Tuesday, December 19, 2017

To Those Who Believe

I never believed in Santa Claus. My parents didn't tell us he wasn't real, but Santa wasn't a big focus in our house. As a logical child I never found the idea plausible: a lone man flying all the way around the world in his flying sleigh leaving presents for all the children? Gimme a break.

That doesn't mean I didn't love Christmas or experience the joy and wonder of the season.  I would go with my dad to Joliff's Nursery to pick out our Christmas tree. Each year we'd try to get one bigger and better than the last. The biggest I remember had to have a rope tied around it and nailed to the wall to keep it upright. Classic Jones Christmas. My dad always decorated the tree with way too many icicles, and as a cat-loving family we'd often have cats regurgitating foil into the new year. 

I remember lying in bed on Christmas Eve, my eyes wide open and heart pounding, certain I'd never fall asleep. I'd wake with a start early in the morning and bound out of bed. We always celebrated Christmas absurdly early in my house. My parents were wonderful to indulge us at some ungodly hour, like 3 or 4 am, to open presents. My family wasn't rich, but I never remember wanting for anything on Christmas morning. 

Having a small child brings back that childlike Christmas joy. Will loves the trees and the decorations. Tonight on the way home from school he was quietly singing Jingle Bells in the back of the car. He has so many questions about Santa, and decided recently to change the gift he originally requested of Santa (naturally after "Santa" has ordered it and had it shipped to Grandma's for Christmas). 

Here with the big guy
Even with my son's Christmas spirit I've found the season whirling past me as it does in the busyness of adulthood. When my husband and I got married in December nine years ago, it never occurred to me that having a Christmas time wedding anniversary would skew the season. Couple that with my son's birthday on the same date, and I don't start really thinking of Christmas until the middle of the month. Add to that this year a new job, mayoral transition and inauguration looming on New Years Day, and I've still not finished shopping less than a week before the big day.

I found myself in the holiday spirit really early this year, but as the season got into full swing I've had a harder time keeping my grasp on the magic. I've let life and busy push away the holiday cheer despite my best efforts to hold on.

I've always been an early riser, and I remember as a kid sitting in our living room before the sun came up with only the tree lit. I've always loved that quiet time when it feels like I have the world to myself. When my son was two weeks old I sat by the tree with him, exhausted, elated, and grateful. In the three Christmases since I've not slowed down enough to do it. Here I am, a mere six days from Christmas, and the season is slipping away.

Yet six days is enough time. There's still enough time to have a glass of wine by the light of the tree. On Thursday we head to spend Christmas with my mom, my siblings and their kids. Will is thrilled to spend the holiday with his cousins. I can't wait to see him make cookies with my mom like we did. It appears likely that we will have a white Christmas.

I've never believed in Santa, but I believe in the magic. I believe that Christmas is an enchanting time that awakes the child in all of us. For the next six days I will listen for the bells. I will sing carols, wrap presents, and take in the silence by the light of my beautiful tree. I will believe.  

Monday, December 11, 2017

The Struggle of Perfection

Nearly two years ago I wrote a blog about my impossible quest to be perfect. I had just lost my dad and was desperately seeking perspective. Nearly two years later, in the busiest time I've ever had in my entire life, I am still desperately and elusively seeking perspective. And this time I don't have running to anchor me and keep me sane. So I can't find perspective and am a little bit crazy. It's a tenuous situation.

On December 1 I officially started my new job as Lansing's Mayor-Elect's Chief of Staff. It's been a whirlwind. People keep using the analogy "drinking from a fire hose" and frankly that'd be a lovely drink of water in comparison to what's really happening. It's been an absolute inundation of information and people. I'm working on two transitions: a public facing transition to engage as many Lansing residents as possible and an internal transition to actually get our team in city hall on January 1, 2018. It's been amazing and fascinating and fun for every single minute. And I'm exhausted.

For the first three years of my son's life I've had total flexibility in my job. I've worked from home for the last year and a half. Being in meetings or the office all day has been a big change, but my phone is the worst part. I leave an hour meeting with dozens of text messages and 4-5 missed calls. If you want to get in touch with me your best bet is to text or email. I will return calls, but I have to actually schedule them on my calendar. 

I adjusted pretty well to a work/life balance for the first three years of my son's life because I had it easy. Now I'm trying to figure out the new balance. I'm frankly less worried about work because work makes sense. I'm worried about giving the required attention to my family and my social life. I'm falling asleep at 8:30 pm and then sending certainly confused/surprised department heads texts when I wake up at 5 am to walk the dog. 

This face. Priority #1.
I thought I'd be running by mid-December, but here we are, almost six weeks after surgery. My knee is still very swollen. In addition to the torn meniscus my surgeon also removed some inflammation from behind my knee cap, and my physical therapist said it may swell significantly for months. MONTHS. C'mon knee. How am I going to handle this volume of life without running?!?

Daily icing like a boss.
None of this is meant to be a complaint. My life is a delightful, phenomenal hurricane of awesome. I now get to paid to love not just cities but MY city. My precious son turns three years old this week, and I'm still amazed that I am fortunate enough to be his mama. My husband is crazy supportive, and I have the best group of friends any girl could ever want. Sure maybe I'm slightly swamped, but I'm grateful for every moment of it. Last weekend I still found time to dance my face off (my knee was not amused) for hours at a Christmas party. We threw our son's third birthday party. My heart and my calendar are full. 

With my girlfriend at a Christmas party...tragically in flats.
Balance is a precarious thing. If it were easy it'd be called stability right? I don't expect the next four years to be easy, but I do expect them to be fun and rewarding. But making sure my family and my friends and my health and my sanity are priorities is going to be a challenge. I'm not going to stop being a perfectionist, so I've got to figure out how to balance perfection. Perhaps I'll find the answer in a cup of holiday cheer...

Friday, November 17, 2017

The Champions

I haven't blogged in a few weeks because life has been a whirlwind. My knee is healing well although I'm never a patient patient. I'm itching to run again, and given my progress I should be back to it in a month or so. I can't wait.

Until then I'm just hanging out...doing nothing. I'm being very sarcastic. A few weeks ago, less than a week after my surgery, my good friend Andy won his election to be the new Mayor of Lansing beginning in January. He asked me to be his Chief of Staff. It's a dream job to work for someone I know and true and believe in and to work for my city where I live and work and spend most of my time (in a ½ mile radius mostly). I am humbled by his faith in me and honored to join his team in January. But in order to manage the mental gymnastics this job will take, I need to be running again.

