Falling and Getting Back Up and Falling and...

Our family recently went ice skating.  It was the kids' third time ever, my second, and Derek's hundredth.  Or something.  The point is, he's been a lot, the children and I have not.

As such, Derek is very steady on his skates.  Adelaide and I actually skate quite well, for novices, whereas Caedmon takes a while to master his fear and let go of the wall.

Atticus, meanwhile, continually hurls himself across the rink at high speeds, inevitably falling in a flailing and sprawling of limbs. He is never seriously hurt, usually smiling as he gets back up.

Taking a break between skating/falling/skating/falling.

I, on the other hand, fell twice in the two hours we were there, and now have a bump at the base of one of my fingers, where digit meets palm, which hurts when pressed on, and which one of my friends has given a layman's diagnosis of a bone chip caused by these falls.  This is apparently the difference that 25 years makes in falling.

Just a few years ago I was pretty good at falling; I had frequent practice, tripping every few months while walking or running throughout my life, and had learned a way to not fall quite so hard.  With increased yoga practice, though, my balance has improved dramatically, to the extent that I can no longer recall the last time I fell.  Barring the time I strapped blades to my feet and went coasting along on a sheet of ice, of course.

I've been reading a lot about falling lately, in large part due to this book that we got at the library several months ago.

I don't think I'm within the intended audience age bracket for this book, but I can't help it:  I still found it helpful, and it's caused me to re-evaluate the way I do a number of things in my life.  I think my favorite part is that the author recruited a group of women, who call themselves "goldeners" and who are all over 70, all of whom went through Bowman's program and benefited greatly from it.  There are sections throughout the book written by these women, where they talk about what led them specifically to the program, or about things they found they could no longer do, and how the exercises or shifts in movement helped them, along with any number of other things that I can't think of without the book in front of me.  In short:  it is so good.

In the book Bowman states that fear of falling is just as crippling as actual falling and outlines a series of exercises addressing this, which I apparently need to incorporate into my daily routine.   Also, I want to take one of the classes featured in this New York Times article.  Do you think they'd let me in?  And who wants to pay for my flight to the Netherlands so I can fall with the elderly?  That's not a euphemism.  

For now I'll just treat every run as an opportunity to potentially practice my falling; we've been covered in snow and ice for a while now, with only a couple days above freezing to allow any melting.  I've tried running on the treadmill at our local gym, but anything more than ten minutes on those things makes me want to go full Office Space- Printer on them.

Yes, that is an imperfect analogy, as the treadmills don't enrage me by malfunctioning; I just can't abide spending copious amounts of time on them without being overcome with feelings of worthlessness and resultant, irrational anger, usually going something like this: "I'm not going anywhere.  I'm not getting any of the benefits of being outdoors.  This entire enterprise is utterly meaningless.  Life is meaningless." 

So, I run outside, even though yes, it is very cold out.

At that point I find I have exorcised what may be some underlying anger issues for yet another day.   Life once again has meaning!  Huzzah!  

Summer Break: Day the First

Caedmon came downstairs this morning wearing shorts and a tank top and shivering.  "Why is it so cold?" he asked as he chattered his way over to me and tried to steal what little warmth I had by wrapping his skinny arms around me.

"Because it's 55 degrees outside."

"But it's SUMMER VACATION!"  He was adorably indignant.  Don't tell him I said that.  He still hates to be called adorable or any of its synonyms.  Even if he is, especially like just now, when he came inside telling me he's scared to go back out into the shed.  When I asked him why, he said that "I heard a rumbling sound while I was in there!"

"What do you think it was?"

"Well, it was either my stomach, or something scary.  So I'm not taking any chances."

Okay.


In end of school year news, all of our children survived.  Adelaide won the fifth grade spelling bee.  I was delighted for her.  She was conspicuously underwhelmed.

Atticus ran 32 miles throughout the spring in Mileage Club, an activity sponsored by a local hospital where volunteers track how many miles participating students choose to run at recess.  It's his highest mileage to date, and he is thrilled.

Okay, so this isn't exactly his thrilled face, but you get the idea.

As a matter of fact, this is his first season to make it to 25 miles, finally earning him the eye-searing t-shirt above.  When I asked him if he was excited to finally get that t-shirt, his answer was, "Kind of.  I'm kind of excited about it, but kind of not, because I know when I grow out of it, Caedmon will get to wear it even though he didn't earn it."

