Run for Your Life

I announced to the kids on Monday morning, "Daddy's going to be in London for a couple of days. It's going to be just us."

Doodles replied, with eyes open wide, "You're not going to be able to run!"

I choose to believe that, when he said this, he meant, "Mom, I'm concerned for your health and well being because I know that running makes you strong" and not, "Ack, Mom, when you don't get to run, you're a bitch on wheels!" Both statements, I fear, are equally accurate.

I've been playing with my running routine, as last week a friend introduced me to Walden Pond. I mean, I knew it was there. I pass by it all the time. But I had never deigned to stop and swim. So last Friday at 5 a.m., she picked me up and we headed over. It was an unbelievably foggy day--we met with a friend who swims there every week and even she got lost in the middle of the pond--but the swimming was phenomenal. I'm a strong swimmer, but I've never loved doing it because, let's face it, swimming back and forth, back and forth, back and forth... in a pool is about one of the most mind-numbing activities there is. It's about equivalent of running on a treadmill (blah!!). But swimming in Walden Pond, that's swimming! We were out an hour and a half that morning and then went back for another hour on Sunday. I could have easily and happily swam for twice as long. I was completely sore after, in a good way, and it was such a soothing way to workout. I think that next summer I'm going to add a triathlon into my summer racing schedule.

Speaking of racing schedules, I've been following a training program pretty hard core and I'm having a hard time getting to speed. I can't decide if it's the extra pounds or the old age, but my motor is just not revving. I have two half marathons--the BAA in October and the Maine Coast in November--and I'd like to PR at one of them (I think the BAA is my best bet). The way things are going, I'm not sure it's going to be doable.

Last week I ran 31 miles, including intervals and tempo runs. For the tempo run, I was supposed to run five miles at an 8:09 pace, but I couldn't get my body moving faster than 8:20. And then the intervals. I really despise interval running. Every Monday night I think, "Ugh, gotta go to bed early so I can do intervals tomorrow." Every Tuesday morning I drag myself to the track. This week I had a sudden revelation as I was dying my way through my interval of 1 mile-400 rest-2 miles-800 rest-2 x 800 that I didn't actually have to do intervals. No one was making me. It made me feel both better and worse to realize that only I was inflicting this pain on myself. And yet I keep doing it. Can't help myself.

This week, with Adam gone, I'm deliberately taking it slow. The swim on Sunday. Yesterday, I ran after dropping Pie off at camp for five miles, and was so miserable in the 85 degree heat (today is day three of above 90 degree weather here) that I decided to take another rest day today. Tomorrow night I have a four-mile race, an hour swim on Friday, and a shorter long run on Saturday (I'll probably stick to eight or ten miles). A nice, easy slow week meant to recharge the body.

And you know what else a slow week means? Bitch on wheels. Poor kids. Next week I'll be running regularly again. And they can go back to having a (more or less) happy mom. In the meantime, hide.

Food for Thought... and Tummies

Here I am. Me and my computer. Well, technically me and Adam's computer. My computer seems to be on its last legs. Or RAMs. Or whatever the hell it is computers have. Once upon a time, I was a tech savvy person. Those days are gone. I know how to operate my iPhone. I know enough to want a new iPhone. But that's pretty much it.

Of course, now that I'm having some good quality time with a computer, all I can think is, "Peach crisp is calling my name." Adam adds, "Nothing Pizza Hut makes is good. You should blog that." My father just called to tell me he sat next to Peter Greene on his plane ride to Miami. I, however, hadn't heard of Peter Greene before.

I've decided it's time to get back on the Weight Watchers wagon. Of course, now that I'm doing that, I'm obsessed with food. My BMI is actually in the healthy range right now at 23.3 But I'm anxious to improve my running PRs--so far I've signed up for six shorter runs (well, seven, but I've already run one) and I plan on signing up for a few halves--and the best way I know to run faster is to haul less weight. Runner's World has an article this month about avoiding aches and pains, and it said if you're doing longer runs, you really need to have a BMI lower than 21 to save your knees. I'm at that point of life that my knees need to be safeguarded. But that's not going to happen. I'd have to lose fifteen pounds to get to a BMI of under 21 and 1) really? and 2) I'd be a little bony. I'm not exactly a small-boned gal, and 3) really? So now I'm obsessing over the peach crisp in the fridge that I made for our weekend guests, but on 18 points a day, that's not happening. So--

Oooh! iPhone commercial! Shiny! Pretty.

Wait, where was I? Eh, there's nothing more boring than a person watching his or her weight. But it might slip in sometimes. Because there's nothing more obsessed than a person watching his or her weight. Did I mention the peach crisp? It is an exquisite peach crisp.

Of course, my son needs to be watching his weight. But in the other direction. The girl is solidly a pound heavier than the boy. That kid is a peanut. I measured both of them today: Doodles is 41" and 38 lbs. Pie is 38" and 39 lbs. (Does that make her more or less a square?) I still have him in his car seat in the minvan and he's been a real trooper about being the only kindergartner in a full car seat. In Adam's car we have him in a booster with a back. He's definitely a full year away from the backless booster unless he has a serious summer growth spurt (the rules for the backless are 4 years old, 40 inches, and 40 pounds). I'm ready to cave and put him in a booster with back in our car (he's more than big enough for that one. For that you need to be 3 years old, 38 inches, and 30 pounds). The five-point harness is the safest for as long as possible, but he's suffered long enough.

