Run with Endurance

I started running in May as a way to lose all that baby weight (times two). I had no idea it would become the driving force in my life. Running was the easiest and cheapest way to get in a little workout time. Plus, it’s just a good excuse to get out of the house for some time by myself. As one week turned into two, turned into three and more, I realized running had become so much more than that. My grandmother’s lung cancer recurred and as I spoke with my mom and grandmother and learned of her struggles to breathe comfortably and be the independent woman she was, I began to run harder and faster (12 minute miles became 11 minute miles). I ran because she couldn’t run. I became aggressive with my running just to get to the point where I was out of breath because I could. I can run. I can run to the point of exhaustion. I’m physically capable of that and it’s a blessing that shouldn’t be taken for granted.

I began running in May and ran through the hot and humid days of summer. Now I run through the beauty of the fall leaves and, when I can’t get out early enough, the darkness of the chilly, fall evenings. Running is an addiction in the sense that your mind, body and soul come to crave it. But, it also takes some dedication, especially when you’re trying to keep to a regimented training routine. I don’t always feel like going for a run. Even after mile 1, I find myself wishing I was lounging on the couch in my comfy clothes. As much as it is a challenge to get out of the house and break into that first running stride, I never regret lacing up my shoes.

The other night, on my last tempo run of my half marathon training, I began to ponder my experience as a runner. I started running in the most perfect of weather: the spring! In the spring the air has a slight chill to it. There’s no need to bundle up, because after just a couple of minutes jogging your body has acclimated to the temperature and it feels comfortable and just right. Then the heat of the summer sank in. There were days when I felt I could barely breathe the air was so thick with humidity. Fall turned the corner and I was back to that perfect running weather. But, just like life, the weather can change quickly and I found myself running in the cold rain for a solid 10 miles. My body was so rocked by the cold that I barely felt the physical exhaustion of a long distance run.

Then came the falls. Fall once and it’s funny, fall twice and you're just plain clumsy. Every runner has to experience this at one time or another, but how many runners fall twice in the span of four days? As I felt myself rocketed to the ground for a second time I believe I actually uttered the words “you got to be kidding me.” Again, I did a quick scan to make sure I didn’t have an audience then assessed my bleeding hands and finished up the last mile of my run aching with pain.

As I jogged, limped and wobbled the last half mile to my car, I realized that running will never look as perfect as it does from the outside. I will fall and have to get back up. I will come back home with a few cuts and bruises. I may even get injured from time to time. But isn’t running just like life in the sense that over time you build up an endurance to it all? You learn to get back up and keep going. You learn that no two runs will ever look and feel the same. There will be bad days and good days. I am not a perfect runner. As much as I would like you to think that training for a half marathon is easy…it’s not. And as much as I would like you to think that I am confident about my first full marathon in April…I’m really scared to death. But nothing in life is ever a sure thing. So I’ll keep running this race with endurance, but most importantly, I’ll be running through all of life’s trials and seasons and remember and pray for those who can’t.

Special Note: I run for more birthdays. I run to fight cancer. My grandmother passed away just a few short weeks before her birthday and I would’ve given anything to celebrate with her. If you want to support me in my race to fight cancer please click on the following link: http://main.acsevents.org/site/TR/DetermiNation/DNFY11National?px=24237998&pg=personal&fr_id=35296

We swam. We played in the sand. We soaked up the sun.

The boys’ first trip to the beach was an anomaly as we would later find out, but the first day was full of smiles as these boys scampered along the beach clutching their shovels and falling head over heels only to return with their faces caked with sand. I’m not sure I would recommend bringing a 15-month old to the beach. They still suck on their fingers and are challenged at deciphering between food and non-food. Not a good combination when it comes to the beach. I think they ate more sand than they played with. Taylor tried to munch on a shell and, on several occasions, they literally sucked the sand off their fingers. We would bring them home with their diapers filled with sand and sleepiness in their eyes. Oh the trials of packing up sand-coated toddlers. But with a pool back home, it was easy to give them a quick dunk and cart them off for nap time.

Later in the week we would travel to the beach again. If it wasn't for the loud surf, our twins might have distracted the competing surfers with their high screeches and their long, energy-draining cries. In fact, the surf was so loud that Troy was oblivious to the sounds of my struggles at keeping two crazy boys…well, not crazy. At least, that was the story when he returned to the beach to provide a helping hand. (A big thanks to the wonderful lady who jumped at the chance to flag him in. I think she felt sorry for me.)

