I Want to Run Away With Me

I haven't really bothered to run anywhere, for anything at any point since the 8th grade in 1993. The occasional trudge on the treadmill has been all I've dained to do. In the last few weeks I've made it my mission to get in the best shape I could possibly be in. I've always liked exercise is some form. I walk and weight train, practice Pilates and Fluidity and even do the occasional Denise Austin work out. But I have always detested running. Probably because it's the most disciplined exercise I can think of and I have a complete lack of discipline in many areas of my life...


About three weeks ago I decided to try running because it was something I could do with my family and it kept me outside this time of year. Since then I've mentioned wanting to run a marathon in January, 2011. I'm making progress and meeting mini-goals pretty rapidly and am happy to report that I should meet my goal of running 3 miles in less than the two week time span I've given myself. And afterall, that's how a marathon is run, one mile at a time. I've really enjoyed my husband and children's company on my practice runs. They give me distraction, conversation and motivation. I alternate running and walking several times in the course of one of our outings. I'll run ahead then walk back to my family then walk with them a while and repeat. I'm trying not to push myself too hard right now. I want to go further every time I run and push past the obvious discomforts that a novice like myself will suffer in the beginning.  At the same time I know that if I push too hard I'll likely injure myself or over strain my muscles and not be able to run again for a few days and that's the last thing I want. For now I'm running every other day and weight training on the days I'm not running. I'm making the necessary adjustments in my diet which haven't been all that difficult as I enjoy many healthy, natural foods anyway. For now I would say the most difficult part of this new endeavor is finding a place to rest my mind when I run. As I progress I know I'll surely settle into a pattern of thought. But for now my mind is scattered and I'm finding it difficult to focus on anything other than the cinder blocks I feel are attached to the tops of my thighs. Granted they've gotten lighter in recent days, but they're still there. I know this will improve in time; They're only mental cinder blocks afterall.

The Marathon Woman

Last night I found myself answering a question that I never thought I'd have an answer for. "Could I, or would I be willing to run a marathon?" A friend on Facebook is a runner and proposed that she & some others take a marathon challenge in Charleston, SC in January 2011. Before I knew what I had said I proclaimed my desire to do it with her. I had a helluva time getting to sleep last night because I couldn't figure out what I was so afraid of... and then the answer finally came to me. I'm afraid of being with myself for long periods of time. I can most often occupy myself with house labors, a nap, shopping trips, time with friends, etc... But this would mean having to be with me, just me. And then after figuring that out I had to answer this question: "Why do I want to run a marathon?" Obviosly the fitness & strength is the first thing that comes to my mind, then my children and my desire to set a good example for them. But what about ME? Where does Heather fit in??? In the end, the results I feel in my body and the example I set for my children are meek and mild in comparison to what I hope to feel about Heather. She is my motivation... I want her to work hard, to do something she never thought she could do, to feel things she never thought possible. I want her to be proud of herself... just her.


Most of my pride and accomplishment comes from my daily life. I live a very content and accomplished life with my husband and children by my side. I know joy and peace because of them. I know love and friendship, happiness and meaning because of the people in my life today. But the one thing, the person I know the least about is me. I've known only what nature and necessity have asked of me and I think it's time I start asking more of myself. Thus, I begin my journey today.

A Spring in My Step

Each year the dawning of Spring provides me with just the right motivation to once again... begin again. We thrust open our windows, wake to birds chirping at the feeders on the Magnolia and Dogwood trees. Two days ago geese flew over our house. The smell of the azaleas and wisteria can be intoxicating and the dew in the morning grass is heaven sent. I seldom get so chipper as I do in the Spring time. Each afternoon my family goes for a walk (anywhere from 2-4 miles) through our beautiful neighborhood and down the charming side streets that make up our home town. Walking is my next-to-least favorite exercise but this time of year it feels wonderful. Of course I always hope to maintain the motivation that overtakes me during this time but it seldom sticks. Today I had a great cardio workout indoors then went for a walk this evening and played frisbee with my children after dinner. I want to be outdoors all the time right now, before it's too hot and unbearable. Georgia in the Summer (especially if you're not use to it) can be despicable. July and August are the months I most want to run around naked and jump through sprinklers in just that fashion. And so I try to absorb as much of Spring as possible. Even the damn Spring cleaning is somewhat delightful. The old wood shines and the fresh air that seeps in through the open windows refreshes me. And so for now there's a little something extra in my day, a bit more sunshine, a pinch more flavor and a spring in my step.

