2020 sucked. But our jar is still full

I've thought a million times about writing this year. I've thought that I SHOULD have found the time to write this year. There has been plenty to write ABOUT this year. But somehow I haven't been able to do it. I haven't been able to put into words how strange and sad and frustrating this year has been, even with its moments of joy and lessons of humility and reasons to celebrate. 

As the world locked down this past March and we searched high and low for toilet paper and wondered if we should stockpile canned goods, we couldn't possibly foresee the extent of what we were dealing with. And to be clear, we have been exceptionally lucky. Jason and I have been able to keep working. Our family has been healthy, thank goodness. Our kids have had the ability and technology to continue their education and even some of their activities remotely. I know there are so many people who have not been so lucky. My heart breaks for families who planned funerals that only ten people could attend. Or who had to say goodbye to loved ones through a computer screen. Or who suddenly found themselves without work. Or who put themselves on the front lines every day, risking their lives while we were able to stay home. Or who had to, at a moment's notice, do their jobs in a completely different way like the amazing teachers who have done so much with so little to teach our kids from afar. 

We are incredibly lucky that we haven't had to deal with any of that. But lucky hasn't necessarily translated to easy. A lot of the time the days blur together because I can't remember the last time I left the house other than to go to the grocery store. And I've definitely lowered my standards for what is acceptable to wear to the grocery store. (If no one can see my face, what does it matter if I'm wearing sweatpants??)

Many days I have to hold back my own tears as my 10 year old suffers through his remote 5th grade class, ten feet away from where I am trying to run a marketing team, crying every day because he misses real school so much, trying to bargain his way into any opportunity to play with his friends in real life. 

And often the guilt threatens to crush me because I am constantly distracted by work when I am with my family and distracted by my family when I am working because there is no more separation between the two anymore. 

Add to all that the constant worry about what's happening out in the world, the sadness over missing my extended family and the inability to tell my kids exactly when and how things will go back to normal, if there even is such a thing anymore. And if we are going down the rabbit hole of 2020's disappointments- I had to cancel trips to Thailand and to London to run the London Marathon, my 14 year old cat died and I've been battling as yet un-diagnosed health issues that have left me in constant pain and frustration with doctors shrugging their shoulders at me. 

So it may be no small wonder that I haven't found the time to write thoughtful and shareable posts this year. But I also haven't found the time to read all the books I have laying around. Or to finish knitting the half done blanket I started knitting for a friend's baby. Or found an agent who loves my book enough to represent me and help me become the next Jane Austen (a girl can dream!). Honestly, most nights we fall exhausted into bed wondering where another day went. And so the year passed by. 

But in that year, so many good things managed to slide their way in. Like the miracle of my first nephew's birth, who, despite being hundreds of miles away, has stolen my heart completely. And the addition of two rescue dogs being added to our family - not a completely smooth ride, as rescue dogs come with the ghosts of their pasts, but damn, you do just fall totally in love with their furry little faces. 

This year I have watched my 12 year old daughter come into her own in ways I could never have imagined. She took the first brave steps on her journey into who she truly is and I couldn't be more in awe. This girl has never been afraid of a thing in her life and while that makes parenting her more than a challenge at times, I'm just so goddamned proud of her. 

I've watched my social butterfly of a husband adjust to becoming a remote worker. He'd be the first one to tell you, he misses listening to music on his commute into the office. He misses water-cooler chatting with his co-workers in between meetings. And he misses grabbing the occasional beer with a work buddy after hours. But he's made the switch and now any time I want to see him, he's a staircase away in our dining room his office with the dogs napping at his feet. 

And maybe we haven't gone to the movies or traveled or eaten in restaurants, but we finished the addition on our house that was 3 years in the making that FINALLY gave us an adult sized bedroom and closet. And on top of that we (and by we, I absolutely mean my husband - all him, not me in any way) remodeled a bathroom, built a giant raised garden that output an astonishing amount of vegetables and built the kids a truly impressive tree house. 

We've spent more time together as a family than we ever have. We've watched movies and walked the dogs and eaten a ton of ice cream and gotten on each other's nerves and laughed and teased each other and complained about taking up too much WiFi and ran around the back yard and cried and disagreed about everything and wished we were anywhere else and felt thankful that we were here. 

