One Year Ago

This time last year, I was resting to prep for the Goofy Race.

I remember sitting on the edge of the fountain in the lobby of the Coronado Springs hotel.

It was 3:30am and I was waiting for my Dad to show up in his costume, which I had yet to see.

I remember thinking that this was all a dream, and that this had been the loftiest goal I’d ever dreamed up.

How could it already be race morning?

Listening to Some Disney tunes...

How could it be possible, that just five short days ago, I thought I’d be running both races solo, with my lil family and my in laws at the finish line, and now, today, my Dad is running alongside me for the half marathon and will be waiting for me, with my Mom and everyone else after the marathon.

To say that the weekend was a dream come true would be a huge, huge understatement.

I dreamt up the goal more than a year before, but found myself unexpectedly pregnant instead, so when the time came to re-register for the following year, I was fully aware of the time it would take to train and the fact that the new baby would be just shy of 8 months old.

I am not a detail-oriented person, however, I am stubborn as a bull, and when I decide I’d like to pursue a goal, come hell or high water, I will accomplish it.

(Unless it involves giving up donuts.  I won't do that.  Nope.)

I was very, very emotional at the finish line.

3:33am.  January 10, 2015.

We look like a Disney Race poster, no?

My Dad comes into the lobby of the hotel wearing a Prince Charming costume that’s been combined with regular running gear to create, complete with white gloves, a beautiful and amazing costume.

On that day, as we rode the shuttle to the start line, waited in long ques for porta potties, where just steps away there were dozens of empty ones, and then made the long, long, very long, trek to our corral, my Dad got many shout outs for his costume.

I, in my very original Anna costume, got few.

To have a goal, an aspiration, and then to have your family stand alongside you, not only encouraging you, but even participating, has been something I’ve spent a year trying to put into words.

Best.  Running partner.  Ever.

I am a grown-ass woman.  I am a grown-ass woman with three kids and a husband, which I think gives me a few cred points in the game of attempting to adult.

And, yet, last year, I flew to Florida and then California, to run a half marathon in Disneyworld, and then Disneyland, with my Mom and Dad.

And it will forever be one of the most memorable years of my life.

How in the hell did I ever get so lucky, as to deserve all of this?

When resolution time rolls around, for many, many years, I had the same ones every year.

I want to lose weight.

*sits back, puts hands behind back and waits for this magical thing to just “occur”*

But for the first time ever, and with no relation to New Years whatsoever, I set out to run injury free, which I knew meant losing weight, because my body was suffering, having to carry 50 extra pounds, each time I set out to hit the pavement in my runners.

I want my kids to be proud.  I want them to say, for their whole lives, that their Mom is a runner.  An athlete.  An inspiration.

I want my husband to smile when he thinks of the obstacles I’ve faced, and be proud of the fact that none of the goals I set would be possible without him.

I want my Mom and Dad to be proud of me, and I know they are, because they’ll fly five timezones to be with me over the biggest running weekend I’ve ever embarked upon.

And most importantly, I want to make sure that I’m proud of me.

I want for New Years to come and go, and to make small, silly goals, because what I’m really thinking, is, how  can I possibly top THAT year?!?!

I want to come upon every January 1, and have not one regret for the year I lived before that.

It’s been around 18 months since I truly took control of my health, and to say that I only felt like I was living my life fully from then on would not be an exaggeration.

I remember getting dressed in my Mrs.Incredible costume on the morning of the marathon.  I felt very unsure of myself, and my feet were tired and beginning to blister, so I was already feeling a little bit defeated.  I was emotional.  I was fragile.  I was on the verge of crying during that entire, 5:00:12 race.  I DID cry.  Several times.  But more than that, and more than ever, I felt strong, invincible and capable of any-damn-thing.

I will forever cherish the memory of coming around the corner to see the giant inflatable Baymax character, and bursting into full, hyperventilating, ugly sobs.

It was around mile 20, which is when I truly find my grit during the marathon.  It gets hard.  And there’s many miles still to go.  But I'd already run so many.

Part one of two, and only 1/3 of the distance was complete.

Yikes.

So, so many tears.  Thank GOD for

fake lashes!

Big Hero 6 is a fleeting movie.  It will likely fade into my childrens’ memories, like many of their current obsessions do. It was not so much the character, but what it meant to me in that moment.

