A few words about my running

When I was in eighth grade, I got this hair-brained idea to join the track team. I was currently a dancer—ballet, tap, and jazz—but not an athlete in the traditional sense. This notion was coming out of nowhere.

I remember I was in Suzette's basement slumber partying it, when I made my announcement and the room about imploded. I was skinny then like I am now, and my friends were convinced that this would kill me. It makes me smile to think about it now, but at the time it ticked me off and it cemented my resolve.

What I didn't know at the time was that those months on the team were going to be my first brush with divine intervention.

I do not remember how it was decided that I would be a long distance runner. Our first meet was at the high school track in town. My parents were there cheering me on into last place.

We got home and standing in the kitchen my mom announced that she'd been to the doctor that day and they'd found a lump...

On her lung.

It wasn't cancer, but it needed to be removed and surgery would be in a few days. The room nearly imploded again.

Here's the divine intervention: Track practice, my friends on the team, the bus rides to other schools kept my mind busy through my mom's unbelievable diagnosis, tortuous surgery, and painstaking recovery.

I cry thinking about Katie's mom. I'd hear her voice yelling my name. She cheered me on as a proxy for my mom who was recuperating at home.

The season came to a close. I never placed. I came in last or second to last. Every. Single. Time.

But I showed up. I was at every practice. I listened to the coaches. I did the work. That's the gist of the speech the coaches made to the entire team when our season was over. All these years later, I feel good about showing up, persevering, and not doing it just for the win. I am also grateful that it helped me moderate my worries over having a sick parent.

It was with some trepidation that I put the 5k race on the 4040 list. There would be RUNNING. A LONG DISTANCE. Why was I agreeing to do this again when the first time hadn't been particularly successful?

Well, I like a challenge. I know hard things are good for me. And I loved the idea of my beloved, funny, endearing brother-in-law (B-I-L) agreeing to run it with me. I cried when he confirmed he would run or walk the entire race by my side instead of meeting me at the finish line.

I've completed a week's worth of the Couch 2 5k training runs.

My first run was at an unfamiliar park near the home I was house/teen/dog sitting.

I have three words for that first run: Hills, Wind, Mud. I uttered other words that day, but I'll let your imagination fill those in.

My second run was at a local high school track. It seemed easy compared to the boot camp nature of the first run. The sunshine seduced me into believing it was warmer than it was, so my fingers froze, but otherwise it was a great run. I hit a point when it got hard, and instantly I heard my B-I-L's words encouraging me. I smiled and kept going. I also thought a lot about my 8th grade track career. My middle school self is a good role model for me today. Show up. Do the work.

The third run took place on the black top and front sidewalks of my daughter's elementary school. I need to squeeze in some more running in between the weekend runs if I'm going to be in shape for the May 2 race. I'm also trying to stay ahead of any inclement weather that comes our way.

Lighting is the issue after we get home from work and school. The track wasn't accessible. The parks close at sundown. But there's reasonable lighting at school. My daughter ran and walked and exercised her role as Brownie when a community band member needed help with the door. The band practices in her cafeteria and he was trying to push a timpani through the door.

I did laps. I wore mittens.

I love this list. I love the challenges I've set for myself. I cannot wait for May 2.

# 26 Go to Meramec Caverns. Check.

On Martin Luther King Jr. Day, my office was closed and Cadence, L, and T (our teen friends we were staying with) were out of school. I'd already completed my first 5k training run, done my daily sun salutations, read some more of Andrew Jackson's biography (which gets me closer to 2015's prez reading), and crossed of my bread pudding from the list. It seemed the day off was an excellent time to knock off another item.

Cadence was the only one of the quartet who had been to Meramec Caverns. On our drive down Hwy. 44, she repeatedly recounted the bumpy ride to the caverns that took place on the school bus during her summer camp trip. Everyone, including the teachers, were miserable on this bumpy, bumpy ride. Did I mention it was uncomfortable and bumpy? She also warned me that I needed to wear appropriate shoes because the caves were “buttery.” She meant slippery, but I like the butter reference best.

We had about 20 minutes to wait for the next tour, so the four of us scoped out the gift shop. I was thrilled to discover that they had travel pins (which I collect) so already this trip was off to a good start.

I really didn't have any expectations. I hadn't seen any photos of the caverns until I was looking at the postcards in advance of our tour. The photos do not do the vast open spaces justice.

The tour lasted just over an hour and we walked a mile and a quarter.