So no, I didn't accomplish a checklist of things I thought I would get to. I'm sure there are many people out there in the same boat. I feel bad about it. But also not. I think it's ok to lower standards this year (re: sweatpants at the grocery store). See, we have a jar on our kitchen counter. All year we write down good things that happen and stick them in the jar so that on New Year's Eve we can dump them out and relive all the good memories. Despite the collective dumpster fire of 2020, our jar is still full this year. Maybe the good things are small. An especially big zucchini we grew in our garden. A new trick we taught the dog. A hike on a new trail with the kids. But they are good things all the same.

It would be easy to think that 2021 will be a fresh start and that things will be different. As of now, that doesn't seem to be the case. But I have to believe that when we sit here a year from now, looking back on another year of memories, we will once again be surprised by everything that's happened, hopefully in a good way this time. Maybe the big changes won't start tomorrow, but a year is a long time...sometimes, a very long time. 

 

What the Hell Happened at the Gold Coast Marathon

Good lord, do I love the ocean. The sound, the smell, the beauty, the crashing waves, the sand. I love all of it. And as I sit here with a wall-to-wall view of the Pacific, crashing down on the beautiful white sand of the Gold Coast of Australia, all I can do is cry. My face is swollen and my eyes burn. It's been a hellish day. Despite the beautiful view, my heart is truly heavy and my knee is wrapped in bags of frozen Australian peas (way cheaper than buying actual ice packs). I've traveled to the other side of the world to run a marathon tomorrow. Instead I'll be coming home, my head hanging low, medal-less and feeling like a failure.

While on this trip, (which, to be clear, was mostly about coming to Sydney for work - the marathon leg was an added bonus) I've been reading this lovely book, which was a gift from my fabulous, insightful sister-in-law.

In it, Murakami talks a lot about how running has defined him as a person. It's probably hitting a little too close to home at the moment, but his words are really quite poignant. He goes as far as saying that running has made him the person he is. Who he is, is a novelist. He's not a professional runner and is, by no means, breaking any speed records in his age group, or anything of the sort. Rather, he has just made a commitment to running throughout his life and feels that that commitment to his health has made a huge difference.

Murakami started running at the age of 33, as he was writing his first novel. To him, those things go hand-in-hand. One physical challenge, one mental. I, on the other hand, started running just after my daughter was born, when I was 27. It was a fairly desperate attempt to lose the last of the stubborn baby weight that I couldn't seem to shake. It was a few hundred yards at first, that, over time, grew and grew until I discovered racing and long distance running. And over the years, like Murakami also mentioned, it has waxed and waned depending on what has been going on in my life. But it's always been there to some degree or other.

For me, running has always been tied to motherhood. I don't know how to explain it exactly, but I think I had a fear that motherhood meant the end of something. Freedom? Individuality? Good health? Vitality? I don't know. But I do know that there is nothing like pregnancy and your postpartum body to make you feel like an overweight hippo trying to do ballet. It was important to me to still be able to achieve things, try new things and do things I didn't think were possible after having my kids. I've always felt like that was important.

Running helped me feel like I still had control over something. Like, despite the weight of the expectations of being a mom, which can be heavy as hell, I could still do something good for myself. Something healthy. Something with goals and positive outcomes. Something that I had never done before. It also gave me the mental space to take a deep breath and then come back to my kids refreshed and revitalized and feeling strong, even if it was only a half an hour away from them.

Running also connected me to my husband. It was something we talked about on our first date, comparing notes about which races we had run. Soon we were running together, something we both love to do. Something way healthier (and cheaper!) than going out to eat or sharing a bottle of wine (both of which we still did and still do, but you know, healthy balance and all). So when we challenged each other to run a marathon, it was all the better because we were doing it together.

Now we've set ourselves the goal of running the six World Major Marathons - New York, Chicago, Berlin, London, Tokyo, Boston. With New York and Chicago done, and our trip to Berlin all paid for, it's feeling like me might actually get there.

So when the opportunity to come to Australia for work came up, the silly thought to run a marathon here came to me. It was a new continent. Why not? I thought to myself. And my amazing, brilliant, kind (and horribly jealous) husband completely supported the idea. It meant that I would be away for days longer than my work commitment and it wouldn't be cheap. But what an opportunity.

I'm glad to say that training went close to perfectly. None of my old injuries has come back to bother me. The knee pain (other leg than the one bothering me now) that I was experiencing at the Chicago Marathon last fall, which in the end was really a calf problem, was under control. I felt great. My longest run was 20 miles and it went so well that I was completely confident that I was going to PR here in Australia. And then...