My little girl, who had just turned five, was waiting for me at the finish line.  My little girl, as well as her adoring little sister and their baby brother, who all have been the greatest motivators of my life.  Who have inspired me to be the best me I can be, were in love with this giant white character, and as if on cue, the corresponding song came on my iPod.  In that single moment, I was able to dig deep.  To dig beyond my most uncomfortable place, and carry through, strong through the finish line.

I was a warrior that day.

I am not an elite athlete.  I am just clinging to the back of the “mid pack”.

But my kids.  They think I’m a real life friggin’ super hero.

Only Kinda' Sorta' About Resolutions

Women's Health magazine has recently announced that it will no longer feature the words "bikini body", "drop two sizes" and other such phrases on their covers.  Not from print in the entire magazine, but from the cover, which is OK, because a small step in the right direction, is still a step.

For much of my life, I never dreamed of, or even had the desire to wear a bikini.
I had to stop for a minute last week, as I said to my Mom, "do you know where my black bikini is?  It's my favorite one?"

Not only have I started to buy and wear bikinis, but I have so many that I have a favorite one.
I do not, by any means have a perfect body, but I do have a bikini body.
As in, I put bikinis on my body.

I have two daughters and I cannot tell them to wear whatever they like, because they're beautiful, and then turn around and not wear what I like because I'm self conscious.

Actions speak louder, friends.

I am going to tell you something that will make you uncomfortable.

Do you want to have a bikini body?
Well, guess what, you already do!

If you have a body, then you have a bikini body.

We recently spent a week on vacation in Mexico and I wore a bikini every.  Single.  Day.
In a not-so-distant past, I would have written a self-deprecating sentence about having, by no uncertain means, a bikini body.
But I do.  I can wear a bikini.  I can freaking ROCK a bikini.
But it wasn't easy.
It was so difficult to do.
The first day.

After that, it actually wasn't difficult at all.

The first day I felt incredibly self conscious and I was certain everyone was judging me.
They were.

Then I had a few cocktails, and accepted the fact that I was being judged, (and, really, had I been wearing a one piece suit, I'd have been judged for that too, so...), and just embraced the fact that I was wearing a two piece swimsuit, alongside my girls, so they can know that the nicest thing a woman can wear is any-friggin'-thing she wants with a huge side o' self-confidence.

So, the uncomfortable bit?  If you feel your body isn't "worthy" of wearing something, you really should resolve to get over that.

I wear long pants and at minimum a t shirt to the gym.  My legs and arms shouldn't be seen.
But. truthfully, they look just fine, and I feel badass when I wear a tank to the gym.

However, this year, starting tomorrow, when I purge my workout gear of shitty superstore t shirts that are too big and hold onto sweat like sponges, I am going to wear workout gear that keeps me a)dry, b)mobile and, honestly, c)looks cute.

I've worked very hard for this body I live in, and although I want to take it somewhere different this year, right now, right this very second, it's worthy of any damn thing I want to put on it.
I know that the New Year can really rev our engines, and give us a bit of pep, but this second, any one of you who are reading this can and absolutely should be confident and proud.  If you want to change your bod this year, I support you wholly, BUT, your current one is pretty amaze-balls too, capiche?!

"I'm not going to go on vacation/join the gym/do anything new or challenging, until I've lost ___ lbs." That shit's bonkers, so seriously, know that you're worthy of anything you want.  Right now.

And, in my humble experience, of purchasing my first bikini last summer, and following up with a serious addiction, to the point where I now have a favorite 'kini, I can tell you, that if you put on the bikini, you will feel exposed, and uncomfortable.  But do it again.  And again.  And be confident AF, because if you do that, then that's all anyone will notice.

2016 Resolve

I wish I didn't feel the need to justify the life I lead.
Anyone else sometimes feel like they're having to give reasons why they've made their choices?

I don't agree with every choice my loved ones make.
That's perfectly fine.  Normal, even.
But it's not my life to live, so unless I'm being asked for input, then I'll just shut my trap.
Also, why should it matter what I think?  And therefore, what is it any of my business to comment?

It's hard to find value in a piece of unsolicited advice, given by someone who has never walked in my shoes.
That being said, I'm a very emotional person and I tend to carry around all advice like baggage.
I'm tired and sore from this historical practice, and I'd like to unload a little bit.
Or a lot.

