tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35627248958008584232024-03-06T00:02:16.377-08:00Baby StepsLisa Jhunghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16470283981042341495noreply@blogger.comBlogger23125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562724895800858423.post-55139069474138897462012-09-18T10:13:00.000-07:002012-09-18T12:07:17.381-07:00All About Ben<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5eNI3IIxY0MdBR6nFM9XYL145ypJoaODudi8fwtMoseYCd6CZxGk0CRjt0SwIwPpIgqjE2OyXJpHIkDzyEPNP66nmh8tl7QIsbLBUHSXGUWDM3vu_eeqgsJOizcgdRSnVgCKePEhyrnbL/s1600/Ben.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5eNI3IIxY0MdBR6nFM9XYL145ypJoaODudi8fwtMoseYCd6CZxGk0CRjt0SwIwPpIgqjE2OyXJpHIkDzyEPNP66nmh8tl7QIsbLBUHSXGUWDM3vu_eeqgsJOizcgdRSnVgCKePEhyrnbL/s320/Ben.JPG" width="239" /></a></div>
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Baby Ben turned 1 on July 21…and the fact that I haven’t
written anything about it is a testament to how busy life has been.
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But this isn’t a post about juggling kids and work, workouts
and my addiction to certain reality TV shows (including, but not limited to sports). It’s about
Ben.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This happy, giggling, super-active baby boy (and his big
brother Sam) is the reason for this blog; and though it’s easy to focus on life
with kids, however many, and what weeks look like with them, this post is
purely about my little/big guy who’s getting older every day. As a tribute to
Ben, I’m simply writing out his wonderful traits:</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>happy</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>healthy</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>giggly</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>wiggly</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>loves
his big brother</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>loves
to eat</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>loves
to play in the garden, picking his own tomatoes, and eventually he’ll figure out
that the green ones don’t taste very good</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>loves
picking his own strawberries and knows to get them when Sam is in the other
part of the yard</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
- loves eating apples off the tree...a couple of bites, anyway</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>loves
throwing a ball </div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>loves to dance, and can not sit still when he hears music of any kind<br />
- loves
his blanket his Grandma Sally knitted him, and sometimes dives for it out of my
arms and into his crib</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>loves
playing with water in the bathroom sink</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>loves
playing with the hose, pretending to help me water</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>is
very proud of walking</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>likes
to climb up on the chairs at the dinner table and pretend to eat like mom, dad
and big brother Sam</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>is
pretty darn tough, considering the wrestling that goes on</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>loves
to say “uh oh”</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>loves
to throw food on the ground from his high chair and then say “uh oh”</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>likes
to use big, adult-sized spoons while eating yogurt and cottage cheese, instead
of a baby spoon</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>loves
to organize things, put things in, take things out, put things in, take things
out</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>likes
to try to blow the fluff off dandelions, like his brother Sam taught him (“pheuh”)</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>likes
to smile at me, sleepily, in my arms when I hold him before he goes to bed,
eyes at half-mast but smile at full grin</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In my next post, hopefully sooner than months away, I may go
back to writing about how I’ve resorted to 2-n-1 shampoo/conditioner for the
pure time-savings of it, and maybe the adventures of getting into <a href="http://www.cyclocrossworld.com/cyclocross">cyclocross</a>
racing and its efficient, family-friendly nature.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For now, Happy Belated Birthday, Ben.</div>
Lisa Jhunghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16470283981042341495noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562724895800858423.post-36002946278433202792012-05-08T10:56:00.000-07:002012-05-08T10:56:15.984-07:00Training for Disneyland<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_XaTt1EUuMzxbOTNf-GBFxtn4Qttem_1aiAzMS2eGWAnlt1Jmy1D5_rYgH7gkBDmsFY9YsGff_AO-4pPImpzTAugKcnvtlGH84FcG_SIgjiCKCiF37d2OJ2tRk4OUW9rCUnHS-Z00C_nk/s1600/IMG_1970.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_XaTt1EUuMzxbOTNf-GBFxtn4Qttem_1aiAzMS2eGWAnlt1Jmy1D5_rYgH7gkBDmsFY9YsGff_AO-4pPImpzTAugKcnvtlGH84FcG_SIgjiCKCiF37d2OJ2tRk4OUW9rCUnHS-Z00C_nk/s320/IMG_1970.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
I recently left Mark at home for a week and flew with Sam (turning 4 tomorrow) and Ben (turning 10 months in a couple of weeks) to San Diego to visit my family.<br />
<br />
From there, my parents, the boys and I drove to <a href="http://disneyland.disney.go.com/disneyland/">Disneyland</a> for two days, staying in a motel for a night.<br />
<br />
First, let me say that I’m one of those adults who loves Disneyland. As a kid living in Southern California, nothing was more exciting to me than a day spent at Disneyland. We'd drive up to Anaheim for birthdays, special occasions, and because my dad (now 75) loves it just as much as I do…just as much as I did as a kid.<br />
<br />
So now, with my own kids, I have this new reason (or, “excuse”), to go back to the Magic Kingdom.