I probably should have tossed some parental pearls of wisdom his way, but I couldn't as I totally get what he's saying.  I feel the same thing when I see leftover marathon finishers' tech shirts at athletic outlet stores, wondering who the heck would buy those when they're clearly meant for people who actually finished those specific races?

Adelaide had a couple music concerts, including band.

We got to watch her perform on a variety of percussion instruments.  She still enjoys band, and we enjoy watching her.  My eardrums already seemed less likely to spontaneously implode out of sheer self defense at this concert compared to her first five months ago.  Apparently elementary school band members improve at a rapid rate- well, that and they already shed the people who quickly discovered they didn't want to be there.

Caedmon was dragged around to this and all kinds of other events:  the life of the third child.

The boys are currently attempting to dislodge a badminton birdie (shuttlecock?  Is that the right word?  I feel like I could be making that up) from the roof of the shed, so when, just now, I heard what sounded like a gunshot echoing through our neighborhood, I jolted out of my chair and out the door to make sure our boys weren't responsible for said noise.  Never mind that we don't actually own a gun, or that they're using a jump rope to coax the birdie off roof; I feel like stranger, more inexplicable things tend to happen when they're within four feet of each other.  Gah, my heart is still racing.

I guess it really is summer vacation.

Three Rivers Trail Half Marathon Race Recap, with Loosely Related Gifs

My goals for the half marathon I ran over the weekend, in descending importance:

1. Not have an asthma attack.
2. Treat it as something I get to do, not have to do, because for crying out loud that is what it is.
3. Run a smart race; specifically, not get caught up in the energy at the start line and go out too fast, fuel appropriately throughout, do frequent checks on my form to keep myself light and upright.  
4. Do my best in whatever circumstances I find myself in Saturday morning.
5. Beat my previous half marathon time.
6. Finish somewhere around the two hour mark.
7. *Secret stretch goal* Finish under two hours.

Let's break it down.

The list, I mean.  Although if it's hammer time and you want to break it down, I say do it.

1.  Remember two years ago when I had an awful asthma attack around miles 4 through 7 of my first half mary and it slowed me waaaaay down and I wanted to die and the whole running+asthma thing wore me out so badly I got home, went straight to bed, and slept like the dead for two hours?

I do.  I remember that.

Asthma isn't something that's easily controllable in the moment; I mean, that's kind of the nature of the beast.  There are things I can do to set myself up for asthma success (or... something), however, like doing my best to remain calm, taking my allergy meds, and keeping my inhaler with me.  Allergy pill an hour pre-race: check; inhaler in my fuel pouch thingy: check; remaining calm: well, that one's more or less on Mindy, my amazing friend who informed me a week ago she would be accompanying me to my race, even though it meant getting up before 5 AM and dedicating the bulk of her Saturday to an event she wasn't even participating in.  Having her to talk to in the car for the hour and a half drive there kept me calmer than anything, as it prevented me from dwelling in a pit of race anxiety and despair.

2.  Between various small injuries and an autumn jam-packed with change (all three kids in school, going from staying at home for ten years to two part-time jobs, etc, etc) and just being plain tired, I was feeling pretty burnt out on running.  I still loved it, but I was feeling more resentment than excitement over this stupid meany race I'd signed up for many moons ago.  This is ridiculous because NO ONE WAS MAKING ME DO THIS.  This one basically involved remembering gratitude and keeping the following in mind:

3.  I was in the middle of the pack at the starting line, and as soon as the gun went off (aka the app blared on the race director's phone, as this was a pretty small race), I was passed by a large number of the people running for the first half mile or so.  The following three miles, I stayed in the same position relative to all the other runners, then spent the remaining ten miles slowly passing most of those people who went out way too fast at the start.  This was exactly what I wanted to do, so hallelujah and pass the peaches.

My fueling was perfect thanks in large part to the race fuel fairy/ my friend Anne, who surprised me by dropping off a baggie of goodies at my front door last week.  Included was a packet of Huma gel, and as I discovered at mile 6 Saturday morning, this is my new favorite running gel.  I've tried GU, and it's fine, I've tried Clif gel, and the caffeine in it makes my stomach cramp, I've tried gummy bears, and while those work for me on my training runs, I've discovered I am unable to chew and run with any speed at the same time [insert walking and chewing gum joke here].  SO if you are a runner or endurance athlete-type person with a gut that is such a diva you've considered naming it after one of the Kardashians, I (and Anne the Wonder Triathlete!) recommend Huma.  Also of note is that the consistency of Huma is considerably less nasty than that of GU, at least to my palate.