I spend a lot of time in the gym, and in my running shoes.  Sometimes the kids are with me, and I really love that because I think it's so great for them to see their Mom, and sometimes a bunch of other Moms, kicking serious ass, and taking control of their health.  I also try to take them running with me, because not only is it a bit of extra resistance for me, but the fresh air tires them out, and again, they're seeing a fabulous example of how to make fitness a normal daily activity.

But sometimes I leave them with a babysitter, or my husband.
I sometimes pay for childcare for an hour or so to myself.
How is that any different from paying to get your haircut?  Or nails done?  Or go shopping?

Spending time on my health and body is not about vanity.
I'm aware that it may seem that way to someone on the out looking in, but it has little to do with how my clothes fit and loads to do with how my mind feels, and how that affects my day to day life.

It can be especially hard to get in a workout after a few days or weeks of lousy sleeps, or nights where we end up with five in the bed, often before midnight, but it's on these days, that for my personal calm and serenity, I must make the time, even for a 30 minute run, to be alone.

What I'm tired of, is feeling like I have to justify this time.
No one's demanding that I prove to them, the reasons I spend so much time on my fitness, but I'm old and wise enough to know that many judgments are made about my lifestyle.

I do not judge any other parents' choices.
I don't.

You do whatever the hell it is you need to do to survive the years where your children are dependent on you.
And then after that, how about just continue to do you.

I will not judge your life.
Sometimes we need to vent about our choices, and that's OK, but don't dwell.
If you find you're complaining about the same thing over and over again, maybe change it.

But I ain't gonna be the one to suggest that.
I'm an extreme introvert, and I truly believe that it's none of my business, because, to be honest, I hardly have the energy to deal with my own business.

Still not going to judge, though.
Being a parent is hard.
Making choices for your family.  Hard.
Hard in and of itself, that we don't also need to feel as though we should justify those choices to someone who hasn't a clue what it's like.

My 2016 resolution is to worry about me, and not about what others think of me.
For me, this will be very challenging, but I'm hoping, also freeing.

Goodbye, For Now.

We are who we are because they were who they were.

These were the opening remarks of the eulogy at the funeral I attended last weekend for a Great Uncle of mine.

He was my Grandpa’s brother and they were very much alike. 

I spent many summers at Uncle Donny and Aunt Marge’s cabin at Candle Lake.

They had a ton of grandkids, who also spent time there, and so, naturally I was drawn to their place to hang out with kids.

But I also spent time with them, because they’re easy to be around.

I remember the huge, solid wood bunk beds Uncle Donny had built in the rooms at the lake.  They were big enough to hold all of us kids, and to this day, it’s a fond lake memory of mine.

I also remember a few years ago, when many of us Cameron’s got together to do the Banff to Jasper Relay in memory of Jason Rennick.  Another Cameron gone too soon.

Christina was running the very first leg of the North side of the course.

Blake and I and the kids had gone to the restaurant for breakfast, which was reasonably priced around $18 for eggs and toast, to find Donny and Marge having breakfast themselves.

They had come, to this little hotel, quite literally in the middle of nowhere, to be there for their granddaughter to run.

Amazing.

I didn’t think much of it then, because if you know any of the Cameron brothers and sisters, this is just simply the kind of thing they do, without even thinking about it.

When I was much younger, I remember getting together for a reunion, or a holiday or just to go for a picnic or some ice fishing, and there were always people there.

Cameron’s.

I truly believe that I am part of one of the greatest family’s.

We are a tight bunch, and unfortunately, the glue that has always held us together is aging, and leaving, and it will be up to my generation to continue to hold us together.

Lives get busy and people have schedules, but I think that it’s incredibly important that my children and their children, grow up knowing that the family bond is a gift, but it’s earned and not to be taken for granted.

Our family has a bountiful, beautiful love for one another and it’s because we appreciate and respect one another, that we’re such a great bunch.

We choose to spend time together, and when we do, it’s memorable!

I sometimes feel like I’m lost in the craziness of parenting, and I forget that my goal, our goal, is to raise good, kind, honest people.

That’s it.  The rest is just minor.

But I want them to choose their family, if there is a choice.  By showing them my extended family, and Blake’s, I hope they know how wonderful it can be that your favorite people are also your family.  I hope I’m instilling that in them.

Uncle Donny, it was a great pleasure to have ever known you, and the fact that part of you is part of me, and also my children, gives me great hope that I will someday be as loved and cherished as you are.

