On welcoming 2014: It's good to be here

I wish I’d kept lists of all the resolutions I’ve made and broken through the years, simply for the insight they’d give me into the person I used to be, and to revisit how I became the person I am today.  

When I was a teen, through my late twenties, I’m guessing at the top of my list would be this: lose ten pounds. I spent most of the first half of my life losing and finding again the same ten, twenty, thirty pounds, and was so obsessed with my fatness, even at my anorexic thinnest, that it consumed me and affected my belief in my own self-worth. In this way, I was not all that much different from most women of my age and cultural group. Thankfully, I’ve grown out of that idiocy, though I see around me many who have not.  

In my thirties, I had two main goals, so those would likely have been at the top of any resolution list. The first was to make enough money to support my girls and eventually send them to college. The second was to get married again.  The money thing worked its way out because I kept to strict budgets and worked my ass off. The marriage thing? Not so much, which is just as well because by the time I hit my forties, I’d gotten quite content being on my own.

The forties were all about working hard, paying for college, getting back into shape, running marathons. At first I ran my marathons because I wanted to. I had dreams I was reaching for. Eventually I ran my marathons because I needed to. They helped me cope with the stress of working hard and paying for college. 

Lately, I've gotten more circumspect. Life is moving too fast and I wish I could slow things down a bit.  I think more in terms of the big picture and less in terms of money and an extra pound or two. I’m sure this change of thinking has much to do with the fact that I’m just a little past the halfway point of my likely lifespan, if all goes well that is. I’m sure the events of the last year, which included some huge landmarks -- including caring for elderly and sick family members, and attending my thirty-fifth high school reunion -- all played a part in weaving this calmer, more inward-seeking view. 

The year 2013 is ending much like it began, with trips to and from the hospital and lots of visits to pharmacies. I am positive that 2014 will bring much joy to me and my family, but I wouldn’t be surprised if there were generous helpings of sorrow sprinkled in here and there. That’s life. 

With all that in mind, I am resolved to take good care of myself, in body, mind, and soul. You can’t take care of others if you don’t take care of yourself. Here, in no particular order, are some of my thoughts on how I will do my best to be my best. 

I will respect my body. Limit processed and fatty foods. Eat lots of fruits, veggies, and lean proteins. Work out five or six days a week -- cardio, weights, yoga. Make and keep doctor and dentist appointments. Use sunscreen. Get seven to eight hours sleep a night. I will occasionally eat brownies and chocolate, sometimes excessively. 

I will nurture my mind and my spirit. I will attempt to set computer time limits. I will watch television just a few nights a week. I will write at least once a week in the school year and five times a week during the summer. I will continue to read every day. I will take at least one writing seminar. 

When problems crop up I will think, “In the course of a lifetime, what will it matter,” and respond accordingly. I will look up at the sky and remember to consider the big picture. I will study brick walls and peeling paint and remember that there is beauty in the details. I will say thank you to the grocery store cashier and compliment her on her smile.  

I will help my family.  

I will buy locally. 

I will remember that every day is a chance to start again. I will throw pebbles in lakes and consider the ripple effect. I will forgive myself when I falter and remind myself that our best effort doesn’t always look the same every day or get the same results.  

I will remember that scars are beautiful and will remember the Japanese tradition of filling in the cracks in pottery with gold.  I will set goals and make realistic steps to reach them. Occasionally, I will shoot for the moon. 

When I fall down, I will give myself permission to whine a bit, then I will rise back up.

In times of joy and in times of sorrow, I will do my best to be grateful. I will remember that the only constant is change. I will remember that everyone is fighting something. 

I will trust my intuition, respect my collective consciousness. 

I will show my love for future generations by limiting my carbon footprint. I will continue to take part in the American Cancer Society research program, a long-term study much like the Framingham heart study, which will benefit my children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren and so on.

I will remember the story of the olive tree. Some say the act of planting an olive tree is the ultimate act of optimism. The olive tree takes twenty years to bear fruit, so you plant not for yourself but for future generations. I will plant olive trees, metaphorically, unless I move somewhere more temperate, where I can grow a literal one. 

I will remember that all through history, there has never been and never will be anyone just like me. For that, I will always thank my mom and dad, my grandmothers and grandfathers, and all who came before.

I will remember this. It’s worn out, but it’s true too, for me anyhow. Every day is a gift. That’s why it’s called the present. 

I will welcome 2014 with joy, hope, a bit of trepidation, and a smile, because it really truly is good to be alive.