I'm cooking for the boy. I've been making magic out of our Boston Organics delivery (a home veggie and fruit delivery service). I've been putting my haus frau skills to the test. One night, we have zucchini, peppers, and yellow squash. I didn't want to make multiple meals. I peered in the fridge and we had cheddar cheese, salsa, green onion, and in the cabinet, I found a can of beans. So I made do-it-yourself burritos. But wait, tortillas? I didn't have any tortillas. So I made them. From scratch. In time for a family dinner. I was pretty impressed with myself. Of course, Pie refused to eat them.

Me: Look, Pie. Even Doodles is eating them!
Doodles: Yeah! They're good!
Me: See, Pie! They're great! They're even better than the store-bought kind.
Doodles: Well... I don't think I'd say they were better.

Why do I even bother? Okay, no more food talk. I've got to go and not think about peach crisp.

Fast Friends

Ah, Patriots' Day. The start of spring break. Five days. Me and my kids. At home. With four days of predicted rain. Fun all around!

Actually, I love Patriots' Day, as I attest every year. It's like 4th of July, but with jackets and better parades. We started out the day at the marathon. This year they were more enthusiastic about going than last year. Of course, stopping at Whole Foods to buy them both their own box of bunny snacks (cheddar for him; snack mix for her) that they weren't allowed to open till we got to the race helped tremendously. But we headed down to Framingham, and although we only saw one out of five friends who were running, it was definitely worth the trip. I'm determined that I'm not running another marathon this year, but watching those folks go make me doubt myself. "It wouldn't hurt to do one more this year, a nice easy fall marathon." Doodles was fine, coloring a poster, and Pie was fascinated, watching the runners go by. No matter how many times I told her it was not only okay, but encouraged, to use her "outside voice," she just watched. But for me, I love yelling at the runners, calling out folks as they run by. We stayed an hour, after we saw the slowest of our runner friends (and Pie loved the fact that out of the five runners we knew, the four women beat the guy by over an hour [sorry, Fishy, just telling it like it is!]. A big shout out to Ana-Maria, Sue, Sue, and Saskia for not just finishing the race but really taking it to a new level--two qualified for next year's race and the other two ran at speeds I can only dream about). When it was time to go, Doodles was ready, but Pie complained. "I want to see more runners!" then she asked, "I want to run marathons. Will you teach me how to run, Mommy?" Made my heart go, Zing! She's definitely my baby.

We swung by Adam's office to have lunch with him, which the kids adored. I'm not sure if Pie was more excited about lunch with Daddy or the chance to write on his white board, but she was thrilled. Then we headed back to Lexington. Pie was a little disappointed--"I want to see the runners again! Please can't we go back and see the runners again?"--but then when she realized where we were going, she perked up. The kids were in their true spirits. Doodles was in full negative tilt: "I don't want to go to a parade!" Pie was brimming with joy: "I love parades!"

Of course, toward the end, the temperature had dropped, the wind was blowing, and I asked, "Should we go?" and Pie said, "I'm ready," but Doodles said, "No! It's not over yet!" I have to learn to ignore everything that boy says and just make him do things, because he never wants to do anything and then always has a great time.

By the time we made it home, we were all exhausted and happy. Another successful Patriots' Day. Now to think about that next marathon. For me. And who knows? Maybe, one of these days, for Pie.

Running Like (Broken) Clockwork

My life revolves around routines. It's what keeps me sane and organized. It's what allows me to bake hamantaschen in time to give to Pie's teachers, to bake hallah every Friday, to take classes here and there, to volunteer at the kindergarten and synagogue. It's what keeps me up-to-date on this blog and on my e-mail. It's what allows me to plan trips to Israel (or New York or Miami). It's what keeps this house together. But most importantly in my little world it's what gives me the freedom to be able to write creatively, to work on my novel. Routine gives me my haus frau extraoridinaire status (is mixing German and French cliches the same as mixing my metaphors?).

Can you guess what's sorely lacking in our lives?

We haven't had family dinners, I didn't get to boot camp class, the Purim preparations were nil (at least I did get the boy his Darth Vader costume and I was able to find it used), and I can't get to evening classes because I'm usually asleep these days by about 9:30 because I've spent the days unpacking and running errands at top speed.

We're slowly getting out from under the boxes but we're missing some basic pieces of furniture essential for getting things away (I don't have a desk--my computer is set up on a card table--nor a shelf or file cabinet...; the kids playroom doesn't have a single piece of storage equipment so it's toys, toys, toys everywhere!), so those things are lingering in boxes. We have no shades yet so we spend our evenings dodging the many open windows (thank goodness it's Beetle and her family who lives across the street, and I don't care if they see us all in our PJs). My running has fallen by the wayside--I basically took two weeks off--figured my body could use a break--but man is it hard to get back to that routine! My first run after two weeks and it was like I hadn't run in years. I barely made it four miles and I was sore the next day.

But that's going to change. It's time to reintroduce the routines! The Nana is here to help out--we'll be hanging artwork, figuring out where to put what, meeting with someone to choose some window coverings, and perhaps even squeeze in a trip to Ikea or the Container Store. The weather is improving just enough that I can no longer use it as an excuse not to run (although I can always use daylight savings, as running in the dark at 6:30 is a total downer). And I'm going to get this office set ASAP so starting next week, when the kids are in school, I can get my writing routine back. I promise (well, I strongly intend) not to desert this blog again for such a long time, as it's as hard getting back on the blog as it is to get back into those running shoes.

Starting now, it'll be business as usual again. Now to catch up on that backlog of e-mails....

Apropos of Nothing

My son, tonight, when he had the opportunity to choose any show to watch tonight, requested "a wedding show."