I'm so excited to get back into city government. I still don't know exactly how a (very) small town girl became a fervent urban core city supporter, but here we are. I worked for the Mayor of Norfolk, Virginia in my first job after law school, and I've worked on local government policy in different roles in the dozen years since. But working for a city, going to city hall every day and seeing the impact that can be made in people's lives...that's where it's at. I can't wait to get back to it.

I've been fortunate in my career to work with some stellar local officials, both elected and appointed. I have myriad people I can (and will) reach out to for advice and counsel and to whom I can vent. What I love most about local government is that these are the men and women spend every single day working to make their communities a better place. As one of my city manager friends said it's not a profession; it's a calling.

I was called a dozen years ago, and I've been hooked ever since. I love all cities, but I have a soft spot for those who have potential. For the gritty ones, the challenging ones, the underdogs. Here in the Lansing region so many of my friends leave the city. It's obviously their decision, but the last few years I have to admit I have started to take it personally. I know I need to get a handle on it, but love Lansing. This is the place I have chosen as my home. I've chosen to live and work and send my kid to daycare downtown. My life happens in a half mile radius, and I wouldn't trade it for any quiet cul de sac in the world. I have too much energy for the suburbs. I need the city.

I was in San Antonio last month at the International City Managers Association, and I talked to professionals from throughout Michigan and across the country about the great work they're doing in their communities. These people are passionate. They're driven. They take dwindling municipal resources and make sure our city services are stellar. These are my people. And now I am one of them again.

The people who work in my city and in cities everywhere are the champions. Their jobs are not as lucrative as the private sector. They work long hours and deal with tough political positions. But their passion is unrivaled, and they get me. They get me because they are me. They understand the importance of cities and the valuable work they do.

I'm so excited for January 1. I can't wait to walk from my house to city hall and jump in with both feet. I want to be part of making my city better. I look forward to the tough days, the challenging situations, and the fun we're going to have. Let's do this. #LoveLansing

Wednesday, November 8, 2017

The Scope of It

I've been under anesthesia approximately 30 times. That's as many times as I can remember, but in fairness all the anesthesia may have affected my memory. I had tubes in my ears three times as a kid, another ear surgery in high school, six Crohn's related abdominal surgeries, my wisdom teeth removed, an abscess drained, and more colonoscopies, sigmoidoscopies and endoscopies than I can count. Last week I added to the tally having a surgery to repair my torn meniscus. 

Not running has really zapped my creativity. I use running to think about blogs I'm going to write and to calm all the thoughts rattling around in my head. Instead the last few weeks I've felt anxious about my upcoming surgery. Despite the number of surgeries I've had, having knee surgery made me more anxious than usual. My knee has really been hurting, but what if made it worse? 

It turns out a knee scope is significantly less invasive than any of the Crohn's surgeries I've had. I spent three days on crutches and icing/elevating my knee almost 24/7. I was cautiously able to put weight on my knee a few days after surgery and a week later I am walking, albeit slowly and cautiously. 

I've tried really hard to take it easy and be cautious. I won't be able to wear heels for a few weeks, but I'm hoping to be back to running within six weeks. I'm also hoping to be back to blogging more creatively then too. I miss lacing up my shoes, taking off on a crisp fall morning and sorting through all the thoughts in my head. Five weeks until I'm back in action. Until then...sort of rest.

Wearing running clothes to the polls because real clothes won't fit over my knee.

Wednesday, October 18, 2017

Everyone is the Avon Lady These Days

Let me start by saying I don't begrudge anyone wanting to supplement their income. I get the appeal of working on sales from home because it's flexible and a convenient way to make more money. But for the love of God please, friends, stop trying to sell me things. It's out of control.

Growing up my mom was pretty anti sales parties. She didn't go to Avon or Tupperware parties (those were the big things back then). I remember her being annoyed by them, and I inherited that aversion to sales parties. I decided years ago that I wouldn't go to these parties. Over the years I've felt guilted by good friends to buy something because they were having a party, but I have very rarely actually attended any kind of sales party. (I've bought from a catalog or online). I cringe at the idea of sitting in a room full of women feeling like I have to buy some makeup/jewelry/cookware that I don't actually need and won't ever use. I'll pass. 

Now with social media it's EVERYWHERE. I can't pull up Facebook without being bombarded to buy LulaRoe, Rodan & Fields, Yunique, Pampered Chef or Beach Body (which out of all of these Beach Body is the only one I'm seriously morally opposed to and would ask now to please stop trying to sell that ridiculous protein shake garbage to me). Now there's also some kid's book one I've been invited to 47 times. It's not so much the actual act of each individual friend selling but the proliferation of it. On our drive home from West Virginia yesterday I stopped counting at 40 (YES 40!) Facebook friends who are selling something from one of these companies. It's out of control. 

Here's some advice from those of us being bombarded with sales requests (or just advice from me...I don't speak for anyone else): do NOT add me to a Facebook group without asking. I will either 1) promptly remove myself or 2) feel guilty because it's a good friend, not remove myself and feel resentful every single time I receive a notification. Also if you add me without asking there is a 100 percent chance I will never buy what you're selling.

I had a friend who did a Facebook LipSense party a few months ago. I tried LipSense in Austin this spring because a friend had it, and I loved it. I had no idea where to get it. My awesome friend simply posted that she was having a party, and to message her if you wanted in the group. I did, and I have since purchased 5 or 6 tubes of LipSense. The approach - not constantly pushing it at me or making it feel like an obligation - totally worked. I have never seen this friend post about LipSense again except in the group to which I voluntarily added myself. That is the only time I've seen it done this way.

I know a lot of people I really love and admire who are selling things, but with dozens of friends selling the same things, it's constant. It's all day, every day. Also it's only something women do to one another.  A few months ago I was at dinner with friends (both male and female) and I was complaining to a female friend about how the selling is constant. The guys were baffled because men aren't constantly selling each other shit. My husband has never, ever received a request to attend a party for some random thing he doesn't need. My favorite quote was my husband's when he said, "It's like everybody is the Avon lady now." It really is. If I'm being honest I feel like Facebook has become a place for me to witness all the pyramid schemes I could imagine. I've hidden a lot of it, but it keeps popping up.These companies are sucking in more people to bombard my social media feeds.

If I want what you're selling, I'll find a way to get it. But for real it's everywhere, and it's making me even more averse to buying anything. If you're selling something I hope you're doing well. I really do. But I'd really like to stop having friends constantly post what they're selling. Can we go back to cute pictures of kids and dogs? Hell at this point I prefer political posts to sales ones. And that's saying something. 

