Belmar Five Mile Recap

I ran the Belmar Five yesterday morning.

It was my second five-mile race and I'm still like, "Holy crap, I ran five freaking miles!"

I picked up my bib and swag on Thursday night,

but here's a recap of the race day.

5ish am

Liam is up. Crying. Since I've got the race, it's Bill's morning. He works his dada magic and baby is sleeping again.

6ish am

But not for long. Bill resigns himself to heading downstairs with him.

6:50 am

Will throws my bedroom door open. Pounces on my bed holding ginormous piggy bank. Asking if he can take out some money. At some point, and I'm assuming on accident, the bank lands on my head.

7:00 am

My alarm goes off.

7:10 am

I'm dressed. Discover that all of my favorite running socks are in the laundry. Root through hamper, looking for said, dirty socks. Found, but gross. Go with clean pair of socks that don't fit as well.

7:15 am

Race day breakfast consisting of cold cinnamon raisin mini bagel, half of a banana, and some water. Hang with huz and kids for a bit before heading out.

7:30 am

Discover uncharged iPod in glove compartment. Hook it up and hope there's enough time to juice it up. Search through storage compartment for candy. Success in the form of one piece of Banana Laffy Taffy.

7:45 am

Arrive in Belmar. Realize that there is no parking available anywhere near the race. Start backtracking towards Route 35.

8:00 am

Find parking. Nervous about getting to starting line for 8:30 start. Pin number, drink water, grab iPod (half-charge) and go.

8:01 am

Cue pouring rain as I walk twelve blocks to the race. Lots of other runners in the same situation-- getting soaked, jumping puddles, shielding their iPods.

8:20 am

Arrive at the start. Still raining. People standing around are soaked and looking miserable. Considering the value of those expensive running clothes that dry in like five minutes. Also considering going back to my car, buying a newspaper and heading somewhere for a coffee and a hot breakfast. Ultimately decide to stick it out.

8:25 am

Rain slows to a stop. Sun starts to break. Cue nasty humidity and sauna-like conditions. I am completely soaked-- clothes and sneakers drenched, hair dripping. Opposite of awesome.

8:30 am

The race starts. Very crowded-- 2,200 racers. Takes a while to actually get to the official line. Walking/jogging quite a bit throughout the first mile due to the traffic of people.

8:41 am

First mile marker. Annoyed with my 11-minute (clock-time) mile, considering my usual pace for the first mile is about 9 minutes. The thickness of the crowd starts to dissipate and I'm hoping to make up some time. The leaders of the race, who've finished the loop ahead, run by our pack of runners on the opposite side of the road. We all cheer and laugh as they are approaching their third mile.

8:51-ish am

Second mile marker. Crowd not too much of an issue anymore. Feeling good. Lots of cheers and support from people lined up along the sidewalks. Impressive sight as I approach the loop at Silver Lake Lake Como, runners wound around the entire perimeter.

9:01-ish am

Third mile marker as we double past Ocean Avenue again. My wet sneakers and wet, ill-fitting socks are biting me in the ass as I can begin to feel the blisters on the insteps of my feet forming. Feet hurt.

9:12-ish am

Fourth mile marker. Breathing good. Legs good. Feet screaming as I'm pretty sure these blisters are killing me. Tired, but sure that I'll run it out. Some generous Belmar residents have set up 14-foot ladders with hoses, creating optional showers for the runners to run under. Being hot, sweaty and already soaked, I say, "Why not?"

9:22-ish am

Big finish. Lots of spectators cheering along the last 1/4 mile. People handing out medals and flowers to all finishers. Man says, "Water to the right, showers to the left". Belmar Fire Co has set a fire hose and sprinkler in the middle of Ocean Ave for all finishers. Being hot, sweaty and already soaked, I say, again, "Why not?"

9:25-ish am

Grab my complimentary bottle of water, slice of watermelon and orange wedges. Start heading to the car. Realizing that I'm not exactly sure where I parked the car and that I really need a bathroom.

9:40-ish am

Found car thanks to some landmarks. Take a couple poor attempts at self-portrait using cell phone. Slightly embarrassed as people drive by. Settle on a decent photo and delete the rest.