But that said, taking two young kids to Disneyland without my spouse – albeit, with my parents – is no easy task…to say the least.<br />
<br />
It dawned on me mid-day: Standing in line for the Buzz Lightyear ride with both Sam and Ben, grabbing a half-eaten granola bar out of a specific pocket in my backpack -- I'd saved it and put it right there for a reason, earlier that day -- to curb a hunger meltdown, while simultaneously pulling out a toy for Ben out of a different, yet, also specific pocket in my pack without having to frantically fish around for either. All those years adventure racing made me well-prepared for things like tackling Disneyland with two young kids.<br />
<br />
For one, there’s the living out of a backpack. Snacks in one pocket, <a href="http://www.boogiewipes.com/">Boogie Wipes</a> in another. Diapers ready, plastic bag from the popcorn saved to stash stinky diaper. iPhone -- Disneyland map and wait-time for lines App installed -- in a diaper- and snack-free pocket, easy to access at any moment...just like my racing compass. (And subsequently, Sam is now interested in maps and navigating, due to the Disneyland map on my phone and memories of where rides are located.) Water bottle, sunblock, chapstick, more snacks, money, credit card, extra layers for all three of us, hats for all three of us... ready at all times, and in specific places in my bag that I can quickly access without wasting too much time, or losing my mind.<br />
<br />
Another racing skill that comes in greatly handy as a parent: Being prepared for anything that could happen (and will happen), and not wasting energy fretting about things that do. Flat tire on my mountain bike mid-race? Don’t dwell, just change it and move on. Blow-up in Ben’s pants nowhere near a bathroom? Don’t dwell, just change it and move on. I've found that rolling with the punches is fairly imperative for staying sane as a parent.<br />
<br />
Strategy also comes into play. In an adventure race, route choice is key...It's even more key at Disneyland, if you want to minimize crowds and fatigue, hitting as many checkpoints...I mean, rides...as you can before burning out completely. One of my biggest strategic moves was parking my mom in Toon Town with Ben, allowing him to crawl around for an hour and sitting her down with a cold drink while my dad, Sam and I hit the Peter Pan ride.<br />
<br />
More strategic moves, coupled with endurance on everyone's part:
My parents had taken Ben back to the motel and had gotten him to bed. (This I knew from a call made with my iPhone pulled from the right, diaper-free pocket of my bag.) Pushing Sam in the stroller at the end of the day, we walked by a food stand without a line(!). I decided right then and there that was dinner. We grabbed our hotdogs (him) and veggie sandwiches (me) to go and kept on walking. Success!<br />
<br />
Thinking we'd head back for bed, too, I returned the stroller I'd rented for Sam. But as we started walking out of the park, I realized that the opportunity to stay out late at Disneyland with Sam at his age was rare, so we turned right back around -- both of us excited -- for a couple more rides and to watch the fireworks (which was incredibly awesome).<br />
<br />
Very-tired Sam was a trooper. We (strategically) took the train around (instead of walking) to the other side of the park, and endured another line in waiting for the Astro Orbitor Rockets…And we were rewarded with views of the castle lit up at night, and all the sights and lights from high up on the ride, not to mention the fun of swooping up and down (and Sam proclaiming, "Mom! I can see everything!"). It reminded me of enduring a long trek up a mountain to be rewarded with the view, and then realizing that the journey to get there was special, too.<br />
<br />
It was an awesome trip, and I can’t wait for Ben to be old enough to enjoy things like this as much as Sam and I do. And I'm excited to maybe pass on some adventure racing skills to both of my boys so they, too, can navigate Disneyland – and life – with preparedness and a sense of adventure.
<i> </i><br />
<br />
<i>For a related post on adventure racing and family, and again being the “girl” on the team, see this <a href="http://www.skirtsports.com/blog/post.cfm/what-is-a-feminine-athlete-lisa-jhung">blog I recently wrote for Skirt Sports</a>.</i>Lisa Jhunghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16470283981042341495noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562724895800858423.post-21443844885951839992012-01-01T14:46:00.000-08:002012-01-01T15:14:09.486-08:00It's All Worth It<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmRdLY20vuGZnyvX29XjCUegG8aNraNQXlHHtlmWzZvtSPbMOoj2Nw7nmzL4vNIxZY1CScXLfg86J2RqwigDHVjEZH3ZUoae0E6lsCqHVhGcP2BeYfXgLyDXeLi5N7Td98nogWpcp5mdQ9/s1600/Marin.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmRdLY20vuGZnyvX29XjCUegG8aNraNQXlHHtlmWzZvtSPbMOoj2Nw7nmzL4vNIxZY1CScXLfg86J2RqwigDHVjEZH3ZUoae0E6lsCqHVhGcP2BeYfXgLyDXeLi5N7Td98nogWpcp5mdQ9/s200/Marin.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5692804159118375314" /></a><br />A few weeks ago, I had a 24-hour work trip where I flew to San Francisco to cover <a href="http://trailheads.runnersworld.com/2011/12/championship-weekend/">The North Face Endurance Challenge Championship 50-Miler</a>. I hadn’t flown by myself since having Ben, and as soon as I got in my car for the drive to DIA, my brain started working differently. Traveling with the kids, my mind usually cycles through thoughts of: “Do we have enough apple juice for the flight? Should I change Ben’s diaper before we get on the plane? Is Sam’s super hero bad guy toy in the outside pocket of my bag so I can get it easily? Do I have a lollipop ready to bribe Sam to stay in his seat with his seatbelt buckled until the pilot makes the 'ding' sound? Is Ben going to poop on my lap?”