My alarm went off at 5AM. I'm normally a snoozer, and I honestly thought long and hard about just pushing the button this morning. But, I also thought long and hard about how I'd tell my son that I'd decided to just put off getting started until the end of the day or even until tomorrow. So, I got out of bed and sort of shuffled into the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth. A really awesome thing happened when I turned back into the bedroom -- my husband, who is so not a morning person, was up and putting on shorts and running shoes. He's decided to join me! I am so excited!
Outside there is a light breeze, and it is already 71 degrees. January in Texas! We set the watch alarm for 30 minutes and are off at a steady pace. We talk while we walk - about soccer practice, our schedule for the day, dinner ideas for tonight, watching the USA Men's soccer team play Canada tonight. We comment on how quiet the neighborhood is and how many people are already up and about. We are home just as my alarm would normally be going off. My husband puts the coffee on while I go to take a shower. The boys ask about our walk while they eat waffles. We are ready to leave ten minutes earlier than normal, a fact noted by everyone as we find ourselves standing awkwardly in the kitchen sort of looking at each other and the clock. And walking out the front door we notice that a light rain has started to fall. We marvel that the rain was delayed just enough to allow us to begin today. And that's when it dawns on me: today, I did just that; I started this adventure!
Tuesday, January 29, 2013
Sunday, January 27, 2013
Run Your Butt Off
My husband -- fellow teacher, soccer coach, gamer, so totally not a runner -- hands me this book that he apparently bought at some point but decided to ignore. Our oldest spent the final two school days of last week studying hard and making changes and has already improved his grade in Spanish. He likes the changes; he is proud of himself; he is, after only two days, a different young man. I stare at the book. "Your turn," my husband says, "Time to make good on your end of a bargain."
The boys - my husband and our two sons - head out to the park to play soccer on this ridiculously beautiful and warm January day while I begin reading about running. Fortunately, I am not intimidated by what I read. Forget my next door neighbor's recent marathon finish, forget my friends / soccer moms who are well in to their 5K, 10K, and Half adventures. I read and actually start to think that I can at least do what it asks of me for the first week. I'm not overweight; I'm not inactive; I'm not lazy; I'm not unhealthy -- I just don't like the thought of running. But, the first week asks me to merely walk for 30 minutes, 4 days during the week. I'm starting to think I might actually be able to rise to this challenge.
The book tells me to think about a four day running plan, and I decide upon a schedule of Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday, Sunday. I find a new notebook and write it down. Suddenly I am committed; starting Tuesday I will be on my way to becoming a runner. Why is it that I'm not dreading the-start-of-the-work-week-Monday so much as I am the day after?
As I progress through the book, I am forced to recognize that while I am not overweight I certainly don't have the body I did pre-kids and pre-40. A quick thought about the lunches I recently packed my husband and me (not only fellow teacher, but also fellow colleague) I know I am perhaps lazier and less healthy than I'd like to admit. I'm sort of embarrassed by my inability to recognize that I have settled into a happy complacency, but that awareness is now.
An hour later I have a grocery list -- dinner will be marinated skirt steak with rice pilaf and asparagus; lunch will be leftover meat with sauteed onions and peppers on a whole wheat tortilla. Snacks will include string cheese and grapes. I dare say I find my cheeks flushed and my adrenaline high. I sort of have hope. I think this just might happen -- if only I have the real courage to start.
The things we do for our children...
My oldest is not having a very great start to the new semester. Spanish II in the 8th grade is sort of kicking his butt. A very frustrated young man finally admits that he needs his daddy and me to help him. He simply cannot understand why this is so difficult for him when it's not for so many of his friends and when he's never really had to struggle like this. I tell him I understand, but he knows I've never really been in his shoes. I always loved school -- his competitive spirit in regard to soccer and running is matched only by how I have always felt about learning. I was a competitive gymnast, a diver / swimmer, and a cheerleader in my early years, but (sadly perhaps) my true passion was in education -- okay, so there is no surprise to my children that I teach school. This sweet child of mine simply can not comprehend how much I love the process of learning. In an attempt to make him understand, I try to compare it to his own passions. I talk about practice, about the big games, about pushing himself to be better than others. To me it's the same as being taught, homework, tests, and getting high grades overall. He doubts me, and I honestly understand why. My perspective -- an adult, 19 years into teaching, just might possibly appreciate the struggles of learning more than a 13-year old in Spanish II. His striking, appropriate comment: seriously, Mom; when was the last time you really had to struggle. I'm sure you have before, but do you really honestly remember what it feels like?
I feel struck by a great blow. He is right. A struggle the magnitude of which he is currently dealing is so far removed from my life that I actually feel badly. What have I been doing? When was the last time I put myself out there? I think about the time, several years ago, when I became a ROPES facilitator and spent three weeks being trained to take kids to challenge themselves as they climbed and jumped on wires strung between trees 20 feet off the ground. But the biggest challenge for me then was not the activities themselves but the worry that I was appropriately prepared to take out the kids. I took the kids -- my then 4th grade son among them; I was prepared -- I rose above my fears. Circumstances have changed, however, and I don't have time to take kids out to the course anymore. My days are full of teaching, sponsoring, soccer - moming, and home-ownering. I'm pretty darn busy, but I'm suddenly aware that I've at last settled in to being not the least bit challenged. I'm disappointed in this realization. Where has my competitive spirit gone? Where has my passion for challenge gone? I have no idea that as this realization is hitting me an idea is hitting my son that will change everything...