You were a great man, and your children and grandchildren are a testament to how wonderful you were.  Gone too soon, but never forgotten.

Squeeze Your Babies

I complain about my kids.
I bitch about them all the time.

I talk about how they're exhausting, or behaving poorly, or won't eat anything that isn't processed.
I sometimes talk about them as if I might be better off without them.
I daydream from time to time about how easy and carefree the days were when they weren't around.

The truth is, though, that I would be nothing without them.
I would be an entirely different person and my heart would ache in a desperate way, for them.

For every beautiful, memory making moment, there is one or five or one hundred moments of exhaustion, and desperation and sometimes crying or shouting.

Just today we had to leave Costco, in a hurry because Ellie was screaming that she wanted a pretty dress.
SCREAMING.
Over.  And over.  And over.
(Apologies if you were there today.  Thankfully, Costco is never busy.  Except it is, and we elicited a LOT of stares.  So, I'm sorry.  I'm not really sorry though.  Sh*t happens.)

And although in those times of stress and fried nerves, when I'm trying to just get us all to bedtime in one piece, I'm grateful.

I have three, gorgeous, healthy kids.
Three.
THREE?!?!

Three little people, that the universe decided should live at my house.
And they make me happy.
Shouldn't I make me happy?

But I did, don't you see?
We created these creatures who are growing up to be profound individuals, and they make me feel like I have a fierce and intense purpose.

When I hear or read about families who are struggling to have babies, or where heinous things have happened to little kids, my entire being feels raw, and I can feel my heart, ache.

And I want to immediately hug my littles.
I want to squeeze them and kiss them and tell them I love them, because that same universe doesn't guarantee they will be here tomorrow.

In all the moments where I think my kids are awful, misbehaving tyrants, I am still eternally blessed to have them.

This weekend, my Dad and I went to Disneyland to run the Avengers Infinity Gauntlet Challenge.
My Mom came to cheer for us.  She's almost always there!
(Best parents ever.  I don't even need to defend the title.  They just, are!)
We had a very quick but adventure packed trip.

I went to Disneyland and didn't bring my kids.
It was peaceful, and relaxing and we did whatever we pleased at whatever pace we chose.

But I missed my kiddos like crazy.
I started to think about them during the race.
My chest got tight and I had to focus very hard on not breaking into an ugly, sobbing bawl-fest, where, I'm certain, hyperventilation would have occurred.

I do almost everything for them.  With them in mind.
I do loads of things just for me, but I can't go a day without thinking about them, and what I can do for them.

As I sit here, I type with one hand because my boy wanted some lap time.
I always have time for that.
(I had to take a break to play with the little trouble maker.  He demands undivided attention!)

I'm planning to write about our Coast to Coast challenge because it truly was a once in a lifetime adventure and we honestly do make some fantastic memories, but after being away from the herd for a few days, I was missing them so very much and couldn't wait to get home to smother them with smooches and bear hugs.

Even when they're pitching a friggin' fit in Costco!

Inner Chubby Girl

She's there.
She's there all the time.
Sometimes her voice is loud, and dominating.
And I give in.
Other times the voice is a quiet whisper in the background.
But it is always there.
Every.  Damn.  Day.

I don't know what it's like to be a small person.
I've never, ever in my life, aside from infancy, (and even then I'm not too sure!) been able to eat whatever I like and not worry about the consequences.
Ever.

That's OK.
I'm not complaining.
It is my own path, and it's a pretty beautiful one to be on.
However, I just don't know what it's like.
Does everyone have this voice?  Has it always been there?

I've carried around extra pounds forever.
Still do.
Just a whole bunch less now.

But, my inner, chubby girl voice is always, always inside my head.

She's the one who says, "g'head, eat that.  It's OK."
"You haven't had a lot of sleep, and you're stressed and that spoonful of peanut butter/handful of chocolate chips/mini candy bar, or three, isn't THAT big of a deal."

I don't think she'll every go away.

"Y'know what?  How 'bout just f*ck it today.
Just be fat today, and start again tomorrow.
Although you know I don't care about that, so really I'll just encourage you to do the same tomorrow, soooooooooo...
what was the point of all your hard work anyways?"

It doesn't get easier.
You just get better.

You get better.  Stronger.