Please join me in supporting the American Liver Foundation. 

Together, we can make a difference in the lives of thousands.

Visit www.liverteam.org and click on the DONATE button. 

Read my reasons for running Boston 2014 on behalf of the American Liver Foundation. 

I'd deeply appreciate your help. 

So would some of my dear friends and loved ones.

I mostly has no Christmas list

I’ve been seeing lots of lists out in internet land.  Oh dear, what to get the kid who has everything? The answer, of course, is a total no-brainer.  How about spending time with the little rugrat? Turn off the smart phone, kill the cable and internet, and talk for a change.     

Top one hundred best albums of all time? Yes, Born to Run is up there and Justin Beiber is not, thank god. And yes I deliberately wrote album. 

Here’s a fun one:  Twenty Christmas foods that will kill your waistline. They’re all creamy, buttery, deep fried and/ or stuffed with Nutella and every single one has been a part of my daily diet since Thanksgiving. Om nom nom. 

Then there’s this:  26.2  gifts for runners.  

That last one I sort of made up, though there are plenty of running sites and blogs filled with pages of presents for your favorite road hog. 

There’s not much out there that appeals to me. I do enjoy reading the lists, and get an occasional chuckle from some high-ranking editor’s idea of what three and four-figure gizmo regular jogging schmoes like me absolutely positively can’t live without.  

I get by quite well with what I have, thank you very much. I don’t need the latest hi-tech GPS paraphernalia. Like a lot of other oldies and goodies, I’ve got the mileage and elevation of every run within five miles of here pretty much memorized. And if by chance I do travel an unfamiliar route, I always bring a running friend who brings her GPS. 

I have plenty of cheap Target gloves so I don’t need the fancy schamncy ones with built-in warmers or hot chocolate machines, or micro television screens.  

Don’t  waste your money on running socks. I only wear one particular style by one certain manufacturer and I’m somewhat neurotic about color choice.  

And as for clothes, I prefer to buy my own or wear what I get at races. For me, part of the psych up for a long run includes throwing on reminders of past triumphs and struggles:  my capris with the Marine Corps Marathon logo at the knee, green Stu’s 30K shirt, orange Run for Research cap from way back, Boston 2002.   

For my long run this past weekend, I ended up inside on the dreadmill.  It wasn’t my intention. I was ready to go outside and run, all suited up in my yellow Boston Marathon 2009 shirt and that dependable, linty fleece headband I’ve been wearing since my first marathon training winter.  Then a phone call came and I had to do some driving for a family member. It was nothing serious, just something necessary enough to delay the run for several hours.  

I didn’t get home until darker in the day.  No worries. Life gave me the gift of flexibility in mind if not in body many decades ago.  Instead of running outside, I hit the gym. 

I threw on my old Run for Research singlet and shorts from Boston 2008. I took a swig of water from the commemorative water bottle I got at my November high school reunion. I plugged in Bruce, set my treadmill pace,  and enjoyed my window view of swirling snow and bending branches while I ran a hot and sweaty twelve miles. 

See? I’ve got all the running stuff I need.  I am beyond all set.

Though I could maybe use a lint brush.  My running pants are black, and I has cats.Very furry cats.

The gift of good health. The best present of all!

Please become part of my support team. 

Together, we can make a difference in the lives of thousands.

Visit www.liverteam.org and click on the DONATE button. 

Read my reasons for running Boston 2014 on behalf of the American Liver Foundation. 

I'd deeply appreciate your help. 

So would some of my dear friends and loved ones.
 

An Irishman walks out of a bar. Seriously, it could happen.

In my family, we joke about heart attacks. No, we’re not sadists or masochists or evil in any other way, as far as I know anyhow.  

We’re realists and we’re Irish, which pretty much go hand in hand.  Irish humor can be dark and self-deprecating, even for those of us a generation or two away from our proud, blighted roots.  We take observations to their stark and most profoundly realistic terms.  

For us to be alive today, our ancestors had to have been survivors. Our DNA is rooted in centuries of famine, slavery, poverty, and separation.  

What choice do you have when life is bleak and all you’ve got is hard work, early death, coffin ships, an occasional letter from thousands of miles away? You cry. You joke. You swear. You sing. You find a way to find a way to move forward.   

You get this little gem that my father has been telling for at least forty years. It always makes us grin and roll our eyes at the same time: “Are you reading that paper you’re sitting on?” 

