I've got a lump in my breast. So I'm going for a run.

Today I spoke those words that every woman dreads. 

I've got a lump in my breast. 

I saw my doctor this morning who did not think it was anything to be too concerned about, considering my history, but wanted to err on the safe side.  He ordered an ultrasound which I will have on Friday.

So instead of rushing home, googling everything it could be from cancer to a cyst to a fat deposit, I ran some errands, met my BFF for a quick cup of coffee and headed home.  Where I promptly strapped my precious girls down tight, laced up my beloved kicks, grabbed my pink ipod, leashed up my dog and headed out the door for a run.

The last thing I'm going to do is worry.  There is nothing that is going to change between now and Friday morning so I'm going about business as usual. 

And I had a wonderful run.  One of the best runs, ever.  It was cold, but wonderfully fresh.  I checked my Garmin on the one and only flat portion of my 3.5 mile route and nearly stopped in my tracks - but I'm glad I didn't!  I was running the fastest I had ever run.  An 8:45 minute pace.  Now I know that isn't fast by any means for a lot of mother runners out there.  But for me, I was lightning! 

Even though I had a puppy leashed in one hand and a bag of puppy poo in the other.

Ironically, there is something about health problems and worries that can do a person good.  My now 10 year old son has several chronic eye diseases, and nearly lost his sight at age 3.  So now when I run - and when I don't - I really look around and take in the sights.  From roadside flowers and fallen leaves to snow banks, there is beauty in the most simple scenery. 

And today, with a tiny little pea sized lump, I ran with energy, strength and power.

And I'll run again tomorrow.

If you haven't got anything nice to say...

I check my Yahoo! news page first thing in the morning to see what is going on in the world.  Plus sometimes there are odd "human interest" stories that provide a break from the normal doom and gloom of the news.

Lately I've started reading the comments on some of the stories. 

And I think I'm going to stop reading those comments.

I can't believe the rampant rudeness!  It seems the anonymity of the internet has given free licence to people to say what ever they want.  No matter how uncivilized, childish, mean spirited and insulting their comments may be.  Whether it be a political, social, current events news item or just an interesting story, people are writing horrible things.

Recently I read a tragic story about a family in Canada that was killed in a car accident. 
Random comment: Who cares?  They are Canadians.

Stories about bullying, people dying in fires, horrible illnesses...the hurtful messages that people leave astound me.  There seems to be no compassion.  I really don't understand why, when the subject of the story has faced unspeakable tragedy, comments have to add even more hurt and hate.

As a parent, one of my jobs is to teach my children respect for their fellow human beings.  And kindness.  And compassion.  And understanding.  And tolerance.  And that job gets harder and harder every day because we are surrounded by hatred and intolerance.
There has been a lot of talk about this in politics recently.  And it doesn't matter what side of the political aisle you are on - it comes from both sides.  How can I teach my children respect and kindness when our politicians and national commentators are calling each other Hitler, putting gun sights on their opponents and telling their supporters to reload?  How can we ever expect to raise children into decent adults when our leaders can not themselves set a good example?

The recent horrific events in Arizona have certainly given us pause as a nation.  However, I fear that this will be short lived.  Our memories do not seem to last very long.  Attention moves on to the likes of the Jersey Shore  - where not much is said in kindness (or sobriety) either.

We teach our children that if you haven't got anything nice to say, then don't say anything.  Imagine if our media, politicians and commenters followed that ancient rule of being nice.  The world would be a much quieter place.

Motherhood and Running - Perfectly Imperfect Together

Perfect.  I've come to really dislike that word.

I was the perfect child.  Rarely, if ever, in trouble, straight A's all the way through grad school.  Did as I was told and had the world at my doorstep.  Career planned out.  Oh I was going places. And those places would, no doubt, be perfect.

Then I became a mother.  Of three boys.  I imagined raising young boys of impeccable manners, eager to clean their rooms, help their mom and never say an unkind word to anyone, not even each other. 

I was going to have perfect children.  Just like me.

