Marathon training, 3 days to go

I was feeling great and ready to run my first marathon after taking some time off to “relax” before the race. Then I got this great idea to read blogs about marathons. Hmm. I was horrified to be reminded that I might lose a toenail or two. I picture myself running with blood seeping out of my shoes. Good thing I will be throwing those shoes out right after the race! The soles are worn. Believe me, that is not the only sole that is run down. Doubt started to penetrate my soul. 

As a 40 something person, do I have what it takes? Someone compared running a marathon to childbirth. It was a 30 something year old man, so really what would he know? You see, I have never been good at the childbearing part. Not once has someone exclaimed joy over my birthing hips. After having 3 children via c-section, you could say that I suck at this part. It could be a lot worse, I know. My grandma died during childbirth right around the age I am now. 

When I started this journey into adulthood, I was considered thin. I wanted to exercise to build muscle, not lose weight. People said that since I was thin, I really didn’t need to exercise. Lies! I was 120 lbs when I got married at 23. Shortly thereafter, I got pregnant and gained 66 lbs. 66 lbs! Afterwards, I lost all but 10 lbs before getting pregnant again. I gained 45 lbs with my second pregnancy. I stopped counting the lbs by my third pregnancy. I wanted to work out, but I didn’t have anyone to watch my kids. I tried child care at a fitness place and didn’t like it. I once forgot something and went back in after dropping my son off as a baby. They wanted to know why I was hanging around a baby. Hello, that was my son whom I just dropped off. Scary! 

People told me that I could never have nice abs after having my muscles cut after 3 c-sections. More lies!! I started doing crunches anyway. I worked my way up to 75 crunches three times a week, later adding weights. It was something that I could do without leaving the house. After working out my abs, and lately after losing 2 inches around my waist during marathon training I have no problems wearing a bikini. I am less than 5 lbs away from the weight I was before kids, with a lot more tone. I am not going to lie and say it wasn’t a hell of a lot of work, but it is attainable. If I can do it, why can’t you? Don’t ever believe that you can’t do something until you fully test your limits! 

So, before you sign up for your first marathon, I will let you know if it is anything like childbirth! Until then, I will be sitting around trying to relax in horror wondering what the hell I got myself into. 

Up north, part 4

You may or may not have noticed that I took a couple of days off from blogging. I am getting really close to the 3 month anniversary of my first blog. I remember reading somewhere right before starting this new adventure that statistically most people get frustrated and quit blogging after 3 months. Sorry you can’t get rid of me that easily, I just went up north for the last couple of days. 

Saturday morning I had to pick up Arabella and her BFF from Bible camp. I was running late, but thought I would be forgiven for being late since I was reading my Bible in a year app. This is on my bucket list and I am over half way done. I prefer to be a fully informed believer. Plus I had to turn around because I forgot to feed my cat. No excuse for that, I know.  By being late, I avoided a big accident on the highway. Once again, it wasn’t my time to go. 

It was a hot weekend up north. We spent tons of time in the water. I promised to try to relax and take it easy before the marathon. I told myself that I wasn’t going to be crazy and swim across the lake, so I got about half way across and turned around. Damn, I guess I did swim the lake. Oh well. Sunday soon turned into Monday and brought with it a 30 degree drop in temperature with lots of rain. So now I was forced to sit and do nothing. No more swimming. We played a lot of games and talked. 

My mom apologized to me for having a difficult childhood. She was very upset about some things that have been happening in Matt’s group home (another blog). She wanted reassurance that I would take care of Matt when she leaves this world. I told her I would even though last week I told Paul that I would like to leave this area in 6 years when we are empty nesters. Paul is an only child, although he does have stepbrothers that are in and out of prison in another state. So I guess we are stuck. 

My mom and I played cribbage this morning. I got the perfect hand. I got a jack of spades with three 5’s and a 5 of spades was cut. I texted Paul and asked him if I should frame my hand or head to the closest casino. He said my chance of getting the perfect hand was one in 216,000. What luck! But since I wasn’t able to take a shower in 3 days and had a car full of children, I thought that going to the casino might be frowned upon. Since it was a once in a lifetime hand that was dealt to me, I will just check that one off my bucket list too. After this week ends, I may have to add a few more items to my bucket list. I am considering adding triathlons… 

Da bomb

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Here is some of the treasure I found while cleaning out my grandma’s house. A World War II gas mask. We also found uniforms, helmets, and war papers, etc… I found out that my grandpa had measles during basic training. All of my grandpa’s sibling served in the military during World War II, even Aunt Grace. One of grandpas brother’s watched the bombing of Hiroshima from a naval vessel. He died from cancer before I was born and it rendered him sterile. We found countless historical treasures from this time period. Seeing a gas mask is a rather eerie experience.

