Friday, February 28, 2014
Thursday, February 27, 2014
Throwback Thursday
In the spirit of the Throwback Thursday movement that's sweeping all the social media websites, here is a story about a time in my life when I had a different "baby." It is one of my very best memories of collegiate racing (among many!), and I've been thinking about it lately as I organize my college accolades to be submitted for an award for which my coach has graciously nominated me.
In sports I've always been known to my coaches as a hard worker with some talent. I was the overlooked athlete who came back from a summer of running and began placing in events and scoring points for the team. I was captain of all of my teams because, as my high school cross country coach put it when I was voted in after thinking half the team didn't know a thing about me, "I work hard and people admire that." I took her words to heart; I did work hard, and I was happy that others noticed and wished to follow my lead. I've had many teammates and competitors with much more talent than I, but I raced alongside them with determination, in part, because of the hard work of logging countless miles. Just kidding, they weren't countless, I tracked each and every mile like any good type A runner should, and I averaged 55-65 miles a week. My longest training week reached 80 miles, which in all honesty hurt like hell and I swore afterward that I'd never put myself through that torture again.
For a period of time in high school, I was convinced I would play basketball collegiately, though I'm not sure why. Our team was always second to last in our conference (albeit a tough Division 1 conference), and even though I often led the team in stats, at 5'8½" and 125 pounds on a good day, it's safe to say my dreams where lofty. My mentor and running coach put me in my place by telling me I had about as much of a shot at playing basketball in college as I did the WNBA. (Which, for an even shorter time as a freshman was my goal!) She was always very good at speaking the truth. But she also told me that day, as we stood at her desk together in her below ground office in the women's locker room, that I had a real shot at success if I focused on running. And because I valued her honest opinion and admired her determination and passion for running, I did precisely that.
I raced for a Division 3 school in Wisconsin (UW-Stevens Point) and I competed alongside some of the best female athletes in Stevens Point and Division 3 history. We won our school's first (and then second, consecutively) conference cross country championships, placed the highest nationally in school history (third), and had some national champions in track and field. Even I once managed to be called the Female Athlete of the Year at Stevens Point, a title I did not take for granted. Our team was made up of not one single shining star, but many. We were stacked seven deep in cross country and had three athletes who alternated leading the team in races. I was lucky to be among those three. Although I had much less talent than the other two, I managed to stick with them. Thanks to my high school coach and eventually my college coaches, I knew working hard could make up for any lack of natural ability.
My senior year I qualified individually in the 1500 meter run for Division 3 Indoor Track and Field National Championships. I had previously competed in many national meets as part of the team that qualified ( i.e., cross country championships, distance medley relay in track), but this was my first time making it individually. What's more, this national meet happened to take place in Whitewater, Wisconsin just a few hours from my family which meant they could all be there to watch me race.
I was seeded eleventh, my teammate Megan was seeded fifth, and we both had high hopes for making it into finals, which we did, but for me it felt like nothing short of a miracle since I had to run a career best time to do so. After the preliminary race, a couple of alums from the team congratulated us, but not without also saying that they didn't even know I was racing. Not exactly the words of support I was looking for after having run the best 1500 of my life to get into finals. My teammates' careless comments were quickly forgotten, though, when my distance medley relay team, for which I ran the 1200 meter leg, placed third. All-American. No questioning that! My performances that day gave me renewed hope that I could place and place well in the 1500 m finals the next day.
In the field, there were two stand out competitors and I assumed they alone would compete for the individual title. That wasn't the way my teammate saw it, though. "You never know what can happen in a national race," Megan shrugged. She knew this very well. Megan was extremely talented and had a history of running with the best of them, but also finishing last in races of national caliber. Personally I had no real plan for this race except to run hard and hang on for as long as I could.
