It's not a race!

That's what I'm always telling Sevilla (5) and Caden (2) as they charge up the staircase in our home, tripping over themselves to beat the other one to the top, or storm out the car together to see who can get strapped into their carseat first.

So, when I tried to explain where I'd be going this weekend, it made it kind of difficult.

Me: So this Friday, I'll be driving out to the mountains because I'm going to get up early on Saturday and go to a race.
Caden: It's not a race!
Me: Well actually, buddy, it is a race.
Caden: No, it's not a race!
Me: Well, this time it actually is.
Caden: No, it's not!
Me: Well... ok, fine. It's not a race.
Sevilla (eyes wide): Mommy, are you going to win? 
Caden (howling): IT'S NOT A RACE!

He may feel differently when I give him my finisher's medal to play with... or, he won't care at all. It will just be nice to see his smiling face when I get back on Sunday. 

Mommy - I wan' to say "wheee"

It was one of those runs where the hardest part was actually turning around at the halfway point to go back to my car.

Misty mountains in Santa Monica

When I first noticed it was time to turn around (so that I might actually get to work on time), I told myself I'd just go up to the tree on the ridge and see what things look like from there... but by the time I got to that ridge, well, by then I'd spotted the next ridge, which looked like the new highest point, so of course I had to climb that one next...

You know how it goes.

Rocky and lovely

Having then climbed to that ridge and then not seeing a nearby higher point to which I could climb next, I started the run back to my car. By that time, naturally, I had to haul ass, having gone further away than initially planned for, but it was mostly downhill and I knew the distance could be covered quickly.

As my legs turned over faster and faster in an effort to stay in control of the descent on a winding and rocky single-track, giggles came bubbling up from within until I was barely able to contain my shrieks of glee. 

At one point, I hit a turn wrong and nearly went over with a twist of the ankle, but I caught it in time and began running again with renewed focus on the path. I reached the bottom of the hill in a matter of minutes, sweaty, tired, and happy, then ran back to my car.

It had been exactly the type of run that I had come looking for.


The weeks prior: Building up to the AC100

In the week and a half prior to that morning run, I've been feeling the stress of my recent increase in mileage. The AC100 loomed large on the horizon, and I wanted to do my best, especially after feeling like I'd let up somewhat in my effort during the later stages of the Santa Barbara Endurance Race. 

To prepare, I'd been training hard on every day that I could, and on the days that I couldn't... I'd just berate myself over why I wasn't getting in more training.

It was becoming a little exhausting, really.

Thankfully, for the most part, my months of training had been extremely enjoyable - I do love to run, after all - but as the weeks continued and I pushed myself further to add in more miles, well... it became something of a slog. Not helping was the fact that I'd been shorting myself on sleep to provide the extra hours I needed for increased mileage (4-5 hours of sleep per night had become the norm, not the exception), so it was no surprise, really, that I'd been feeling the strain.

But strained I was, and it was showing not only in the way I was feeling physically, but in the attitude with which I was beginning to regard my running. That week, it had felt like a total drag. I no longer looked forward to getting up and getting out there. Hitting the streets in the morning was a chore, and left me exhausted. My lunch-time workout break had turned into just another box to be checked, with increasing reluctance. Worst of all, I found myself irritated, sore, and sleepy in the hours that I wasn't training... and for all the mileage, I was feeling no better about my upcoming race. Instead, I just felt tired.

I knew it was due to over-training.... but with the race and the beginning of my taper getting closer and closer, I told myself I just needed to persevere and push through. I had it covered, I told myself, if I could only hang in there...

But as the dread towards both my running and the impending race itself continued, I found I didn't have it covered. What's more, I was too tired to even care about how to make it right again... I just wanted the race to be over with so I could rest.

Fortunately, all it took was an afternoon of my son to remind me of what I had forgotten - I had forgotten the "wheee".

Remembering the "wheeee"

In the park a few days later, I was walking hand-in-hand with our two-year-old, Caden, as we headed for the swings. As we passed a grassy slope, I felt him hesitate, then stop.