I would have to say that my mom’s dad takes the prize for military treasures. He is da bomb. He actually brought back a live hand grenade. I can’t even imagine how he got that safely home. My mother and her siblings found it in his garage while cleaning it out after he passed away. They posed for a couple pictures then wondered what to do with it. The bomb squad ended up coming out after evacuating 2 blocks from the neighborhood. The bomb squad said that it could have gone off at any time. My aunt was horrified after hearing that she could have died while posing with a live grenade. Now isn’t that da bomb?

Marathon training, week 12

This is it. The training for my first marathon is over. Ready or not, here I come. Today I had my last run before the marathon. I finished a 12 mile run in a little over 2 hours with a heat index of 90. Wow, talk about sweat! Today must have marked a new record. My sweat made my skin sparkle like a Twilight vampire in the sun. A lot of people were out and about today. I saw 3 bicyclists and a walker/runner. I even had 2 people that I know stop along side of me. Motorcyclists waved. I felt motivated by all of this. Somedays I don’t see anyone. 

I feel relief that the marathon training is over. I also feel relief that the shirt I ordered for the marathon came in early. It looks great! I even took the advice of other runners and took my measurements before training. I wish I took my measurements before I started running 6 years ago. That would be impressive. I took my measurements after I was done with the half marathon training when I was already at my ideal weight. I ended up losing 2 inches off my waist and hips. I lost a total of almost 7 lbs. 

If I could do anything differently, I probably would have started breaking in a new pair of shoes on my short runs. My shoes are worn out. I was going to start breaking in a new pair but then I hurt my ankle. After that, I just ran out of time. The first thing I will do after crossing the finish line will be to find a trash can for my shoes, even before the free beer!

So far the extended forecast looks ideal, almost perfect, but things can change.  I recently received a positive thought for the day saying that the journey is the reward. How true that is. Reaching a goal is the easy part. It is the countless hours pounding the pavement that the memories are made, limits are tested, and the joy is found. 

Just rubbish

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The last couple of weeks of cleaning out my grandma’s house turned up a lot of junk. I would say 90% junk and 10% real treasure. Today’s post is basically trash talk. This weekend I will bring out the treasure. This is just the teaser. We have emptied out 2 dumpsters already. I come from a long line of pack rats, or according to my sister-in-laws borderline hoarders. I feel bad because my future sister-in-law didn’t even meet my grandparents to see how wonderful they were. This dumpster full is mainly from the garage. I am sure that the house will be a couple more dumpsters full. To think my dad said that we could just bag up the garbage and put it on the curb. I told him I wouldn’t do any cleaning until there was a dumpster.

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I found the box above hidden in the back of a closet excited over what might be inside. Surprise, nothing! The 2 years that my parents lived there when I was a baby turned up boxes and bags full of even more crap. Phone books from the 70’s, my baby clothes, stained old elastic shot shirts, and I even found a box with my baby teeth. Gross!

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I did find my grandma’s wedding dress pictured above. I remember trying it on when I was 12, telling my grandma that it will be my wedding dress someday. The problem is that it fit me when I was a tiny 12 year old. My youngest daughter, at 12, is bigger than me now. So, that is not going to happen. Plus the buttons on the back of the dress are rusting and bleeding into the dress. I am thinking of restoring it, but for what purpose? It will never be worn again. I hope someday my grandchildren will not be cleaning it out of my closet not knowing where it came from. No memories of their wonderfully great grandparents.

Little to no provocation 

I can feel the gentle, slow downward descent of my mood. My heart in utter despair. I cry with little or no provocation. I haven’t slept for 3 days. It takes forever to fall asleep. I wake in the middle of the night, lying awake for hours. I awake again at the crack of dawn exhausted. I’m not hungry. I can’t eat without acid reflux. I worry about the things I can’t control. I pace the floor. Any attempts to rest or nap leave me frustratingly wide awake. I wouldn’t wish the hormonal fluctuations of a middle aged woman on anyone. 

It was harder this week cleaning out my grandma’s house. The memories some of the items brought back were almost too painful to bear. When I try to reach out to my grandma for comfort, she is not there. What I wouldn’t give to hear her voice again or to even smell the scent of her perfume on her clothes. All I smell is dust and decay. Emptiness. Nothingness. 