4.  Stomach, weather, whatever, I wanted to make the best of whatever circumstances happened to occur Saturday morning, all toward that same goal of not being a miserable cow.  It's a good goal.



5 & 6.  My previous half marathon PR (personal record, rubes) wasn't great, due to the asthma and it being my first race, thus having no earthly idea what I was doing.  My primary goal in that race was to finish.  Fine, mission accomplished.  Anytime someone asked what time I was aiming for (as people are wont to do, I have found), my answer was around two hours.  I felt these were reasonable goals and well within my abilities.



7.  The goal I felt I could only accomplish if circumstances lined up and I had a great day was to finish in less than two hours.  Still within reach, but not if my stomach was acting up or it was raining or windy or the course was unexpectedly hilly or treacherous or strewn with hinkypunks.  I averaged a pace a bit under nine minutes per mile and finished comfortably under two hours, beating my previous time by 26 minutes.  This is a slow pace to many runners, but not this one. All this meant the first several miles felt great, the middle few miles still felt pretty good, and the final few felt hard up to the end, where believe me, I was toast.  But mentally, I was doing this:

Matter of fact, I still can't do that because HOLY HAMSTRINGS.  SO SORE.  Also I am not M.C. Hammer.  M.C. Hammerstrings?




Big fat juicy thanks to Derek for never ever ever complaining when I want/need to go for a run- even the multiple-hour ones that take up so much of our Saturday mornings;

to my mom for watching over our chitlins race morning and going above and beyond the call of duty by taking them to IHOP for breakfast, then shoe shopping, then walking on a nature trail, then introducing them to the wonders of Miracle on 34th Street when I made it perfectly clear she was welcome to just park them in front of the tv whilst I was running and Derek and Mark were golfing,

to Mindy for getting up hours before sunrise to distract me from my own horrible brain and being on the course at mile 3 to take my various layers I was suddenly too hot for and throwing at her feet, then at mile 12-point-something to take my phone because it was suddenly too heavy to carry anymore, then cheering and yelling me across the finish line, along with innumerable pep talks and being a darn good friend,

to Anne for the race treats and encouraging texts mid-race and always being willing to accept with good humor the unflattering selfies I take mid-run, along with innumerable pep talks and being a darn good friend,

to Derek's mom Becky for giving up her Saturday morning to drive up to the race and cheer me on, even though it wasn't the kind of course that easily allows for spectators and it took quite a bit of effort on her part for just a few seconds of "Hi, Kristy!" that nonetheless were encouraging to me,

to all the other people I'm forgetting because I'm a terrible person, and to you, because how on earth are you still reading this?,

and

to chocolate chunk brownies, forever and ever, amen.

All right, so these clearly aren't chocolate chunk brownies, but this *is* a gif that apparently has a subliminal image of historically-inaccurate white-skinned, blue-eyed Jesus.  HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO RESIST?

Four Things

• This week Facebook reminded me how much I love- and have always loved- to torture our children.

Four years ago I took that picture of almost-two-year-old Caedmon, despite the fact that he was getting annoyed with the camera in my hands.  These days, if they do not want me to snap a photo, I desist and find more creative ways to irritate them.  I don't know why I so delight in these kids of ours' angry faces, but man, do I.  Look at his little face!  He's always been something of an intense creature, which probably helps explain my frequent urge to lighten the mood.  If anything, our children should leave this nest someday knowing not to take themselves too seriously.  I have no regrets.  (So far.)

• My pumpkins are finally ripening!

I was so excited by the Long Island Cheese heirloom pumpkins that Adelaide felt the need to make fun of my gourd-inspired jubilation, as seen in the above photo.  I was tempted to respond to her mockery by saying things like, "Nobody appreciates my pumpkin-growing prowess!" or maybe "You're grounded!" but given my previously mentioned delight in poking fun at our children, I really felt like I had no place in disciplining our children for behavior they may or may not have learned from a certain Gourd Growing Queen (long may she reign).  (I am also obviously more than capable of encouraging myself in my gardening pursuits, and can withstand all manner of taunts from certain snarky daughters.)

Hello, beautiful pumpkin plant curlicue-thing!

