I`m His Home (Happy Anniversary Dh)

When I was 18, I fell in love.

And shortly before I turned 19, I agreed to marry him.  Cause that's just how in love I was.

A couple months after I turned 20, I was a married woman.

7 months later I was expecting.

And 2 months after that, I was on my own.

When I said goodbye I didn`t consider the costs.

I didn`t consider anything, really.

He had already been gone so often, but this time....

When I watched that bus pull away my heart fell and my stomach turned and I looked around the rest of that gym while the ones left behind cleaned up after the big send off.

They barely noticed the girl at the window and they certainly never appreciated the effort I was putting in not to fall on the ground sobbing.

6 months later so much had changed.

Without email, facebook, videochats or really, even decent phone service, deployment looked a lot different then than it can look for some people now.

When he walked off that bus I was so pregnant I couldn`t even stand up straight.  The boxes were packed in our tiny PMQ for the home we were moving into in just 6 weeks.
And the baby!  He was coming anytime.

But that one night, when the bags were picked up and the phone calls to relatives made and the house was still, we sat in our room and I stared at him for a very long time.

By the time Dh came home from war that first time, he was still weeks away from his 21st birthday.



When I look at 20 year olds now they seem so young.
When I look at my 10 year old son my heart aches for my mother in law.
She sent her baby to war and he was barely an adult.

That first night, by the light of our bedside lamp well into the early hours of the morning, I didn`t talk because I had too many questions I didn`t think I wanted to know the answers to.

Six months with so little communication.... in a way he felt like a stranger.

I remember how hard I tried not to cry as I traced the lines of cuts on his shoulder that had already scarred and started to heal, probably months ago.

I didn`t even ask where they came from, I was just so overwhelmed that I hadn`t been there to see them before they started to fade.

And when he smiled, I brushed my hand on the face that used to just be white and freckles but now seemed to be worn and sandblown.

When I ran my thumb across the creases on the side of his face, there was a little piece of sand, still stuck.

I think that`s when I realized that time he was gone was never going to leave, no matter how long he was home.

Even after days of `decompression`in Guam, countless well earned hot showers and the time it took to get home, the sand was still there. 

At first my head said `No more.  Not again. You`re home now for good.``.

And then I took a deep breath and a long look at my husband who had done so much growing up without me, and I realized the real truth.

He would do this again.

And I didn`t know, really, I mean, I had no way to know that he`d return to the same place so many times.

2002

2005

2007

But I did know, deep down, that he would go somewhere again.

Because it`s who he is.
And dammit.
I love him.

Which means I learned something about who I am in that moment, too.

I am the one who will say goodbye over and over, sometimes for 2 weeks and sometimes for months and month. 

It`s not always war.  It`s usually training.  Courses. 
Sometimes a domestic deployment or disaster relief.
Sometimes I swear the army just planned something because we hadn`t heard from them in a while.

But that`s okay.

Because I am the one who for the past 12 years and for the rest of our lives, will wait, sometimes patiently and sometimes not, for that moment when he needs me to brush that sand off his face so he can be home.

The lines on our faces, the lessons we`ve learned and the place we live are a long way different from those kids who said their first goodbye.

But I`ve learned there was one thing that all those promises we`ve made have boiled down to:

Wherever he is, I`m his home.

Forever and Always my love.

Happy (late) 12th Anniversary Dh.

Because You Can't Photograph 'Strong'

It seems like as a culture, we can't do anything halfway.

Or even reasonably.

We are all 'EVERYTHING THIS WAY" until we find a new way, and then we are all EVERYTHING THAT WAY.

And the whole 'Everything in Moderation' or 'Let's just try a little of this' gets thrown out the window for  'DO IT ALL!  GO TOO FAR!'.

The newest trend is 'Strong is the new Skinny'.

And for the record, I love the concept.

Let's not push ourselves to be as skinny as we can be, let's try to be as strong as we can be.

Awesome, I'm on board.

Except, wouldn't that theory mean that we'd see less unattainable, photo shopped or otherwise perfect photos?  Wouldn't that mean we would see more goals about how far you can ride your bike or how fast you can run or how good you feel or how much more your body can do whether your goal is keeping up with your kids or keeping up with the Boston Marathon?