Wednesday, October 4, 2017

I'll Keep This World from Draggin' me Down

I love the smell of fall: the way the cooler weather, crisp mornings and fallen leaves come together to make a beautiful potpourri. This year's heat has made the arrival of autumn later, but it's still there. As much as I love the warmth of summer, I love the crispness of fall even more. The last few years, however, this time of year reminds me of my dad. It reminds me of emerging from long days in the hospital, my eyes blinking to adjust from florescent light to the brilliant autumn sky. It reminds me of the impossible pain of standing in my closet picking out clothes for my father's funeral. It reminds me that two years ago my son was only 10 months old, barely pulling himself up at Grandma and Pap Pap's house. It reminds me that my dad didn't get to see that amazing little baby turn into a wonderful little boy.

I'm typing this at 3:32 a.m. You know...like you do. I've become a bit of an insomniac of late. My mind doesn't shut off like I need it to these days. And while I am tired during the day, it's actually not that bad. On mornings like this one when I can make myself get out of bed to do something instead of aimlessly tossing and turning I actually feel relatively productive.

About an hour ago my son woke up having peed through his bed. We let him drink too much milk at bed time. We know the culprit and haven't yet done anything to change it. I was almost back to sleep when I heard him laughing. I waited a minute and tiptoed back into his room to find him fast asleep. I do that too: laugh in my sleep. Sometimes I will wake myself up laughing. I'm reminded again that so much of parenting is nurture, and it helps alleviate the heaviness I feel this week.

I realize it's been a shit week on a much larger scale than my sadness. The nation's worst ever mass shooting, the death of a music legend. My dwelling on my sad anniversary and finding out I have a torn meniscus (I'll get back there in a second) is so small in the larger sense of the grief so many are feeling right now. I have so much for which I am thankful, but it's hard not to breathe in the autumn air and feel my chest constrict. 

I could've sworn at some point I wrote a blog titled "I Won't Back Down". Apparently I have not. Maybe it just rattled around in my head and I never actually wrote anything. I'm not a huge Tom Petty fan, but there are several songs of his that I love (that being one of them). Like my dad Petty was 66 when he died. I think of the way his family is feeling, and my heart hurts. I think of the more than 50 people who died in Las Vegas earlier this week. I hate that their families will associate the beautiful late autumn sun with the day their family members died. 

Through grief and loss my outlet has always been running. On this, the second anniversary of my father's death and a shitty week in America, I do not have my outlet. I got a call from my sports medicine doctor yesterday, and an MRI from last week shows I have a torn meniscus. Two months of PT did not do the trick, and I see an orthopedic surgeon next week. On one hand I'm happy to have an answer and ready to have a plan. On the other hand my body is full of pent up energy that is keeping me awake, pounding the keyboard at 3:44 a.m. The insomnia has definitely coincided with my inability to run. No form of low-impact exercise has been able to quiet the chaos in my mind.

I am so grateful for myriad blessings in this crazy life. I am grateful for the 38 years I got with my dad. I am grateful that in times of sadness my family deals with laughter. I am grateful to be so much like my father. I am grateful for perspective in sadness. 

This hurts my heart.
Sunday will be two years without my dad as the head of this family. In a week where so many families are wracked with grief, I hope they find laughter. I hope they find solace in the beauty of autumn. And in a world that keeps on pushing us around, I hope we all stand our ground. 

Thursday, September 21, 2017

How to be One of the Boys

Earlier this week I read Amber Tamblyn's piece in the New York Times detailing her struggle in dealing with sexual harassment. It's brilliantly written and spoke to me. While I don't think of myself as a victim it's because dealing with harassment has become so commonplace that I sometimes don't even always notice it. And that is perhaps the saddest point of all.

Tamblyn's op-ed spoke to me. For the last few days I've been thinking of the myriad times in my career in which I've had to deal with inappropriate touching, comments, and uncomfortable situations. It's happened over and over again. I wish I had a manual for how to deal with it. I wish I could tell you I fought back with words every time. Neither of those things are true.

I waited tables and college and became friends with one of the male servers. Once he smacked me on the butt in the kitchen in full view of everyone else. I said, "Hey stop. Isn't that sexual harassment?" He laughed and said not if I liked it. I said I didn't, but everyone laughed. There were no consequences. 

In law school I worked at a law firm. I reported to two junior attorneys, but the managing partner loved me and would sometimes pull me aside to talk. On a regular basis as I was talking to him he would reach out and tuck my hair behind my ear. It still gives me a shudder to think of how intimate that move was. And it was done in the hallway in plain view. Should I have said something? Of course. But I was 23 years old and needed the job. Besides he hadn't really done anything, right? This is a question I would ask myself over and over and over again.

Early in my career I worked for a guy who said, "When men look at something there are three options: eat it, f*ck it, or kill it." I had a man in a position of authority who would discreetly pat me on the hip. When I reported it to someone (another man) who I trusted, I was told nobody would ever believe me.

At that moment, at the age of 25, I decided I'd deal with it differently. I'd face it with humor and laugh it off. I decided I would become one of the boys. Look - I'd be a hypocrite if I told you I didn't contribute to locker room cultures throughout the next 15 years. If I was one of the guys and tossed in the inappropriate humor and jokes it wouldn't be targeted at me. If I let it roll off my back nobody would see when things bothered me. I'm sure I offended others, and for that I'm sorry. I took the line of what was appropriate and sprinted past it all in an effort to not be part of the "problem". I didn't want to be one of these women who complain and are "too serious" and "can't take a joke".

Somewhere along the line, much more recently than I'd like to admit, I have gone in the other direction. I've hit the brakes long before the line of inappropriate, and I find myself cringing and more importantly speaking up when something is inappropriate. I've had young female friends come to me recently for advice in dealing with an inappropriate boss and asking whether to apply for a job working for someone about whom they had reservations. I had a city manager tell me last winter that I was doing a great job mentoring young female managers, and they were taking in everything I said and did. It was one of the best professional compliments I've ever received, and it's a responsibility I take seriously.

I'm nearly 40 years old, and I wish I had all the answers or the perfect response to each inappropriate quip. I told a young friend a few weeks ago that it's not something that will stop happening. Last week I was at a professional event. I had on a new dress that made me feel amazing. It wasn't revealing or inappropriate, but it was flattering. I felt good. Then I had a man shake my hand and kiss me on the cheek (something I still don't appreciate unless I know you well). Then he leaned in and whispered "God you look good. You know it too." It's not the first time this man has made inappropriate comments to me. And I'll sheepishly admit I didn't say anything because I honestly didn't know what to say. These kinds of comments throw me off my game and make me self-conscious and uncomfortable. I probably should have, as my husband suggested, told him to f*ck off. I regret that I didn't because he thinks it's okay. And I'm sure I'm not the only woman he says things like this to. Even a week later I still don't know the right response other than telling him to f*ck off. But like I told my husband I don't get to do that in a professional world where this man is someone I regularly see professionally. 

