Sometimes We Get A Little Crazy

This is Lobo.

He's my protector. My best friend. My constant companion. I'm pretty sure he loves me more than anyone else in the world. Look at that face. So full of love, adoration, loyalty...betrayal.

I mean, he won't even look at me.

So, you know when you're in the midst of some pretty intense hormone emotion? (I'm talking specifically to the ladies here. The other life-manufacturers of the world.) Like, all of the stresses of the world are weighing down on you, no one loves you, everything is falling apart, nothing will ever be good again emotions? They don't last long. And when everything is back in balance, life can once again be amazing.

But when you're smack in the middle of it...it can get pretty ugly.

It's possible that I may have had one of those ugly times recently. And when I say ugly, I mean ugly crying. I mean heart-wrenching, soul-sucking sobbing. I mean the kind of sobbing that gets to the point where you're no longer sure whether you're still crying or have actually moved over into laughter. And not normal, happy laughter, either. I'm talking maniacal laughter. Like, this is exactly what they created the word maniacal for. The kind of laughter that causes people to slowly back out of the room. And just when you start to think, "oh good, I'm laughing now. Laughing is good," you shift straight back into crying. And then you get kinda angry, because you can't hold onto the laughter, which would probably feel pretty good right then. But really, the relentless sobbing actually feels pretty good, too, so you just really get into it.

So, dogs are supposed to be these love you unconditionally, calming, nurturing, take care of you when you're sad creatures, right? Like my friend Kim pointed out as she was definitely not laughing at me during such an episode, dogs are used to help individuals with autism calm down in the midst of a meltdown. That's what they do. They see us through our drama. They can handle it. They love us more than themselves.

Yeah, so my Lobo. My sweet little rescue baby Lobo, saw me in the midst of this hormonal breakdown recently, said "Nope" and got up and walked out of the room. He said, "I can't even be bothered with your level of crazy right now," and straight up bounced. Wouldn't even make eye contact as he was leaving. And stayed in the other room for the duration of this breakdown.

In fact, every single animal in my home left. I mean, this one eventually came around once the sobbing slowed down into more of a whimper. But even she wouldn't actually look at me.

So, let's bring this all back to the purpose of this blog. Raising money for Girls on the Run. When you're in the midst of one of these cycles, it's important to have women in your life that get it and can assure you that you're not crazy. You're powerful. And sometimes you have to release some of that power in the form of crazy tears. Help us help more girls start to build their female support system by donating to Girls on the Run. They need this. We need this. (And trust me fellas, you need us to have this, too.)

In My Tribe, We Rock Scars With Our Dresses

I went kayaking at the Cove with a few of my tribe ladies Friday.

We spent several hours out on the water. Talking. Venting. Laughing. Sharing. Supporting. Understanding. (One of us may have fallen over into the water for no clear reason.)

See, this is how we repair.

We need this time not only with one another, but with nature.

We need to be out in a world bigger than us, among the trees, among the mountains, even surrounded by the water that I find fully terrifying. (Really, it scares me to death if I think about it too much. So, obviously I have to do it. Because you need to the do things that scare you.)

We know that this is not something that everyone understands. We know that there are people in our lives that don't get it. That's ok. Those that we play with get it. Those people are part of our tribe.

Our tribe is there to run with us, float with us, play with us. Our tribe will meet us on the trails so we don't have to run alone. Our tribe will load three kayaks into their truck so we can spend a day floating around the Cove. Our tribe will pull on gold lame' and take on teams of kids 20 years younger in a game of tug of war or Bubble Soccer. (Seriously. Bubble Soccer. That is my new jam.)

And then our tribe will wash their cuts and bruises, put on fancy shoes and dresses, and probably even wash their hair, to head out to dinner in celebration of each other.

Because sometimes a girl just needs to rock her scars in a little black dress to be reminded that she is both powerful and beautiful. (And also, scars...because falling over in the water for no clear reason...sometimes I'm not entirely sure how I make it through the day without breaking something.)

Our Fall season of Girls on the Run starts in a few weeks. I'm so excited to help a new group of girls start to discover their own power and beauty and maybe even start to develop their own tribe of strong, supportive girls. 

You can help support Girls on the Run by clicking here and making a donation. 

And if you feel like getting out on the trails or floating around on the water, let me know. Our tribe is always accepting new people. We'd love to have you.

The Case for Running Skirts as Formal Wear

A few weeks ago, I went to see one of my favorite local musicians perform. (For those that have known me for a while, I recognize how shocking that one small statement may be. But for real, I left the house and did a social thing. Voluntarily. I know.)

The problem was, I was also scheduled to run a 5k trail race that night.

I didn’t want to show up to one of the rare non-running social events I will ever attend in shorts and sneakers. (Seriously. If you don’t know me, this was a big deal. I was going to do a thing and I wanted to look decent.)

Both locations were an hour from home and changing in a public bathroom is never a viable option. I have precious little balance and am prone to falling over while standing on both feet. Attempting to change would have undoubtedly led to some sort of contact with a public toilet. And I make a point to never have direct contact with a public toilet.

The obvious solution: Running skirt.

Seriously. Tell me this wouldn't be the cutest skirt you owned.

I wore a running skirt with a dressy blouse and sandals. No one even knew that under that pretty, dainty, dressy blouse was an unreasonably old and decidedly unattractive sports bra. And I seemed to be the only one questioning the appropriateness of the running skirt. And when I got to the trail, I just had to switch out my shirt and throw on a hat and sneakers.

It is apparently entirely socially acceptable to wear a running skirt as though it were dressy. Am I the only one awed by this? And if so, why haven’t any of you clued me in before?