<br /><br />But traveling solo, my brain was free of worry, inspired by work, and full of ideas. It was a brain I hadn’t used in months. <br /><br />My giddiness increased as I drove toward the Marin headlands and Mount Tamalpais, headed for a run on one of my <a href="http://www.runnersworld.com/cda/microsite/article/0,8029,s6-238-511-0-13518-0,00.html">favorite trails of all time.</a> By myself. In 75-degree weather (have I mentioned that part?).<br /><br />Driving over the Golden Gate Bridge, I had all windows down, music blaring—I think it was Green Day, which made me feel 25 years old. <br /> <br />Anyway, my excitement carried over a little too much into my run. My postpartum return to running has been slow, cautious and calculated. But on this day, this run, I just couldn’t contain myself. I approached the top of the big climb—a view I had been craving (see photo above) and unwilling to let go unseen—I felt like I could fly right over the golden hillsides and pine forests, soaring along the Pacific…But I also felt like my body might be suffering.<br /><br />On the way back down the trail, a muscle in my shin flared up, which turned into an achy ankle and foot. Turns out I flared up an injury I’ve had off-and-on for the better part of five years. Normally, I would beat myself up over having pushed too hard, too far. I'd berate myself mentally for doing too much, thinking, "If I only hadn't gone that far." <br /><br />But—and this is new for me—I decided that the run had been worth it. I decided to do the run that day, and I decided to keep going. It was a ridiculously enjoyable afternoon...Heck, I felt like I could fly. So I'm trying to just do the physical therapy exercises, cross-train and ease back into where I was with running, and not blame myself for anything.<br /><br />And that’s a resolution: make everything worth it. I generally don’t like resolutions (why not just aim to be better every day of the year?), but this one might do me some good. Instead of over-thinking choices, regretting certain decisions, and live in an “if only I did” or "didn't" kind of mindset, I’d like to be more present. Own every decision. Live with less worry, less regrets. And I’d like to show my kids that you can remember to pack the apple juice, the super hero bad guy toy, enough diapers and a lollipop and still be a free-spirited, inspired, regret-less mom.<br /><br />Happy New Year, everyone. Hope everything you do is worth it.Lisa Jhunghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16470283981042341495noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562724895800858423.post-82713549611897313812011-11-23T10:01:00.000-08:002012-05-08T10:57:07.336-07:00Slippery Fish<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxvLHB-fXfXopQg1VK8IJ6uA96guG8KEG9QHvYT6CujcHsmoSl8F64RhIcYw4Yf1Y-r6TP2e1zltyx47gqi30g3zzEEhbdm4A9gdrS4YAxepH9GFrmeaR-330De-mnbRSoMR3CWtOyh0WK/s1600/SLipperyFish.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5679293588944453250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxvLHB-fXfXopQg1VK8IJ6uA96guG8KEG9QHvYT6CujcHsmoSl8F64RhIcYw4Yf1Y-r6TP2e1zltyx47gqi30g3zzEEhbdm4A9gdrS4YAxepH9GFrmeaR-330De-mnbRSoMR3CWtOyh0WK/s200/SLipperyFish.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 200px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 158px;" /></a><br />
Sam lately has been coming home from "school" (daycare) having learned songs. He teaches them to me, and we sing them together. The latest:<br />
<span style="font-style: italic;"><br />Slippery fish, slippery fish<br />Swimming in the water<br />Gulp, gulp,<br />Oh, no! <br />He got eaten by a tuna fish!<br /><br />Tuna fish, tuna fish<br />Swimming in the water<br />Gulp, gulp,<br />Oh, no!<br />He got eaten by a great white shark!<br /><br />Great white shark</span>...You get the idea.<br />
<br />
A couple days ago, I ran some laps around the woodsy and hilly property of my in-laws in rural Maryland. It was raining, muddy and puddly (fun). But despite waiting three months postpartum before getting back into running, my return hasn't been the issue-free comeback I was hoping for. During the run, I got the "Slippery Fish" tune stuck in my head, in Sam's little voice. But it went like this:<br />
<br />
<span style="font-style: italic;">Slippery Mom, Slippery Mom<br />Running in the water<br />Gulp, gulp.<br />Oh, no!<br />She got eaten by a <a href="http://www.bunionbusters.com/footcare/bunion.asp">bunion</a>!</span><br />
(I think due to lax joints and ligaments, my left big toe has gone a bit astray, causing a bunion. Best solution so far? <a href="http://www.sportsinjuryclinic.net/cybertherapist/front/foot/stress_fracture/strengthening.php">Strengthening my feet and ankles</a>.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-style: italic;">Silly Mom, Silly Mom<br />Running in the water<br />Gulp, gulp<br />Oh, no!<br />She got eaten by a bum left hip!</span><br />
(Perhaps due to the bunion, or the other way around, my <a href="http://www.bunionbusters.com/footcare/bunion.asp">SI Joints</a>—one loose, one tight—still seeming to cause my pelvis to rotate out of whack. Best solution so far: <a href="http://www.sportsinjuryclinic.net/cybertherapist/back/buttocks/sacroiliacr/stretching.php">stretching</a> the muscles around both my left and right SI Joint, gently <a href="http://www.sportsinjuryclinic.net/cybertherapist/back/buttocks/sacroiliacr/strengthening.php">strengthening</a> supporting muscles.)<br />
<br />
<span style="font-style: italic;">Silly Mom, Silly Mom<br />Running in the water<br />Gulp, gulp<br />Oh, no! <br />Her uterus is falling out!</span><br />
(This one, well, when I have Ben sit on my lap too much, or when my body's just out of alignment, some crazy parts of my body feel out of alignment, too. Best solution so far: fire breathing and more <a href="http://www.savingthewholewoman.com/">exercises from this program</a>.)<br />