And right now I'm selecting lighting fixtures and color and it turns out that Adam and I totally agree on the former and not at all on the latter. This should be fun, except that I'm just not a stylish person and I find the process painful and stressful. I want to hire a designer to help us, only the first one we priced gave us a quote that was higher than our entire furniture budget. So we may be on our own here except for the kindness of friends with good taste.

But I'm still giving my Martha side a go. The kids and I tonight made homemade tortillas for dinner. Do you have any idea how easy it is to make homemade tortillas? It's so ridiculously simple I can't believe how much I wasted on these mondo packs of tortillas only to toss them out when the family ate 2 1/2 out of 12. We made six--and they're all gone.

Apropos of nothing, I love Carol Kane. We don't see enough Carol Kane. And if you know why I said that, then you're watching what I'm watching, so you can't judge me.

And continuing this randomness, I hate winter marathon training. I have dreams of the Goofy Challenge, but it's another January marathon and I'm so sick of running on ice and snow. I can't wait for this marathon to be over so I can be a lazy ass again.

Did I mention that I hate color? I do. I think our new house will be all black and white. Just so I don't have to pick any colors.

Doodles turned down a concert at the library because he's just not into music. And he's grown out of our yearly SteveSongs concert, which is too bad--he's going anyway. He hates babysitters even more than he hates music.

Bed. I need bed. I'm scared of bed, though. Because I dream in color. But all the wrong colors.

Enter Winter

It's been a fun, crazy week, with time in Doodles' classroom, Adam's office party, which--surprisingly--was really fun, a Hanukkah singalong at Pie's school (preschool mosh pit! That girl loves to dance!), a night of cooking class, playdates, and all sorts of holiday prep goodness, including lots of baking, crafting (and I've become addicted to craft blogs lately--oh the ideas I have for next year!), and card writing. And then... then it all came to an end. Because...

...the snow has started. No quiet whispers into winter; it came in shouting its presence. Two days before the official beginning, we were pelted with snow. Fierce, fierce snow. Running on Friday morning, the sunrise was amazing, a fiery feast of reds in the sky, but then I remembered "Red skies at night, sailors delight; red skies at morning, sailor's warning." True enough in this case. I felt bad for Doodles who had a field trip canceled on Friday. Everyone had early releases in anticipation of the storm. I ran with my kids to the supermarket, along with the rest of the world and stocked up on supplies. Shabbat dinner for Friday. Snacks for Saturday. Milk for hot chocolate. Everything we needed. Everything. Oh, wait, except the toilet paper. I forgot the toilet paper. Oops!

That night the kids couldn't wait to get out in the snow, so I bundled them up Friday evening to get their snow groove on. Nothing like the first trying on of winter boots to realize that they no longer fit. Doodles is a good size larger than his boot, but we managed to sausage his foot in. That night, we got about eight inches of snow, which would have been fine if that had been it.

Saturday morning I stupidly decided not to do my run, to save it for Sunday. Which meant, obviously, that Sunday was much worse. However, not knowing that, I had a lovely walk with Pie on the bike path so we could walk to Walgreens for toilet paper and new Color Wonder books. I did a bit of snow shoveling to unbury our cars. I got my hair done. Doodles got a new hockey hair cut so his hair no longer hurts his face. And then we stupidly decided--on a snowy day, the last weekend before Christmas--to brave L.L. Bean to get Doodles some new boots. What a freakin' nightmare. And no boots in his size. So he's going to have to suffer a bit longer. But overall it was a relaxing day, with all of us watching A Christmas Story (well, not completely relaxing--the bully in the movie terrified the kids). A lovely snow day.

And then there was today. One snow day too many. The snow started up again. And again. And again. Religious school canceled. Sleep didn't happen last night as the toddler in the next apartment over is sick, and was up every hour from 3:15 till wake up time. I've got just over a month till I run Miami with my cousin, and I haven't gotten enough mileage in. So in the sleet/snow/freezing rain, in the sub-freezing temperatures, a savage wind upon me, on the snow that feels like sand, except where it feels like ice, I managed to run 18 miles (it wasn't quite uphill both ways, barefoot, but it was close). I'm cold. I'm beat. I'm tired. The kids want to go outside. I throw on a dry shirt. We head outside. Pie, in the hallway, sniffs her nose.

"Mommy, there's something stinky in here!"

"I don't smell anything, Pie."

Pie puts on her biggest grin. "Mommy!" she says. "I think it's you! You're stinky!" Way to win points, Pie.

Tonight, the first night of Hanukkah, we went to friends' for dinner. It was truly lovely, but I was so scared driving there and back. I was as tense as could be. Normally I'm the driver, but these days, it's all Adam, because I refuse to drive in the snow. Trying to get out of our friends' driveway at the end of the evening just about did me in, as our wheels spun and our car fishtailed. I just closed my eyes and Adam did a little digging and a little gunning and finally got us out. But, man, does that terrify me.

Part of me is really hoping school isn't canceled tomorrow as it's Pie's last day before the winter break and I'm supposed to go into Doodles's classroom to make latkes with them, but part of me is terrified to go out there--it's supposed to turn to rain soon, which means it'll be a sheet of ice out there--so part of me hopes it's canceled so we can stay inside the entire day. Hey, the kids got some presents tonight--they've got stuff to play with. And I'm not above a day of PBS Sprout, if that's what's called for.

Meanwhile, as hard as it is to imagine, I'm supposed to go to our storage this week to pull out our summer clothes for our annual pilgrimage to Miami. I can't fathom being ready. I can't fathom getting our car out of here. I can't fathom ever being out of this tiny apartment and back in our house (although we're giving our 60 day notice on the apartment this week). I can't fathom a place that isn't buried in snow. I can't fathom that we've been here since it was shorts weather. I can't fathom. Period. I'm going to bury myself in bed. Maybe tomorrow I'll wake up with a fresh dose of fathom.