And so, this is my case for running skirts as formal wear. We should just wear them always.

• They are super comfortable.
• They are super cute (I like to twirl a lot when I’m wearing a particularly flouncy skirt).
• They have those built in spanks so you don’t even have to remember to sit like a lady (which is honestly a very real challenge for me).
• And really, every runner should be prepared to run at all times. Because you never know when the need to run will hit. Sometimes a girl just needs to run to be reminded of her power. Or to keep from hurting the people. Running serves both purposes well.

So, two things.

All skirts should be running skirts.

And donate to Girls on the Run so more girls can be reminded of their power.

It's the Final Countdown

I happened to glance at the calendar today.

One month. 

I have exactly one month before taking on my Spartan Trifecta.

I think probably the best way to describe what I felt when that realization hit was massive heart-wrenching panic. Like, death panic. Like, dear Lord where is the unregister button panic? Like, how do I undo the drastic decision to take on a freakin Spartan Trifecta panic???

And then I got it together.

I'm good.

This rope, though. This frustrating, defeating, mocking, obnoxious rope. 

I just can't master it. 

Yet.

I've been given yet another exercise to practice my form and movement. The people giving me all of these techniques are people that can actually climb the rope. I mean, they have to know what they're talking about, right? Seriously. My dad was a dang Army Ranger. If he doesn't know about ropes, then who does??? No, no. I'm still good. Just breath.

Ok. Sit on the ground, legs out straight, and pull myself up without bending my knees.

K. So, I've got that. Easy peasy. 

I should be able to climb the rope now, right? 

Except no. 

I'm close. I'm sooooo close. 

But still, no. Close doesn't work in Spartan.

Ok. So, someone else is probably going to need to be in charge of my life choices going forward.

For now, click here donate to Girls on the Run so I can know I'm not putting myself through this for nothing. Please?

Sometimes I Just Wave To My Limits

I was supposed to run 6 miles today. Mostly because that's the random mileage that someone else ran, so I felt peer pressured to do the same. Really, I probably should have run closer to 10, but forget that. 

It was after noon.

In July.

In Virginia.

It's possible that I opted for a 15 minute-turned two hour nap after work today rather than immediately heading out for a run. So, when I came out of my sleep coma around 2:00pm, I looked at my weather app. She said it was a nice 73 degrees outside. So I put on my running clothes and headed out the door.

First, let me assure you that it was most definitely NOT 73 degrees at 3:00pm today. (For those of you good with the math, it's possible that I laid in the bed catching up on my Facebook feed for an hour or so before actually getting up and going for a run...)

Weather chick lied. It was at LEAST 568 degrees. (With the humidity. The actual temperature was probably closer to 93 degrees. Still. Definitely not 73.)

Second, I think that sometimes it's ok not to push your limits. I think sometimes it's ok to see your limits coming (often in the form of dizziness, nausea, and possible hallucinations) and kind of acknowledge them from afar. Like, just a quick head nod or maybe even a little bow to let them know that you both recognize them AND respect them. And that you have no intentions of challenging them today in 568 degree weather.

My limits are safe today.

I may visit them again later in the week. And wave at them from a safe distance.

DONATE TO GIRLS ON THE RUN so girls have a chance to acknowledge and even push through their own limits...like more effectively than I did today.

Fingertip Push Ups...I Can Do Those

So, I talked to the boy today. The one that wasn't supposed to know that I hadn't been practicing my rope climb?

Yeah, him.

He lectured me.

My two-weeks overdue so I had to have pitocin during two days of childbirth first born son lectured me.

I listened.

Then, in an effort to impress him and make amends, I decided to show him the fingertip push ups that I can do now.

"Watch this."

I dropped to the kitchen floor and got one full push up in on my fingertips.

Impressive, right?

"Yeah, mom. But, um, what was up with all that clicking? You sound like a roller coaster making a climb. Down, chk chk chk. Up, chk chk chk. Is that your shoulder making those sounds? What actual part of your body is about to pop out of alignment in this process?"

....

Ok, but I think what we need to focus on here is that your 42 year old mother of two just did a fingertip push up.

I mean, I can't do anymore now because of the laughter, but still.

I'm going to be so ready for Spartan...

Donate to Girls On The Run

The Reason for the Ladder

Don't tell the eldest son this, but I haven't practiced my rope climb in over a week. I've been a little distracted by play. It's summertime and I'm grown. I've earned playtime. (But for real, don't tell him.)

After mowing today, guilt kicked in and the rope started calling to me (not very nicely, either), so I decided to get some practice in.

Unfortunately, if you slack off for a week, you start to lose the little bit of progress you've gained. After several minutes of hanging there unable to get my feet set, I remembered my dad's suggestion to climb a ladder and start from the top.

So, I got the ladder out. It took me a while to find it. I'm not one to do my own home repairs, so I've never actually used it before. I'm not even quite sure where it came from. Most likely my dad donated it hoping I would become some kind of independent woman who handles her own to-do list. Whatever. The point is, I found it and began setting it up to practice my rope climb...

Did you know that if you leave a ladder sitting unused for several years, wasps are very likely to build their home there?

So, maybe I now have a wasp-infested ladder just sitting outside of my basement door. And possibly I didn't warn the kids that are currently in the basement. But really, they should be reading my blog in support of my fundraising efforts anyway, right?

I'm hoping one of them will put the ladder away for me so I can go back to practicing my rope climb.

And I also hope that the one who does isn't allergic to stings.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be on my couch the rest of the day waiting to see if the pain subsides or if benadryl is in order.