You make the choices, every day, every moment, to get you to your goals.

And when you reach your final goal, that chubby broad will still be saying shit like, "YAHOO!  We've arrived!  Bring on the cheeseburgers and poutine!  And then we'll finish it off with cheesecake and donuts!  WOOHOO!"
That b*tch never goes away.

I'm comfortable knowing that the voice is here to stay.
But It makes me uncomfortable to live in constant fear for what feels like the inevitability of a future failure.  Setback.
Gain.

That the voice will prevail one day, and then again the next day, and for a few weeks, or months or years, and I'll find myself at a weight that starts with 2 again.

She can be so convincing.  Familiar, and comfortable.
She is me, after all.

The weight loss struggle has little to do with calories in vs. calories out.
And everything to do with battling inner beasts, and conquering them, day after day after day...

Choices. Every. Day. Making Choices.

I should be putting laundry away.
Or finishing dishes from lunch.
Or starting another load of laundry, since obviously the second you put clothes away there will be another full hamper to do.
Obvi.
Really, and truly, I should be getting in the shower.

I tend to stay in my sweaty gym clothes waaaaaaaaay too long.
Ask Audrey.

Last night, I had just returned from a run, and was carrying her down to the girls' bed.
"Mom, you're warm.  And sticky.  And, kinda smelly."
Thanks, kid.
Your breath smells pretty special too.

We all tend to convene in our bed.
Thank heaven for king sized beds because many mornings there are five of us in there, and we are all still friends.
Mostly.

There are only two TVs in our house, and one of them happens to be in our room, so naturally, the kids like to spend some time up there watching cartoons.

There will soon come a day when they're not going to want to spend much time with us, and would never dream to hang out in their parents' bed.
So for now, like this morning, while they really love Mom & Dad's room, I'll take it.


School day mornings are very hectic.
Get everyone out of bed around 7.
Feed three little people.  One will decide that there's nothing they'd like for breakfast of the five  two options I've given them.
Get weather appropriate clothing onto three children.
Get oldest child's lunch and snack packed and books packed for school, and probably sign something for the teacher.
Get oldest on the bus.
Pack two littles into car, with water and snacks and head to the gym and/or to preschool.
And all before 815.
My husband has to get up an hour earlier.
But he has to get only himself ready and to work.
I would trade him a million times over, for that one hour less of sleep!

I've been shuttling the littles with me to the gym quite a bit lately, which is nice for me because then there's no pressure about getting back home to pick someone up.
I think it's good for them too, to see their Mom lifting heavy things and working out like mad.

I know it's having impact on them, when I catch my middle gal doing a burpee while she's watching some weirdo show on youTube.
Or grinders, which, of course, she makes look like a breeze.

I want to be able to show them that Mom's can have muscle.
Mom's can have a lot of muscle.
Mom's can be not so muscle-y, too, but my goal is to have muscles.

Which means less donuts.
And I'm getting much better at this, but it's so hard to give up those delicious lil' nuggets!

I was very sick for a couple of weeks and didn't eat anything of substance.
I lost 5 pounds, which promptly found their way back when I started eating again.

I also noticed a definitive lack of strength at the gym, and endurance while running.
I have worked for months, years, I might even say, to gain strength and muscle mass, and it felt like in just two weeks, I lost so much.
I will work even harder to regain what left so quickly, but it was depressing to notice the regression.

I want to have muscle not because of how it looks, (although I think it does look awesome!), but because when I have more muscle, I can eat more.

F'reals.

Most of my motivation, in life, comes from food.
I love to eat.
Always, have, obviously!

Now, though, I'm concerned with how my body performs, which means making wise choices, most of the time.
That being said, having muscle allows me to eat more, and sometimes to make less healthy choices.
Sometimes.

There comes a time, during every, single long run, when I start to talk about food, if I'm with other runners.
If I'm alone, my thoughts are almost entirely consumed (no pun intended!) by food.

Many of the races I choose to do, have fantastic food at the finish line.

I've always loved to eat.
And now I can say that without it feeling like a dirty word.

I'm at a place where I'm comfortable with the consequences of the lousy choices, and I really hate how I feel, so I choose to eat well, because I feel, well.

So, my goal is to have more muscle.
So I can lift like a bad a**, have a nice one, and eat more!
Now, I think it's time for me to make a snack...
And then I definitely have to shower.
But, food first.