Chicago Marathon 10/10/10

Rodney and I register for the Chicago Marathon on 10-10-10 when registration opens in February. Our friends, Holly and Derek, who live in the city, offer to watch Taia while we run. For eight months the plan is four days away, three for the road, and two for the marathon.

Thoughts of qualifying for the Boston Marathon never enter my mind until my 35th birthday in July. A short while after the Lincoln Marathon, someone mentions that I am within 2 min. from BQ. From that day on, Rodney and I train and prepare to run together to finish 3:45 in Chicago. It is a goal that is realistically doable yet challenging for the both of us.

After struggling with injuries during training, Rodney decides it’s best not to run. I feel guilty about the cost of registration and the trip, wasting his vacation days, missing his cousins Colorado wedding, and claiming the Chicago Marathon as my race. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. I offer to fly out solo, but he wants to be there for me; he even dabbles with running the first few miles together.

On Saturday morning, we wake up early and run from Holly and Derek’s place to the to the starting line in Grant Park. It is a little over a mile, straight down Jackson Blvd, so perfect that you’d think that I planned it that way. Running with Rodney in Chicago makes me happy, even if it’s not during the marathon, and for only a couple miles. But he feels discomfort in his legs and during the Expo he decides not to run at all.

Race day I’m up at 5 AM and into my typical prerace regimen. For the first time ever, I am wearing a red Team Nebraska singlet. I am proud and ready to run. I wear my Garmin, but change the settings because the tall buildings in the city interfere with the GPS and cannot accurately record distance and pace. I contemplate two Pace Tats from the Expo – I’ve got one for 3:40 and another for 3:45 goal time. Considering the warm weather forecast, I choose the latter and apply it to my right forearm. I am deliberate and logical (for once).

I consider taking my phone, but Rodney assures me that he’ll track me and be there for me when it’s over. Derek’s really cool, expensive camera consoles Rodney as his new marathon goal is to chase down his wife amid the thousands of runners and spectators who have taken over streets of Chicago.

We jog to Grant Park and it’s already warm (mid-60s). The lines for the portable toilets are long and the Open Corral gate closes at 7:15 AM. I am forced to start the race without going pee, but I need to get as far up as possible within the corral. Minutes before the official start, I meet Jack (Jaclyn from San Francisco) moving up in the crowd, looking for the 3:40 pace group. Because we both want to be ahead of the 4:00 marathoners we weasel our way up as far as possible and eventually start the race together, 6 min. after the gun.

There are hundreds of thousands of runners surrounding me. I am in the middle of a stampede of people. There are hundreds of spectators lining the streets, hanging on lampposts, up on newspaper stands and along planters. The bridges, balconies, and anything with steps have people. They are screaming, waving, ringing cowbells, holding signs, and waving like maniacs. The energy of the crowd is uplifting. There is no other feeling better than this; this is as good as it gets. The spirit of the marathon really is in Chicago. I’m here.

I am disciplined, like never before. Even though I’m running with Jack, I am the pacer. We run each of the first 17 miles within 10 sec of a 8:26 pace. We drink water from every aid station; consume gels on schedule; and talk, smile, and laugh as though we’re out on our first (running) date. We talk about running negative splits, picking it up after 20, even sprinting the last 5K. We are those annoying runner people.

I see Rodney (with Derek’s camera) at Mile 2, 13, and again with Holly and Derek (and Taia somewhere) in the crowd at Mile 17. Those are the best of times. People cheer “Go Nebraska” and I know it’s for me. I make it a point to lift my head, look around, take in the atmosphere, live in the moment, and be thankful for the gift. My chronic hip pain and tight piriformis are hibernating and in appreciation, I run the flattest parts of the roads and make wide turns. There are no signs that I am slowing down.