10-ish am

Arrive home to empty (woo-hoo!) house. RUN to bathroom. Get first look at blister damage. Ewww on both of my feet which are pruny and shriveled from being wet for the last two hours. Peel off second skin of soaked clothes. Take cold shower. Take hot shower. Dress and head downstairs as huz and kids are returning. Will asking his usual question, "Did you win!?" Me answering with my usual response, "No, but I did my best and had fun." Will countering with his usual sigh and 4-year-old attempt at an eye-roll.

Final Stats:

Clock Time 51:17.44

Chip Time 50:21.98 (Actual time)

Overall 1418 out of 2182

Gender 487 out of 962

Age 77 out of 134

Adventures in Weed Whacking

As some of you may know, after three years of paying someone to mow our lawn, I have been promoted to resident landscaper this summer. Immediately following my initial foray into landscaping, three things became apparent. First, the joy of taking care of your own property is highly overrated. Second, anything requiring a pull-start is bound to be a major pain in the ass. And third, we would need some additional tools.


Although my first attempt at lawn mowing was mostly a success, there were plenty of tall blades of grass remaining. They were along the fence, beside the legs of the swingset, bordering the flower bed, sprouting along our sad retaining wall. They were torturous-- making all my hard work seem shotty and careless.


And then my husband, in his infinite wisdom and generosity, offered to spring for a weed whacker.


So we went to the store, bought a weed whacker and loaded it into the van.


And then a funny thing happened.


It didn't rain. For like three weeks. And the lawn turned brown. And nothing needed cutting... or whacking. And the huz and I congratulated ourselves on the fact that we hadn't signed a contract with a landscaper this summer. A landscaper who would come, mow basically nothing, and send us a bill.


So the weed whacker sat for weeks, untouched, in the back seat of the van. That is, until Will got the brilliant idea to ride it like a horse every time he got into the vehicle. Soon I grew tired of yelling, "Get off the weed whacker!"-- and then explaining and answering weed whacker questions for like fifteen minutes. So it was time to take it out for a spin on my big, beautiful, brown lawn.



So I got up one morning and chased my kids around the house with toothbrushes, sunscreen, sandals and vitamins. I loaded them into their red wagon, pulled them to camp and headed home to whack.


First I would need the appropriate attire... headband, old t-shirt, old sneakers, husband's old shorts from back in his tennis coaching days. In other words, screaming sexy.



Then I grabbed the new gas container that we had purchased for the gasoline-oil mix.


I was ready to get to work.


But not before doing this for way more time than I care to admit.



And then I was ready to get to work.


But I realized-- after searching through seven jackets, two diaper bags, three purses and almost every possible drawer, that there was absolutely no cash in the house. So instead of buying the gas at the local gas station that is walking distance to our house, I jumped in the car and headed to Wawa to get gas for both the lawn mower and weed whacker.


I pretended like I had done this a million times before-- ordering a couple gallons for each container and standing awkwardly beside the pump. At ninish in the morning, I was surrounded by loads of blue collar hotties in their trucks and vans-- regretting my choice of outfit a little. And when the attendant spilled the gasoline and proceeded to wash it away with wiper fluid, I was like, "Seriously?" And then I drove home, with the AC on full blast and the windows down, gagging on the fumes.

Upon arriving home, I set everything up in the driveway.
Then, right on cue, it started raining.
So I moved everything to the porch.

(And then, of course, it stopped raining.)


I read step one. Like ten times. And I stared at the pieces. And again, I was like, "Seriously?"



So I knew that I had to get down to business. I tossed my cell phone aside and dove into the 24-step "Quick Start" instruction sheet. I installed the shield backwards, then reinstalled it correctly. I installed the handle backwards, then reinstalled it correctly. I pretty much installed everything twice. And then, once everything was put together, I was honestly a little afraid to start it up-- terrified that incorrectly assembled pieces were going to fly up and whack me in the face.


See how you're supposed to crouch over it (scary!) and pull the starter rope 5 times (annoying!)?

I pulled that rope at least thirty times (really annoying!). I am not even kidding. Freaking pull-starts.


But it did eventually start. Having never whacked weeds before, I couldn't believe how loud and awkward this thing was. Pulling the grass out by hand was starting to seem like an easier option.


But I walked around the yard and gave it a try. I kind of learned as I went-- discovering that some kind of eye wear might be a good idea and figuring out just how close you can come to the flower bed before actually beheading the flowers. Also learning that weed whacking the wooden deck will send shards of wood splinters flying into the air.