My husband and I were running the first of two taper runs that I had planned, two weeks before the marathon, a few hours before I boarded the plane to Sydney. The goal was 12 miles. Around mile 9.5 I felt a strange pain on the side of my right thigh. It was sudden and pretty severe and in the interest of not injuring it further, we decided to walk the rest of the way home. It didn't hurt at all after I stopped running and I pretty much forgot about it. Made the trip down under and happily got to work with my global marketing team.

A few mornings later, I got on the hotel treadmill (it's winter in Australia so it stays dark until 7am or so, so it was too early for an outside run in a city I wasn't familiar with) to bang out 3 or 4 miles. Immediately, my leg hurt. Badly. I got off and rode the bike for awhile without pain, frustrated but thinking that it just needed a few more days to heal up. I skipped my next mid-week run, wanting to be sure I could do my last 8 mile taper run on the weekend. But the weekend came and went with no running. And every day, my leg hurt a bit more, even when I wasn't running. Eventually it settled into my knee- pain behind the knee cap and along the outside of my leg. Still I held out hope. I bought bags of frozen peas (I'm seriously keeping the Australian pea market in business) and iced it twice a day. I bought some KT tape and experimented with a few different ways of taping it to see if it would make a difference. By the time I had to fly to Gold Coast for the marathon I had basically decided that I was just going to run in pain. I had done it before in Chicago, I didn't see how this would be any different.

But over the last two days, it's all fallen apart. The pain has gotten so bad that it wakes me up at night when I turn over or move around. When I stand up after sitting, my kneecap throbs with pain so badly that I can't move for a minute until it settles down. This morning, in a last hopeful, desperate attempt to make it work, I suited up and tried to run. I could barely manage a hobble down the paved path that runs alongside the beach. Runner after runner passed me. Beautiful, long-legged runners with perfect speed and bouncy, pain-free strides. I wanted to kick all of them. I wanted to push them over and scream that they didn't know how good they have it. (Mature reaction, I know). Instead, I sat by the beach and cried, knowing that it was over.

So now, I'm leaving. I have to catch an Uber to the airport at 3am tomorrow morning. I could leave a bit later, but the roads all close at 3:30 for the marathon. The route goes right by my hotel, which is one of the reasons I chose it. Instead of heading to the starting line, full of excitement and energy and optimism, I will throw my giant suitcase into a stranger's car and leave on a series of flights that I've paid over $1,000 to change so that I can get home a day earlier. Sounds crazy, but I need to get to a doctor and I'm pretty sure that watching the runners go by would just about kill me. And I miss my husband and kids. It's been two weeks since I've seen I've seen them and the homesickness has really settled in.

I know that running doesn't make me who I am, exactly. But I've never felt such a profound sense of loss about not being able to do it. After a perfect training season, my expectations were so high. I have been dreaming of that feeling of crossing the finish line and achieving something that I still consider amazing. Part of that amazing feeling IS about doing it as a mother. Motherhood, like running, does not exactly make me who I am. But in a way it heightens these experiences. Makes them more incredible since the list of things I juggle is exponentially higher than it used to be. And I want my kids to be proud of me. I know that they don't think in those terms yet. They love me regardless of my job or my writing or my running. They love me because I'm me, no matter what defines me. I know my husband is proud that I had the courage to come to the other side of the world, on my own, to do this. He is no less proud because I won't actually run the race.

I read once that the race is the celebration, not the goal. It's the party after the grueling work you put into training. Well, hell, I want the damn party. I've earned it. I feel ripped off. Lots of my friends have reached out since I've said I've dropped out of the race, with incredibly hopeful and inspiring messages. Everyone understands the disappointment. No one thinks I've failed, other than me- my harshest critic. I know I will get over this, that it's just a race. There are bigger, more important things. Like the Berlin Marathon, a mere 85 days from now. Eyes on the prize.

*****Update*****

Well, I wish I could say that things are looking better. After I was repeatedly delayed, rerouted and rebooked, I completed the 41+ hour nightmare of a trip home, that involved spending 8 hours waiting in the Sydney airport for space on a flight and a brief and unexpected stop in Hawaii. By the time I got home I was exhausted, starving (no vegan food on flights that you book at the last minute), and in horrible pain. I immediately made an appointment with my orthopedist who told me that I most likely have a stress fracture in my femur.

"So...I've been walking around on a broken leg?" I asked him.

"More or less!" he said, with a smile. (He's maybe the most cheerful doctor I've ever met. He gives bad news like he's telling you that you've won the lottery.)