Settin' Records

The good news is, if I were a 55-year-old woman, I would have qualified for the Boston Marathon. The even better news is, I'm not a 55-year-old woman.

Seriously, I ran a kick ass (or kick tushie, as we say in my house) race today. I did go out a little too fast. I did have to make a pit stop in the bushes. But even so, I trashed my old PR of 4:25:07 with a 4:13:46 finish at the Baystate Marathon. True, my finish wasn't so good in comparison with others (Baystate is considered by some to be the fastest course in the country, because it's so flat and so many folks do qualify for Boston). Of course, this race had 2500 runners total, including the half, so I wasn't competing against quite as many people (Miami had about 2500 in just the marathon and NYC had about 35,000, I believe).

The route is nice, but it's a loop course, which isn't my favorite. What a loop course means is... I got lapped by the winner when I was at mile 12. I saw the USATF truck and a couple of cops on motorcycles and at first couldn't figure out why there were there... until this guy came blowing past me. The wind was pretty fierce out there--it never seemed to be at my back--and I'm petrified of bridges, and had to cross three of them, including a rather rickety one that shook with the cars.

But the leaves were gorgeously hued and the run was along the Merrimack River, which mad for some stunning views. I started at about a 9:45 pace and eased into a nice 9:35 pace for most of the run, but at mile 23, I started to hurt and at 24, my quads basically froze on me. I still kept running, but my place slowed so I eventually finished with a 9:41 pace. I had one of those finishes where I kept eying the medics, wondering if I needed them or not. But instead, I just walked and focused on not throwing up, which I succeeded at, so all was good.

And now? Now I'm done. Now I get sushi and a beer. Now I get a full week off of running and three weeks of easy running. And then? And then I start training for Miami. "Welcome to Miami. Buenvenidos a Miami."

Oh yeah. Bring it on.

Run, Run, Run

In lovely Lowell, MA, it's going to be a lovely 54 degrees today--perfect marathoning weather! But at the moment, it's a mere 34 degrees, which begs the age-old running question: shorts or tights? Wear shorts and I'll freeze my ass off for the first hour. Wear tights and by the end I'm a sweaty mess.

I've been really casual about this marathon. For one, it's local so there's no disruption to my life. The family isn't even coming out--Doodles has religious school and after they're all going to the birthday party of the daughter of one of Adam's closest buddies. I'm up, I'm about to drive to Starbucks to pick up a friend, and then head to the marathon. I won't even have anyone at the end of the race, because I have just one friend running the full--everyone else is running the half so will be done hours before me. It's not like I've done a zillion marathons--this will be my fourth--but it just doesn't seem like any big deal. I kind of feel like I'm just going out for another long run.

...except that I had these weird dreams last night. Someone mentioned the course can get really thinned out. New York had 45,000 runners. Miami had 10,000. Baystate has 2,500 total for the full and half. So I dreamed that all the runners were pretty spread out so I had to follow the path myself. Except the marking was this faded yellow chalk line down the street, and of course I got lost. And just like the night before my first NYC marathon, I dreamed that at some point I stopped to hang out and chat and relax and then I realized after a bit, "Oh, shit! I'm in the middle of a marathon! I've got to go!" And off I went to keep running.

So I guess I'm feeling a little more tense than I thought. I have no idea what a smart pace would be for me--I really feel confident I can do under 10-minute miles (my basic goal), but how far under? I don't, don't, don't want to go out too fast and hit the wall at 20 miles, like I did in the first NYC race. But then again, it's also a sucky feeling to finish and think, "There's still some juice left in me. I could have spent more."

Well, we'll find out for sure what I can do, I guess, in about six hours. In the meantime, Run, Mommy, Run. Oh, and I'm wearing the shorts.

The Slow Slug to the Starting Line

I'm just a week away from my race, which means I'm in full-on taper mode. Tapering is when you ease off the running in preparation for the race. I hate tapering. Hate, hate, hate. Tapering plays with your mind, makes you think you're slow. It has you itching to go out for a good, long, hard run. I went out this morning for a "30 minute easy run with 5 pick ups" and all I could think was, "It probably wouldn't hurt me to go just another four miles," but I have to stop myself. This is the one time I also try to really pay attention to what I'm eating, consume lots of veggies and pay attention to my fat and alcohol intake (in other words, no drinking this week), which I know I should be doing all the time, but let's face it, I don't.

My previous marathon PR (personal record) is 4:25:07 in New York in 2006. That's a 10:07 pace. I really want to break the 10-minute-a-mile pace in this marathon, as that's a real psychological block for me. But with that three-week injury, at this point my only goal is to finish uninjured. Taking those weeks off of running really did a psychological number on me. I think breaking the 10-minute block will be like the two-hour half marathon. I couldn't do it. No matter what I just couldn't run faster than a two-hour half marathon. And then, running with a friend, I did in September 2007, and since them, I haven't run over two hours since (I've run a total of five half marathons now under two hours). I think once I break that 10-minute mile, I'll always do it. But until that first time....

So for now I'm thinking fast thoughts. I'm envisioning myself at the finish line, the clock reading 4:20 (which is just under at 10 minute pace). Of course the more I do these ridiculously easy taper runs, the more I long to run Comrades (on an up year, of course). Something about not even breaking a sweat makes me think I can do anything. My ultimate goal with all this running is to run Comrades before my 45th birthday (figuring that five years is enough time to get back on our financial feet after the remodel and that five years from now, I'll be more open to traveling halfway across the world with my children).

