How Running Has Changed My Life

This weekend I will run in my first half-marathon (that’s 13.1 miles, by the way). I never thought I would be able to call myself a runner.

Recently, I’ve realized how running has changed me.

Let me start by admitting I hated running, all of my life. In fact, I thought runners were idiots. Why, oh why, would you run unless you were running from an ax murderer or a wild bear?

In high school, I played tennis. I think we had to run a mile in our warm-ups. I think I galloped. Or skipped. I don’t think I even made the connection as to why running and sprinting might help us play better tennis. In gym, my sarcastic and lazy friends and I would slightly jog when the teacher was looking, and walk or skip when he turned his head. (Sorry, Mr. McCollum).

What made me start running at 38, you may ask? I really don’t know. I had been walking for years, and had been walking 5 times a week – maybe 2-3 miles a session. I just felt like I wasn’t being challenged, and I know my heart rate wasn’t going up. So I started running a little bit, until I was winded. Then I walked. Run as much as I could, then walk. That simple.

Running literally crept up on me.

Before I knew it, I was running a full mile. A full mile!!! Amazing. Then 2 miles.

At that point, my neighbor, who has been a fitness instructor and crazy fit for years, said she wanted to start running together before she went to work – just something to make sure she was still getting aerobic workouts. I warned her I was new to running – definitely not at her physical level. I told her I was a slow runner.

The best thing any beginning runner can do is to run with a better runner. An understanding but tough, better runner.

So for about 6 months now, we have run together AT 5 A.M. twice a week. Yes, before birds even sing. When raccoons are still rambling through yards. When the Dayton Daily delivery man is delivering papers and being blamed (by us) for being a stalker. (Well-he didn’t have a sign on his creepy van!! What else were we supposed to think?) (Oh, and by the way, I carry mace and I’m really mean in the morning. Oh, and did I mention Julie, my co-runner, is insanely tough? She actually tried to run after the ‘stalker’s’ van to confront him. Poor newspaper man.)

I also fit in a long run on Saturday (5-10 miles), and cycling or toning in between (Thanks John and Julie!)

I never thought I would make myself get up at 4:45 to go running 4 miles twice a week. And I love it. I can’t explain that feeling of knowing I just worked my butt off, dripping sweat, done with my workout before the sun even rises. The – and this is one of the best parts – one hour of peace I have to myself in the morning before the household arises with their dear demands.

My husband and I both started running this spring. (He has been a runner in the past and has run half marathons, etc.) On the weekend, we take turns doing our long runs while the other watches the kids. Grandma has watched the kids a couple times on Saturday so we can run together. We are extremely supportive of each other, and very competitive – but that’s the fun part. It’s so helpful to have someone in your household who is also a runner. We compare notes, times, use each other’s equipment, try different running methods (go Jeff Galloway!) grab ice packs and ibuprofen for each other, and sympathize over the other’s injuries and aches.

Our kids are proud of us. Kids don’t say it, but you can see it in their faces when one of us returns home, sweaty and nasty.

“Wow! How many miles did you go today? Did you go to the marina and back?” We both hope that we are setting a positive example for them.

The biggest and best lesson I have learned from running is priceless to me. I have learned that I can do anything I want. When you’re running 12 miles, there comes a point when even the smallest increments of staying vertical equate major success. It is so easy to be overwhelmed by our “to do” lists or any other challenge that lies before us. Whether it’s a mound of housework, office work, teaching our babies to sleep through the night, dealing with a sick relative, completing a long-term project, hosting an event, or baking 300 cookies for a bake sale. Whatever the insurmountable task, if we take it a part in little section and tackle it piece by piece – it gets done before we know it.

We’ve all hear the “day by day” mantra. But until you tackle something you NEVER thought you’d tackle – by literally accomplishing it step by step, your brain doesn’t register what that truly means. I think your brain’s chemistry literally changes after you surmount what you thought before was the insurmountable. The next time you are faced with a challenge – whether large or small, your noggin says, “I can do this. No big deal.” And you do it. No negative self-talk, no self-defeating behaviors. And as you keep facing more and more challenges it becomes clear that if you want it, and if you stay dedicated to it, you will do it. It’s not even a question that you won’t finish.

