Sweaty Sneakers

Being a mom for five and a half years now has taught me a few things.

This may sound silly to some, but the biggest thing it’s taught me (aside from how to live with my heart running around outside my body of course) is how to run a household. That sounds like such a… I don’t know. Stupid thing to have learned? But I think that if you believe that running a household is no big deal, then you have no idea what you’re talking about.

(That kind of rationale works, right? If someone disagrees with me, they’re dumb?)

Seriously, though, I don’t have a house cleaner (YET. The countdown is on and next promotion that Steve gets IT IS HAPPENING) and I do freakin everything most of the work around the house. Aside from the hanging doors and snow clearing that Steve does (among other things and I don’t mean for this to minimize his imputs), when it comes to day-to-day stuff around here, it’s on me. That includes garbage and recycling, cleaning, laundry and cooking (on days when Steve’s at work). No big deal, right? There was a point when it was enough to bring me to tears.

I guess because it’s all so much and all so continuous and no one gives you a yearly bonus or raise or even a required by law lunch break.

Anyway, partly because they’re older and are capable of playing in a different area of the house than me unsupervised without a very high likelihood of killing themselves, but partly just because I’ve gotten used to it. My mom told me this would happen, when I bemoaned about it to her years ago. “You just get used to it and it becomes less exhausting,” she said. And at the time, it sounded like such a dreary answer because basically, that means that you just have to suck it up and do it. And you do just have to suck it up and do it, which is part of what makes it so hard because honestly, while there’s nothing wrong with Cheerios and raw veggies with dip for dinner, children do eventually require cleaning and clean clothes.

I tried cleaning in different ways: one task per day (dusting on Monday! Bathrooms on Tuesday! etc) and while that worked for a while, and worked when the kids were young because I didn’t really have two hours at a time to spend cleaning, eventually I both got tired of cleaning every single day and missed that day and a half of bliss that you get after you gut the house before it gets messy again.

I’m back now to once a week every two weeks, and I’m ok with that. Toilets and… stuff gets cleaned proper at least once every two weeks. Vaccuuming happens when it needs to/can. Dusting probably once a month. But the tidying happens daily or at least every other day.

It helps to stay on top of it, laundry is still my biggest downfall (three blissful laundry free days = the rest of the week catching up).

I guess though, that what I’ve realized, is that all of this (most of the time, anyway), doesn’t really bring me down anymore. I cook and feed and clean and study and it’s just… the way, you know? Some days I’m wired and some days I’m utterly exhausted and most days fall somewhere in between those two extremes. I had planned on mopping today, but my longish run this morning kicked my butt, so I scrapped those plans and made muffins and then rested on the couch for half an hour while the girls’ played dollies.

More importantly than not seeing it as a burden anymore, I also realize that it’s ok. It’s all going to be ok. I do what I can, and I usually do my best. My kids never go hungry or cold or to bed without a story. There’s no one casting stones at me regarding the amount of dust on the picture frames on my mantle and on the day when I meet my maker, the number of times my bathroom smelled like pee will not come into question.

It’s hard when kids are babies. They are wonderful and special and amazing, but it’s hard. And it wasn’t even until I got away from it that I realized how difficult it had been. They were heavy (figuratively), I carried them everywhere. I used to think about Steve dying and leaving us, and I concluded that I would never love another man. Because who would want me with all this baggage? And yesterday, as I thought about my children and my dog and my home and my life, I realized that if Steve died and left us, I may never love another man. Not because another man couldn’t handle my baggage though, but because I don’t know that I’d be willing to share this gift – of raising them, of knowing them, of caring for them, of opening my heart to learn from them – with anyone else.

And I think that maybe that has made all the difference.

I am drinking in breath so that my soul is not thirsty.

That’s how the yoga instructor ended class today. It was a fast 75 minutes, relaxed flow, not strenuous but much needed stretching for my runner glutes and hammies.

One thing that made me think was something she said at the beginning of class. She asked us to focus on our practice, to decide what aspect we wanted to concentrate on and to keep that with us during the entire class.

