VIRGIN MOTHER

DIET,
Secrets of
THIN WOMEN,
secrets he won't
tell you that will
KEEP HIM,
lose 10lbs in a week, make-up
secrets from the stars,
What your mother never told you,
how to keep him HAPPY,
foreplay 101,
Make your body
SWIM-SUIT WORTHY
for summer,

Working mother, sex
goddess, bake the perfect
pie (but don't eat it)!
Silence is a virtue.

Reverent Devotion

from a run

A cathedral built of bending
Sycamores
Whining in the wind. So many
sorrows, so much
laughter splintering silence
as they straighten their spines
to make
room
for
more

Life is bigger
bigger than the
space we
designate for
our God
Bigger
than the
space our God
Designated to hold us.
Everybody seems to
think they'd be
a better
boss.

Fat Arteries fracture
the shadows
illuminating
our cuts into the
earths flesh.

we giants slumber in
blackness.
forgotten.
Lights can't wake us.
we don't
exsist
too busy cutting arteries to be
distracted by
exsistance.
Too Busy taking what
we were given and
pimpin' it out so
we can be
comfortable
Comfortably numb
blinded
unable to see
darkness for the light
unable to hear the screaming
in the forest,
of our children,
we are so able to builld yet
so unable to build big
enough.


I MIGHT HATE THIS POEM

Westchester 10k 35:58

Lime green shorts, construction pylon orange tank top, and "knee-high" rainbow striped toe socks worn as gloves. This was my "racing" outfit Sunday. I looked more like a clown than a runner. I knew I had to run fast or else I'd be chucked aside as one of "those" runners, the ones who dress weird because otherwise they'd never get noticed on the racecourse. My motive was much less deliberate. I HATE doing laundry. On that particular day I was in the middle of an eight-day laundry stand off with my husband, and dang-it I was going to win. In fact when I left the house that morning it looked like a clothes bomb had gone off. A sorry casualty in this battle was my appearance on race day, but that was a consequence I could live with if it meant I didn't have to do laundry. On this day I was in pursuit of two victories!

Needless to say, as I lined up on the starting line the other women didn't seem to take me too seriously. Can you blame them? I felt like a punk rocker at a Junior League meeting. The men's throats seemed bulge from the stress of holding in their scoffing laughter at seeing me at the front for the start. Even I wasn't sure where I should be. It took much prompting from Miki to get me to move up to the very front. Even then I looked back at him for reassurance. Only when the starter raised his arm was I able to find the courage to face the course.

The gun went off so suddenly I reacted with startled jump before I took the first step. Once my legs were moving, I became aware of nothing but them. That first mile I kept my mind focused solely on the sound of my feet hitting the pavement. Finding which part of my foot met the road, gaining an understanding of angles in my stride, and the stress of my muscles as they hardened and softened through each step. Like a machinist on an assembly line I was becoming one with my machine. Learning each piece, it's placement, and how to best manipulate it for the sake of efficiency. It was no surprise when that first mile split was a 5:40. That had been exactly what I had wanted my machine to accomplish. I felt completely in tune with my machine. My ears knew the rhythm that equaled 5:40, and my legs were doing everything I asked.

The race had led us onto a wooded path just before the mile marker. A group of men engulfed me. I felt like a stone in the high tide. Naturally, I let them sweep me up, losing touch with the sound of my feet in the chaos of the crowd. The second mile was faster than the first. This had not been deliberate. The loss of control frightened me, and caught me off guard. What would this do to me later? Was I running on cash, or credit? While I questioned my speedy second mile, I detached from the awareness with my legs. My pace slowed significantly, an attempt to regain control and guarantee a solid race. We passed the banners for the 5k finish and turned to begin our second loop.

My split at the three-mile marker angered me. 17:26 was not fast enough. My legs were not spent at all. How dare I sabotage myself like that? Now I felt antsy, and my legs grew restless. In response I deliberately picked up pace. The fourth mile was run with confidence, and control. I took back my position with what was left of that pack of men, much to their surprise. The 5:50 for that mile still wasn't testing my legs to my liking, nor did it satisfactorily make up for my loss of focus and confidence during the third mile.

My legs didn't rebel at all when I quickened my stride. Pushing my forefoot off the pavement forcefully, as I reeled in runners in my quest to salvage this race. The whole time wondering who this person was that was giving out commands with the authority of a general. All I could think to myself was, "I have 2 more miles in which to save this race. This is my chance to prove myself to me, and I'm not going to blow it. There's more, the effort can always be harder". My forearms began to sweat beneath my toe sock gloves from the effort. The desire of my spirit to catch the runners in front of me screamed out louder than the complaints from my sweaty arms to remove the gloves. I made it through the 5 mile marker in 29 minutes even. A 5:45 mile.

The sixth mile was all business. I had test-driven these legs for miles 4 and 5 not really sure what I was going to find, and engine seemed to purr in response to each acceleration. During the sixth mile I dropped it down a notch to see how the machine might react. Much to my surprise there was no protest. I began to curse myself a little for my earlier trepidation. I wanted to punish myself with each step by increasing the force and speed of my foot strike. The final mile was my crazed penance.