After the half, it warms up. We leave the shelter and shade of the city’s buildings, where the sun is hot. Each aid station routine gets a bit more complicated: a drink of Gatorade, a drink of water, and another cup for my head. Residents in the neighborhoods try and help as they stand on the curb with their garden hoses spraying down runners. The temporary relief evokes my need to pee, and I leave Jack before the 18th Mile marker for a row of portable toilets. I tell her “Run your race”. After my stop, I am still on track for my BQ, having built up a good 2-min. cushion. I take off again, now solo, and prepare to run the last eight miles.

I am at the corner about to turn left in front of a bank. The sign says “10:30…85ºF…29ºC”. It’s Mile 20 and there’s no possible way I can pick up the pace, in fact, I am off pace for the first time, and by a lot. Boston is out, but at this point in time thoughts of running another marathon feels like torture. Mile 21 is by far the longest, hardest mile, both mentally and physically that ever existed in Jodyland. This is harder than childbirth (as I knew it). My calves cramp, then the hamstrings, I stop running so I don’t fall over. Suddenly I can’t catch my breath and begin gasping erratically, like a fish out of water. I grab onto a recycle bin and hold on. My present goal is to prevent being pulled from the course by the EMTs, who are asking people all around me if they’re okay. I am not okay. Mentally, I am busted. I feel like such a weakling. Distraught, embarrassed, and crying, I strip off the Team Nebraska singlet and pin the bib to my belt. I can’t represent Nebraska like this. I wad up the wet shirt and begin to walk. I’m looking for my family - if and when I find Rodney I am going to quit.

And then…something comes over me. This is not The Wall. I am in the best shape of my life. I run five hilly miles with BOB and Taia at these temperatures on an easy day. Get a grip on life Jody! Get that D-tag/timing device over the next mat so people at home who are tracking you don’t worry. Get your ass to the finish line because someone in this family is bringing home a finisher’s medal.

Rodney and the gang almost miss me at Mile 23 when I turn onto Michigan Ave. Without the red shirt, smile and wave; I just blend in with the rest of the rundown, tired, hot runners just trying to finish. Rodney snaps a photo of my backside running in the distance, so thankfully there’s no evidence of my marathon meltdown. Right now I’m on a mission: I have 5K left and although I can’t sprint it, I’m moving.

But it’s brutal out there.

Participants fall to the ground, holding onto their firing muscles, rolling in anguish. Pace groups pass with more pacers than runners. I pass runners from previous pace groups bearing 3:30, 3:40, 3:45 on their backs. Aid stations seem shorter in length and further apart. Runners around me everywhere are openly suffering. My swollen feet and toes are shredded with each step, my Imodium has worn off because my stomach is upset with me (you know what I mean), but despite that, I don’t stop until I cross the finish line.

My second breakdown occurs after the finish, which is a big blur. All I want is my medal and some cold water. When I finally get to the water table about a quarter mile from the finish, a teenage boy pours an entire bottle of warm water on my chest singing, “body-wash”, as I’m about to grab it as a drink. (If I had the energy, I’d punch him out). I bypass everything at the refreshment table: bananas, bagels, cookies, Gatorade, and beer. My stomach is in distress. Photographers take my picture as I stumble around trying to find my way out of this finisher’s cage. After walking a mile, I finally make it to the Family Reunion/Post Race Party and see the Canadian flag waving at the end of a broomstick. It feels like years since I last saw my friends, husband and child. These are tears of joy.

Holly gives me hug and a cold, sugary, high-calorie Starbucks treat as we walk the mile back to their place. I’m aware that these actions are probably going to hurt me later, but I don’t care. Derek and Rodney stop to purchase ice for my bath; I use a safety pin from my bib to drain two major blood blisters on my right foot; I pass blood when I use the bathroom; I don’t start sweating again until 9 PM; but I eventually recover in time to eat a home-cooked Canadian Thanksgiving Dinner.