"Ok," I said. "A stress fracture, so that's what, like 6 weeks of recovery and then I'm fine? I'll be ok to run Berlin?"

"Noooo. 12 weeks minimum recovery. As little weight on your leg as possible. You'll need a leg brace and crutches and then you can start to maybe see if you are able to gently get back into some mild cardio." I told him he was my least favorite person ever. He didn't take it as an insult.

And just like that, the dream of running the World Majors slips significantly further away. Once again, our trip is already paid for. It's too late to back out. So we'll go to Berlin. But I most likely won't be running. The diagnosis isn't 100%. I'll need an MRI to confirm (an MRI which my insurance is currently fighting me on. Somehow, the possibility of a broken leg doesn't worry them). But all signs are pointing to the stress fracture. In any case, I won't be running for quite awhile.

Now I'm in Florida with my kids to visit my parents. They are having a blast, swimming in the pool and planning a trip to Disney while I am resting with my leg in a brace trying to figure out how to rent a wheelchair so that I might be able to go with them.

I'm trying not to feel broken and like I've lost something vital, but that's exactly how I feel. I've been googling "runner recovery from femur stress fracture" and people do bounce back. I know that I will because, like I told the doctor, I love running. It makes me happy, it keeps me sane. It will just take time. Lots of time. Starting now...

Everything Hurts and I'm Dying For the Second Time: Chicago Marathon Recap

It took approximately 3 days after running the New York City Marathon to sign up for another one. I mean, we were still walking funny and nursing blisters and sore feet. Yet somehow, the next race calls to you. Or, at least, it does when you are crazy runner people like us. And by some miracle, both Jason and I got into the Chicago Marathon through the lottery. Seemed meant to be.

So we went from first-timers with nothing to lose, to veterans who understood what 26.2 miles look and feel like. And this time, we wouldn't have the support of a charity team behind us. But, I mean, we knew what we were doing so, no biggie, right?

Then a funny thing happened. One day in June (ie. 4 months before the marathon), I stood up from the couch and thought "huh, my knee kinda hurts." So, the short version went like this: xray (they didn't see anything wrong)>orthopedist>6 weeks of physical therapy>so so many painkillers>lots of tears and frustration>no running. A month before the marathon, not feeling any better, I decided the hell with it and went for a run to see if I could power through the pain. I returned to the house after 6 miserable miles in tears, resigned to the idea that I wasn't going to be able to run.

Well, a quick investigation of our plans lead us to realize that nothing was refundable. Not the AirBnB, the flights or the race registration. We were in deep and would lose it all if we chose not to go. Which lead us to the, probably very silly, decision to just do it. So we packed our bags and headed to Chicago!

That's how I ended up at the starting line of the Chicago Marathon having run a total of about 10 miles in the months leading up to the race. For comparison, Jason completed most of our training plan, clocking close to 400 miles. And those miles train not only your legs and lungs, but your feet, your stomach and your mind. You practice pacing, stretching, endurance, nutrition, hydration and patience. And I had skipped all of it. (insert nervous laughter)

But at least my nails were ready.

The adrenaline-laced atmosphere in the starting corral is tough to explain. You and the thousands of people around you are bouncy and nervous and full of pent-up energy. Everyone is ready to start this incredibly insane venture that is so physically and mentally tough, yet it feels like a party with everyone laughing and joking and practically wiggling with excitement.

For our second marathon in a row, it was raining. So we started the race already wet and cold, though it was nothing compared with New York. The gun went off and we crossed the start line. We knew we didn't really have a shot of beating our New York time, considering the major disadvantage I was starting with. In fact, I gave myself about a 30% chance of actually finishing. But my goal was to run as long as possible and be there for Jason who had stuck with his training and deserved a great finish.

The course wound through Grant Park and entered the city. My knee hurt from the very first step but I pushed the pain to the back of my mind and tried to focus on having a good time. About a mile and a half in, I pulled my phone out of my arm band to take this picture, because it was just so cool! It was the only picture I took during the race. 

We got about 6 miles in and my knee was killing me. But in a totally unfair and unexpected move, my body decided that wasn't good enough and my right knee joined in the party, probably because I was favoring my injured left knee. At the next aid station I pulled over and grabbed a big healthy glob of BioFreeze (aka Bengay) and slathered my right knee with it. Unfortunately, I couldn't access my left knee because I had heartily covered it in KT tape in an attempt to shore it up as long as possible. The BioFreeze helped almost immediately and we ran on with 20 miles to go. 