10 minute miles? I hope so. And if not, no biggie. It's all just training for Comrades, right? Run, baby, run.

Random Crazy Kidness

Whenever people hear that my kids are up at 5 or 5:30 in the morning, they get this horrified expression on their faces and say, "How can you stand that?" Even when I explain, they don't quite believe me. But the honest to God's truth is that we end up waking up our kids. I'm out of bed before the alarm (set for either 5 or 5:30) every day. I can't remember the last time my alarm actually went off. And with our creaky house, Adam and/or I always end up waking at least one child up. This morning, I got out of bed at 4:57 a.m. I went into the downstairs bathroom to change, but before I was out, I heard thump, thump, thump on the stairs in a way that was either Adam sleepwalking drunk or a child. It was Pie.

Me: Pie! What are you doing up? It's still night.
Pie: I was all done.
Me: But look, it's still dark!
Pie heads to the window. The tiniest inkling of dawn is far away, but visible. She exclaims, in a very loud voice: Look, Mommy! It's not dark! There's light out there!

The plus side of this is between camp and a playdate after camp, she'll be exhausted and she's been known to fall asleep while watching her show, often at 5 p.m. I expect that will be the case tonight.

(And why was I up at 4:57 a.m.? My boot camp went for a 5 1/2 mile trail run--what an incredible way to start the day, running through the woods. It's really a much tougher workout than straight running. I can generally run 10 miles at a 9:25 pace; here I did 5.5 at about an 11-minute pace. Hills, navigating tree roots and rocks, mud--all slow down the pace. But it's such a serene day to start the day that I came home even more energized than I usually do after boot camp.)

Doodles slept a smidgen later, but not enough to keep him up very late tonight.

The two of them have been killing me lately, but in a fun way. Doodles is still in his independence phase, but it's gotten a lot easier to tolerate. He's mellowing some, I'm mellowing some. Pie can still unleash a wicked temper tantrum, but they're fewer and farther between. But they are a trip together.

Doodles is completely laid back and Pie is fairly high strung (hmmm, I wonder which parent each of them takes after!). Pie will get really worked up about something, and Doodles is just, "Whatever!" Like yesterday at ice skating. Doodles always wears the dark blue gloves; Pie wears the light blue. Pie began to have an absolute fit. "I want the other blue gloves. The OTHER blue gloves!" I suggested she take a deep breath and simply ask her brother.

Pie: [taking deep gasping breaths till her voice is normal] Doodles?
Doodles: Yeah?
Pie: Doodles, can we trade mittens?
Doodles, shrugging: Sure!

Nine times out of ten, Pie wants what Doodles has. And nine times out of ten, he'll swap with her. Especially because of this, I try to be especially respectful when he doesn't want to swap or share. And generally, I can tell who's the instigator in any problem.

For instance, yesterday, there was a battle over a drum. I'm 99.9% sure that Doodles had it first, and Pie didn't want him to have it. I caught the two of them struggling with it. In true Solomon's wisdom fashion, I told them, "If you guys can't figure a way to make this work, I'm going to put the drum into time out."

Pie immediately latched on. "Yes! Drum in time out! Drum in time out!"

So of course I handed the drum to Doodles. Later I came out when I heard Pie yelling, "Close the gate! Close the gate!" I found the drum on the steps and Pie trying to close the bottom gate. We never close that gate except when someone is sitting on the stairs in time out. She was determined to give that drum a time out one way or another!

Of course the biggest problem with have is with... smooches! Doodles is an affectionate kid and he smooches Pie. Pie sometimes likes it, sometimes not. I heard blood-curdling screams two days ago, and I ran, figuring someone had impaled himself or something equally horrific.

Pie, trying to talk in the sobs: Doodles smoooo me! He smoooo me!
Me: He smushed you? That wasn't very nice.
Take Pie to Doodles.
Me: Where did you smush her?
Doodles: Right here [points to the top of his head]
Me: You smushed her head?
Doodles: Smooched.
Me: Oh! You smooched her!
Nods from everyone.
Pie: He smooched me! He smooched me!
Me: Well, there's only one thing you can do!
Pie looks at me expectantly.
Me: Get him back! If he smooches you, you should smooch him back! Even more!
Pie instantly stops crying.
Pie: Yeah!!!
Pie goes running after Doodles, smooching him all over his head while he mock cries.

Crisis averted. Peace reclaimed. Maybe I should be sent abroad as a peace envoy. I've got loads of experience.

Running by Rote

It's 8:11 a.m. and I've run 8.58 miles (which included 5 x 1200 at an average of 7:45 pace), showered, had breakfast, drank coffee, made my kids' lunches, read e-mail, and am now writing a quick blog. What have you done so far today?

Seriously, though, I'm at the point of my marathon training where I kind of dread the next workout, although when I'm actually doing them, I'm moving pretty much by rote. I was talking about this with my friend A.M. on our Saturday run (14 miles, 9:23 pace), how your legs can be moving but it's as if they're moving on your own--you're completely disconnected from them. I feel that way about my workouts in general. I don't set an alarm anymore; my body just wakes itself around 5 a.m. I roll out of bed without even thinking about it, dress, eat a banana, have some water, and then head out the door. I'm barely aware of what I'm doing. I just go. I only run three days a week, although I cross train the other two. Boot camp one day--that's easy as it's already part of the schedule. I'm having problems coming up with what the other day of cross-training is. I alternate between biking and walking, although I'm hoping to add some yoga in.

