Red Shirting

Tomorrow is the Torchlight Race, my first entry into a race I plan to run. Road Runner Sports had bibs, timing chips and race shirts available today, so I went down there to ensure I had everything before the butterflies took over tomorrow.

When the woman handed me my race shirt I almost began jumping up and down. Quite tactfully, she pointed to my info packet where it said, "38/F" and asked, "Is this information correct?" I must have wrinkled my brow at her because she went on softly, "I don't want to yell out, 'ARE YOU 38?'"
"Oh, yes, that's correct," I answered.
She pointed to her gray hair, "Because when you're 50, then we'll talk."
I found that inspiring and said, "Well, I hope I'm still doing this at 50!"

I worked out a bit harder over the weekend, but took it easy this week to give my body a rest for the race. Since I was nursing a hamstring strain, I didn't want to go crazy beforehand.
Next on my training regimen: Chocolate chip pancake carbo load tomorrow morning!

The Race to the free Clif Bars

I went to a training run tonight sponsored by Super Jock n Jill to prepare for the Torchlight Race. There will be one a week until the race on July 31st, so I thought I'd check out this first one. It's my first race, so I have no idea what sort of perks go with registration.

It was held at Green Lake, a familiar and favorite spot, but since it was in the evening and I'm used to getting to to the park in the morning, I was not prepared for the crazy amount of people and traffic clogging every arterial. This is Seattle after all, and when the sun comes out, so do the people. Needless to say, I was 10 minutes late despite my best efforts.

Facilitators told me the group had "just left." I saw them up ahead as I forgot about my one-song-walking-warm-up and tried to push forward, on the off chance that the group took a breather and I could join them. I could see them, a few wearing dark green shirts from the recent Rock 'n Roll Marathon. It became an amazing incentive when I began to get hot and tired. Deep down I knew I would never catch up to them, but I kept thinking, "Maybe....maybe...."

I didn't catch up to them on the running loop. But at the meeting spot organizers had put out Clif bars and Talking Rain drinks. There was a raffle (for some pretty good gift certificates, shoes, gear) and just happy endorfin riders all around. Even though I was a bit behind and outside of the group, I felt closer to being a "runner" than before. And guess what? I even decreased my time!

I'm coming for you, Torchlight!

Getting the Digits

Remember when my husband brought home a scale? Well, I didn't mention before that he's also monitoring his caloric intake, keeping an Excel spreadsheet and looking at online options to help improve his physical fitness.

I think improving one's physical fitness is admirable. I admire him. He is fit.

But I still want to weigh less than him. Even if it's just a pound or two.

When he shows me a new gadget or tracking system, I do the kindly, "That's nice, honey," and turn in a wifely way to the dishes in the sink or the brownies that need to come out of the oven. But now that I'm running more, and will begin to cross train on my non-running days (yes, I just found out what a 'burpee' is), I've been doing some physical fitness monitoring of my own.

The first, is keeping a running log. I started writing down the distances of my runs -- now that I think about it, I should probably be writing down the times --  how they went (easy, tough start but went okay, had to walk, etc.). While browsing around online, I came across the fitbit. I love the idea of tracking your rest as well as your activity. I know I don't get enough rest, but a constant reminder might be a good motivator to even the stats out. I also like that it tracks moderate activity, not just calories burned or mileage, but the activities that parent might engage in that could count as 'staying active.' Like playground time, or chasing a ball together, or hula hooping.

After surfing around the site, I realized hubby had shown me the fitbit months back. I'm not sure if I was doing dishes or eating brownies at the time, but I'm pretty sure I nodded. Now I want it. Maybe if I suggest his and hers...

It Keeps You Runnin'

 It's confession time: I haven't gone running in almost two weeks.

Life happens. Relatives visit, the end of school ushers in the beginning of summer, the two-year-old refuses to sleep between 2 and 4 a.m., lice, all of these issues can put a damper on anyone's training schedule, right?

If I were one of the super-moms in the book I'm reading, "Run Like a Mother," I would be running early in the morning or pushing my toddler in the stroller while my older daughter rides her bike--or whatever it is that fit moms do to log miles and stay in shape.

I haven't graduated from Mommy Fit Club yet, but judging by my run yesterday, I still might get the chance. I began early in the morning by walking. It's not my best time of day for anything. I convinced myself that walking at my favorite running spot is better than moping around at home, not running at all. Two weeks may not seem like a long period of time, but even a few inactive days can take the physical progress you've gained back to zero.

The walking warmed me up and got me loose. Tying my windbreaker around my waist, I broke into a slow jog. I probably spent a mile and-a-half struggling: my breathing was uneven, my shirt kept riding up and my windbreaker falling down. It was just messy.

I'm not sure when it happened, but at some point my breathing found an even rhythm. I barely noticed my clothing. I started to feel good. On the paved path someone had marked the miles in chalk. As I passed a marker, I thought, "That was okay. I could probably run another," continuing on to the next chalk line. As I passed the lamp post where I started out, I thought, "I'll just go to the next line," and I ran on, breathing, pumping my arms, fueled by Black Eyed Peas' "Pump It." I recognized oncoming runners, from the intense guy with the 'Portland Marathon' shirt to the older woman with the "Danskin Triathlon" shirt. In "Run Like a Mother," the authors mention the race shirt as a means of motivation for finishing a race, and I really did want mine at that point.

Following those chalk-marked miles, I made it around Green Lake twice. Twice! Granted, I did walk the first ten minutes, but I completed more than five miles, which is what I'll need to do for the race I'm entered in at the end of the month. I was elated. Even with a bad start and a chubby-schlubby attitude, I could turn it around.

