WINTER IS COMING

First, a note about why no blogging recently:

...sigh.

So, Daylight Savings Time ended recently, and for me that day marks the official beginning of Gym Season. I live in a sidewalk-less burb, so that means a post-workday run is either in the park, running loop after loop on a pretty, tree-lined and very short path, or on the street - less boring but you take your life in your hands with all the texting moms. 

(Yes, I'm singling out the moms. Mini-rant: this road runner has observed that the teens around here - the ones who get all the billboard and tv-ad blame for texting while driving - are actually driving with hands at 10 and 2 and are paying attention to the road. The minivan mom, however, has added texting to the already unforgivable distractions of opening juice boxes, pressing play on the movie on their kid's iPad, passing back a container of raisins... seriously, you can let your child be bored and hungry for a few damn minutes, wait until you park to text your BFF about meeting up for Mommy and Me Pilates, and ARRIVE ALIVE. With the added benefit of not plowing into your friendly neighborhood runners with your Town & Country). 

Our cute little park is pretty much unavailable for a run after work during fall/winter months (it officially closes at dusk, and while you can still walk there - there are no gates - the coyotes tend to take over at dusk. I don't recommend a turf war with the coyotes), and the streets around here get dark. We have no street lights, except a few driveway lamp posts, so dark is DARK. If you want to live to see spring, outdoor runs from November through April are relegated to weekends.

An autumn sunset run in Ohio
can be the prettiest thing in the world.

I figured out in years past that the couple of weeks after the early-November time change are critical. Suddenly, it's dark when I go to work and dark when I come home, and I just want to hibernate. "The sun is down, it must be SO LATE, there's no possible way I can work out, I have to eat comfort food and curl up with a book." The only way for me to combat the hibernation instinct is to hurry up and embrace the night owl life, forcing myself to be active every single day. I take gym clothes to work, and head straight to the treadmill instead of going home first, where books and couches are waiting to swallow me whole.

There are stages of lost summer grief to get through, of course, before the transformation from summer babe to arctic fox can be complete:

Denial: "I can still run outside after work because I am a schedule management ninja. I am going to plow through my work today, skip lunch, leave early and go running outside while there's still a glimmer of daylight!"

Anger: "How is it EFFING NOVEMBER already and why do I live in EFFING OHIO instead of the tropics?!?"

Bargaining: "If only I had spent more time outside this summer. If I promise to run faster/longer, can I have a time machine and go back to July?"

Depression: "Cleveland. Is. Death. The. Sun. Is. Gone. Forever. And. So. I. Die."

Acceptance: "It's okay, Nadia. You are a Clevelander, toughen up! Treadmills are your friend, they keep you sane until spring and there are no allergens in the gym. You will see the sun again in a few months, and in the meantime you look adorable in sweaters and boots."

Winter is Coming and the CLE will soon be as grey and frigid as Winterfell. Gym Season has challenges, to be sure - I'm trying to reacclimate to the strangeness of an evenly paced and quiet run, as treadmills don't automatically accommodate my outdoor running uneven pace and other oddities (stop to take a picture of a hawk, stop to dance when the park is empty, run super fast for 20 seconds with arms flailing like a cartoon character begin chased by a bear because why not, sing at the top of my lungs because even if someone hears me I'll be down the street before they can notice how bad my singing is...) but the upsides are plenty - no allergens, more frequent yoga classes, heated indoor pools on freezing days, propping up a book on the treadmill (reading AND running! happiness, happiness...). Cleveland, I am ready to be in you when winter comes.

Cleveland, I'll meet you here on
a January Saturday morning.

AMERICAN WOMAN

Citizen Nadia, reporting for duty. You guys, are you ready? My vote will change everything. EVERYTHING. Ok, maybe not everything, but it means I can finally put my money where my mouth is and while that isn't everything, it's something huge to me.

So, the oath ceremony... for anyone born in the US, I recommend attending one of these. It was at once everything and nothing I expected, and I think everyone should understand how important American citizenship is to people who aren't born with it. Rick, Eben and Mad came with me, and I'm so glad they did. 

Upon arrival at the ceremony, applicants have to check in with USCIS officers and hand in a questionnaire that is mailed to you ahead of time along with your oath ceremony date. It's a fairly straightforward list of questions - basically, USCIS wants to know if you've done anything since your interview that could affect your citizenship. I answered "no" to everything, including this one: "Have you practiced polygamy, received income from illegal gambling, been a prostitute, procured anyone for prostitution or been involved in any other unlawful commercialized vice, encourage or helped any alien to enter the United States illegally, illicitly trafficked in drugs or marijuana, given any false testimony to obtain immigration benefits, or been a habitual drunkard?" Geez, no. I'm a one-marriage-at-a-time kind of girl, and I'm not in SAMCRO.

The ceremony started with a local school choir singing the Star Spangled Banner. Snarky Nadia was thinking "seriously, this is the most poorly composed piece of music in the history of music, can we PLEASE pick a different song for the national anthem?" but then I looked around me. The auditorium was filled with people whose stories were vastly different from mine. I moved to the US as a small child and grew up here with all the benefits of a middle-class citizen - education, food, safety, medical care, a chance at a fair (or almost-fair) trade of work for pay - but my fellow about-to-become-citizens had different stories, different journeys. Hard journeys. And they wept. This song that so few Americans even know the words to - this song meant the happy end to a long road. This song meant they traded hopelessness for hope, impossibility for possibility. 