As class ended, I realized that what I focused on (being strong) perhaps wasn’t what I should have focused on. Maybe what I needed to think about was letting go of being competitive.

I want to be strong and lithe and balanced and well, that doesn’t always come from a healthy place. I want people to tell me how great I am and that I’m strong and fit and lean and lovely. I have trouble recognizing my own strength, and often rely on others to notice and comment on it before allowing myself any sort of validation. Next week, I will focus on my own breath, instead of spying out of the corner of my eye to see who wobbled the most during standing tree pose.

There’s this list I have of things I want to do, can’t wait to do once I’m finished school and every time I add something new on, I get more and more antsy about this whole five more months thing because Man! Five months is forever!! Even though it’s not (do you know how fast five months can fly by? Or course you do), maybe what really concerns me is the amount of text book reading I have to do in those next five months.

It can be so hard to focus on the journey. When I started this “journey” I was a mom to two babies and needed to get out of the house a couple of days a week. So I signed up for a certificate and I signed up for daycare and I had no idea that by the end of it I’d be a mom with a kid in school, like for real, and another very lovely but very strong willed pre-schooler. I had no idea I’d be a marathoner, a run coach (a real live run coach! and people listen to me! and I even give them good advice! and I get paid for something I love), with absolutely no intention of going into HR, the very thing I am taking in school.

There have been a lot of near quits along the way. There have been blows to my self-esteem because it is truly draining to be around highly make-uped 20 year olds with very perky breasts because we have nothing in common. It’s been isolating (see previous sentence), because I feel alone on campus. It’s been both very, very good and bad.

My mind wandered for the most part of my classes this morning (as it is right now, I’m actually supposed to be working on a case study) and I thought about running and yoga and the fact that boys wear much brighter clothes to school than they did ten years ago.

I’m at the point again where I wonder if I say too much here. Sometimes I get all anxiety ridden and need to spill my guts so I come here and emotionally vomit and then start to feel better. And then I’m better and I start to wonder who I know in real life that read this and what they could have thought, because you’d never know by looking at me that I get nervous and self-conscious, and I get that scared feeling and want to re-swallow everything I’ve spewed. But what’s the point of saying it if I just take it back? And what’s the point of having this space if I can’t use it for what I want, if it doesn’t make me feel better and more centered about my life in general?

I saw this video the other day and was amazed at the beauty:

and I thought how I would like to be able to move like that, to do crazy handstands and flip my legs over my head. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned in the past three years, it’s that if you want to do something, you need to practice instead of just wishing it would happen. So I’m headed to my very first “real” yoga class tomorrow morning. I set goals for myself that by this time next year I will be halfway through the 200 hour Yoga Teaching certification and will have at the very least (depending on dates) signed up for a Personal Fitness Specialist course here in Halifax.

Of course, making those goals made me wish that I was doing yoga and reading books about muscle groups today instead of thinking about how much my prof reminds me of my sister in law.

I try to focus on the journey, the little things I’ve learned and how much I’ve changed in the past three years. Things have gotten easier, in so many ways, but they only became easier after they became much more difficult. I’m stronger now, so much stronger, in every way. I’m a better mom, a better wife. My house is more organized, I’m calmer, more focused. I believe in myself (with the occasional hiccup) so much more than I ever did, and I see that what I’m doing – not necessarily the school but most other things – are making this world a better place. And honestly, that’s all I’ve ever wanted, was to make the world a better place, I just didn’t know it would be such a bumpy journey to get here.

After my awesome long run last weekend and then legs at the gym on Monday and then hour long hike on Tuesday, by Wednesday, I felt kind of tingly all over and funny in my head. I skipped my run but did some weights. I pushed myself through the gym until Friday, at which point I did half my workout and tapped out. Saturday involved a 16k run with my TNT group and today was sinus congestion and achiness and general cranky, peppered with some laughs.