I keep a poster in my office from my first marathon that reads, "At 18 miles you wonder why you do this. At 26.2 it all becomes perfectly clear." I feel that way these days. I'm running, I'm running, I'm running, and I think, "Why? How ridiculous is this, a woman in her 40s running and running and running and where does it get me?"

But then I remind myself. I do it to be healthy (although I'm at the other dreaded point in my training where I start adding on weight--always happens). I do it to set a good example for my kids. I do it because I love that feeling of crossing a finish line, of completing a goal. I do it to hang another medal onto my collection. It's just what I do.

So when the next line on my training schedule says 5 miles at an 8:30 pace, that's what I'll be doing. And I'll just keep telling myself, "One foot in front of the other. One foot in front of the other," until I have another medal to hang.

Foggy Head

I have this evil cold that was given to me by my dear, darling children. Of course, they get a cold and keep running. I get a cold and I want to bury myself beneath a pile of blankets in my over-A.C.'d house, with a stack of magazines and a big bowl of chicken soup. So, because I don't have an original thought in my head right now, other than, "Nyquil! Now!" here's a little wrap for you of the past couple of weeks.

Our vacation: Did you know we went away? No, you didn't because I oh-so-cleverly scheduled a post for while we were gone, just to keep you entertained (wasn't that nice of me?). We took our third--and final (boo hoo!)--trip to the Wildflower Inn in Lyndonville, Vermont. It was as heavenly as ever and the kids loved going to "camp," Adam and I loved having alone time, and it was nice to escape computers and work and room parent assignments and all that other good stuff. This is only our last year because the program we go to is for babies, toddlers, and preschoolers. And we'll have but one preschooler next year.

The highlight for Pie was definitely her counselors. Oh, she found one who she fell in love with. Pie came back to the room on Tuesday afternoon.


Pie: I asked my counselor to paint my nails.
Me: What did she say?
Pie: She said, no. She said, ask your mommy.
Me: Does your mommy let you paint your nails?
Pie: No.
Me: When does Mommy say you can paint your nails?
Pie: When I'm three.
Me: And how old are you?
Pie: Two.
Me: Right, two. So no painting nails.

Of course, Miss Thang comes back very proudly from dinner, showing off bright purple-y nails.


Pie: Mommy, look!!
Me: What did Mommy say about painting your nails?
Pie: Mommy said no.
Me: And what did you tell your counselors?
Pie, with absolute innocent glee: I told them YES!

How could I get angry with that joy? We had a little to-do today when I went to paint her (toe)nails for the 4th of July. But I'm talking about the relaxation of vacation, so we'll just not go there now. And it was relaxing: swimming, kayaking, massage, dinner sans kids, hiking, hot tub, swimming, batting cages (for Adam and Doodles), goofing off on the tennis court (for me and Pie), drinking, and a general good time was had by all.

Boot camp: Ever done anything like say, oh, skiing, and there's some person who has the top-of-the-line everything--the professional goggles, the killer skiis, the aerodynamic skiing outfit--but is clearly a completely novice who doesn't know he should point his skis down the hill? That was me, today. Boot camp went on a bike ride and I still had all my gear from back when I biked almost seriously. Back when riding was something I spent entire weekend days on; when I rode to work, from work, and then tossed in an extra ride at the end of the day just for good measure; back when I had money to burn and a Bianchi road bike.

I still have all that stuff. But do I have the biking body that I did in 2002, which as far as I can tell, was the last time I was on a bike? Again, let's not go there. A friend was kind enough to do a tune-up for me on my hybrid (no way was I going with the clipless pedals of my road bike), but I showed up in my little biking shorts and my cute purple biking jersey. Thank goodness I left the fingerless gloves and groovy glasses at home. Because, man, are they wrong. You can totally forget how to ride a bike. "Wait, wait!" I kept asking. "I don't remember! The bigger gear for going up the hills? Or down?" It was humiliating. But fun. And who knows? Maybe I'll start biking again. Once I remember definitively what the big gear is for.

Movies: I've been working my way through the suggestions everyone gave me for flicks to watch (still open to more! Always welcome a good movie recommendation). But I want to give a particular shout-out to Lionness, because a movie she suggested, The Bubble, is one of the most thought-provoking movies I've ever seen.

My birthday: Adam outdid himself. I didn't think he could do it, but he did. Got me my own personalized bowling shirt. Had my sister come up to surprise me. Arranged for his brother to babysit. Rented a limo "happy bus." Stocked it with friends and beer and champagne. Took us all to Jamaica Plain for bowling and food and booze and cake at the Milky Way. And you know what? For once, I don't have a single snarky thing to say. It was perfect.

And with that, I'm off to find the Nyquil. Ah, happy Nyquil. How I missed you all those years. Welcome home.

Run Mama Run!

This past weekend was a big running weekend for me. I went up to Alton, New Hampshire, early Saturday morning to run the Big Lake Half Marathon. Supposedly it's a very beautiful course. I'm not really sure. I didn't fuel up properly beforehand (normally I eat a peanut-butter sandwich and a banana, but since I left the house at 5 a.m. and the race didn't start till 9, my belly got all rumbly before then) and I tried to keep up with my much-faster friends for the first three miles, so by the middle, I was just kind of chugging along without a whole bunch of steam. Much more "I think I can, I think I can," than any speed engine. I did notice some very sweet houses on the lake (oh, how I want a summer home on a lake!), but other than that I was very focused on getting to the end. I did respectably: 465 (out of 1202) and 24 (out of 89) in my division. My chip time was 1:54:47 for a 8:46 pace, which is fine, but not my best. I was heartened to see that if the race were just one and a half months later, I'd have finished 20th in my division (the only reason I can see to truly look forward to turning 40 is that it bumps me up into the next age category).