Listen, I'm not a naive romantic, I know this country is broken in many, many ways. But we get some things right. We get to have a voice. Our voices are not always heard, and sometimes we get in trouble for using them (EXAMPLE: read this article, folks. A father arrested for asking unscripted questions at a public meeting about Common Core State Standards in Maryland. As if we needed more evidence that Common Core is bad news. But this is the stuff of a separate blog post...). But those moments become a chance for debate and conversation, and that in itself is a privilege. We always, always have the chance to learn more, and we have the right to vote. So many people in that auditorium came from lives where those things just are not possible. So my fellow new citizens wept. And I shut off the voice of snark and let the mood take me. As Americans, we are luckier than most.

The ceremony proceeded with a blessing from a pastor, a speech from USCIS folks about Constitution Week (apparently last week was Constitution week), and a welcome from the mayor of Akron - the Cleveland ceremonies scheduled for that day were already full, so I went Akron -  who was late to this gig because it's super hard to find your way around the city you're the mayor of (!?!). Lateness aside, his speech was actually pretty great. This guy has been mayor of Akron for almost 30 years. He's a cantankerous democrat who has a reputation for ruffling feathers. He complained about the federal government cutting too many taxes, and said the great thing about being American is that he gets to have that opinion and say it out loud. He basically told us we were already a step ahead of most Americans, who will never bother to learn a thing about American history and government, as we had to as applicants. His overall message: get off your asses and get involved. Vote. Rally. March. Volunteer. Teach and learn. Participate in being an American. I liked him.

All smiles after the oath.
(Captain America shirt
was neatly tucked
away under a sweater
during the ceremony.
Superheroes are secret.)

So then we arrived at the oath. We stood, raised our right hands, and swore to uphold the Constitution, to perform armed or civilian service for the United States, to renounce previous national allegiances - the expected things. I gotta say, it was weird as someone so firmly anti-gun to swear to bear arms. Yes, I understand that defending one's country is a far different thing than packing heat just because "I'm 'Merican and I get to." (An important distinction that too many ignore, sadly.) But it was still weird to swear I'd do it.

Then our names were called, and one by one we walked to the stage to receive our naturalization certificates. This is basically the naturalized citizen's new birth certificate. I'll use this to apply for a passport and to register to vote. It's got a photo of me on it that's even worse than my driver's license photo, and I wish I had thought to wear a little lipstick the day it was taken. Ah, well... I can't always use Instagram filters to hide my flaws. It's probably fitting for this particular document to show the real Nadz.

When we left the stage, we were given Citizen Swag. The USCIS provides a packet with a passport application and helpful information about updating your social security records and the voter registration process, as well as a welcome letter from the President. The Daughters of the American Revolution had some blue bloods lined up to hand us a thousand different printings of the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution, a flag pin, red, white and blue carnations, AND - my favorite item - a little bag with an apple and the story of how the apple is the "fruit of democracy" (Johnny Appleseed!) with the official DAR recipes for pie crust and apple pie. It's probably good pie, I can't imagine the DAR spends time doing much besides baking pies and being better than you (sorry, I can't turn off all the snark...). The DAR recommends that I celebrate my personal citizenship day every year by baking an apple pie. I will inform the bakery where I usually buy pies to keep that in mind.

VOTE! My New Citizen Swag.

The DAR Apple. If you bite it, you
turn into Laura Bush.

So there it is. My journey to American citizenship has come to an end, and my adventures as an American citizen begin. I can't wait to vote for Hillary.

A final note: to Canada, my birthplace, my first home, my summer home, my love. I am overjoyed that you're cool with me having another citizenship. I mean, dual citizenship means two passports - you're helping me achieve my dream of someday becoming James Bond. My sweet Canada, I offer you a song lyric from an Ohio-born band: "You know you have a permanent piece of my medium-sized American heart."

YOU'RE NOT REALLY MARRIED UNLESS YOU BOTH PAY THE GAS BILL

Citizenship Step 3: THE INTERVIEW

So, last week I experienced The Interview. This was the only part of the process for which I had no idea at all what to expect. I've been reading other blogs about other people's citizenship experiences, and of course each case depends on personal history and situation. Questions can focus on documentation, travel history, family, work, social activity - you name it, it's all fair game. I knew that when I started this process, and was prepared to be an open book about anything and everything.

Still, it threw me a little when the officer interviewing me focused very pointedly on seeing utility bills that had both my name and Rick's name on them. Prior to the interview I was notified that I should bring some additional documents related to my marriage. I didn't actually mean to apply based on marriage, as I became a permanent resident long before my wedding, but I am married to a US citizen, and I guess if you indicate that anywhere on the application then it trumps anything else. (Maybe not in all cases, but it did in mine). So, I read the list of documents carefully and came to the interview loaded with evidence that I married because I love my fella, and not for a green card.