It is incredibly stupid to cry over the meaningless little items that I lost. I can mourn over the stupid little stove, but can’t cry over the friends and family that autism cost me and my family? The childhood family vacations with the whole family that never happened? I can’t even remember one time that we went out to eat together as a family. I have to continue to pray for strength to make it through this process of opening myself up to and dealing with unresolved issues. 

I will make it through. I will be ok. 

Class reunions

This past weekend my dad had his 50th class reunion. My mom said that she wouldn’t attend with him unless he took his monthly shower. He decided not to. Instead, he went to the restaurant having the reunion, got a to go box, and came right back home. How strange. Hey, at least he was wearing clothes. 

It made me wonder a little about the purpose of a high school reunion. Technically, most people go to high school 4 years of their whole entire life. Why should it even matter?

The first unofficial high school reunion happened about a week after graduation. Most of the new graduates attended the funeral of our first classmate to die. He spent the night out drinking underage at a bar that was known by the name of Double Vision at that time. When he left, he lived up to the bar’s name and then some. About a half mile from the bar, he crossed the centerline and hit another car head on. Thankfully the family in the other car lived to tell that story, my classmate didn’t. I didn’t attend the funeral. To be frank, even though he was popular, my classmate was cocky and mean. I really didn’t like him. I liked him even less when he almost killed others due to his poor decision. My classmates, however, went to the funeral in droves. 

I did attend 2 official class reunions. The first one I attended was the 5 year. At this point, nothing really has changed. Everyone looks the same. You still remember names. Most were doing the typical things that people in their early 20’s do and no one could afford a pricey reunion. 

The second reunion I attended was the 20 year. Only a few people looked similar to the people locked in my mind as forever teenagers with the ratted hair and tight rolled jeans. Who were all these old people? I forgot names. I mistook some classmates as spouses. A majority of attendees were in the popular group, maybe hoping to relive the best years of their lives. I was disheartened that an unpopular girl, who was always nice, seemed to still be ignored by the in group. I was extra nice to her. Overall, I found class reunions to be like the proverbial nudist colony. The ones you want to see are never there and the ones you don’t are. 

Will I attend my 25th class reunion? I don’t know. I am certainly not interested in reliving any of my childhood years.

 I think I would rather run a marathon. 

A little out of range

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This past weekend was long. We spent half of the weekend cleaning out my grandma’s house. The rest of the weekend I did my 12 mile run followed by watching my daughters perform in a summer school musical theater show. It was a little difficult to watch my oldest daughter perform. She had the lead part and as a senior, it was her last summer school show. Her childhood is coming to an end. My mom and Matt came out to the show, which involved some inappropriate public behavior on Matt’s part. Minor stuff, like yawning loudly and getting up to stretch out his legs in the middle of the show. At least they came out, which I appreciated. My in-laws didn’t bother to come to the show, but stopped by shortly after we got home. My daughters asked their grandparents why they didn’t come to the show. They said they were too busy shopping. They were planning on coming out but didn’t show, which is not abnormal behavior for them. I don’t even bother telling the girls that their grandparents were coming just in case. The last time they cancelled out last minute brought so many tears before a show that it wasn’t worth the hurt. I don’t know how they had the audacity to stop by after shopping. It is what it is.

By the time the weekend was over I felt exhausted and a bit troubled. Cleaning out my grandma’s house has forced me to clean out tons of physical and emotional cobwebs. My brother Mark found this oven (pictured above) while cleaning. I recognized it as mine. Inside there were magazine cutouts of finished recipes. Mark said that I must really have liked to cook because the front right burner was wore out. I thought nothing of it. Then this morning it hit me. It started with a small noise at work. Then it took me back. I could hear a horrible grating sound, scratching like nails on a chalkboard over and over. Then I saw Matt’s hand with a big yellow Lego scratching my oven over and over. I think he was loud, screaming. The next time grandma watched us my stove was banished, locked in a shed for 30 years. A few tears escaped my eyes. My heart mourned over the many things I lost.

It never was supposed to be that way, but it was.

Family dynamics of autism

Growing up, we all had our roles. Even dysfunctional families find ways to function. As mentioned previously, my parents relationship was rocky before having 4 kids in 5 years. I would even go as far to say that my dad probably is within the Asperger’s spectrum himself. Now throw in the violently autistic child and a wife who was trying desperately to juggle flaming torches. 

