Stephen - Greek for Crown, Refined, Amiable, Fearless (with a few annoying habits)

I've contemplated this post for a while, though I haven't really known what direction to take it. I like people so much and find myself so intrigued by people I know that they often become characters to me. And I've thought many times about featuring a "character" that I know in my blog every once in a while. So today, I'm doing it. And I'm starting with my favorite character of all - my husband, Stephen Dwayne McCoy:

I'll spare you the details of how we met and under what circumstances, but suffice-it to say I was immediately taken with him. One look into his bright green eyes and a flash of his big, quick smile and I was done for. I knew immediately he wasn't like anyone I'd ever met and I've yet to be proven wrong.


I've always thought of Stephen as an introspective man. He's always seemed content to go his own way and that's usually the straight and narrow. He's one of the very few people I've ever known who seems to innately know which path to take. When he's at a metaphorical crossroad - his choice of direction is quite often... right. I've learned more from him about who I'd like to be than anyone else in my life.


His laugh is completely obnoxious! It's loud and he chortles. It's so obnoxious in fact that I can't help but laugh myself when I hear it. It comes from his gut and his throat and it's strong enough to register on the Richter Scale. I think his laugh may be directly responsible for the number of potholes on 17A between Cottageville and Dorchester Road in South Carolina. But rest assured, when he laughs it's because he's thoroughly enjoying himself! He's really a very shy man, though you'd never guess it as he is rather loud and boisterous. He likes the sound of his own voice and he could out-noise just about anyone. He's completely incapable of doing anything quietly. He whistles, taps, beats, sings, hums, twittles, bangs, beats, slaps, clinks, clanks and whams his way through life. Except of course when he's hunting. The few times I've been with him I was SHOCKED! He actually can be quiet. Who knew?


Stephen is also quite versatile. I'm still amazed when I find out he can fix something I didn't even know could be broken. He's very multi-fasceted and is quite good at just about anything. Precisely the opposite of myself. I'm not really very good at - anything. He can fix toilets, wiring, plumbing, fans, lawnmowers, houses, mouses, sinks and cell phones. He can play almost any game really well. He loves puzzles and things that he can master and he usually does it quickly. He's great at math - again unlike myself. And he's so level headed sometimes that it pisses me off. He's a bit of a slob as well. At forty years old he's yet to master putting his dirty clothes in a hamper or keeping a semi-organized desk. He drives too fast and goes to bed too late. He claims he doesn't have a terrific fondness for animals and yet they ALL flock to him. Every evening he can be found in his chair with 2 - 4 animals at a time laying all over him. They want to be wherever he is. He's a Mama's boy without being a weenie about it. He's sensitive in ways that don't make him un-manly. He cries over handi-capped children and he buys me Barbie's. But he's no pushover! I can't take advantage of him and he never tries to take advantage of me. He says he loves that I'm a challenge although he'd like it sometimes if I were a little less of one :)


When it comes to ladies, I have to admit that he's a bit of a schmooze. He's had a lot of girlfriends and there are boxes of pictures and letters from girls who simply swooned over him in his younger years. They were entirely right to of course. He's terribly handsome and very gentle and still somehow he manages to maintain an heir of arrogance and comfort. He's one of the safest men I've ever been around. He's the perfect balance of "pig" and "prince".


But the most wonderful, fascinating thing about him is that he has never tired of loving me. He is as loyal, as honest and as stubborn a man as I could ever have hoped for. I never leave my home nor enter it that I don't know I'm loved. And that knowledge more than makes up for all of the ways in which he irritates the hell out of me.

The Lesson Here Is...

"It is perseverence which distinguishes the strong from the weak."


The past several years have been ones of tremendous personal and spiritual growth for me. I am of course, still a work in progress... But with that being said, I've noticed that each year has had a sort of theme. A long and winding lesson has spun from each of the days that has, in some cases nearly driven me insane. Some lessons I simply would rather not have learned. Some hurts, I would rather not have had - although now I'm as contented as I've ever been - reconciling finally that I will forever dwell within my own head. (Insert modest chuckle here.)