I looked down to see him eying the slope. Then, he looked up at me with a serious expression on his face and said "Mommy - I wan' to say 'wheeee.'"

By now, I've lived with Caden long enough to know what this means, so I smiled and said, "Go ahead."

With permission granted, he dropped my hand and took off for the top of the slope. When he reached that spot, he turned to face me at the bottom, paused for a second (I can only imagine this was to either savor the anticipation or heighten the dramatic effect; both reasons are equally plausible), then began his run toward the bottom of the slope.

And as he ran, he shouted: "WHEEEEEEE!"

Grinning ear to ear by the time he reached the bottom, he then turned to me as he always does and said "Mommy, I wan' to say 'wheee' again."

And again, I nodded. "Go ahead."

So he did - and again, and again, and again. And I let him do it, and I watched his face, because I knew what he was teaching me. Yet again, it had taken one of my kids to remind me of something I had been missing - I had been missing the "wheeeeee".

Caden never forgets to say "wheeeee"

I had been spending so much time getting wrapped up in all the details of the upcoming race I had allowed that to distract me, undermine my confidence, and take away the one thing I knew best and had learned in the past - that if I prepared to the best of my ability and then relaxed to see where the day and my own two legs would take me, then the day would ultimately be a success... or at the least, a very memorable adventure.

But I had forgotten all that.

I had forgotten the joy, the anticipation, the excitement of a new course and of traveling over trails and through mountains under stars and sky for 100 miles. I could only remembered worry and stress, and the many things that could possibly go wrong.

I was headed into the race with completely the wrong mindset... and now to top it all off, I was going to be exhausted by the time race day arrived.

Except, of course, that I still had time to change.

I started with my run the next morning. While I still had to get up early, I got out of bed feeling lighthearted for a change and took to the trails in a spot that I knew for it's challenging climbs, but also for it's fun and technical single-track that would be a blast to charge back down on the return (this is the run that I described above).

Following that, it was time to start dropping the hammer when it came to my sleeping patterns. I had to allow my body to rest - there was just no way around that one. And with less than two weeks to go, it was taper time, baby, and immediately I could feel my body thanking me for it.

For my workouts, I've started mixing in some swimming so both my body and mind can take a break from running for a change. Finally, I've stopped questioning myself at every step in my race preparation and fretting over taking a wrong turn on the trails, and accepted that I'll be just fine out there... or at least, that I've prepared enough, and don't need to continue to worry further.

All that has been going on for less than a full week now, yet I can already feel the difference, body and soul... and I'm looking forward to the race. Anticipation swells... and I know it will be an awesome day.

And as I tear down those hills, I'm going to do my best to remember, because I know that he'd want me to, to throw my hands in the air and let out one for Caden: "WHEEEEEEEE!" 

Happy and exhausted... a good combination.

Having it all

Sometimes I wonder if I should ease up on the running just because I'm doing such a crappy job at some of the other areas of my life.

Then I think "Well now, let's not get hasty. No need to ease up on the running - after all, it helps you process stress, gives you confidence, and teaches you to overcome challenges in other areas of your life - just figure out how to keep the running, and get better at everything else as well."

Well, now that just sounds exhausting.

But, there's something to that. Or at least, if I can't do a good job on the other important areas of my life, I need to consider giving less time to running. It's only fair. Problem is, I don't wanna.

It's easier to give more time to running. It's more fun... and more selfish. Compared to figuring out how to tackle my biggest challenges regarding how to  be a better mother, wife, business professional, and loving and supportive family member, figuring out how to shave time off my next 50 miler is no big deal.

But it sure doesn't feel good when I am not doing as well in these other areas. When I am impatient with my kids, or frustrated by their latest squabbling, or can't figure out why Caden can't seem to stop smacking his sister or me every time he is told "no", or when I feel I'm not giving my kids or my husband the time to be the best person I can be, for them... it doesn't feel good.

I'd like to have it all... I'd like to be it all... the best runner, mother, spouse, marketing professional, sister, and daughter I can be. 

Is this possible? I'm not sure yet... but I've got to give it a go. I've got to!

Developing the competitive spirit: So what if your parents let you win?