A thing of beauty lasts forever

I met this Manolo Blahnik, satin D'Orsay pump at Bergdorf Goodman on 5th Avenue in New York city less than a week ago... I meandered around the store, looking, salivating a little. The associates were quite nice and helpful but quickly and rightfully assumed I was not a "buyer" but merely a poor out-of-towner. When I made my way to the shoe corner of the store I nearly fainted. I had never been in the presence of so many of them. There were Manolo's, Loubitan's, McCartney's, Prada's, etc... They were EVERYWHERE! At first I was afraid to even touch them. After all I've been admiring the likes of these masters since the early 90's (except Stella of course - she didn't come along until the late 90's). Then I noticed a couple of women "man handling" the shoes as if they were at a damned Pay Less! "I like these, they're $785. But I don't know..." the gray clad lady said as she shoved the shoe lovelessly back on the shelf. I wanted to tackle her and ask her why she thought she could treat them that way? Why weren't they special and beautiful to her I wondered? For the same reason some people merely 'collect' VanGoh's I suppose. They don't really care about the quality, suffering or artistry behind the beauty they encounter. They can simply afford to disregard the craftsmanship, I suppose somehow believing their money is better than the splendid talent before them. But I know better. I know that money doesn't make up for beauty. It can't buy it either. I knew there in that store for the first time in my life what it meant... that "beauty is in the eye of the beholder". Beauty is simply a vision, whether it be real or imagined. It is an ideal, an illusion, ungraspable. But when you're in its presence you know it. It is beholden to you.

You're Just NOT Special

I can appreciate simplicity and complexity, I like a little of both. I'm actually a student of chaos. I prefer my life with a mixture of harshness, sweetness, bordom, chaos & joy. I love to be touched and yet I despise being cuddled. I loathe clothing just as much as I love it. I enjoy the basic labors of a love filled life and yet I mind terribly having to empty the dishwasher and put away clean clothes. One of my favorite things to do is sit in the bathroom and polish my toenails or exfoliate my feet or some other such menial pampering while my children talk at me 90 miles an hour. My mind is always a flurry and barely grasping at a complete thought before it moves on to another so I can easily keep up with their changing bantering and blabering chatter. I enjoy almost all types of music. I love 90's alternative and early 90's hard rock but my favorites are Neil Diamond and Barry Manilow. I feel as though I'm always suffering from a contradiction. I'm not able to be labeled - though sometimes I believe people desperately try to tuck me away in a dimension. I love clean, classic and simple as well hauty and gaudy. Sometimes the uglier the item, the better I feel wearing it...

I've seen, heard, read a good bit lately about other people's lifestyles and I think it's natural to compare that to one's own sense of what constitutes a personal "ideal lifestyle". I see old friends who lead seemingly glamorous lives. They attend fantastic parties in fantastic outfits adorning their fantastic figures and appear to be eating (though some barely), drinking and making merry. Some friends appear to lead a very normal, wholesome and idyllic life with a house full of little ones with picnics on Sundays at lakes with kin folks and a brand new mini van. Others stay tucked away in their tiny and oblivious worlds with no idea what's going on in the world around them. And then there are those that simply make me happy NOT to be around them anymore. I often find myself comparing my likes and dislikes with that of others. Not that one is better or worse but more that I wonder what drives people in their gravitation toward an ideal, a blouse, a platter, a home, a mate, etc... I wonder why what makes me happy doesn't and couldn't make someone else just as satisfied? Why could I not love the life someone else leads and pontificates upon? I love conformity disguised as individuality. We all (for the most part) want, need and desire the same things; Four walls, warmth, touch, talk is all that binds the human race and yet we think that our preference of each of those somehow sets us apart, makes us stand out... When really it's simply concrete confirmation that we are all more the same than we care to admit.