<br />
<span style="font-style: italic;">Silly Mom, etc.<br />Oh, no!<br />Her belly is still huge!</span><br />
(And this one. My uterus either still hasn't shrunken back down, prolonged by <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dilation_and_curettage">this I had to deal with</a> at 9-weeks postpartum due to retained placenta, or I just got way stretched out carrying Ben and it's just taking a while to un-stretch. Best solution so far? Patience. Mirror-avoidance.)<br />
<span style="font-style: italic;"><br />Silly Mom...<br />Oh, no!<br />Her <a href="http://www.whattoexpect.com/pregnancy/symptoms-and-solutions/postpartum-hair-loss.aspx">hair is falling out</a>!</span><br />
(This happened after I had Sam, too, and only grew back when I got pregnant with Ben. Best solution so far? Taking supplements, including fish oil. And, hope.)<br />
<br />
I'd say it was a depressing laundry list of postpartum ailments that maybe other moms experience, too, but it wasn't all that depressing. The run was particularly pain-free, and I liked having Sam's little voice in my head. I also feel like I'm being proactive about all the ailments, and they're all getting a bit better, day-by-day. And the muddy, puddly, soggy run made me feel like a kid...and then I got to see my two silly slippery fish when I was done.Lisa Jhunghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16470283981042341495noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562724895800858423.post-53107029172441338002011-10-13T14:54:00.000-07:002011-10-14T07:42:48.110-07:00Sweaty Mama<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_ru5BrfwoGvrCDsKvXuMeF0mVZzqRnyHBJRqNCh-C6_Fs8vWzJ-DkzodO7u-c1xG0pOBTcyUG-HPtreAox1adKGRAiw24wA9nW_5wACn5wfI_m9t53NfUjB2JQ4ClRI4K8ElESTElii40/s1600/IMG_1763.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_ru5BrfwoGvrCDsKvXuMeF0mVZzqRnyHBJRqNCh-C6_Fs8vWzJ-DkzodO7u-c1xG0pOBTcyUG-HPtreAox1adKGRAiw24wA9nW_5wACn5wfI_m9t53NfUjB2JQ4ClRI4K8ElESTElii40/s200/IMG_1763.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5663098687499876210" /></a><br /><br />I ran today. I've waited, and waited, and waited, until Ben turned 12 weeks old to take even one measly running step. I'm trying to be smart with my recovery this time, and the physical therapist I've been seeing said to wait three months postpartum to run because, she says, it takes that long for your pelvis to settle (and I've had particularly shifty <a href="http://runningdoctor.runnersworld.com/2008/08/20/is-the-si-joint-the-root-of-all-evil/">SI Joint issues</a>). <br /><br />Ben turned 12 weeks today. And I've been looking forward to this day — and the beginning of reclaiming my runner self — since I was still pregnant.<br /><br />My heart raced as I drove to the trail head. Once out of the car and approaching the trail, the sky looked bluer. The trees were more golden. I must have had a ridiculous grin on my face. I was about to jump out of my skin with excitement, but instead, I hiked up the path for the first 15 minutes to warm up. Then I did it. I ran...but just for two minutes, at first. I decided to start back with a mild walk/run/walk plan to see how my postpartum and oft-injured body adjusts. I ran for two minutes, walked for one four times. Then I ran for three minutes because I just couldn't stop. Then walked for one minute, ran for one minute three more times. It was 14 glorious minutes of running, total, during my 40-minute outing. I felt like I was flying, but I was probably running somewhere around a 12-minute-mile pace.<br /><br />How'd it feel? Parts of my body creaked and crackled. I was aware of my still-not-flat belly, but the bliss of movement and semi-running on the trail on a 70-degree day put that right out of my head. I was so happy, that I sat through an hour-long session at the dentist office right afterward (changed clothes in the car) and didn't even mind it.<br /><br />I was a sweaty mama, which made me a happy mama. I'm hoping to continue the progress.Lisa Jhunghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16470283981042341495noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562724895800858423.post-23756074900162927152011-08-18T13:43:00.000-07:002011-10-13T09:11:03.594-07:00Patience<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQZh21xzoHB7kym3jjfvN2jBbMzGY5JZGwZ-E06Js_pNwaVs_Yq1kvl7HHDvXa8FS2MYLpuSGqeRUKzUfbVJ1-kCiaoI9ai3WODeBRIQwSKwFxjvm4DRmbIJHgKGxHwkOve3tsAw6owE4r/s1600/262557_2069013679635_1073630628_2369026_7299625_n.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQZh21xzoHB7kym3jjfvN2jBbMzGY5JZGwZ-E06Js_pNwaVs_Yq1kvl7HHDvXa8FS2MYLpuSGqeRUKzUfbVJ1-kCiaoI9ai3WODeBRIQwSKwFxjvm4DRmbIJHgKGxHwkOve3tsAw6owE4r/s200/262557_2069013679635_1073630628_2369026_7299625_n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5642305708156931458" /></a><br />Patience is a virtue of which I wish I had more. <br /><br />Yes, I birthed baby Ben four weeks ago today. Creating — and then birthing — the human that he is took its toll on my body, that's for sure. And I know it takes a while to recover and feel...normal again.<br /><br />But man, am I antsy. <br /><br />I was feeling pretty good the first two weeks we were home. We'd go on family walks in the neighborhood. Sometimes I'd be carrying Ben in my arms, sometimes we'd be pushing the stroller. All-in-all, I was surprised at how good I felt following the natural delivery, and I seemed to be on-track for a better/quicker recovery than I had after birthing Sam.