FAQs:

1) What was your time?
3:56:30 (11:30 more than my goal and 9 min more than my PR)
2) Is there anything in training that you would have done differently?
No
3) Is there anything during the race that you would have done differently?
No
4) Will you do another marathon?
Yes
5) What did you think of the course?
Amazing experience, flat, great crowds, fun city (but only if you like big races and big crowds)
6) Would you do it again?
Yes
7) What did you learn?
·      Even if you do everything right, there are things that you just can’t control. You need to adjust and persist, or die.
·      The number on the clock isn’t a reflection of the experience.
·      I need my family aka Rodney & Taia. I’m nothing without them.
·      The heat affected quite a few people that day, including Team Nebraska athletes. There were 3 DNF’s and I was not one of them.
·      I earned this medal, and it means so much to me because I struggled so badly.

Runabout

I'm reading a book entitled 50/50 by Dean Karnazes, author of the best selling book Ultramarathon Man.

I really don't have time to read, nor do I enjoy reading as much as you'd think PhD'ers do or should. For instance, I've never known a person to love text books as much as Rodney. He loves old and expired textbooks of all disciplines (statistics and business) and even if he doesn't reference them often, he just loves to collect them.

I borrowed 50/50 from the Omaha Public Library where I took Taia for a field trip. She loved the library - the little table and chairs, the short cubes filled with books, the bright carpet with farm animals. We couldn't stay long however, because she was so outwardly excited and boisterous that we were disturbing people trying to work/read/hide from the world.

We left the library that day with a couple Baby Signing Time DVDs to teach her sign language. I understand how the DVDs help babies communicate, but the songs and host lady were so terribly annoying that we watched it only once and I had to return it - I wanted to kill myself.

50/50 was written by the guy who ran 50 marathons in 50 States in 50 consecutive days, otherwise known as the Endurance 50. I figured he'd have some good stuff to say about what he learned after doing this unbelievable and ridiculous feat.

While reading Ultramarathon Man, I was obsessed with the guy, and could not get enough. Within the first few pages, he has a pizza delivered to a street corner and proceeds to eat on the run. (It is necessary to consume a lot of calories when running for 50 miles/9hours without stopping). I was inspired by the thought of eating and running, so after the first chapter, I grabbled BOB and Taia and ran to Red Robin where I met Denny to split a guacamole burger, chocolate malt, and ate an extra basket of fries. Garmin told me that I was only 15 seconds slower running the 3 miles back home on a full stomach. Not bad.

I was an ultramarathon mom in the making.

The second part of the book, I read quickly for the simple fact of getting it over with and giving the book back to its rightful owner. That Dean Karnazes dude is insane. I concluded that the author wasn't the best example for me, being of the addictive-type of personality. I think he's a masochist - he loves pain. It's what drives him to do unimaginable torturous activities like run 100, 135, 199, and 350 continuous miles without sleeping in extreme environmental conditions.

I enjoy challenges as much as the next person, but still find enjoyment running across the street to get the mail in my slippers. I don't need to frost-bite my face off in a South Pole or melt the soles of my shoes running for days through the desert during the summer. And if I think someone is insane, there is more than just a few things wrong with them.

So I've almost given up the thought of running 50 miles. Rodney says if I have Baby#2 (which is NOT in the works) he'd run an ultra...yeah right! I'm not sure which is more likely to happen. We all know well he trains for anything. When he realized that I didn't care whether or not he'd ever run an ultra, he said I could run an ultra after Baby#2, which does not work as an incentive.

I'm not even sure if it's more likely that I'd run 50 miles or have another baby. The way I look at it is that running 50 miles would suck, but after the 10-12 hours, it would be over. The pain of motherhood lasts longer than that.

So on to the book I'm currently reading...

I'm more than half way through 50/50 and sadly the information is nothing overly wonderful or enlightening. One thing that I do like is runabout, which involves setting out the door on an unknown adventure with fluids, snacks, a credit card, cell phone, and GPS. The idea is to stay on your feet regardless of how fast you're moving. He says to make a complete day of it, leave at dawn and come back at dusk.