As oldest, my main task was fixing. I also held the role of caregiver, decision maker, best friend, advisor, and emotional support. I aligned myself with my mother. It was my task to keep the flaming torches in the air. If there was a problem, it was my task to fix it. I was loyal to whatever cause was important to my mother. As an adult, it has been difficult for me to listen and empathize when everything within me tells me to fix. I had to suppress all feelings in order to use my head to fix. It worked a little like email. I kept deleting my feelings until finally my deleted items were full. Then anger, depression, and anxiety flowed forth like spring’s river. My email is working now, but my husband and I both lack empathy in order to survive childhood. I need reminding to listen and not fix all the time. It has been a bit of a marriage struggle, but as a team people have been hard pressed to take advantage of us by pulling on our heart strings or pull the wool over our eyes. So it is not all bad. 

Mark’s task was physically working hard and advocate for my dad. He aligned himself with my dad. If my mom packed up the car with all of her stuff and was heading down the driveway, it was Mark’s task to stop her. He would tell my mom that it was not my dad’s fault, that he was just not good at relationships. He also earned my dad’s love by working hard even though my dad was lazy. For example, my dad will take the lawnmower to the end of the driveway to get the mail (sometimes in his underwear, of course). Or that one time we got a couple of inches of snow, he was too lazy to clean off his windshield and ended up in the ditch instead. 

Mark worked so hard that he blew out his back as a teen. I have never seen anyone work as hard as he does. When I told him that I was running a marathon, he said he could outrun me. I think that I threatened his role as the family brawn. When Mark wasn’t working, he preferred to be invisible. Mark and Carla decided they are going to have a small wedding with no one standing up. Mark said that he was tempted to have our autistic brother Matt be his best man because Matt’s behavior is so bizarre that no one would notice Mark. That was very profound. 

Luke, the youngest, had the role of instigator, comforter, caregiver, and clown. He was a mama’s boy and my dad hated him for it. His main job was to make sure that Matt did not get all of the attention. He was the one who cut the wires on my dad’s electronics and kicked a hole in the wall. When he got older, he was the one who played strip volleyball with his friends in the front yard. Girls running around topless in the front yard.  He also wrestled with my dad in the front yard over car keys which resulted in an overnight stay in the ER for my dad with heart palpitations. After awhile my parents gave up, he started driving at 14. He was also the scapegoat and received the brunt of my dad’s anger, deserved or not. 

Somehow we all managed to function. We are survivors. We made it through with our sanity intact, held by a thread.  We are strong, but not without a few battle wounds. 

Modesty, or lack thereof

Have you ever seen a 350 lb man mowing the lawn in a Speedo? That would be my dad. He was never much for clothes. I suppose we were lucky that he tromped around the house in underwear versus nothing at all. He is the eccentric man who goes out to eat in pajama bottoms. If you come over unannounced, he would answer the door in his underwear. He didn’t care if people were over. Mom had to remind him to close the door when using the bathroom. Nudity really wasn’t a big deal, it was natural. Almost normal growing up. If you could call how I grew up normal in any way. 

My mom was more modest. She had really bad varicose veins and still does after surgery. She said that 30 hours of back labor would do that to you.  I guess I am lucky to have had 3 c-sections. After 30 hours of labor, my brother Matt entered the world with a broken clavicle bone. Talk about intense labor. My mom would always wear pants in summer. If she wore shorts, she would wear nylons under them so no one could see her “ugly” veins. 

When my autistic brother Matt hit puberty, he had some modesty issues as well. He would often stand at the end of the driveway and expose himself to whoever went by. My grandma had 2 little girls that lived next door. Any time they were around he would drop his pants and wiggle his penis at them which elicited lots of giggles. You probably now understand why I do not embarrass easy or why I never had a lot of friends over growing up. Yes, my brother exposed himself to a couple of friends while my dad waltzed around in his underwear. To make matters worse, Matt would traipse around the house in an old bridemaid’s dress of my mothers. After complaining to my mom about this, she said who is he hurting and just let him. 

On the flip side, no one cared what I left the house wearing. Short mini skirt, no problem. Sometimes I have to ask my husband. Is this too short? Is this too low cut? 

Since I also helped with Matt’s care, part of that included showering him. While other college kids were out partying on a Saturday night, I was showering my brother. Did I mention that he refused to wipe himself? He has tactile sensitivity to toilet paper and napkins. He also will not aim himself while peeing, which created a messy bathroom. Mom always told visitors that the condensation from the toilet was causing the leakage. It was a good possibility that if you got up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom that you would step in pee. And that is why I could care less if my husband puts the toilet seat down. That is probably also why when Aunt Grace needed showering and diaper changes when she got old that I showed no hesitation either. What is normal? I am still trying to figure that one out.