Running People

Tuesday, March 30, was one of those sunny, breezy days when the warmth of spring still feels novel. Adrian was engaged in one of her favorite games: "race". I stood at the edge of our driveway, the designated finish line (or maybe it was an aid station), and clapped and cheered. She ran to me, feigned exhaustion with heavy breaths, brushed her curly hair out of her eyes, gave me a hug, and then set out for the next leg of her race—away from me on the sidewalk.

On one of her return trips, Adrian came to a sudden stop when she laid eyes on the two neighbor kids, Maddie (4 years old) and Bubba (2, almost 3—only one day older than Adrian). I greeted their father and gave Adrian a nudge in their direction. Maddie, slender and about the same height as Adrian, reached out to put her arm around my daughter. "Do you want to come play with us, Adrian?" she asked. Adrian lowered her eyes and inched away slowly—almost imperceptibly—until she found the shelter of my legs. Bubba, also about Adrian's height but stocky and about 15 pounds heavier, looked up at me with a big grin and chortled.

The kids' dad and I talked. I paused during the conversation to pick a ladybug off my shirt and handed it to Adrian. She emerged from my shadow and her deliberate avoidance of the other kids and put the ladybug to task crawling all over her hands and arms.

She is a master ladybug wrangler.

The other two kids joined in, and within minutes they had found common ground. Although Adrian didn't speak a word, they exchanged knowing looks regarding the ways of the ladybug, and by the time the beetle flew away, I believe Adrian had become intrigued by these two smallish people in her driveway.

I saw a slow smile crinkle the corners of her mouth. She sidestepped one of Maddie's advances—four quick steps to the right. Maddie followed. Adrian took five steps in another direction. Maddie and Bubba followed. Her face broke into a wide grin: Now she knew what to do.

Adrian ran. And the kids ran with her.

Or, they tried. Bubba fell splat onto his belly, laughed loudly, and scrambled up to continue the pursuit. Maddie, who looked a little confused at what was happening, stayed on Adrian's heels. My daughter accelerated and quickly put distance between herself and the other kids. She changed direction without warning, throwing them off momentarily. The three moved in a pack of ever-changing size and shape. Sometimes they would be clumped one on top of the other, then Adrian would shoot off and run through open ground all alone while the other two scrambled to keep up.

I have been reading Christopher McDougall's Born to Run, the best-seller that focuses on a tribe of runners in the Copper Canyon of Mexico. One scene describes the Tarahumara children warming up before a day of school with a running game, covering great distances in a pack where the small kids run shoulder-to-shoulder with the big kids. I stood there and watched Adrian, and could imagine her running with those Rarámuri children: Her head turned alertly to keep an eye on her pursuers as she ran in the opposite direction; upper body straight and upright, arms relaxed, as her red-and-orange sundress swirled with her; long legs reached out strong and steady to carry her from concrete to the rough terrain of our yard, and her sandal-clad feet flexed and pushed her forward. Her movements were coordinated and calculated, but at the same time free and improvised. Her face was relaxed and glowing with what could only be described as joy.

When the other two kids grew tired of chasing Adrian, their father scooped them up and carried them back to their house.

"Can I play with them again?" Adrian asked me when they were out of earshot.

"Sure," I told her.

"Now?" she asked.

I smiled. "Maybe another day," I said.

"I want to run," said Adrian, and she took off running down the sidewalk in the direction of Maddie and Bubba's house. I jogged after her. By the time we got to their house, Maddie was riding her bicycle down a long stretch of sidewalk, with Bubba and her dad following close behind. Adrian stopped running and watched them go, a small distance growing between her and the bike. Then, she furrowed her brows, set her lips in an intense frown, and said, "Ready... Get set... Mark!" and she was off.

Adrian the hunted was now Adrian the hunter.