<br /><br />But then two weeks postpartum, I followed the advice of <a href="http://www.womens-running.com/article/0,7120,s6-238-275-559-13643-0,00.html">an article written by...me</a>. The physical therapist I interviewed had given the guideline of doing push-ups and planks during weeks two to four postpartum. So, anxious to get feeling strong and like an athlete again, two weeks to the day, I did 15 "girl" push-ups on my knees. Then I did 10 more. Then, I did a plank for 20 seconds. No big deal. Neither the push-ups or the plank bothered me while I was doing them. <br /><br />My arms weren't sore. My abs weren't sore. My pecs felt fine. But, I ached. I kind of felt like my uterus was going to fall out.<br /><br />I didn't follow the most important part of that article, or, of any exercise-based guidelines of any sort: Listen to your body, and consult your doctor (my doctor later scolded me). Turns out, my body wasn't ready for push-ups and planks. <br /><br />I've since seen a physical therapist specializing in pelvic floor muscles, and pelvic alignment. I've had the issue of my pelvis rotating and causing pain in my left hip, and I think the push-ups strained some muscles and made me rotate yet again, pulling on some other muscles and causing the ache. <br /><br />I'm more aligned now, and feeling a bit better, but have had to slow down. I'm just today getting back to going on mellow walks around the neighborhood.<br /><br />As someone who's used to controlling a part of my day, my mood, and how my body feels by exercise, this is hard for me. I'm really anxious to get out on hikes, swim laps in the pool, lift weights, ride my bike and really work hard. Heck, I'd be happy even doing a few push-ups a day without wrecking myself.<br /><br />The good news is that the walk today felt okay. And more good news is that baby Ben is doing great, four weeks-old today. And big brother Sam loves having Ben around, and is, so far, a super-awesome big brother (see pic above). <br /><br />I'm just hoping to walk a little further each day, feeling good. And eventually I'll be able to break into a run. Patience, patience.Lisa Jhunghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16470283981042341495noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562724895800858423.post-41064804023137011902011-07-28T14:59:00.000-07:002011-07-28T16:18:02.165-07:00Meet Ben<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioyYDKr4hOAlti9VOg9Lc-r3qj7iySbyyTIDfUXnhP6uT3kCVT-CPvQ6vn7jpJ8AtIU9-3UyR7MCmmJ32Gjs7kshSJyfItdCkxHFtz6LnKJkpfBC6NcuRcDV-NQaM0hEnvAhjpedIhZr4b/s1600/BenDay2.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioyYDKr4hOAlti9VOg9Lc-r3qj7iySbyyTIDfUXnhP6uT3kCVT-CPvQ6vn7jpJ8AtIU9-3UyR7MCmmJ32Gjs7kshSJyfItdCkxHFtz6LnKJkpfBC6NcuRcDV-NQaM0hEnvAhjpedIhZr4b/s200/BenDay2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5634533040349073874" border="0" /></a><br />A week ago today, I gave birth to my new baby boy, Ben. And here's how it all went down:<br /><br />I was six days past my due date, with a looming induction scheduled for the next morning. I spent that Wednesday tearing my hair out between what I thought were more Braxton Hicks contractions, trying to decide if I was going to keep the induction scheduled, or cancel it and see if my body would go into labor on its own for another week. Sam had been two weeks late, and I had to get induced with him. I was really hoping to have a different kind of experience this time.<br /><br />I did.<br /><br />That Wednesday evening, I had pretty much decided I was going to cancel the induction. Sam got on his bike, and Mark, Sam's grandparents (Mark's parents) and I took a walk to the playground...with me waddling and having to stop every so often with a contraction. I laid down by the swing set, my head resting on Sam's helmet. We walked home and had dinner.<br /><br />After dinner, I took a bath and watched some TV, still having contractions, but not regularly enough to know if it was really labor.<br /><br />But about 9:30, I started timing them again on my lap counter (timing contractions is a good use of the lap counter, I've found!) as I tried to go to bed.<br /><br />Three contractions, 11 minutes apart. Hmm. Three more contractions, 9 minutes and 30 seconds apart. OK, maybe this is labor. The next contraction was stronger than any of them had been. Me: "I think we're going to the hospital." A quick call to the nurse, a nudge to the grandparents who were thankfully sleeping at our house, a quick kiss on Sam's cheek as he slept, and we were out the door.<br /><br />Nineteen minutes later (a speed record my husband is very proud of), we were at the hospital, and upon being checked in around 11:30p.m., I was 7.5 cm dilated. WUHOO!<br /><br />I told the nurse that I'd love to have the baby naturally, but was open to the epidural and hadn't really decided yet. But since I was so far along, I decided to go without it for a while. A half hour or 45 minutes later, I was 8.5 cm dilated. An hour later, and with increasing pain and moaning per contraction, I was still 8.5. I was playing mind games with myself to manage the pain.<br /><br />Each contraction was about 90-seconds long, I think, which was about 25 quick breaths so I was counting them out in my head, knowing that by the 25th, it'd be over. And I was picturing each contraction as running a 400 as hard as I could, feeling like I just might barf or fall over (I like speed work) when coming around the final bend, but knowing I'd be able to stop and recover once I crossed the line. And in between contractions, I went to Kauai in my brain. Warm air, clear ocean, green grass. That helped, despite the tsunami that I knew was coming...another contraction.<br /><br />The doctor came in just after 1a.m. and said she could break my water, which she thought would help it along, to which I quickly agreed.<br /><br />Water broken, three painful contractions about three minutes apart, and within nine minutes I was screaming, "I'M PUSHING!"<br /><br />And from there I became a wild animal, screaming louder than I ever thought possible and probably scaring the rest of the labor and delivery patients to get every pain drug possible.