Putting on an Old Hat

One of many truly wonderful things about the new job I started in the fall was that it gave me time to run. Running a 5k led to running a 10k which left me contemplating what distance to take on next. Ten years ago, I ran a half marathon. The decision making process then went something like this: "our long runs are 90 minutes long; sure let's do a half marathon." So two of my college cross country teammates and I completed a half marathon.




(my teammates and I after the WAC championships in Hawaii. Rough, huh?)

The decision making process when you have two kids and a job is a bit more complex. It takes weeks and then it requires faith, well-timed naps, Knucklelights for nighttime runs, a cooperative husband, a babysitter, missing a long run on Super Bowl Sunday, and skipping the Zumba classes all your coworkers are taking because you're on a tight schedule. I didn't even tell anyone I was doing it until mid-February in case I needed to back out.

Timing-wise, the Rock 'n' Roll New Orleans worked out best for me. It also happened to take place on my sister's birthday and I wanted this to honor her as well. Unfortunately, I vastly underestimated the number of participants and by the time I registered and started looking for a hotel room, the only place left was in Metairie. Lesson learned.

We left our girls in the care of my in-laws and headed south. Luckily, my husband is not a runner, so he carted me down into the city at a ridiculous hour on Sunday morning and left me to stand in the cold by myself. Forty-seven degrees. Did I pack ANY cold weather gear? Not. A. Lick. This resulted in blue finger tips for at least 2 miles and numbness for at least 4. I, for once, am not exaggerating; I think I have mild Raynauds. But I digress.

Before the race, my dad asked me what my goal was. Apparently completing a half marathon at age 31 is not an accomplishment. You must pick a time. I listed my anticipated finish time on my registration at 2:10. I figured that was safe, works out to be about a ten minute mile. But then my Nike+ began to fail during training and I had no idea what pace I was keeping, so I figured my goal would just be to finish without walking. But after Dad's comment, I started doing the math in my head; 2 hours roughly equated to a 9:20/mile pace. Maybe I could do that. I told John I'd be happy if I finished under 2:10, ecstatic if I finished under 2 hours.

As I stood in the park Sunday morning, teeth chattering despite 3 layers, 2 of which I knew I would have to shed before we started running, I enviously thought of my husband who was already asleep in our warm hotel room. I fleetingly considered calling him to come back and get me. But I was pretty sure that the man who duck hunts in seventeen degree weather would laugh at me. So I headed to the corrals, yes, the corrals. Because when there are tens of thousands of you lined up for blocks, they treat you like cattle and put you in corrals. And we moved like cattle. Corral 12 marched forward as if to slaughter one city block at a time. Twenty-two minutes after the race officially started, we reached the start line and off we went.

I was told the first couple miles are like Frogger; you're constantly bobbing and weaving, looking for holes in the crowd. At mile one, my app buzzed in my ear "9:22." A mile of Frogger and I was barely over pace? Things were looking good. Mile 2, feeling fine at 9:06, yes indeed! As we ran west down St. Charles, people began to take to the trolley tracks to thin the masses. And then the leaders, miles ahead of us, looped by us, headed back east. The miles ticked on, each one faster, and I felt great. At Mile 5, a portapotty began calling my name, but the line outside of it convinced me otherwise. There would be no bathroom breaks with a two hour deadline. Things were going swimmingly.

And then I met Mile 9. And things started to suck. Two hours of running at about a 9 minute mile pace? Maybe that was a bit ambitious. Maybe I should stop and walk a bit and actually drink a glass of that lemon lime Gatorade instead of throwing it in the general direction of my face. This was harder than child birth, where your misery at least earned you an epidural. And then I started thinking of my kids at work, the ones with CP, the ones missing arms, legs, toes and fingers, the ones who beg to be chased down the hall as they scoot away laughing behind their walkers and crutches. I could not be a wuss.

Mile 10 found me next to a lady with a lovely perspective; she sang out, "5k to go!" I was almost there. By 11, I was counting down in my head and yelled out "20 minutes left!" to which some poor marathoner replied "plus two hours!"

The crowd began to thicken again as we neared the end, I heard a spectator say we had half a mile to go as my watch read 1:54. I was not going to be this close to my "ecstatic goal" and barely miss it. So I dug deep and started pumping my arms, charging for the finish like a bull in a china shop (there are pictures to prove this at marathonfoto.com).
1:59.07. Bam.




As I took my finish line photo with my medal, my phone buzzed with congratulations from my family who had been getting automatic text updates on my progress throughout the race (is technology not awesome?). Arms full of Gatorade, water and chocolate milk (the best workout recovery drink ever!), I stumbled to the gear truck where I had checked my layers and post race flip flops before the race. And then I stopped moving for the first time in over two hours. And literally almost fell over. So I took a seat and waited for my parking spot searching husband to find me. We skipped the two Michelob Ultras my registration fee promised me and headed back for my ice bath at the hotel.
And then I had Sammy's cheese fries for lunch.
The end.

