The Old Gray Mare...

...I ain't what I used to be.
So the mirror is giving me quite a show lately! Up until a few years ago everyone always commented on how young I always looked.  Back in the day of my teaching career parents would marvel at how young I looked, saying I looked like one of the students.  After I left teaching and became a mom the exclamations continued:  "Your thirty????? Thirty five???? No way!!!" , people would always say.  I was carded at every store and restaurant and would roll my eyes, while secretly cheering on the inside.  Well, my friends, that gravy train has passed.  
What started as an attack of a few random gray hairs has become a full frontal assault on my head.  My own son has started to comment on them - yes, the son who can rarely hold a conversational exchange with me will wax poetic about the funny colored hairs on my head that "stick way up".  My daughter will shake my legs and comment, with a giggle, how "jiggly" they are (mind you, I run about 20 miles a week) and point out my wrinkled knees.  The creases in my forehead, once only appearing when I was befuddled, are now a permanent fixture.  Trust me - I"m not confused this often!! And things are starting to sag - things, my friends, that shouldn't be sagging.  Gravity is a cruel, cruel thing. 
So what to do? What to do?  I know I won't jump on the plastic surgery boat.  I don't want things injected into me or sucked out of me.  I can't imagine any kind of face lift - it always looks so obvious and just delays the inevitable.  I don't own any beauty creams or anti aging formulas.  Again, it just seems to be a waste of money trying to hold something at bay that will come no matter what.  But the hair - oh the hair!  I'm not ready to be gray.  I think it's time to consider some color.  I've never colored my hair (except for one time after an unfortunate "sun in" incident back in my 20's) and dread starting.  I keep thinking it's going to be so dang expensive and I can never figure out what color to try so I don't look freaky.  Do I go the expensive salon route, or try to do it myself at home? I can barely figure out how to wash, condition, and dry my hair, let alone color it.  And I"m so cheap I usually don't hit the salon until my crazy curly frizz begins to resemble that of those small troll dolls.  How to muster up the cash to pay the colorist every six weeks? I guess I"m going to have to think about this one a bit longer, and perhaps put "hair color" on my 40th birthday gift list. 

To tell the truth, I'm really not that vain of a person.  However, this aging thing takes some getting used to.  I'm working on coming to terms with my changing appearance, and trying to accept much of it with grace and even some pride - because hey,  this old gray mare has been through quite a lot out there in the fields.  This body has grown 2 humans, given birth (the old fashioned way, and the surgical way), and nursed them for a year each.  It has also donated an organ.  I'd say this workhorse has earned her oats and should take pride in all the scars.  My husband, God bless him, is always saying how much he loves my wrinkles and my gray hair - no seriously! He says it's exciting to see that we are, indeed, growing old together.  I know it's his way of telling me that he loves how I look at any age and will think I am beautiful no matter what - but don't be fooled.  It's also his way of softening the blow for himself.  After all, he has WAY more gray hair than I do...

Crazy Like My Dad?

One of the weirdest things about turning 40 is the realization that I have VIVID memories of my parents at that age.  Of course as a young person many of us would cringe at the thought of becoming like our parents.  As I near the big birthday, I still fight off many of my parent's traits, but there is one thing that is eerily, insanely, and oddly similar.  When my Dad turned 40 he started running and ran his first marathon.  He went on to run countless more and ran his last one in his later 60's.  He also flew all the way to Japan and climbed Mount Fuji  (I think it was when he was 70, but I can't remember - madness nonetheless).  I thought he was crazy then and, oddly enough, still do now.  But now I know what causes the crazy.  At the time of his big birthday, he was overweight and stuck in a personal rut.  Nothing like a big milestone of middle age to give your head a good shake.  I think that's what did it for me - I don't want to turn 40 with bad habits in place. 
I went through a very major surgery last May and spent the next 6-8 months basically sitting on my butt and eating junk.  This isn't too different from how I lived my life before the surgery (I've NEVER been athletic), but the older I get the more obvious it is that I can't abuse my body forever.  So one day last this past January (a cold day, let me tell ya), I turned to my husband and said, "I'm going to start running - starting today.  Can you help me?".  This produced a chuckle (more of a guffaw and slight choking sound) and a skeptical "OK".  Erik has known me for 22 years and is well aware of my "fitness level".  He has also heard me mock runners relentlessly my entire life.  Why on EARTH would you choose to run??? This was my familiar refrain (that, and the overused "I only run when chased" - I liked to say that one a lot as well).  I used to be totally grossed out by my Dad  - ask anyone who knows me where my hatred and fear of feet comes from! He was sweaty and smelly all the time and he ran EVERYWHERE! As a teenager I could not escape the mortification - he was OLD!  He wore socks on his hands to keep warm! He wore goofy John McEnroe-type sweatbands that barely contained his wild man hair!! Couldn't he just go to the "old people's gym" or wherever parents went to exercise?
Well, Lord help me, now I get it.  I don't know whether to laugh or cry over the fact that I have turned out exactly like my father in this respect.  But I totally understand why I have picked up running, like my father did, at this stage in my life.  It's relatively cheap (like my Dad - and I say that with love, not scorn), unlike gym memberships.  Just put on your shoes and put one foot in front of the other.  I can do it alone at any time of the day or night, or with friends to make it social - so it's easy to fit in to my schedule.  And unlike any other form of exercise I have tried, it makes me feel completely powerful and peaceful at the same time.  I have never felt this level of personal accomplishment.  I can run 10 miles darn it!!! I want to tattoo it on my freaking forehead! Who cares if it took me 5 months to work up to it?
And just like it helped my dad with his physical and mental health, it has been life changing for me as well.  I have NEVER been this physically healthy in my life, and there is NOTHING like running mile after mile and sorting through life's stresses in your head with every step you take.  I can start a run with catastrophic thoughts of my son's problems, and end that same run with total optimism and a plan to help him with is latest challenge.  I love the solitude of doing it by myself, and the bonding produced when friends run with me.  I can feel it changing me, not just physically, but mentally as well. I work through all kinds of internal questions when I run and my mind races as fast (okay, not fast) as my feet.  I'm becoming a different person and I like who that person is, possibly for the first time in my life!
So now, 30 years or so after my Dad paved the trail, I'm getting on it and running it.  I look forward to embarrassing my children with my ridiculous winter running outfits as I train for my races.  I can't wait until they laugh at me for my ridiculous "wild woman of Borneo" hair after I take off my hats.  They can make fun of me all they want because I'm pretty sure I'm planting some kind of seed in them.  My seed took 30 years to grow - hopefully their seeds won't take as long. 
So bring on the 1/2 Marathon in November and the full 26.2 in May.  I'm ready to put my crazy on full display.  