<br /><br />I screamed with every contraction, and I think it sounded like...well, like I was birthing an 8-and-a-half-pound human out my body. When the doctor and nurses came in and wanted me to move this way and that, I was thrashing about so badly that one nurse had to grab my head and tell me to focus.<br /><br />I did focus, between screams, and about 15 minutes of pushing gave me my baby boy Ben. Hallelujah.<br /><br />Immediately after, I wanted to break it all down, play-by-play, with Mark because I just couldn't believe what had just happened...something I find myself doing after a big race. Mark, on the other hand, was speechless.Lisa Jhunghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16470283981042341495noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562724895800858423.post-73897302796041797692011-07-12T12:41:00.000-07:002011-07-19T13:25:04.466-07:00Waiting for Godot<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidhIpvPmDjnwtcqyuTQSjWhu8ff1gOoFZPgQ4NSqgsGn89LeFIS96Owq1Ogg8kbJGq9NBuijMfA8iyFGwwREZxdhYlypEoxK-ffJXW94FYgGryuIgoHrXAYNtuoffhSCTC4iWNSQgc9PL5/s1600/photo.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidhIpvPmDjnwtcqyuTQSjWhu8ff1gOoFZPgQ4NSqgsGn89LeFIS96Owq1Ogg8kbJGq9NBuijMfA8iyFGwwREZxdhYlypEoxK-ffJXW94FYgGryuIgoHrXAYNtuoffhSCTC4iWNSQgc9PL5/s200/photo.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631161176752165810" border="0" /></a><br />I'm in that strange state of waiting. Waiting for my body to go into labor, for this baby to emerge and join us, to meet this child, to see how life unfolds with a new addition. To say the least, it's a strange state to be in, and I feel like it's all a bit abstract, surreal.<br /><br />Some women can run eight or 10 or whatever miles the final days of their pregnancy, forever holding the badge of honor that allows them to say, "I ran 12 miles the morning I gave birth!"<br /><br />Not me. My activity, these days...now at <a href="http://www.whattoexpect.com/pregnancy/week-by-week/week-41.aspx">40 weeks and five days pregnant</a>, looks like this:<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">- Yoga</span>: I do some light, prenatal yoga poses in my living room while watching the <a href="http://velonews.competitor.com/">Tour de France</a>. I have a routine, pulled from this great <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Prenatal-Yoga-Deck-Poses-Meditations/dp/0811836525">Prenatal Yoga Deck</a>, that takes me about 20 minutes. And I usually combine this with one of the following activities. (It's rarely the only exercise I'll do in a day.)<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">- Aqua Jogging: </span>I grab my blue foam thing and do 30-40 minutes of <a href="http://gear.runnersworld.com/2011/06/my-blue-foam-thing.html">aqua jogging</a> in the deep end of an outdoor pool, looking for drowning bees and lady bugs to toss ashore to dry land.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">- Swimming: </span>I'm swimming laps every few days. While I used to do sessions that totaled 2,000 to 2,500 yards, with hard interval sets within, these days I'm swimming a mellow 1,100 to 1,300 yards total. I alternate between swimming freestyle, pulling with a pull-buoy (which is easier on my round ligaments and supporting abdominal muscles than swimming without the buoy), swimming about 100 meters breast stroke (which doesn't always feel great on my adductors and hips), and kicking with the kickboard for 100 meters. It's the last 100, with the kickboard, that I think I need to stop doing. I'm having a hard time getting out of the pool at the end of my swims. My round ligaments/supporting muscles contract and ache when I'm trying to scale the ladder to get out.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />- Prenatal Pilates: </span>For months, I was joining a few other pregnant moms for a great, 60-minute <a href="http://pilates.about.com/od/pilatesforeverybody/a/pregnancyBasics.htm">prenatal pilates</a> class. I'm a little too uncomfortable getting into positions to continue the class right now, but did it up to my 39th week.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">- Elliptical/Gym Workout: </span>For the last few months, I was doing 30 to 40 minutes on the elliptical, once and sometimes twice a week. I'd do five minutes on level 1, resting my hands on the bars, 5 minutes using my arms (like taffy). Five minutes on level 2 while resting my hands, 5 minutes being a piece of taffy. Five minutes on level 3, no arms, five minutes of taffy. Cool down. Then I lifted 8-lb. free weights, doing bicep curls, upright rows and shoulder extensions. Then using one weight for tricep extensions. I do my 20-minute yoga routine, and do squats against the wall leaning my back against a fit ball for support.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">- Recumbent Bike/Gym Workout: </span>Yesterday, the 8-minute walk to the gym didn't feel great, so when I got there I opted for the recumbent bike over the elliptical. The seated position cramped my low-lying baby just a tad, but it seemed more comfortable that sitting on a bike seat. I did that for 25 minutes until the baby shifted and I had to pee so badly I made a mad dash for the Ladies'...then I did the weights and yoga like in the above workout.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">- Hiking. </span>My husband and I hit a local, semi-steep but totally emergency-vehicle-accessible (just in case) trail over the weekend. I waddled slowly, he walked next to me, carrying my water. We were out about an hour, but probably hiked 45 minutes.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">- Walking.</span> We take walks around the neighborhood, though this doesn't feel as good on my body as getting in the pool.