Since this was a circuit race most of the runners knew each other. I am new in town and no one knew me. As I pass these guys so late in the race they look at me first "is that a girl", and then a second time "who is that girl". I'm guessing there aren't many women that put the hammer down at these smaller circuit races, and they think they should know me. Right now I'm barely conscious of them. My concentration is set on reading my legs response to my demand for increased intensity. However, it does occur to me that it's weird they are paying any notice to me at all.

As I pass under the familiar banners marking the way to the finish line, for both the 5k and the 10k races, my legs begin to burn subtly. The finish is a slight incline, but I proceed to increase my effort anyway. I can see the banner for the finish and want to get there as quickly as possible.

I look at my watch 34:20...DANG IT! I'm not going to break 35! Stupid, stupid girl for that third mile. I pass the 6 mile marker in 34:45. The hammer falls harder and I do my best to get on my toes, albeit unsuccessfully. I cross the finish line in 35:58, and raise my arms out of sheer happiness! I see rainbows in the corners of my eyes. Oh yeah the socks! I chuckle. Satisfied with the control I had over my race result, and amused at my attire. One battle won, and one to go!

While waiting for the awards ceremony I get many confused looks from faces that all seem to know each other. My friends won awards also, an awesome bonus. I try to call home in the awards tent. No answer. Hummm what could that husband of mine, and those two boys, be doing? Don't they know I had a race today? My husband hadn't come because he is convinced he's bad luck. My impatience grew to anger on the ride home as I tried him a second time, and again, no answer. He was probably being lazy, wrestling with the boys, and further destroying the house.

As I walked in our house I opened my mouth to spew out the elaborate, scathing, verbal lashing I had composed on the way home. I stopped. The house was spotless; the laundry monster had been conquered! Battle two won as well! My boys were in their room cleaning, and my husband slouched on the couch, he had bags under his eyes. Casey, my knight in a cut-off Offspring concert Tee. I kissed him on the forehead and said, "Thanks! To what do I owe this honor?" His response, "It's not an honor, and yes you owe me!" Ah, what a glorious Sunday!


results: http://www.doitsports.com/newresults3/client/148527_180296_2007.htm

sunday bloody sunday

It wasn't bloody literally, but there was carnage; Amy's lost timing chip, Matt's car keys, all of our old 10k PR's. The Westchester Veterun 10k was a combination of wreckless nerves, and cool temperatures culminating in the best 10k's of our lives. I didn't recieve a timing chip myself until minutes before the race started, but Amy (who registered early...smart girl) forgot to pick her's up. The chips weren't in the race day bag, as is the proceedure we runner's have grown accustomed to. She had to run back to the tent 10 minutes before the start to retrieve her golden ticket, only to have it fall off before the first mile marker!

The race was off with a gun shot. No on your marks. Just a startling gun shot that had me literally jumping into this race. The course was nearly flawless. Our route lined with half shed trees. Yellow leaves sheathed on our path. I couldn't help but feel like Dorothy on the yellow brick road. Honestly though, nothing was more wonderful than the sweet resin our performances left for me to taste even today. What an awesome confirmation for us and for Jenny. EVERY SINGLE Spangler camp kid that ran this race PRed in this race. The fact leaves no arguing... the woman KNOWS what she's doing!

The RD did let Amy's watch time stand, thank god she kept a watch on herself, after a few runners near her vouched for her placing. She ended up 3rd woman, and ran a 37:52! Thank goodness that "counts" officially! Rob was second man overal 32:47. Matt ran a 34:35 and won his age group (despite wearing old trainers because his flats were locked in his car). Brad ran a 37:22, and Kevin ran a 37:45. What a strong showing!

On a personal level I narrowed my self-doubt and sleep time to the narrow window of one mile. IT keeps getting smaller and smaller! 35:58 for me a PR. Third 10k, third PR. I was in it and that felt wonderful. A detailed race report to follow... once I churn it over a little..

**** Side note, I totally pigged out on 7 layer bars and brownies the night before! Good thing: I didn't crap myself (mostly luck). Bad thing: how much more efficient would I have been had I eatten something healthy?

Alrighty. My immune system is fubared again. Which leads me to the following commitment: I will not eat crap food as meals anymore. I have been battling my sweet tooth for years now, and losing. AFter so many illnesses I have to do everything in my power to boost my immune system. This means no more Bit-O-Honey's for dinner. I'll miss all of my friends; Bit-o-HOney, Laffy Taffy, flavored Tootsie Rolls, 100 grand, Candy corn (Oh God I'll miss Candy Corn!). This is a sacrifice I have to make. I didn't let a 40 mile drive stop me. I'm not going to let this damned sweet tooth get in my way either. I have cringed with each bite of a fruit or vegetable all morning. I'm tough. I can do it! My body is working like a machine and I'm putting sugar in the gas tank. Time to rework my fueling strategies!

In preparation for this change I have eatten every sweet thing in our house, and gone to the store to stock up on dry beans, rice, and veggies. It's like that scene at the beginning of Train Spotting where he prepares for his withdraws during his detox. I have to admit I felt really good about myself as I stood in the produce section. I had this feeling of superiority ozzing from every pore on my elevated nose! I'm moving up in the nutritional world! Pretty soon I'll actually like eating again!

*If this sounds like a pep-talk it is.