I was impressed with the tour guide's information and presentation. Here are a few fun facts:

Missouri is known as the Cave State, home to more than 6,000 surveyed caves.
The cave system was introduced to the public as a tourist attraction in 1933 by Lester B. Dill, who invented the bumper sticker as a means of promoting the caves.
During the Civil War the Confederates owned the caves, but Union soldiers used the space. When the Confederates learned this, they hired 13-year-old Jesse James to kill the Union soldiers.
It takes 75 years for stalagtites and stalagmites to grow one cubic inch.
Mnemonic device for which is stalagtite and stalagmite: 'tites hang tightly from the top; 'mites hurt mighty bad if you sit on one.



Having a 13 year-old-boy made history come alive for all of us as we discussed Jesse James and his young age when he carried out the Confederates' job of killing Union soldiers. We couldn't wrap our minds around his youth as well as how in the world he and his gang navigated the enormous spaces in the pitch blackness.



It was an even better excursion than I could have imagined and am so glad I put it on the list.



37 items to go.

Introducing my Helper-Fans

Warning: What you are about to read is essentially like reading my journal.

There won't be much organization. I will jump from thought to thought. Come to think of it, it will likely feel like you are actually sitting TALKING with me.

I digress.

I am grateful to my "helper-fans" (we'll start calling them HFs) who are encouraging this new writing life I have taken up. I got a message from one of my devoted HFs who said, "Um, need some more blog entries, please."

My blog has been quiet for a few days because I am getting up at 5:55 every morning (generally not on weekends) and writing a page a day of a fiction idea I got a few weeks ago. It's kind of like a bet I've made with myself and a few other HFs who BELIEVE I can do this.

Well, damn, it appears I can. For years I told myself that I didn't have a story to tell. Whatever I came up with wouldn't be believable. blah blah blah. Boring downer stuff.

I'm over that and am writing a book. It will be my first AND NOT MY LAST.

I texted a friend the other and said, "I am doing what I am supposed to be doing when I write."

He wrote back, "Truth."

It seemed like such a simple sentence, but four days later, it may be the most important thing I've ever written.

Every morning I put on my writing uniform: GAP sweater I bought on sale two weeks ago, black and silver ring on my right hand, and earbuds in my ears. These thing signal to my brain that words must issue forth and flow out of my finger tips. It is working.

What is NOT working is listening to iTunes Weekly Top 50 radio as I write. It took me an hour to fill my page. I downloaded 9 songs. I became manic.

This morning I returned to listening to Ingrid Michaelson again and things proceeded more calmly.

I am looking at the clock and must wrap this up since I am not a full-time writer of my own stuff, yet.

Let me leave you with this:

Set some goals.

Dream Bigger than it seems reasonable to dream.

Find people who will cheer you on from the sidelines.

There is a new energy coursing through me because of my daily practices of writing, yoga, and believing new things about myself.

I'll write again soon. I've got some breathing and sun saluting to do before I head to work.

Namaste.

The Shift - Reflections on #7 on the 40/40 list

About three weeks before my 40/40 list was scheduled to start, I was talking to one of my beloved yoga teachers, Sarah, about #7 on the list: Four Sun Salutations a Day. She was very encouraging when I expressed some reluctance about four a day for 365 days. My hesitation came from the fact that until that appointed time, I had not been doing ANY regular yoga at home.

She talked to me about how four was a really good, doable number with which to start. And she talked about The Shift. Sarah told me that there would come a point when a shift happened and things would just fall into place. I could feel the excitement of such a nebulous wonderful future event. I really wanted some things to fall into place in various areas of my life.

I have been doing four sun salutations for 18 days. During yesterday morning's practice as Cadence whined about being tired and not wanting to do them (even though she continued) I kept breathing and moving during her fuss. Depending on when we wake up, some mornings' practices are a bit rushed, but yesterday I didn't want to stop at four. If time had allowed I could feel my body, heart, and mind craving more.

Over the weekend with our schedule disrupted, we did our salutations in the evening twice. And there was something delicious about stretching and reaching right before bed. When we returned home to our regular routine, I considered switching our salutations to the evening. I heard myself say, “But I'd miss it in the morning then.”

Last night after the rest of the household was settled in for the night, I went back to my mat and did three more sun salutations. My legs felt sore, but they were straighter than they've been lately. My chatarangas are strong (I couldn't have imagined that possibility two years ago), and my breathing was calming.

I love how quickly this daily practice has become something that I not only look forward to but actually crave. I love that my mat will be my constant companion wherever I go in all of 2015. Chances are good that this practice will evolve into a life-long one.

I couldn't imagine when Sarah talked about The Shift what that would look and feel like for me, but in just three weeks time, I know it's taking effect.

#2 Make Bread Pudding. Check.

I added baking bread pudding to my 40/40 list because it's a recipe I remember my paternal grandmother making when I was a child. She left out the raisins from the recipe because she knew I abhorred the nasty dried fruit. I've meant to make it over the years, but never have. Whatever is put on the list is guaranteed to be achieved, and thus the bread pudding was added early on.