As a recovery run, I decided on Sunday morning to do the Melrose Run for Women. This is the third time I've run it (fourth I've signed up, but one year the rains were so bad the course flooded and the race was canceled), and it's such a lovely run. My kids talked all week about the race they were going to run, as there's a fun run beforehand. I think Pie was disappointed because the kids' run for the under 8s was only a dash ("too short!" she said after) but she had a blast doing it. And she ran in the right direction this year! Last year was her first time running it and she kind of spun around confused. Doodles of course took off and proudly wore his ribbon afterward. I'm so psyched my kids are into running--I look forward to the day we can do full races together (remember the days, before we were married, when Adam ran with me? Ah, yes. And we were married--what? five minutes--before he announced he hated running and never laced up any running shoes again?). The race is a nice course and it's an easy 3.5 miles. I did a fine job on it, especially after the half: no chips, but my gun time was 27:11.5 for a 7.46 pace. I finished 56 out of 644.

Now I have to figure out my next races. My name is in the lottery for the NYC marathon again. If I don't get into that, I'll run the Baystate Marathon. I have a half scheduled for September, the same day my brother-in-law is getting married (and by pure coincidence, the race and the wedding are in the same town in Maine and the race is in the morning and the wedding in the afternoon. What luck!). I don't want to schedule too many other halfs until I figure out which marathon I'm running . But if anyone wants to meet up somewhere for a race, I'm generally game. The races wear me out, but in a good way, and I'm always up for another one.

Run run run. Of course there is one added benefit: Sorry, Adam. I'm really too tired after those races to put the kids to bed. Can you handle it yourself? Snooooooze.

Built for Speed

A huge shout out to my boot camp buds, Petra and Chris, who ROCKED the Boston Marathon.

Monday morning was Patriots' Day. As you may know, I first thought Patriots' Day was a ridiculous made-up holiday. But I was a fast convert. Patriots' Day should be a national holiday. Battle re-enactments! Parades! The marathon!

Doodles and Pie slept too late to go to the Lexington re-enactment of the Battle on the Green because the previous two nights' seders went late (and those kids of mine were so cute! Doodles recited the four questions like a pro the first night and the second night, Pie chimed in with a question herself [there's a video on the site if you've got the password]), but I suggested the marathon.

"I don't want to go to the marathon!" Doodles whined. "It'll be boring!"

That kid is all about "boring" these days. But I used the ultimate weapon: the TV. I turned on the marathon to catch the start, and the kid was hooked.

"Wouldn't it be fun to go watch that?" I suggested mildly.

"Yeah! Let's go, let's go, let's go!"

Of course, three minutes into actually watching the marathon and he was "bored! Bored! Bored!!!" He and Pie started playing ball on the sidelines, drifting farther and farther away from me. I've got one eye on the race, trying to spot my friends, and one on the kids.

"Get back here!" I kept yelling, and I finally grabbed Pie around the waist and pulled her back, yelling, "If I miss seeing my friends because I'm watching you, there will be trouble!" ("There will be trouble!" is the most oft-repeated phrase in our household. I find it menacing enough to put a touch of fear into their hearts and yet vague enough that I don't have to give up my--I mean their--TV show.) Luckily, the new and improved Friendliest Brown found a young boy to play catch with and I was able to spot not one, but both of my friends. And they looked gooood!

It really motivated me to want to run Boston. I've tossed my hat in the lottery for NYC this year, and I plan on running Miami next January, but Boston is out there waiting for me. I determined to get there on my own--no fundraising numbers--and I'm still a way off on my time. Although, the best thing about aging is that the qualifying time for Boston gets slower. I will qualify. One of these years. Of course, Doodles won't be watching. He'll be playing his Leapster. Because marathons are bo-ring!

¿Quién es el más macho? (with apologies to Pam)

This past weekend, I took my first night away from the kids. And. It. Was. Heavenly. Last summer I joined a boot camp class. My town has an e-mail list and a woman, C., posted to form a class for "serious athletes." Despite my misgivings about the "serious" part, I joined up and every Wednesday over the summer, I had my ass kicked by a big, mean drill sergeant (okay, so he's not that big and other than making me do 200 sit-ups and 100 push ups, he's not exactly mean, but the effect isn't the same if I write, "And this nice guy with a sweet South African accent made me run fast"). Seriously, the class was tough--and hour and a half of sprints, weights, sit ups and push ups--and it was a big bonding thing. Just by happenstance, all the takers for the class were women, and since we're all into the sporty thing, we just clicked (I realize from this blog, you probably don't know how into the sporty thing I am, but I've become kind of jock in my old age).

For the winter, it wasn't practical to meet outside at 5:30 a.m. anymore, so now we rent a space and meet up just every other week for a "winter tune up." About an hour worth of heavy core and weight work. Every time, the night before class, I tell Adam, "Ugh, I don't think I'm going tomorrow." And every boot camp morning, I trudge myself out there and while I'm not so happy in the middle of push-up set number seven, I'm always glad afterwards.