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">- Weeding. </span>I've been working in the garden quite a bit, imagining being a farm worker 100 years ago with one baby on my back, one in my uterus, tending to the fields until my water breaks. It's hard work, but it hasn't made labor happen yet.<br /><br />So you see, I'm not one of those women who can claim to have run miles the morning of giving birth. While I'm trying to stay active for the sake of my body, and my mind, my activity is a little more...on the light side.<br /><br />But staying active in these ways, however random—aqua jogging, pulling weeds and Tour-de-France yoga—definitely helps me stay a tiny bit sane as I <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Waiting_for_Godot">wait for baby Godot</a>.Lisa Jhunghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16470283981042341495noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562724895800858423.post-34518477517745971162011-06-30T13:42:00.000-07:002011-06-30T14:29:26.851-07:00Maybe it's a Powder Day<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTfUlFcPPOyRLOnG7x3eemWflYShkwKjgkgI1Sg2dJIVIqZ0B7uTjhQxAetUOTq2LsowaAkT6cA2QAiCLvRhsrMkUDdQX0vxfm3Fjv-LNu3QrPX4Ao3Z5pBFmRLDe_HAfg3-l9VsTWVLyd/s1600/iStock_000014869988XSmall.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 132px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTfUlFcPPOyRLOnG7x3eemWflYShkwKjgkgI1Sg2dJIVIqZ0B7uTjhQxAetUOTq2LsowaAkT6cA2QAiCLvRhsrMkUDdQX0vxfm3Fjv-LNu3QrPX4Ao3Z5pBFmRLDe_HAfg3-l9VsTWVLyd/s200/iStock_000014869988XSmall.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5624127263323604914" border="0" /></a><br />This baby really <a href="http://www.whattoexpect.com/pregnancy/week-by-week/week-38.aspx">could come at any second</a>, and I admit, I am not a big fan of labor. I have not forgotten the pain of the last time I went through it, nor have I forgotten the wonderful end result: my Sam. (<a href="http://babysteps.runnersworld.com/2008/05/ok-here-goes.html">For the birth story, read here</a>),<br /><br />With Sam, I had every intention of having a natural labor and delivery. I ended up with a very different experience and in the situation I was in, I do not regret getting the epidural when I did.<br /><br />I do find it interesting that either getting an epidural or other drugs, versus having your baby completely naturally, is such a polarizing topic. Being an athlete with nature-girl sensibilities, I always thought I'd have a natural childbirth...but that's just not what happened the first time around. And I'm still on the fence of how I'll approach labor this time.<br /><br />I've been reading <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Magical-Beginnings-Enchanted-Deepak-Chopra/dp/0517702207/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1309468007&sr=8-1"><span style="font-style: italic;">"Magical Beginnings, Enchanted Lives: A Holistic Guide to Pregnancy and Childbirth"</span></a> by Deepak Chopra, in an effort to ease my fears of labor, and to embrace the earthiness of being a pregnant woman (instead of focusing on <a href="http://nextbabysteps.blogspot.com/2011/05/warning-cranky-pregnant-lady-post.html">hating my husband's mountain bike</a>).<br /><br />I came across a section in the book called, "The Birthing Experience," which laid out the differences between getting an epidural and not like so: <span style="font-style: italic;">"Imagine yourself standing at the bottom of the mountain with two paths to the top. One path takes you to a chairlift that goes up the mountain, while the other path leads to a hiking trail." </span><br /><br />At this point in reading, my blood started to boil a little. I read on:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"Both will get you to the top of the mountain, and each provides you with a unique and memorable experience. The chairlift provides an enjoyable and thrilling ride with little effort or pain. On the chairlift, you will be looking down at the experience and enjoying the scenery.<br /></span><br />Um...I had an epidural, and I did not simply look down and enjoy the scenery. I put out a lot of effort, was in a lot of pain, and barfed every few minutes for hours. <span style="font-style: italic;"></span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br />"The hike up will be strenuous and challenging, as you are involved with every aspect of the journey. Upon reaching the summit, you will experience a sense of accomplishment."</span><br /><br />OK. So this is saying that birthing a baby with an epidural does not give a mom a sense of accomplishment? That the only athletic way to approach labor is to deny any drugs?<br /><br />I am an athlete. I have always chosen to hike a trail, rather than to take a chairlift...for the reasons mentioned. I like strenuous. I like challenging. I choose to be involved with every aspect of my journeys. I dig the sense of accomplishment. This metaphor didn't sit well with me.<br /><br />I thought about it for a few days, and while the analogy still bugs me, I had a revelation:<br /><br />The only time I would ever choose to take a chairlift over hiking up a mountain is <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_mHn79yNOgk">on a powder day</a>, when getting the first run on a patch of fresh snow on a snowboard is a glorious, wonderful, all-out fantastic end result...totally worth hopping on the chairlift.<br /><br />And maybe this baby is my powder day.<br /><br />We'll see. But I don't think women are lesser athletes, or, people, for that matter, whether they get an epidural or not.