I know that my tastes are often bizarre and sometimes silly. I feel it when I contradict myself and I know when what I say is in direct contrast with how I might appear. I feel different. I always have. And yet I know I'm just like everyone else.

What Makes a Marriage Last?

My thoughts are racing today. It's the first day in weeks that I can remember getting out of bed and not feeling absolutely terrible. My head didn't hurt too badly, my side wasn't tingling and there was no nausea or tightness in my muscles that made it difficult to stand and walk. I feel the most normal I have felt in quite some time. All of the rest has made me weak and diminished my stamina a good bit but that's something that can be persevered against. There have been a few instances where I've snapped and snarled at my husband for telling me to rest. "I'm tired of resting! All I ever do is rest!" I'd sneer. I could hear the SSsssSSSsss in my own speech and would look up to find his patient face and loving hand resting on my shoulder & he'd say "Okay, you don't have to rest, I just want you to feel better". And ofcourse his kindness & patience only made me feel worse for being so wretched to him in the first place.

Several days ago we had a pretty serious discussion about how we would handle the housework at present. Because I'm not as able to handle it all at the moment I requested that he help a bit more and work with the children more and help to gain their cooperation and support in the form of daily chores and follow through with them. I am by no means a **neat freak** but I am very serious about sanitation. I do not like dirty surfaces, floors or handles. We have four people and six animals that live indoors; Two very large dogs, two very large indoor/outdoor cats, a gerbil & a hampster. Needless to say fur and dust accumulate rapidly and this home MUST above all MUSTS be maintained to keep it from stinking and looking like George Orwell's Animal Farm - four leggs good, two leggs bad! I assume most of the responsibility for the household maintenance even when I work full time. Like most women I conform to that roll and am happy to fulfill it most of the time. But it certainly can be taken advantage of and so in an effort to avoid any argument I knew I would have to ask for help which is something I desperately struggle with. I have quite literally fallen to the floor out of pure exhaustion in an effort to prove that I could indeed get the curtain rod back on the hooks BY MYSELF!!! I can be very stubborn and stupidly so sometimes. And often when I ask for help I yelp for it or demand it by belittling my husband for not readily seeing my need for it and fulfilling it right away. One of my biggest pet peeves is being asked "Can I help you?" or "What do you want me to do?" Because "What I want is for you to see me struggling to hold an armload of laundry while dragging a basket full of clothes behind me 40 feet to the laundry room and get up off your lazy butt and help me!!! I dare you to ask if you can help ME because it's not MY job to maintain our home, clean & put away your clothes, pick up your shoes, belts and socks, wash your dishes or clean up after you, you big goon! And don't you dare even think about rubbing my behind or laying your filthy paws on me tonight buddy!" With that expression I'm sure you now understand my dilemma and why I wanted to attack this issue diplomatically and before I had an opportunity to get angry. It serves me far better in the long run to ask for help when I need it, give praise when I don't feel like it and to seek partnership before we (my husband and I) splinter and head out for war with one another. As much as I despise it, he does give back to me every bit as good as he gets. Neither of us is a weak or submissive person. We feel strongly and we fight strongly. And oddly enough I believe that has been the greatest source of passion between us this last dozen years or so. When I hiss and sputter at him for not doing my bidding he's quick to temper sometimes and lets me know right away that I have no right to be so abrasive and demanding and hurtful. He declares his right to be spoken to with respect and that declaration only serves to anger me further because I know he's right! And by the same token I have very valid points as well and should not have to fume in order to get help with things that should be everyone's responsibility. I truly don't mind cleaning, washing clothes & dishes,  paying the bills, running the errands, picking up dry cleaning and tending to all of the necessities of family life. I really don't mind. What I mind is that he still puts his dirty clothes on the floor in front of the laundry hamper.

 He never puts away his toiletries and his work shirts, socks, belts and shoes pile up in the study and his desk overflows with junk and spills onto the floor. I mind terribly picking up after a 39 year old grown man. It makes me feel used and belittled, minute and insignificant because I know that he knows if he doesn't pick it up that I will.