On some levels, it seemed as if the boys had completely forgotten how fun the beach can really be. Benjamin was refusing to touch the sand with his hands. He would fumble around in a sitting position, hands in the air, as he tried to figure out how to master the art of standing without touching the ground. All attempts ended with a fall; face first, into a nice mound of sand.

Taylor was a wild card. One second smiling and laughing, the next second clinging to your leg for dear life. We did get some giggles out of the kid as we played keep away from the ice-cold, rolling waves. But every toddler has their limit and once you see the crash coming, it is important to make your getaway as quickly as possible. No one wants to see a family in meltdown mode. The sand, the beach toys, the dirty towels make this getaway increasingly difficult, but somehow we managed to get them back home, fed and in bed for the longest nap of the vacation.

Nap time is definitely important for the kids, but I think that it can be argued that it is equally, if not more, important for the parents. As the kids settled in for naps on the last day of the vacation, we enjoyed some high quality adult time out in the sun. Sipping on a cold beverage, listening to some tunes. Ahhhh…that was the life. Till next year.

Decisions, decisions

What is it about becoming a parent that heightens your every sense? Since discovering our pregnancy the strength and volatility of my emotions has completely caught me off guard. Every action, decision and thought surrounding our kids results in a reaction of the heart that can be too much to handle. When the boys trigger that motherly love I feel it so deep within my soul that I honestly believe I could crush them with it. When they frustrate me, it’s everything I can do not to run down the road screaming my head off (you mothers know you’ve thought about it).

When I imagined what it would be like to be a mom, I thought nothing could be more difficult than adjusting to that very first day. And then maybe I realized it would take a good three months (when the babies are done with their colicky, spit uppy, screamy behavior) before I would really feel like things are getting back to normal.

The truth of the matter is that things never go back to normal. Before kids, our most difficult decisions involved where to move, what to get each other for Christmas and where to vacation. Now our decisions are tied to these two precious boys who are at the heart of our family. Sure, we’ve had our fair share of tough situations like the boys stay in the NICU and Taylor’s week long bout with pneumonia, but even the seemingly small decisions seem huge. I feel as if this first year of life sets the ground work for their entire life and boy that’s a big load to handle.

My mind reels with an infinite number of questions on a regular basis: Am I feeding the boys enough? Am I feeding them the right things? How’s their social life faring? Do we need to get them out more? Is it okay to switch laundry detergent now? The questions keep going and going. And every question seems to take some monumental decision-making on my part. It’s no wonder that our decision to change the kids daycare situation would end up causing me so much stress that I would literally come down with a self-induced migraine.

For weeks I would weigh the advantages and disadvantages of hiring a nanny. And, believe me, there were way too many to even recount here. In the end, we realized that the best thing to do would be to lay our cards out on the table and see which one God would point us to. That’s when we met Miss A. We had no doubt that God led her to our doorstep. But even with the surety we felt as we hired Miss A to start as our nanny, I felt a deep sadness at removing the kids from their current daycare. The strength of my emotions literally brought me to tears the day I broke the news to the current childcare provider. I recall driving to work that morning in awe and wonder at the onset of these feelings. Kids provide a whole new dynamic to our decision-making and it’s truly unbelievable how emotionally charged these decisions really are.

So, as we close out their first year in daycare and enter their first year under the care of a nanny, I remind myself that we have 17 more years of this. At some point, I must learn to relax a little, right? Or maybe this is what being a mother is all about. Every year there will be some big decisions to make and each year these kids will move closer and closer to independence and I will have to trust that as I lay my cards out on the table, God will always help me to choose the right one.

Re-routed

Have you ever been cruising along your usual route home just to find that it is impassable? It can be incredibly frustrating to come upon a road block. I begin to envision all the things I wanted to do with my evening that will now have to be put aside or further delayed. One afternoon last week, this is just what happened to me. I was on my way to day care and came upon a road block to what was the only entrance. I began to envision my kids waiting there for mommy both impatient and hungry. As the stress of the situation began to creep in I realized there was another way. I proceeded through a used car lot and drove over a small field that led to the parking lot of the local day care. I had found a way to get around this difficult situation by finding another route. I was relieved to know that I could still get my kids safely home even though we would be a little later than usual.

