Death of a Dream: The Family 5K

Last week as I herded my little cats into the car for their gymnastics lesson, my youngest daughter said:

"I don't want to go to gymnastics."

This was coming from the child who, last I checked, loved hopping, skipping, jumping, swinging and rolling at the stinky gymnastics place. This is also the same daughter who last week told me that our bike ride was "hateable."

"Why not?" I asked as I grabbed her jacket and yelled into the garage to her sisters: "Buckle up!"

Then she looked up to me and in her grumpiest voice said: "Because I don't like to run."

Did you hear that loud screeching sound, too?

I'll keep that dagger in my back for effect as I make this point:

If she had said, "Because I don't like gymnastics," I would have shrugged it off. "Oh well! She tried it, doesn't like it, let's move on to something else. Karate?"

But no. She said: "I don't like to run." And, ever so briefly--forgetting she was only four--I took it personally.

It goes back to what I said last week, about how part of parenting for me is being a fitness role model for my kids. As an avid runner I envision the whole family signing up for a 5K some day.

During that brief period--when I forgot she was four--while driving to gymnastics, I talked to her about running and the reasons I loved it and tried to find out what she doesn't love about running (as if a 4-year-old can articulate why she's being manipulative). Then I changed tactics and let them in on the fact that sometimes I don't want to run, because I think that's important for my kids to know, too. Like other things they may not want to do, such as eating certain vegetables or picking up toys, it's still good for them. More importantly, I told them, I'm always happy when I finish running because I accomplished something I didn't think I could do and I always feel better after I'm done.

Wah, wah, waaaaah, wah, wah, wah, waaaaah, waaaaah, wah.

I looked back at my children, glassy eyed, bored, giving each other sideways glances that said: "she's craaaaaaazy."

I was being a little crazy. She's four. I reminded myself that I didn't like running until I was in my 20s. Back in high school when I was made to run laps I complained the loudest, exclaiming my uterus would fall out. Eventually, though, I grew to love running. I still remember the exact run. I was probably 22-years-old and had just finished my longest run of 4 miles. Somewhere after 2 miles my first endorphin rush occurred. I was hooked. And my uterus was no worse for wear since it has gone on to carry four children. If I've learned anything (aside from running is not harmful to one's uterus) it's that you can't force anyone to like something.

My 4-year-old may never love to run, no matter how good of a role model I try to be. I'm still convinced she'll grow up active, just active on her own terms. Then again, she may become a runner in her own time. I know plenty of runners who didn't discover the appeal until well into their 40s, 50s, even 60s.

What about you? Have you always loved the wind in your face or do you remember the run that hooked you? Or, do you still find running hateable?

Postscript--11/9/09--K, one of my 6-year-olds has been asking all week if she could run with me. Apparently she was sensitive to the running rejection I received from her younger sister. If she was trying to make me feel better, it worked. K and I went for a 1ish mile run on Saturday and we both thoroughly enjoyed it. I am happy that at least one of my four children will be my running partner (odds are better when you have kids in bulk). And, I now have a pretty good idea which child is most likely to care for me in my old age.

Mother-Daughter Adventure

As my daughter and I zoomed down the hill on our bikes taking the familiar path by our house she shouted to me from behind, "Mommy! Let's go on an adventure! Take me where we haven't gone before!"

What a GREAT idea. And this was an idea I could accommodate, unlike climbing up the outside of the banister to the second floor, sliding down the stairs in sleeping bags head first (yes, we had to repair a dent in the wall), or riding her bike down the icy sledding hill. Yes! Let's go on an adventure!

This adventure was made possible using one of my workout kid-free cards (i.e. parents were in town). I know, I couldn't believe I was doing it either. Why workout with kids if I don't have to? Thought I might be sainted right there and then. But honestly, truly, an uncomplicated family workout is sometimes even harder to come by than a solo workout, so I seized the opportunity.

I love the idea of the family bike ride, all three girls on their bikes, The Boy in a Burley, but that can be subject to a number of snags, among them a chance that one of the four children would prefer to do something else. In fact, I started the bike ride with two daughters (the other daughter was no dummy, she had grammy all to herself), but shortly into the ride the 4-year-old started wailing for reasons I still don't know and probably only a 4-year-old can understand. I kept trying to assure her that we were out to have fun. And you know what she said? "This bike ride is hateable!" So, because I could, I dropped her off back at the house ASAP and resumed riding with my little thrill seeker.

Even though I could have taken that time to ride all. by. myself. I'm glad I didn't. Sure, workouts have become the coveted "me time," but since becoming a parent I also know that fitness isn't about just me anymore. I also want to raise a fit family. So I've become a firm believer in the fitness triad: being a fitness mentor to my children through my own workouts, helping my children discover their own fitness passions and finding time to be active together.

I haven't had too many opportunities to squeeze in mother-daughter moving since having the baby (confession: I've been selfish with my workout time). Because I had the extra help though, inviting any interested children to join me was a no-brainer, even if or especially because I had only one child join me (that was a treat too, one-on-one time, also made possible with visiting parents).