But it doesn't mean that and we're not seeing that.

All it means is instead of seeing extremely thin models in airbrushed poses, we see extremely muscular models in airbrushed poses.

And instead of dieting it's about eating clean and instead of starving it's about exercise and weight lifting and 'fitspiration'.  Which is healthier when done right.  And I am a proponant of eating clean and exercising.  I work hard at it every day.

But lately, fitspiration is starting to feel just as shaming as 'thinspiration'.

If you would just lift more weights you could have a visible six pack of ab muscles while doing a handstand off the side of a park bench!

If you would just run more miles you could have legs with ripped quad muscles and not an ounce of cellulite!

If you just ate cleaner you could have an ass that you could bounce a quarter off of and a 20 inch waist!

If you just  TRIED HARDER you would look like that.
If you don't, you're just not committed enough.

And I've had enough and I'm calling bullshit.

The whole idea of Strong being the new Skinny was supposed to be that we were going to embrace health over appearance.

But we're not.

I belong to several training groups.  And in maybe one out of 50 posts is anyone talking about how many more pull ups they can do or how much easier it is to run down the street.

What they are talking about is how they can look 'lean'.  What exercise will cause their biceps to 'pop' and about cutting out entire food groups for no other reason than to eliminate any minor bloat that might cause their abs to look less defined.

And NO ONE is talking about how everyone is built differently or about how it might be much harder for you to get that vein on your bicep to show or how it's OK to find the level of fitness that you want without seeing a six pack.

All is quiet when anyone wonders if maybe their body shape means that they are working JUST AS HARD and eating JUST AS CLEAN as that girl next to them, except they can't see that quad definition that she has.

Instead, they see photos with the lean stomach of someone 6 weeks postpartum hear the message loud and clear 'if you just cleaned up your diet and worked harder at the gym, you would look like me'.

Now, I'm no fitness instructor.  So I don't know all the different tips and tricks and suggestions and exercises and diet ideas.

But I do know that none of us are the same.

And while I may run 50km a week and lift weights and eat clean 80% of the time, there still that one friend who can have a baby and sit on the couch and eat Doritos and she's still going to be thinner than me.

And if she started lifting weights, you would see her muscles through her 'lean' physique fast than me and she could stand next to me in front of the mirror and  I would end up feeling like a failure even though I just did my first ever unassisted pull-up, because you can't see my obliques.

So we can call it 'Strong is the new skinny' or 'Fit is the new Sexy' and I love the idea behind both of those.

But if this is how we are going to treat it, let's just call it what it is.

A new way to shame women about the way they look.

And I got to tell you, for me, it's working.  
Holy crap, is it working.

We're not celebrating strength when we show a picture of a muscular women on her toes with a phenomenal butt.
We're celebrating her butt.

And let's not fool ourselves into thinking we are selling healthy eating when we post our clean eating recipe with the backdrop of a defined muscular stomach.
We are selling that stomach.

Let's not pretend that photos convincing our girls they aren't good enough because they don't have a 'thigh gap' is worse than photos convincing them the same thing because you can't see their triceps.


If Strong is really the New Sexy, let's stop with the photos of your muscles and start with the celebration of your accomplishments.

Let's start encouraging women to embrace their figure the way it was made, and instead of saying things like 'Real Women Have Curves' and convincing all women to whom God did not provide them that they need to surgically create them, let's say things like 'You're Already Beautiful'.

If you are naturally thin, if you are naturally curvy.  If you carry your weight in you butt or your thighs or your belly, you are built beautiful and exactly the way the right person will find sexy.

And our goal should be encouraging women to find the healthiest possible way to be them, not convince them they are not enough until they look like someone else. 
Even if that person is really, really healthy.

Ever wonder why we all look different?  Ever realized that different people find different body types sexy?  Isn't it phenomenal how we were created that way?
Let's celebrate how cool that is, instead of busting ourselves trying to fit yet another standard that's being set for us that's different than the last one but actually mostly the same.