Today is a day of contradictions and reflections. I can't help but feel a bit melancholy over Ryan Shay's death, despite the fact I had no relationship with him. Those who are in love with running share an unspoken bond to each other. We all seem to share the same umbilical cord, being fed by the same desires, making the same sacrifices, and sharing in the same heartaches. In this respect the pain of those who are close to Ryan Shay ripples outward, like water above a falling stone, and wriggles through each of us, leaving us to wonder what just happened.

Unlike Chicago, this tragedy cannot be slapped aside with the assumption that he was under trained, or inexperienced. This time it is, what it is. Tragic. This is Elite runner number two, this year alone, who literally sacrificed everything in pursuit of a dream.

That was one of the greatest fields ever assembled for the Men's trials. It was a beautiful, dominant performance for Ryan Hall. An amazing output by newcomer Dathan Ritzenhein, and a gutsy performance by Brian Sell. History, if it could write itself, would've ended the day in glorious exhilaration and talks of Americans working towards a comeback in the marathon. History is written by the second, so instead the day's accomplishments will be forever cloaked by the death of an athlete, who was also, dominant, amazing, and gutsy. The rest of us will go on. For Ryan, Dathan, and Brian, sadness will always be present in the memory of this pinnacle accomplishment. The loss of their friend is forever coupled with one of the happiest moments of their lives.

Live Deliberately

After this weekend's Chicago Marathon Debacle and Jenny's accident more than a month ago I have been getting increasingly philosophical. Runners by trait are obsessive. We rarely fail to accomplish our goals, be it weekly mileage, intervals, or a race. We tend to be controlling as well. You have to be a little "Gordon Ramsey" in order to accomplish your goals so unflappably. This weekends marathon presented an element beyond any ones control; intense heat. Most of us are Die-hard, "I ain't stoppin fo nobody and no reason" types. However among the (nearly half) competitors to either not start or not finish were some of my dear friends. They are healing their emotional wounds now, but man were they pissy just afterwards. Everyone's log on athleticore says the same thing; I felt like a "quitter", "Wimp", "pansy". This was said by both finishers and non finishers alike! Man are we runner's hard on ourselves. What it boils down to in my mind is this:

The Marathon is a race run in admiration, almost to the extent of worshiping the following qualities; perseverance, determination, mental toughness, guts, and grit. Hell, the whole race is based on the story of the Roman soldier who ran as fast has he could for 26.2 miles to deliver a message of victory. How romantic, and don't we all want to be that hard ass messenger. We all have so many unpleasant things in our lives that we can't control, that make us feel weak. This race is our way to prove ourselves to ourselves (and our families) as true warriors. So, to not finish one after starting proves the opposite. It makes us feel vulnerable and weak.

"Real" runners have begun trying to see just how fast they can cover the distance. This brings a whole other element to the race. If you push the pace from the beginning the more vulnerable you become to outside factors that you cannot control. See, if you go out to PR in scorching heat, you aren't going to last long. Believe it or not our bodies have limits, remember the original runner did freakin die, and they are made more acute by any unpleasantry mother nature cooks up. Not finishing doesn't make you a failure, it means that perhaps you have become a real runner, some one no longer enticed purely by the romantic ideals of the marathon. You are now trying to push your personal limits, not prove your ability to meet a manufactured ideal of greatness. It could still mean you are a complete pussy. I don't want to give any posers the idea that they are legitimate. If a real runner still can finish in the "spirit" of the marathon that's awesome. It is the ultimate. On a personal level, the marathon for me is still about overcoming adversities. Who knows, after I've completed several that may change.

As for Jenny Crain, she is now endlessly on the course. Her marathon is on-going. Her race is much more difficult than Sunday's Chicago Marathon, and much much longer. Each time I visit her site I well up. It must be so frustrating to not be able to float on the pavement. Let's not forget how small our lives are. We are vulnerable, all of us. It's truly what we do each moment that defines our lives for us. Screw everyone elses opinion. Each of us is a speck in the Universe. In the end we are the only ones who have to live with our choices. Make each second eternal. Make each race memorable (one way or another); each run a deliverance from our selves. Refuse to be ordinary. Whatever you do, DON'T SIT STILL!

weirdness

After feeling like I've been running underwater for a week, it was a nice change this morning to feel unharnessed. I haven't felt like my old running self in a long time. This morning was a close as I've come. I almost took my hair down, and outstretched my arms, Laura Ingles style, but I refrained. Today I longed to run a fall marathon. I want to so badly, I don't have a goal time... just the desire to finish. IT's a rite of passage. I'm not a real runner if I don't, right? It's all I want. I love everything about the fall marathon. Pink, green, red, black and orange to start. Live music. bananas and beer at the finish. crunchy leaves wisping around the trampled water cups in the street. They guy with the long beard and the pony tail (come on every marathon has one of those guys, and he's usually wearing a loud mismatched outfit). I love all of it, down to the foil blanket and massage tent at the end! *sigh*

race reflections

In the month since I last posted I have run a couple of races. Some went well. Some were a disaster. Saturday I ran a personal worst in the 5k by 30 seconds. Sure, I was upset. Okay, lets be honest. I really wasn't "upset", like crying my eyes out upset, I was frustrated. To be even more frank, I was only frustrated because the girl that beat me was caddy about it. Even that frustration would've been short lived had Casey not been there. Of course I wanted to win, and to run a PR, but when it didn't happen my initial response was "oh well, I'll have a better day next time. This is just a piddly 5k race, better here than somewhere important!" Since everyone else seemed so upset I felt guilty for not caring more.

