2020: A run-derful year

2020 brought lots of weirdness and changes in routine, but they weren’t all bad. This year I’ve gotten a lot more serious about running. Over the years I’ve done the occasional 5k or 10k, training minimally and spending more effort and thought on my finish-line selfie than my pace or rank. But this year, with so many of our usual activities cancelled, I figured I’d have extra time for training and finally signed up for my first ever half marathon.

The thing about a half marathon is that I can’t just blow off the training and hope for the best like I could with a shorter race. Knowing that I have a deadline looming has kept me consistent about getting out and running regularly. And I don’t want to simply survive the half marathon, limping painfully across the finish line. I want to finish well—uninjured and with a smile (because that post-race victory selfie is still going to happen, believe me).

And it’s been fun to see the progression—I went from barely being able to run a mile several months ago (and certainly not without some rather dramatic lung wheezing) to being able to handle long weekend jogs of 6 or 8 miles (and in a couple more weeks, I’ll attempt my first 10-miler).

I wish I could say that I’m seeing progress in the getting-skinnier department, but alas. The one downside of running is that it makes me ravenously hungry. Within about an hour of two of returning home from a long run, I tend to descend on the kitchen with the zeal of a teenage boy. So it pretty much evens out.

I recently told one of my friends that I have kind of a love/hate relationship with running, but I’ve discovered that it gets better the more I do it. The first few times a newbie like me goes running, it feels awful. Everything hurts; it’s hard to breathe. You wonder why anyone would find it enjoyable. But when you get to the point where you can run a considerable distance with nothing hurting and without gasping for air, it actually feels pretty good.

In spite of all of this, I still don’t really think of myself as a runner. When I’m running on the river trail, I see so many athletes training for their long-distance runs, and they’re clearly out of my league. It can be easy to get discouraged or feel like an imposter. They’re the real runners… I’m just a 30-something mom of two putting one slow foot in front of the other. I doubt my running form is any good. I’m not really clear on what “overpronation” means, but I probably do it. My legs are in a constant state of soreness. And I still have plenty of days when I have to pry my lazy self off the cozy couch when I would rather watch TV and eat cookies.

But here I am, only about two months away from the big race day. I’m getting stronger and building endurance. I’m spending lots of time outdoors and getting plenty of vitamin D and fresh air. I’m enjoying the beauty of running alongside local lakes and rivers. I may not be a “real” runner, but I’m reaping the same benefits.

So thank you, 2020, for the gift of time. I’m pretty sure I would have given up by now if I’d had the option of doing other things (like going on that cruise… still haven’t quite forgiven you for taking that away from me). Here’s to 2021, the year I complete my first half marathon. And maybe—just maybe—it won’t be my last.

 

 

 

 

Puppy Love

Recently Trey and I decided that our lives just aren’t quite chaotic enough, so we got a puppy! Actually, we’re loving the extra chaos (for the most part) as we adjust to life with our little border collie, Rooster. We’ve had him for a little over two weeks now, and we’re still getting to know him and his little quirks–like the way he bolts across the room and hurls himself into my lap any time I’m on the floor. It’s super cute right now while he’s about 7 pounds, but I’m worried that if he keeps it up much longer, he’s going to end up giving me a nosebleed.

So, yeah, we have some training to do. But that’s part of the reason we picked a border collie–they’re supposed to be very intelligent and trainable with LOTS of energy. Since Perrin gives me a grumpy-tween face any time I mention the possibility of team sports to him, I figured he at least needs a dog who will get him out and about each day.

One thing I’ve learned though: our family is not so great with communication. There are mornings I’ve gotten up and fed Rooster breakfast, only to find Trey feeding him breakfast again about an hour later. Then one of the kids will wake up and see Rooster’s sad puppy eyes looking up imploringly, and they’ll think “Poor little guy must be so hungry!” So the end result is that our puppy is eating like a hobbit: breakfast, second breakfast, elevenses, lunch, dinner, supper… you get the idea. I really don’t want a 1200-pound border collie, so I’m going to have to figure out a system and get everyone on board.

And then there’s the cat. She spent the first couple of days growling and hissing at him. Poor Rooster had probably never met another living creature that didn’t love him! He kept wanting to play with her, and she just wasn’t having any of his nonsense. But the last week or so has been better. She even rubbed up against him one day! I think his whole little body was quivering with excitement.

And of course we’re working on potty training, leash training, and teaching him that we are not his personal chew toys. All part of the fun of having a new pup. But even though we have some “ruff” moments now and then (ha ha), he really is a sweet, smart, lovable little guy.

Just look at the cuteness!!

 

Sadness and Gratitude

It’s been a little over two weeks since our dog Molly passed away. I debated about whether or not to write a blog post about her passing since I tend to keep most of my blogs fairly lighthearted and fun. There’s nothing fun about a beloved pet dying. But I think there are some things about it that are good to reflect on.