Running has shown me I am up to the challenge, physically and mentally. While my body is in the Middle Ages, and I’m starting to ache in places I didn’t know existed (ever heard of the Psoas muscle? I hadn’t either – but MAN, mine hurts). I had to shuffle geriatrically for 6 weeks while a strained calf muscle healed. But after rest (yes, rest is important!) I get back on the horse and ride.

There are runs where I walk a lot. There are runs where I almost cry because I feel like I will pass out and die in a ditch. There are runs where I feel like I’m flying. There are runs where feel a spiritual connection to the universe. There are runs where I can barely make it through the first mile. There are runs where I don’t even feel good or find my rhythm until mile 4. Every run is different, just like every day is different. And I’ve proven to myself, I can handle them all. It may hurt, but I can handle it.

Last but not least, running has helped me manage stress, anxiety and depression. I may have suffered from A & D since childhood. But it definitely came to the forefront during a bout of postpartum after the birth of my son almost 10 years ago. Since I have started running, I have noticed a huge decrease in anxiety. I sleep better. If I don’t run or cycle on any given day, I can feel anxiety rise. As far as my individual bod and brain is concerned, I think I have high levels of cortisol (stress hormone) which are easily dissipated and controlled after a good run. I’m sure this can happen for anybody after any aerobic or anaerobic activity that makes you break a sweat. BTW, yoga is great for runners – learning to relax and breathe deep, stretch and elongate muscles, and focus.

Will I run forever? Probably not. I know it’s not the best thing for certain joints, and I’m sure at some point I’ll have to switch to lower impact (cycling, swimming, yoga, etc.) and that’s fine. But for now, I am loving it. I’m so grateful it has taught me that I am strong and capable. Sometimes it’s easy to forget that.

For Dylan Roach

Mid-May is beautiful. The skies are crisp blue, birds chirping, the sounds of lawn mowers and weed eaters – people busy shaping up their yards, planting flowers.

But here in Eaton, tragedy has struck. It seems so strange that the days go on, one after the other, just like they did before. The earth does not stop and mourn. The sun still shines. Everyone else’s children keep playing soccer, keep going to school, keep going to friends’ houses. But one does not.

I didn’t want to write about Dylan losing his life. I feel like I did not know him well enough to have the right. And maybe that’s true. And I am not the mother who is suffering beyond words. I have no comprehension of that depth of pain. But I did know his mother, and I know she adores her children, and always puts them first.

I wouldn’t even consider myself a ‘close family friend’. But those of us who grew up in Eaton are all connected by tiny threads; six degrees of separation. We grew up together, and as “grown-ups” together now – we know how important our loved ones are to each other. We know the emotional investment we all make in our children.

When they are born, we are forever changed. And each child touches us differently. Each little personality, each little soul, makes us who we are. Without their influence, who would we be? Would we be more one-dimensional? Would we understand other parents’ struggles? Would we ever learn the meaning of selflessness?

We see our children with such worshipfulness. They each are gifts, and we know it. We see the perfection of their hearts. All they want is to be loved, to feel secure, to have fun, to eat ice cream and pop tarts, to go exploring, to win games, to be with their friends. We encourage them in the things they love and that bring them joy. We talk to them, hug them, kiss them when others tear down their dreams or hurt them. We help mend their hearts every time they are broken.

A mother’s worst fear is to lose their child – at any age. It is unimaginable. That void is abysmal – and no one can ever fill it. That one dear soul, that left a mark in his little place on earth, was made unique to all others, made with special purpose by God, as all children are.

Why does God take children from us? I can’t begin to answer this. Some say it is because they are needed as angels in heaven. Others say “it was just their time”. Still others say “everything has a purpose under heaven.” And maybe none or all are true. Maybe looking for reasons is futile.

Losing Dylan has hurt so many hearts. While I did not truly know Dylan, I know that now I hug my son longer before bed. I know that his sad and needless death made me, and many other parents, sit with their children and tell them, “If anyone is every hurting you, if you are ever sad or hopeless, if you need me, I’m always here.”

That won’t always be enough to save every child. But when tragedy takes a child from us, we must hold dearly to the ones we have around us or in our care. We must teach our children to be kind and to respect each other. We have to learn to step in when others are hurting.

