{by Deb at Missives From Suburbia}

“Have a good day,” the guy says, as he pushes the button and closes the hatch, securing my groceries, my husband’s SCUBA gear, and a cacophony of motherhood-related paraphernalia that whispers to me about who I’ve become.

That guy — the one manning the drive-through grocery pick-up — doesn’t know what or who I once was, and it doesn’t matter. But the summer breeze carries the memories he doesn’t, and today it chides me. “I matter,” it says.

Even as I forget to take the long way home and avoid the lake traffic (such a simple thing to remember!), the vaguest details of my prior life waft through the open car windows and dance with a flurry of dog hair that springs from my dashboard. They badger me to go. Go again. Go now. Go fast. Just go.

My carriage, so natural then, still comes easily, but it’s a more practiced, more mindful pursuit, not quite forced. The cadence of my breath is an outpouring, no longer a meditation. Creaks and cricks pulse where none existed before. All as it should be; after all, I have run only once in the past four years.

I never liked the heat and how it smothered me, coaxing me to quit, snaking its way around my chest and daring me to take another breath. Today is not hot. Today is, in fact, perfect, and my shoes call to me.

I have cheated time. Yes, that’s a confession. A toe-touch away from 40 and a newly-minted mother to two late in life, I still have a runner’s build. The muscles return with little effort; they are not as twitchy as they once were, and they lie hidden under a layer of loosening skin and last night’s pasta, but they are still there and still formidable when pushed. Absolute truth be told and modesty aside, I’m not built much differently than I was in my late-20s, even if my body doesn’t fully remember those days and its accomplishments. But the trials of birth and mothering have armed me with a deliberate strength I never had before, a resolve that bridges the gap between what was and what is.

There are few photos of my previous life’s hobbies. I showed up on race day, sleep still in my eyes, did what had to be done, then puttered home to resume my normal life, with my hamstrings a little tighter and my mind a little freer. I went alone, because crossing the finish line is a solitary pursuit, and I have never had much interest in sharing my wins and losses. All but the most prized t-shirts have been discarded, along with a different marriage, a long career, and vast time to spare.

It will surprise some people to learn that I’ve run marathons. It seems laughable that I can’t remember how many, when they once represented so much to me. In that gap of memory, it seems that I’ve forgotten who I once was and what I did, no more knowledgeable about myself than the guy at the grocery store. But the breeze off Lake Calhoun reminded me today, and when this cough disappears (yet another affront to my youth), my body will remember, too. Even if I have to make it.

{Originally posted on From the Cheap Seats}

I was hunched over, my hands on my knees and my breath escaping in small bursts. I looked up and watched her as she continued on. She was like a machine, her arms and legs moving forward in a silent rhythm.

“She’s an elite runner, you know,” he said. His gruff voice forced me up. I held the heaving breaths and busied my shaking hands by brushing the snow from my sweatshirt. The pains in my side subsided, pushed out by an undefinable shame.

I wasn’t good enough.

I was a runner in grade school and high school. Running drove me, it fed a need I never quite understood. I had such a passion for the feel of sweat dripping down my back, the heaving of my chest, the tightness in my legs. I felt alive. And when I crossed a finish line, taking the #1 stick or reaching for the first place ribbon, I was alive. I was most definitely good enough.

College was different. I wasn’t the superstar runner. I was a struggling freshman who had no idea what she was doing. Who packed on extra weight, got a first boyfriend, lost her first boyfriend all while navigating the campus as a socially awkward entity waiting for a clue.

But that’s just an excuse. The truth–I simply wasn’t good enough.

“Some people are just born to run,” my coach continued as the snow began to drift across the track. “You’ll be a good running partner for her. Once you get into shape, ” he added smugly, mercilessly. My eyes followed her as she ran passed us, the snow politely parting for each footfall.

It was one of our very first practices of the season. My coach had already lost faith in me. I had lost faith in myself. Suddenly, I didn’t want to run anymore.

But I did. I ran because I had to. I ran because he said I wasn’t good enough. I ran because I had to show him that I was.

Every day I ran. Before practice. After practice. Weekends. I pushed my body until it begged for a reprieve–and even then, I pushed harder. There was little doubt that I was improving. But coach never noticed. He was working with the elite runners. And when his eyes did drift over in my direction, I knew what he was thinking, “Why does she even bother?” Some days, I wondered the same thing.

Short of drinking a raw egg, I was Rocky. Theme songs bumped around in my head, forcing me to push my aching body just one more mile. Just. One. More.

Trying hard now
it’s so hard now
trying hard now

{Originally posted on Fitness For Mommies}

A silly post for all the things I’d like to see invented for the active, athletic mom that I am.

1. I am an avid exerciser and need to wear my heart rate monitor when I run. HOWEVER, I always get nasty welts/blisters/chaff burns from the combination of the strap and the jog bra. The bra must be moisture-wicking, BOMB proof, and does not chaff my arm holes either. As yet, my best bra (CW-X extra Firm hold) does not solve the HR monitor strap problem.

2. A cup holder for my Mountain Bike. We do a lot of riding around town on the weekends and I’d surely would appreciate a way to cruise home with my speciality drink held securely on my bike. No spillage allowed.

3. Flash cards. I need flash cards that are laminated, BOMB proof (nobody can destroy them) for weight training. I have the equipment, I can carve out the time, but, I need routines written down and illustrated for me. Something I could grab and go do! Preferably the cards would come with multiple routines with various levels from beginner to advanced.

4. A DateBook. I need a datebook that has a calender, blank pages to write down all the food I put in my mouth, tracking of my workouts, as well as space for grocery lists, to do lists, etc.. It needs to be stylish looking on the outside- but very functional on the inside.

5. Stylish clothing for bike commuting that are also incredibly functional. My Lole top worked great today because I realized it had a pocket in the back for my cell phone. However, my really cute skort shorts were too short underneath- which lead to my inner legs to rub on the saddle- ouch!