And you get this too, usually in response to doctor and nurse questions: “Nope. No cancer in our family. We do the sudden death thing: strokes, heart attacks.”  We laugh drily and bitterly, then explain. 

Lately though, we don’t respond to the cancer question with that same dark joke.  We explain about cancers in the intestines, cancers in the lung, cancers in the bile duct and pancreas, cancers that we know will absolutely not be going away. We list medicines, tests, names of doctors.  We joke sometimes,  though.

 “How’d the test go?”

“All good!” one says.  

“Nothing’s grown,” says the other.  “They don’t want to see me again ‘til February!”

“Excellent news! Thank God.” That’s me.

“Yup,”  says the other. “Plenty of time for it to grow.” 

Bitter laugh from the one, then the other, then me. Then I say it, or they say it. We've all said it at one time or another these last few months. 

“You never know.”  

We all nod in agreement.  We raise our wine glasses and take a drink. 

 Faith. Hope. Charity.




To donate to my Boston Marathon 2014 charity efforts on behalf of the American Liver Foundation, please visit www.liverteam.org and click on the DONATE button and read my reasons for running. I'd deeply appreciate your support. So would many many others.
 

Faith, hope, and running secrets

Here are some super secret things about me and running.  Go ahead and judge if you want. Or not.

Though I tell people the reason I don't like to run early in the morning is because I need my body to warm up because of my middle-aged aches and pains, the truth is I'm lazy. I like to sleep in.

Sometimes, I hate running. Well, most times.

I never regret a run.

I regret the half a pecan pie I ate for breakfast yesterday. Mainly because there is none left to eat for breakfast today.

Watching cats attack dust motes is a great way to procrastinate on a cold November morning.   

I have sometimes used my running jacket sleeves as tissues. Sometimes = often.

My favorite cold weather running equipment: Target gloves.

I had two goals for November: Write 50,000 words as part of NaNoWriMo; manage a four-minute plank. The first has nothing to do with running, but the second has everything to do with it. A strong core makes a runner stronger.

I hit my plank goal five days early.

I only managed 28,000 words. But that's okay. Sometimes, life interferes. I still managed to write 100 pages of my new book. I took a shot at the moon and landed among the stars, which is what I do on long runs.

Setting writing goals is like setting running goals. 

Being a dreamer is awesome.

Being a doer AND a dreamer is even better.

Running Boston 2014 for my favorite charity: The American Liver Foundation. More to come.

Faith. Hope. Boston 2014. That's my current running mantra.

Here's my other one: To give less than your best is to sacrifice the gift. (Steve Prefontaine)  

Cat is now napping among the dust motes. Time for a run.


To donate to my Boston Marathon 2014 charity efforts on behalf of the American Liver Foundation, please visit www.liverteam.org and click on the DONATE button. I'd deeply appreciate your support. Together, we can create a world free of liver disease. 

Eating right isn't always an economic option

A friend and I were talking about the stress of single motherhood, our salaries, which lost pace with inflation years ago, the rising cost of gas, groceries, heat. We were leaving work. I was headed to the gym. She was going to the day care center to pick up her little one. It was a run-of-the-mill conversation and I assumed I’d forget about it as soon as I started up my car.  

Then she said this: “The thing is, eating healthy is just so expensive.” And whoosh, for me it’s twenty years ago. It blows my mind sometimes, how our brains work, how an off the cuff, innocuous jumble of words can come together in just the right way and get your stomach shaking and blood surging. 

Some of that feeling was and is rage because I know she’s right. It’s just plain wrong that we live in a land where it’s cheaper to buy a cellophane-wrapped bear claw made mainly from sugar, flour, and a dozen eight-syllable chemicals than it is to buy a bunch of grapes or an orange. I think it’s awful that three 900-calorie, 30 grams of fat Lunchables are cheaper than a loaf of decent bread. 

But her remark called up even more, because there are some things you never forget. It’s frightening, going to the grocery store with every penny you have, and leaving with barely enough for gas for the week. And it downright sucks when you’ve miscalculated and you have to ask the cashier to wait a sec while you go through your bags and decide what essentials need to be voided from that week’s shopping take. It’s even worse when there’s a line of impatient people behind you, rolling their eyes and making huge sighing noises and your little kids see all of this. 

That was my life when I first got separated. I was a freelance writer at the time making next to nothing, in grad school, waitressing nights, raising two tiny girls. My ex was paying a whopping $38 a week in child support and I could write reams about that, but then my blood pressure will skyrocket and I’ll lose focus. Plus, the paltry amount already says worlds about him as well as our joke of a court system, so I’ll leave that alone for now.    