I had falsely begun to believe that after the tumultuous year 2009, I was sort of... home free? So many stresses and challenges, both physically and personally had dominated those 365 days! I could have sworn I'd made it through the worst of it, but it's funny how God reveals himself. So many times I lost sight of him that year. So often I cursed and questioned that I wondered if I was growing or shrinking. But standing here now I'm beginning to see just what was in store for me. Winston Churchill once said "If you're going through hell, keep going." Only a man who had reached the other side could ever have spoken with such simple wisdom... Sometimes if we leave ourselves with no choice but to carry on, we do just that. And later on we find that perhaps we were a bit stronger, a tad tougher and a hair less fragile than at first we believed.


I knew before the dawning of this new year what my lesson was going to be, I simply did not and still do not know all the ways in which I'll be forced to learn it. Toward the end of last year after a lot of preparation and hard work I was forced out of two very important races because of injuries (three stress fractures and an achilles tendon strain). Disappointment is the least of the words I could use to describe my suffering. My pride suffered more than my body and my mind nearly got the better of me as well. Once I managed to heal from the fractures I began training again and a week before another race I strained the tendon in my left leg. That was the preverbial straw that split the camel in half and ground it's bones to dust! But in a truly bizarre sense I was almost prepared for it. My running nearly came to a screetching halt because of the injury but my mind broke down, bent itself over and succumbed to the lesson I knew right then I would be forced to learn... PERSEVERANCE. It's quite a lovely word and quite unpleasant to perform. It's the word I've strayed from my entire life. It's the one thing I've avoided more than blue eye shadow. It's the bone of contempt I cut my teeth on. It's the only thing I've never wanted to correct in myself. My ADHD and my vanity have kept perseverance and me apart for 32 years. I've quit everything I wasn't immediately good at. I've quit drawing, I've quit cross stritching, I've quit camping, I've quit math... the list goes on and on. And my new career requires an awful lot of "try try again" which isn't all that appealing to a gal like myself. I'm quite use to having my own way. In almost every job I've had, I've done very well and almost immediately met with success. This one however, is quite different. Success in this field is based on the number of times you meet rejection - as each "no" will bring you that much closer to the "yes" you're searching for. I've witnessed this first hand or else I'd have no faith in the process. And today I found myself on the verge of mentally "checking out". After a long talk with my manager (and with myself) I knew that this was all part of the plan, the lesson I was doomed to learn. Just like running, I have to keep putting one foot down in front of the other. Each step I take is one less I have to make. One more rejection is one less ahead of me. The injuries whether they be physical or mental are a distraction, something to keep us all from seeing the truth. They're designed to shift our focus and make us believe that we can't, that we're not good enough, not strong enough! I succumb easily to injury. I've been spoiled... and very very lucky. I've been given so much, received so many blessings that I simply do not know how to fail - and so I quit...


And so the lessons of this year have begun. So far I have one professional and one physical challenge to overcome... And I'm afraid that if I do not meet them head on, that I just might miss out on an opportunity later, to be the woman God has in store for me to be. Each new day brings me one step closer, one rejection further, one injury beyond the quitter I use to be.

Why I Still Believe

It's no surprise to those who know me that I'm a big fan of ole' SC, Saint Nicholas, Sinterklaas, Father Christmas, you get the idea. I've believed in Santa for... well, all of my life. By the time I was old enough to understand that my parents actually bought and set out the presents, it no longer mattered to me who Santa was. For a majority of my life, my parents struggled financially. There were times when they both worked two jobs and there were years at a time when my father worked his day job from 8-5 and then taught evening college 3-4 nights a week from 6-10. And there were many months when paying our lunch money seemed like an impossible task for them. But every year, Christmas brought magic to our otherwise unremarkable household. Christmas came bustling and jingling, parading and caroling right through our home each and every year. There was never a December 25th that came and went without the magic of Santa Claus! So it's no suprise that I've always expected my own children to believe in jolly old Saint Nick. Of course they've asked the age old question, "Is Santa really real?" And every year, my answer has been the same, "All of your life people are going to try and tell you what to believe. They'll tell you there's no Santa, no Easter Bunny, no Heaven or Hell. Some will even say there is no God. But it's up to you to decide what you believe." If you want to go to heaven, first you have to know it waits. If you want magic, you have to believe it's there, and you have to be willing to accept it when it appears.
This year has been especially difficult for our family financially. I haven't worked in over a year and we've had to budget every penny that's been spent, leaving very little for holidays or birthdays. It is not unlike many years I knew growing up. And so tonight as I went through a mental check list of my children's gifts, I remembered why I still believed in the magic of Santa. If it weren't for his giving spirit - this Patron Saint of children... my parents might not have been able to bring his magic to our home all those years ago. If it weren't for Sinterklaas, this year my husband and I might not have found that same magic in our home. So it's not the man himself who appears on Christmas morning, but what he stands for that never ceases to appear. The gifts we give afterall, are in remembrance of the gift of Christ. As we received, so may we give. Merry Christmas

Lesson Learned and a Pie in the Face!