But - for anyone who may be getting ready to do this - utility bills are apparently a bigger deal than your marriage license. We pay all bills online, and like most married people we know, some bills are in Rick's name and some are in mine. We have no paper documentation of co-dependent billing. But the list from USCIS noted that I could bring a utility bill OR tax records. So I brought tax records. Still, the officer really wanted utility bills. Read: "OR" MEANS "AND." Bring everything.

After the officer pointed out that "everyone else's file has a lot more in it than yours" (read: LOTSA PAPER MEANS YOU ARE SERIOUS ABOUT BEING AMERICAN), he conceded that 19+ years and the fact that our marriage produced two additional Americans was probably evidence enough that I didn't marry Rick for a green card. He told me I'd soon receive a letter about "the decision" and - if the decision was positive - a date for my oath ceremony.

The decision letter arrived yesterday, and...

...drum roll....

...I'm in!

Well, almost. I'm not official until I take The Oath. My ceremony is in a couple of weeks, giving me just enough time to figure out an appropriate "brand new American" outfit. The notice I received states the following: "The naturalization ceremony is a solemn and meaningful event. Please dress in proper attire to respect the dignity of this event (please, no jeans, shorts or flip flops)."

I can't believe I don't own anything star-spangled.

What do you think of this... too much?

(Kidding. I will be solemn. My closet is full of black and grey, solemn is my dress code.)

You guys. I'm stupidly excited about this. I'll have my wish - that Eben and I will go to the polls together in 2016 to cast our first vote in a presidential election. Exercising rights, kids. Can't wait.

THE QUEEN HAS A POSSE

The Former Queen of Indoor Recess inspired an athlete. No seriously, I did. Me. I'm one of the reasons another person became a runner. I'm building a 5k posse.

The story goes like this: 

As many of you know, my crew and I participate in an annual 5k called Race for the Place, which raises funds for The Gathering Place, a local cancer support center. Race for the Place was my first 5k. It was actually the thing that made me kick up my running from the occasional mid-walk sprint to a sustained daily activity. I did it because a friend of mine - who was at the time a parent at the school where I work - organized a school team and I wanted to support the "school spirit" effort. This friend is a cancer survivor and an amazing person. At the time, running a 5k seemed impossible to me, but I figured if my friend could kick cancer's ass and work hard to support cancer research/awareness while raising a family and being a super-involved member of our school community, then I had no right to even think the word "impossible" about training for a race. It wasn't easy - I've said before that I'm not a natural runner - but I did it, I loved it, and I've been hooked ever since.

After that race, I picked up and carried the torch of organizing a school team for Race for the Place. As is the case for so many of us, cancer has touched my family and support centers play a critical role in the emotional well-being for patients, survivors and their families. I didn't have to think twice about taking on the task of assembling a team.

The Haserot Angel

On Sunday my family and I ran the 2nd Annual Run Through History 5k at Lakeview Cemetery. Lakeview is beautiful cemetery, and hosts a fair number of well-known souls including John D. Rockefeller, Eliot Ness and Carl B. Stokes. Lakeview is also home to one of my favorite graveyard monuments, the Haserot Angel, who guards the grave of various members of the Haserot family (of Northern Haserot, a Cleveland-based food distribution business). The Haserot Angel is world-renowned, and for good reason. The photos don't do him justice - he is silent strength and frightening beauty. He is comforting and terrifying at the same time. 

I could go on about graveyard monuments all day, but I digress...

Lakeview hosts the Run Through History 5k to raise funds for preservation and maintenance of its important burial sites, and I love any excuse to visit the place so we all signed up. At the start of the race, I spotted a parent from my school who had joined our Race for the Place team in June. I figured she must run races all the time and that's why she was there. I waved hello to her and her family, and off we went. At the end of the race, she sat down on the grass to chat with me and casually said "you know, Nadia, you're the reason I'm running 5k races." 

Photo taken by Rick, my constant 5k
companion and cheerleader,
at the top of the Garfield Monument.
(A note of Graveyard Weirdness: Lakeview's loos
are in the basement of this monument,
adjacent to the crypt...)

She went on to tell me that Race for the Place was her first 5k. She had been participating in a treadmill training program at her gym - interval training that involved mostly walking but some running as well. To encourage families at the school to join, I often mentioned that I was not a fast or natural runner and that this was a low-key 5k that was all about building community. She went through sort of the same thought process that I did: "this is a good cause, if I'm going to run a race then it should be this one, let's give it a shot." And she did it, and like me, was hooked! It's kinda cool to know I played a part in the making of a new runner.

The Run Through History was a challenging 5k. Part of Lakeview's beauty comes from its topography - lotsa lotsa hills and valleys. The last mile was basically all uphill and my quads still hurt. But I'm going back next year for sure. To any other almost-runners: want to join my posse?

OLD HANDS

Today was Citizenship Process Step 2: Biometrics Day! 

Rick accompanied me to the Anthony J. Celebrezze Federal Building in downtown Cleveland, where our local USCIS office is housed. All in all, a fairly painless process. There was nobody else in line, so no waiting. The only hiccup: apparently my hands are getting old, and this makes fingerprinting a bit difficult.