Slowly the miles passed. We managed to laugh at the funny signs the spectators were holding, point out the city sights that we were passing and keep our pace up. I managed pretty well for awhile, consider how out of running-shape I was. When I got to mile 10 I started to believe that I might just possibly be able to do it. The pain was bad, but not unbearable. Having Jason running every step beside me is honestly the only reason I had made it that far. He encouraged me at every step and I only told him to shut up a few times :)

We made it to the half way mark. A half marathon under our belts and I became absolutely determined to finish. I mean once you hit half-way, you are almost done, right? So we plugged on. But after 13 miles, I quickly started to go downhill. My knees were killing me, but by then, my quads, my hamstrings and my calves had joined in. And while this is totally normal for long distance running, it was something mine just weren't prepared for at all. And my energy started to wane, even with the energy chews I was taking every few miles. 

I told myself to get to mile 16. Somehow I thought that if I kept running that far, that I would be able to finish. Mile 15 took FOREVER. I started to cry (definitely not the last time that was going to happen!). Finally, finally, we passed the sign for mile 16 and I slowed to a walk. My energy was zapped. My legs were on fire and my confidence was shot. 

My amazing husband pulled me in for a reality check. "Listen," he said. "Even if you walk to the end, you'll still finish." The race has a cut off time after which you aren't considered an official finisher. And god damn it, I had just run 16 miles. I couldn't let that happen. 

So for the next 10 miles I alternated between running and walking, with Jason running beside me the whole time. Starting to run after each bout of walking was hell on earth- almost impossible to make my legs start going again, but I kept reminding myself that the faster we went, the faster it would be over. Everything became a blur and all I could focus on was putting one foot in front of the other. Jason made a few jokes and pointed out some funny signs but I couldn't process them (sorry honey!). I just wanted to make it to the end. 

Somehow, somehow, we made it to the 800-meters-to-go sign. The end was so incredibly near. As you come up to the finish, there is a small hill (one of the only small rises in the entire course). You turn a corner and you can finally see the finish line ahead. I couldn't believe it. After so many painful miles, there is was. Cue the ugly crying. Jason grabbed my hand and we ran towards the finish. 

We crossed and I'd like to say the pain stopped, but in reality at that point, your body finally just lets you feel all of it. Toes and ankles. Knees and quads. Abs and shoulders. All the way down to the tips of your fingers. Absolutely everything hurts. But then there is this glorious moment when a complete stranger slips that marathon medal over your head and all you feel is amazing. I looked over at Jason and smiled. He looked nearly as miserable and happy as I did. We had done it. 

After we picked up our bags and drained a few bottles of water (and cans of beer for Jason), we decided to walk the mile back to our AirBnB. I realize how incredibly stupid this sounds, but the nearest train station was more than a quarter of a mile out of the way and the train would drop us 6 or 8 blocks from where we needed to go. Looking back, an Uber would have been a much smarter move, but I can't exactly attest to how clearly we were thinking at the moment. The (long, agony-filled) walk at least gave us the opportunity to pick up as much food and Starbucks as we could carry. Let me just say that as disgusting and sweaty and gross as we were, there were definitely a lot of fries that disappeared before showers happened!

So I ran a marathon without training. Turns out they give you a medal whether you train or not, as long as you make it across that finish line. On the one hand, it feels like a huge accomplishment. On the other, it feels like a bit of a let down since I wasn't able to do my best (or even close). And the recovery has been an absolute b*tch. It has taken numerous days longer than New York to be able to walk even close to normally. But here's the dumb thing about marathon runners. If I think about the Chicago Marathon, all I think was how fun it was. Even as I sit here trying to come up with new and different ways to say how much it hurt, I remember it being a blast. Everything from picking up our bibs at the Expo, to exploring the city, to getting covered in Gatorade when some guy tossed his cup towards the trash and hit me instead. It's just. So. Much. Fun. 

That's why I know we need to do another, crazy as it sounds. I need to figure out what's going on with my knee (MRI scheduled for next week!). But once that's figured out, (omg, be prepared for how cheesy this is going to be...) we'll be off and running!

Berlin 2019 anyone????

What I Want My Kids to Know This Mother's Day

A funny thing happens when you have a baby that no one tell you about. You see, a part of your heart breaks off and lives inside of your son or daughter forever. This happens for every kid you have- a piece of your heart lives inside of them while the rest of your heart keeps on going inside of you.