Now when you running with a toddler, runabouts can't last all day. But we did give it a 2-hour shot yesterday, and it was really fun. I'd have to add to the list of things to bring on the stroller: diaper, wipes, antibacterial gel, small towel, hats, weather guard, and pacifier.

Overall, it was the most enjoyable run I've ever run with BOB.

It's also about the only time (unless we're in a car) that my kid can't hurt herself because it's completely legal for me restrain her and strap her down.

Ultramarathon mom?

Not right now, thanks.

We're still working on baby steps.

Every Mile Could Be A Drink

...a stiff one.

...like a Tanqueray and diet tonic (Canada Dry, of course) with a lime,

or 3 Upstream Brewery Scotch Ales,

or 5 Roja margaritas on the rocks.

(At least these are "or"s and not "and"s.)

Running is the alternative to drinking heavily and escaping the chaos of daily life. Chaos that comes from the little things formerly known as errands, going to the gym, getting the mail, having a cup of coffee (can you say reheated in the microwave 3 times?).

Sometimes preparing for a run can be more work than the run itself. The other day, the aftermath of the run was the hard part. Let's just say I didn't get a nap out of the Little Monster because she was sitting in a diaper full of hardening poop that I couldn't chisel off her butt after an hour run. The only good thing about this was that after a brief power wash, warm soak, and full bath, she was a soft and sweet smelling child. Baths are usually reserved for bed time, so they go to bed all clean and you don't get a chance to enjoy them that way....you get them in the morning when they have morning breath, crusty drool and a 10lb pee diaper (if you're lucky, that's all it is).

My days are so busy, always moving, always multi-tasking...rarely is my mind and my body in the same place. When Rodney asks me what I did with my day, I seem to stutter because it seems like nothing worthwhile got accomplished. Seriously, did all I do today was run and go the Hyvee?? I must have done something important? Lately, I've skipped texts, emails, blog updates, Shutterfly posts for the family, Facebook live feeds, voicemails, left unopened mail in the office, and forgot to by the basics like Milk and tp. I missed my self-proclaimed Sept 1 deadline for the Purdue Course that I'm revising.

I turned the calendar page to September and found that I'm so far behind. I've totally overcommitted myself, preregistered for races and events that I haven't considered since registering, and completely behind in every aspect of life. Yesterday after I texted Rodney, I had to really sit and ponder whether he was in town or away on business....yea, we're starting to lose it.

Rodney leaves for Purdue for a few days on a ConAgra recruiting trip, he gets back a day before we fly to Detroit for my brother's wedding in Windsor. I have nothing to wear, and seriously wish I could wear my running clothes, which would be an eye sore, but so fitting to my body type and personality...and I wouldn't have to go shopping. We stay at a hotel that I'm not sure we even reserved, after driving across the border with a car, I can't remember if we rented. All I know is that Tim Horton's and his coffee will get me through it.

Luckily the flower girl, Taia (haha) has a wardrobe consultant in Grammy June (my mom) and our job has just been her intensive walking program to walk in a straight line. We haven't yet added the petal throwing in fear that she'll just start throwing everything, kind of like when she saw me spitting while brushing my teeth. She now likes to spit out beverages, all over herself and the furniture.

Along with all the life stuff, is my running life. I've got places and races to go to, either to volunteer at or race. I make all my community service, race-related to kill two birds with one stone (volunteering and socializing with friends). The weekend after the wedding is the Omaha Half Marathon, just 2 weeks out of our Chicago trip. At this point, it doesn't look like Rodney will be able to keep up with me, so I might plan on leaving him in the dust. It sounds mean, but it's a running thing. It's true love if you don't hold back your running friends or significant others from doing their personal best.

Actually, it's true love that I don't kick Rodney in the balls for not training like he should have been this entire year.

Speaking of which, I have to go run.

It's too early to drink.

Great River Ragnar Relay 8/19-20/2010

The Ragnar Relay was named after a Norse King from the Viking Age. I don't know much about this Norse King, Ragnar, but he must have been really dirty, sweaty, hungry and tired. The term Ragnar infers toughness, courage, ferocity, and the physical and mental strength to conquer all. Should I change my name?