The Biggest Challenge so far...

To be honest, there are many challenges facing me right now as I near my 40th birthday.  I have that pesky marathon to start thinking about, a lot of gray hairs appearing at an alarming speed, challenges with friendships, personal growth, my health - the list could go on and on.  However, the overwhelming challenge I face on a daily basis is how to handle all the emotions attached to raising my son Jayson, who is on the autism spectrum.  There are few people in my life who truly understand this emotional challenge - many who think they do, and are so well meaning, but they really don't get it.  Not a day passes that I am not reminded of the sadness.  Not a day passes that I don't worry about his future.  And not a day passes that I don't grieve for what could have been.  Jayson is a good kid - and he blends in fairly well with "normal" society (I use that term loosely).  I think that's why so many people don't really understand how hard it really is.  Here's a great example of how something seemingly so small, can really be indicative of a larger sense of sadness:  Yesterday Jayson came home from school and I opened his backpack to find that he had not brought home his take home packets and guided reading books - AGAIN.  We have gone over this until we are blue in the face and have even worked hard with his teachers to put a system into place at school to help him remember to stay organized.  Now, I realize that organization is something Jayson will always struggle with.  To be honest, I wasn't that mad at him.  He is doing pretty well in school academically this year and is making new friends every day (in his own awkward way).  Plus, there are plenty of 7 year olds who have yet to master their organizational skills.  The problem came when I tried to simply TALK to him about what should have come home in his backpack.  I asked many questions - did you get your packets from your teachers today? Where did you put them? Was there no homework because of the special tests you are taking this week?  Did the helper teacher check your backpack before you left? Unfortunately, Jayson is rarely able to hold a simple give and take conversation with me.  He couldn't look me in the eye and answer my questions and most of what he said was rambling and nonsensical.  It's situations like these that punch me right in the gut.  I have loved this boy for 7 years, but I have not yet had a true, heartfelt conversation with him.  He can't talk to me about his emotions, or his fears, or his dreams.  He can't even handle talking to me about simple things that happened at school! We can't joke or talk about things happening in the news.  I look around at all my friends with their kids and listen to their simple conversations that are taken for granted a million times a day.  It breaks my heart and the heart of my husband, who has said numerous times, "I just want to talk to my son!". This is what makes me sad every day.  This is my biggest challenge - how do I not let the sadness overwhelm me and overshadow all the great and wonderful things about him (and there are MANY wonderful things about Jayson to be sure).  And sadly, my greatest challenge at 40 years old will most likely continue to be my greatest one at 50 years old - and 60 years old.  The worry will never go away...

Jumping on the Bandwagon

Well, I guess 39 isn't too old to still be following the crowd.  If everyone else is going to Blog, then darn it - so am I.  I figure this is the perfect time in my life to start recording my daily insanity.  I"m turning 40 in 6 1/2 months and have been doing all kinds of introspection.  Plus, I figure if I'm going to hit middle age I'm going to hit it running - literally.  I've signed up to run a marathon next May.  Complete. Lunacy.  Should be plenty of madness to document, don't you think? Not sure who will end up reading this blog, but at least my children will have a record of my madness just in case I"m found laying on the pavement around mile 18...