Sunday, August 17, 2008

In other news...

Coco ate a Yo Baby!

Inspired

Last week when I was out for my Sunday run, I bumped into some friends on the course. G. didn't know I was training for a marathon, and asked me cheekily if the Olympics were the cause of what he considered to be bizarre behavior on my part. I answered no and laughed. But today, I wonder how many women across the world woke up, laced up their shoes for the regular Sunday run and hit the pavement inspired by Constantina Tomescu. I know I did.

If you tuned into the race last night, you saw Tomescu open up a comfortable lead over the chase pack. She has an aggressive style, sort of slamming her body into forward motion. When I saw her splits at 5:30 minute miles, I was in awe. At one point, she upped the ante to 5:16! Wow. She runs more than twice as fast as I do. I don't think I could run 5:16 for even one mile!

For my marathon, I am not out for speed. But just to put it into perspective, today I ran The Longest Run Ever, and I was out there for 2 hours 50 minutes and ran 14.5 miles. Tomescu ran 26.2 miles in 2 hours 26 minutes. Indeed there are faster times to ponder, but there was something about watching her out there, running alone just like most of us do on our Sunday runs.

Did I mention she and I are the same age? And she's also a mother?

When she qualified, Dara Torres fever swept the nation. She's even older than I am and has a young child as well. I'm not about to leap into the pool to relive Torres' race, nor will I try to match Tomescu on the next long run (or ever.) But it's wonderfully inspiring to know those women are out there, pushing the boundaries and winning with passion. I'll play their races over in my mind, listening to the crowd roar, to keep me going next Sunday, no doubt.

Monday, August 04, 2008

Happy Monday morning

Coco just called me "Mama!" Now I'll have this doofy grin on my face all day.

Wednesday, July 30, 2008

Portland or bust

Coco and I survived all that Friday horribleness, whatever it was about. Overtired? He was a positively delightful baby after he got over exerting his VP status. Luckily for Peter, he was gone through all the nonsense, off running RAGNAR until returning home on Saturday evening.

Along those same lines, about a month ago, I did something a little crazy. It was something I'd been talking about doing for a while, and it was time to shut up and put up. So I registered for the Portland Marathon.

Gulp.

Registering meant I had to start hitting those long runs right away if I held any real hope of making it through the entire 26.2 miles on October 5. The amazing thing about long runs is that every one of them becomes known as "the longest distance I have ever run," and that's exciting stuff. Two weeks ago, I knocked off 10.25 miles on a Sunday afternoon, though it was rough going at the end. I was tired, cranky and ready to be done. There may have been a few too many hills for where I was in my training.

So last weekend, I stuck to a very flat route (longest yet!) and focused on steady, consistent running. It went great. Two days off lead to tonight's five-miler, which was my fastest yet. So maybe, just maybe, I'll be able to do this.

Realistically, I am not going for any special time. If I finish the race without walking, barfing or spending half of it in the port-o-potties with a case of the "OMG, what am I doing here" runs, I will be thrilled.

My true motivation is to get into shape and get closer to my pre-babies physical condition. Parts of my body have, errr, shifted slightly, but not alarmingly. More old jeans may be the horizon. (It's embarrassing how many old jeans I cling to.)

This race is also a sweet kiss good-bye to my thirties. For a pre-40 goal, however, I left myself a little buffer. I turn 39 at the end of October, so if I fail miserably at the marathon this year, I still have next year. If I succeed, I have some crazy ideas on what I can do next summer to give 40 a big old open mouth "Hello baby!" kiss. You know, something as if to say, "Brace yourself, 40s. I'm not sliding into middle age just yet!"

If all my plots of physical domination and reunions with old jeans fail, I'll give up and buy a ridiculous car. Either way, I think I win.


Friday, July 25, 2008

MEMO

To: Wacked out Mommy
From: Coco, Sr. Vice President, Stinky Diaper Inc.
Subject: Hellfire Baby, version 2.0.8

Regarding your letter: Suck it up! I'm a baby. I cry. It's what I do. If I cry a lot, well, you could call me an over-achiever in that category. I like to think that if you're going to do something, you should give it your all. Hence, the deep, guttural screams. Those were really something, weren't they? I gave them a 9.8 myself.

It's not like you haven't been through this before. Am I right? Check the above links to jog your memory.

Look, I just learned how to sit myself up. Crawling is starting to make sense. I will practice all my new maneuvers all the time. During the day, in the middle of the night and at all times in between. Because I can. And I must.

If you play your cards right, I might start eating soon. That's what these teeth are for? Not for nipping you, you say? Don't get too excited. I'm feeling the power of my Senior Vice-Presidency status, and it feels good.

Dear Coco,

Can we just stop the crying? Please? Pretty please? I'm so over the crying. The screaming.

What the heck do you want? You're fed. You're diapered. I place you in your bed, gently, on your super cozy blankie.

Minutes later, you roll over, pissed off at everything. Spewing bile. Flipping out. Arching your back. Freaking out.

I'm seriously expecting the neighbors to knock on the door and ask what's going on.

GO. TO. SLEEP.

Signed,
Your wacked out Mommy

Thursday, July 17, 2008

Childish insults

My three year old called me a poodle.

Should I be upset?