Before I knew it, the string at the bottom of the weed whacker (which actually spins and cuts the weeds), had almost disappeared. I took this as a sign that I should call it a day and maybe read the complete 50-page manual that came in the box.


And that was my kids-are-at-camp-adventure for the week. Exciting, right? Stay tuned for next week, when I pull the weeds from the cracks in my driveway, sweep the front sidewalk and attempt to vacuum our pop-up pool. Seriously.

Pacing Ourselves

On Tuesday, we celebrated Bill's birthday and we ushered in the busy, party-filled four weeks that lie ahead.

All three of these guys have summer birthdays. We normally celebrate, as a foursome, on the actual day and then we throw a bigger family party on a different date. Add in the fact that Will is old enough for his very own 'kid party' and we've got a pretty big to-do list.

For Tuesday, we (Will, Liam and I) shopped, wrapped, decorated and cooked. We baked up some brownies for Bill to bring to work and we made his favorites (here and here) for dinner. Gifts included some clothes, a premium box of Topps baseball cards and a Wii, which was really more of a family gift. The traditional cake, that Bill requests every year, was a Carvel ice cream cake.

Mmmmm... brownies.

Joint effort.

It was a great night and we're gearing up for a bigger family party next week. Cue the additional cooking, decorating, cleaning, running around, etc...

Oh and speaking of running, ahem...

Tonight we headed to a park for a local running club's race meet-up. Will ran in a couple short races as well as the half-mile, while I ran the 5K.

The kids races were attended by kids of all ages, Will being among the youngest. He did really well in the shorter races.

"The 100-yard Charge"

And then we lined up for the half-mile... letting the kids run in front, while the parents ran behind.

Smallest guy out there.

He took off strong and fast, but about 1/4 of the way through he was struggling. He was red-faced and sweaty and the entire pack had passed us by. He slowed to a walk and started to cry.

He didn't want to be last. He was tired. He couldn't run anymore.

He wanted to turn around and go back. He wanted to quit.

The distance between us and the runners ahead was growing larger and larger.

There was a part of me that wanted to scoop him up and tell him that he had done great. That he had done enough. That it was too hot. That it was too far. That it was okay to stop.

But I jogged alongside him, encouraging him to keep going. Telling him that he could do it. That it was okay to walk, as long as he finished. That it was okay to be last, as long as he didn't quit. That he could do it. (Also, and this is key, that there were ice pops at the finish line.)

It sounds easy, but it's one of the hardest things I've had to do as a parent.

He gathered some energy for short bursts of running with lots more walking and more tears in between. I think it was a total of ten minutes, but it felt like forever.

Once the finish line was in view, things improved significantly. There was an elderly gentleman, who volunteers with the club, positioned at the final turn. He was cheering for Will wildly. Telling him he was doing great. Telling him he was going fast. Telling him to keep going. Telling him he could do it. I love this man. Seriously.

Will was exhausted and broken down. But he pushed and kept going. His face was streaked with sweat and tears, but I could see the corners of his mouth turn upward. He was sort-of-smiling.

Soon, we could hear the voices of Bill and friends and other kind spectators cheering us in. With every step, he held himself a little taller and broadened his stride.

And we finished. And he was smiling.

This is his 'trying NOT to smile eventhough he's wildly proud of himself' face.

He was smiling... notsomuch in this photo and it's the only one I got.

You'll have to take my word for it.

I know that I did the right thing in pushing him to finish. When it was all over, we praised him and told him how proud we were. Telling him how finishing was the most important thing and that there's more to a race than just winning.

And then, to really drive the point home, I came in 65th out of 80 or so in my 5K race a little while later.

But not to worry, that half-mile and 5K course haven't seen the last of us.

Some Small Summer Victories

One week into vacation and the summer solstice is already working its magic. Maybe it's the beautiful weather or maybe it's the extra long days. Maybe it's the fact that I've got an additional forty hours to my life each week or that my kids can hang out in their pjs past 6:30 am. Who knows? Maybe it's a combination of all of these things. Whatever the reason, we're marking the beginning of the summer with some wins.