Well, children have a way of throwing all those visions out the window into a big steaming heap.  My sons are well mannered for the most part, but will eagerly laugh hysterically at the slightest hint of a burp or, as regularly happens in our house of 4 males, wind from the other end.  My goal of 3 well dressed boys in khakis and collared shirts?  I'm lucky if they have anything that isn't stained or ripped.  And right now with the growth rates we are experiencing, a pair of pants that isn't 3 inches above their ankles.

I've scaled back my expectations, and I've realized that that is a good thing.  My kids are happy and well adjusted, for the most part anyway. And the stress - though still there - has been reduced as I realize that my kids are their own selves and with a little guidance from hubby and me, will turn out just fine. Forget perfection.

Then last year I decided to take up running.  I've never been athletic but I decided I wanted to run.  I wasn't going to start at a short 5k (though I ran one - but it wasn't timed, so in my mind, it didn't count.)  Heck no.  I was going for a race with the word "marathon" in it.

And I was going to be the perfect runner, gosh darn it.  Just like I was going to be the perfect mother.

I did pretty well for my very first athletic accomplishment. I finished the half marathon in 2:23.  I was quite proud of myself for my first "official" race.  But I needed to go further.  I signed up for a marathon.  26.2 miles.

And I was going to run the perfect newbie marathon.  I had the shoes, the running skirt, the support of family and friends, and I'd done the training.  But it took me a long time.  A realllyyyy long time.  5 hours and 28 minutes.  I thought I could finish in less than 5, perhaps even 4:30, based on some of my better training runs.  But 26.2 miles is a heck of a long way, especially in bright 70 degree sunshine.  I did well for the first half but at about mile 21 I bonked and half walked/ran the rest of the way.  But I crossed the finish line upright and smiling.

I was proud of myself - but disappointed too.  I didn't run my "perfect" marathon - perfect by my standards any way.  I had different expectations for how I would feel at the end.  I was laughed at by someone who thought my time was slow, and told I was selfish for training for such a long time.  After all it took time away from my family - as if that was my only reason for existence, thank you very much.  I had great support from the Run Like a Mother community which made me feel so much better.  But still, part of me felt like I had failed.

Just like there are days when I feel like am failing as a mother.  You know those days, when the only way you can survive is to park the kids in front of the goggle box and lay on the couch.  Those days when you can not deal with one more argument, fight, spilled glass of milk, load of laundry or toilet to clean.

But running has put this whole experience in perspective.  When you run, you put one foot in front of the other and keep going.  There are days when you are slow, and days when you are fast.  There are days when you can't drag yourself out of bed and there are days when you hop out of bed and go straight to your happy place while putting on your running shoes.

Just like there are days when you can't stand motherhood, and then days when your kids tell you that you are beautiful and the best mom in the world.  You just have to put one foot in front of the other and keep on going, avoiding the legos strewn across the floor, of course.

So my visions of being the perfect mother, the perfect runner?  Replaced by visions - and reality - of being a mother runner who is doing her best.  Putting one foot in front of the other, the best - and only - way I can.

This tough broad's new name.

Since I became a stay at home mom, or family manager, or home CEO, or whatever I want to call it on any given day, I've really struggled with my identity.  Before kids, I was slated for a great career in corporate America with a generous salary and recognition for my work.  Now, after kids, my home is my work place and my days are filled with laundry, cooking, cleaning, child care and the occasional Panera trip with various mom friends. 

Thanks to these Panera trips, and three babies that unapologetically changed my metabolism and body structure, I struggle with my physical identity as well.  I carry around an extra few pounds, and thanks to mass media and women's magazines that tell me over and over again how to lose weight, sometimes I think I never will be comfortable in my own skin.  I thought my marathon training - all 400+ miles of running over 18 weeks - would get rid of my jiggly bits.  Well, I have muscles of steel now, but the jiggly bits remain firmly - or un-firmly, as it were - in place over said muscles of steel.   