Thanks, everybody. My husband, my family, my kids, my friends who encouraged me, my friend Catherine who trained with me. Yes, I hurt for two days afterwards, but I'm so glad to have done it. I still hope to do a full marathon one day, but I don't think I can make that kind of time investment at this point. Until race fever strikes again, I'm on the mend.

Bye bye, brownies, cookies, and cupcakes

I've never given up anything for Lent. Ever. Grew up surrounded by Catholics. Even lived in south Louisiana for a few years. But this year I decided I would.
A few weeks prior to Ash Wednesday, I realized that there were so many people that I knew who were hurting, who were in absolute anguish over something that had happened in their lives. And honestly, there was very little I could offer them. They are experiencing pain that a casserole would do little to relieve.
Sadly, I found myself frustrated that the only balm I could offer was prayer and I felt like I wasn't very good at remembering to actually pray.
One thing I always remember to do is eat. And I love a baked good: cupcakes, brownies, cookies, yum. So I chose to sacrifice those so I would be reminded to pray whenever I started thinking about why I couldn't have them.
My discomfort in denying a craving does not even rival the pain of my hurting friends and family. It doesn't come any where near the pain of Christ on the cross. Please don't misinterpret me. But if denying myself something I don't really need any way brings more prayers offered up on behalf of others, it's the least I can do.
I do miss those goodies very much. The stench of brownies in the nurses station last week was overwhelming. But I fought it; I hate to fail. Thirteen days down.

Running thoughts

Tonight I pounded out four miles at a sub 9minute mile pace. I announced this achievement in our living room to a "House"-engrossed husband who offered up an absentminded hand for a high five. 
His bigger concern was avoiding my sweat-laden body. This is a recurring theme at our house, as Molly would rather crawl under a rock than leave daycare with her post-run, pre-shower mother. 
There will be two reactions to that opening stat; you will either be impressed or you will snicker. My 21 year old self would be among the latter. My lithe 21 year old self probably ran sub 9 minute miles backwards. She was known to run 7 minute mile 5ks and run twice a day. Her running gear consisted of hand me down shorts, a sports bra, free running shoes from her college cross country coach and a new fangled thingy called an "MP3 player" that held a whopping 4 1/2 songs. Her greatest difficulty was finding a job after graduation that would help her get into PA school. 
Twenty-one year old Lauren, meet thirty-one year old Lauren. Sure she's got about 30 lbs on you, but she's also got a whole lotta life on you. She may not be as fast but she's still finding time to pound the pavement. She's collected a couple handfuls of nieces and nephews and 2 degrees in those ten years. She got married, had two little girls, nursed em both, moved 6 times and got a husband through law school. She has spinal tapped babies and you aren't sure you even want kids.
Lauren 31 thinks Lauren 21 is kinda silly but appreciates the simplicity of her life. I hope 21 would be impressed by 31, a bit of mutual respect. Because, after all, you have to be 21 in order to become 31. 
But you know what? Regardless of age, they both know that running is the fastest, easiest, cheapest, best escape they've got. My 11 year old self had no clue I would still be running twenty years later. I hope Lauren 41 will be in on the fun, too.            

When it's time to change, you've got to rearrange!

For the past two years, I've made a daily 70 mile round trip commute to a small town where I was in charge of a rural health clinic. This was a big change from practicing in a children's hospital where I had spent the previous four years.
And everyday the difference became more clear. The journey to Shreveport was merely thirty minutes, but for my patients the distance was often insurmountable. Appointment times were irrelevant as many had to catch a ride "into town." I can't tell you the number of times we called an ambulance to transport an admission because they didn't have a way to get to the hospital. And I suspect there were more dirt floors in their houses than I would guess.
But I learned alot. I was pushed out of my comfort zone frequently. I spent lots of time researching or making phone calls to people who knew more than I did. And when you take care of the grandparents, parents and children of several families, you tend to get attached.
I was often torn. If my children were sick and I stayed home with them, my staff couldn't work and the patients weren't seen. If my mother-in-law kept my sick kids so I could go to work, I felt like the worst mother ever. And the commute guaranteed I would be away from home almost 11 hours every day. Staying even ten minutes after the bell meant I wouldn't be able to pick up the girls from daycare before it closed.
I've been praying for a better solution for a long time. I had gone on several interviews. But nothing ever worked out. What a bruise to my ego!
And then, about a month ago, I got 2 job offers in 5 days. In a sluggish job market, I felt like I had hit the lottery! When God releases the flood gates, His blessings are overwhelming!
I opted for the position at an orthopedic children's hospital. Despite never having worked in ortho previously, it has almost felt like coming home, like my load has been lightened. A children's hospital is just a great place. Aside from getting to wear fun colored scrubs and tshirts, it's just different. I find people are more willing to put themselves to the side in order for the patient to benefit. Im adjusting the way I practice (no more pelvic exams!) and am trying to soak up all the information I can.
The latest I got home all week was 6 and I had already gone to Walmart and Sams on my way home. I only used half a tank of gas instead of my usual 1+. By Thursday, Molly was already telling me I was late to pick her up when I arrived at the daycare at 5. Of course, she was sold when she saw the playground equipment outside the hospital; I am finally the parent with the "cool job!" Previously, my Civil War era building could not compete with the lure of John's multicolored highlighters!