I was out with the kids and my husband on the grounds of USC today, and as usual when on that campus, we freely availed ourselves of the grassy hills and wide-open spaces by running and playing over as much of the grounds as we could.

After playing like a fool with the kids for a while, it was my husband's turn, and I stood back to catch my breath. Our daughter initiated a game of tag with my husband, and I watched them, amused. She kept running up to tap him on the leg and say "Tag, you're it," but as soon as she turned to run away, he would swat her easily on the back or hip as she ran and say "No, you're it!" 

After this they would both laugh, then she would spin to chase him again and the cycle would repeat itself. As I watched, our daughter began to get frustrated with the ease with which he tagged her back despite her best efforts to away quickly. Each time he tagged her, I noticed her shoulders slump sharply, and she'd let out an increasingly disappointed "Awww!"

"Give her a moment to get away," I said quietly but firmly to my husband after watching this for a few minutes.

"No!" he said, as he swatted her yet again on the back as she ran after tagging him yet again. "This will build her competitive spirit!"

I smiled and shrugged, knowing she was enjoying the game, and also not certain that my suggestion was the right one - rather, I just knew it was what I would do in that situation. 

But, I reasoned, I'm the mommy. He's the daddy. There's a difference. 

At least, there had been a difference in my family. In my family, my mom was the more nurturing one, the one who was quick to hug, cuddle, or offer a compliment or reassurance. As for my dad, he was also nurturing - a kind and gentle man. But he was also an honest man; direct, and less willing to coddle. If he saw something a certain way, he'd tell me so. For example, at age 17 after I returned home from my first semester at school in the UK, he was the only one who pointed out that I'd gained a few pounds - and by few, I mean 15-20.

My mom would never have done that.

Similar to not being able to speak his mind, my dad was also unable to hold back in physical or strategic games. When playing checkers, he always won. I never won, not once. Not even a pity win. I was never good enough. In a wrestling match, he always won. He was 6'4" tall and I was less than 10 years old, so really, I guess the outcome was inevitable, but I still fought as hard as I could ever time... and every time, he pinned me easily, until I cried.

At my tears, my dad would always immediately let up and tell me he was no longer going to play with me - after all, it didn't make him feel good to drive his daughter to tears - but I would beg and plead with him to play, certain that I could beat him just once if I just tried hard enough... so we'd try again, and sure enough, as mightily as I would fight, he'd pin me again... and again I'd burst into tears.

My dad simply didn't see why he should lessen his game, beit checkers or wrestling, to make it easier for me to win. I guess he didn't think he was doing me any favors that way.

I'll never know the exact reason why - my dad passed away when I was 19 years old. He died very suddenly in our home in the early hours of the morning. It was a stroke... he never knew what hit him.

Even if he hadn't died suddenly, however, I'd probably still never know. After all, "Why didn't you ever let me win at checkers," was probably not at the top of the list of topics requiring investigation. But still, watching my husband play with our daughter on this day... it made me wonder.

Why is it that my mom and I would ease-up or "play dumb" to let our children win, while our male counterparts would not? And, more interesting... which approach was right?

At first thought, rather predictably, I felt certain my way was best - after all, I reasoned, it's more important to encourage a child by allowing them to experience and relish success, than to crush their spirits by never allowing them to win.

But then, I realized this: it's not that my husband and dad never wanted us to experience the joy of winning - it's that they wanted us to earn it. What's more, they refused to cheapen the experience by giving it away.

Some may think I'm reading too much into this - it was a game of tag, for goodness sake - but I have seen this tendency in my husband before and in other parents, and it always intrigues me.

As for what's best, I think the (somewhat convenient) answer is that what we are doing now with our kids is best - that is, we have one parent who coddles them a bit more and allows them to celebrate smaller victories, and we have one parent who challenges them more to hit harder, jump higher, turn sharper... tag faster.

If my kids are like me, they will end up appreciating both of these styles for different reasons. My mom was always the one I'd turn to when I needed comforting or a soft place to fall, and that, I appreciated to no end. My dad, on the other hand, was the one I went to for more sage advice... there was no sugar coating with my dad, and I valued his opinion highly for that very reason. When my mom gave her opinion, it was easier to brush it off... she was the softie; she was my mom. But when my dad talked - you listened. And when my dad gave a compliment - you knew it was earned.