Then came the storm of accusations from an over invested husband, and the smirks from the winner. Of course at this point, so close to my so called "failure", I started to think I was a weirdo for not caring more. Shouldn't I be fierce always? Wouldn't a "good" runner get pissed, and maybe throw their shoes. Maybe I should find some shoes to throw. It felt wierd that Casey was so much more disappointed in me than I was. I started to think I didn't care about being good anymore. Maybe I was burned out and didn't know it. Then I watched the boys run the kids race.

Cooper finished near the front with the 9 and 10 year olds and didn't even notice his accomplishment. All he cared about was getting the free sucker, and gatorade. Sir Willem finished near the back (but was one of the youngest kids in the race). When he crossed the line he said, "Mommy I winnded. I get phree dollars!" Their place in the pack didn't mean nearly as much to them, as their PERSONAL performance. They were so cute with their numbers and ferocious race faces! Their fiercness ended when the race did.

That's when I realized I am the same way. I am not burned out. I am a fierce competitor, but when the race ends my life begins again. It occured to me that many of us forget what it's about. I'm not a weirdo for not throwing my shoes like a baby. I just love to run. For me winning is a bonus. If I have a bad day, it's just another day. Don't kid yourself. I am intense. I am hard on myself. I do an inventory and make changes, but I also wipe it off. I'd prefere to just forget about it and move on to the next one.

As for Saturday? My place and time may have sucked, but I am still proud of my performance. It would've been easy to quit for a lot of reasons: no one would ever see that slow time next to my name, I felt like crap, and it would've save the heartache second place seems to cause. I didn't quit. I didn't make excuses. I finished it, and it was totally worth it. The course was beautiful, the race was well run, and I still made 100$. The Sun's mellow morning light was reflecting off the Rock River. The trees formed an illuminated canopy I lost myself in, in order to forget the pain. My legs may have been jello. They may have been moving in slow motion, but I'd love to run this race again. I would say this performance was better than my BiX performance because I put a lot more effort into this one. If I only ran these races because I thought I'd always win, I would get burned out. I run these races because I love to run, and that's why I'll be around for a long time!

FOREVER

It's been forever since I've written. I am working full time again. This time though, it's not too demanding. I ran Bix 7. It went pretty well, there's always room for improvement, 42:19. I am just rediculously happy to have a community in which to train. It makes a huge difference. I recently revisit this Whitman poem:

I Saw in Louisiana a Live-Oak Growing

I saw in Louisiana a live-oak growing,
All alone stood it and the moss hung down from the branches,
Without any companion it stood there uttering joyous leaves of dark green,
And its look, rude, unbending, lusty, made me think of myself,
But I wondered how it could utter joyous leaves standing alone there
without its friend near, for I knew I could not,
And I broke off a twig with a certain number of leaves upon it,
and twined around it a little moss,
And brought it away, and I have placed it in sight in my room,
It is not needed to remind me as of my own dear friends,
(For I believe lately I think of little else than of them,)
Yet it remains to me a curious token, it makes me think of manly love;
For all that, and though the live-oak glistens there in Louisiana
solitary in a wide flat space,
Uttering joyous leaves all its life without a friend or lover near,
I know very well I could not.

-- Walt Whitman
Pretty well somes it up.

Who needs cheerleaders

Okay. I'm venting. I ran my first 10k. My fitness is about where I expected it to be for being back at it for 2 months (36:44). I tried to talk to casey about my goals and my quest to build my confidence in my ability to achieve them! Jenny's tuesday night group has been a miracle for me! It has given me a support network and accountability, both of which I need desperately. I thought winning saturday, and the respectable time would be a great segway to a conversation with Casey in which I set an expectation of his support. Man was I wrong. I tried to tell him that my road time would be competitive in many venues; what an excellent resource tuesday night was, how I wish he'd be more verbally supportive of me. I got, "it's a down time for running right now." What a dick head thing to say. That comment totally discounted my effort, and sabotaged my efforts to build confidence! It's not like him either; to be so calloused. I of course wasn't going to stand for that kind of talk so I defended myself. I didn't get anywhere. I think it boils down to the fact that he wants to move next year, and I want to stay for my running. Not to mention that he still resents his lack of opportunity to achieve his goals in college! So my pursuits are salt in a wound, but seriously GET OVER IT! I want the spouse that goes to the races with a poster board that says, "GO MOMMY GO!" and get's the kids involved. i don't think I'll ever get that. However, I would settle for the spouse that says, "hey way to go. how'd you feel." When I call after a race. Anything would be better then, "alrighty, nice job. talk to you later." An empty response to something I put so much of myself into! But who needs cheerleaders anyway. Right?

an oldie but it fits here

This is from December of 2006 (When I was still teaching!). What I say seems to fit the theme of this blog so I wanted to post it here!

"Today I recieved a batch of little yellow notes from the psychology class. They explained why the students had picked me to be the reciepient of their admiration. Of course they made me feel good. However, they provided me with a great deal of insight, into myself and the broader world, that I didn't expect.

