I managed to complete my first (only?) half marathon in June. Yes, it hurt. It was pretty fun though. Not just the event, but the training and the hype and the stoking myself up for something new. I'm in need of some sort of new 'thing' to do now. Suggestions welcome, but that's not really the point of this post.
On Monday, after swimming at the local Y with the kids (okay, my kids don't swim yet- it was knee deep bobbing), girl child asked how old you need to be to use the cardio machines. We asked a knowledgeable Y employee, and kids can start using the machines at age 7, as long as they work out beside a parent. As she is 8, she was compelled to take the necessary machine orientation as soon as possible so that she can come running with me at the gym. On the one hand, I am really excited that, through my actions, I am inspiring my daughter towards a healthy lifestyle in a time when obesity and its complications are strong. On the other hand, I am nervous that over obsessing about fitness will make me drive my daughter to an eating disorder. I don't want her being one of those people that gets stress fractures from over training for anything either.
Okay, I realize that this is one of my 'crazy mom' moments where I am worrying about all extremes in true maternal style. After all, she had a cheeseburger and french fries for dinner last night, and has been splashed out on the couch streaming Netflix all morning. Plus, she has never wanted to go running with me outside, so I think this is mostly an electronic fascination paired with a desire to publicly do things that grown-ups do. Still. You know. I am a mom. I am entitled to all accompanying neuroses.
So yesterday afternoon she had her orientation and is fully equipped and excited to get her tread on. After her orientation, for a good dose of balance, I took her to McDonald's for a milkshake where we sat in the parking lot and had a long discussion on the importance of being healthy and balanced, not skinny or injured. Our afternoon jaunt might not prevent any extreme from becoming reality, but it checked my balance box enough to salve the rawness of crazy mom. For now.
First mother/daughter cardio workout is scheduled for this afternoon. Now I can set my neuroses to just worrying about short term concerns- like her losing control and slamming her face onto the treadmill control panel. Yes, that's much more settling.
Thursday, July 19, 2012
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
Weary. Restless. Human.
Gah. I hate negative blog posts. I never want to be someone who sits around bitching about anything. I am sorry. It can not be helped. I am tired of devastation. I realize this isn't your problem, but it is mine. And this is my blog, after all. While it isn't kind of me to make you read about the devastation around me, sometimes a person needs to put some emotions to rest, you know? Or, at least assuage them a little? Somehow (and, for me, that's by writing it out)? You can back out of our little reader/writer arrangement here, which is more than I can say for myself, but I think you won't by now. So, here we are. Me all 'tired of devastation' and you all 'sitting there, drenched in my emotional cloudburst'.
There were fires here, and the fires were terrible. My home was unaffected, so I should be, and am, grateful for that. It was exhausting though, whether you were evacuated from your home or not, to just be here in this town, watching it all happen. We were all on edge... some evenings, just walking the street where we live, talking to neighbors because it seemed like the only thing we could do to hedge our restlessness. We're just now breathing our relief with the fire's containment, but how much relief is it really as the historical aspects of the burn sink in? Everyone respects a fire fighter, but there is a newness in that respect now, within this town, that is actually difficult to explain. It has become passionate, I think. We are human though. As with all passions, it is not fair how time and a return to 'normal living' will moderate our feelings and our actions. We will remember what those fighters did, and how we felt. Yet, I can't help thinking their valor deserve better than our human-ness.
A couple of friends have become severely and/or startlingly ill. There are fights ahead, and though we help and support all we can, there's a helplessness. If only there were more... more we could do. In some cases, I feel so capable of being more helpful, but geography presents insurmountable limitations. It feels crippling.
I get it. I'm a grown up. I know this is the way life happens. The older you get, the more open your eyes become to the ever existent devastations. I get that there is only so much I can do about things. I don't wish to waste too much time wallowing in pity for myself or anyone else. There is simply too much to do for that. I know I need to just help where I can. Impact the people I can impact, and it is not as though life is without its positively gleaming moments.
Everyone is allowed a little time to be weary of the human experience.
Even me.
On we go.
Here's a towel. You should change out of those drenched clothes before you catch yourself a death of a cold.
There were fires here, and the fires were terrible. My home was unaffected, so I should be, and am, grateful for that. It was exhausting though, whether you were evacuated from your home or not, to just be here in this town, watching it all happen. We were all on edge... some evenings, just walking the street where we live, talking to neighbors because it seemed like the only thing we could do to hedge our restlessness. We're just now breathing our relief with the fire's containment, but how much relief is it really as the historical aspects of the burn sink in? Everyone respects a fire fighter, but there is a newness in that respect now, within this town, that is actually difficult to explain. It has become passionate, I think. We are human though. As with all passions, it is not fair how time and a return to 'normal living' will moderate our feelings and our actions. We will remember what those fighters did, and how we felt. Yet, I can't help thinking their valor deserve better than our human-ness.
A couple of friends have become severely and/or startlingly ill. There are fights ahead, and though we help and support all we can, there's a helplessness. If only there were more... more we could do. In some cases, I feel so capable of being more helpful, but geography presents insurmountable limitations. It feels crippling.
I get it. I'm a grown up. I know this is the way life happens. The older you get, the more open your eyes become to the ever existent devastations. I get that there is only so much I can do about things. I don't wish to waste too much time wallowing in pity for myself or anyone else. There is simply too much to do for that. I know I need to just help where I can. Impact the people I can impact, and it is not as though life is without its positively gleaming moments.
Everyone is allowed a little time to be weary of the human experience.
Even me.
On we go.
Here's a towel. You should change out of those drenched clothes before you catch yourself a death of a cold.
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