday, I kept going. I ran a half mile. I walked a quarter. I ran another half. I walked. By the end, my legs felt like they had been pulverized by a food processor. (It only felt a tiny bit good to have really worked out after months of "exercising" in a manner that produced no sweat.)

While driving Girl home, I told her about my running woes in light of having to run on Saturday as a family.

Me: Running is just not my thing.

Girl (in all seriousness): What IS your thing? Fashion?

(I'm not making that up.)

Maybe I can runway model patient gowns and gauze-themeed accessories while I'm hospitalized after doing the run. I mean, once I can walk again.

*very rarely.

Daughters vs sons

2013-04-23T22:26:48-04:00

Exhibit A: Sons running around with metal buckets on their heads, intermittently letting out coarse battle cries and slamming their fists against their pail heads.

Exhibit B: Daughter at table, quietly doing a math puzzle.

HAAA

2013-04-01T07:00:00-04:00

HAAA = Hilarous And Absolutely Alarming

Usage: When I heard my almost 8-year old daughter singing ALL the words to We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together as we were getting the kids ready for bed, including this whole part:

I remember when we broke up the first time
Saying, "This is it, I've had enough," 'cause like
We hadn't seen each other in a month
When you said you needed space. (What?)
Then you come around again and say
"Baby, I miss you and I swear I'm gonna change, trust me."
Remember how that lasted for a day?
I say, "I hate you," we break up, you call me, "I love you."

I was, like, HAAA! Did I mention, she's not even 8?

Husband also was, like, HAAA!

In fact, Husband started play-singing this song, complete with Ooooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh parts. All the kids had gathered around, laughing at Daddy sounding so ridiculous. He also had appropriate facial expressions. So I started singing along, feeling the music - I'm telling you, I'm telling you! Girl kept correcting our lyrics mistakes - No, it goes like this! Pretty soon, everyone was singing, including the baby - ever ever ever. It was then that we decided as a family that we needed to make a You Tube video, although Girl said she would only participate if she had the background music. She also needed a "paper with all the words."

"Maybe it could take off!" I told the Husband later, just the two of us. I mean, our whole family singing scene was kind of HAAA. Like the Von Trapps, only less harmony and more chaos. He wasn't as optimistic.

Old dogs on ice

2013-03-25T09:21:00-04:00

I went ice skating as a child once. I was probably 12 or 13 and it was an dinky indoor rink at some "resort" in the Catskills. I remember it being cold. My ankles hurt. I fell. A lot.

/ice skating.

My MIL has taken Girl ice-skating a couple of times, but I had no desire to revisit those no-fun cold ankle pain memories. But then, Girl was invited to an ice skating birthday party for one of her friends. It would be held in an outdoor rink that I had always passed and thought - that looks like fun. Like Rockefeller Center Lite. The party was on a school holiday and I planned to take off from work anyway. I also thought this might be a great opportunity to introduce Boy (5) to ice-skating. Hey, this would be good clean fun, right?

Of course this meant that I would need to get back on the ice. Now, I often feel much younger than my actual years, and sometimes feel there's no way I could be old enough to have kids, but if there's one dimension I feel old, it's athletics. I nearly maim myself everytime I run now. So, you can imagine the concern I had over putting on a pair of shoes with sharp knives on them and then trying to glide on ice. Pride? Yeah, there was a little of that at stake, but mainly my joints and bones and blood.

When we got there, I helped Girl into her rental skates, kneeling next to a grandmother type helping her grandchild put skates on. "Now remember," she said all serious like, "if you fall, get your hands off the ground right away so someone doesn't run over them and cut your fingers off." Holy crap. Where's the ambulance parked? Maybe those fingers on ice had a decent chance of being reattached.

Girl went out to join her friends, some already skating, while I slowly took my time getting Boy and me in our gear. We waddled outside to the rink and edged ourselves out onto the ice while holding onto the wall. Er, precarious much?

It challenged my gravity immensely; not only was I remembering how to balance, but I was trying to keep Boy from eating ice at every other moment. He took to almost running with his skates while holding onto the sides and I just tried to keep up with him. But amazingly, it started to feel halfway fun - I wasn't needing the sides and despite being pulled with each of Boy's falls, I didn't fall. The chances I had to skate independently (e.g. go across the rink to help Girl), I cherished and took the long way around. FUN. It was all I could do to ditch him and skate along happily by myself to Kelly Clarkson blaring on the audio system. Boy finally had enough of the wipeouts and the cold. And it was time for pizza.

We all changed back in our shoes and while walking to the restaurant, one of the moms who hadn't ventured onto the ice said, "You did so well! What are you, naturally athletic?"

HAAAAAA.

I'm like the anti-athlete. But it felt good. Skating. Who knew? Maybe it's not all downhill from here.