I’m not sure if I was so tired because I got sick, or if I got sick because I caught a chill during that frigid run last weekend and didn’t give myself time to rest or if it was a combination of those things or a complete fluke. Either way, I didn’t eat great for the second part of the week (something about being sick-tired makes me only want to eat carbs), and my workouts were tiring and so kind of half hearted. Tonight I’m feeling bloated and weak and kind of crappy. The Advil I took didn’t clear the pulsing pain in my neck and face (which leads me to believe there is going to be some major mucus moving by tomorrow) and basically, I just came here to wine.

It’s hard not to get all apocalyptic when I feel like this. Because I feel weak in this moment, I tend to feel like a couple bowls of Doritos and peanut butter sandwiches negated the past three weeks of clean fuel and strength training. Logically, I don’t really think that’s the case, but I do think that (in retrospect), I should have listened to my body instead of pushing through when I knew the fatigue had moved from “fatigue” to “getting sick” and rested.

I’m kind of manic about things though and for some reason this week needed to do this, regardless of the expense. It’s a hard balance to achieve. Especially since I am feeling kind of tense about school and often a skipped workout can lead to some anxiety on my part. So I pushed through hoping that it would pass but tonight I feel tired (bone weary tired) and kind of sorry for myself.

We ate a healthy supper, and I made lunches for tomorrow and have resolved that I will pick myself up and dust off and climb back on the vegetable wagon, even though I probably still smell like Doritos. I’m hoping that healthy food today plus a good night’s sleep will leave me feeling better when I wake up today.

I’m a good mom, a good provider, a good “adult”, but when I’m sick, it still sucks that I can’t throw a day in the bag and hit pause on the world.

Three awesome things I am totally loving lately:

1) Ben Taylor’s album: The Legend of Kung Folk. I Shazaam’d a song from a movie the other night and promptly downloaded the entire album. Love.

2) Magic Bullet. Despite the faat that the name makes it sound like a vibrator, this thing is awesome. My mother in law gave it to us for Christmas. I had long been lusting after one, but we had a fully functioning blender so… anyhoo, we have protein smoothies every morning and this is way less hassle than the blender. Plus, Leila loves her a smoothie, so she’s been enjoying it too. (Alena can’t deal with “stuff” her in soft things – yogurt, smoothies, etc. So she doesn’t dig the smoothies.)

3) Mr. Clean Magic Eraser. Unfortunately, I’ve long given up on environmentally friendly cleaning products in my bathroom. I just don’t find that they work. After a few weeks, it’s all soap scum and mildew. I use damp cloths to dust, safe cleaner for the kitchen and environmentally friendly floor cleaner, but it’s all bleach and foaming bubbles in our bathrooms. Anyway, due to our lack of bathroom fan (and possibly a broken air exchange), our bathroom was gross. I was at the point of embarrassment about it. Anyway, I attached it with a magic eraser and couldn’t believe the results. I’ve been cleaning the tub and corners (problem areas) about twice a month with a magic eraser and the mold/mildew/soap scum are pretty much gone. Ama-za-zing! (They are on the expensive side, and I use one per bathroom scouring. But! They wipe crayons and mysterious marks off walls with zero elbow grease.)

What about you? Anything you’re loving on lately?

I’ve been thinking about writing this post for a long time now, but I’ve never been able to get it down the way I wanted. Here goes nothing.

Two things for the back story: 1) Anyone who reads here regularly knows that I am opposed to the objectification of women and that I believe that the over-sexualization of women is a negative trend in our society. 2) Steve and I went to a strip club together in Ottawa last September.

Here’s the surprising thing: the strip club didn’t offend me. Like, at all. I mean, it was kind of fun. I had long been curious about what they were actually like as opposed to what you see on tv (conclusion: pretty much the same), but was also curious about what my reaction would be. Would I feel uncomfortable? Sorry for the girls? Embarrassed? Scornful?

While I was a little uncomfortable at first (helloooooo vaginas!), once that went away, I started thinking about it. And Steve and I talked about it a lot too.

In a vacuum, there was nothing “wrong” with what those women were doing. I think that, as a society, we are afraid of our sexuality. Of all sexuality. It’s why we slut-shame and it’s why we hate on players and it’s why we force ourselves into monagamy. I’m not saying these things don’t apply to me, obviously monogamy works for me and my relationship and I don’t want anything else. But maybe the problem with strippers is how everyone else perceives them.