The following is basically word-for-word the exchange between myself and the USCIS official who fingerprinted me (we're going to call her "Government Girlfriend" because I think she thought we were closer friends than we actually are, as you'll soon see...). In addition to Government Girlfriend and Me, a third character appears below: My Thought Bubble, i.e. the voice in my head that uttered all the things I wanted to say/shout/cry but couldn't.

Enjoy.

Government Girlfriend: [after first failed set of prints] Ooooookaaaaaayyy, this is going to be a little tricky. Your hands are really, really dry.

Me: Oh, I'm sorry... I do have some lotion in my purse if you think that'll help.

Government Girlfriend: Oh honey, you see those cracks in your fingertips? [points to the screen with my magnified fingerprint, with - indeed - many cracks interrupting the print swirls] A little bit of lotion now won't do a thing for that. Do you ever actually use lotion?

My Thought Bubble: WTF.

Me: Um. Yes. Couple of times a day.

Government Girlfriend: What kind?

My Thought Bubble: Will my choice of moisturizer impact my chances of being granted citizenship?

Me: Just a natural shea butter lotion.

Government Girlfriend: Well, honey, as we age, moisturizing becomes more important. You might want to think about using something 5 or 6 times a day. And maybe switch to something that works better.

My Thought Bubble: AS WE AGE?!?

Me: You're probably right, I should adjust my habits as I age.

Government Girlfriend: Oh honey, don't even get me started on the things we women have to go through as we get older what with having to go to a different doctor for every little thing and you find out you've got pieces parts you didn't even know you had or even had to think about and working here I have to get a mammogram every year like that's a fun thing to do and it's not like I even have that much to squish in there, you know what I mean?

My Thought Bubble: I NEED A POWER SANDER TO SCRAPE OFF THE PART OF MY BRAIN THAT WILL RETAIN AND REPLAY THE LAST TEN SECONDS FOREVER HOLY CRAP.

Me: Sure. It's not easy being a woman. So, are the prints working yet?

Government Girlfriend: Oh sure, honey, you're all set.

My Thought Bubble: GOOD BECAUSE YOU'RE NUTS AND NOW I HAVE TO SPEND THE DAY SCARRED BY OLD LADY TINY BOOB MAMMOGRAM MACHINE IMAGERY.

Me: Wonderful! Thank you!

And, scene.

To those who would like government officials to be more transparent, I say be careful what you wish for. 

Best part of the morning: Rick and I enjoyed a rare early lunch together -- stolen moments with my favorite fella are always a good antidote for awkward exchanges with strangers. And I don't think he minds my old hands. He still holds them anytime I want him to.

NEXT STEPS: I wait for notification for an appointment to have an interview and a civics exam. Government Girlfriend gave me a handy dandy study guide. Note: almost every answer to the civics questions can be found in a Schoolhouse Rock song. People my age should be able to skate through this test.

Official Study Guide

Also a study guide.

So now more waiting... but first, vacation to the mother country. Countdown to Canada: 9 days.

Blogging the Journey to Citizenship

As many of you know (and some may not know), I'm a Canadian citizen. I was born in Montreal, as were my brothers. When I was around 4 years old, my family moved to Crestwood, New York so my father could attend seminary. My parents' plan at the time was to eventually return to Canada once my father had been ordained a priest and could be assigned to a Canadian parish. Evidently, that plan was derailed by yours truly. The story goes: during the seminary years, we lived in a few different places, including a gorgeous old mansion in Bronxville that

"The Bronxville House"
(Apologies to my brother Pete for posting
a pic of him in a sailor suit. It's the only
Bronxville House photo I have...)

had been turned into student apartments, and a house that belonged to my aunt and uncle - empty for a time while they traveled. Around the time I finished first grade we moved to Wappingers Falls, NY as my father took the helm of St. Gregory the Theologian Church. My father's parents came to visit, and my grandmother noticed a small suitcase that I kept right next to my bed. She asked what was in it, and I said it contained all my "important treasures" - apparently, things I didn't want to leave behind when we inevitably had to pack up and move again. My grandmother told my father about my suitcase, scolded him for creating a life in which his daughter felt unsettled and had no sense of permanence or security, and said it was time for my parents to finally just stay put. I have no recollection of the suitcase, but I do like to pack things away in containers of all kinds, mostly because I lose things easily and putting things in boxes is a coping tool that helps me feel a sense of order and comfort. All personality quirks begin somewhere...

My grandmother was the kind of lady whose "suggestions" were not to be ignored, so Wappingers Falls, NY, USA became home, but we remained Canadian citizens throughout my childhood. It's possible my parents expected that someday they would take us all back to Canada and so they never went through the naturalization process, but "someday" remained "someday" and my brothers and I reached adulthood as Canadians living in America. In my adult life, there was always something else to do with the almost silly amount of money involved in applying for citizenship. During my college years, all available funds went to:

• music

  

  Our Wappingers Falls home at Christmastime.
  You can see my mama in the kitchen window, probably making coffee.
  It's going to be so strange when the folks retire
  and move out of this house...