Many moons ago I joined a group called Freecycle. The idea behind this online community is that "one man's trash is another's treasure" and so on and so forth. If you have something you probably want or need to throw away, list it and see if anyone in your freecycle community can come pick it up and use it. That way things like old furniture, computer monitors, vacuum cleaners, dining chairs, etc... don't wind up in landfills. Great concept right? So, I joined and have always secretly hoped for a fantastic set of book ends. But that's neither here nor there.

A few months ago the emails sent out through the freecycling group in my community got to be a bit extravagant in regard to requests for luxury items. Instead of people offering things, aside from the occasional kitten (because apparently the world needs more cats) people started begging for all sorts of things. One woman asked for a GPS, a window unit A/C, a laptop and some living room furniture. Not long after that another lady wanted a laptop and a car. Being the "set 'em straight and tell it like it is" bandit that I fancy myself to be, I decided to put a stop to it by sending a snarky email to the group telling them where they might find a map, access to a computer and a Goodwill. This of course prompted several other members of the group to jump on my bandwagon and send their own "hell yeah", "that's telling 'em" emails. Then... there were a couple of members (mainly the ones who asked for all the free shit) that didn't really like my approach. They thought I should quit being so judgemental because "you never know why someone is asking for the things they do or what kind of things go on in their life that make them ask for stuff". Several weeks passed and the "gimme" emails decreased significanly. YES!!! Errp... Not so fast... Before long we had more requests or rather, demands for things like bedroom furniture and a DSI with games and a charger and carrying case, "that are in good condition & not messed up". So! I sent another snipey email prompting yet another uproar from the group. And of course a few snippety reactions from the beggars. A few days later the moderator says enough, and life goes back to normal and the beggars return to begging and sure enough, another email goes out, only this time the woman wants living room furniture and toys for her daughter. I decided to get off my hump and go through my daughter's toys. I contacted the beggar the next day letting her know that I had several unopened dolls, Barbie doll houses and other toys in excellent condition and that I'd be happy to meet her to give them to her. She says ok and from that point on it was like wrestling an alligator to get her to confirm a time and place to meet. The next day I loaded up the back seat of my car with all of the toys I'd gathered and prepared to meet the woman we'll dub as "Carol". Carol called me 10 minutes before we were supposed to meet and says she's still at her doctor's appointment and can't make it. I suggested we meet at another time and again, we stall... I finally tell her that I can meet her at our designated spot the following day at 1:00 pm sharp. I arrive the next day a few minutes early. After waiting for twenty minutes I finally sent her a text asking if she still wanted the toys. She responded and said she was on her way. I waited an additional 25 minutes before giving up and telling her I couldn't wait any longer. I had many errands to run that day and had waited for over 45 minutes. A while later she started bombarding me with texts saying that her daughter was crying because she wanted the toys and that I needed to come back. I told her I was sorry but that I couldn't return because I had other obligations that day. She continued to try and lay the blame at my feet without a single apology for being late. Carol was ungrateful but still I considered setting another time to meet with her... But I thought better of it and just cancelled my freecylce membership. 

I suppose in the end, I got what I deserved. I decided to be the gun wielding sheriff of freecycle and wound up with a pie in my face. Sometimes it's better to keep silent and be thought a fool than to open your mouth and tell everyone you're a giant shit eating dumbass. I thought I could reason with and talk sense to people who have no sense. I thought I knew best and could set them straight. But my arrogance just got my blood pressure elavated and my Blackberry dinging! I didn't need the hassle or the drama of what I created and I sure as hell didn't need the guilt trip to Giver's World where Carol was a no-show!

My daddy always said "You can't REhabilitate someone who's never been habilitated to begin with." Wise words Don. Maybe next time before I open my big mouth (or email) I'll remember that.

But don't forget to Recycle!

Who Do You Love?