But by the same token I know that my response to his inaction makes him feel the same way and so we have the unstopable force meeting the immovable object. This is a battle that will never be won. I feel certain that after all this time if either of us were going to change we certainly would have by now. And yet after all these years this battle has become a bit humorous to us both. The war we fight for respect from one another is part of the clash that emits the spark between us. We are such drastically different and yet eerily similar creatures. We despise argument and tension but our relationship has thrived on it for more than a decade. If it were easy, if our lives were always peaceful and we had manged to work out all of our problems and spent day after day encouraging, kissing, petting and complimenting one another we'd both have grown very tired & bored with the other by now.

 I realize this intensity is not for everyone and that some relationships would be doomed under the same circumstances. There have been times when Steve and I both could have and perhaps under certain circumstances even should have walked away. But as my mind has raced and swirled and spun today I've tried to answer the age old question I heard being asked yet again on a talk show this morning: "What makes a marriage last?" And so far the only thing I've been able to come up with is **passion**. Love is a great start but can easily be transformed then lay dormant in the heart, fall to inaction and cease to be a verb. Perseverance is most certainly required. It's just as significant that you have faith in your purpose and your lives together also. But for me and my marriage I'd say passion is the token of  lasting love, perseverance and faith. Without our passion for one another those other three might have left us long ago. I'm free to be me and he's free to be him. Without that acceptance there would be no love, no perseverance, no faith and certainly no passion. It takes an indefinite amount of willpower to produce the staying power of lasting love; And that unending supply of willpower is fueled by the one thing we provide for one another, PASSION

Yesterday I had what I consider to be a successful appointment with a new neurologist. He listened and took plenty of time with me. He gave a little advice, offered something new in terms of medication for my headaches and is willing to get to the bottom of my latest ailment. All-in-all, I'd say it went well. But I want to try and separate my mind from what's been happening with my body lately and today I've chosen to focus on what great things this newest year has brought me and my family thus far. We're only 19 days into 2010 and there have been joyful things to focus on and I feel perhaps I've missed some opportunities to savor those moments. My husband went deer hunting alot more this season than he usually does and it has and will continue to be a very wonderful activity for him and our children as well as fruitful for our family as a whole. He's killed 3 deer and we have enough meat stored in our freezer now to last quite some time...

It's a great stress reliever for Steve and the kids absolutely love going with him. I was able to go with him once this season and really enjoyed it. Hearing the blast from his shotgun gave me an astonishing adrenaline rush and cured my pain for about 45 minutes. So it was well worth the trip into the woods in really bad camouflage and awkward headgear. (I'm a girly girl and don't like getting dirty and tromping through muddy fields and forrests.) My husband cleaned and cut the first two deer himself, we had the third one processed and I believe we now have over 60 lbs of meat in our freezer. That's a really nice staple in our over-all grocery budget that I no longer have to account for, atleast for a while anyway... So 19 days into the year and I have a few months worth of money already saved by NOT having to spend it. And as wisdom from my father would prove, "You're not 'saving' money at a store if you're spending money AT the store." I'd like to work up a figure for what we would normally spend on meats each week and add that to our savings so that we really do 'save' that money.

This year has also brought the prospect of closer relationships with loved ones. The tides are turning still and I'm finding more hope for better communication with my parents and sisters. There's never been a shortage of love between us though we have all been lacking in patience and commitment toward one another. I talk to my sisters now more than in recent years and I've come to regard them as friends moreover. My husband and I have also improved our communication and have commited to spending more time together, even if it's as simple as sitting in the same chair for a few minutes in the evenings. As a couple we've always done a pretty good job of communicating in the business of running our household and also our feelings for one another. Where we have lacked significantly is in making quality time for each other. Our life together can seem very fleeting at times and we both have a deeper realization now of the importance of a 'moment' together versus the hope that somehow life will slow down and we'll be able to 'find' time to spend together. I'd rather have a hushed moment with my head on his chest in the mornings, than a plan for a date that will likely be interrupted by the natural course of a chaotic, full life anyway.

And so it seems that in 19 shorts days I've had much more to examine and contemplate than I had originally thought. That's a nice feeling as well as a good distraction from the physical realities at present. And I admit it's pleasant to remember where we've been; Still it's more rewarding to see just how far we've come...