As we walked to the line for the start of the final race, I took note of where my family and friends were sitting. My coach, inside the track next to the starting line waiting to take splits. My all too positive boyfriend filming the race as an assistant coach in the balcony above the track. My family straight ahead of me, standing behind the tape. I couldn't stand to look at them, I thought I might pass out right then and there. Wake me up when the race is over.
Megan and I were positioned, in random order, first and second on the waterfall start line. It was comforting to have her there like so many races before. The referee sent us to our marks, and the gun went off. Finally, I could put some of my nervous energy to good use. I was out strong, but not out of my mind, and to my surprise I was leading the race. Me. Leading. I relaxed into my usual pace, trying not to let the fact that this was the national championship race get into my head and ruin it for me. We went around a couple of laps maintaining this pace, tightly packed together. I had no idea where Megan was. My coach shouted words of support, "That's it, stay right there, stay strong." After a couple more laps, we were halfway there and I was still in the lead. But we all knew what was coming: an all out sprint for the last 800 meters to weed out the competitors who couldn't hang on.
"When they pass you, stick on their asses!" My coach yelled it to me for all to hear. I knew he was right. In fact, it was the best advice he could have given me during a race. I could do this, I could hang on. With three laps to go, 600 meters, they went. Two girls passed me and created a couple of meters gap between us. I hung on, trying not to be dropped. Then 400 meters to go and the field let loose, summoning their last ounces of strength and speed. I picked up my pace a little more. The leaders lengthened the gap and I could feel the competitors on my back. I didn't dare look back; that is a sign of weakness and I am not weak, not today, I thought.
In the last lap I pushed my tired legs, pushed them just to maintain my pace. Two-hundred meters. I've done so many workouts to prepare for this--200 m repeats tacked onto the end of a grueling day. I can do this, I know I still have something left in me, I thought. I held the rest of the field off for a little longer. On the final straightaway I see the two ahead of me veering off to the right for some reason--why?--and instantly my focus is back to the competition behind me. Get there. Just get there. I am steps from the finish line and I hear someone's rapid breathing on my shoulder. I dig deeper. I cross the finish line and my teammate finishes milliseconds later. We cross and hop over the two who crossed before us who are now in a heap on the ground.
Third. Oh my god I placed third! (And not only that, but a new best time!)
When the race is over, the medalists are herded to a waiting area by the NCAA officials wearing yellow jackets. They are the ones responsible for taking samples of urine for drug testing. My sister, who at the time was a freshman athlete at another school in our conference, runs down the hall toward me. I can see her smile, the tears running down her face and I am so glad to see her. "You took second!" she squealed and hugged me tightly. One of the two racers ahead of me pushed the other at the finish line. She was disqualified and I took her place.
Second place.
After drug testing Megan and I look for our coach in the stands. When he sees us, he stands up, walks straight to us and gives each of us a big kiss on the forehead. A fatherly gesture. Megan and I laugh and accept the congratulations that come our way.
I stood proudly on the award stand and accepted my second place trophy. If ever I felt successful as an athlete, it was then. And all of it was made infinitely better by the fact that my family and so many of my friends were there supporting me. It is a rare treat to have my family watch me race. In fact, I can count on one hand the number of collegiate races they attended. They just didn't have the means to travel at the time. That day, though, none of those missed races mattered. I couldn't have picked a better day for them to be there watching me. With our performances in the 1500 and the distance medley relay along with another teammate's place in the 800 m run, we manage to place third as a team. All of our team points came from the runners on our distance medley relay team. And all of them were my closest friends.
I raced for a Division 3 school in Wisconsin (UW-Stevens Point) and I competed alongside some of the best female athletes in Stevens Point and Division 3 history. We won our school's first (and then second, consecutively) conference cross country championships, placed the highest nationally in school history (third), and had some national champions in track and field. Even I once managed to be called the Female Athlete of the Year at Stevens Point, a title I did not take for granted. Our team was made up of not one single shining star, but many. We were stacked seven deep in cross country and had three athletes who alternated leading the team in races. I was lucky to be among those three. Although I had much less talent than the other two, I managed to stick with them. Thanks to my high school coach and eventually my college coaches, I knew working hard could make up for any lack of natural ability.