This is certainly not to say this is every man or even close to it. I hope it's a small minority, but that doesn't make the incidents less real. I have been lucky to work with so many men who respect women. They can have a woman disagree with them without it threatening their very sense of manhood. I've also surrounded myself both personally and professionally with strong women who are a resource for me. Every single one of them has an example of one of these things happening to them. It's not unique to me. And while there's no manual, we can help support one another and surround ourselves with both amazing men and women.

I've decided I no longer want to be one of the boys. I can hang for sure, and if I'm tailgating for a football game or out with friends I absolutely can throw out the most inappropriate comment. But I no longer have patience for it in the work place. Perhaps this makes me a hypocrite because I did for so long, but people are allowed to change. I've been accused of seeing the world only in black and white, and the people who see me this way have never understood me. I am well aware that the world is almost entirely grey (hence why I didn't punch a guy in the mouth last week), and it will continue to be. My grey, however, is broken up by the beautiful sunshine of the awesome women and men with whom I've surrounded myself. And that is how we will make a difference.

Wednesday, September 13, 2017

Am I a Hipster?

Recently I was complaining about something everyone else seems to like, and my husband said I was such a hipster. At first I was irritated, but then I wondered if he was right? I did a little research in what it means to be a hipster, and it was fascinating. Merriam-Webster defines a hipster as: "a person who is unusually aware of and interested in new and unconventional patterns". This definition does seem to oversimplify the hipster counter culture. While overall I don't think I'm really a hipster (although my sassy short haircut can be fashioned into a wicked man bun), I do often like to shun mainstream things even without necessarily understanding or having experienced them. Over the last week I've been making a list of things that are popular with the mainstream that I don't understand. 

A disclaimer: if you like these things, that's totally okay. This is not a slam on you. Reasonable people can agree to disagree. These are things that I don't understand, but it doesn't mean you can't like them. I had someone recently say that I made people mad with what I wrote in my blog because they didn't agree. I like to vehemently dislike things. It's what I do. I also love to passionately love things. We're all grown ups. We can disagree and like different things. It's okay.

Glasses, check. Man bun, check. 
And now to the things I don't understand:

  • Pumpkin spice lattes, followed by pumpkin spice anything. First I should be honest and let you know I don't like the flavor of pumpkin. Pumpkin spice lattes were charming when they first became a thing. It's one of the first signs of fall. Now I'm bombarded in the grocery store by pumpkin flavored things. It's too much. Too much.
  • Cities everyone else loves. I'm looking at you specifically San Francisco and Austin. And here in Michigan? Grand Rapids. Too shiny. They seem to...finished. They bore me.
  • Musicals. I don't understand them, and with few exceptions I don't enjoy them. I don't even like movies like Mary Poppins. I've never seen The Sound of Music. I have zero interest in it. 
  • Hamilton. It's apparently a musical (which makes me already not like it) with rapping about Alexander Hamilton. The more hype it gets the less I want to see it. This is specifically what made my husband call me a hipster. No I haven't seen it, so I could totally be wrong. But given that 1) I don't like musicals and 2) I generally think if something has this much hype it'll never live up to expectations, I think I'm all set.
  • People wearing headphones everywhere. Why do you need to wear headphones in the grocery store or while you're walking the dog? Maybe just enjoy the world around you.
  • Disney World. I hate theme parks. I hate crowds. And I hate artificial places. I've never been to Disney, and I would be thrilled if that never changes. I may acquiese if Will really wants to go once he's old enough to ask.. But if I'm spending that kind of money on vacation I don't want to spend it surrounded by so much of...America.
  • Shirts with the shoulders cut out. These are a thing. Everywhere. I don't understand why they're so in. I'm kind of baffled by it. We were at a concert a few weeks ago and nearly every woman was wearing one. I asked my husband if they were selling them in the parking lot. And again if they're that popular even if I liked one I'd refuse to wear it.
  • The t-shirt from the vacation you're on while you're on it. I'm not big on vacation t-shirts anyway, but I specifically have never understood wearing a vacay shirt while still on vacation. This also goes for shirts like our senior class shirt in high school.There was zero chance I was going to wear it to school ever, but particularly not the day after they were issued.
  • LuLaRoe leggings. I kind of don't understand this phenomenon of your friends trying to sell you stuff in general, but that's another blog entirely. I have friends who wear the shirts, skirts and dresses, and they're pretty cute. But the leggings? Please, stop. We all know how I feel about leggings in general. Last winter my friend and I took our kids to the science museum. I'm pretty sure every mom there other than us was wearing some hideously patterned legging as pants, and it was shocking. I said to her, "LuLaRoe leggings are ruining America." It's the kind of thing I imagine I'd see at Disney World.
Clearly I am in the minority of not liking the above listed popular things, but it turns out I may be kind of a hipster. Although the internet tells me hipster women generally wear leggings. Now I'm just confused.

Wednesday, September 6, 2017

Mirrors (and Photos!) Don't Lie

I'll be honest - I've never struggled with my weight. I was 19 years old when I got sick with Crohn's, and this disease is its own weight loss program. Before that I was really active and never stopped moving. I was told once I had the metabolism of a hummingbird. For most of my life that's basically been true. So none of what I write in this blog should be taken as my thinking I have a weight problem or that I'm fat (I know that to be objectively untrue), but for the first time in my life it's gotten harder to take off. Let me rephrase: for the first time in my life I can't just eat and drink whatever I want and expect to not gain weight. It's an adjustment.

I've always loved exercise. I remember copying my older sister and doing workout videos from the time I was 11 years old. I was a cheerleader from third grade through high school. I took tumbling classes and added running to the repertoire once I was joined the track team in 9th grade. In college I joined a gym and went to the gym at 6 am five days a week...you know, like normal college kids do. I started running half marathons eleven years ago and I've never looked back. Given that level of activity I could eat a burger or drink lots of wine and never have issues. In 2014 I spent a month in the hospital and lost 30 pounds. It was a fun mission to gain weight. That is not the case today.