So the past weekend, our fearless leader, C., arranged for us to use her husband's family home in New Hampshire. Seven of us women and C.'s husband trudged up to Jackson, N.H., on Saturday morning for a day of cross-country skiing. It was my first time cross-country skiing, so of course I dove in with boot camp, which meant a four-hour outing to cover 15.4 kilometers (about 9.5 miles, but doesn't 15.4 sound so much more impressive?). The day luckily wasn't as cold as predicted (supposed to be a high of 11, but I'm pretty sure it was in the low 20s), so it was great. Adam and I had one of these conversations that make me wonder who I've been living with for the past eight years:

Me: So, C. suggested I wear running tights and then snow pants.
Adam: Sounds good. Or you could wear my long underwear.
Me: You have long underwear?
Adam: Yeah. And you can take my neck gaiter.
Me: You own a neck gaiter?
Adam: Yeah. And you can zip a lining into my North Face jacket and it'll be really warm.
Me: Your jacket converts?

Anyway, Adam warned me I was wearing too much gear, and he was right--halfway though I had to take clothes off because I was sweating so badly. But it turns out, I LOVE cross-country skiing. It was really difficult--I could feel it my outer thighs as I was doing it and I was always at the back of the pack--but it's absolutely exhilarating. We skied out, stopped for a picnic lunch in the snow, crossed a frozen river (only to read the sign to the right when we returned--oops!), and felt generally macho and cool.

That night we retreated to C.'s house and luxuriated. Of course, that was only after a team shoveled our way in (what? No, not me! I had the good sense to sit in a warm car till the way was cleared); a good three feet of snow had the front door completely buried. We all showered--and with all of Adam's clothing advice, did he remind me to bring a change of clothes for after skiing? Nope. So I was the one lounging in her sheep pajamas, but hey, after that first glass of wine, I really didn't care. C.'s husband cooked us an amazing dinner and we all drank too much wine and laughed a lot.

Before going to bed, I made the mistake of checking my voice mail. Adam called from home. I heard:
Adam: Can you leave Mommy a message?
Doodles: Mommy, I miss you! Good night!
Adam: Pie, it's your turn. Do you want to say something to Mommy?
Pie: WWWAAAAAAAA[click]

The next morning, our hearty group all arose early. Only one other soul was brave enough to make the morning run with me in the balmy seven degree weather, but it was a great run (okay, so she dragged me out there, but I got the run in, so let's not quibble over details). I've never had that frozen eyelash experience before and while it was rather creepy, it only added to my machoness, don't you think?

We left nice and early to head back home and I met with my family at a kid birthday party. It was great to see them...for about five minutes. Once the whining started, I was already plotting how to get back to Jackson....

Mommy Runs... To Get Away From You!

I cut my finger last week. Not a big deal. A little bloody, but minor. But the thing is it's on my thumb and as such I keep hitting it and it's not getting better, so I've been putting Neosporin on it and stuck a Band-Aid on. Which is kind of like pasting a flashing neon sign on myself that says, "Please, ask me about my cut. Again. And again. And again. And again..."

Pie: What's that?
Me: I cut myself.
Pie: How?
Me: With a knife.
Pie: Why?
Me: Because I was careless.
Pie: So you cut yourself?
Me: Yes.
Pie: With a knife?
Me: Yes.
Pie: Why do you have a Band-Aid? [Repeat ad nauseam]

And then, the coup de grace: On Sunday morning, I got up early and without thinking I grabbed a Band-Aid and stuck it on. It wasn't until it was out of the paper that I realized my error: I had grabbed a Sponge Bob Band-Aid.

Pie: What's that?
Me: A Band-Aid.
Doodles: Is that a Sponge Bob Band-Aid???
Me: Yes.
Doodles: Why do you have a Sponge Bob Band-Aid?
Me: I took it by mistake.
Doodles: I LOVE Sponge Bob!
Me: What do you possibly know of Sponge Bob? You're not allowed to watch it.
Doodles: I LOVE Sponge Bob. Can I have a Band-Aid?
Me: No.
Pie: Can I have a Band-Aid?
Me: No.
Doodles and Pie: I WANT A BAND-AID!

Luckily I was running a half marathon that morning so I only had to deal with the Band-Aid bandits' demands for a mere three hours before being dropped off in Hampton, New Hampshire. I met up with my friends from my boot camp class, although I knew I wasn't as prepared for the race as they were, so I chose not to run with them and ran with a friend from my Saturday running group who assured me she'd be going slowly but still beat me by a good minute (Hi A.M.! Good run!). The race itself was pretty good--not too hilly, nice scenery, lots of the run was on the coast--but the weather wasn't great. Started off chilly, but nice, in the lower 30s. By about mile 8 the rain started. By mile 9 it turned into a heavy snow that kept flying into my eyes. By the end, I was jonesing for both the soup and beer waiting for me. But I did much better than I had thought I would--I ran it in 1:54:34--although I was sore for a good two days after.

Anyway, after the race Adam and the kids and my in-laws met up with me, and we all went out for a nice lunch at the Old Salt. Doodles has made HUGE strides in his feeding group, and he will now eat a fish stick or two, which means our dining options have grown. So we went for lunch where I smell (no showers after the run), Doodles is eating fish sticks, and Pie is trying to choke herself with my medal. Halfway through the meal, I look down and comment to Adam, "Um, my Band-Aid is gone and I have no idea where it is." But the highlight was when Doodles hopped up from his seat and proclaimed loudly enough for the next five tables to hear: "I need to poop!"

Adam quickly shuffles him toward the bathroom, and I can hear him calling loudly, "I have poop inside me! I also have--"

Adam quickly cut him off with "We can talk about it when we get in the bathroom."

So of course, in the bathroom, Doodles completes that thought: "I also have sperm inside me."

(Note, I've tried explaining to him that, no, he doesn't have sperm in him yet, but that conversation has gone nowhere fast.)

So now I'm sore. Doodles has sperm. And, for the record, Adam found my Band-Aid. In the wash.

And no. You can't have a Band-Aid, either.