• My trail half marathon is three weeks from today.  This means that this morning was one of my last long runs of the year, which makes me holler "HAL-LE-LU-JAH" because, as seen in this rare early morning picture of me... 

... I'm not much of a morning person.  

But then I get out the door, and, well, I'm actually still really cranky for the first couple miles.  Things always tend to get a little brighter once the sun comes up, though. (That one's for you, punny friends.)

I know this photo isn't nearly as pleasant for all the farmers who've experienced a delayed harvest this year due to an incredibly rainy September, so- sorry, farmers.  I love your work!  I also love sun over corn stalks, especially since I know that once that corn is gone, winter is not far away.  

• And now, because I always feel vaguely guilty when I have two of our children in one post but leave the third one out, here is a picture of Atticus reading in the van.

Four Things

I haven't done a list post in a long time, have I?  And it's perfect for the discombobulated state of my brain today!

• Despite the whole toe situation (broken?  dislocated?  Whatever, it still hurts, although not as badly, and continues to appear a bit misshapen), I managed to run in last weekend's 10k, and did it fast enough to get second in my age group, which netted me a medal and guilt-free eating of our kids' candy they got from the parade we watched later that morning.  One of the best parts of the morning was my friends not only showing up at the beginning of the race to cheer me on, but also veering over to Mindy's driveway- which is on the race route- to holler encouraging things, complete with inspiring and hilarious poster- when I had one last grueling mile left, then they darted to the end to be there as I crossed the finish line/mat/thing.  It was a day that turned out pretty great, which I did not expect given the fact that I couldn't fit my injured foot into two different pairs of shoes when getting ready for the race, and instead had to opt for my least favorite pair that makes me feel like my feet are slapping the ground but boasts a pretty wide toe box.  The day was capped off by Caedmon demonstrating he still likes to hold my hand when we're on the couch together.

Yikes- anyone else bothered by poor posture?  I just wanna crank his neck and shoulders into proper form.  Gently, of course; he is still the one kid who will run into my arms after school.  Atticus still wants a hug but he saunters toward me, no doubt ever aware of watching kids still on the bus (seriously, the stories Adelaide tells of the attention that kid gets... I'm always like, "I don't know what to do with this information,") or daughter, who lets me know she wants post-school affection by staggering and then falling onto me.  They're subtle, these children of ours.

• Our elder two children have begun mowing.  It is awesome.

Now I can do just enough mowing to get my fix- because I really do enjoy it- then when I get tired tell our kids it's time to build character and contribute to the household and stuff.  

• I haven't read Fannie Flagg in quite some time, but after recently reading The All-Girl Filling Station's Last Reunion, I'm wondering why that is.

Fannie Flagg has this strange and wonderful ability to take a story that's full of pretty serious stuff but make it entertaining and lovely.  It's tough trying to recommend it to other people, because you inevitably end up saying something like, "Oh, it's so good, about this daughter and her elderly mother who's actually pretty awful and their not-so-great relationship and how all these women were pilots in World War II but got, like, no credit for it, and this filling station that, well, actually had to close... but no, I'm not saying it right!  Somehow it's not depressing or dark or anything, you won't want to put it down, and you'll love the characters, and- DON'T YOU WALK AWAY FROM ME!"

So, yeah.  You should read it.

• Adelaide bought some face paint a couple weeks ago, and has painted her own and her brothers' faces multiple times since.

I like that this is something creative that they can all do together, and that they somehow don't fight during their fairly long painting sessions.  What I don't like is when Adelaide paints her face for the fifth or sixth time, washes it off a couple hours after application, before bedtime, and wakes up the next morning with a swollen, itchy, rash-covered face.  

Her eyes were the worst.  I checked with her before posting this photo, too, and she okayed it.

She insisted on going to school, as they were socializing guinea pigs in one of her classes, and no paltry allergic reaction (on her face) was going to come between her and holding small, furry animals.  She made it two and a half hours before the school nurse called, asking that I come get our daughter.  First full week of school and we already had a kid taking a sick day.  I have a feeling it's going to be a banner year.

Good Stretching and Bad Running

Recently a friend of mine asked if I'd be a guinea pig of sorts.  She's a physical therapist, and needed some of her runner friends to come in so she could practice getting video and analyzing exactly what's wrong with us (or... something).  She first said this is in a way that indicated I'd be doing her a huge favor.  Based on past race photos, I knew I had a janky stride and something was up with my form, so my response was something like, "Sure I'll help you out!  When do you want me to come in?  This afternoon?  How about right now?  Is yesterday too soon?"