As for that win in the game of checkers, that was something I never earned - not sharp enough for him, I guess. But I kept trying. It light a fire under me, and I kept trying... I'd leave each game disappointed, cursing inwardly as I just couldn't believe he'd won so easily yet again... but still, I'd always be back for more, every time.

Watching my husband, I had initially thought he was teaching our daughter that she could not beat him, that she was not good enough... but perhaps he was teaching her perseverance.

After all, Sevilla never stopped running, not even as he tagged her again and again, just seconds after she tagged him... she kept going back for more. As had happened with the wrestling, the game was halted only when the parent said "Ok, that's enough!"

In both cases, it was not the child that called "uncle" first... it was the parent.

It's ok that I'll never get to play another game of checkers with my dad - I was never that good at it in the first place. But I'd love to hear what he thought about trail running. About ultras. About 100 mile races. About a lot of things, really.

But, I can only guess these things, and that's ok. I'll just smile and continue to watch my own children laugh and run and play.

Finding focus

It's been a bit of a weird few weeks.

About two weeks ago, I was hyper-focused on all things running - I had gone from running 35 miles a week to 50 or more, I had reached out to a local running coach (Coach Jimmy Dean of the SoCal Coyotes, HOOOOWWL!), and I was feeling in excellent shape, both mentally and physically, for the upcoming Coyote Two Moon this March 18th.

Since then, however, I've been feeling distinctly less focused. I've been lingering before training more. I've been staying up a bit later, and saying "Yes," more frequently when my husband asks me if I want to watch a movie, instead of hitting the sheets by 9:30 or 10PM (ok, so I've done this twice. Sue me).

On the other hand, I've been finding myself more focused at work. I've been wondering less what training tips and conversations are being kicked around on running chat boards, and more about how I can be increasingly effective in managing my work responsibilities (Boss, I hope you're reading this).

Hard not hang out with this little guy..

 

And to top it all off, I've been enjoying my kids more. For the past two weekends I've found myself blissfully satisfied with just hanging out with my kids and my husband as we go about our typical weekend routine... nothing out of the ordinary, just grocery shopping, going to Home Depot, stopping by the park and Toys R Us. Ordinary, everyday activities, but ones that have filled my heart and smoothed over the chips and cracks that I had not noticed were lying there. 

Making cupcakes on the weekend with Sevilla

I have felt more restful, more at ease than in previous weeks - but at the same time, my focus with running has been off. And actually, I'm ready to start honing it in again... a tad reluctant to step away from what feels like the warmth of the family's embrace, but ready.

After all, I can always linger close and will no doubt find myself cycling back for my family's comfort as I need them and they need me, for there is no exclusivity; rather, there are only degrees of overlap and of symmetry in these worlds. 

I've come to anticipate that many of my moods and interests - beit towards school, work, "hobbies", sports, and the like - go through cycles like this. I seem to experience periods where I am hyper-focused and goal-oriented for weeks at a time, only to shortly after feel adrift and out-of-touch with what had seemed like such sharp focus.

But, this will happen over the course of many months, not weeks, and I can only assume it is the natural course that happens for all of us as we strive to navigate our way through life; juggling roles and responsibilities two and three at a time, while we also strive to quench our creative, spiritual, competitive, and/or inquisitive urges and tendencies... 

Sevy, Caden, and friends

What a complex and beautiful world we live in.

In my more naive, more confident (er, more out-of-touch) moments I think of myself as "having it all"... and in a way, I do have it all. I have so much that so many do not.

At other times, however, I can only feel the pressure of what can result when one tries to juggle it all... or juggle too much.

But that's ok, because the cycles will work themselves out again, and balance will result... I have faith in this system. So, when the time comes that I feel that hype-focus in running, I will welcome it with open arms, knowing that focus will cycle out again as projects from work mount or my heart yearns for my family's chatter, play, and touch.