I'm all about fitness.  I research it, practice it, work hard at it.

What I am is tired of fitness being about how I look and not about what I do and how I feel.

Because I am surrounded with photos of runners and athletes and attractive muscular  girls in yoga poses in their underwear by a waterfall and instead of thinking 'I ran some great sprints today' I think 'look at my paunch.'

 If you're eating healthy to be healthy that should be more important that eating clean so you can take an instagram photo of your stomach.

Don't try to motivate me by telling me I can work harder to look like the picture of a woman who has a different body type than I do, or who gets paid to work out, or who is probably just airbrushed...
Or maybe she has my exact same circumstance but her goal was to do absolutely everything it took to look like that.  And that's not my goal.

And by using her photo as motivation, unless I somehow manage to turn myself into her, I will never measure up.

If you're goal is to compete  and you want to exercise and eat in such a way so you can see a particular muscle on the side of your back, that's cool.

And if your goal is to finish Iron Man regardless of whether you can see that one quad line on the inside of your leg, that's also cool.

If you want to be able to lift your child or your husband or both, excellent.

Maybe you want to run a couple 5k races and take day trips with your kids on your bikes and sometimes take a family hike.  That's awesome.

Personally, I want to maintain a healthy weight while building on my ability to run distances from a 5k to a half marathon at whatever time goal I set that year.  And I'd like to do it while taking university classes and raising my kids and being the best wife I can be and managing my home.
I'd also like to do it without the constant pressure to be able to see my transverse abdominal muscles.

And last weekend, my kids ran a 3k race as part of my race weekend.
They did awesome.
I want them to want to continue to stay healthy and make food choices to promote that health.  I want them to push themselves in the sport or activity they love and make goals and meet them and know what I feel when I cross a finish line.

And I want them to do all of that without ever once worrying about how to have more defenition on those last two ab muscles.

And when they are older, I want them to never do what I just did, which is almost crop the one photo so that you couldn't see me because I think my love handles make me look too chubby to be a runner.
I want them to be strong enough to care more about that finish line of whatever goal they choose for themselves, than they do about their appearance.

Let's get back to what 'strength' really is.

"Strong' is not defined in a photo.

Strong is defined in personality, determination, perseverance and purpose.

'Strong' is not about a vein on your arm or a muscle in your back or a lack of cellulite on your ass.

Strong is accomplishing a goal you set for yourself.

And for once, finally, could we start a trend where NOT every goal a woman makes has to revolve around what she sees in the mirror?

For the sake of my daughter, I'd like to salvage "Strong is the New Skinny".

Because I love the idea, and I love the potential.

Let's start by re-defining 'Strength'.

Learning to Run Like a Monster

I will admit, it's not been my best couple weeks running.

The last weekend in April I ran a Race Weekend here where I live.  I had registered for a 10k on the Saturday night and a 21k on the Sunday morning.

I told myself during training and repeatedly the week before the race, that I would 'race' the 10k, but that I wouldn't worry about time for the 21k since it was the very next morning.  I would just treat it like a fun long run and get it done.  No stress.

And as usual, that's the opposite of what I did.

I raced the 10k, that much is true.  I even came in with a Personal Best at 55min, which impressed me considering the hilly course and the abundance of ingested mayflies.  I was happy with my run and my effort and my time on Saturday night and I took an Epsom bath and went to bed early.

Sunday morning, however, I did nothing that I said I would.

After a few false starts getting out the door (I thought I grabbed the wrong drink (I didn't but went back anyways) and I forgot my Gamin), I lined up with all the other runners.

I already felt like I didn't fit in.  In my none-trendy but functional white compression socks and all black cotton tank top and running shorts, I felt frumpy and chubby in a sea of brightly coloured athletic wear and tall college students.  Looking at the course record sitting at barely 10 minutes longer than my 10k the night before, I felt slow.  Especially when my barely rested legs still felt sore and tired and stiff.

The race hadn't started and I was already convincing myself I didn't belong.

When the gun went off to start the race I didn't pace like I planned.  The only flat part of the course is the initial 5k loop and instead, I paced myself with those who were running the 5k.  And as I looped back around to where those who were running 5 finished, I knew I had made a mistake.