I got really good at multi-tasking during shopping trips. I got to the point where I could estimate my grocery bill to within a couple of cents. I trained myself to always be under, and to always be ready to put items back just in case I miscalculated. Items that rarely made the cut: cereal other than Cheerios, light bulbs, crackers other than store brand Saltines, tissues.  

  

For me, one sign that I’ve made it through to the other side is that I’ve lost my sharp estimating edge. I don’t have to be as vigilant with my cash. I’ve got enough money now so it’s okay if I’m off a bit. It kills me that what I spend today just on me is more than what I used to spend to feed the three of us. One reason for that is because prices have gone up. The other reason I’m spending more? I’m eating better. Eating healthy is expensive. 

Way back during scary times, I mainly shopped the inner aisles. Our grocery bags would be filled with boxes and bottles. I rarely shopped the perimeter, where the more wholesome foods usually live. My girls and I survived primarily on homemade soups extended with starches: sale pasta, white bulk rice, egg noodles. 

As for protein? What red meat we ate was the cheapest, highest fat hamburger cooked into meatloaf and meatballs, or added to homemade minestrone. I’d buy sale chicken parts for chicken and vegetable soup. I never once stopped at the fish counter, though I’d stop at the deli counter for American cheese and shiny sodium-laden olive loaf or bologna. I stocked up on Starkist tuna whenever it was on sale because it was the only kind one daughter would eat. I’d buy bags of dry lentils and beans. I’d buy the largest jar of peanut butter that I could afford. I’m betting sugar was probably the main ingredient.  I bought huge loaves of fluffy white bread enriched with all sorts of lovely chemicals.

  

For fruit, it was rare if I ever bought anything other than a big bag of apples and a bunch of bananas.  I bought strawberries and blueberries only when they were on sale, which was usually just a few weeks in the summer. It never even entered my universe to consider buying expensive fruits like blackberries or raspberries. 

Our veggies were ones that could be thrown into a simmering broth. I’d buy what was on sale, usually broccoli, carrots, onions, cans of tomatoes. On rare occasions, when it was marked down a ton, I’d buy cauliflower, which was a favorite with the girls. But though they begged, I never bought celery, because the price was always ridiculous, even discounted. I usually avoided canned veggies. Too little bang for the buck. We only did salads in the summer time because that’s when the ingredients would be cheaper, when you could get a big head of iceberg lettuce for just thirty-three cents sometimes.  

I remember being at a family member’s house for dinner once and they served a salad of romaine lettuce, gorgonzola, and walnuts. The cost of the ingredients for that one salad could feed myself and my girls for two days. I remarked on how much tastier romaine was than our standard iceberg lettuce. The family member said I should buy romaine instead if I liked it better. He added what I already knew, that darker vegetables have more nutrients. 

“But it’s so much more expensive,” I said. 

He laughed at that and said something like, “What’s a couple of cents?” 

I smiled politely and thought, “You don’t have a clue.”  I knew how the real world worked. A couple of cents saved here and there gives you what you need to buy something else you’d maybe been putting off, like a book of stamps or a pack of garbage bags, or shampoo because you probably shouldn’t add any more water to the one bottle you’ve been nursing for weeks now.  

  

Today my grocery cart is full of stuff from the outer aisles: broccoli, strawberries, kale, spinach, avocados, carrots, peppers in all sorts of crayon colors. I still buy bananas and apples, but I buy them because I like them, not because they’re my only option. I buy blackberries now, but only on sale, because they’re still stupidly expensive.  

Sometimes, I hit the fish counter for salmon or shrimp. I buy the 96 percent lean ground beef, and still make it into meatloaf. I like meatloaf.  I stay away from cheap deli meats, and in fact make it a point to avoid deli products. I stock up on whole grain pasta and brown rice, but only eat those when I’m carbing up for long runs. These days I’m more of a baked sweet potato fan anyhow. 

I buy Greek yogurt, and occasionally buy eggs though I usually throw out the yolks and eat only the whites. I buy lots of frozen fruits and veggies. I buy small jars of organic peanut butter, no added sugar whatsoever. 

My work friend’s words brought back volumes. I eat better now than I did back when I raised my girls. I hate that sentence but it’s historical fact and sadly, my economic truth. I know this is true for some of you too.