I'll find that balance, find that focus, and don't have to worry about pushing it or forcing it too hard to where I think it "should" be... I have faith that I will find it, in the same way that I know I will find myself.

Zach, our kids, and their buddies at the beach. A beautiful evening.

My Dad had a favorite quote, and while I cannot find the exact phrasing or to whom it is credited, I recall it as being thus: "I have the answers I need inside me. I just have to be quiet enough to hear them."

I know I have the answers to where should spend my time; where I need to place my focus. I can trust in that instinct and in my decisions, which are based on my understanding of what is important for myself and also for my family. I just have to be quiet enough to hear them.


At the same time... I'm still darn excited for the Coyote Two Moon. Again, what a complex and beautiful world we live in...

Early risers

Lying in bed this morning, blissfully unaware of time and place.

Until...

Pit-pat pit-pat go little feet in the room next to ours.

Creeeeaak goes the hinge on the door into the hallway.

Swiiish goes the door to our bedroom.

Mommy? says a small child's voice.

I sit up. Sigh. Slide off the bed. Sneak a look at the alarm clock - 2:51AM. Oh - still early.

No Sevilla, you can't get up yet. Because it's still too early. No. It's too early.

Come on - I'll tuck you in.

Pit-pat pit-pat go little feet back through the hallway.

Shuffle shuffle shuffle go bigger feet behind her.

She climbs into bed. I kiss her twice, give her shoulder a squeeze, then turn to go.

Mommy?

Sigh. Yes?

I'm hungry.

Sigh. 

Shuffle shuffle shuffle go big feet in the hallway... down the stairs... into the kitchen. 

Crickle crickle crinch goes the cereal bag.

Splosh goes the milk. 

Shuffle shuffle shuffle back up the stairs.

I sit down next to her in the bed. Here's your cereal.

Crunch crunch crunch goes the small child sitting in the bed.

Pause... then again, crunch crunch crunch. 

Finally... all done.

Feel better? 

Nods - yes. 

Ok. I love you baby. 

I love you Mommy.

Ok. Sleep well.

Shuffle shuffle shuffle through the hallway. Into the bedroom - glance at the clock - sigh. It's 3:14AM. I reach for the clock - click - snap the alarm off - it's set to go off at 3:15 anyway.

Good thing I caught it.

Sneak sneak sneak down the hall... down the stairs... to the kitchen. Pause... listen... no more little feet. Exhale. 

Shwock as the fridge door opens.

Grab the bread. Grab the milk.

Schtick goes the toaster.

Searching for clothes. 

Half dressed already from the night before, but still missing something... pants.

Need pants. 

Fiddle fiddle fiddle in the laundry room. Pants on. Socks on. 

Just need shoes.

POP! goes the toaster.

Scrap scrap scrap goes the knife... mmmm. Peanut butter. 

Slap the pieces together... then  - whooop - dropped it on the floor.

Pick up the sandwich. 

Pause - then chomp chomp chomp on the sandwich.

Glup glup glup goes the water down the throat... almost ready... just need... front door keys.

Grab the keys.... no, don't need them all... just these... two. 

Turning to go... check the clock... sigh of satisfaction. 

Plenty of time.

Then.... pit-pat pit-pat pit-pat come little feet in the hallway.

Mommy? 

Swoooosh! I slap the light switch down.

There's no-one down here...

Waiting, waiting... there's no-one down here, just go back to bed or get in bed with Daddy like any other morning when I'm already out... 

Plod plod plod of little feet coming down the stairs. 

Mommy? 

Sigh.

Yes Sevilla, I'm here.

Chin wobbling... eyes fill with tears. Little hands reach out, hesitate slightly - then reach higher. The face crumbles.

Mommy but where are you going?

A run, Sevilla - I'm going on a run sweetie. 

But will it be a quick run or a long run?

It will be a medium run. 

Whimpers. But I want it to be a quick run!

I know. C'mon baby. Go back upstairs and see Daddy. You can get in bed and be cosy. I will see you soon. 

But Mommy I will miss you!

I know. Firmly: Sevilla, I'm going to go now.

Bwwwaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.... 

Gently: C'mon Sevilla. 