• rock shows
• dunkin donuts coffee
• blimpie's subs
• movies
• pizza
• beer
• cheap red wine
• blank cassettes used to more economically acquire more music from my friends' music libraries
• dunkin donuts coffee
• dunkin donuts coffee

Then in post-college years:

• student loan repayment
• grad school
• more student loan repayment
• newborn baby gear
• a second car because, well, babies
• a mortgage.
• aaand... school tuition in the years before our move to Stepford the suburbs for a decent school district, home repairs, car repairs, orthodonture, student laptops, etc., etc., etc.

The point is, there was always something. 

And I always thought, as my parents did, "someday I'll do it, someday..."

BUT.

I hate not voting. I have made my voice heard in other ways, of course, including encouraging those folks who are unlikely to vote to get out and vote - hoping the absence of my vote is offset a little if I nudge others to exercise this most important of their rights. But these last few nail-biter elections have made me realize "someday" should be this day. "Someday" should have been yesterday. Also, there are the offspring... a parent should, whenever and wherever possible, teach by example. Eben is less than two years away from 18 and how cool would it be for us to cast our first presidential election vote together? So... the "travel/restaurant/anything unnecessary" budget takes another blow and I've applied for citizenship.

And, because I'm something of an obsessive worrier, I've decided to blog the experience in an effort to manage the stress of waiting (it can be a long wait). The Independence Day holiday week seemed like the appropriate time to start.

Step One: The Application

The citizenship application form is not difficult, but requires very careful reading of instructions as any undotted "i" and uncrossed "t" can result in denial of your application without refund of the enormous fee - so it would mean waiting until I've scraped together the fee again to start over. The only annoying bit on the form was having to list all my travel outside US borders since becoming a permanent resident. Every trip to Canada in the summers and in between summers since age 8. I'm old, kids, I can't remember where I went last Tuesday, never mind exact road trip dates for the past gazillion years. That part of the application took over a month to complete as I combed through old calendars and tried to remember dates of important events that would have impacted regular summer trips or added a trip in between (weddings, funerals, etc.). This part of the project has me thinking about ways to improve memory skills. Any ideas? Wait, what was the question?

So the application was done and mailed. I have to admit, I had butterflies in my stomach at the post office. Silly, I know... my life is not going to change other an having something else to do in November every few years (and sometimes in between) but still... I'm stupidly nervous/excited about taking this step.

I received notification that the application was entered into the USCIS system, and I'm waiting for step two: biometrics. In a couple of weeks I'll visit my local USCIS office to be fingerprinted and photographed. Then more waiting for step three: an interview/exam appointment. 

Ugh, the waiting. Send Valium.

In the meantime, Happy Support Your Local Fireworks Distributor Week!

THE DAY OFF: Friend or Foe?

In the days when I ruled the Kingdom of Indoor Recess, who could have predicted that someday I'd be the person who bitches about taking a day off from exercise? Those people used to sort of piss me off. My brother Phil was the first one of those people I knew, and I would look at him getting antsy about possibly missing a workout and think "settle down and read a book, son, it's not the end of the world." I can add that to the list of "eat your words" moments from my youth - it's a reeaallly long list. 

I had an intense yoga class a few days ago - during which this oldie-but-goodie Craig's List ad came to mind when the fella in front of me took off his shirt immediately and threw in extra ab crunches during every pose at the beginning of class (ab crunches during Sun A?) in order to impress the cutie-pie in the front row he was chatting up while the rest of us were in pre-class silence mode. He proceeded to lose his balance and fall on MY mat repeatedly during the second half of class - no doubt due to core fatigue. It's okay, I managed to have a good practice despite his uninvited presence on my yoga mat, and hopefully he  managed to impress his future ex-wife. So, I followed a hard yoga day with a hard run day, and yesterday my hamstrings felt like arse. I knew I should have settled for a fast walk after an intense yoga day, but a quarter mile in I found myself thinking "nah, make it a run, it's a nice night," so I ran and it felt awesome. It was a late evening run and I came home to dinner dishes to clean up, and laundry, and a host of other distractions that meant not stretching properly post-run. So yesterday was pain-filled and I cursed myself all day long. I spent most of the day finding moments to stretch, hoping by the evening the hamstring pain would work itself out, but no... I felt forced into a day off, and while I know there is nothing at all wrong with it, I was annoyed beyond reason. I was too sore to do anything but more stretching, but it was a warm-not-muggy and bug-free summer evening and I wasn't running. SIGH.

Yesterday evening's rest time.
Learn to appreciate
quiet moments.

A day of rest is recommended for all athletes, of course, and is necessary for continued health and fitness. I even sometimes like the occasional day off, but only when I choose it, and usually I choose it because I'm doing something else and won't have the time for a workout - I don't know, it feels like less of a personal failing if the day off is time-related instead of pain-related. But yesterday I had the time. The day off was not my choice, but it was my fault. And here's the best part: I very recently lectured Rick about pushing himself too hard in a 5k after an Achilles strain and plantar fasciitis flare-up, because it meant no running at all for several days after, and didn't he know better than to make that kind of rookie mistake? Yeesh. Sometimes, dear readers, I can be an asshole.