At the 6k mark Dh and the kids were waiting at one of the drink stations.  The cheered and held up their signs as I ran by and I was so grateful.  But I hurt.  A lot.

At 9k when I somehow realized that I had gone delirious and allowed myself to believe that 9k was the halfway point for the past 2k, I got discouraged.

And it was the hill around 11k when I finally stopped and hopped in a portapotty.

At the 14k turn around Dh was waiting again and this time, I stopped and hugged Monster.  We were close to our house and I just wanted a DNF and a bath.  I was done.  And all I could see were all the hills I knew were coming.

The whole way after that I kept running only because I knew Dh would be passing me again to get to his next cheering spot and I didn't want him to see me walk.  He managed to make it to the 17k mark and I managed to run past.

At this point every glance at my Garmin is making me furious at myself for my performance.  The heat and my exhaustion get the best of me and I stop to walk at 19k, watching the pace bunny I was determined to beat pass me by.

When I run it in I was just glad I was done.  The pacer for the very latest time I was planning to come in beat me by a couple minutes, but there's nothing I can do about it then.  It's over.

While I'm stretching they announce the winners and I just feel like crawling in a hole.  When they announced for my age group and it was well under the 1:30 time, while I felt better that I wouldn't have placed even if I had PR'd, I didn't feel that much better.

Instead what I did was start worrying about my next race in May.

Would I have such a dismal showing?   I couldn't even run the whole distance, I had to walk!  What was wrong with me, I mean, my first Half marathon I ran the entire way and came in under 2 hours!

Every run I've had since then has been the same.

What's wrong with you?  Pick up the pace!  Why are you stopping?  You're never going to be ready to do it again in 4 weeks!  

Today's run I reached an all-time low.

Driving Monster to respite care, I had planned to make it my long run day.

I forgot my fuel belt at home.

My Gamin died 2km into the run.

The heat was pounding and the arch on my foot that's been causing me trouble was aching.  My paced slowed and slowed until I barely crawled up the first big hill.  And when I reached the top, I found myself thinking 'you didn't earn this downhill.'

And that's when I stopped for a moment.

I looked around my city from where I sat and I remembered something my very wise sister in law told me, the one with the Ironman completed and the marathons and the triathlons and everything that comes with it.  She inspires me.

And she has said to me, more than once 'you need to remember why we are doing this'.

And she was right.

I'm not doing this to get paid.

I didn't drop my child at respite so I could feel crappy for 2 hours.

I'm not doing this for fame or fortune or to make a living.  I'm not doing this because someone is making me or because I have to get it done.

I'm doing this because I am supposed to love it.  Because it makes me happy and makes me feel strong and makes me feel fast and makes me feel BETTER about myself.

I'm never going to be 'elite' or have sponsors or make an income running.  I'm never going to win races or break records.

I'm running because I am a runner and I am a runner by choice.

And if I hate every moment, I need to re-evaluate why I'm doing it in the first place. 

So I turned around on my out and back course and started back towards the Base where I'd left Monster.

I stopped a couple times to take photos when the view was just too beautiful to ignore.  Because that's what I wanted to do.  And it was fun.  

And as I climbed that last hill, I decided something.


Monster had run the 3k during my race weekend.  And when he finished, with no one else in sight, he dove across the finish line.  Please as punch at his finish.  Without a care in the world about his time, or of who finished before him or how is pants looked on him or whether is wasn't dressed right or didn't 'look' like a runner.

He was just happy to be running.  And so should I.

And I realized - no matter how slowly I crawled the top of that hill, by the very fact that I made it, I've earned the downhill.

Because I'm not in it to win it.  

I'm in it to love it.  

So I put out my arms and I raced as fast as I could with a big, sweaty smile on my face, all the way back to the car. 

In a few weeks, race day will come and I will do my best to be prepared.

But if it doesn't turn into a PR and I see those bunny ears pass by, it doesn't make me a failure as long as I can smile when I'm finished, race down those hills and be happy I can run. 


Leave me a comment - what kind of runner are you?