I was just one of Ricky's Dirty Dozen, an all-woman team assembled by my brf, Thelma back in January. The quest was a 193-mile, non-stop, foot race through towns bordering along the world-famous Mississippi River. We started in Winona MN at 9:30am Friday morning, taking turns tagging and running 36 legs, leapfrogging two vehicles, until the 12 of us jumped in for our slow motion, celebratory finish in Minneapolis at 29h:49m:55s later.

Immediately after completing my last leg, I wanted nothing to do with another 30-hour running fiasco such as this. I ran a total of 25.3 miles, in 4 legs, over the course of 21 hours, with 1-2 hours of sleep (on a shower curtain on wet grass), and lacking nutrition.

This was my longest adventure away from Taia, and this is what I chose to do with my vacation? Hell ya!

Besides losing 8 lbs in water weight this past weekend, I'm also lacking over 1,000 brain cells. I'm the kind of person that can live off and still function on 4-5 hours of mediocre sleep a night, but I could not for the life of me run AND talk or think simultaneously by 6:30 Saturday morning.

The very worst part of the entire ordeal was having to drive solo from MN to Omaha, NE on Sunday. Aside from drinking 3-4 cups of coffee with Ricky and Thelma that morning, I took a sport energy mint that advertised "6 hours of power" at 1pm, drank a 5-hour energy drink at 5pm, ate a package of GU chomps because I saw "with caffeine" on the package, and then washed them all down with a bottle of Diet Mountain Dew. The copious quantities of caffeine didn't seem to affect me for when I arrived home around 8, I was ready for bed.

By Monday, still extremely exhausted, I was ready to do it again.

Once you've conquered Ragnar, you just can't run away.

Things to remember for next time:

• Sleep is important, try it.
• Bring a camping pad, yoga mat, or something soft to lie on.
• Nights can be cooler, bring a blanket, sweater, or jacket.
• Eating is very important. Don't go to the Garden Pub & Grille in Pepin WI if you are in need of nourishment. If you do go, don't order a salad.
• Bring plastic bags of all sizes for trash and ziplock bags for sweaty running clothes and socks.
• A case of water is not enough, even if someone like me consumes all the opened, half-full bottles.
• Bring more large sweat towels.
• I cannot drive the Vanagon, especially in front of a big crowd of people with an officer holding back traffic.
• Perfect the Jody-Butt Massage with the Marathon Stick.
• When someone estimates their finishing time, be close to the exchange zone early. It sucks to miss your runner as she runs by you while you are trying to decide what to wear.
• Make sure you don't lose a shoe in the middle of the night.
• This is not a sprinting kind of race, at least not on your last leg.
• Running in the rain is nice. It can always get worse.
• Don't lose the Ragnar slap bracelet in the first leg.
• Don't lose your contact lens case in the vehicle.
• The $12 Claire's tutu is a fantastic deal and an ideal running costume.
• A shower curtain in the trunk of your car can come in very handy. It's not just for hiding/disposing of dead bodies.
• Remember what your last runner is wearing (and all possible costumes) so she doesn't run by without you recognizing her.
• Don't leave the mascot on your front porch after driving 365 miles with him. Someone will steal him.

Boobs - Easy Come, Easy Go

I've never been well-endowed or even just endowed.

It's genetic.

My mom doesn't have boobs and neither does my dad.

I can't deny that 'bigger boobs' was on the Pro list for having kids.

I always weigh the Pros and Cons when I don't want to do something, mainly to prove to Rodney that I did actually think consider a variety of factors.

There was a sizable list a few years ago when I was kicking and screaming and begging for us NOT to move to Omaha. Interestingly enough, one of the pros was that hockey exists here (Omaha Lancers and UNO Mavericks). Let's face it, a city that loves hockey couldn't be all bad.

Let's get back to the the boob blog...