Lately I've been thinking a lot about self esteem and what it actually means. It's the so-called love you have for yourself. But it's always been a blurry, grayish area for me. I believe in self love, absolutely. But I also know far too many people who suffer from high self esteem as opposed to the low. There must be a way to love yourself without being a self centered, ego maniacal douche bag who can only talk about how much better they are than everyone else around them. My own confidence took quite a hit when I couldn't run without excruciating pain and then found out I had stress fractures and had to stop running for a while. I felt like a failure... Like perhaps I should have tried harder to run through the pain and that I was using it as an excuse not to accomplish my goals. Sometimes it's hard to remember why I started all of this to begin with. I remember that it was for me, but aside from that I just don't know. I've gotten support from my husband who's always there to help me. He provides a lot of physical support (i.e. rides along beside me, gives me water, cold towels, times me, gives me distance readings, provides motivational support when I'm tired and want to quit) but he doesn't jump up and shout how great I am when I'm done. My parents and friends find my running interesting and will say "good for you" or "better you than me" but for the most part, don't really care. And honestly, why should they? This is MY dream, my goal, my legs.... So this leaves me wondering, when you don't have the verbal affirmations and support from people on your journey, is actually reaching the destination pointless because no one will care when you arrive except for you??? Or is this where self esteem plays it's role and you give yourself all of the support and congratulations you could ever want or need?

Most of the running blogs that I read are written by people who are either true athletes or are trying to lose weight. They chart progress, pounds, miles, days, diets, etc... The more athletic people write about their greater fitness goals, doing triathalons every day, mountain biking, trail hiking, surfing, running 40 miles a day, blah blah blah. I have nothing in common with any of those people. I don't diet, I don't need to lose a lot of weight (a few vanity pounds would be nice) and I'm never going to be an extreme athlete. I haven't joined any running support groups, I don't really chart my progress by any measurable standards and aside from a brief mention here and there, no one really knows how my running is going on a day-to-day basis. I don't have a niche or really fit in anywhere (long suffering problem of mine anyway) and so I feel "out in the cold" so to speak, in the running world. I am solely responsible for picking my own ass up and carrying it another ten feet when I feel like I can't go another step. It's me that makes me run. I have no audience, no followers, no crowd, no applause from anyone. So I guess running really is what I set out for it to be huh? For me. And while I definitely feel the solitude and a little bit of loneliness from time to time, it's kind of nice to know that it really is just about me. From what I can gather about self esteem, it doesn't really count if you're comparing yourself to people anyway. You can always look at someone and feel inferior; that's low self esteem. And you can look at someone else and feel like you're better; that's vanity. Loving yourself means not only loving who you see in the mirror, but mirroring that love back to those you might otherwise compare yourself with.

This truly is the journey of a lifetime.

In Your FACE!

I've always taken notice of the way women, young girls especially are objectified in everything from a Burger King commercial to a print add for lawn mowers. I'd like to be clear about something though... I am not a prude. I don't object to strip clubs, pornography, sex toys, toy stores, toy parties, penis cakes or birth control. I think consenting adults should be able to explore, enjoy and engage in whatever activities they deem fit. I've only ever had one rule: Don't use kids or animals. So, with that being said I'll get to my point.

I'm tired of seeing overly sexualized women in teensy shorts and cut off shirts sucking their finger while they water the grass as the tubby hubbies huff and puff past her lawn on foot on their way to Burger King. I'm sick of googling things like "dolphin cay" and getting a big fat picture of some 120 lb girl in a bikini, boob wrestling a fish. I'm sick to death of interviews with pin up girls who say that they like to eat hot wings and watch football on Sundays while they hang out with the boys because "really, I'm just a goofball and have always been considered one of the guys." I don't need giant breasts to sell me on a shampoo anymore than I need twinkies to sell me on a car. There is NO correlation between those things. I understand that "sex sells" and that's great. Let sex sell something that has to do with sex. If people who are selling sex want to look sexy then by all means, that's what they should do. If I go into an adult video store and want to know which one I should rent, chances are I'll look at the cover and make my determination based on who I'd like to see naked. I don't need some woman's rubber balls, size 38DD's in my face at a baseball game trying to peddle popcorn to my son. And I certainly don't need to see anymore crotch teasers on Girls Gone Wild video commercials. I realize that some girls go wild, Christina Aguilera and Britney Spears did it. Hell, even mall rat, Tiffany grew up and posed nude for Playboy. As far as I know there has never been a shortage of sex in the world. If all of a sudden, people stopped cold, NO MORE SEX! I might understand the need for all of the tantalizing imagery. But since strangers on Myspace are still offering it (at no charge I might add) I think the world is safe from bunny hunching extinction.