I've had an ongoing battle in my head for years - should I get rid of the extra 20 pounds or finally accept that they are part of me and embrace my body?  This body that has given birth to 3 boys - naturally, without so much as an advil, one baby at 10 pounds (!), all born at home?  This body that spent 6 years nursing my babies?  This body that provides a safe and nurturing home for my family, 24 hours a day?  And of course, this body that can hold my fair share of Woman Warrior martinis? This body has more strength in it than I ever thought possible.  I never thought I'd ever run 5 miles, let alone 26.2.  But here I am, running mile after mile after mile, and thoroughly enjoying it. 

I had a moment of clarity while running this past weekend.  My BFF Beth joined me for a couple of loops at the park during my short, comparatively speaking, 14 mile run.  I had my typical long run attire on - capris, running skirt, tank top, visor and pigtails.  (Yes I'm 41 and run in pigtails.  I LOVE it!)  The path encircles numerous baseball fields. It was opening day for the local men's league and there were a lot of fine men pitching and hitting and running.  And of course they checked us out as we ran by.  I felt a little self conscious, thinking about the muffin top and jiggly bits, and Beth and I had our usual conversation about body image.  Then she said I was like a roller derby girl.  At first I was aghast, but then I pictured a roller derby girl.  Strong and tough.  Physically and mentally.  No skinny legs for those gals.  Tattooed.  Check, have one of those (now you know mum, I have a tattoo)  Bright colored clothes.  I always run in bright pink. And lip gloss.

Hmm, maybe Beth is on to something.  Maybe I just need to look at myself differently.  Not as a runner who has a few pounds to lose, but as a strong woman who is one tough broad.  But in a nice way, of course.

A cool name is a must for a roller derby girl.  I've been calling myself a muffin top marathon mom, but I need something much edgier than that.  So I thought of the tattoo on my right shoulder.  I designed it myself and I'm proud of it.  It has three thistles, one for each of my boys, and represents my strong Scottish heritage.  And the thistles are pink, of course.  The leaves of the thistles form the shape of Ohm, a very meaningful symbol to me from the time I spent living in India. 

So now when I run, I'm the Pink Thistlenator. 

Step aside, skinny girls, I'm coming through.  Jiggly bits and all.

Forget what's in your wallet. What's in your car?

I admit I like those "What's in your wallet?" viking commercials.  I chuckle at the antics those silly fur clad fellows get up to.

That "What's in your wallet?" question popped into my head as I unloaded the car at the park the other day.  Except it wasn't what was in my wallet, rather what was in my car.

I have always tried to keep a clean car.  "Tried" being the important word. This summer, however, got the better of me. My embarrassment upon opening up the back of my 10 year old minivan prompted me to make a list. 

So what is in my car?

3 boys' bicycles.  Yes 3.
3 boys' helmets.
1 umbrella.
1 fall jacket.  Even though it's 93 degrees outside.
4 footballs.  Even though I only have 3 boys.
2 soccer balls.
1 rubber chicken.
1 rubber duck.
1 toy mini copper with a giant union jack on it.
1 toodler hoodie.
1 pair of dirty socks.  That happen to be mine, stolen and worn by my eldest son.
1 bionicle.
Ice Age - the movie.
Night at the Museum - the movie.
1 aluminum water bottle.
54 cents.
1 roll of paper towels.
1 wipes bin.
4 pull ups.
1 doggie doo doo bag.
1 doggie leash.  Pink of course.
3 smushed up M&Ms.  Brown, red and yellow.
1 paper airplane.
1 rain poncho.
1 plastic water bottle cap.
Assorted crumbs and bits of unidentifiable food.

And something I can't quite quantify...the smell of the feet of three little boys and their wet sandals mixed with dog and rubber bike tires.

Oh, and there is a cobweb in the corner.

I used to take such pride in my clean car.  But trudging around with the three kids for bike rides at the park and hikes with the puppy has taken it's toll on the minivan this summer.  Back to school week means a thorough detailing of my beloved mom mobile.

So, what's in your car?

Getting it balanced.

Last night, husband DJ and I watched Avatar for the first time.  We very very rarely go out to the theater to see a film, but thanks to our new Netflix account, we are catching up on the past few years of Hollywood.

To be sure, it was an amazing 2 hour and 45 minute cinematic experience.  The computer generated film was incredible to watch and had a story that, though very predictable, told a message of the evil of greed. 