Maybe women get into stripping for the wrong reasons. Maybe they have issues with self-worth or abuse in their past or have alcohol/drug abuse problems, I don’t know. But, at the end of the day, what I asked myself, and what I’ve been asking myself since, is Why are we so afraid of vaginas?

It can be hard to trust that your partner will want to come home to you if you start comparing yourself to smooth vaginas on a stage, or hot co-workers, or old flames, even if your partner is trust worthy, if you’re living in a shell of fear. And I relate to that so much, because it often feels that I lack a true and pure belief in my own beauty and sexuality. And of course it’s uncomfortable to think about your partner fantasizing about other women while they masturbate or (worse) having sex with you, but from a purely logical point, fantasy doesn’t really affect reality, so long as your relationship is loving and supportive and the lines of communication are open.

I’m not saying that everyone should spend their lunch hours at a strip club, I’m not saying that I wouldn’t feel a sting of jealousy if Steve had a strip club habit. I don’t have any conclusion here, except to say that I had a completely different reaction than I expected. And that while it was kind of fun, the drinks were way to expensive to go on a regular basis.

I signed up for this virtual half marathon through Nike+ (a running GPS pace/route/distance tracker gadget I use). Run 21.1k on January 15 and receive a bracelet! Plus $10 of the registration fee goes to the Leukemia Lymphoma Society!

I signed up because it sounded like a good excuse to get out for a long run. I booked the babysitter and then registered and then she cancelled cause she was sick. My good friend offered to watch the kids for a couple of hours while I hit the road, so around 2:30, I laced up my sneakers and thanked her profusely and headed out into the cold (COLD! SERIOUSLY!).

Sometimes when I run alone for a long time, I talk to myself. I bring up shit that’s been bothering me and figure out a way to get rid of it. Or I tell myself positive things about myself (You are worthy. You are loving. You are strong.). Sometimes, like today, I turn up the music and tune out and just get all zen with the pounding of my feet on the ground.

It’s been a very long time since I’ve done a long run, solo, and man. I needed it. As I ran, I wondered if the fact that a two hour run is sometimes the only thing that can clear my head was a touch on the drastic side, but ultimately, I figured it’s a healthier escape than vodka.

I’m so hard on myself. Insanely hard. I’m critical and unforgiving and sometimes, just downright mean. One of the things that the therapist I was seeing last year tried to get me to do was to pretend that I was someone else and think about what I would say to her (mother of two, long distance runner, fit, active, healthy, student, run coach). Would I be so critical of the grubby corners in her bathroom? I hated that exercise. It seemed… stupid to me. It may have been because logically, I see that my criticisms are too harsh and wasn’t really ready to face that. Plus, what the hell does someone else’s bathroom matter to me? Or their grades? I only care about my own.

Then we tried an exercise where she played Devil’s Advocate, telling me why I was a crappy person/useless and I was supposed to defend myself. That one went over like a lead balloon. I opened and closed my mouth silently, like a fish, as she prodded me along into what she thought was a great exercise. After that session, I got into my car and burst into tears. (Who can’t defend themselves in a pretend situation? WHO??)

What ended up working for me was a mantra that I created. I am worthy of love. I’ve written here before about how I arrived at that conclusion, so I won’t go into detail. Last winter, I spent five minutes everyday writing that mantra in my notebook. On my strong days, I elaborated and got into more detail. Not so much a list of my accomplishments (listing those has never seemed to help me feel better, unfortunately), but reasons why my life is valuable.

I thought about this a lot while I was running today, because I’ve been toying with the idea of going back to therapy. It did what I needed at the time last winter, but to be honest, I never really clicked with the woman I was seeing. I think that there is still some self-esteem work I could benefit from.

When I get really blue, it’s hard for me to remember why I’m lovable at all. I can’t fathom any way in which I add value to anyone’s life other than a cook and warm pussy. Granted, I don’t get really blue very often, but after I come out of it, it’s always a little upsetting looking back. Plus, when you’re mean enough to yourself to bring you to tears, it takes time to get over those words.