May Dylan’s death remind us every day not only to cherish our children, but to raise accepting, giving and loving children who treat others as they would want to be treated. We may not be able to change the world, or anyone else's children, but we can invest the very best of us in our own.

Thank you, Dylan, for reminding me of the importance and the responsibility of being a mother.

Soulmates

I love the thought of soulmates. As a young girl, I thought a soulmate would only be the man I would fall in love with - who would "complete" me in some way. I'm thankful to know from my own experience that the definition of soulmate is much broader.

Today, I am thankful for my soulmates. The first is my mother. I feel a vibration in the air before she calls me. Somehow, I always know when it's her on the phone. She knows by a slight tone variation in my voice if I need to talk, or need support. She is my touchstone - if anything happens in my life - I have to talk to her about it.
The second two are my dear friends since 6th grade, Amber and Jackie. We can communicate with just a subtle look, (or a kick under a table), we understand each others struggles, failings, annoying characteristics, and love each other all the same.
The third is my husband. After 15 years together, we often know what the other is thinking, and find a sweet comfort in each other's presence, that only comes after highs and lows, challenges, tears, laughter, joy and pain.
The fourth is my son, Jack. Our souls were somehow cut from the same cloth. I understand the way he internalizes everything, I understand his empathetic nature, and we have a simple, effortless connection. The final is my daughter, Kate. Already, she senses if I feel physical or emotional pain, and nurtures me. She has a little kind heart that always responds to those in need.


The Webster definition of soulmate is:" A person who is perfectly suited to another in temperament or resembles another in attitudes or beliefs."

But this definition doesn't really do it for me.

To me, a soulmate is one with whom you feel an ease. You may not match in temperament, but with the person, you don't have to put on any fronts, you can be who you are - there is no pretentiousness. Your soul feels at home.

So, thank you to my soulmates. I feel so lucky to have found you and to be blessed by you.

Salt & vinegar: Not just for chips

It's odd that the elimination of body odor would be the impetus for me blogging again. But it is. Now that I’m trying to get in shape (have you ever noticed you never realize how out of shape you are until you try to get in shape? I think it’s denial…) I have stinky clothes.

I sweat like never before (prob because I’m pushing myself like never before) and I’m tired of spending money replacing tshirts and sports bras because I can’t get the odor out.

We must not be embarrassed that we stink. It is how the good Lord made us. When we sweat, the bacteria mutates and grows and stinks like the dickens. There are a few of us that don’t get raunchy, but I haven’t met one yet. I do have to admit that when my feet sweat, they do not stink. It is one of my gifts and attractive graces. I know people whose feet sweat and turn their fave shoes into bleu cheese factories. Poor things.

So I don’t have to worry about feet, but I do have to worry about pits. Nothing's worse than realizing you are offensive. So yesterday I was searching amazon.com for sportswear detergents and googling tips on washing stinky workout clothes. Unfortunately, most sports detergents are expensive – without naming any names, some are $20 for a few ounces. Seriously? It's hard for me to pay $20 for a pair of shoes.

I stumbled upon some sites that mentioned salt water and vinegar. I had tried baking soda and that didn’t seem to do much. Some sites mentioned making a paste and rubbing it on the pits. I do not have that kind of time – and how do you get it to stay on?...and, what a mess.

So, salt and vinegar seemed to be recurring themes. Why does salt work? For the same reason salt was used to cure meat (not the dehydration part) – because it is antibacterial. The salt is working to kill all of those armpit bacterium. Go salt.

I gathered up all of my workout clothes – from bras to socks (even though they of course, did not stink). I put them in a 5-gallon bucket that was filled halfway with hot water and ½ cup of table salt. I let it soak for a couple of hours. Some pieces that I tossed in towards the end after a workout were only in for about 10 minutes. Then I tossed all of that in (including the salt water) into the washer, filled to the appropriate level with hot water with very little detergent and 1 cup of vinegar – which neutralizes odors. I let that sit for about 20 minutes while I took a shower, then washed.

After it drained, I smelled the pits. Voila!!! Totally clean!! Not the smell of detergent masking B.O., but truly clean!! Miracles of miracles – and only for a few cents.
And, fyi, one of those sports bras may be older than me, with lingering bacteria from 10th grade. It smells as good as new.

I just had to share.