The kids are doing okay. I was especially worried for Perrin in the days after Molly’s death. He didn’t feel like doing anything—not even eating or watching TV (behavior completely unheard of for him). He was probably the one who was closest to Molly. He took her for walks regularly, played with her on the floor more than anyone, gave her baths and brushed her teeth. A few weeks before Molly’s death, I let Perrin and Brielle have a sleepover with her on Perrin’s bedroom floor. I’m thankful for special memories they all have together and that she still had lots of energy right up until her last weekend. And now that a little time has passed, I’m seeing improvement in them. I’m proud and thankful for how my kids are walking courageously through their first brush with grief.

A few hours before Molly’s death, I could tell that she just wasn’t herself. I sat with her in the laundry room for a bit, stroking her head and telling her she was a good girl. I prayed for her, asking God to not allow her to suffer. The kids spent some extra time with her too, but when she died, I was the one alone with her, watching it happen. I’m thankful the kids didn’t have to see that. I’m thankful Molly didn’t have to suffer long.

We held a funeral for her that evening in the woods behind my parents’ house. The kids wrote letters to her and put them in her grave. We read from Psalm 50: “Every animal of the forest is mine, / and the cattle on a thousand hills. / I know every bird in the mountains, / and the insects in the field are mine.” We buried her and decorated her grave with flowers and a cross. I’m thankful we were able to honor her life and the 13.5 years that she was part of our family.

I’m thankful her life was long. I’m thankful she was always so kind and patient with the kids. I’m thankful she gave us lots of fun memories (I’m even able to laugh now about the time she ate all the Christmas presents a couple weeks before Christmas). I’m thankful we have lots of pictures of her. I’m thankful that God will use times like this in my kids’ lives to make them more compassionate and empathetic for those who are grieving.

There’s a lot of sadness, but there’s so much to be thankful for too. Thank you, God, for bringing Molly into our lives so many years ago. And thank you, Molly. We love you and miss you. 

Something fishy is going on here

I have good memories of going fishing with my grandpa when I was little. We would hop in his truck and drive up the steep gravel road by his house in Winslow, Arkansas, to a large pond surrounded by woods and bluffs. It was a peaceful, tranquil setting (other than the blasted mosquitoes buzzing around my face). An old abandoned cabin and an outhouse added to the rustic charm and the sense that we had gone back in time. My grandpa taught me how to bait the hook, cast, and reel in a fish patiently without breaking the line. Then, back at the house, I’d watch in fascination as he “cleaned” the fish (which was a much dirtier process than the phrase led me to believe), and we’d eat it for dinner.

I’m not a fisherwoman these days, but I wanted my kids to experience a little fishing fun in their childhood. So a couple days ago I sent them into the backyard to dig up worms (we discovered our yard is abundant with them when we were leveling a spot for our above-ground pool a month ago), and we loaded up the car with fishing poles and tackle and headed to a nearby park where we had recently watched some catfish gobbling up the bread people had thrown for the ducks. (Who knew catfish liked bread?)

My plan was just to sit and watch. My days of spearing a slimy, wiggly worm onto a hook are over… or so I thought. Brielle would poke a worm with the hook and then shriek as it wriggled in her hand. She’d drop the worm then have to find it in the grass. She’d try picking it up with a stick so she didn’t have to touch it. Finally I was exasperated enough that I helped her get it on the hook. It was every bit as gross as I remembered.

Once both kids had their poles baited and cast, I settled down to watch the family of nutrias living on what we call “nutria island” in the pond. If you don’t know what a nutria is, just picture giant swimming rats with large, orange-ish front teeth. Truly, they’re not far off from the Rodents of Unusual Size in the fire swamp of The Princess Bride. But they can be entertaining to watch. They’re quite social and playful with each other, and they moo.

A mama nutria was lying on the island just trying to take a little nap while her two babies crawled all over her. I never thought I’d feel empathy for a nutria, but I couldn’t help thinking, “Oh mama, I know just how you feel!”

Around that time, Trey and Bri hooked a catfish on Bri’s pink Disney princess fishing pole. Turns out pink Disney princess fishing poles aren’t the best for reeling in a decent-sized catfish. The reel couldn’t handle the weight. Trey had to walk backwards with Bri’s pole to pull the fish onto land. Success! We had caught a fish.

Both kids wanted to touch it. Bri wanted to know if we could take it home and keep it as a pet (um, no). We took the hook out, admired our whiskery new friend, then tossed him back.

Pretty sure the fish told all his friends about his adventure on land because they simply weren’t biting after that. So we turned our attention to a new form of entertainment: seeing how far we could cast. After hooking a couple of trees, Perrin got the hang of it and was pretty good. Even Trey joined in the fun and impressed the kids with his long-distance casting. It kind of reminded me of our college days of playing racquetball—his main objective was to hit the ball as hard as he could and see how many times it would bounce off the walls. Similarly, he wasn’t too interested in actual fishing, but a visual display of his power and manliness? Heck yes!

Now for the last couple of days the kids have been practicing their casting in our backyard (sans hooks, thank goodness). And they keep asking when we can go again. Maybe I’m going to have to become a fisherwoman after all. But that girl of mine is going to have to learn to bait her own hook. 😉