Hug - I'll see you soon baby.

I stand up. Look down.

Child's face, chin wobbling. 

Mommy - 

What?

I want to say goodby to you in the window.

Sigh. Ok.

Over to the door. Kisses on the face.

Sevilla, you say goodbye to me in the window, then I will lock the door behind me. Ok?

Ok. 

Then you go upstairs and cuddle in bed with Daddy. 

Ok. 

Hug. 

Swoosh of the door behind me. 

Scccchlick of the key - locked tight. 

Over to the window. Look at the little girl behind the glass - sad face, but ok now... after all, we've done this before. She kisses the glass. 

I lean forward and kiss that spot - we pull back - smile.

Wave goodbye - blow another kiss. 

Jog down the steps - run out in the street - then turn. Wait. 

She turns back from the window, crosses the room, makes her way back upstairs.

Silence. 

Except for... small rustles in the dark. Here and there, small sounds... the natural rustling of creatures, trees, the wind in the night... and I tip my head, pausing, listening... then run down the road, the warm night air blowing gently in my face. 

I think of Sevilla and her sharp ears... then, abruptly, of Santa.

Poor old man.

Good luck to him trying to sneak into our house unnoticed...

He's going to need it.

Revelation: Exercise is good

Saturday morning, and both kids were up at 5:30AM. On the weekends we usually head out to the park right after having breakfast and getting dressed - today would be no exception, especially as the kids were already getting whiny.

So, I dragged them forcefully away from their slouchy chairs in front of their Diego DVD (Diego is the cousin of Dora the Explorer, and not only does he have equally exciting adventures, but he also insists on yelling at the screen in the manner of his well-traveled cousin and her monkey pal), piled them both in the car, and we headed to the park.

I wasn't sure how this morning was going to go, as Caden (our not-quite-2-yr-old) was already showing signs of a meltdown. Tantrum's a-comin', I thought to myself. Catagory 3. Medium intensity with sustained gustiness. I'd just have to keep a close eye on him, then call "time" when he started to get so tired he didn't know what to do with himself. 

At the park, we climbed out, and I was pleased to note that we were the first ones there. Having other kids to play with is fun, but it's also fun to have the whole place to yourself. Sevilla immediately ran over to the stairs and started climbing up to the highest levels of the play set... and Caden immediately started crying in frustration that he couldn't keep up. 

"AUUUGGHHH!" he screamed, and stamped his feet on the ground.

"Buddy! It's ok," I leaned over and grabbed him under the arm to support him as he started to throw himself in frustration on the padded floor. "C'mon, I'll help you. Let's go up." 

Together we climbed up the steps, then went down the slide. Sevilla darted here and there around the apparatus, but Caden was slower and feeling very impatient... tired kids have a short fuse, and this was definitely the case with our boy. When I refused to let him near the bigger kids' fireman's pole (and a sheer drop of over 10 feet that made my skin crawl), he again threatened a tantrum, but I managed to distract him away from it. 

On the ground again, Caden grabbed my legs, wearily. I checked my watch - only 9:09AM. I sighed. 

We had been planning on going to the toy store, but it didn't open until 10 and it was just 5 minutes away... still way too early. But, I had no idea how I was going to entertain this little guy for the next 45 minutes. 

Then, Caden pulled away, turned around, and started to run. He ran over to the wall at back of the park, about 15-20 meters from where I stood. At the wall he turned back around and looked at me mischievously. 

I narrowed my eyes and tipped my head to one side, teasingly, and we smiled at each other. Then, he began to run to me.

Caden loves to run. He's a little guy, so his spurts are short, but like most kids he takes joy in running around any open area. Caden runs with that instantly recognizable style of childhood, in uncoordinated motions with his hands flapping around at his sides, giggling and shrieking as he plods forward in random directions, with no apparent path or even purpose except to enjoy the activity.

He ran to me with a smile on his face, which grew wider as his neared. When he reached me, he opened his arms so I could catch him in a wide hug. We embraced for a quick cuddle, then he pulled back and ran back to the wall again. At the wall he stopped, turned, and ran to me again.