I've barely run for ten months. The abscess I had last year sidelined me, and I find other forms of exercise don't burn calories the same way. Add a persistent Crohn's flare to the abscess and exercise has been a challenge. At first I wasn't gaining weight, but I noticed my body changing. My clothes were fitting differently. Now that my Crohn's will support my running I have a pretty significant knee injury that has me in physical therapy and limits what exercise I can do. It's a pain. 

Icing my knee at PT. At least I feel like an athlete.
My clothes don't fit. For real. I was preparing for a meeting this morning and tried on nearly every dress in my closet. Most of them do not fit right now. I know how to dress my body, and I've been able to creatively hide my weight gain. But I have gained about 13 pounds in the last year, and I'm at my heaviest weight. Thirteen pounds is a lot on a 5'4" frame. It's not the end of the world, but now my clothes don't fit. I love my clothes. This, my friends, is a situation.

I asked my husband for a juicer for my birthday. I've always struggled with nutrition, and my Crohn's limits the amount of fruits and vegetables I can eat. So I'm going to try to eat more healthily. Not in an annoying way, but I've got to do something if I can't work out like I want to. I've also discovered that meat has been upsetting my stomach, so I'm going to limit it a bit. I'm not giving it up entirely but just making better choices. I still want to be able to drink red wine and down pasta on the regular. Really I'm just making choices so I can still do those things.

There's seriously apple, celery and lime in this profane cup.
Running is my stress relief. Although I've been swimming and doing other forms of cross training it's just not the same, and I'm desperately rehabbing my knee in hopes that it will get better. I need to run. Not just so my pants fit but so I'm a sane person. And so I can eat more pasta.

Recently I saw someone on Facebook asking for advice on how to lose weight. I'm a smart woman. I get the formula: calories in versus calories out. It's not a secret. I'm not getting younger, and it's never going to be easier to be in shape. And while I know objectively that I'm not overweight, I'm not happy with myself. That's unacceptable. I love my curves, and I don't want to change them. But I'd like them to be a little less aggressive so I can wear my favorite pencil skirt. If that means having an apple, celery, lime juice instead of a different snack I'll do it. That pencil skirt is worth it. 

Tuesday, August 29, 2017


Today I turn 39 years old. According to lore (i.e. from my mom) I was born at 8:17 a.m. at the end of the hottest summer on record following months of practicing my cheerleading moves in Mom's belly. I made my debut nearly two decades ago, and I don't think I've stopped moving since.

Four years ago I wrote a blog on my 35th birthday. I didn't have all the answers then, and I sure as hell don't have them now. But in the four short years since I wrote that blog my life has been turned on its head and back again in all the best and worst ways.

I am a mom now. It's been nearly three years and I still feel the words "I'm Will's mom" gush out of my mouth like it just happened. It's the best job I've ever had. My husband and I are stronger than ever because that's what change and challenge will do to you. There has been so much joy the last few years with my family and friends. Our friend group has expanded and changed and is even more wonderful than it was four years ago. I am so grateful every day for my amazing friends. 

The last few years had a lot of change: parenthood, a new house, new jobs for both of us. It held a lot of sorrow in losing my dad and our pup Murphy. I've been hospitalized three times and had three surgeries and a blood clot. I've spent nearly two months of the last four years in the hospital, and that's crazy. When I look back at the photo I posted of myself four years ago I think wow, that woman had fewer wrinkles. She had much less to worry about. But I wouldn't change a single thing. I've earned every single one of these wrinkles.  

Wouldn't change a wrinkle.
I also ran so much and fell in love with so many new races and cities. And I got faster. I set PRs in every race distance including finally breaking two hours in the half marathon (a feat that I couldn't accomplish for years). According to my (very) quick research in four years I've run 2 marathons, 9 half marathons, 4 10ks, 19 5ks, 2 ten-milers, 1 8k and a sprint triathlon. 
Running the New York Marathon was a running dream, and the experience was made even sweeter by my awesome cheering section, my husband and two of our best friends. It inspires me to see this and know that I'll be back to running soon even if it's been a slow year.

My 2½ year old son has been to 22 states meaning that I have also been to 22 states in four years. We've been on on a cruise and spent a cold weekend in Toronto. I fell in love in Montreal, Quebec City, Portland, Oregon, Philadelphia, New York (again), Marquette, Michigan (in the winter!) and so many other places. I feel like I've lived a lifetime in four years, and what makes me so excited is knowing that while I'm in the twilight of my 30s, I'm just getting started. The extraordinary joy of this life outweighs any challenge. I have so much for which I am grateful, and I have to remind myself to express gratitude every day. Cheers to 39! May this year be even more fabulous than the 38 before it!

Thursday, August 24, 2017

Parenting Post Pacifier

I love being a mom. Even in the hardest moments I find joy. I make myself find joy because I wanted this. Not only did I sign up for this, I wanted it more than anything in the world. I let Clomid ravage my body and my psyche. We went through an agonizing process of background checks, fingerprinting, classes, and waiting...the God awful waiting...to have a child (all the while teenagers can be parents without any of this. Amazing). I couldn't hear news of other pregnancies without a good cry. My heart's greatest desire was to be a mother, and it's glorious. Even in the most difficult moments on the toughest days I love it.

That doesn't mean it isn't challenging. We landed in Detroit a few weeks ago after our vacation (on a Tuesday), and I noticed my son had bitten through the end of his pacifier (or "mimi" as he calls it). This isn't the first mimi he's bitten through. My son had a collection of Wubbanub pacifiers from birth. (If you aren't familiar these are the pacifiers with a stuffed animal attached.)  The original five (elephant, dog, dinosaur, lion and monkey) lasted for two years. We lost the lion, but he bit through the others. He bit through the last of the original five, the elephant, in December. But he wasn't ready to be done with his mimi any more than we were ready, so I had a backup. His elephant also became a blankie of sorts. We cut off the actual pacifier, and he carries it around and snuggles with it. 

He bit through two more backups in the last eight months, and we were on number three on vacation. My son didn't know that I may have purchased another backup, but we didn't give it to him. On the drive home from the airport we talked about how his mimi was broken and how we weren't going to have it anymore. We cut off the end and placed it on the bookshelf in his room. 

It seemed to go almost too smoothly. The first few days were pretty easy. On Thursday my husband left for another trip, and I marveled at how easy those first few mimi-free days had been. And then came the weekend.

My son was slightly obsessed with his mimi. He had it all the time, and he used it to soothe himself incessently. If he was mad, sad, tired, etc, the mimi was his tool to calm down. With my husband out of town I quickly realized it was going to be a long weekend of learning to self soothe without his mimi. 