The bike ride was a blast for both of us--well worth using one of my workout kid-free cards for. I'm also motivated to start incorporating these family group fitness workouts into my week, whether it be hopscotch on the driveway or a dance party in our living room. I also need to get my other daughters back to the family yoga class they love. I'll probably leave my little thrill seeker at home with dad. She thinks yoga is "hateable."

How much is enough?

During my run on Sunday I realized I had exercised for five straight days. That wasn't unheard of in various other times in my life, but since The Boy was born I have settled for far less, whether it was due to getting my postpartum groove back or recurring bouts of mastitis. I'm not one to freak out if I can't exercise everyday, but I get a little skittish if I go more than three days without some sort of movement--even a 15 minute walk will do.

But as of yesterday, I had a 5-day streak going. It started with my Wednesday morning run, a Strike class on Thursday, another run on Friday, CrossFit on Saturday and another run Sunday. How did that happen?

While I can take full credit for getting my arse out of bed early on Wednesday, the next two workouts were made possible by my amazing babysitter who was off school (she reads the blog, so it pays to suck up). The next two days of workouts were made possible by my amazing husband (yes, he reads, too). I'm not saying I wouldn't have made those workouts happen without someone to watch the kids, but my motivation would have been challenged. That is, of course, the whole premise for the blog: Finding fitness in the chaos of motherhood.

I know for a lot of people, kids or no kids, finding the motivation to workout is challenging. For me, and I'll bet for a lot of you reading this blog, solve the childcare dilemma and you are sweat bound. Sounds so luxurious, to workout whenever the urge strikes, regardless of carpool obligations, nap times or feeding schedules. I'm even extending this hypothetical luxury so you don't have to take the kids to onsite gym childcare. Just you and your gym bag, without the fear of a dirty diaper pulling you out of yoga class. Imagine!

I get this luxury for the next week (my amazing parents are in town). I have a workout kid-free card for the next seven days. I'm tempted to take full advantage of it. Should I, though? Will I have anything to blog about next week if I do?

Before having kids I didn't workout everyday and that was before I even knew what mastitis was. Having exercised most of my life, I know that working out five days a week suits me best, gives me the equilibrium I need for physical, mental and emotional health. I like giving myself a day or two off for other things.

What about you? How many days of exercise do you need to function at your best? What would you do with a workout kid-free card?

Good Goal. Sit. Stay.

As you already know, my 10-mile race has come and gone. I did it. In the grand scheme of things (the grand scheme, trying to keep my sanity in the chaos of my sleep-deprived life) a 10-mile race was, perhaps, more than I needed to take on. But that is the essence of a goal, no? A goal needs to be just a titch or more out of reach. A distance any less I wouldn't have taken seriously enough to get out and run more. In order to run more I needed to schedule at least one early morning run to add to my weekend run. Without a distance to compel me to get up early, I would have shirked my training, thrown sensibility in the dirty diaper pail and shown up on race day to gut it out on little to no mileage.

By now, then, you know the goal wasn't really the 10-mile race. The race was the head fake. The goal was getting me in the habit of one early morning workout. Just one. Same day. Same time. Regardless of how little sleep I got. Just do it. And I did. And now the race is behind me and guess what? I'm still getting up early to workout on Wednesday mornings. That, my friends, is the real accomplishment. That is what I wanted out of that 10-mile race.

My next goal is to recoup more of my mornings. Right now they are still in possession of a certain 8-month-old, who likes my attention in the wee hours of the night. OUCH! Did someone just hit me over the head with the "Babywise" book? Very funny. I can't help it, I'm a sucker for a crying baby, especially one of my own. That said, something has to change so my inner early bird can return to roost. My early morning time has always been my sanctuary. My time to write, blog, workout or just stare at the ceiling while drinking a cup of coffee. But I can't have those mornings if I can't sleep longer than three hours at a stretch. This time my baby needs the head fake.

I'd ask for advice, but I'm already getting more than I can process. And, once again, being an "experienced" mother of four doesn't add any value to my situation. But I know how to set goals. I know how to meet goals. I'll get there.

Getting Pumped on Race Day

Before children there was a time in my life when I raced almost every weekend. Other than registering and collecting yet another t-shirt, very little thought or planning went into the event. No hauling kids to the expo to get your race packet; no worries if the pizza at Chuck E. Cheese makes for a decent pre-race meal; no getting up three times with a baby before the alarm goes off; no having to find a sitter who doesn't mind coming over at 5:30 a.m.; and no worries that your boobs will turn into boulders by the end of the race. To sign up for a race after parenthood, you gotta want it.

I have joked with other moms that races should have a separate awards category for sleep-deprived parents. We are toeing the line with people who have obvious advantages. "And 2nd place in My-Kid-Was-Up-All-Night-Barfing category is..."