To quote the Mad Hatter, "it's very easy to take more than nothing", and I did that. It wasn't much more than nothing, but it was something, and I appreciated them while they lasted.

We were lucky that breastfeeding was relatively easy, as well as the healthier, cheaper, and the more convenient option. I'm convinced that Taia's milk-soy-protein-intolerance (aka NO ice cream, cheese, butter, donuts, cookies, cake, and all other things good and tasty diet) helped me lose the baby weight in record time, along with running all those miles for my own sanity. I can't say I always enjoyed feeling like a cow. They may have looked nice and perky, but they were indeed milk-filled, feeding machines that kept me under breast arrest and alcohol-free (sort of) for 11.5 months.

It's amazing where I am in my life now in comparison to where I thought I would be. To sum up the weirdness, let's just say this year, I've turned into (what I would have thought would be) my worst nightmare: an over-educated, stay-at-home, breastfeeding, marathoning mom.

I can finally subtract the breastfeeding from the list of activities. We are done and the weaning project was a success.

And the temporary boobage is just a faded mammary.

Running Love - A Family Affair

We celebrated (or didn't celebrate) our 6-year anniversary on my birthday. It's both good and bad that the two fall on the same day. Good, because we never forget, but bad because we don't celebrate both. Birthdays are associated with drinking and craziness; anniversaries are associated with romance and alone time...so typically we just celebrate neither. I'd like to think we don't need a special day to celebrate.

Rodney's birthday ended the Greens Birthday Week.

He turned 30. A good wife might have thrown a surprise birthday party, but...yeah, you get the picture.

Rodney's birthday was similar to mine the week prior....I ran around like crazy and he spent the day with Taia and his family (Howard, Linnea, and Luke), who were in town. For his birthday, I decided to take Rodney running. By the time we hit the pavement, it was 95 degrees and full sun. Starting a 9-miler at 11am and ending around 1pm was a bad idea, but despite the major discomfort, we were together, and that was a good thing.

The day after Rodney's birthday we all got up at 6am and headed to Walnut Creek in Papillion NE to participate in a 5K run against Colorectal Cancer, called the Boxer 500. Howard, Linnea, Luke, and Taia were there, as well as a bunch of our running buddies like Denny, Gina and Jim. The Morkels gave us boxers and t-shirts – we were supposed to wear our underwear to draw attention to our bottoms! And that we did.

Grandma Linnea crossed the finish line with BOB & Taia, who was rocked to sleep with all the action. It was nice to introduce Rodney's family to our world for a day, even though it was the Pancake Breakfast was enticed my father-in-law to even get up. He walked about a quarter mile and turned around. He probably thinks I'm trying to kill him. I should add, that I'm not.

Surprisingly I PR'd, finishing as the 2nd fastest female in the awful heat and humidity. I also won a drawing for a case of assorted energy drinks (like I need more energy!). It was my first time running in the F35-39 age group, as it was Rodney's first entering the M30-34 category. Although we feel old, we can find comfort in knowing we're the youngest of our newfound age groups.

Omaha Triathlon Relay - 8/1/2010

The day after my 35th birthday I was up at 3am for yet another event.

I was the runner of an all-woman (all-mothers) relay team for the inaugural Omaha Triathlon at Lake Cunningham.

Our Team Name: Yo' Momma

It was my first ever triathlon, and I didn't even get outside my comfort zone. I'm such a chicken.

Vicki swam the mile, Liz biked the 25 miles, and I waited five hours to run the hilliest, hottest 10K in the blistering sun. My transition and run was the best I could do. I never give less than my best, although Vicki and Liz couldn't have cared less how fast or slow I went. We were a team of moms, getting away from our kids for just a little while. We were happy sharing the experience together and our matching shirts were a hit.