It was a weekend of tantrums like he'd never thrown. I quickly realized he didn't know what to do without his mimi. In his frustration he'd cry or hit me (or both). It was a trying weekend for both of us and tested my patience repeatedly.

On Monday morning I was getting my son dressed for school. He hates getting dressed, and it's a regular fight. I often have to chase him (a game he finds much more amusing than I) and then basically wrestle him into clothing. On this particular day he upped the ante, kicking and hitting me over and over as I tried unsuccessfully to put shorts on him. How are small humans so strong? I threw his shorts down and walked into the other room, taking deep breaths with tears in my eyes. I was the grown up in the room, and I had to calm down. He's a two year old.  It's not the first or last time he'd test my patience. It's kind of his job. 

We finally got dressed that morning, and when I dropped him off at school I burst into tears while talking to his teachers. The test of wills had drained me, but my overwhelming emotion was guilt. I was so frustrated and he knew it, but I should've kept my cool. It's only dressing a toddler, right? How can that drive me to tears even later in the day?

My husband returned home that night and confirmed that an alien was clearly inhabiting the body of our usually lovely child. Life after mimi was going to take some getting used to. He's a strong willed boy, and he doesn't like not having his way (I mean who does?) The difference is at two and a half he doesn't know how to express it and isn't sure how to calm himself either. Quite the conundrum.

The last week has gotten much better, and my son is finally figuring out how to manage life without his mimi. I know this is only one of so many challenges that we will face as parents, and I'm also fully aware that it's small in the scheme of things. I continually remind myself to seek joy in the face of frustration. 

I hate advice from other parents because I think so much of it is negative. When Will was a baby I was told I was "lucky" he was a good baby but that meant he'd be a "terrible" toddler. I don't know why someone would say that, but it's not true. Children aren't terrible. My son is stubborn and strong willed and cuddly and loving and hilarious. Being his mom is the greatest joy of my life, and I wouldn't change even the toughest moments. I think I'm sadder for the mimi phase to be over than my son. It's the end of a baby era, and I see him growing up. He's got his own opinions (so many!) and a fantastic personality. Getting rid of the mimi is only a step of growing up, and I look forward to every other step along the way...even the moments accompanied by tantrums. 

This face. This joy.

Tuesday, August 22, 2017

How's my Butt?

If you're looking for a post that's not TMI, move along my friend. Let's be real though - you wouldn't even be reading my blog. I have a good friend who's periodically asked me how my butt is in the last year, and I always find it a hilarious way to ask how I'm feeling. And it gets right to the point really. Last January I wrote a post talking about some of the more frustrating things I've been facing, so I won't get into all those details again. It's been a rough 18 months, but I think the end is near.

I had an abscess drained back in October, and for ten months I've had an actively draining wound. It's as fun as you imagine an actively draining wound would be. Last Tuesday my doctor removed the drain. I didn't realize how frustrating and how uncomfortable it was until it was gone. Now I feel like myself again. It's incredible. 

Despite nearly two decades of having Crohn's it's taken a long time for me to acknowledge, even to myself, that I'm not a well person. Crohn's is a progressive and unpredictable disease. I had 14 good years of remission, and I'm finally back there again after the last year and a half. I started new meds back at the end of June, and they seem to be working (knock on wood). I'm still taking antibiotics every day and will be for the foreseeable future. People who are well don't take a ton of meds, but it's my reality. That being said I am so grateful that my Crohn's is treatable. Even on my darkest days I feel hope and joy for how blessed I am, even during the last ten months with a butt drain (the sexiest two words ever paired together).

I'm also so excited to really get back into running. I've run a few 5ks this summer, but I haven't been able to really get my groove back. Now that the drain is gone I'm itching to start logging miles again...except I have this teeny little knee issue. I have inflamed cartilage under my right knee cap (seriously...my body hates me), and I started PT today. Hopefully a few weeks of PT will get me back out on the trail injury free.

Nothing some anti inflammatory meds can't help!
It has been a long road, but I've learned to be kinder to myself and take things one step at a time. Once again I've realized how amazing the human body is, and how I am stronger than I ever knew. Crohn's is an absolute asshole, but it's taught me so much about myself. I'm looking forward to getting back to half marathon shape and to focusing on world domination in a few months. 

Love this pic at a concert last weekend. Cross training is working...now back to cario!

Sunday, August 13, 2017

To Philadelphia with Love

Finding a new city is up there with my favorite things. It's like reading a book you love and discovering the author has a dozen other books you haven't read. It surpasses wonderful things like a good race medal or a delicious glass of Pinot Noir. Discovering the joy of a new city is magical.

My husband attends a lot of conferences, and sometimes I tag along. For months I'd planned to join him in Philadelphia, and he found out more recently he had a conference in Austin immediately before Philly. Given that my best friend (and my son's godmother) lives in Austin, there was no question that we'd join him in Austin as well. 

I loved visiting my bestie, but as I opined back in April Austin does nothing for my cityphile heart. A bartender in my hotel who was new to Austin complained to me that downtown Austin felt "corporate". I couldn't agree more. Given that temps were hovering around 100 degrees the entire time we were there our options were 1) swim or 2) do something inside. 

We visited the Texas Capitol, a civic institution I'd never visited despite my many times in Austin. When I lived in Texas we would often go to Cisco's for breakfast after a raucous night on the town. I talked my husband into going, and it was as divey and delicious as I remember.

We did swim a few times including visiting fantastic Barton Springs. The natural spring fed pool has a natural rocky bottom and cold water (68-70 degrees) that was perfect on a 100 degree day.  

Skyline in the background. I love an urban park.
I was able to find fun in Austin, but the city does not resonate with me at all. Its downtown is mediocre at best. And even the neighborhoods that have cool stores and restaurants like South Congress have five lanes separating each side of the street. I really don't get it. 

Austin was also one of the toughest trips we've ever had with our son. At one point I seriously considered canceling the second part of the trip for my son and me and going home. He has never, ever been that challenging, and I wasn't sure I could do more of it.

Thankfully in Philadelphia he was back to his normal easygoing self (with a few exceptions). As much as I love historic east coast cities, Philadelphia has never been on my list. To be honest if it weren't for my husband's conference I don't think I would've gone there at all. I've never heard much about it either positive or negative.

Someone is not a fan of history.
Philadelphia was an extraordinary surprise, and I absolutely love everything about it. Traveling with a toddler is different, so we found some really cool playgrounds including one of the original eight public spaces designed by William Penn complete with a carousel. My son and I walked a mile and a half to Markward playground one day only to find a really vibrant urban space with dog parks, fitness trails and the playground. I was in love. 