We were curious to see how much the movie cost to make so we googled it. 

$500,000,000.

That's 500 million dollars.  To make, promote and distribute Avatar.  Half a billion dollars.  And so far it has brought in $2.7 billion in box office sales around the world.  And it is coming back in theaters which only means that the revenue will go higher. 

20th Century Fox amd James Cameron must be rubbing their hands with glee.

About a movie about greed.

Hey, I love a good movie.  I love to laugh, cry, be moved and awakened by a film just as much as anyone.  But something just really bothers me about these huge sums of money. 

And talking of money...today we are taking our boys to the NY Jets open practice, where we get to watch big men thowing a ball around, running a few yards, and earning millions of dollars for doing so.

Something just really seems screwed up.

I know I could write a lot about this.  So could a lot of people...We are responding to the desires of our society - people want to see this so they will pay, etc etc.  Our need for entertainment etc etc.

And on the other side...I lived in India for a year, and have had fantastic opportunities throughout my life to travel the world and see how most people live.  It's a far cry from billion dollar movies and throwing a ball around for millions. Sometimes I just get completely overwhelmed by the amount of wealth that is in our world and the depths of poverty.

It just seems really messed up that we spend billions and billions on entertainment when most of the world is suffering in poverty, disease and war.  And I love a good movie and am willing to pay to see one. And I also enjoy watching football. 

So how can we balance it all?  I wish I had an answer.

Running like a mother. For about 7 miles, maybe. MOM!!!

One of my favorite books is Run Like A Mother: How to Get Moving and Not Lose Your Family, Job or Sanity,  by Dimity McDowell and Sarah Bowen Shea.  For me, a mom new to running, it is great comic relief, inspiration and motivation all rolled up into one.  A book that told me I can be a middle-aged, slow, athletically challenged, slightly overweight mother and still call myself a runner.

Well, today I ran like a mother alright.

I like to run alone.  It's my escape from the kids, I mean reality, I mean I like the quiet - other than Eminem blaring in my ears, that is.  Sometimes I end up at the park and meet up with hubby and kids and get offered an air conditioned ride home that I'm usually all too eager to take.

But this week, I screwed up on my schedule.  I ate waaaay too much three cheese ravioli with homemade pesto and lots and lots of garlic one night.  The night when I was supposed to run 7 miles.  Needless to say, the 7 miles dwindled to 4 and I had to figure out when to fit the 7 in. 

That happened to be today.
With the kids.
All 3 of them.
On their bikes at the park.

I had visions of me running the path while they rode their bikes beside me, cheering me on in my marathon training.
Yeah right.

Mom!  My handle bars are loose!
Mom!  My bike is broken!
Mom!  I don't want to bike any more!
Mom!  I want to go on the play set!
Mom!  I want your gatorade!
Mom!  Mom!  MOM!!
This was at mile marker 1.3.  13 minutes in to what should have been a 70 minute run.

What on earth was I thinking?

I managed to squeak out a couple more miles after I sent Collin to the playset with little brother Iain, but of course felt like a horrible mother for letting two of my three boys play without direct supervision.  Even though they are perfectly fine doing that.  I think I got bad looks from other mommies, even though I was never far away from them.

Mile 4.  My BFF Beth and her three boys show up to run / play with us. Great!  I think. The boys can all amuse themselves while Beth and I run my last 3 miles. Her littlest one promptly does a face plant on the path and scrapes up his knee.  Screams and tears.

Mom!  I want a snack!

By this time, I'd spent almost 2 hours at the park trying to do a 70 minute run, and I was barely half way through.

So we parked the little guys under the pavilion, surrounded them with snacks, and ran the short track that is maybe, perhaps, a quarter of a mile around the picnic tables.  I can't remember how many times.

So I think I ran about 7 miles.  Maybe.  It took over 3 hours.  In April I ran a half marathon in less time than that!  But at least I kept moving the entire time.  You know, from kid to kid to kid.

Hopefully that makes up for the chocolate I ate for breakfast.

Running like a mother.  Gotta love it.

(Check out their website - www.runlikeamotherbook.com )