Mud Hero 2013

About few months ago, I thought in order to push myself, I needed to have a wicked goal to reach towards. What better goal than a muddy obstacle race? So I nudged a couple girlfriends of mine and we registered. Between the day I registered and the day of the race, I had talked myself out of running it at least once a day. I was afraid to be the biggest, to be the slowest. I told myself I'd do it for fun, but secretly knew that deep inside me lives this quiet little athlete that doesn't like to do things half assed. I don't think I have ever been so nervous, yet so excited to try something new, in all my life.
The night before race day I looked at the map. I pumped myself up and looking in the mirror told myself "YOU GOT THIS!" . Saturday dawned blue skies and my nervous belly caterpillars turned to butterflies of excitement.
We lined up at the starting gate, music blaring and the occasional WOOP from the crowd. The energy was electric as runners and non-runners, trainers and housewives, husbands and wives, mothers and daughters, athletic people and non-athletic people, geared up for the 6k obstacle race. Jumping, stretching, watch checking, hugging, reassuring, praying, dancing; you name it, it was happening as we all waited for the horn to blow. And then like cattle leaving the pen, we were off.


I wish I could tell you, in detail, about all the obstacles and challenges, mentally and physically, that we faced on the course that day. But I can't. Because time melted away and the only thing that mattered was to keep moving, to keep pushing, to try to get through it, and to leave no one behind. You encourage your friend who is struggling to make it up the hill. You shout praise to the perfect stranger who you watched make it up a tough incline or obstacle. If you saw someone sit down to take a breather, you asked if they were ok, you reassured them that they COULD do it, and told them not to listen to that ass-hole little voice in their head telling them you couldn't. You told those damn hills to FUCK OFF! And you cried a little when you saw that there was still one more to go. You jumped into mud pits, not knowing how deep they were. And you advised the people after you were the best spot to try to climb out of those pits was. You held ropes for the people behind you, just as the people in front held them for you. You laughed when your friends resembled swamp things, and they laughed at your mud mustache. And when you crossed that finish line, no matter how long it took, you did it with your friends. You DID it. You MADE it. You conquered the voice, you conquered the mud, you conquered the pain. You became a MUD HERO.

It really was one of the best experiences of my life. I don't think I have ever pushed myself so much physically and mentally. There were times where I wanted to just stop and sit down and never walk up another hill in my life, but then images of my sweet (clean) little boys waiting for me at the finish line danced before my eyes and it was time to go. Would I do another race like this? Hell yeah! Am I super sore and feeling really old still, two days later?? Ohhh heck yeah! But it was worth it.

Huge thanks to my ladies for running, walking, climbing, clambering, floating, squishing, sliding, and wobbling through it all with me. I heart you all! xo

 

 

#ThankfulThursday: Friendship

I have a hard time making friends. Or at least I thought I did. It all goes back, wayyy back, to the 5th or 6th grade. That is when, all of a sudden, we were sorted in cool and uncool. I was sorted into the uncool side, for whatever reason. I didn't have the most expensive clothes that were in style, I wasn't overly pretty or smart or talented. I didn't have an older sibling to show me the ropes and who to hang with or not hang with. I gave my friendship quite willingly, to anyone who would take it. Which left me open to a lot of rejection, a lot of the time. In high school, I sort of just wedged myself into whatever group I could for the moment. For a minute it was the smart kids, then the actors, then the jocks, but I wasn't exceptionally smart, I wasn't an overly great actor or improviser, I was anything but athletic. Most of the time it was the stoners, the smokers in the smoke pit, the kids in trouble for cutting class... because I was cutting class with them, I was smoking in the smoke pit. I always sort of melted into a group. Never a leader, not even really a minion. Just a shadow on the edge of a group; included, but just barely. Now, don't get me wrong, I would have a friend or two in these groups, but other than a select few, they were superficial friendships. By the time I had finally graduated high school I really had no idea who I was. I started dating and his friends became mine by default. We broke up. I started dating someone else and, again, his friends became mine - much in the same way as before. Always a shadow on the edge of the growing, being included but mostly just because I was there. Certainly not for any merit of my own. Then "The Breakup". Big. Messy. FULL of heartache and tears and... and it left me with nothing of my own. I didn't really have my own friends. I didn't have anyone I could call and cry to. I didn't have someone to come and eat icecream with me and pull me out of my week old pajamas and tell me to pull it together. It was time for a change. So I moved. I packed up and I left all that I knew and all that I loved and I decided it was time to start over and find who I was.
Then the amazing thing happened. Slowly as I was turning the pages of my life over, I was figuring out who I was. I discovered that there were things that I thought I had liked, FOR YEARS, that I actually detested. I discovered that I was funny and shy, that I could be loud and the life of the party. I discovered that there wasn't just one little box that I could fit myself into. And as I was discovering this new self that had been hidden for so long, I was able to finally let people SEE me. I wasn't as afraid to laugh a little too loud. I didn't need to stay in the shadows. And, weirdest of weird things happened... PEOPLE ACTUALLY LIKED ME! I started making friends. MY friends. They would never belong to someone else. They would never just be my friends because of the group I was hanging out with that day or the boy I was dating. They liked me FOR ME.
Now when I'm having a crappy day, I know I've got people I can call or text or tweet or facebook. I know if I'm in a dark place, they'll come over with a bottle of wine or cookies or their kids. I know I can count on them, just as they can count on me.
To all of my friends - the friendships that have been around for so long I can barely remember not having them - the friendships that have grown slowly over the years - the online friendships - the friendships that are just starting to blossom - the friendships that are fading - the friendships that are sitting on my horizon, waiting to be discovered... I'm thankful for you! xo