First of all, they all said the same things. I came to understand that in my students eyes Mrs. Gasway = positivity, energy, enthusiasm, randomness, fun, passion, authenticity, and individuality. These are qualities I aspire to possess so I'm glad that others have percieved me as such. That was a much needed affirmation. It did make me think if Annie, mommy, wife, and all my other selves possess at least a few of these qualities. I don't know. I don't get little yellow notes from my husband, children, or aquantances. I began to wonder what qualities my critics notes would highlight, and what color would they be? Then I thought about all the other teachers notes and how they were impacted by them. Finally, the students, did they take this assignment seriously, or was it just a gotta-get-it-done sorta thing. It doesn't matter, I just always wonder that. I'm a teacher!

What would life be like if we were assessed regularly on the perceptions others had of us. What if we could get in writing some sort of run down of the qualities others see in us. Would we be any more motivated to be better human beings?

To me the notes were an affirmation that I am the person I aspire to be, and I do embody the qualities I strive to represent. It's nice to know I'm actually hitting the target, and not just thinking I am. So many of us think we know who we are until we find out the collective perception of us is much different from our perception of ourself. Really we are only what other's think we are until we prove otherwise, and still we are only what others think we are.

It's easy to say "I don't care what other's think". You should care enough that you can use public perception of who you are to gage if you're hitting your mark. However, you shouldn't let what other's think persuade you to be someone you dont WANT to be.

Besides, most of the time when people say, "I don't care what other people think of me." What they should be saying is, "I don't care if other people like me." Because, unless you're selling something, you shouldn't care if people like you or not. Little yellow notes aren't really momento's of approval. They're insight into the collective perception of you.

babble

< this is an old friend of mine!


Well, nothing of significance has occured lately. The Indy Mini was won in a low 1;16. That's wriggling under my skin. A little extra motivation. I know I'm not fit enough to run that right now. Focus on the task at hand (Just keep saying it annie). My steeplechase record was only a few hundredths of a second from being broken. I guess it's about time. It's been 6 years, and it wasn't all that great to begin with! It'll still piss me off when it happens though, I am competitive. Yesterday I drove to my parents to visit, run, and drop off Sir Willem (who couldn't have been happier to be rid of me).

The run was amazing. The leaves glowing above me. The wind seemed to poke holes in my skin and rush through me. My favorite hills greeted me with a warm welcome, and I responded with even strides. Everything seemed to flow together. We found half of a deer skeleton, mainly the spine. That was an interesting statement to me of the temporary state of living. Carpe Diem right? You never know when you'll be a carcass. We're all just bones underneath, and many of us forget to live while we are alive. It's what we do with our bones while there is still marrow flowing through them that matters. On a less serious note, the llamas were out on the route. They always make me laugh. I was hoping they'd be feeling frisky enough to chase me so that all their neck fur would bounce up and down. It's the most ridiculous thing I've ever seen, bouncing llama fur. They have such long necks too. I have been known to take a laughing break for the llamas on occasion. Cooper still talks about it!

Speaking of Cooper... On the dark ride home Cooper kept me company. He has an old soul. It makes him intriguing, and his presence addictive. He opened up about his new school, speaking only in metaphor (gee wonder where he gets that from!) He said the kids sometimes make him feel like they're all "Puppies at the bowl and he gets popped out to stand alone until they scatter. When they leave and I go to the bowl there's nothing left". He said, "they just don't know I'm a good leader mom" Hummmmm. What do you say to a six year old who tells you this? I told him something about how good leaders don't worry about being followed, because they know that someday it'll happen. They have belief in themselves, you're only 6 blah blah blah... He has such an old soul that many times he leaves me feeling like a child.

unhinged

quotes,
"Mommy no grown ups are at the playground. No one would see you playing with us so you could act like a kid. You know you have a kid inside you don't you."
"mine eyes are melting"
"It's wake up time. Make me some lunch"
"Cooper are you hearing voices again?"
"What's your super power?"
"Don't go in there! The One tooth monkey will get you!"
"mommy you look like a boy when you are running"
"I'm shaking my bottom at you!"
"Look at me I'm yours old granny!" (pants up to his nipples)
"jellycreamers!"
"holy chicago" "holy mayonnaise"
Of course there's spontaneous accapella renditions of "409" and "Day Oh"
"brother love"
"kuckoburra code"
"Sorry boys, I can't hear you. The music in mommyland is awfully loud!"

Once upon a supermarket fit
"Little boy you look upset. Do you want me to help you find your mommy?" You are my mommy. "I'm sorry but I've never seen you before today." YOUS ARES MY MOMMY! "Nope I'm sorry. My little boy never yells at me." (tiny laughter) Mommy it's me bwennan Wiw wam gwasway" You look a lot like my son. Oh how I miss him. He was eatten by a one tooth monkey you know!" Siwwy no I wasn't I'm wight heow. (In the dramatic fashion of a silent movie damsel) "Oh it couldn't be! Willem is that really you! Oh how I've missed you so!" (Big hug)

Houseplant *Upon Casey's urging*

This may look like an ordinary houseplant to everyone else in the world, but to the Gasway family it carries a special meaning. I don't know what type of foliage it is. For all I care it's pink and green foliage. To us this plant isn't something we bought to put into our house, it's something we bought to signify "home".