Win #1: First, and most importantly, Liam is finally napping. When I went back to work last fall, Liam stopped napping all of a sudden. He would nap well at daycare, but we couldn't get him down on the weekends. After 30-45 minutes of settling him in, he would only sleep independently for about a half-hour. We would have let him 'cry it out' a little, but Will was usually sleeping next door. After contemplating spiking his milk with Ambien, we eventually fell into the habit of letting him nap with Bill or I on the couch. (Big mistake. Huge.)

Getting him on a napping schedule was at the top of my summer list of priorities. Beginning last week, we filled each morning with lots of activity-- playgrounds, farm, beach, pool, trampoline... anything to keep him moving. And each day, by noon, he was practically falling asleep in his lunch.

Win #2: I mowed the lawn. Since Bill is working full-time this summer and the kids are in camp for two mornings, I volunteered to take over our landscaping. I've been mowing, mulching, planting and pruning. It's hard but rewarding work and it was fun for all of like five minutes. Surprisingly, I've finally found a reason to be grateful that we're situated on a tiny tenth of an acre. I'm also thankful that the only things in my life that require a 'pull-start' are lawnmowers and powerwashers. I can think of only only few things in life more frustrating than trying to get one of these things started in the 98 degree heat.

I'm also kind of in love with this drawing that Will made for me.

Win #3: I ran my first five-mile race-- The Firecracker Five, on July 4th. (Note: a 5k = about 3 miles) If you've been reading my posts, you can probably tell that I'm just completely addicted to this running thing. A little over a year ago, I couldn't run for two minutes. TWO! And on Sunday, I ran for fifty. FIVE-O! I've been practicing the five mile run, on and off, since April. On some days, I've run the whole thing strong and on others I'm walking before I get to the fourth mile. I was pretty nervous about this race because there is nothing more disheartening than walking along a race course.

Bill got up with the kids on the morning of the race and I laid in bed trying to decide whether or not to give it a try. I decided, at the very last possible minute, to do it. I threw on my gear, pulled back my hair, brushed my teeth and grabbed a bagel on my way out. It wasn't until the end of the first mile (9 minutes), that I came to the realization that I hadn't drank an ounce of water. It should be noted that it was about 85 degrees and the course was entirely in the sun.

My usual race strategy is to run straight through the course-- skipping the water stops and sprinklers that well-meaning residents point into the streets. However for this run, since I was going for a good finish and not necessarily a good finish time, I changed things up considerably. I stopped at every water break, taking a few sips and walking for about 30 seconds. I ran through the sprinkler stations, which were set up by the local fire department, midway between the water stops. I basically just took it easy and tried to enjoy it. And I did. I actually felt better at this finish line than I have in my last few 5k's. In fact, I was feeling so crazy good, that I ambushed some runners in the parking lot-- blabbering that, "I just finished my first 5-mile race... and can you please take my picture... and here's my sweaty cell phone..."

So here's to long naps. Here's to grass that manages to stay green through this godawful drought. And here's to a few more five-mile runs. While it's said that "good things come in threes", I'm hoping for many more small summer victories.

What a Difference a Year Makes

I've been running 5k races for one year now.

The Pine Beach 5k was my first race last year and I ran it again this year on Sunday.

I've been saving all of my numbers. I probably have at least twenty or so. These are just the ones that were tacked to the back of the basement door in my kitchen. There are some in the glove compartment, in my nightstand, in pockets of various backpacks. I've been planning to display them on some cool clothesline across our home office-- but that's just another low-priority item on my lengthy to-do list.

Here's a shot from last year's race-- my first one. Finished with a time of 33:19.

And here's a shot from this year's race-- exactly one year later. Finished in 29:34.

Let's do the math, shall we? Four from nine, borrow from the three... there's a three minute, forty-five second differential. Not to mention the 12-inch difference in the length of my shorts. A little confidence can go a long way and a lot can happen in one year. Just think what my progress would have been if I hadn't spent December through February on my couch eating chocolate.

Speaking of one year differences, here is a pic of Will from last summer. He was excited to be husking corn for the first time and he just couldn't wait to help out. Notice how seriously he is taking the job...

And here he is, last year, having his idea of a good time-- being silly and willingly mugging for his momma behind the camera.

Fast forward to tonight, one year later. He wasn't nearly as excited, but I convinced forced him to help out.

And here he is 30 seconds later... or not.

Apparently, husking corn is "not fun". It was just me and Pikachu, who quite honestly wasn't too much help. (I mean, really, he just layed there on his face the whole time.)