Over and over he ran, and over and over I caught him in my arms, then released him again. After about 6 times I started counting. He didn't stop for 17 laps.

I watched his face as he ran, feeling an increasing sense of wonder at his steady plodding. I was watching for signs of exhaustion - sometimes when Caden is tired he will begin acting randomly (like most kids) and do things like spin in circles or run into things... which might sound funny, but it's sad to watch when you realize he literally just doesn't know what to do with himself - but here, he looked... happy. He looked so happy.

When I caught him in my arms, I could feel his little heart pounding in his chest, and hear his heavy breathing, and after he stopped, he pointed toward the water fountain, then ran over in that direction.

At the water fountain I lifted him up to drink. The cold water ran down his face and soaked his shirt, but he drank deeply, stopping only to snort and snuffle as he got it in his nose. Then he'd go back to drink again.

Caden getting wet on a water break

After letting him drink for a while, I set him on the ground, where he stood for a few minutes and continued to play with the water fountain. Caden has always loved water too. I watched as he stood on his tip-toes, pushing hard against the post with one hand where you trigger the spout of water, then reaching up with the other hand to play with the water as it streamed out. The water ran down his hand and into his sleeve until the whole left side of his body was soaked. I started to stop him,then remembered I had a dry jacket in the car and thought better of it. I let him play.

Caden played for a few more minutes, then glanced at me and pointed back towards the park. "More," he said.

I tipped my head in a slight nod. "Ok," I said, and gave him a smile.

By this time Sevilla had found a friend to play with, and as the girls played tag and hide-and-go-seek, Caden continued to run from one end of the playground to the other. The three of them played like this, separately, for 15 more minutes.

I watched him, fascinated. He had such joy... but beside that, it was his stamina that astounded me. I've seen him run for certain periods of time but never like this. He had probably covered close to 1000 meters by now. I had no idea kids his size ran for this long, but wondered why not.

As I watched, also I noticed that his motions were more consistent, more smooth than they had been originally. He looked steady. He looked happy. He looked how I feel when I run.

With that, I pulled my thoughts away, realizing I was probably projecting way too much of my own feelings and experiences onto our little guy. He was just a kid running, and enjoying the endorphins, that was all.

But at the same time, it cannot be argued: the human body is designed for motion and exercise. We are supposed to walk, to run, to climb, move, dance, do whatever it takes to be active, if we are able. It makes us feel good. It makes us happier. It's good for adults, young and old, and it's good for kids too. It keeps us in balance. It helps us feel alive. It's our natural state of being.

Well-earned slumber in the car

As for Caden? He didn't have anymore tantrums, even at the toy store when I had to pry the Kit-Kat from his little hands while we were waiting in line and tell him no, we were not going to get any candy. There will be more tantrums, that's for sure, but for this morning they were displaced by something better.

Not surprisingly, when I put him in the car to go home, he was asleep before we even left the parking lot. I expect he'll sleep for some time. He's earned it.

Conditioning

Having recently succumbed to a momentary fit whereapon I found myself on Amazon.com ordering a variety of ultra-related books that have been recommended to me at one time or another, I was excited to get home and see a package from Amazon waiting for me.

I eagerly pulled open the box. My husband, Zach, said "What did you get?"

I held it up, showing him the cover of Bunion Derby: the 1928 Footrace Across America, by Charles B. Kastner... I had read a story about this particular race in a magazine once, then forgotten about it until the race was remarked on by a fellow runner.

Me: It's Bunion Derby! It's about a race!
Husband: (folds arms) Uh-huh.
Me: It's about a transcontinental footrace, over 3,400 miles long, from Los Angeles to Chicago.
Husband: Uh-huh.
Me: (gesturing wildly with arms to better communicate exciting content of book) It started back in 1928! This book is all about how it came about, and what the racers and event organizer faced trying to keep it all going.
Husband: (raising eyebrows and sounding suspicious) And is it still going on now?
Me: What? Oh, no! It was just a one-time thing!
Husband: (relieved) Ok, good... because I was about to say, there's no way in HELL you're doing it!

Based on his reaction, I submit that my physical conditioning is not the only conditioning going on around here.