The next morning I would find myself re-routed again. This time due to a fallen tree over the only road out of our neighborhood. As I began turning the car around to head back home, park rangers began steering vehicles to another road. I was amazed that this could be a possible way around the situation since it seemed to me that this road only led to a little beach and inevitably a dead-end. But I was wrong. Thankfully this road took us out and around the fallen tree and we were back on track for the day.

That morning I discovered that my grandmother had passed during the night. As I cried over this great loss I thought about all the things I still wanted to do with my grandmother. She had just moved to Colorado and I was so excited at the prospects of seeing her during my visits. I could imagine her new life in Colorado and all the happiness that would bring for her. I didn’t realize fully how much I had counted on this until she had died. As I lost myself deeply in thought that day, God spoke to me. He spoke to me through life’s obstacles. I realized

that my Grandmother had just been re-routed. Her physical body would be in Colorado but God had another way for her. It was time for her to come home. We all have our paths set in our minds based on our own needs and desires. It can be sad, frustrating and stressful when things don’t turn out as planned. I find comfort in knowing that life’s obstacles are God’s way of re-routing us. There’s always a way home it just may not be the way we envisioned it.

Da, da, da, da...translated

When did these kids get to be so smart? I can see their brains working a mile a minute as they try to learn how to communicate, how to behave and, most of all, how to get what they want; especially without getting into too much trouble. And since they don’t have a wide vocabulary through which to express themselves, we have begun to witness some interesting versions of communication. When Taylor is so hungry that he can barely even wait another second he begins to rock in his high chair so violently that it begins to back up against the wall and I fear that he’ll come flying out at any minute. At that moment I realized fully the need to have straps and the importance of using them when feeding dinner to your hungry toddler. When Benjamin is full or simply not interested in eating anymore he begins to sneak bites of food under his tray and proceeds to drop them on the floor. He’s even found some hungry doggies that don’t mind cleaning up after him.

Don’t let their innocent looks fool you. These boys are ornery. Taylor knows what I’m saying when I tell him “No, don’t steal Benjamin’s toy.” Yet he proceeds to yank the toy out of B’s little hands. While Benjamin begins to wail Taylor gives me this innocent, questioning expression as if to say “What are you going to do about it?” Oh my! These kids are already making up excuses and diffusing blame and they can’t even talk yet. Benjamin, however, is the closet bully. You wouldn’t know it by his looks but when angry Benjamin makes his appearance he lashes back at Taylor by gnawing on his arm. This is usually preceded by a string of pushing and hair pulling that often requires immediate intervention.

There are some forms of communication that have triggered visions of future things to come. Benjamin and Taylor have begun pushing away as a visual cue for “no.” At first, I found this to be endearing. They had learned how to communicate they were “all done” with a sweep of their hands as food flies from their trays and scatters around their high chairs (again, thankful for our four-legged scavengers). They now use this forceful push of their hands to communicate a variety of things from “I’m not thirsty” to “I don’t want that toy” and, the most disheartening of all “You’re getting too close, Mommy.” It is important to little B that I keep my distance from him. Meaning “You can hold me close, but not too close and I’ll let you know when you’ve crossed the line.”

Meanwhile, Taylor has grown fond of food. You might think, “Well, what kind of food?” I haven’t yet met a food that Taylor didn’t like (well, except for banana bread). Taylor chows down on just about everything, stuffing his face to the point of choking at which time he proceeds to regurgitate the big blob of food in his mouth. And don’t put the cheese curls away too quickly or you’ll find Taylor pinching at the air and screeching for more. I find myself thinking “I’ve really got to work on their manners. When did these kids become so rude?” I’ve realized, however, that I can’t take it personally. It’s the only form of communication they have. So, I’ll sit back and wait for the day when I can have conversations with my boys. When I can reason with them. And, most of all, when I can teach them some good, wholesome manners like “It’s not okay to take half-chewed food out of your mouth and throw it at me.” In the mean time, I’ll have to remember not to laugh at their antics for fear of encouraging these little monsters to be just that…little monsters.

Past meets Present

It’s strange driving through the scenery of my past with the family of my present.