Mother Turkey

Last week on my way home from the gym, on 180th Street, a turkey ran across the road just before the car ahead of me. It is not uncommon to see turkeys in Nebraska suburbs, along the highways, or just hanging out in the recreation areas. This one bolted into the woods at Lake Zorinksy where I often run. The only thing I know about live turkeys (btw, my favorite meat) is that when you see one, his/her friends are not that far behind, and they can travel in rather large groups (called a "rafter"). I slowed down because it's a busy road, I had my kid in the car, and I really didn't want to be that person speeding up to make road kill. Sure, I may target and swerve at opossums, but not for wild turkeys.

Typically, I'm a bird hater, but I respect the turkey.

Just as I was approaching the exact spot where the first turkey crossed, a smaller turkey ran out. It was pretty cute for a turkey.

A few days later, I mentioned this experience to a friend. She looked sad and said that two turkey babies had been hit and killed in that very spot. She said the Mama Turkey was beside herself, frantically running back and forth to the dead babies, in the middle of traffic, completely devastated. We commented how we didn't realize how compassionate turkeys were, and agreed that it was a horribly sad thing to have witnessed.

Jump to today...

I step out my door with BOB and Taia and head toward Lake Zorinsky. Typically from door-to-door with a loop the West Lake, the total mileage is anywhere between 8.5-10 miles. Today I planned to do about nine. We run four miles before running into Denny. He takes BOB and Taia for a walk and tells me to meet them on the opposite side of the lake. Getting a chance to run solo seems like a liberating experience so I hand over the reigns and take off in the in the other direction. We meet again when Garmin reads 6 miles, and talk about our next meeting point, which is the lot that he parked his car. Somehow there is a miscommunication and I end up running back and forth repeatedly, looking for Denny, BOB and Taia, who I thought were right behind me. I am confusing other runners and walkers on the path - they see me with baby and stroller, they see me without, they see me pass them running in the opposite direction, and I pass them in the same direction (twice). All I want to do is find my baby! It appears to me that I am the frantic mother turkey looking for my baby and I start to freak out.

I finally stop. I collect my thoughts and begin to think logically. I look across the lake and I see them. They are tiny, about 3/4 of a mile away from me, and they're almost at the car! I take off sprinting to the lot, passing the same people, and compiling mileage. By the time I get to them, I have run 10 miles, and we still have 2.5 to make it home.

The point of this story is that I haven't ever felt that way about before. Even though I knew she was safe, shielded by the elements, and being cared for by Denny, I just couldn't help but to feel all wound up and frenzied not knowing exactly where she was.

Just as I didn't expect turkeys would have that tenderness and sensitivity towards their young, I too, surprised myself with my reaction to my offspring.

I'll keep my baby turkey close.

My turkey sleeping in the BOB

Running is Cheaper than Therapy

Last night I was moderately perturbed by Rodney.

I try my best not to get frazzled by his Rodney-isms. I hate nagging, and I pride myself on being a pretty self-sufficient, easy-going wife. With Rodney being gone a lot, I continue to be independent, but my occupation as a "homemaker" makes me quite reliant on his financial contributions and ConAgra. He is constantly connected to work, either by email, IM, text, voicemail, cell phone, or just basically thinking about his ongoing projects. He is most definitely a workaholic, an Excel spreadsheet genius (he loves Excel), a 24-h thinking, breathing, acting and loving food scientist. 

I can't say that I care or even listen to the trials and tribulations of Manwich or the drama surrounding off-season, remanufactured Hunts Diced Tomatoes, but it's what keeps us afloat. Sometimes I will ask about his day and paraphrase the details of his the great tomato debate. It is exciting watching him get all excited about his role in the project and how he is impacting this or that, how people from all departments what his opinion, and how important and involved he can be in something that really translates to me as a can of 10 for $10 at HyVee. Rodney has passion, not just for tomatoes per se, but for improving processes, and products, for meeting deadlines and achieving goals. He's so obedient and loyal.