Adrian reached the dad, evaluated the best way to pass, then cut to his left and accelerated by him. Next: Bubba. That one was easy—she jogged past him without a second glance. Then: The bike. She covered the empty ground between Bubba and Maddie, who pedaled along at a decent clip. Adrian wove back and forth slightly, observing the bike's speed, its slightly wavering path down the center of the sidewalk. Then, one burst of speed and Adrian fired past the bike, showing Maddie her heels for about 20 yards.

Then Adrian stopped. The group overtook her and continued down the sidewalk. She waited patiently for them to get a good head start. Then, "Ready... Get set... Mark!" And she repeated the hunt at least two more times until they reached the end of the sidewalk.

At this point, as Maddie, Bubba, and their dad headed back for their house, Adrian went to work picking grass and making a small nest "for the birds," she said. This nonchalant distraction was her way of catching her breath without admitting that she was tired. After a few minutes of nest-building, Adrian swung up onto my shoulders and we walked home, squinting our eyes against the setting sun.

From her perch, Adrian prompted me: "Run, Mommy."

Adrian on Turning 10 Months Old ... And something about chicken

Today I turned 10 months old.

At the ripe old age of 10 months,
I know how doors work. You just open them up...

...and walk on through. Or you can crawl.
It's okay if you still crawl most of the time.

Some doors look like you could walk right through.
But you can't.
That can be a little tricky to figure out.

I love my daddy.

I love dinner time, too.

But some foods don't taste so good.
Like chicken. I do not like chicken.

Please don't make me eat chicken.

Fortunately, I have discovered that kitties like chicken.

Did you know that each year the average American
consumes more than 80 pounds of chicken?

Wow.
That's a lot of chicken.

So eat your 80 pounds of chicken
and then you can have my 80 pounds of chicken,
'cause I don't like chicken!

Remember when I said it's not a good idea
to share your candy with greedy grey cats?

Well, I haven't changed my mind on that matter.
But it's okay to share your pasta with the grey cats.

Grey cats are nice.
(And they like pasta, too.)

I'm Still Here...

...Someone's just been keeping me a little busy!

Adrian's Happy Halloween

"Today, my mommy and I
are going to tell you how to enjoy
the thirty-first day of October..."

"Eat candy."

"Lots ... and lots ...
of mouth-watering, delicious candy."

"I highly advise eating candy from a bowl
that is at least six times larger
than the size of your head.
But keep in mind one important thing..."

"Do not SHARE your candy!
Especially with
greedy gray CATS!!"

"Candy is only for babies.
Not cats.
That is important to remember."

"There is no joy greater
than eating candy from
a giant, shiny bowl."

"Well, okay.
Flying with mommy
might be more fun
than eating candy
from a giant, shiny bowl."

"And hanging out with dad
and the pumpkins
on the front porch
is a pretty cool way
to spend your time, too."

"Pumpkins can make pretty good companions.
Except sometimes they talk more than me.
And they actually look kinda stupid.
You know, I don't think I really like pumpkins that much."

"Oooh. Pretty light.
Never mind.
I like pumpkins."

"Yeah.

Pumpkins are alright."

"So, after you've eaten your candy,
kept it away from the CATS,
flown with mom,
hung out on the porch with dad,
and talked to the pumpkins,
it's time to reflect on the day
and just enjoy the moment."

"And this, I believe,
is the best way to spend
the thirty-first of October."

Happy Halloween!

All's quiet and going well

The time since Adrian's hernia repair has flown by. The surgery went very well. She actually had hernias on both sides of her abdomen, leaving her with two half-inch "stab wounds" near the point of each hip bone. They're healing nicely and she didn't show much discomfort at all in the days immediately after the surgery.

As soon as I as able to pry my mind away from my baby's health, I had to roll into getting the July/August issue of our magazine finished and off to the printer. We uploaded the files today, which is always a liberating feeling. Production actually went better than expected—primarily, though, because my dad (also our publisher, graphics guy, writer, etc.) did such a great job of taking my disorganized leads and running with them. He really did the bulk of the work on this issue. Just getting away to do my small part felt like such a struggle, but everyone is learning right now. My mom has been great in helping to take care of Adrian for a few hours a few times a week. I have found that getting out of the house and away from the responsibility of caring for her is incredibly important for me. Sometimes I just feel like I'm going out of my skin sitting around the house. A couple hours away and I feel entirely renewed. Adrian came along to the office a couple days this week, too, and did great. So, like I said: We're all learning and adjusting to this new life.