Seems like most people settle down in a place and THEN have kids. Well I've always done things bass ackwards. I had kids and still haven't settled down in place. My kids have lived in three states and four different houses. However, their home has remained the same; Mom, Dad, our routines, and (drum roll please) the plant.

I don't see the change as a bad thing. There is no negativity in it for us. If anything it is routine for us to change. After we moved back from Colorado in 2004 I realized that, although my kids didn't need to us to maintain a physical placement that was constant, they did need a symbol to let them know that, "this place is my 'home'". So I went to Kroger and bought the cheapest, smallest, houseplant I could find, and I vowed to the boys to keep it alive! I explained to them the idea that where this plant lived is where our home was. They seemed relieved to have the plant around.

My kids reinforced for me the idea that home, and house are very separate ideas that can be easily confused with each other. They didn't care where they slept, they cared that we were all together. They needed to know whether where they slept was where our family had movie night, and was free to scream out in anger and cheer. The plant came to embody the idea of home. I think this means that now I could live in my car and if the plant was there they'd feel secure. (a little pavlov's dog eh!)

The plant is their cue. Always on the kitchen window pane, it speaks of security and togetherness for all of us. It acts a the discriminative stimulus for all of us. Where there is THE plant there is the Gasway family unhinged, unabashedly airing all our idiosynchrosis, quirks and other phenomena (see picture of Willem above). Because that's really what "home" is all about right? Airing your weirdness with no fear of rejection or retribution. Where we go so goes the plant, poor thing. I think it should be named to make it an official member of our household. What'd ya say? Maybe we should just give it a title instead? Something royal and important sounding of course. Any ideas?

announcement

Alrighty... so that my intensity seems well placed I must first tell you some goals that I've kept hidden away.... One, to qualify for the Olympic trials in the marathon (A standard), two to run a sub 1:15 half-marathon this year. Last year I ran a 1:18 half with very very minimal speed workouts and 45 miles a week training peak. So these goals seemed realistic... SEEMED... (I am venting again...)

Over the last few months these goals went from being great motivators to a complete driving force from my internal motor. I am a woman possessed. Just before Detroit I found out that KC was getting a job and I would be able to quit teaching and up my mileage to a reasonable 80-100 per week. I was ready to break 2:45 at Detroit, a modest time for myself I thought, then Bronchitis set in. Being asthmatic it pretty much screwed me. DNF was next to my name at the end instead of 2:43 something or other. I was a little upset but not really, after all shit happens and I was about to begin real training.

December I quit my job, Bronchitis again this time for three weeks. I finally get over it, resume modest training and wham... a mysterious calf thingy in February, as well as no hubby to babysit and $ for daycare. Here I am March 2nd Calf healing and then today...

In February I decided I couldn't just sit idly around losing fitness. Although I had but 300$ to my name I drove 40 miles to the Y and joined ($124). They had a pool, ellipticals, free babysitting. I was good to go. For the last three weeks I have driven the 40 miles (one way) to work out for 1 to 2 hours 5 days a week (tae bo tape on weekend) through snow storms and ice storms (it is northern Indiana after all). I've gone no matter what, completely undaunted by any obstacle. Then today happened.

I started working part-time for my mom to pay for my gas. Today I left with Willem and drove the 40 minutes. The Roads were treacherous. I passed three slide-offs and one nasty accident. (like I said a woman possessed) When we arrived the daycare doors were locked. I looked at my watch, I should've had an hour at least. I go to the front desk and wait for a while for someone to acknowledge me and ask my question. I was wrong. It closed an hour before I thought it did. I argued, "no I was misinformed by you, so what are you going to do about it. I paid for this service under the pretense that there was daycare available until 1pm." All i got was a "too bad". "but I drove 40 miles", "sucks to be you" I finally left, I was making no progress. I was devastated.

Over the last three months I have been thrown countless road blocks. I've hurdled every single one. I am soooooo intensely devoted to my goal that I will not allow anything to stop me, and here was this woman. Unhelpful, uncommitted to her clients, stopping me and I couldn't do a damn thing about it. It was too much for me. I wanted to slug her for being complacent and smug. I wanted to scream at her that I was actually trying to accomplish something other than to maintain a desirable physique. My body was a tool and needed sharpened and she was telling me "no", and all I could do was take Willem back to my car. Drive the 40 miles home past the three slide off's, and nasty accident (which had now multiplied into 7 slide offs and two nasty accidents) and do tae bo.

I cried all the way home. Heavy chest heaving cries. I wasn't sad, or defeated. I was overcome with intense, angry, frustration. Which was okay with Willem, he understood. Three year olds go through this all the time. I still refuse to allow her to keep me from getting some sort of a work out in, but it amazes me how many people allow themselves to be crippled, and cripple others because of their own bitterness and complacency. I also didn't know exactly how deeply devoted I was to my goals until today. I guess I thought everyone would drive 80 miles a day to get in a work out.

freedom

As I sit here listening to the boys cry themselves to sleep, They want to stay awake and I said "no", I am reminded of why I love running so much! So much that I tore my calf because I refused to take time off.