The resting time was not wasted time, of course, once I stopped fuming enough to just deal with it. I finally finished my Sandman collection re-read (no spoilers for those who have yet to embark on the Sandman journey, but I will say The Kindly Ones and The Wake broke my heart again, even though I knew what was coming. Damn fine comic, Sandman is...) while enjoying a cup of coffee on my sun porch and the occasional giggle while watching the feline members of the household lose it every time a chipmunk made an appearance. (I think we're being overrun... a Scurry of Chipmunks is what it's called, I looked it up. They watch us through the windows...)

So, folks, a question: how does the Once-and-Not-Future-Queen come to terms with a day off?  I'm not sure I can rely on the memory of being pissed off at myself yesterday to keep from running on a day I shouldn't run. Cleveland's pleasant outdoor season is short, and it feels so very wrong to miss any opportunity to be out there. Also, since participating in the Whole Life Challenge where points were lost if exercise was missed, each day off feels like I'm doing a bad thing (although I know better). How do other athletes cope with a day of rest? More importantly, how do you keep yourself from pushing too hard in order to avoid the forced "sit still" day? I'm considering recording myself the next time I lecture Rick so I can listen to my own obnoxiously-delivered advice. Think it'll work?

A member of the scurry.
Tell me this is not the creepiest thing in the world.

SUMMERTIME CLOTHES

Home away from home. Can't wait...

Each year, sometime in early spring, I begin my Countdown to Canada. The long dark chill of a Cleveland winter inspires daydreams of the blissful two weeks I spend with my family in the Laurentian mountains, book and coffee cup in hand while parked on the warm sand beside a cool, clear lake. Cell phones don't work there. We don't have cable. Internet is limited for folks who need to get a little work done. We pack only shorts and t-shirts, making sure one or two items of clothing don't have holes in them in case someone has a cocktail party (no holes = fancy duds in the Laurentians). It's a welcome and much-needed respite from the non-stop race pace of our daily lives. It's a place teeming with extended family - one of whom, my cousin Andre, greets me (and everyone) each summer with "Welcome home!" This year has been especially hectic, so much so that I haven't really had time to even pay attention to the countdown, but it's time now. We're ready to stop racing, put on our summertime clothes, and go home.

In my last post, I covered all the crazy ways I've been trying to keep up with my own life... but I'm not the only master of multitasking in my house. I have to take a moment for a shout-out to my crew. 

Mad and Mama, ready to run!

This Sunday, my entire household ran Race for the Place, an annual 5K that raises funds for The Gathering Place (more about this later). Mad, who just competed in and took first place in the Power of the Pen State writing competition (my friend Laura, mom of Mad's amazing friend Isabel who took second place, has my voice on video shouting "Rock on, baby!" when this was announced... yes, I'm secretly a stage mom), then immediately left for a class trip to DC, and had one day of rest in between hours on the bus and this race, got up early on Sunday and ran her first 5K! She was a superstar. She was skeptical about the idea of running any part of it (there are many participants who walk it), because she's not really a distance runner. I assured her we would stop to walk when necessary, and while we did some walking, we actually did almost three-quarters of the race running. Throughout, Mad's face had a look of determination mingled with anguish -- she knew why we were running this race and she persevered, but it wasn't easy for her. I'm so, so proud of my girl. 

R & E just before
taking off. The last
we saw of them
until the finish

Eben - who in recent weeks studied his ass off for two AP tests, performed with his band at a couple of shows, was inducted into the National Honor Society (along with all of his close friends - so proud of these amazing kids!), lettered in track, and is ready to wrap up his school year and dive right into a summer of being a camp counselor, working at a local ice cream joint, and developing some new material with his band - took off with the other hares on Sunday and waited patiently at the finish line for all us tortoises to eventually come along. I am, as ever, in awe of his easy confidence and ability to handle so many simultaneous things with grace. If only he would channel some of his energies into CLEANING HIS ROOM OH MY GOD.

Click here for context
for that second to last text

...and Rick, my constant cheerleader and inspiration, kicked ass despite not having a lot of running time in recent weeks. His most recent work-related travel was delayed by a day due to the discovery that we had a malfunctioning septic tank (resulting in a day of shit-related text messages between us because it was either laugh or cry, man. Laugh. Or. Cry.) and when he finally managed to dig his way out of the septic crap and make it to his out-of-town meetings, he received the news that he will have to spend a week in India, probably in early July, with the part of his work team that is housed there. July in Hyderabad. Should be pleasant. But Rick's endless work (at home and office) and a few aches and pains in various areas of his legs and feet didn't dampen his race enthusiasm, and my fella had a seriously fantastic personal time, coming in second for his age group (as he phrased it, the "old but not THAT old" age group). My family rocked it.

As you can see -- we love a good race. We're running races all the time. But stopping for a minute now and then is good, too, and we're ready to hang up the racing gear for just a little while. Time to walk around in our summertime clothes. 

Countdown to Canada: 53 days.