I found a “fancy” raspberry bread pudding recipe online. I chose this past weekend to bake it because I was teen/dog/house sitting for some dear friends and their fifteen-year-old daughter, T, is an exceptional baker in her own right. I thought it would be a fun activity to do together, and I also knew she'd know what to do if I needed help. Cadence helpfully added, “T's a better cooker than you, isn't she, mama?” Um, yes, this is a fact. T IS a better cooker.

T is also likely a better shopper.

The plan was that I would leave my yoga class, and dash into Aldi's on the way back to my temporary home for the weekend. The dash quickly turned into this ridiculous scenario. I didn't have a quarter for Aldi's shopping cart. I thought that there'd be no problem. Just a handful of ingredients and I'd be on my way...

I reached the dairy coolers and got stumped. Is Heavy Whipping Cream the same as the Heavy Cream my recipe called for? I texted Nicole. Then I asked a lovely shopper with a southern drawl. She was perplexed like me, but thought yes, it is the same. I texted my mom who confirmed she thought they were the same.

The next text to my mother was to make the “how many pints are in a quart?” conversion. While I awaited her response I queried another set of shoppers. It took four of us plus one long-distance mom to determine that OMG this recipe was going to give us a heart attack or instant high cholesterol. I needed SIX PINTS of heavy whipping cream! Now my arms are holding two loaves of Italian Bread, a container of apple juice, and there is no lady-like way that my arms can carry these six cartons! People are waiting for me to sort this out, and finally one of the conversion helpers runs to my aid. We grab a box in the cooler since I need so many cartons and she helps me load it all in so that the chaos can stop, and so the rest of Aldi's shoppers can resume their previously scheduled shopping.

The next few minutes are spent with me walking around and around the store looking for another freezer that must be hiding the frozen raspberries. When I find no additional cooler, I return to the berry section and read the signs slowly. Mixed berries AND raspberries should be found here. I set down the box of imbalanced groceries on the floor, get down on my hands and knees and rummage through the fruit boxes. With some scrounging, I find two bags of raspberries. Whew!

The first lady who helped me with the heavy cream vs. heavy whipping cream question passes me whilst I'm still on the floor raspberry picking and asks if she can help me. I was struggling with yoga-weakened legs to get up off the floor in a jean skirt and pick up this crazy box of ingredients. I smiled and said no thank you.

I make it to the check out, swipe my debit card, and that damn thing gets declined. Like after each of four attempts. The kind young checker says she'll suspend my sale while I run to the ATM. This whole time I'm thinking, “This would make for hilarious television, following me around like a fool.” I also remember what my yoga teacher had told us just minutes before: Yin yoga teaches us how to not lose our cool when we find ourselves in difficult circumstances. Thank goodness for that nugget in today's class because I am calm, laughing at the situation, and staying composed.

I drive to the ATM in the shopping complex only to realize that my debit card was declined BECAUSE I DIDN'T GIVE HER MY DEBIT CARD. I handed her a different card, but didn't think to check it whilst I was at the register. I withdrew money anyway and returned to the store. I stood in line chatting with one of the friendly helpers of the great pint inquiry and then paid for my ingredients. Twenty-three dollars later, I was ready to make this pudding.

*

Cadence and T and I could not get over how much cream and sugar were required. T and Cadence read the recipe aloud to me and we leisurely made our way through the process. There was great discussion about how much bread to actually add to the creamy mixture. We decided to stick with the recipe. I chose Italian Bread because I thought it would be more absorbent than other kinds given that I didn't have time to “age” the bread.

While we were waiting the thirty minutes for the bread to soak up the ocean of cream, we played UNO.
The recipe was easy to follow and didn't take long. I spooned in the cream-absorbed bread and added the raspberry and sugar layer the spooned the remaining bread over the raspberries. There was A LOT of cream remaining. After some pro-ing and con-ing, T and I decided we'd pour some of the cream over the layers in the 9 x 13 pan.

While the yummy recipe baked in the oven, we prepared the completely unnecessary vanilla sauce. The recipe called for three sticks of butter, flour, and vanilla and asked me to heat the butter and flour together until we achieved a “nutty aroma.” Readers, THIS is one of the many reasons I have not previously been comfortable in the kitchen. I do not have a reliable sense of smell. What the heck is a nutty aroma and how will I know when I've achieved it? Thank goodness, T was with us.

We happily pulled the pudding out of the oven. My favorite quote of the night is when T said, “We're gonna be eatin' on this for days!” The pan WAS so full of this sweet berry concoction. T and Cadence had never had bread pudding and were pleasantly surprised by the final product.