Every day you spend a whole lot of time thinking about those parts of your heart that are walking around without you. And you worry and you wonder and you hope that they have everything they need to be ok, because what could be more important than making sure that your heart is taken care of. When I think about the heart inside of you guys, I wonder: Are they healthy? Are they growing? Are they safe and happy? Are they fed and warm? Are they learning to be kind and smart and respectful? Are they making friends and learning things? Are they exploring and wondering and changing? Are they learning about what goes on in the world (but dear god, not too much too fast - there's a lot of truly frightening stuff out there!)?

 I need all three pieces of my heart to live, you see. And it's my number one job to make sure that your pieces are ok. But sometimes I spend so much time and so much effort thinking about the pieces of my heart inside each of you, that I forget sometimes that there is still a whole big piece of heart left inside of me. Sometimes days go by when I forget to take care of it. And so maybe there are days when it's not ok, not safe, not learning and growing, not healthy at all. So then I try a little harder to make sure my piece is good too. I run to make it healthy. And I see my friends to make it laugh. I spend time with your stepdad to make it feel loved. I eat kale and brussels sprouts and protein shakes (all the things you guys hate!) to make it last longer. I work hard at my job to make it smarter.

And lots of times, the things that are good for my piece, are good for your pieces too. Like when we plant seeds in little cups and watch, fascinated, every day to see if they have grown, and then plant them in our garden. Or when we have Starbucks dates and sit in our special corner by the window and talk about our day and lean on each other while we drink our drinks. Or when we cuddle before bed and I kiss your foreheads and look at your faces and can still see what they looked like when you were babies, even though you are big now. And all three pieces of heart are warm and happy and glowing. What you don't know is that while yours then get to rest and sleep, mine stays up to worry about packing your lunches and filling out your soccer registration forms and paying for your Cub Scout membership. And that's ok. Because watching you score a goal, or earn a badge or eat a yummy lunch is good for all of our hearts too.

And there are times when what my heart needs and what your hearts need doesn't quite line up. Like when I need to leave early for work and don't get to wait at the bus stop with you. Or when you'd rather stay home and play video games when I ask you to come shopping with me. We'll find, the older you get, that the pieces of my heart that live inside of each of you will slowly becomes more and more of your own. They will be filled with your own dreams and wishes and worries and thoughts and strength and love. That way, one day, many years from now, if you have kids of your own, your heart will be big enough to share with your own little guys. But my piece will always be there inside of you. And not a day will go by when I don't feel a little bit of everything that you are feeling, good or bad. That's the nice thing about hearts. They can grow and break. They can feel good things and bad things. They can learn and change and share. But they survive. And they are always there, so no matter what, I will be there with you, a part of you. Always.

Thank you for letting me share my heart with you.

"I know why the flags are at half-mast...."

The conversation went like this:

7-year-old: "Mom, I know why the flags in front of the school are at half-mast."
Me: "You do? How come?"
7-year-old: "Because of what happened in Florida."
Me: (Oh, god, no...) "You are right. What have you heard about what happened?"
7-year-old: "I heard that a hero sacrificed himself to save a bunch of kids and he was very brave."

Later that night I asked both of my kids if they have "safety drills" at school. They both told stories about the "weird" things they had to do, like huddle behind a bookshelf, or hide in the closet with "all the smelly boys," as my daughter put it. In just talking to them about it, I can feel my chest get tight. I don't know what to say to them about the possibility that there might come a time when they have to protect themselves at school. Or about the fact that they may only have a flimsy bookshelf or a closet door between them and someone with a gun.

I know there has been a lot of talk about guns in schools over the past few weeks, and I don't know that I have anything to say that hasn't already been said. But, as a parent of little people who I send out into the world every day, it's hard to stay silent. Even before this recent tragedy, one of the things I wished for most is better gun control laws. It is something I want with a passion. It's something that seems so common-sense to me, so obvious. But again and again, we end up in the same situation with nothing done to stop it. And every day I face small-minded people who tell me things like "you can't take away guns, because I like to have them." The insanity of statements like those continue to blow my mind.


Yet, this time feels different.

Finally, FINALLY, young people are demanding change. Corporations are taking social responsibility. Voters are choosing new leaders. Finally we might just do something about this massive problem that makes me a little bit scared every day that I bring my children to school.

My son's observation about the hero is maybe the most hopeful, most frightening part. His voice softened when he talked about that man, almost in awe. I know that he has the biggest heart. He loves to make other people happy. He thinks his friends are the absolute greatest people on earth. I believe that my son would be the one who chooses to be a hero in that situation. And that's what scares me most of all.