My body is a bit creaky today, but otherwise, I feel good. I feel like doing it again.

Watch out, Torchlight! Here I come!

Daring to Return

You know my adoration for the movie, "Xanadu." So you understand my complete giddy delight upon seeing the latest video from the band, Rooney.

I was up at a ridiculous hour due to a sleepless night minding the two-year-old. From the first frame, where they showcase the exterior of the club that becomes "Xanadu," (formerly the Pan-Pacific Auditorium in Los Angeles),  I knew this video would cheer me up. Just a little somethin' to hold you over until the "Grease Sing-along" comes your way.

Put Your Art Into It

I am currently obsessed with the reality show, "Work of Art," on Bravo. It's basically a group of artists who create works based on challenges that are evaluated to see if their "art works" for the judges. "Project Runway" on a canvas.

I love this show for the same reasons I love "Project Runway."  The creative process is fascinating. I like seeing what mediums the artists choose, what risks they take and how they resolve issues about their early concepts versus the finished product. I enjoy watching how they incorporate simple photographs (or in one episode, a photocopier image!), pen and ink, chalk, even computer programs like Photoshop to convey their interpretations of the challenges.

In one episode the contestants were asked to make book covers for classic novels. The winner would have their art published on the cover of the book. So awesome. The image above is the winning Penguin Books cover of "The Time Machine" by H.G. Wells, art by John Parot.

I grew up with three older, sports-playing brothers, so I'm no stranger to four-letter words. In fact, I use them quite a lot, despite the chastisement of my nine-year-old ("Mom, that is inappropriate language!").  But here's a four-letter word I cannot bear to utter, even in the best of circumstances: LICE.

Yes, my child has brought home lice. This isn't the first time - and probably won't be the last - but the first time was so traumatic that I have a hyper sensitivity to the mere mention of it. The first time we found lice on Emma was the day I went into labor with Phoebe. Two weeks early.

I don't think the lice induced labor, so let's not lay anymore lifestyle aggravating blame on them than necessary. But the feeling of sheer hopelessness while I watched Doug walk out the front door to go to work as I looked at the heaping piles of bedding I needed to wash and the head of hair I needed to comb through is still pretty fresh almost three years later. I was psyching myself up to face the lice, the laundry, the breathing mask I'd have to wear as I washed Emma's hair with the chemical shampoo I was yet to buy and the intense fine-tooth-comb-comb-through when I went to the bathroom and found I was bleeding.

This was not unusual during my pregnancy with Phoebe, but something felt off. Odd. So I called my doctor's office, who gave me the go-ahead to come in to see if my water had broken. (Incidentally, having your water break isn't always the large gush of fluid one thinks it is, a la Miranda's water breaking all over Carrie's Louboutins. It didn't happen that way for me with Emma, and I was finding, it wouldn't with Phoebe.)

More panic set in. What the heck do I do with a kid while the doctor is giving me a pelvic exam? Am I even allowed to take her in with me? What happens if I actually have to deliver and it's just me and Emma? Is it bad form to ask the friends on our "Emergency Delivery Check List" to leave work to take my child to their house and oh, by the way, deal with her lice? What the hell do I do?

It was almost 10 a.m. Doug would be going into a meeting at 10 that could last 15 minutes to an hour, where it would be difficult to reach him. Luckily, I reached him before he got into the meeting and asked him to meet me at my appointment. He could help Emma and be available if we needed to make any major decisions should something go wrong with the baby.

I was running around the house, throwing books, a laptop, DVDs and snacks into a bag for Emma. I had no idea how long we'd have to wait to see the doctor, for test results, for Doug. If there was an issue, I wanted her to be plugged into a Disney film happily munching on cheese sticks. With a hat on her head.

To my great relief Doug got to the doctor's office before I did. To my horror, yes, my water had broken. We needed to get to the delivery center to get placed on a monitor. If I didn't deliver within 48 hours, there could be great danger. Doug's greatest comedic timing came when after this announcement from the doctor, he turned to her and said, "Yeah, and by the way, would you mind checking us both for lice?"

We went home. While Doug went nuclear on Emma's head with the lice shampoo and the fine-tooth comb, I put new bedding on the beds, started the super hot water wash, vacuumed and managed to throw an overnight bag together. His parents were on their way (and to this day, I'm not sure they understood what they were walking into).

As we said goodbye to Em and her grandparents, I felt a huge load lift from my enormous belly. Now all I had to do was push the baby out of it. Incidentally, it took longer to deal with the lice drama that morning than it did to deliver Phoebe that evening.

Flash forward to four days ago. The dreaded louse on Emma's head. The toxic shampoo, the comb through. We had plans to visit friends for the Fourth of July weekend on Orcas Island, but that wouldn't happen. Em was such a good sport about it all despite her obvious disappointment. Phoebe watched a lot of movies while I sifted through Emma's hair over and over again. We've been washing and rubbing with so much Tea Tree that our house smells like the Australian outback.

But nobody else in our house got lice, thank goodness. Em's been clear since yesterday morning. Our vacation turned staycation became a nice excuse for us to hunker down and spend time as a family. Although I hate dealing with lice, the notion that we survived the first time and managed to deliver a healthy baby, then got our act together the second time so the lice remained contained, helps reinforce my confidence in us Kims as a cohesive unit.

'Lice' isn't the only four-letter-word that brought our family closer, but the best four-letter-word I can think of also had a hand in it: Love. In my mind, no nit will ever louse that up.