My senior year I qualified individually in the 1500 meter run for Division 3 Indoor Track and Field National Championships. I had previously competed in many national meets as part of the team that qualified ( i.e., cross country championships, distance medley relay in track), but this was my first time making it individually. What's more, this national meet happened to take place in Whitewater, Wisconsin just a few hours from my family which meant they could all be there to watch me race.
I was seeded eleventh, my teammate Megan was seeded fifth, and we both had high hopes for making it into finals, which we did, but for me it felt like nothing short of a miracle since I had to run a career best time to do so. After the preliminary race, a couple of alums from the team congratulated us, but not without also saying that they didn't even know I was racing. Not exactly the words of support I was looking for after having run the best 1500 of my life to get into finals. My teammates' careless comments were quickly forgotten, though, when my distance medley relay team, for which I ran the 1200 meter leg, placed third. All-American. No questioning that! My performances that day gave me renewed hope that I could place and place well in the 1500 m finals the next day.
In the field, there were two stand out competitors and I assumed they alone would compete for the individual title. That wasn't the way my teammate saw it, though. "You never know what can happen in a national race," Megan shrugged. She knew this very well. Megan was extremely talented and had a history of running with the best of them, but also finishing last in races of national caliber. Personally I had no real plan for this race except to run hard and hang on for as long as I could.
As we walked to the line for the start of the final race, I took note of where my family and friends were sitting. My coach, inside the track next to the starting line waiting to take splits. My all too positive boyfriend filming the race as an assistant coach in the balcony above the track. My family straight ahead of me, standing behind the tape. I couldn't stand to look at them, I thought I might pass out right then and there. Wake me up when the race is over.
Megan and I were positioned, in random order, first and second on the waterfall start line. It was comforting to have her there like so many races before. The referee sent us to our marks, and the gun went off. Finally, I could put some of my nervous energy to good use. I was out strong, but not out of my mind, and to my surprise I was leading the race. Me. Leading. I relaxed into my usual pace, trying not to let the fact that this was the national championship race get into my head and ruin it for me. We went around a couple of laps maintaining this pace, tightly packed together. I had no idea where Megan was. My coach shouted words of support, "That's it, stay right there, stay strong." After a couple more laps, we were halfway there and I was still in the lead. But we all knew what was coming: an all out sprint for the last 800 meters to weed out the competitors who couldn't hang on.
"When they pass you, stick on their asses!" My coach yelled it to me for all to hear. I knew he was right. In fact, it was the best advice he could have given me during a race. I could do this, I could hang on. With three laps to go, 600 meters, they went. Two girls passed me and created a couple of meters gap between us. I hung on, trying not to be dropped. Then 400 meters to go and the field let loose, summoning their last ounces of strength and speed. I picked up my pace a little more. The leaders lengthened the gap and I could feel the competitors on my back. I didn't dare look back; that is a sign of weakness and I am not weak, not today, I thought.
In the last lap I pushed my tired legs, pushed them just to maintain my pace. Two-hundred meters. I've done so many workouts to prepare for this--200 m repeats tacked onto the end of a grueling day. I can do this, I know I still have something left in me, I thought. I held the rest of the field off for a little longer. On the final straightaway I see the two ahead of me veering off to the right for some reason--why?--and instantly my focus is back to the competition behind me. Get there. Just get there. I am steps from the finish line and I hear someone's rapid breathing on my shoulder. I dig deeper. I cross the finish line and my teammate finishes milliseconds later. We cross and hop over the two who crossed before us who are now in a heap on the ground.
Third. Oh my god I placed third! (And not only that, but a new best time!)