Please, let's make a change so he never has to be.

Everything Hurts and I'm Dying- NYC Marathon Race Recap

When the idea of running a marathon first came up between my husband, Jason, and I, my first thought was “Nope, no way, not a chance.” But somehow, it came to our attention that the New York City Marathon happened to fall on our first anniversary and we have never been ones for letting something epic pass us by so...long story short we found ourselves signed up with the Miles for Miracles team, running to raise money for Boston Children’s Hospital.

Fast forward past months of training and fundraising and there we were, standing on the Verrazano Narrows Bridge in Staten Island surrounded by thousands of runners, listening to Frank Sinatra sing “New York, New York.” The gun went off to loud cheers and we moved towards the starting line as the rain began to fall. All I felt was a huge sense of disbelief that we were actually there.

The first 6 miles went by in a blur- it didn’t even feel like we were running. The crowds in Brooklyn were awesome- tons of cheering and lots of loud music. We had asked each of our kids to pick a mile that we would run for them. Sammy had picked mile 6-7, so it was an easy one to dedicate. We passed our friend Marc and his daughter right around mile 7. It was ridiculously energizing to see familiar faces in the crowd!

By mile 8 we were soaked. The water stops were crowded and slippery and hundreds of runners were walking by that point. We spent a lot of energy weaving around them, trying to get some momentum, but it was really difficult.

At mile 13 we crossed into Queens. The crowds here were just as excited as Brooklyn. We had our names on our shirts and people cheered for us from the sidelines. It’s impossible to feel like quitting when people are screaming your name.

At mile 16 we hit the Queensboro Bridge. It is a full mile uphill. It also happened to be the mile Roman picked for us to run for him. There are no spectators on the bridge, so all you hear is the pounding of feet on the road. The bridge felt like it went up forever. And we were tired. 10 more miles seemed a little excessive. We ate some pretzels and laughed about how fitting it was to have a snack during Roman’s mile. Smiling at that point was a big deal.

Finally, the bridge peaked and we started down the far side. Soon we could hear the crowds. We made the hard turn onto 1^st Avenue and I swear, every person in New York was waiting for us. The crowds were unbelievable, screaming and cheering, 10 deep on each side, stretching ahead of us as far as we could see, runners completely filling the road from side-to-side. It was a breath-taking, completely overwhelming experience- other than the finish, it is the one moment I will always remember.

Just before mile 18 we passed our coaches and Miles for Miracles organizers and they screamed their heads off for us. After that point, we still had a ways to go on 1st Avenue and it was tough. All of 1st is a long slow climb and we were feeling it by that point. Finally we crossed into the Bronx right before mile 20.

Twenty miles was the furthest we had gone in training and it was mentally tough knowing that everything beyond that point was completely untested. I tried telling myself that six more miles wasn’t very much, that I could easily last another hour. But my legs were tired. My shoes were soaked. It took a lot to shake those thoughts and keep moving forward. After mile 20 I had to retie my shoes. Crouching down was hard, and getting my fingers to work properly was even harder. It seems like a small thing, but just emphasized how much we were putting our bodies through.

At mile 21 we crossed back in to Manhattan and came up 5^th Ave. The crowds were still with us, calling our names and yelling for everyone to keep going. We pushed on for another mile, exhausted and in pain. My quads were burning. Both of us were having serious pain in our feet- a result of rain-soaked sneakers and many many miles. Around mile 22, a woman handed Jason an ice pop. A half-melted, neon green ice pop that we shared. It was cold and syrupy and pure heaven.

We finally turned into Central Park and hit mile 24. That was the mile we ran for my baby girl. The first thing we saw on the sidelines was someone holding a HUGE unicorn balloon- Evelyn’s self-proclaimed spirit animal. My eyes are filling with tears just thinking about the moment. I thought about how much she means to me and how I would do absolutely anything for her. I knew we could finish strong. 

Mile 25-26 was for Jason and I. We thought about everything we have gone through to find each other- every wrong turn and mistake, every year spent living a life less than what we deserved, every hour spent on the road that brought us together. Putting it in that perspective made one more mile seem like nothing.

In a moment it was over. The finish line came into view and we crossed, still surrounded by hundreds of runners and cheering spectators. We were too exhausted to cry. We hugged and kissed and took a few shaky, wet selfies and walked forward to get our medals. The reality of having finished was hard to process. We got mylar warming blankets and moved with the crowd through the park. Someone handed me an apple. It was the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted. 