This trip was the trip of many firsts for the boys. Their first flight. Their first visit to Colorado. Their first taste of Mexican food. Their first time in the presence of the beauty of the flatirons. Of course, they were much too little to appreciate the change in their surroundings but we dream of future trips in which the mention of the mountains will excite their soul and they will look forward to other firsts. Their first hike. Their first time skiing. Their first hunting trip with Grandpa. But we’re getting ahead of ourselves.

I’m sure many parents will share in the anxiety that is felt as you approach the airport for the first time with kids in tow. We hoped that we had remembered to pack everything that would be needed for our four day adventure. We prayed that when the kids cried (because they surely would) that strangers would be compassionate and the boys wouldn’t scream too loud. Check-in went quickly and boarding was even quicker. When you travel as a family with little ones, you get special perks like boarding the plane first. What no one explains to you is that once you board you are stuck in a tiny, cramped space with two crazy little ones pulling your hair, climbing over the seats and startling you with random screeches and screams as they test their little vocal cords in this new environment. And the most important point: there’s nowhere to run. You’re stuck. And stuck we were for 3 ½ hours. Thankfully, after some forceful holding and loud shushing the boys fell peacefully asleep. Taylor slept on the floor in front of our seats and Benjamin in my arms. Troy and I looked at each other and mouthed the words “don’t move.”

I can’t even begin to explain how thankful we were when we finally landed in Denver. It had been two years since I had visited my hometown. To come back after that much time and with my 13 month old twin boys was exciting. I couldn't wait to see what it felt like to enjoy time with my family at the local hang outs that held so many memories from high school and college. It was my past meeting my present and when that happens you see how drastically things have changed. You can visualize more clearly how God has played the leading role in your life. We visited my old stomping grounds: Pearl Street Mall. It’s the perfect people-watching environment with its mix of street performers, yuppies and Boulderites hand-feeding squirrels. Oh how I miss this place.

We took in the mountains with the little time we had. Enjoying the views from the front range and even getting up to the mountains for a nice 5-mile run at an elevation that makes you feel like you’re breathing air out of a paper bag. We were running with the locals and I felt like I should have a huge sign on my shirt to explain “we’re from sea level.” But the view was worth it.

However, the best view was that of my little Benjamin reaching out for his Grandpa. When your parents live 2,000 miles away, watching them interact with your children is a real treat. I couldn't get enough of it. Many of you may know that Benjamin is very particular. He’s a sweet and sensitive little boy who loves his Mommy. In fact, he often refuses the attention from others and clutches even harder to my arm if he senses me handing him over. So, when Benjamin reached out for my Dad and refused to let go, I knew I had met my match. I like to think Benjamin can sense something just as sweet and sensitive in my Dad that makes him feel at ease in his arms. I want to get inside Benjamin’s head so I can visualize this intimate connection between him and my dad. Whatever it is I love it. And it makes my heart melt with joy.

I believe the boys truly enjoyed their first visit to Colorado. I know they found the locals just as interesting as we did. And because they’re still little kids they can blatantly stare at them without getting into too much trouble. We’ll have to work on their manners for our return trip.

Little Steps, Big Places

The boys have started walking! When I think back to last summer I remember their tiny little bodies sleeping in their huge cribs. They seemed to be so small and their cribs seemed to be so big! Now I watch them sleeping in their room at night and I can’t believe how they've changed. I am convinced they get bigger every day. The length of their skinny bodies now takes up over half of the length of their crib. Their beds now seem tiny in comparison.

I catch myself referring to them as babies. Yet, they are not. We are now parents of toddlers. I can no longer cradle and rock them in the nook of my left arm. It takes two arms and some serious strength to hold these strong-willed and curious little boys. Their world no longer resides in the lap of their mother or the arms of their father. Their world has expanded. A year ago, they were swaddled and nestled in their swings. This year, they are walking between the kitchen and the living room. The signs are visible from the trail of diapers they have pulled out of their basket and scattered in the form of a path through the hallway. It would be obvious to any outsider. Little people live here.

Once in a while Taylor still wants to hold my hand as he cruises around. And up until last Sunday, Benjamin wouldn’t go anywhere without a solid grasp on something or someone. Now they walk, albeit not well, anywhere their curiosity will take them. They no longer desire to be in my arms. And while this is a change that brings some sadness as I close out their babyhood, it also brings excitement. I am anxious to see where their little feet take them and, eventually, where God will lead them as well. I know their steps are little, but I’m confident these little feet will take them to big places.