So a couple days ago I went to her clinic and got to see my friend in all her Physical Therapist glory.  This was fun and unusual because normally we're all sweaty and in running clothes when we're together, or, as the case was last weekend when I went to watch her in a triathlon, I was in civilian clothes and she was in costume.  I think she said it's actually called a "kit" but growing up a dancer I'm much more comfortable with the term "costume."  It was the first triathlon I've ever attended, and after watching her and several hundred other sadists compete my thoughts were, "This is so cool!  So amazing!  So inspiring!  I would never ever ever do this to myself!"  I have read multiple times that triathletes suffer far fewer injuries than straight runners, but I have to think my lack of injuries would be a small comfort when I'm drowning in a lake trying to swim over a mile.

Anne had a student with her at the clinic, and they started by pumping my ego, oohing and aahing over my flexibility, diminished as it is by this hamstring injury I've been nursing for the past couple months.  Speaking of which, our middle child may look more like his daddy, but this kid's flexibility is courtesy of yours truly.

He's always been like this, too.  I mean, I know most babies and toddlers enjoy relative flexibility, but Atticus has always had crazy range of motion.

He frequently falls asleep like this,

and it's one of the first things we do when he's in the midst of a night terror- unfold his body from whatever position it's pretzeled itself into and back into a straight line. To a certain extent I can I understand this sleeping position, because every time I do this in yoga, I can feel myself begin to doze off if I stay here too long.

Then again, that might be the sleep deprivation talking.  (Photo by Atticus, who loves to hang out next to me while I do yoga, trying to imitate the poses, but always ends up lying on floor asking to take pictures.)



At the clinic, after testing my flexibility and strength, it was time to hop on the treadmill for a few minutes, followed by some outdoor running.  Then it was time to pop the helium-filled balloon that is my pride and gleefully watch it plummet to earth.  This was done by the time-honored way of watching a video of myself run

from behind

in slow-motion.


Gravity, thou art a cruel mistress.


In the end, I got to see how specifically wonky my stride is, and Anne gave me some great advice on things I can do to begin to correct it.  Why correct it?  Well, because that wonkiness likely led to my apparently-not-so-random hamstring injury.  Plot twist.

I've spent the last three days attempting to implement some of her exercises and tips, and as a result I feel much like this when I'm running:

At least the scenery's been pretty.  Run early enough and there are only trees out there to judge you.

There is a tree I avoid running past two blocks from our house, though, as the owner has attached a scary face to it.  It's one of those that you don't even notice until you're close enough to do one of these:

I keep meaning to take a picture of it, but I'm too scared to because two things are possible here:  1) This is a tree with an actual menacing face that grew out of it and it most likely does not care for scared runner paparazzi, and 2) the owner of the house and tree are people who do things like attach mean faces to their trees to frighten unsuspecting passersby.  One of these is admittedly more likely than the other.  Guess which one I believe to be true.  

Corn and Ice Cream, But Not Corn Ice Cream

Most of the time, when I'm on one of my longer runs, out on a trail, far from town, I find all the sky and cornfields and farms pretty.

I took this photo yesterday morning.  My brain allowed me to enjoy such scenery for right around three miles, when it then decided to bring up an image from this movie- you know, for fun.

Now, do I actually believe all those cornstalks I run past are sheltering The Children of the Corn, or that this corn can in some way be displeased with me?  Of course not!  (...Mostly.)

That being said, if a child ever did run out of the corn and into my path, I think it's safe to say I would have a fatal heart attack, whether they referred to me as an "Outlander" or not.  Still not sure why I don't run with pepper spray.

To distract myself from the prospect of He Who Probably Doesn't Walk Behind The Rows, I listened to a podcast where an ultra runner was interviewed about all kinds of stuff related to running super long distances- she was one of the top female finishers at Western States 100 this year- and one of the things she talked about was how ultra running strips a person, leaves them at their most raw and vulnerable, and exposes their truest self.

All I could think was that I feel the same way about watching people eat ice cream.

Look at that one in the middle.  He is not kidding around about getting that goodness into his mouth, and he tends to attack much of the rest of his life in the same way.  See?  Raw, exposing his truest self, and he didn't even half to run 100 miles to do it.  