So when he's away for weeks at a time, for months during the summer, and works late when he is in Omaha, I consciously try to not be a bitch. I try to do as much as I can and complain as little as possible. After all, some may think I have the perfect life. Rodney is one of those people. (Now I must admit, when I lost my job last year and was unemployed during my 2nd trimester, THAT was the perfect life).

The perfect homemaker life would be one that has either no children, OR perfectly behaved, listening, smiling, children who communicate without being overly loud or whiny, who love to get in and out of cars quickly and efficiently, sit in shopping carts or strollers without getting bored and trying to make a break for it, and are excited to be at the gym daycare for an hour (holding that poop and laughing and playing like an angel while mommy sweats like a pig). Said child also stays angelic long enough for mommy to take a shower so she doesn't have to squeeze one in the middle of the night. Sometimes, I even think that washing the sheets the next day is less exhausting than taking a midnight shower...I know, gross.

Let's just say that was a long way of saying, my homemaker life is not perfect and it's the hardest job I ever have. I'm one of the SAHMs (stay at home moms, commonly used acronym) that would take a job in a heartbeat if the right job with the right fit, fell into my lap. I love working, and I feel that I equal Rodney's passion when it comes to my thing, which is bugs and helping humans with their problems. I want to feel useful. I want to be important. I could and did live as a minimalist, and I wasn't truly spoiled until I met and married Rodney. I'm one of those people who believe you should enjoy what you do for your career, as long as you're not paying to work (like I was there at the end of my employment with Orkin).

My day starts at 6am and Rodney's alarm goes off at this time. If Taia is not up, I let her sleep and I have quiet time for a little while, or at least until she hears the garage door open when Rodney leaves for work. Rodney takes a shower, eats breakfast and drinks coffee while watching the news. If Taia is up, I change and nurse her and then put her in the Jumperoo for her morning hour jumping session (yes, she's nuts. It's like a much more fun version of a treadmill). I pour myself coffee at catch some of the news.

Rodney leaves for work around 7am. By this time I have a To Do list ready to conquer that is ambitious and unrealistic. I vacuum the main floor everyday because Milo is like a daily hair bomb, and now that Taia is crawling, she's like a human lint brush. It's disgusting. I also do some sort of laundry, clean at least one of the three bathrooms, pick up poop from the backyard, and prepare breakfast for the two of us. Basically the rest of the day revolves around preparing for the next event (feeding, running, going to the gym, errands, bath, etc.), napping or trying to nap her, feeding her or watching her scream with food flying everywhere, and recovering from the last event (cleaning up, unpacking, unloading, changing, regrouping, etc.). Each day ends with a meal, a bath, licking a few books, a boob or two, a pacifier, blanket and lights out Taia (finally). It is a crazy, exhausting, eventful, yet also very uneventful day.

Somedays, like Wednesdays, Denny and Lil will take her so I can go to the track and do speedwork with the Run Club, but most days, it's just Taia and I from dawn until dusk. Most days Rodney never sees her. Most days, I cannot get away from her. If you ask Rodney when he'll be home from work, his response is either "late" or "a reasonable hour". To tell you the truth, I'm not sure what the difference is, maybe an hour (7pm or 8pm).

So on days like yesterday when Rodney doesn't come home from work and Jody's been hanging out in stinky workout clothes, yearning for a solo evening run...that is the making of a bad day. When I called him at 8:30pm to ask if he could babysit for me next Saturday (We'll get back to this topic one day), and he was out having drinks, I was pissed. I don't mind him staying late to work or socialize, but I really worry about him having his "few drinks" and then driving out to West Omaha when he's super tired. I told him that he should have probably called to tell me he wasn't coming home...(it sure is a good thing I didn't decide to cook dinner).

He walked in the door at 10pm and I immediately ran out the door. I didn't say a word to him. I had my Garmin, a cap with a flashing red light, a headlamp, and some fury to fuel my 5.5 mile run. I probably would have kept going except I was going for sanity and not endurance. It took me about 45 minutes to feel back to normal.

That could have cost me $100 in therapy and I would have had to wait weeks for an appointment.