I have to raise a son and a daughter in this world and I hope to be able to instill in both of them that they are valuable. I want my daughter to love herself and never think that she has to display her body in order to obtain anything meaningful in her life. Not a job, a partner, attention or a damn dollar. She's amazing and brilliant and gifted and beautiful. And that had damn-well better be enough for any boy that comes near her!

I want my son to love himself and know that he's smart and kind and brave and strong. He will be enough for any woman with sense enough to understand that abusive jerks aren't worth their time. I never want either one of them to see this:
















and think it's anything other than a gimmick devised at grabbing their attention and pulling it away from what really matters when it comes to women. I don't take my son to Hooters and encourage him to "love the ladies" and enjoy the breasts. I don't sit him down to watch the Hawaiian Tropic contest and I'm not taking him to Mexico on Spring Break so he can participate in the gang rape of a girl who drank too damn much tequila. And if people don't think that perpetuating macho, piggish behavior in their little boys will aid in their growing up to become date rapists and womanizers then they're sadly mistaken. If our sons and daughters aren't taught how to behave and treat one another, then when they get older they'll make big mistakes... Some they might regret forever.

Everyone has a "button" I guess. And the over sexualization of women is one of mine. I detest the way women allow themselves to be portrayed and treated. And I despise the men who try to mold and shape their women into the Playboy images they grew up fantasizing to in their bathrooms. The women who let men do that to them are just as guilty. And as a man, if you don't like small breasts, little butts, big thighs, wide-set shoulders or short hair then don't date or marry someone with those features! It's just that simple. If you think that 9 months of growing another person in your body and then squeezing it out or having it cut out isn't going to change a few things on a woman's body, you're in for a shocker. And what in the hell gets into men anyway??? I know men who have these crazy images of what women are supposed to look like in their heads but in reality, they themselves look like shit. They have guts and their weight fluctuates (pretty badly). One of them has a huge nose, spaghetti hair and bad breath. Give me a break. I don't need someone judging me or telling me what to wear or what I need to have operated on. I need someone who tells me for 12 years straight that he'll divorce me if I get breast implants, he thinks everything about my body is amazing and that he wouldn't change a single thing. Because you know what? In spite of all of my imperfections and flaws, I believe the man. I pick myself apart and he puts me back together every single time. THAT is what makes us people. Not reproducing, indiscriminant, humping beasts with no soul... Although I could name a few "people" who fit into that category, but they're mostly on a tv show called The Jersey Shore.

The Race Within

So! I ran my first 5k with my best friend by my side. We had a great time and it was a wonderful first race for the both of us. I think we came away from it a little more comforfortable with the idea of doing even more races... It was certainly not my best time for 3.1 miles. My ankles caught fire about .3 of the way in and didn't let up until after the first mile. This is a fairly common problem for me but not generally to this degree. I have a lot of body pain on a regular basis because of the condition of my spine, neck and right hip. I have limitted range of motion and regardless of my painstaking warm-ups, I still feel very "crunchy" after I run. I push through it most of the time but on occasion I just sit back and whine like an obnoxious baby. All of that being said I was still immensely proud of myself and of Jenny. She showed an enormous amount of courage and steadfastness. I think we both needed one another for this race.

If there's anything that running has taught me, it's that I need to be kinder to myself. 2009 was not an easy year for me in many aspects (especially physically). When I started feeling better I made a promise to myself that when I was able, I would take advantage of it and not waste my capable body any longer. I've spent years mentally bashing myself for all the things I'm not. I've hated my thighs to the point that I'm actually surprised they haven't left me. I've beaten myself up over not being a perfect home maker, mother, wife, daughter, sister or not being organized, on top of things, perfect! I can ususally give myself a hard time over just about anything. But in the last few months that's started to change. I've slowly begun to realize that I can't be mean to the person I'm relying on to carry me over great distances. I can't pick on the body that, though it's in excruciating pain, still stumbles out of bed and bullies me down my city streets on foot. It's hard to dislike someone who's doing more than you thought they were capable of, and that person is me. I'm running a constant race. One that I know I'm never going to win, and that's alright. I want to keep running, to keep racing, pacing myself and absorbing my own rhythm. I want this struggle. I need the journey a hell of a lot more than I need to arrive.