So maybe I'm not meant to be an ultra runner, or even a long distance runner (discussing the fact that I don't currently have any ambitions to run a full marathon with my mother, her response was:  "I will come up there and hog tie you if you try to run that far."), but man, can I get after an ice cream cone. 

It's funny, my second thought upon finding this photo was, "Aw, look at seven-year-old Adelaide!" but my first was, "Mmm, I remember that strawberry rhubarb ice cream."

Sadly, one of the few really serious and devastating things that Iowa lacks is Braum's.

If you just gasped, all I can say is I know, right?  Feel sorry for me.

Thoughts by the Mile

Here's a taste of the things that rabbited through my brain on this weekend's long run.

Mile 1

It's so early.  It's so dark.  I hate running.  I hate waking up.  I hate everyone.  I hate myself.  Why do I do this?  At least it's not cold.  Yes, that's what I'll hang on to.  It is not cold, nor is it too hot.  And hey, there's Casey's.  Man, even Casey's isn't open yet!  There's just one car there; that must be the doughnut maker.  I salute thee, Morning Doughnut Artist, and shall pay my respects to your good establishment to taste your wares later!  I mean that in the least creepy way possible!







Mile 2

Ooooh, fog.  I love fog.  I don't love mornings, but I love fog.  And I guess I don't hate running.  Exactly.  

Mile 3

Okay, yes, finish this mile, and you're done with the first leg!  Remember, it's not 12 miles, it's four 3-mile runs you just happen to be doing in a row.  12 miles is overwhelming and tiring, but I can do 3 miles, right?  And look- more fog!  And corn!  I definitely don't hate running!

Mile 4

All right, first leg done, time to turn around and run right back.  Second three miles.  Hmm, it shouldn't feel this hard.  I'm only on mile 4, it definitely should not feel this hard already.  And- what was that?  Was that a twinge in my right hamstring?  It was, wasn't it?!  Dang it, I knew that injury was going to rear its ugly head on this run!

Mile 5

Hello, I-35!  My hamstring has calmed down, I-35, isn't that fantastic!  False alarm!  

WAIT.  Is that another runner?  It is.  Coming this direction.  Okay:  Man or woman?  Man or woman?  Please be a woman, please be a woman, please be a- craaaaap, it's a man.  Please don't be a rapist, please don't be a rapist, please don't be a rapist... hello, yes, we are waving, and I have my key sticking out between my knuckles and whoooo-boy my pace is soaring from all this adrenaline, aaaaand... he's past. 

Listen for footsteps.  Has he turned around to sneak up on me from behind?  WHY DO I NOT CARRY PEPPER SPRAY ON THESE RUNS?  Maybe albuterol would still sting a bit if I sprayed it in his eyes.  I'll just whip my head around quick to check-

and we're clear.  Not a rapist.  This time.  Note to self:  BUY PEPPER SPRAY.

Mile 6

Finish this mile and you're done with the second leg, halfway done overall!  Okay, you're getting ready to run past the house, check your supplies:  How are we doing on fluids?  Fine, not even halfway gone.  Do I need my hat?  Nah.  Whoops, I should have started in on my fuel already.  Gummy bears, yay!  Why is this kind so superior to other gummies?  Hmm.  Don't care.  Hey, look, a fox!  Two foxes!  Foxen?  Foxes?  Oxen but not foxen?  Don't care.

Mile 7

Okay, third three-mile run of the morning.  Finally starting to feel good.  No, now don't speed up just because you feel good, this is supposed be long and slow.  Finally, some for-real wind.  I love wind so much.  So so much.  And I love corn.  Hamstring feels good.  Well, okay...ish.  Good for a few more miles, anyway.  Hello to you, car, and to you, truck, and another truck, and another.  Thank you all for not hitting me.  I will wave to thank you for sparing my life.  Yes, hello, I realize it's not yet 6:30 AM and I am out here asking you not only to be awake and outside of your house but also not to kill me.  It's a lot, so hey- here's an extra wave.  You guys are the best.

Mile 8

Hey, look, it's me, I'm running!  Running with the corn.  Hey, remember last weekend when I waited way too long to start my run, and didn't set out until 9:30 AM, and wanted to die for two straight hours?  That was awful.  Okay, check the time, make sure I don't need to turn back early, gotta be back in time for Derek to head out for his golf tournament.  Nope, I'm good.  Another mile and I'm done with the third leg!