You know you're getting old when...

-you can see the wisdom in asking for small appliances as Christmas or birthday gifts.

-you have the ability to "just know" that certain things are bad ideas.

-you spent your Friday night shampooing your carpets and are so proud you deem the event facebook status worthy.

-you go running with your husband's hunting dog and notice guys are checking you out. In an awkward moment, one of the trucks slows down and makes eye contact...with the dog.

-you don't care to watch certain movies or listen to certain types of music because you are well aware that there is plenty of anger/discord/violence in the world so you don't need to be reminded.

-you will go to bed embarrassingly early on weekend nights because you figure you have the following day to do all the stuff that normally keeps you up on week nights.

-somebody goes mailbox tagging in your neighborhood and you're reaction is, "why are people still doing that? Don't they know that's a felony?"

-you watch "Clueless" and are slightly embarrassed that those clothes were once the epitome of cool.

-you no longer have any desire to get a tattoo. (this may be secondary to my medical background which frequently reminds me of the effects of gravity on aging skin.)

-you realize that the reason why you find the scarf trend so unappealing is that you've already had something hanging around your neck since the birth of your first child.

-your child asks you where your computer is and you reply "hiding in a place where little girls can't find it." When she asks where that place is, your response is "I don't know, but when I find it, I'm not telling you." (In my defense, she's 4 and if she's breathing, she's asking a question!)

Baby Jo

You're not much of a baby anymore, little one. At your 15 month check up last week you weighed almost 23 lbs. Your momma sometimes gets confused and can't decide if you're an infant or a big girl like your sister.
It's often said that God gives us exactly what we need when we need it and you, lovebug, are precisely that. You have the sweetest temperament and love to cuddle. There have been many moments that you were exactly what I needed. You get so excited to see the people you love. Your daycare teacher loves to take you on walks at the end of the day because she enjoys it when you see me coming up the breezeway thru the glass doors; you take off running and screaming with waving hands to greet me. I enjoy it a little bit, too.
You think Molly is just the cat's meow. She makes you giggle, she makes you cry. I can only imagine that one day soon you will want to be just like her and then that phase will be followed by one where you want to have absolutely nothing to do with her. And then I hope you will love each other like I love my sister.
You're growing a bit of hair and it curls at the nape of your neck. I'm hoping it will curl all over. You have these big blue eyes which fill your face. Your first tooth decided to poke through this month; it was starting to worry me, but it remains your only tooth. And I'm sorry, but your chunky little legs are my favorite part of you.
This past week you were sick and missed almost a whole week of school. I know your teachers missed you and it was stressful for us to find people to care for you, but even in your feverish state, you were quite enjoyable. I loved the extra day I got to spend with you, listening to you sing to yourself.
I love watching you grow, though sometimes it pains me to see you become a big girl. I can see the nuances of your personality develop. I have my guesses as to what you will be like but I'm not quite sure yet.
Sweet girl, I'm so thankful for you!

Timing

Monday afternoon, I pulled into the daycare parking lot on 2 wheels at 550pm. Normal. I parked under the drop-off canopy (if it's 10 minutes til closing, no one's going to gripe if I park there, right?). That, too, was normal. I hustled up the long breezeway where I could almost hear a shrieking Johanna greet me through the glass door. Once again, normal.
And then her teacher dropped the bomb: "well.... X, Y, and Z all have hand, foot, and mouth and M and N both had fever today."
And bam! There went my week. I looked in Johanna's already watering eyes and I knew our turn was coming, even though we JUST HAD HFM 6 WEEKS AGO!
But I'm okay with all that because God's timing has been perfect in all of it.
She woke up yesterday with fever and that is a day there is another provider at work, so my patients were covered. I worked additional hours the last paycheck I had to miss a day, so I still had vacation time to take. Because she was sick, she took a long nap and I got to catch up on my housework. Because I was caught up on housework, I went to bed early. Because I went to bed early, I wasn't upset that I had to get up with my feverish girl in the night several times.
And my sweet friend finished finals this week and swore she needed something to do with all her free time, so she's loving on little Johanna while I'm at work today.
It's hard being a working momma when your kiddos are sick because you want to take care of your babies! While I certainly wish I was with her today, I know she's in good hands and am grateful for the way it has all fallen into place.


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