When the race is over, the medalists are herded to a waiting area by the NCAA officials wearing yellow jackets. They are the ones responsible for taking samples of urine for drug testing. My sister, who at the time was a freshman athlete at another school in our conference, runs down the hall toward me. I can see her smile, the tears running down her face and I am so glad to see her. "You took second!" she squealed and hugged me tightly. One of the two racers ahead of me pushed the other at the finish line. She was disqualified and I took her place.
Second place.
After drug testing Megan and I look for our coach in the stands. When he sees us, he stands up, walks straight to us and gives each of us a big kiss on the forehead. A fatherly gesture. Megan and I laugh and accept the congratulations that come our way.
I stood proudly on the award stand and accepted my second place trophy. If ever I felt successful as an athlete, it was then. And all of it was made infinitely better by the fact that my family and so many of my friends were there supporting me. It is a rare treat to have my family watch me race. In fact, I can count on one hand the number of collegiate races they attended. They just didn't have the means to travel at the time. That day, though, none of those missed races mattered. I couldn't have picked a better day for them to be there watching me. With our performances in the 1500 and the distance medley relay along with another teammate's place in the 800 m run, we manage to place third as a team. All of our team points came from the runners on our distance medley relay team. And all of them were my closest friends.
(These are the only digital images I have from the race.)
Longer Days
The days are noticeably longer now. Tonight at 6:15 we still had a bit of daylight. Enough light even, that I was able to take these photos. Isaac and I walked outside while dinner was cooking just because we can now. And because it was still 55 degrees outside. Who wouldn't want to enjoy that?
Whether you feel it or not, spring is on the way!
Whether you feel it or not, spring is on the way!
Sunday, February 23, 2014
What?
We've entered a delightful new phase recently. Nowadays I can expect to be asked "What?" "What's that?" and "What are you do-ning?" approximately 258 times a day. And that is not an exaggeration. Seriously, Isaac is a talker, so imagine him chattering away about any number of things and then, in the places where there would usually be a rest between sentences, throw one (okay, seven) of these questions in. This is pretty typical of a two year old, yes? It is akin to the "Why?" phase, which I fear is yet to come. What do I have to say about it, you ask? Well, if I had a minute to spit a word out that wasn't an answer to a question, I would say he's lucky he's cute.
Today as we checked out at Target, Isaac got on one of his question-asking frenzies, firing them at me in rapid succession so I hardly had time to take a breath after answering one before the next hit me. The cashier looked at me and laughed. "We're going through a phase," I responded and laughed too. Holy. Cow.
The other cute and not at all annoying thing he's doing now is lengthening the vowels in words when he speaks, so What are you doing? sounds like "Whaaat are you dooooo-niiiiiiing?" Can you imagine it? Every sentence? Okay, good.
Today as we checked out at Target, Isaac got on one of his question-asking frenzies, firing them at me in rapid succession so I hardly had time to take a breath after answering one before the next hit me. The cashier looked at me and laughed. "We're going through a phase," I responded and laughed too. Holy. Cow.
The other cute and not at all annoying thing he's doing now is lengthening the vowels in words when he speaks, so What are you doing? sounds like "Whaaat are you dooooo-niiiiiiing?" Can you imagine it? Every sentence? Okay, good.
See? Cute.
Friday, February 21, 2014
Out
For the last three days, Isaac has had a cold and fever. For the last three days, we've had terrible wind and chilly temperatures. For the last three days, he and I have been cooped up in our house.
Today, in spite of the dreadful wind and Isaac's lingering cold, we played outside. And we went to lunch in downtown Louisville. A pub with soup and sandwiches. We desperately needed fresh air, warm food that wasn't prepared by me, and to be around other people. Surely I can speak for Isaac when I say we both needed these things, he loves a good adventure of any sort (not to mention grilled cheese and tomato soup). And even though I may be somewhat of an introvert, I still prefer my days to be spent outdoors, keeping busy, and--after days alone in my house--near people, so long as I'm not forced into making conversation with strangers (you see, that's the introvert).
Soup and sandwiches, sand and fresh air, the cure for the common cold. And cabin fever!