Just me, the road and time (oh...and the babies, dogs and hubby)

What is it about running that can be so addicting? I'm not talking about running on the elliptical. That's working out for the sake of working out. When I run I feel connected to something. Maybe its the world I feel connected to as my feet pound on the gravel roads or maybe it's the push and nudge I feel as the air breathes into my ear "you can do it". I've never felt so good about myself, my family, my God. It all comes together for me out there.

I would like to say it's just me and the road. Or it's time for me to be by myself but the fact of the matter is I have two toddler boys and a busy husband so sometimes (most times) we run as a family.

The kids love it. I mean what's better than being pushed in a stroller, drinking juice and eyeing the deer as we make our way up and down and through our neighborhood. I like to think we are helping to instill in our boys an appreciation for the outdoors, for exercise and, most of all, for family time. I love finishing a tiring jog and looking into the eyes of my tired baby boys. I imagine that they are proud of their mommy.

In high school it was about competitions. There were clear goals when it came to sports. There was a first place and a second and a third. Out on the road there is no one to compete with but myself. There's no excitement that comes from an audience cheering you on. That all rests on my shoulders now. So I've decided that it's time to make the next move. A true runner signs up for races. So here goes. 10k here I come.

These Children Are Not Ours

When was the first time I realized I wasn’t in control of my life? You might think that it came to me when I was in high school and crashed my first car just one week after getting my driver’s license. Or you might think that it came to me when I found Jesus and became a Christian. You even might think I realized this little known fact as I have struggled through depression since my teenage years. While all of these instances could push anyone over the edge, the true turning point for me was my children. And I’m not just speaking about the two boys that are my joy. I am also referring to the third child. The child I lost. The child that is waiting for us in Heaven.

My husband always told me “If you want to make God laugh then tell him your plans.” I always chuckled in response but never let those words sink in. Little did I know how much meaning those words would bring in the years to come. We made our plans: Get pregnant in our 4^th year of marriage. Have a child of our own by our 5^th year. How hard could it really be? We could put the family on hold and whenever WE were ready WE would decide to start our family.

The fourth year came and we started trying. And amazingly enough, we were pregnant on the first try. I thought to myself, this must be God’s plan because it worked out so perfectly. We settled into this pregnancy with ease (or naivety) and began planning for this little child that would change our world. Well, that child did change our world, but not in the way we had hoped. After the loss, I prayed to Jesus to fill my empty womb. I cried. I screamed. And I wallowed in the deep valley of loss. Laura Bush put it best in her autobiography :

“…for an absence, for someone who was never there at all, we are wordless to capture that particular emptiness. For those who deeply want children and are denied them, those missing babies hover like silent, ephemeral shadows over their lives. Who can describe the feel of a tiny hand that is never held?”

Just a couple months after the initial loss, I masked my grief through the obsession to get pregnant again. The obsession to conceive took over my life. I did everything I could to gain control again. I changed my diet. I quit exercising. I researched ways to get pregnant faster. I tracked. I temped. I tested and tested and tested. All for naught. I truly felt crazy at times. I felt my world spinning out of control. I thought “If only I could get pregnant again this loss won’t hurt so much.”

I began setting milestones. I felt confident that I would be pregnant by Easter because that would be the perfect plan. What an amazing Easter miracle that would be? Easter came and went. And I cried over the negative pregnancy tests. Then I was sure that I would be pregnant by my first due date. I knew that God had held out because this really would be the perfect time now. It would commemorate the loss of the first baby with the beginning of a new life. How perfect would that be? The due date came and went. And I fell into a deep depression.

It took me almost a year to realize what a fool I had been. All this time I had been fighting for control over my life never relinquishing that control to its rightful owner. I had my so called “perfect” plans. Dates and times that would be perfect in my eyes. But what could be more perfect than God’s plan? If only I could have faith in Him.

Exactly one year from the first pregnancy, I would find myself pregnant again. This time I would realize that this pregnancy was not of my own doing. God had once again entrusted me with His child. My husband and I would be the steward of this life. This child did not belong to us, but was rather a gift.

My first ultrasound appointment was scheduled on the same day as the previous pregnancy one year ago. And I thought "What could be more perfect than that?" And yet, God had even bigger plans because on that day we found out there were two. And, oh, how those words have changed my life. God showed me on that day that He always has a plan. And His plan is always beyond what our human minds can even imagine.