A note about why we do Race for the Place... The Gathering Place is a center that provides support services to individuals being treated for cancer, as well as services to their families and friends, all free of charge. This is my third year doing this race, and I'm hooked. There are races everywhere, all the time  - especially 5Ks because they are easy to organize - but this is the only one I've done that kicks off with a celebration of cancer survivors, and then takes runners through a small neighborhood where folks all along the race route come out of their houses and cheer us on, not because they are fans of races, not because they are impressed by the athleticism of runners, but because we've come together as a community to support an extraordinary community resource. One of the loudest cheerleaders that day was a little boy, bald and pale, seated in a lawn chair with a blanket, wearing the biggest, most beautiful smile on his sweet, small face. My heart broke and soared at the same time when we ran past him and he's why I'll run this race again and again and again. The Gathering Place provides support to that sweet fellow and his family without any of them having to open their wallets. My sincere and deep thanks to all those who did open their wallets to support me, Rick and all the other runners for this race.

OFF BALANCE

Work-life balance. The topic of so many talk shows, health magazine articles, coffee shop conversations... and for good reason, as it's a daily challenge for so many of us. As someone with a demanding full-time job, two incredibly busy teen kids and husband I'd like to actually spend a little time with occasionally, I feel like finding that balance is almost a grail quest. As soon as I think I've figured out a formula that works - the perfect flow that allows me to get all my work done, get all the errands handled, make it to all the track meets, get in a run or a yoga class, and still have time to chill with Rick, read a book, watch a movie, sleep - the fates intervene, throwing a curve ball or two (or fifty) and laughing at me for thinking I have anything at all figured out.

This weekend, the school I work for hosted its 50th anniversary gala. The event was the

We clean up ok...

culmination of several months of planning, and a couple of months - as anyone in the non-profit world knows - of hurried un-planning, re-planning, and flurried last-minute non-stop madness that had me at work early and late, bringing work home, worrying about work instead of sleeping... and this all came at the same time as track season for both my middle school and high school children (read: track meets every. single. day. And they take forever. Track meets are not organized by organized people.) My work event was beautiful, Rick and I got to dress pretty (very rare occurrence for us - we usually feel dressed up if we wear new-ish jeans) and the end result for the school was a healthy amount of fundraising and reconnection with alumni and their families. Track season was fun for the kids and the end result is that they are both in great shape, Eben improved his hurdle skills and Mad continues her journey to finding the sport that is right for her - she is interested in trying field hockey when she starts high school in the fall (my little book worm athlete!). But the end result for ME is that I am now having to repair two months of sporadic workouts, a diet of coffee and Advil, completely fucked up sleep patterns, and brief check-in moments with my husband as we both fly out the door for work that don't really add up to quality time.

I keep thinking "I miss my life! Summer can't come soon enough!" -- but the truth is this IS my life. It's everyone's life, sometimes. We all have those ebbs and flows of insanity and peace, and it does no good to think "I want things back to normal!" when really, this is normal.

7 hours in suicide heels =
true workplace devotion. Or insanity.

The trick, as in all things, is finding a way to make do with crazy. I could try to read all the health magazine articles I can get my hands on about "Finding Balance" and "Letting Go of What Doesn't Matter" and "Following My Bliss" (that last one seems to be all over the place lately as the "key" to finding perfect balance. My take on this idea is well reflected here.) At the end of the day those articles are all just kind of bullshit. The supposition that serenity is as simple as saying "I like this, so I'll do it, and nothing will ever be hard. Tah dah! Perfect balance!" is a fairy tale... I happen to live a real life. Here on earth, the reality is that sometimes your 9 to 5 job - even if it's a job you love the way I love mine - is going to be the bully on the playground who sits on you and laughs while you try to get up. Sometimes your family - who you love more than anything and surely must love you in return - will innocently conspire to create a schedule that requires you to turn your aging Honda CR-V into a TARDIS. (Didn't you know that mothers are capable of time travel? At least we're capable of making it seem that way when we manage to be everywhere and do everything IN GORGEOUS HEELS and still function with more grace than a Time Lord at the end of the day). 

So the roller coaster has leveled out for the moment and I can throw myself into two weeks of getting my running schedule back in gear so I don't have to half-walk an upcoming 5k race that I run every year. The organization that benefits from this race, The Gathering Place, means a great deal to the Cleveland community and to many friends of mine. Read more about TGP and Race for the Place here.

The lady in whose memory
I run each year. Look at her
beautiful smile...

[Pause for fundraising plug: click here to support if you can! Local folks - you can support TGP by joining in the race - come run with me!] 

I've managed to gather a huge group of parents and students from my school to run the race (or walk, or dance or jump or whatever they feel like doing...) and as team captain I don't want to be the low-energy loser who can't finish! 

So off I go for a training/head clearing run. Wish me luck - in the race and in the ongoing find-the-balance grail quest. My guess is we'll cross paths on that road at some point, and maybe we can trade quest tales over a drink. I'll wear my pretty shoes.

IT'S ALL HAPPENING AT THE ZOO

So, I ran a marathon relay. Don't get all excited, I didn't run a marathon all by my lonesome. That ain't gonna happen. But I was one of a 4-person relay team that ran a marathon-length race at the Cleveland Zoo on Saturday. It was awesome.