I love running because it makes me feel alive, it makes me feel free. Cliched, I know, but I still remember expending all that pent up energy on the play ground by playing tag. When I was running, then, I never wanted to stop. I just wanted to feel the wind, feel the blood pooling in my legs, feel my body heat up electric. I wanted to go forever and see what treasures I could find. No one could tell me what to do. I didn't know I was actually good at it until 5th grade. When our P.E. teacher timed the class for the presidential fitness doohickie I beat every single 5th grader at my school. Girls and boys. I thought it was fluke until I won the 5th grade all city cross country meet. I didn't win either of them on purpose. I just loved the freedom I felt when my feet hit the ground in a wild mantra. The faster I went the freer I felt. In winning I discovered power. Not over others, but the power harnessed within my legs. The power is contained within the mantra. As I unleash that power onto the pavement in the even rhythm of my feet, I unharness my spirit. To not run is suffocating and chlosterphobic.

Not everyday can be a day when I feel an "even rhythm". There are days when I feel like crap, legs all clumsy. Still, when I run, it's the days when I'm over taken by that wild mantra that I love the most. That's what keeps me at it!

valentinianish reflection

I've been thinking about my lame ass valentine's card, Valentine's Day, and Marriage. I've come to a few conclusions so brace yourself. First of all St. Valentine forwent (is that a word? it is now) love for martyrdom in the name love. So expecting something from someone on Valentines Day counters the true sentiment of the holiday. Second, all Valentine gave the woman he loved was a note (rejecting her offers) on a piece of sheep skin. At least I wasn't rejected. Third, the marriage thing... here comes the ramblings. Can you feel it?

My relationship with the note writter has spanned almost 9 years. That is one hell of a committment. I haven't kept up any other relationship for that long, and neither has he. We've been through some really REALLY ROUGH patches. Like the time we (and both the boys) were living on raman noodles and oatmeal.

During that time we had to spend any "extra" money to re-plumb the entire house... we went without water for 2 weeks. He was working 12 hours a day 6 days a week in a factory, coming home and plumbing. While i was home I was managing a 4 year old and a 2 year old on 0 dollars, no water, and little food. But they never knew it. We had fun anyway. The boys thought it was a game to catch the water in a bucket straight out of the main in the basement. Even through all our hardships our relationship has never really been tested. Our committment to each other, our marriage, our children some how out weighs any hardship, let alone some trinket of love.

I think I'll count my blessings that I still smell his clothes when I fold them. My breath escapes me when we kiss. He still reaches for my hand in secret. That Cooper rolls his eyes when we embrace and says, "oh great, Make out" and walks away smiling. That He stands up for me, cheers for me, praises me, believes me always, and knows me as well as I know myself. I do the same for him. WE both make HUGE sacrifices and don't keep a tally. We are best friends still. That is a miracle. That is a gift.

Happy flippin Valentines Day

I KNOW HE FEELS GUILTY BUT COME ON.... EVERYONE IN THE FAMILY GOT SOMETHING BUT ME. BECAUSE I'M THE ONE WHO GOT MY ASS TO THE STORE TO GET THEM STUFF. NO RESPECT I TELL YA. AND WE'RE NOT BROKE ASSES... YOU CAN AFFORD A DAMN CARD AT LEAST!

Random happenings

It's past one am. I'm only awake because I have to get Casey in a few hours. I have nothing new to report. NO amazing stories. Except a few things the boys did that amazed me today.

School was cancelled today due to the ridiculously cold temps. I rejoiced at the extra time with the boys. They chose to spend most of the time playing, without me. *sigh* *shrug* They set up a tent in Coopers room. Mr. Naturalist himself of course came up with the idea. The tent looked perfectly natural in his room considering the walls are all murals to look like a beautiful sunny day. They kept the flap facing his TV open! Imagine that. They watched their Caillou DVD, I gave them lunch there. (note to the weary. They do not get any channels up there! They can only watch DVDs. Easier to monitor!)

It brought back so many memories of my own adventures. I think I was lucky my parents didn't hover so much. They let me go to Annie land and stay there all day if I wanted. So, as much as I wanted to be in on the camping trip I stayed out, but I did sit on the steps and listen for a while. I didn't even realize I was smiling until my face was sore. Who knows how long I sat there! It was wonderful.

When Cooper was done with that he got out the colored paper and crayons and made what looked like an interesting pie chart with numbers on it. I was informed later that it was a target "like the ones they have in bars." HUmmmm kay? Permission was granted for use of the scissors. He then proceeded to make a gun out of Lego's, and one lonely rubber band. After taping the target to his wall he occupied himself for a solid hour with the contraption!

Next on the list, 4 loaves of homemade bread! Of course they couldn't be ordinary! We died them interesting colors! Like red (red bread is scary looking), green, and blue.

Will was an all day happy accomplice, and contributor of ideas.

They both amaze me!

you can do it!

to here>
Just to look down.
I was curious!
I can take a little R and R, right!
HELL YA!!!!!


<I climbed this (and then some... okay... a lot more than this)

a little mourning

As I drove to my parents today I passed some of my favorite running loops. I was frightened. Frightened because those loops are beginning to feel like lost acquaintances whose essence I occasionally miss; or a random craving for hummus, and not the close friends I have routinely depended on for all things, physical, emotional, and spiritual. I am grappling for anything to hold on. I've focused on eatting more fresh foods, on strength training, anything that makes me feel as though I am still doing what the competition is not willing to do. If I only had access to an indoor pool, then I'd be more at ease. That definition I have had of myself as an elite runner is fading as I begin to wonder if I'll ever get it back. Those thoughts are weaknesses I purge daily. The purging is becoming more and more difficult, but necessary if I am going to get back to kicking ass. I'm up for the challenge. Seems I have a lot of challenges facing me these days... I'm tough, I'm buff, I'm not in it alone, most of all I'm a stubborn ass! (if that sounds like a little self pep talk it was!)