Running is going great, as well. I'm really surprised at how quickly my body has returned in six weeks. I don't feel too far behind the level of fitness that I had at this time last year. I did hit a point where I started losing motivation a couple weeks ago. But getting out for a couple trail runs has helped with the morale. I feel so much more complete and satisfied after running on a trail—both mentally and physically.

Wednesday morning, Tiffany and I went out to Wyandotte County Park Lake to run the 10k Night Run course. We were planning to turn around after running about 35 minutes, but just before that deadline approached I noticed that we were at the "Wyandotte Triangle", the turnaround for the 10k course. So we ran the meandering switchbacks of the Triangle and then headed back, and finished the course in a little over 1 hour, 25 minutes. That was with a pretty conservative, relaxed pace, too, so I think it should be fairly easy to finish a little quicker next Friday. Maybe I won't be coming in after everyone packs up and goes home, after all.

Racing the baby

I didn't think I would get the chance to run today, but then Rick came home earlier than I thought he would and the baby was sound asleep in the sling and had been for quite some time. I thought that maybe I could slip the sling off, baby and all, into the crib, pull on some running clothes, go run, and maybe—just maybe—get back before she woke up.

It was fabulously cool (about 75°F) and overcast during the run. Throughout the run, my mind kept flipping back home, and all I could think was that I needed to hurry and get back because the baby was going to wake up. Chances were, in fact, that she was already awake. In the past, she has had a habit of waking up or going ballistic about five minutes after I walk out the door, no matter in what state I leave her: well fed, sound asleep, playing contentedly—it doesn't matter. When I leave, she tries to make her daddy's life miserable.

So today I raced the baby. I worked the hills. I pushed my stride. I rounded the corner in our neighborhood at a good clip and ran up to our mailbox and walked toward the front door, cautiously opening it a crack...then all the way...moving in the entry as if a fully armed commando-baby hid around the corner. It was strangely quiet. I went upstairs and straight down the hall to the baby's room, where the door was still pulled shut—just as I had left it. I looked in her room, and there lay baby Adrian, still sprawled out in her crib and breathing slow and deep—just as I had left her. I raced the baby, and I won!

Inevitable distractions

I am now 5 runs deep into my "training". I know I'm not running enough, but it's tough to get out the door. Adrian has been what most would describe as a fussy baby... and her fussiness tends to peak between 5 p.m. and 9 p.m. (or whenever she goes to sleep, usually between 8:00 and 10:00). Rick's usually only available to watch her after 5 p.m. — which means I have to walk out the door knowing that he's going to be screamed at for the duration of my run. I'm not worried about her; I know I'm leaving her in capable hands. And he's a great and patient daddy. But I hate leaving him with that frustration, especially when it's so much easier for me to just stick a boob in her mouth and keep things quiet and calm.

And now it's even harder to leave. Monday afternoon, Adrian suddenly started full-on screaming. Not her normal fussy cries, but red-faced, eyes-wide-open, panicked-expression screaming. I had just changed her diaper when this started, so I offered her a snack (she refused) and then I retraced my steps back to the diaper. When I took the diaper off I noticed a lump about the size of my thumb on the right side of her pubic bone. The entire area from her groin to the spot where the lump sat was purple-red, and her screaming intensified any time I got near it.

A couple hours later, when the pediatrician could finally see us, the lump had receded... But he confirmed my suspicion that she "likely" has a inguinal hernia. We're seeing a surgeon tomorrow morning. In the mean time, I'm peeling off her diaper and looking for the lump any time she looks at me cross-eyed and wondering if her fussiness these last seven weeks were all because of the hernia.

