Reach the Beach Relay

I'm stuffing my face with a favorite concoction stolen from my sistah: Pita smothered with hummus, packed with pear, muenster and tabouli. Thanks, sis! I'm rehashing my week thus far - pretending that it's farther along than it is, I suppose. And now I'm harping on my coffee with Kim on Monday. We've barely been in touch since I got pregnant with my second baby - when my attendance at the gym faded to once a month, once every other and then none. We managed to talk enough to maintain contact, but since I've had my THIRD I'm barely able to maintain contact with some members of my family, let alone my workout buddies. Difficult to chat it up during a run or after a spin when you aren't doing any of EITHER. For a while I missed it, and then I grew resentful, I think, that other mothers could somehow maintain the same social lifestyle they had before kids, or when they had just one kid. Yeah, well, all those conflicted feelings were during my second pregnancy and for the short time I had but two boys - aka, Before there were Three. Honestly, I just don't have room in my brain to be worried about the thoughts of others, or preoccupied with HOW they do it, WHY they do it, and why I CAN'T. We all have a different life story going on. For instance, Kim has two kids, no job, available childcare, and financial freedom. We just don't have the same stressors. Uh, yeah... I have THREE kids (obviously), a part-time job that gives me a full-time headache, childcare that allows me to work said job and totally takes away from all that financial freedom we Wouldn't have anyway. Okay, so I'm not saying she doesn't have any worries or challenges, of course she does. Of COURSE she does. But because they aren't apparent, or don't stack up to mine, or something, I'm like "Why would I even worry or dwell on HOW she does what she does?" I can't even get my ass to the gym if I have a day by myself, let alone with kids in tow, errands to run, everyone with runny noses.

So, a little detail is in order, I think. Kim is a major athlete. Work-out fiend is more like it, I suppose. Anyway, she is training for an Ironman right now, briefly mentioned that here. You know, swim 2.4 miles, bike 112 miles, run a marathon. She's estimating it takes her somewhere between 13 and 15 hours. Grrrrreat! Three years ago I ran the 26.2 miles of a marathon with my sister-in-law - noted by Jen here - without ever having run any more than 200m in track during high school. I mean, I'd run more than that, but never entered any kind of other race. I figured, why start with a 5k? The marathon sounds like fun. I'm adventurous, in pretty good shape (one baby!) and so I trained, I ran, I won. Won some pride, that is, and a golden finisher's medal that became my son's toy on the flight home. I did it in four hours and felt pretty good about it. Would love to do it again. Probably will someday.

During this time of training I was a regular at the gym, as you can imagine, gearing up for the marathon, making sure I was prepared. I formed a great bond with Kim during our spins, swims and runs. We scheduled our meeting times for the next day and the next week, made plans for races and event, bonded over sweat, got giddy when we were most out of breath. About a week after we pledged to train together for a Half-Ironman, I found out I was pregnant with Max. Anything's possible, I thought. No, not that anything. Sick as a dog I did finish a sprint triathlon during my first trimester - dragged my ass to the finish line and then slept it off like a bad hangover. After that I wandered in and out of my workout clothes, never really pulling them on with the same conviction I had before.

After Max was born I didn't even have enough time to flex my abs again before I found out I was pregnant with Ethan. Problem was, I had committed to this crazy Reach the Beach run with Kim and 10 others. A team of 12 run 200 miles in 24 hours. I had one of the shortest legs of the trip at 15 miles. That's broken into 3 separate runs which totally seems doable, HOWEVER you are stuck in a van with 5 other people, driving to the next checkpoint, cramped and sweaty. You run in the afternoon, the dead black of night (in the rain, as it were), and next morning. There is little time or comfort for sleep, ergo you are a running zombie by the time you reach your third run. Plus, I was newly pregnant, which is a state of mind and body that doesn't totally agree with me, and being shoved between stinky sneakers and a giant Ziploc bag of super salty roasted red potatoes (aka "running fuel") wasn't calming my queasy stomach.

But I finished it.
Slow, but I did.