Instead, Will was more excited to be practicing his hockey moves...

And here he is, this year, having his idea of a good time-- being annoying and trying to decapitate his little brother.

What a difference a year makes.

Mom-Mum-Mommy-Mama-Ma!!

I like to claim that Lizzie is quite independent, but I've been noticing lately she's been getting more and more clingy. She's also been starting to use baby talk, to which I sternly remind her, "I don't understand baby talk. Use your big girl words." I have no idea why this is all starting now, but I'm about to start drinking heavily in the morning if she doesn't stop.

I can't say I have a tough life with her, really. She likes to play, she likes to watch Sprout (I've weaned her off of Nick Jr. because I can't watch/listen to 7 episodes of Dora a day), she likes to color, she likes to be read to, but I can't seem to keep her entertained long enough to do anything. She'll start a coloring page, a game, a book, or etc, then take off and start something new. I know most little kids do that, but Lizzie's Schizophrenic Play reaches epic proportions on most days, leading to frustration, mess, and tears.

Most normal parents in most normal places would promptly put their kid into a day camp or play group to give them some structure, get them to interact with other kids, and--in correlation--get some well-deserved Me Time for themselves, even if Me Time consists of heavy cleaning and yard work (see Cara's last post). But I don't live in a normal area. Day camps and play groups just don't seem to exist up here. I've searched online, asked other parents (oh, my god, don't even get me started about the lack of pre and nursery schools up here. whole other post), and even read the local phone book, but I have a inherent fear of play groups run out of peoples' homes and that's really all that's up here.

{Now this is the part of the post where my mom starts preparing her "You know you can drop Lizzie off at my house any time you want" comment, but I have to stop her and say, "Ma, if I dropped Lizzie off at your house any time I wanted, she'd be there every day! Eight hours a day!"}

That being said, I have applied to get Lizzie into a pre-school in a near-by town for the upcoming school year. Like I said, the lack of pre-schools around here makes getting into a pre-school (even a mediocre one) like competing to get into Harvard. I got the application in the mail, filled it out, and put it back into the mail that same day. I've called 3 times to ask about the status of her application. I've been cheerful, upbeat and perky on the phone to make it sound like I'm Super Awesome Mommy (lordy be, what a stretch that is!). I've even volunteered to be a Class Mother--wait, why did I do that? Aren't school hours supposed to be Me Time?? I've done everything to make it clear that I want Lizzie in that school except bake the owner brownies. I'll be doing that next week since the owner finally told me--in near desperation--that she'll be getting the new school year's budget this week and will be sending out letters the first week of August.

So, keep your fingers crossed that Lizzie will get into Tender Times Preschool. For her own benefit and mine too.

According to Plan

Today was Will and Liam's first day of summer camp.

I know. I know what you're thinking... that I've been complaining about not spending enough time with them all year long and then here I am shipping them off to camp. I know. I do feel a little guilty about it.

They're going on Tuesday and Thursday mornings, from 8:30 am until noon. They'll get to socialize with their friends and participate in some fun activities. Liam will get some continuity with the whole 'daycare situation' (so he won't be freaking out in September) and Will will get to hang out with his buddies for a few more weeks until they all head off to separate schools for kindergarten.

While they're gone, I'll do fun things like lawn mowing and power washing and pool maintaining and bathroom cleaning-- the kinds of things that are nearly impossible to accomplish with an almost-two-year-old underfoot.

One of the very best perks is that the camp is walking distance from our house. Months ago, Will made me promise that I would give him rides (there and back) in his wagon.

Seventy pounds of cuteness = a serious workout.

Speaking of promises, I also promised Will his very own 'office'. When Will turned three, we got him a bedroom set that included a big wooden desk with a great work surface. For months, he's been asking to bring all of his art supplies upstairs. He's been wanting to stock the drawers with crayons, markers, scissors, tape, glue, paper, etc. I had promised him that we would set things up once the summer started.

For the last five years, Will's art supplies have been kept in a safety locked cabinet. I had nightmares of a toddleresque art mural on my dining room wall or giant ink spots on my couch. Artwork was relegated to the kitchen table only and we've never had any major messes. Now that Will is about to turn five, I figured he was ready for a little independence.