"Mom, if you started running I bet you'd understand how I feel about school. I know that you don't expect school to be easy to me, but I also know that it was for you. For me, right now at least, I'm sort of missing that motivation, focus and drive. I'd like for it to be easy for me, but it's not."
I, of course, understand. While I would love for him to love school and find Spanish easy, I realize it is not. I'm okay with it. I know we,as a family, must work on it, but I get it. I tell him so.
"So, you're willing to finally start running?"
Crap - how'd I miss his reference to running? How'd I miss what he was getting at? Crap!
And this is how we end the night. I will help him become more focused on school and Spanish. He, in turn, will support me in becoming a runner.
"Don't worry, Mom," he says with a smile, "I'll be glad to clap for you as you cross the finish line."
I feel struck by a great blow. He is right. A struggle the magnitude of which he is currently dealing is so far removed from my life that I actually feel badly. What have I been doing? When was the last time I put myself out there? I think about the time, several years ago, when I became a ROPES facilitator and spent three weeks being trained to take kids to challenge themselves as they climbed and jumped on wires strung between trees 20 feet off the ground. But the biggest challenge for me then was not the activities themselves but the worry that I was appropriately prepared to take out the kids. I took the kids -- my then 4th grade son among them; I was prepared -- I rose above my fears. Circumstances have changed, however, and I don't have time to take kids out to the course anymore. My days are full of teaching, sponsoring, soccer - moming, and home-ownering. I'm pretty darn busy, but I'm suddenly aware that I've at last settled in to being not the least bit challenged. I'm disappointed in this realization. Where has my competitive spirit gone? Where has my passion for challenge gone? I have no idea that as this realization is hitting me an idea is hitting my son that will change everything...
"Mom, if you started running I bet you'd understand how I feel about school. I know that you don't expect school to be easy to me, but I also know that it was for you. For me, right now at least, I'm sort of missing that motivation, focus and drive. I'd like for it to be easy for me, but it's not."
I, of course, understand. While I would love for him to love school and find Spanish easy, I realize it is not. I'm okay with it. I know we,as a family, must work on it, but I get it. I tell him so.
"So, you're willing to finally start running?"
Crap - how'd I miss his reference to running? How'd I miss what he was getting at? Crap!
And this is how we end the night. I will help him become more focused on school and Spanish. He, in turn, will support me in becoming a runner.
"Don't worry, Mom," he says with a smile, "I'll be glad to clap for you as you cross the finish line."
It is what it is...
Despite the post date, the 5K and new shoes took place in mid-December. Last week, I wore my new running shoes to work on a jeans day. One of my students commented on how much she liked them. Her question: you going to start running? My response -- no, I just wear these and pretend that I'm a runner. I don't have a very good attitude, but I do like the feel of these shoes on my feet.
A 5K and new shoes
My oldest, who runs cross country at school and plays select soccer, ran his first 5K. I dutifully clapped for him as he crossed the finish line, but waiting for him to arrive I wondered why in the world anyone would get up this early on a Saturday morning to run. My son, on the other hand, finished the run with red cheeks, hair matted to his forehead, grinning only the way a pure adrenaline rush would let you. I enjoyed his pleasure; I enjoyed the clapping.
An hour later my son is still talking about how much he liked the run. He's talking about signing up for more. He's talking about new running shoes. We find ourselves in the local outlet mall checking out running shoes when my son says, "Look, Mom. The shoes are buy one, get one. We'll get a new pair for me and a pair for you." I wonder what in the world he thinks I need a pair of $100+ running shoes for; my husband is laughing. He's not being mean it's just that we've been married for over 20 years; he's heard me say many times over that I couldn't see running unless I was being chased, and even then I'd question how badly I didn't want to be caught. Yet, my 13-year old is going on and on about future 5Ks that we can eventually run together if I just buy these shoes.
Ultimately I find myself in possession of a pair of running shoes -- no one else needed a pair and the deal was indeed too good to pass up. I force a smile at my son as I carry the bag that feels far heavier than it should because I know that by buying these shoes my son believes I've decided to run with him, but I know that really I'm much more inclined to dutifully clap at the finish line.
An hour later my son is still talking about how much he liked the run. He's talking about signing up for more. He's talking about new running shoes. We find ourselves in the local outlet mall checking out running shoes when my son says, "Look, Mom. The shoes are buy one, get one. We'll get a new pair for me and a pair for you." I wonder what in the world he thinks I need a pair of $100+ running shoes for; my husband is laughing. He's not being mean it's just that we've been married for over 20 years; he's heard me say many times over that I couldn't see running unless I was being chased, and even then I'd question how badly I didn't want to be caught. Yet, my 13-year old is going on and on about future 5Ks that we can eventually run together if I just buy these shoes.
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