It took about a quarter of a mile of walking before we got to where they were handing out recovery bags with food and water. Water was the only thing I wanted. Another quarter of a mile and we made it to the bag check. Still another quarter mile and we were able to exit the park. We walked the 5 blocks back to our Air BnB, with people congratulating us the whole way. Then, coming towards us was the man with the unicorn balloon, so we asked for a picture!

So we did it- a thing I never thought I was capable of doing. The thing that struck me most, standing in that crowd of thousands of runners, was that marathon runners don’t look like marathon runners. They look like your neighbors or your aunt or the guys from your office. They are every shape and size, every color and age. There is nothing special about them. They don’t have a unique ability or skill that 99% of people lack. All they have is a determination to push themselves when their bodies tell them to stop, and to do more when their minds want to give up. They make a decision to do it, put in some training, and get out there and try. It was both inspiring and humbling- not the overwhelming athletic skill, but the enormous spirit. It may have wavered at moments. It may have been tested in the later miles. But it was there, find-able in so many people.

Everyone wants to know if I would do it again (totally unfair question 3 days out when everything hurts and I'm dying!). I spent Sunday night repeating over and over, “I don’t want to do that again. I don’t want to do that again.” The blisters, the chaffing, the sore feet, the quads-of-fire, the hours and hours and hours of training, the long boring runs on the treadmill….Who would want that? But something inside of me knows we probably could have run faster, done a little better. The rain, the crowds of slower runners, the huge bridges….maybe we left something on the table. Finishing in a certain time wasn’t the point. Running the biggest race in the world on our first anniversary – and doing it together – that was the point and we did it. But….the Boston Marathon is only a few months away so….

Unfriending

I was pretty proud of myself for not unfriending people during the election season. Not a day went by when I wasn't outraged by the insane things people were saying- defending that a joke of a man, shaming an intelligent and well-qualified woman, highlighting their own short-sightedness, and so on. Fine, I thought. To each their own. And as strongly as I felt that Donald Trump was the LAST person I could possibly want as our president, I kept my own feelings to a minimum on Facebook and such, with only a few thoughts hear and there, mostly related to how the changing world was affecting my kids.

But it's time to draw a line.

I'm so incredibly proud to say that I'm one of the "crazy liberals" who would like nothing better than to take all of your guns away. Every single one. Handgun, hunting rifle, whatever. There is absolutely NO reason to own a gun. I firmly believe that.

And I've gotten to the point where anyone defending the ridiculously outdated 2nd Amendment is no longer someone I want to share space with- whether it be on social media, in person or otherwise. Anyone who can stand up right now after what recently happened in Las Vegas and say that we don't need sweeping gun control reform is dead on the inside. Those people went out to hear some music and 59 of them never came home, not to mention the ones who are still fighting for their lives or will live forever with a bullet inside of their bodies. Yet people continue to defend the right to own a weapon. It's ridiculous.

I've overheard some of the weakest, most nonsensical arguments coming from gun-advocates in the recent days. "Trucks were used in terrorist attacks, yet no one is calling for truck bans." Please. Trucks are made for driving, not for killing. 99.99% of trucks are used for the correct reasons. Guns are make for one reason and one reason only. And when someone uses them in an evil way, suddenly that person is crazy for using them correctly? And somehow it's not supposed to come back to the fact that they were able to obtain a gun in the first place? All logic has gone out the window

I know that I'm more extreme than most- that most people are ok with better background checks and
stricter laws- that weapons used for hunting are fine, or keeping a gun in your house for "protection" is fine. Tell that to the mothers who have lost children to gun accidents (because even the most carefully hidden and secured guns are findable. Children are nothing if not nosy and resourceful- a terrible combination when it comes to keeping them safe). Tell the parents and the children and the husbands and wives of the victims in Las Vegas. Tell it to the Columbine and Sandy Hook parents who lost their babies. Look them in the eye and tell them that we don't need to change things in a major way.

So my friend list is slightly smaller. Not because I don't want to engage with ideas that differ from mine. It's that I can't engage with people and ideas that are so far beyond logic. I can't engage with people who are blind to the suffering of others. Now, more than ever, is the time for compassion. We seem to have it in spades after the fact. I can only hope that we figure out how to put it first and let it drive us to overcome the opposition to common sense that has kept us in this dark place we find our country in.