CONFESSION TIME

Before I describe the race, a confession: up until the second the race started I was trying to think of ways to get out of doing it. The only reason I agreed to do it at all is because Rick asked nicely and I kind of have a crush on him. It's amazing what he gets away with because of that. Anyway, I agreed to run this race, knowing it was more running than I usually do in a day. I'm a 5k girl. I'm not fast, so 5k feels like a good amount of time, a good workout, and I never really feel like I need (or want) a longer run. When I'm training for a 5k race and am trying to improve my time for the race (something I don't normally care about - the fitness runner is a different animal from the competitive runner), I have "long run" days that take me up to 5 miles, but I'm always happy when those days are over. So when I looked at the total distance for this race and saw I'd be running a little over 6 miles (10k), I kinda panicked. The indoor recess voices emerged, telling me I'd never be able to do it. I'd be embarrassingly slow and my team wouldn't finish before the cutoff time. Or I would push it too hard because I'd be worried about being embarrassingly slow and would end up injuring myself. Or [insert some other disaster scenario] followed by [some version of feeling defeated and sad].

So the "reason-to-back-out" search began... and was unsuccessful. There was no conflicting commitment, or sudden illness, or car problem. The kids didn't need me to stay home, the zoo didn't have to close because of escaped tigers... so I went to the race, and I ran, and I loved it.

Seriously,how do you not
laugh when this is your
race number?

AT THE ZOO

The stomach butterflies settled down once we received our race packet and I saw our team race number. Nothing diffuses unreasonable nerves like the number 69. [pause here for giggles.] And then I met our other two teammates, Rachel and Tracy, and knew this race would be nothing but fun. Rachel is a friend of Rick's from high school who I'd chatted with but never met, and Tracy is a good friend of Rachel's (and a new friend to Rick and me!) who jumped in at the last minute when Rachel's husband wrenched his back earlier that day. They are both accomplished and speedy runners, but both were all cheer and smiles despite my snail's pace. The only person putting any pressure on me was me. So I asked the Queen of Indoor Recess to please shut up because I had a relay marathon to run.

Rick's mid-race fuel

RACE 411

The course was 22 laps altogether, two runners taking 7 laps and two runners taking 6 laps. Each lap was approximately 1.2-ish miles so we could reach the total marathon distance of 26.2 miles. The loop went through the part of the Cleveland Zoo housing bears, camels, some weird shaggy horse/mule things (I was running, didn't stop to read the signs) and would also have passed some monkeys and flamingos if it was a little warmer but those critters are indoors still. The various scents of animal helped to mask the scent of hundreds of sweating runners, so for once the zoo smell wasn't a bad thing. Runners were each provided a free beer ticket. Rick used his ticket mid-race, and noted that it added a little unwelcome "flavor" to his next lap, so I skipped the cup of Bud... coolers are allowed, bring your own brew. 

RUN LIKE A BEAR IS CHASING YOU

Ran past this 5 times,
twice in the dark...

My brother Pete has mentioned this tactic in the past, as a way to get yourself moving a little faster. Fear is a powerful motivator to hurry the hell up. We had our own unexpected fear-induced adrenaline boost at the zoo, and it wasn't bears. Every few years the Cleveland Zoo hosts a dinosaur exhibit featuring huge animatronic dinosaurs placed throughout the park alongside the walking paths. They are motion activated, so when guests approach they will move and make sounds. When we started the race at 6pm, it was still light - you could see the dinosaurs and knew to expect the T-Rex to move its head in your direction and roar. The last few laps for most teams were in the dark, and that changed the experience a little. The dinosaurs are placed not too close to any animal enclosures, obviously to avoid zoo critters being spooked by the movement and sound of robot dinos. And those parts of the walking paths that are not near animal enclosures are not well lit (who needs light in places where there are no animals to see?) So, imagine: you're running through a dark and quiet zoo at 9:00 pm and even though you know there are robot velociraptors around somewhere, you can't actually see them. Until you pass one and you notice jaws opening and claws moving and hear a roar, and the runner in front of you jumps three feet to the side because HOLY SHIT. Terrifying and hilarious and so, so fun.

WE'RE ALL RUNNERS

Tracy mentioned at one point during the race that it's always a little surprising to see how many different kinds of runners there are - she's so right, and its a good reminder to me as I work on improving my own running. I don't need to fit a mold, I am a runner of my own kind. Every imaginable body type and age was present at this race. Little kids, a very pregnant woman (rock on, super mama!), serious elite runners and not-so-serious, pretty-much-walking runners. And the guy in jeans and street shoes (!) who seemed not to notice that everyone else thought "you can't be comfortable" every time he ran by. It was fun to see a few teams get in the spirit of a zoo race with costumes - the crowd favorite was the team called "Don't Feed the Humans" made up of a rabbit (pink ears!), a lion (full-on lion mane on this guy's head for the whole race), a tiger (face make-up that amazingly didn't run!), and a zookeeper. I'm inspired for next year!

Team 69!

Yes, you read that right. I wrote "next year" and I mean it. I'd do this race again in heartbeat. Maybe my time will improve, maybe it won't, but I'll have a fab costume for sure and I'll be ready for a good time with good friends.

Thanks to my team for being awesome and supportive and faster than me so we could finish with a decent time, and to my fella for suggesting we do this and for being my loudest cheerleader, always.