For me, it’s physical. That’s where I focus the hate. I won’t bother going into the list of dreaded details I’ve thought this week, but the reality is that this weekend I cleaned the house (bathrooms, dusted, vacuumed, mopped, de-cluttered), did laundry, sat on the floor and played with my kids, took them to see my younger brother before he headed back to BC, made a healthy and home cooked meal, gave my husband a blow job, and then ran a half marathon for shits and giggles. And yet, somewhere in my mind are thoughts about not being a good mother/wife/caretaker, about being weak, fat, ugly, worthless. The reality and my reality are so glaringly different, it’s no wonder that Steve is left baffled and frustrated by it all.

Anyway, the whole point of this was that I think I left most of it out on the road today. The pat-pat-pat-pat of my sneakers on the uneven asphalt and the music in my ears and the huff-huff-huff and cold pushed it out. It’s pretty damn hard to feel weak and sad when you’re running up a long, steep hill on kilometre 15 of a 21k run.

So, as you may have gathered from my last post, I kind of had a shitty week. It was the worst one in a while, to be honest. I had been feeling really positive about my lack of anxiety since I had come off the pill and had even made it through a couple of months without any nightmares. I bit my tongue a lot and so Steve and I didn’t actually end up in a fight, but I struggled with some really dark thoughts.

After a helpful email from a friend, I have a grocery list of supplements (cal/mag and EPO – the female wonder drug I’m starting to realize) and some optimistic hope for next month.

Other than that, I made myself a mammoth to-do list for school for the next three weeks and it made me tired just looking at it (So. Much. Reading.). I’m trying to stay focused on the finish line (June!) and stay positive about the fact that at least now I’m taking classes with 21 year olds instead of 18 year olds who for the most part, want to be there, and the classes are taught by profs who, for the most part, actually enjoy the subject (as opposed to the first/second year courses that get dolled out by the department chair to profs and are perceived as professor detention or something).

Steve is in the process of applying for an Executive MBA, which means that classes are two weekends a month and it’s geared towards professionals with lots of work experience. We went to an info session this week and two grads of the program spoke. While I think it’s something that Steve will really enjoy and thrive while completing (not to mention that it’s basically essential for him to have an MBA to get to where he wants to go, career-wise), I was shocked at how un-me the whole thing was. It was all “A Type Personalities” and executives and basically it’s a program designed for over-achievers. It got me to thinking, because I am totally *not* an A Type personality, about how our society sees people and what we (collectively) value.

To be honest, I’ve never even heard any descriptions for any type of personality other than A, so I don’t know if there’s a B, C, D, etc. I wonder where I fall on that spectrum, though. I took a Myers Briggs test for one of my classes this week, and I came back as an “ESFJ” (which means Extrovert, Sensing, Feeling, Judging). Also labelled as a “Provider” (under the label Guardian). Basically it said that I love to organize events and things, want to help people and make their life easier, have strong ties to family traditions and crave praise. Made sense to me. (I need me some Gold Stars from people I love.) (I should totally make myself a sticker chart.)

I amazes me sometimes, how extremely different Steve and I are. Yes, of course, I think that our core values are the same, but our ambitions, passions, methods are so different, sometimes I wonder how we even get along at all (let alone rarely fight). I commented last night that maybe it would be better if I were an A type Personality, and he scoffed. No it wouldn’t. We need balance. If the world was all A type personalities, what a shitty place it would be. And plus, what I love about you is that you’re you, I don’t want you to be anyone else. Sure I may have been fishing for compliments, but I guess it’s true. We need providers and people who want to organize their kids’ shelves more than joining the masses at 7:30 and 5:30 each day for a slow and steady commute. Although it can be hard for me to remember to state my own value to myself, I guess I should work a little harder at doing it. Usually running and laughing and playing with my kids keeps me feeling happy and grateful, but not always. And when I start to feel blue, it is so much easier to let myself fall down that slide than to stop the inertia and try to climb back up.