A New Week

Life has been rather unpleasant lately. I have been in hand to hand combat with a worsening depression, single parenting due to an oilfield 'hubby', trying to make a baby, trying to find a trust worthy, reliable sitter so I can have a minute to myself once in awhile and be pleasant about everything crappy in my life. Last week that all blew up in my face. I couldn't be pleasant about things anymore. I fought with 'hubby' about making time for our family, about needing to move out of this crowded apartment, about feeling alone and unappreciated. I bickered with him over taking the garbage out and coffee grinds sprinkled on the counter and floor every.single.morning. I cried. A lot. I felt lost and alone and like this could be the beginning of the end. And that was the scariest feeling I've had in a long time.
Depression really makes everything worse than it should be. It's like seeing your best friend on the other side of a huge lake of mud; you can get to your friend, but it's so much harder than swimming in water or walking on land. It's like looking out the window at a beautiful warm day, but staying inside with the lights off and a chill in the stale air. I have been on and off medication for depression and anxiety since I was 13. I am determined to not go back onto them. I believe that I have come to a point in my life where I can see myself spiralling down, and should be able to take the steps needed to help myself back up. Sometimes I can't do that alone, which is difficult when your partner spends 90% of his time away.
Two weeks ago, I had to reach out. I knew I was getting bad, I knew I wasn't going to be able to see things clearly myself or have the right perspective to make decent choices. In the guise of needing nutrition support, in stepped someone who I have come to call a good friend, Jo. Last week she came over and we chatted about my food journal, laughed at our kids making creations at my kitchen table, and talked about my lack of control. BING BING BING! Something rang true. I have very little control in my life right now. I'm a slave to child nap schedules, bus routes and playgroups. I'm stuck in a loop of having to rely on other people, which tends to fail, because I don't have much choice. I don't have my own money, what little cash I do bring it goes right onto credit cards and student loans, which means I'm "begging" money off 'hubby' (he doesn't see it like this at all, but that's how it feels to me). I'm stuck. It's no wonder I'm unhappy. It's no wonder I feel like I'm out of control and alone and incapable of 'getting it', because right now I am.
After our talk, I decided I needed to take charge of my life again. In the precious minutes a day I get with Shawn, I spoke of some of the things I need to change. I realized that I have to go easy with him, because he does work long, hard days and doesn't want to come home (when he does) to a bitchy 'wifey' all the time. And that means that I have to let go of some of the small complaints, and by let go I don't mean store them up for later - I've got to really be ok if he spills the coffee grounds on the floor every morning, it's annoying, but it's because it's early and he's tired and he doesn't dance around and sprinkle them everywhere (even if sometimes it looks that way). I've also decided to give baby making a little time out. I'm stressed, he's stressed, it's just not happening right now for whatever reason. It's sucky, because I want another baby - but I don't want another baby at the expense of either our relationship or my sanity.

So this week began anew. I might have needed a drink, a night or two, but as I write this, I feel good. I feel like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. Not the whole weight of the world that I like to carry there, but it's been eased somewhat. And with a little extra breathing room, and friends that show up when I need them most... it's blue skies from here on out.