So fast-forward two years. Now three kids. And I'm doing it all over again. Except for the newly pregnant part. All in all it was a blast. Lots of laughs, wicked sarcasm and dirty jokes. And, more importantly, a perfectly wholesome excuse to skip town for a day or two. Who can blame me for leaving my kids with the neighbors I hardly know if I'm out there running 20 miles? And yes, it's 20 miles this year, as I'm no longer a newbie and a preggo. And no, not the neighbors; I'm pretty sure it will be my mother-in-law watching the kids this year. If not, I'll be dumping them on you, Jen. :)

So here's the thing. Dan and I are doing it together. Have I run much in the past year? Nah. Do I wish that I did? Yup, yes sirree. But let's not harp on the past, I have over 4 months to prepare myself for this event, which is pleeeeeenty of time to get my ass, I mean my act, together. Plenty. More than enough. Problem is...time! With work and kids and dishes I am a little short on time. But I can no longer make these excuses so...instead of locking the kids in the basement when I need some time to breathe in peace (well, muffled peace), I will have to start locking myself in the basement to run on the open treadmill (wish I could put ROAD there, but then I'd have to lock my kids in the house and that's just too much disaster to have to clean up when I get back). Or maybe since it's Spring, by gosh by golly, I can lock them outside instead. Oh yes, outside. Otherwise I have to run at 5 am or 8 pm, just not ideal. My body doesn't particularly like to move at those times of day. Hmmm. Whatever course of action I take I'm sure it will be considered endangering the welfare of a minor somehow. Even if I were to ditch work and run at 11 am so I didn't have to lock anyone in or out of my life, I'm still in the novice stage of exercise where one's legs turn to jelly while the brain is happily hyped up on endorphins before it takes a serious nose dive into "what did you do to me?!" By the time I pick the kids up again I'm not sure what state of mind I'll be in - at least until I adjust to this whole exercise thing again, if that's possible.

Stay tuned, oh 4 readers of the Momalom blog. Wait, one of them is me, I guess that makes it three. I am hoping that publishin this to the almighty and totally anonymous Internet I will be encouraged to get and keep my ass moving long enough to even sustain the thought of running 20 miles again.

OH! And the reason I even mentioned Ironman Kim? Well, it's hard to sit and have coffee and chat about the logistics of Reach the Beach when you damn well know you've barely moved more than is absolutely required to take care of your kids and your house. I looked at her and told her the whole "time" spiel - the "I have to wake at 5 to run or else do it after bedtime, you know..." Except, she DOESN'T know, and I just ended up feeling like an ass. So then I tried to justify it with: "I can't even describe to you what happens when you go from two to three kids, Kim, I just can't even describe, I... I....I... It's crazy." How profound, "crazy"? Ooooh, great description. But really. It IS crazy. And I guess I felt as if I needed to validate myself somehow. Validate my flab. Part of me thinks that being a dress size or two bigger is totally acceptable given the demands of my life and my job. And part of me thinks that if I want anything badly enough I will make time for it. Find a way. Live the way.

And then reality hits when the baby wakes in the middle of the night AGAIN. Which wakes the toddler because he's sick AGAIN. Which leaves me laying in bed listening to Al Rescate and Say Click, Take a Pic over and over again, taking kicks in the small of my back. When we finally get back to sleep at 3 am I am not about to wake up in 2 hours for a grueling 3 miles on the treadmill even if I get to watch In Treatment on the new tv. The 2 hours between Max closing and opening his eyes again could barely be considered sleep (to me) anyway. Every 1o minutes I am kicked again, punched again, as Max twirls around the king-sized bed like a little curly helicopter.

There is no profound ending here, nor realization. It's hard to make choices, to be decisive, to set goals, have plans, stick to them. And even though I know that there is a deadline for this Reach the Beach relay, and that it isn't until September, my life is so hectic that I can make no guarantees I will be as ready as I ought to be. All I know is that I will show up. Happy to be free from wakeup duties, breakfast duties, and changing doodies.