I went shopping with my mom yesterday and bought this winter jacket. Navy blue, down filled, kind of stylish, big collar… It looked great in the store but then by the time I wore it out today I felt silly. Puffy and silly.

Am I the only one who struggles with this? Left to my own devices, I’d be a hoodie habitating jeans wearing hiking boot rockin’ 30 year old. Due to pressure from outside sources (society, my mother), I feel like I should wear “nicer” more flattering things. Make up. Push up bras. Puffy jackets with boarder line awkwardly large collars.

Admittedly, this whole jacket thing could have more to do with the fact that I was skin-crawlingly anxious today (helloooooo monthly detested enemy friend who predictably reeks havoc on my self esteem and sense of sanity).

By ten o’clock, when I realized I was on the verge of tears, I quickly pulled on my running gear and bolted out the door. Pause anxiety for three hours. By three o’clock, it had reared it’s ugly head once more and I banged out a short but intense leg workout at the gym before getting the kids.

When I exercise in amounts that could, by some, be defined as obsessive, just to maintain a state of “not ready to scream or cry at any given moment” it does make me feel a little…. desperate. Most weeks fly by without so much as a shiver of skin crawling down my arms, with the coldness in my chest as nothing but a memory. And then for about ten days every month, I’m a cold-chested (not to be confused with cold hearted), tembly handed, skin crawling shell of who I really am. Exercise works, meditation works, but it’s all temporary. And I’m tired of it.

I’ve been off the pill for eight(ish) months and it is so much better than it used to be. The anxiety isn’t as bad or as long lasting. But it’s still there. There are still upsetting dreams about divorce every month. There are still horrible thoughts about myself, my body, my worth, my intelligence. (What am I offering? What do I even matter? I am completely replaceable. I am fat.)

There’s got to be something, some herb or supplement worth trying.

Because I am so, so tired of being this person that is constantly switching between flying high and crashing low.

Today was the first day of classes this term (which is actually a lot less exciting than it sounds as one class was cancelled and the other involved the prof telling us all how mature we were and then reading the syllabus word for word to us while I tried not to die of boredom). Anyhoo, nothing much is shaking ’round these parts.

I’ll be taking two classes online from a distance university this term. The good news is that I only have to take one class in May and then I’ll be burning my books (figuratively, of course. Those suckers are expensive!), the boarder line crappy news is that they are Independent Study classes which means that sometime between February 1 and July 1 I have to do the work they send me. I’m trying to be optimistic and believe that I actually have enough self-discipline to get this done but uh… we’ll see.

Steve and I are heading to Sugarloaf in February with two friends. I can barely snowboard and the other three range from awesome to pretty good, so I’m a little nervous about it, to be honest. Steve and I made big plans to get out to the hill here (it’s small but at least it’s something) but it’s been so insanely mild that I don’t even think the hills are open. Alas, it looks like I’ll be rocking the Bunny Hill while the other three explore the wild outdoors but hey, the package that we bought entitles me to some free lessons and here’s hoping that the instructor is some hot Swede named Sven who buys me G&T’s after the lesson is over.

Also (and this is STUPID) but the other girl we’re going with, despite being a huge sweetheart, also totally rocks 6-pack abs and I’ve kind of secretly been dreading the hot-tub. (It’s probably nothing that those G&T’s won’t take care of – the self-consciousness I mean.)

Anyway, school is still quite so I’m trying to make sure that laundry and meals and cleaning gets done so that at least when things go to shit around here during mid-terms, I’ve got a bit of a buffer zone and don’t feel so hopeless and get that “I’m Almost Drowning But Not Quite” feeling (hahaha just kidding I always get that feeling the last four weeks of term).

In other (unrelated) news, I’m seriously conidering doing a yoga teacher training course next year. It would be a good spiritual journey to take and also, combined with my Personal Fitness Training I’m planning on getting, it just may go a long way in biting the bullet and starting my own company one day. (Or not! You know! Not committing to anything here!)

Enough ramblings! I’m off to stretch, do some planks and drink some herbal tea (wild, I know).