But there are benefits to having a trainer for a husband. Yesterday he pushed me out the door: "Go run before she starts crying and you don't want to leave. She's fine. You're in training now."

It was a good run. I only covered 2.4 miles, but ran the first mile without walking. It was the first run where I deviated completely from my 2-minute run/walk intervals. I am, of course, abysmally slow. But I know I'm getting stronger. My husband even told me my legs are "looking good" yesterday. I guess that's progress...

Childbirth and Running

This evening Adrian got to spend some quality, one-on-one time with her daddy... which meant I got to go for a run. The temperature was about 15 degrees warmer than my run yesterday, and I could certainly tell the difference. Of course, I was feeling yesterday's run a little, too. The roads through the neighborhoods were busier, with people driving as if they have the weekend on their minds. It's a good time of year, though, in these days before the 4th of July. It's nice to see families sitting together in their driveways, little kids setting off snakes and smoke bombs. I was surprised to discover that the laughter of a child stirs some sort of warm-fuzzy emotion for me now.

I did the 2-minute run/walk intervals again, and was very happy to have the 2-minute walk breaks. On a couple hills (minor inclines, really), my running pace slowed to a crawl. I'd catch myself thinking, "Go ahead, walk. Then, walk a couple extra minutes while you're at it." But it's important to me that I do everything I can to silence that kind of negative inner dialogue. A few months ago, as I was preparing myself mentally for giving birth, I resolved to bring the lessons I had learned while distance running (and while watching my husband, Rick, tough it out through 100-mile races) into my labor experience: to understand that pain is inevitable, but it's not something to fear, and no matter how tough it gets, there's always a way to take just one more step... and then another step... and so on, until the job is done.

After I successfully made it through an unmedicated labor and delivery, I made another resolution: To bring the lessons I learned during childbirth into my running experience. And there, the number-one point I garnered was to avoid over-thinking the discomfort.

So, today's baby step in the crawl-walk-run process: 2.9 miles in 34:25.

It's a big world after all...

Adrian and I had a big outing today: A trip to Babies 'R' Us and Target. Sad really. For me in my isolated little universe, this was exciting.

It was also a little depressing in other respects. I used to be such an efficient shopper. Get in, get the stuff on the list, get out. No dilly-dally. No impulse items (not usually). Walk straight ahead with your head up and do not make eye contact with the merchandise.

Now, I walk into a discount superstore and my pupils constrict, my mind goes blank, and all I can hear is blood rushing through my ears. Oooh, shiny...

I walk out with more worthless crap than I intended. Even more unfortunate is the fact that when I get home and realize that something I bought—a shirt for instance—does not fit, I look forward to the impending trip during which I will return said worthless crap... so I can buy more worthless crap.

Maybe a little social time is in order. We have an outing planned on Sunday—a birthday party for our friends' 2-year-old daughter. The festivities will be in the early evening. This should get me some much-needed human contact. However, my daughter's favorite pastime these days between the hours of 4 and 9 p.m. is marathon nursing. So I expect to spend most of the time sitting with my shirt hitched up, performing my best impression of a cow. Fun stuff.

I'm itching to get out for my walk today, but there's a steady rain falling outside. I know. What a pussy. Why not go for a walk in the rain? I guess it's more comfortable to stay at home, nurse my baby, and spare my husband the misery of trying to appease a creature that wants nothing but The Boob.

Love,

Bessy

It's Tuesday... right?

Keeping track of the days has been just one of the challenges over the last five and a half weeks. Not knowing the day of the week, the date, even the time of day: It's a feeling I have grown accustomed to.

The cause of this discombobulation lies nestled in the folds of a purple tie-dyed sling as I write. We are both trying to get used to this arrangement—holding and being held while I attend to other everyday activities. Since one major component of my life involves sitting at a computer and employing both hands on a keyboard, I realized it is necessary for my daughter to learn to nurse, sleep, and generally chill out in this sling. That way, she gets what she wants (food, warmth, the sound of my heartbeat and digestive gurgles), and I get to make money.

We can get used to this.