But despite all that, I still want to race. These days, though, I understand that finding a parking spot and the portapotty aren't my only pre-race concerns.

On Sunday my husband and I ran the Twin Cities 10 Mile. After he parked the car, like every other runner, he dashed off to find a bathroom. Me? I had one other pre-race task: pump breastmilk.

My advice to other nursing mothers who race: allow yourself plenty of time to poop and pump. This is not like at home where you can nurse a baby on the John. (Don't make a face, we've all been there.) Can you imagine lugging the breast pump into the portapotty? For those of you unfamiliar with the machinery, it's like a heart/lung bypass machine with horns.

So there I sat in the car, the whirring of the pump, the tangle of tubes, the drip drip drip of milk and an imminent start time. More input for nursing moms: this is why they make nursing sports bras. Wear it on race day if you'll need to pump before and/or after running.

Anyone else feeling the urge to moo?

At last, I reduced my bra cup to a runable size, a size that wouldn't require me to use my elbows as extra fortification, and --joy!-- even remembered a lid for the bottle and an extra storage bag, which I used for the milk I pumped after the race (that's my final tip for nursing racers--don't forget you'll need to store that milk!)

Fortunately I had just enough time to find a bathroom and make it to the start on time. Perhaps it's true. Since becoming a mother I can manage to doo doo it all.

Getting Cross

I have been saying for a year now how I'd like to try CrossFit. I say I want to do a lot of things that aren't realistic for my schedule: I want to return to Cardio Tennis, go to the rock climbing gym, run away to Tahiti. Between mothering four children and running three times a week, tennis and Tahiti, among other things, remain out of my grasp.

But then came the opportunity to try CrossFit last weekend. What's the allure? Anyone who does it raves about it. It has a cult-like following and besides, all the cool kids are doing it.

If you don't know what CrossFit is, don't feel uncool. CrossFit, I've come to the conclusion, is very hard to define. Even the "What is CrossFit?" link on their website doesn't provide a very good answer. The CrossFit entry in Wikipidia might have the best explanation. Any CrossFit devotees reading this post (ahem, Darcy), please help me out here in the comments.

My definition? It's the closest thing to exercise in a pill you'll find. It's a blend of strength and speed (and sweat) in a relatively short amount of time--anywhere from 5 to 20 minutes. For busy people trying to squeeze in an all-encompassing workout, CrossFit is hyper efficient.

It's also accessible. Anyone can go to www.crossfit.com for the workout of the day. There are CrossFit gyms, though, and I recommend starting there with an instructor who can help (you not kill yourself). The WOD for me Saturday was called "Fight Gone Bad" (ominous, no?) Here's a great You Tube video I found that shows you the workout, but also provides explanation for its purpose. So, I should mention here, that all CrossFit workouts have a purpose. The workouts aren't a concocted combination of exercises that seem fun (which is how I come up with my own workouts).

If you're wondering why in the world anything so punishing could become addicting, here's what I discovered on Saturday: the workouts are mini competitions, not only with yourself but with everyone in the world who does that same workout. The whole wide web world. Because my workout consisted of three rounds I found myself motivated to do more each time. Then at the end, our score was posted on a big white board. Can you slack? Noooooooo. And if you're really competitive you can post your results on the CrossFit website to see how you stack up to the rest of the CrossFit cult. Therein lies the fun.

Because of CrossFit's efficiency I give it high marks for being a mama-friendly workout, however it might compromise one's ability to run after small children the next day.

Bus Stop Work Out

Now that I've entered the world of parenting kindergartners, our new schedule includes time each day at the bus stop. Waiting for the bus to arrive goes by relatively quick. The girls like to play "duck, duck, goose" (or duck, duck, gray duck as it's called in Minnesota and no, I don't know why). I am at a distinct disadvantage since I have to run the small circle with a baby in my arms. It's amusing, so we pass the time easily.

Waiting for the bus to return is a different story. It's usually just me standing on the corner. Boring. It's idle time. I hate idle time. I have too much going on to sit there and wait. I know, sitting there, waiting, breathing deeply, might be good things to embrace. Even knowing better, it's still hard.

Naturally, I try to slip in a few exercises. So far leg lifts, calf raises and tricep dips on the curb have worked well and are unassuming. I have yet to launch into a full aerobic workout on the street corner.

Which reminds me of a man in Dallas who stood every day at a certain place along White Rock Lake and rocked out. He had headphones on that looked like hamburger buns and bounced around and sang and flailed around at his own personal disco party. If I were running or riding by him I couldn't help but crack up. He was amusing.

I need to channel him when I'm waiting for the school bus; to squeeze in whatever exercise I'm moved to do in that moment. That dancing man had a few lessons to impart on us all, among them:

1) There was pure joy in his choice of exercise.

2) He was consistent.

3) He did not give a poop what people thought.

So any suggestions for bus stop exercises? What else does a mom do while waiting for the school bus?