Mile 9

Look, a deer hanging out by the corn!  And sun!  Oh, yikes, sun.  Bright sun.  Maybe I should have grabbed that hat.  Who cares, there's my watch beeping, that's nine miles completed, which means Hallelujah, I'm officially on my final leg of the day!  I have run nine miles and have three to go!  Wait, no, my brain does not care for that information, it says, "Nine miles?  If we've already run nine miles, then surely it is time to be done.  No more miles for us."  So, fine, I'm on a three mile run, that's all.

Mile 10

I feel like I feel too good.  Something must be wrong.  I'm about to pass out, aren't I?  My brain has lost all connection to my body.  It is the only explanation.  Keep eating, keep drinking, keep eating, keep drinking.

Mile 11

What is that giant crane doing out here, anyway?  What are they building?  Almost done.  Almost done.  Last bit of gravel, and here's the highway.  Maple cake dougnut.  Maple cake dougnut.  Maple cake doughnut.

Mile 12

Done!  Haha, screw all that three-miles-four-times crap, I just ran twelve miles, and I don't feel like dying!  Oh, except I can't stop moving.  Don't stop, and certainly don't sit.  If you sit, you will never get back up again.  Quick, stretch a bit before all your muscles seize up.  Time for a doughnut and a rest day.  All the hallelujahs.

Recovery Days Are Vital

Today is one of those that didn't really have a beginning, as last night blurred and bled through to this morning.  Such is the case when you're up close to a dozen times to calm your screaming, night terror-stricken child.  The past couple weeks have been a waxing period of terrors, with last night being the worst so far in this cycle, so my hope is that they'll begin to wane from here and we'll all get a nice recovery period.  

Gracious, sometimes my senseless optimism appalls even me.

Completely, totally me today.

So we're sticking close to the house today, because to do otherwise would be folly, especially for anyone unlucky enough to cross my path and say such provoking things as "Hello," and "Good to see you!"  

At some point during the night/morning/day/what does time even mean anymore, I decided to just give it up and go for a run.  I'd planned on a morning run, anyway, to stay ahead of the heat.

This ended up being a good idea for two important reasons:  I got to bear witness to another summer sunrise over Iowa, and I had so much cranky frustration still sizzling over me at my turn-around point I decided to run an extra couple miles, leaving all that emotional tar smeared over the trail rather than on our children.  I got home and collapsed for a couple blissful hours, as said children are finally getting the hang of sleeping in.  Kind of.  

After so many years, I've got a pretty decent formula for what our day needs (yes, needs) to look like after a bad, bad night.  Everyone gets more chores than usual, which perhaps doesn't sound like the ingredients for a magical childhood but hello, have you seen Mary Poppins?  That chick knew what she was talking/singing about.  I give a rousing speech on pulling together and working hard and the importance of contributing to our collective household, with the promise of an after-chore movie of my choosing, because there are perks to being the mother.  

Now, while I will not lead you to believe that the kiddos in question skip merrily around the domicile, sweeping and dusting, I will say that if we're all working at the same time, I get very little flack from said munchkins, and I'm in a way better mood when the house is in order, because if Momma ain't happy, etc, etc; the opposite is also true.  

It's Atticus's night to help with supper, so the bulk of his work was on supper prep.  He made his first blackberry cobbler, chosen because it's super simple and absolutely capable of being executed by a seven year old.  Please note that the blackberries contained therein are store-bought, as I am still shuddering over last week's wild berry incident.

He also made crock pot fixin's.  I didn't get a picture of those because they're not as exciting as cobbler.  I mean, what is?  

After all that, we settled down to watch The Wizard of Oz, which all of our children have either read or listened to on audiobook, but only Adelaide has seen the movie, and that was several years ago.

Two out of three Crisler offspring thoroughly enjoyed it.  That third one noted, "That's not what Kansas looks like!"  Then he cocked his head, squinted, and said, "Well, sometimes it does, a little."

Did you know that L. Frank Baum had never been to Kansas when he wrote The Wonderful Wizard of Oz?  He based his descriptions of my home state on his travels across Nebraska.  I have a decided opinion on this, but being a Christian woman, I can't say it.

Tomorrow we'll venture back out to the land of the living, hopefully at least marginally rested; I already feel better for our little mini-vacation/staycation.  Several times today I've given thanks for the fact that our lives have the flexibility to enjoy a day like this one when we need it.

On a barely related note:  How do you feel about this new term "staycation"?  I vacillate between almost liking it and wanting it to burn in modern vocabulary hell.