Within 24-hours of setting up his 'office', as he calls it, I found this in the toy closet.

And for a closer look...

The underlining and circle-dotted i... nice touch, right?

"How do you know I did it?", he asked. Good one, honey.

The office is closed until further notice.

So, in addition to putting the Crayolas on lockdown, I spent the day spreading the six bags of mulch that have been lying in my driveway for the last few months. I also packed away our double stroller and tried, in vain, to get the pool filter working. (Bill, of course, fixed it within two minutes of arriving home.)

When I walked over to pick up the boys, I was armed with two blue Fla-Vor-Ices for the ride home. (Totally a mother-of-the-year move.)

Mmmm... Fla-Vor-Ice....

Well, it turns out that Fla-Vor-Ice can be a pretty tricky thing when you're not quite two. Liam kept forgetting which side was open and which was closed... sending precious blue ice and juice to the bottom of the dirty wagon.

Will's take on the situation: "Man, he is NOT smart."

This is an actual quote, people.

A little dirt wouldn't stand in Liam's way. He'd just fish the pieces of ice from the bottom of the wagon and scream in protest when I tried to intercept them.

Will just found the situation completely hilarious. He even helped his little brother by kicking the pieces of ice so that they'd be within his reach. And me? I thought that I remained pretty calm. Afterall, this is only day two of summer vacation and there are plenty of 'not according to plan' moments ahead.

Surveying the Damage

Friday marked the end of my tenth year of teaching. (It would have actually been the eleventh, but I took a year of maternity leave with Liam.)

As I cleaned out my room, I was reminded of what a rough year this was. Handouts and worksheets going all the way back to September sat in tall, completely unorganized piles. Student papers, which had been collected with the intent of grading, sat alongside in their own messy stacks-- ungraded. The notices on my bulletin boards were outdated and the supply caddy on my filing cabinet had been emptied long ago except for a few paper clips and some nonfunctional pens.

As I arrived home on Friday, I began surveying the related damage at home. There are months of fingerprints accumulated on every possible surface and small mountains of laundry in the basement. The refrigerator, the stove, the bathrooms... just about every room needs an overhaul. Cabinets are stuffed with kids art projects and receipts and mystery phone numbers and dates scrawled on random envelopes. The kids' dressers are full of winter clothes that need to be packed away and the front closet is packed with shoes that will no longer fit. There are bags of mulch in the driveway and an inch of pollen and dirt on the trampoline. As a matter of fact, just about everything in my backyard is begging for a power wash.

Thankfully the summer is my time to regroup. Time to spend with my husband and kids. Time to organize and put my house back together. Time to plan for next school year.

There's only one problem. Eight weeks doesn't seem like nearly enough time.

Short, Sweet and Potty

Potty training is not for the faint of heart. There's a lot of frustration, juice-and-water rationing, rinsed-out Dora panties hanging over the shower rod, high fives, pennies handed out, Clorox wipes, and missteps leading to puppy-like puddles.

On the plus side, my floors have been cleaner.

Everyone Uses New Phrases as a Parent

Phrases I never thought I'd utter until I became a mom:

1. "Put your clothes on right now!" (Also known as the "I'm NAK-KID!! I'm NAK-KID!!" moments)

2. "You can have ice cream for lunch if you let me take a shower." (I will use bribery to be able to clean myself)

3. "Don't make me come in there!" (It's so cliched, but I really do say it. A lot)

4. "Get down off the counter before you fall and kill yourself." (Lizzie's a bit of a climber. And fearless)

5. "Do you have a poopy butt? Turn around and let me look." (Self-explanatory)

6. "Don't cry, baby. It's just a little puke." (Said most often when covered with vomit that stinks of oyster crackers and apple juice)

7. "You better stay in bed or Daddy will come in there." (This is only said Friday through Sunday nights since I'm usually at school at bedtime)

8. "Okay, I'll call Santa and let him know." (Been saying this a lot lately as Lizzie has suddenly realized that requests to 'Santa' will produce presents at the end of the year)

9. "Sorry. My daughter helped." (Used to explain pen scribble on homework, which was greeted with hysterical laughter from teacher{s})

10. "No. We're staying outside." (Anyone who knows me knows I'm more of an "indoor girl.")

What are some phrases you find yourself using as a parent that makes you:

a. Cringe

b. Shake your head in amazement