Our hotel was across the street from the Reading Terminal Market which is, I will declare, the best public market we've been to. We make it a point to visit markets in cities we visit, and we've been to some fantastic ones. One of the disappointing things about visiting markets as a tourist is that there's usually no way to take advantage of the delicious produce, meats and seafood on display. Many markets have eateries, but Reading Terminal Market took the cake. There were so many different and interesting restaurants. We ate there for breakfast and lunch every day on our trip. I had delicious gumbo, cornbread and sweet iced tea. I had a huge turkey deli sandwich. I had shrimp and grits benedict (insane). The market was extraordinary, and I could visit it every day and not tire of it. 

Speaking of extraordinary we wandered over to Rittenhouse Square one day to find a dynamic square with people everywhere. There was a farmers market lining the square on Saturday morning. Kids were running around. People were sunbathing or just reading on one of the many benches. Adjectives fail me to describe how much I loved this park.

Rittenhouse Square. Amazing.
As is usually the case we visited some great places to eat and drink in addition to the market. We had dinner at Jones, a cool restaurant decorated like it's 1975 complete with shag carpet in the sunken part of the restaurant. We had authentic tasting poutine and sliders at Shoo Fry. We spent my son's nap time (he was in the stroller) at McGillin's Olde Ale House, the oldest continually operating tavern in Philadelphia. It boasts that it opened the year Lincoln was elected (1860). 

We did the obligatory touristy things like see the Liberty Bell and the square where Independence Hall lives (our testy toddler made a tour a bad idea). We stayed right near Philadelphia's city hall which is phenomenal. It's everything a public building should be and more. There was a splash pad outside city hall in Dilworth Park where my son darted through the water with kids from all over the city. 

It's not a secret that I don't like cities that have it figured out. Philadelphia is gritty. There's a significant homeless population. It's not extremely clean. But I love that. I love that it's got moxie and personality. It doesn't hide its imperfections but rather lives with them and tries to make them work. 

Vacation was a wonderful reset made even more wonderful by my complete adoration for the city. Thank you, Philly, for the parks, the history, and the grit. Thank you, Philly, for being wonderful you. 

Tuesday, July 25, 2017

Parenting is Bipolar

Parenting is a bipolar job. It includes extreme highs and extreme lows and lots of moments in the middle. I mostly think I'm a pretty good mom, but I would be lying if I didn't tell you I second guess myself about something every day. Every single day at some point I wonder if I'm actually failing miserably as a mom.

I don't read parenting books or websites or generally listen to advice from others because every kid is different. Every parenting style is different. I truly think moms should scrap the advice and do whatever works for them. My kid is two and a half and still loves his pacifier. He won't forever. I'm not sweating that. 

I do sweat the fact that he's not a great eater. It's been the bane of my existence since we switched to solid foods. It's getting better after we saw a pediatric nutritionist. But I hate when people give me advice about feeding my kid. We've talked to the pediatrician. He's healthy. We've talked to the nutritionist. We're on a strict feeding schedule, and some days he eats like a champ. Some days he barely eats at all. And every day he still drinks a bottle of milk before bed. I look forward to the days when we're done with that bottle. I know it won't be forever. Sometimes it stresses me out, but it won't be like this for long. 

My kid is super talkative, he's a great traveler, he's funny, energetic, and sweet. Those are all part of the extreme highs. Then there are the lows. Every single day he fights me to get dressed, and by the time I get out the door some days I am desperate to crawl back into bed. He loves to be naked, and putting on clothes is our biggest fight. Sometimes he hits me when I make him do things he doesn't want to do. He watches more TV than I'd like. He rarely eats fruit or vegetables. Every single day these things worry me at some point. I think about one or a combination of these things and think I'm doing nothing right. 

Will is very active and loves running. I obviously encourage this interest because running is amazing. I ran a 5k on the 4th of July, and he was so excited to cheer on the runners. Last weekend I ran the Run for Fame 5k in downtown Lansing, a race we can walk to from our house. I've run it before, and it's a small and fun out and back course on the Lansing River Trail. 

It was my third 5k in as many weeks, and it was another really hot and humid race. I was faster than I was in Chicago (27:39) but still slow. But again I'm feeling like I'm getting back to myself. As I rounded the corner to the finish I saw my husband and son. My son was so excited, and he jumped onto the (basically empty) course to run to the finish with me. He was so excited and loved it so much. As we walked the 3/4 of a mile home he kept running and saying, "I'm so fast. You can't catch me Mom!" I love his passion for running. I don't always think I'm getting everything right, but on that moment in that day I felt like I was an amazing mom. Those highs make it all worth it. 

Post 5k running
We will screw our kid up like every parent does, and I will continue to doubt myself on a regular basis. But this job, even though it's bipolar, is the best job I've ever had. It's magical, and I wouldn't trade a moment (even the daily fights to get dressed). I waited a long time for this job, and the hard moments just make me appreciate the easier ones even more. Who knew the lows would be so sweet?

Tuesday, July 18, 2017

How Slow Can you Go?

This year my blog has been less about running and cities and more about Crohn's and mommyhood. I don't think that's necessarily a bad thing, but it has meant I'm off my game a bit. Given my extreme focus on both running and cities over the last few years, it was probably good to take a break; gain a little perspective. My break wasn't intentional, but I finally got to the place where I realized it was necessary. Now I'm slowly getting back into running, and I really had no idea just how slow the process would be. I've been working out a lot over the last eight months, but it's been a lot of yoga and cross training. Running is a different animal, and I was kidding myself to think I could simply jump right back into it. Falling in love again with my favorite cities, however, remains really easy.

Last week my husband had a conference in Chicago, so I decided to join for a few days. In my last job I traveled overnight relatively frequently, but the last year I've been home quite a bit. I've gotten used to being home all the time with our small human, so leaving him for three nights left me feeling pretty vulnerable even though he loves being at Grandma's house. It was made easier by the fact that I love Chicago (it's my third favorite city after the two Portlands, Maine and Oregon, tie for first). I also decided to register for a 5k and run every day I was there. No excuses. I was looking for me again.

We flew out of Detroit's Metro airport late on Wednesday evening after a several hour delay. We spent the time drinking cocktails and then drank more when upgraded to first class. I slept until 7:45 local time on Thursday morning (I never sleep that late) and felt like myself again getting up to go for a run. I walked out the door and into a wall of humidity. It was nearly 90 degrees and nearly 100 percent humidity, but I didn't let that stop me. I ran onto the river trail and admired the quaint restaurants along the river. I turned onto the trail near the marina and enjoyed the view. It was muggy, but it was a gorgeous morning for a run.