Today, in spite of the dreadful wind and Isaac's lingering cold, we played outside. And we went to lunch in downtown Louisville. A pub with soup and sandwiches. We desperately needed fresh air, warm food that wasn't prepared by me, and to be around other people. Surely I can speak for Isaac when I say we both needed these things, he loves a good adventure of any sort (not to mention grilled cheese and tomato soup). And even though I may be somewhat of an introvert, I still prefer my days to be spent outdoors, keeping busy, and--after days alone in my house--near people, so long as I'm not forced into making conversation with strangers (you see, that's the introvert).
Soup and sandwiches, sand and fresh air, the cure for the common cold. And cabin fever!
Isaac's Spirit
Isaac has been going through a bit of a shy phase lately. He mostly refuses to have his picture taken, he runs away from the phone giggling when we Skype with family, and he hides behind my legs when anyone--even someone he loves, like Miss Gina--talks to him.
I suppose I should just let him be.
But I can't resist trying to capture the essence of Isaac at every turn. Cataloguing every facial expression and saying. He's changing much too quickly and I wish to remember it all. For instance, right now he is totally engrossed in all things monster. He swears they are behind every closed door, waiting to scare us. He grabs at these invisible monsters, adding his own sound effects when he does. Sometimes he fights them (ugh), sometimes plucks them up and puts them in his mouth.
And speaking of eating, he also likes to take pretend chomps out of his stuffed animals and even Ben and me. "I eat you up," he says, taking a line straight out of one of his favorite books quite literally. I guess we had that one coming, didn't we?
And the other day, he picked up his teddy bear, his penguin, and his blankey and laughed at himself as he struggled to keep them all in his arms. "Woah! I got-ed so many stuffs," he chuckled.
All of these things; the sweet little songs he makes up as he plays; the inflection in his voice; the "little sisters" he carries around all day; the hand gestures he makes as he tells us a story; the raucous screams and wild giggles; the way he calls anyone "little" (little girl, little man, that little guy); I wish to remember them all.
I suppose I should just let him be.
But I can't resist trying to capture the essence of Isaac at every turn. Cataloguing every facial expression and saying. He's changing much too quickly and I wish to remember it all. For instance, right now he is totally engrossed in all things monster. He swears they are behind every closed door, waiting to scare us. He grabs at these invisible monsters, adding his own sound effects when he does. Sometimes he fights them (ugh), sometimes plucks them up and puts them in his mouth.
And speaking of eating, he also likes to take pretend chomps out of his stuffed animals and even Ben and me. "I eat you up," he says, taking a line straight out of one of his favorite books quite literally. I guess we had that one coming, didn't we?
And the other day, he picked up his teddy bear, his penguin, and his blankey and laughed at himself as he struggled to keep them all in his arms. "Woah! I got-ed so many stuffs," he chuckled.
All of these things; the sweet little songs he makes up as he plays; the inflection in his voice; the "little sisters" he carries around all day; the hand gestures he makes as he tells us a story; the raucous screams and wild giggles; the way he calls anyone "little" (little girl, little man, that little guy); I wish to remember them all.
Before long, they'll have vanished or changed, these things that make up the essence of Isaac. And so I try, in vain, to capture Isaac's spirit as it is right now before the details are forgotten.
Tuesday, February 18, 2014
Monday, February 17, 2014
Warmth
Barefoot in the sand.
His collection of sand and stone.
"I eat it."
That didn't go well.
Saturday, February 15, 2014
Outside, In the World
Look at that sweet little grin!
A walk.
This is the look Isaac gives me when he wants permission to do something. This time, like most, he tells me what he's going to do, and waits for my approval. "I frow this blue-bay in the road."
I love these last three photos--they reveal some of Isaac's usual facial expressions. He sits quietly, looking off in the distance, thinking. Then he furrows his brow just before he shares his thoughts. And every time I wait, with bated breath, to hear the story that little mind is creating.
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