Kindergarten Krazies

It's noon. The phone rings as I exit the store. The wind is unforgivingly frigid. It's amazing I even made it there in one piece to begin with. Snow was drifting and falling across the roads, which were only identifiable because of the dirt trails cut by other idiotic drivers like myself. It's the school. They've cancelled school for the rest of the day could I come get Cooper. (Duh! It's not like the weather took a surprise turn for the worse!) So I slowly fishtail my way to the school.

It's crazy hair day today. I spent several minutes that morning with gel and hair spray manufacturing the messiest hair style possible, and setting it like concrete. Cooper was pumped! He was sure his hair would be the craziest.

I walk into the room and see the various interpretations parents had of crazy hair looking at me from a calmly cross legged, clump on the floor. The teacher walks over to greet me bracing a book in her armpit. At this moment I realized how much you can learn about a parents views/values on a day like this. There was everything from a Mohawk to three pony tails (that parent went all out crazy!). It was at this moment I became the catalyst to chaos.

"Wow. There sure is some crazy hair in this room!"

There was an immediate explosion of 15 little explanations of the creative process undertaken that morning by their parents. I learned about mediums, methods, and negotiations without even having to ask! Pretty soon they were trying to out talk each other. The noise level rose and rose. Cooper looked around in shock, or terror I'm not sure which. It wasn't long before the calm clump was mobile. They were after me. Dawn of the Dead! Then my attention shifted to the teacher for an apology. My lack of attention was all it took. They were spinning circles, skipping, pulling on each other's clothes. It had degraded into pure chaos.

At this moment I thought, "Well if Mrs. Dolan shares my insight about the hair style being a reflection of the parents views/values, she shouldn't be at all surprised by my inate ability to amass chaos!"

Corney ramblings

Well no major meltdowns today. I felt as normal as one who is amputated from "normality" can. I didn't get to run which made me feel like shit. My calf still hurts but I know it will get better soon and I'll be back to ass kicking as normal.

The boys were cute today, for a while. They cancelled school at noon so I had them both all day. We watched movies together, did an art project involving planes and rockets, baked cookies, built a space station and a large Thomas rail line. They ate pigs-in-a-blanket and tomato soup for dinner. WE finished it off with two bedtime stories. Sounds like June Cleaver doesn't it? Don't be fooled. Mrs cleaver wished on the first star to be Ani Difranco, or Anais Nin, or Evita, or any Childless independent woman she could think of.

The boys couldn't have known that inside I was screaming to get the hell out of the house by myself. My ability to maintain a calm and patient outter shell while my interior wriggled restlessly to be independent was unnerving. Will kissed me spontaneously on the arm as I reached to open the oven to pull the cookies out. The string attached to that kiss pulled me back to earth.

The string attached to that kiss didn't remedy the fact that I've lost my independence. It meant something. I'm not sure what, but if I don't screw up to badly it'll be something good. I know that because when they were both asking me questions simultaneously, and instead of getting an answer, I asked for 5 minutes alone they both obliged without a complaint. Yes, I had Cooper when I was young. Yes, I wasn't ready. Yes, sometimes I still feel like I'm not ready. The boys show me how to truly love someone else if I'm willing to learn. As I follow their example I become ready.

No parent is perfect (except me! hahahahah), but parents who listen and learn are at least trying. I'm convinced there's a kiddie point system and that they give bonus points for trying even if you screw up. Attention, concern, interest, compassion, space when I need it, are all things that my kids give me. These are things they need me to return in favor. On days when I need these from myself they let me be selfish without holding it against me. I hope I can remember that when they are teenagers! For now Don't be fooled by the apron... it doesn't signify quite obedient servitude, I'm not wearing a thing underneath and I'm terrible at taking orders!

It's coming down

Not to bring the rest of the world down with me, but I'm beginning to think i was giving myself too much credit concerning my emotional strength. The role reversal Casey and I have undergone is a lot in its self.... From stay at home dad to working dad, from working mom to stay at home mom. To pile on top of that the 500 mile commute he makes to Nashville every Tuesday night, and back again every Saturday night, arriving at his destination in the wee hours of the morning; we only talk about once a day and that conversation is always in the presence of others. We have always been best friends.

Now I find myself with no one to talk too. Hence the blog. I love my kids, but I'm sick of being unaffected. I'm pissed. I'm scared. I feel very alone in all of this because who is there to tell this to except this stupid blog. Really don't want to put it on him. He knows. I know he knows. He feels the weight too, pressing him down. It is suffocating but not like drowning, or a pillow on the face. It's slower, heavier. Giles Corey might understand. It's like rocks on your chest, or having your torso wrapped in cellophane. There really isn't a way to scream, and I don't feel like it anyway. I just want to settle in and wait for it to pass. My one sanctuary keeps getting invaded by injuries or illness or weather. The waiting seems endless, and narrow. The waiting is what stirs me to anger some days.