I'm especially glad to have chosen a fancier version of the old stand by, and am certain that I can recreate the recipe with less cream and sugar and net the same delicious results.

#2 on the list is complete and our taste buds absolutely approve!

Revising the stories we tell ourselves

I had an early morning skype session with Tammy. We were friends in high school, and technology reconnected us in adulthood. Our friendship feeds me in ways that are hard for me to express. Our mutual affection for each other has reinforced the idea that sameness is not an essential element in relationship. We are better friends because of our differences. Our differences are fiercely and mutually protected by the other, and I love it. We laugh and cry. We commiserate about our spirited daughters and her wise-beyond-years son. We message each other with prayer requests. We are full-service friends. The only downside is that a ten-hour drive separates us.

This morning's conversation focused on a paper she's writing for her master's. We were talking modern vs. post-modern, the Fall, original sin, Jesus, you know, light fare. We were both teacher and student to the other. The conversation moved on and we began talking about how my 4040 list is filling me and how my new daily writing habit is changing me. She said, “I'm going to be that friend that says: I TOLD YOU SO!”

And then...

“I'm having so much fun watching this happen to you. I've always known you were a writer—even in high school. It's so fun watching you figure it out.” Stop, wait, what?!?

I asked her to reflect on that a bit more and a beautiful story poured forth. She reminded me of Mrs. Deeg's composition class we'd had together. She talked about how seriously I'd taken our assignments and how even then, she knew I was a writer. She described my work as polished even in rough draft form. She reminded me that we had to trade essays and read each other's work. She told me that my writing ability had been slightly intimidating. She told me that she tells people about her friend Julie, The Writer.

And then I started to cry. The friends who “knew us when” have such a gift to offer our older selves.

I cried because the truth of her words resonated. I HAVE been a writer all this time. I just needed time to settle into what that meant for me. I cried because this friend is BRILLIANT. She and our other friends were the SMART ones. The National Honor Society kids. I cried because I was the dumb one in the group.

And then she said, “No, Julie, you weren't the dumb one. You were the writer in the group.” And my heart healed a little. I can accept that revision to the story I always told myself. I was different than our other friends. My love of words set me apart, but did not cast me out. I just marched to a different beat, and those friends loved me.

It is a gift to get to see yourself as others who love you see you. It's a greater gift when you begin to believe the story they are telling.

Word Nerd Word of the Day

One day in middle school, I stood at the locker with my best friend. I said something to her and she said, “Could you please speak English? I have no idea what that word you just used means.” This was the first of many times when my vocabulary became a topic of conversation. While I was mildly embarrassed, I was more confused. I had no idea where these words came from. I knew I used the word correctly. I loved reading, and collected words like others collected trinkets. I still love reading and writing words—a characteristic that slipped into my DNA courtesy of my paternal grandmother.

Thesaurus became a bit of a moniker (nickname) over the years. I loved it actually. I was proud of my vocabulary and the connection it made for me with my grandmother. Please be assured that I never used big words to show off or to sound uppity. That might have been a result, but it was never my intent. Words just intrigued me, entertained me, and helped me make sense of the world around me.

Today's word of the day, however, has got me thinking differently about word choice.

CONFLAGRATION

Its definition is a disastrous fire or conflict. The following sentence is the context in which I found the word in my presidential biography reading (page 196 of Jon Meacham's American Lion.) “Mrs. Eaton's affair, at the beginning, was but a spark, but what a conflagration it did cause,” she said.” The word nerd in me loves the sentence that follows for the word play Jon Meacham achieved. “Mrs. Smith had personal reasons to look forward to a bonfire.” See what he did? If you know what conflagration means as you read it the first time, then you can appreciate his reference to a bonfire.

It seems that these presidential biographers have humongous vocabularies and regularly employ them. As a writer, I'm aware of the importance of writing clearly for the reader's understanding. So here's where the conflagration (conflict) comes in for me. The sentence above would have been clearer if Mr. Meacham had simply written “what a conflict it did cause.” Then I wouldn't have needed to pull the dictionary off the shelf and hence slowed the progress of my reading. But on the flip side, I love using my dictionary and thesaurus.

Writer pauses to think of next thought, and this is what occurs to her:

Readers! It just dawned on me: HE didn't choose the word! His source did! See the “she said.” Whoever SHE was made the choice to use conflagration, not Mr. Meacham. But he had the genius to use bonfire in the next sentence!

Whew! He's off the hook for word choice—this time. And I'm going to keep loving and looking up and using big words. But I have a new appreciation for how my friend felt while we stood at our lockers. Moving forward, I'll give more consideration to my word choices.