A beautiful view on a muggy morning
My husband and I walked to breakfast at Yolk where I had the best corned beef hash I've ever eaten. It was necessary to replace all those calories I burned running in humidity. As we walked back I was reminded why I love Chicago so much. Despite it being the nation's third largest city, it feels intimate. I told my husband, "I love it here. A good city should feel like it's giving you a hug." Three to four lanes of traffic are framed by large buildings and charming storefronts. Chicago feels like an old lover. 

I shopped a lot of the day before we met friends for drinks at Three Dots and a Dash, an underground tiki bar. It was weird and amazing. We followed it with more drinks at Untitled (I highly recommend The First Word) before dinner at Siena Tavern

The next morning I hit the streets to run off the cocktail induced cobwebs. I ran down Michigan Avenue to Millennium Park and Grant Park, two of my favorite places in the city. I ran by the infamous Cloud Gate statue (aka the Bean), as always awed by the way this fantastic piece of art engages the community - both residents and visitors. 

My husband ended up busy for lunch, so I read a book and enjoyed a pastrami sandwich and Sauvignon Blanc at SideDoor a block from the hotel. The sandwich and wine were both phenomenal. My husband was finished shortly after my late lunch, so we ventured to the Tortoise Supper Club where I decided it would be a great idea to switch to champagne. We had fun bartenders and were later joined by several friends. It was pretty easy to fall in love with Chicago again. 

Afternoon cocktail selfies at the Tortoise Supper Club
We headed to Navy Pier for my husband's work reception and then ambled through Exhibitionism, a great Rolling Stones exhibit the company my husband works for is sponsoring. Our final evening in Chicago concluded with dinner at Riva on Navy Pier. As we walked the mile back to the hotel (naturally I was in four inch wedges), I found myself wavering on running the 5k in the morning. It wasn't necessary right? 

I rallied, waking up at 5:45 am to prep for the race. I had yogurt and a cappuccino in the hotel lobby and then walked 1.5 miles to Grant Park to join thousands of others running the Rock 'n Roll 5k. Much like the week before I ran in hot weather with very little shade. The view, however, was amazing. At different points we looked at the marina with Navy Pier in the background. The city skyline stood at attention behind the entire race. And I moved at a snail's pace. Last year I set my PR at 23:04. On Saturday I ran 29 minutes even, my slowest 5k in years. The worst part was that I had very little left. I comforted myself a bit by the narrow path and large crowd, making it hard to break away and get much faster. But really my body is learning to trust itself again, and I'm going to be slow for a while. 

Pre-race with the Willis Tower in the background

Post race at the Bean
A few hours later I was upgraded to first class again, and I sat reading and drinking a cocktail in first class reflecting on how much I felt like me again. I missed our son madly, but I loved having time alone with his dad. I loved exploring one of my favorite cities and running even if I was slower than I'm used to. I've missed myself. It's nice to be back. 

Tuesday, July 11, 2017

The Heat of the 1,675 Moments

I have run three 5ks this year. I'm used to running multiple half marathons and lots of 5ks and 10ks, but this year has been a challenge. Back in March I ran the Run for the House. I won my age group and thought I was back on track to begin running again. But my body had other plans, and I decided that in order to heal I needed to take a serious running hiatus. 

It's been weird both physically and mentally. I'm used to logging lots of miles and as a result eating and drinking whatever I want without gaining weight. It turns out running burns lots of calories, so if I want delicious things like ice cream and wine I've got to burn it off. I'm at my heaviest weight ever, and it's all settled in my butt. Thankfully people are into that. 

Mentally not running means I've lost my biggest way to relieve stress and a huge part of my identity. It's weird sleeping in on the weekends instead of lacing up my shoes and hitting the river trail. I see social media posts of friends running races, and I feel wistful. Usually that's me, and it's been an adjustment.

Thanks to new meds I'm finally seeing the light at the end of the tunnel that is this absurd infection. I've slowly started running again...emphasis on the slowly. I ran my usual three mile route several times before deciding I was back in 5k shape. A year ago I could run a 5k in my sleep. This would be easy right? 

My husband and I traditionally travel the week of July 4th. We've been to Mt. Rushmore on Independence Day. We've traveled to Maine, the mountains of West Virginia, Quebec City, and Jamaica. Now my husband's job makes traveling this week a bit of a challenge, so we decided to do a quick overnight in one of Michigan's tourist trap towns, Frankenmuth, where I'd run the Volkslaufe 5k on the 4th of July.

We arrived in Frankenmuth late Monday afternoon and walked around downtown. We headed to the hotel pool which is the only thing our toddler is interested in seeing. We had dinner at Frankenmuth Brewery and went to pick up my race packet. It was a pretty relaxing evening getaway.

This kid loves a good cutout 
The 5k race didn't start until 10 am. Our toddler is fond of waking up before 6 am in hotels which meant we had several hours to kill. We ate breakfast, walked around downtown again and headed over to the start. The 10k and 20k were already underway. I've done a lot of races, and I can unequivocally say I've never seen a less enthusiastic group of spectators anywhere. People weren't even cheering. The 5k start was next to where the 10k and 20k races were heading to the finish, and nobody was cheering for them. At all. I stood there and cheered because they deserve it people. It was so weird.

The race started on time and we were off. Here's the thing about a 10 am start on July 4th: it's too late. It's too hot, and it's miserable. There was very little shade, and by mile two I felt like I was going to pass out from heat. I ran through a hose in the neighborhood and under water being sprayed by a fire truck, but it didn't help. For the first time ever I walked during a 5k - for about 20 seconds. I needed a few seconds because I felt so overheated. 

Love seeing my boys at the start
I rounded the corner to the finish with absolutely nothing left. Usually I can sprint to the finish, but I was done. I saw my husband and son as I rounded the corner, and that gave me motivation to at least smile. I crossed the finish line in 27:55, nearly five minutes slower than the PR I set last year. I grabbed an ice soaked rag and a bottle of water and walked back to my boys. My son immediately exclaimed, "Mommy I run just like you!" Worth the 1,675 seconds of heat for that statement.

My goal is at least a 5k every month for rest of the year and pushing to get myself back into half marathon shape for the new year. I turn 40(!) in 2018, so I've got some big running plans. For now it's back into running shape and maybe fitting into my pants a little better. And still eating lots of ice cream. 

All smiles once it's done