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">* PS. If you're interested, </span><a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://babysteps.runnersworld.com/2008/04">here's the link to the Runner's World blog</a><span style="font-style: italic;"> I wrote three years ago, at this exact stage in pregnancy, with Sam. </span>Lisa Jhunghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16470283981042341495noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562724895800858423.post-89467226296375704992011-06-23T14:06:00.000-07:002011-06-23T14:29:10.680-07:00Full-Term Dude Onboard<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbkaGUoKPwCYmbwMDt73BVd7am_uWuPwPWt9qn-Kc37jFyyBXwfp4LS68k4sMSEGwg2ltTckG04Kt4zyesdNd6KeQQ2iHqwI2x3vRLtf-0UMCeqYZlSE1D59CkcypxKhBXhWpfPVlzcyJj/s1600/photo.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbkaGUoKPwCYmbwMDt73BVd7am_uWuPwPWt9qn-Kc37jFyyBXwfp4LS68k4sMSEGwg2ltTckG04Kt4zyesdNd6KeQQ2iHqwI2x3vRLtf-0UMCeqYZlSE1D59CkcypxKhBXhWpfPVlzcyJj/s200/photo.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621529577903388946" border="0" /></a><br />As of today, I've got a full-term baby in there. I'm happy that I've made it to <a href="http://www.whattoexpect.com/pregnancy/week-by-week/week-37.aspx">37 weeks</a> safely, and that it seems the baby within would be fine, should he (yes, he's a "he") choose to join us today or anytime soon.<br /><br />For weeks, around the time I posted the last entry and for a time after that, I was really, really ready to get this baby out of my body. I looked forward to each Thursday, when another week would have passed and I'd be closer to having a full-term baby. I asked friends and friends-of-friends, with keen interest, about their babies who were born early. "How early was it? And how was the baby? Are they totally healthy now?" I was just ready to be on the other side of weight gain, discomfort and limited activity.<br /><br />Funny, but my tune has changed.<br /><br />I'm still ready to not be pregnant anymore, for the most part, but I'm more content in my current state than I've been.<br /><br />For one, I've realized that once this baby boy comes out, things are going to be pretty nutty around here. I'll return to sleepless nights of feedings and baby-crying, caring for a newborn. (And part of me wonders if I'll remember how to do all that.) And this time, I have a three-year-old toddler in the house to care for, too.<br /><br />And about that toddler, I worry about him and the transition to being a big brother. And I worry about not getting to spend the time with him that I love, playing at the pool (<a href="http://www.babycenter.com/404_when-can-i-start-walking-swimming-and-doing-other-low-impact_1156153.bc">four to six weeks postpartum</a> to get back into chlorine? Bummer!) and running around...though, granted, my running-around has been less-so in these last few months. I know I'll be tied to baby for a while, though I'm definitely going to do my best to dedicate some special time to my little Sam-buddy.<br /><br />Another realization is that...I have a lot to get done before this baby is born! The room isn't nearly ready. I'm trying to get ahead in work. The more I get ahead, the less crazed I'll be once baby arrives.<br /><br />Plus, I know how life works for me right now. Three days a week, Sam is at daycare and I am home working. I go to the outdoor pools by myself and swim or aqua jog. I pull weeds when I need a work break. I can run errands. I relax once in a while. On the days I have Sam at home, we go to the gym daycare for a bit, and I get a workout in. We go downtown and play in the squirty fountain. We go to the pool and swim and giggle and eat snacks in a lawn chair, wrapped in towels. We take naps. Ah, naps. I know what time he goes to bed, and I know what time he wakes up. We're in a family routine, for now.<br /><br />I've always been nostalgic and apprehensive of change. And once the changes come (hello, Sam!), I'm ecstatic with the new addition to my life...and I know that will come.<br /><br />I guess my point is, I'm just not in a hurry anymore. And with Sam being two weeks late, I suppose this labor thing could happen anytime from later today, until five weeks from now. We'll see. Oh, and labor...Can't say I'm looking forward to going through that again...But more on that later!Lisa Jhunghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16470283981042341495noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562724895800858423.post-70451217936427214692011-05-23T11:29:00.001-07:002011-05-23T13:01:51.019-07:00Warning: Cranky, Pregnant-lady Post Ahead<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW67JBiZZ6YGkq2aNigTuYkBbT1ekB-yIYVBfWc4pakYSDzqVBofmZhh1BIiY3-CELJUjq1s52SPT4i2q1nyAdO9NibaNucbfP_U9zqXa4y6gspiLLSfBetyqnaHT_rayJZl2W8wmHSt6L/s1600/photo.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW67JBiZZ6YGkq2aNigTuYkBbT1ekB-yIYVBfWc4pakYSDzqVBofmZhh1BIiY3-CELJUjq1s52SPT4i2q1nyAdO9NibaNucbfP_U9zqXa4y6gspiLLSfBetyqnaHT_rayJZl2W8wmHSt6L/s200/photo.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5609993014488640258" border="0" /></a><br />I've been a little bitter lately. Okay, maybe a lot bitter. It's just that—and here I go on a rant—my husband has been training for mountain bike races this spring. Last Friday, he loaded up the car with his bike and two day's full of toys and drove to the mountains with some friends to race.<br /><br />I, on the other hand, was home and in my twelfth day of having a head cold/sinus infection. My muscles and ligaments that support baby number two have been so achy and painful in the last few weeks, that I haven't been able to run, and hiking and walking have also hurt. I couldn't swim when I had the head cold, so I wasn't getting to move in that way, either. And (still complaining here), when I garden, which is usually a stress-relieving activity for me ("You're mine, weed!"), my low back clicks after squatting on my little stool for 10 minutes, and my pelvis hurts.<br /><br />Plus(!), I'm getting bigger by the second, or so it feels.<br /><br />I'll be <a href="http://www.whattoexpect.com/pregnancy/week-by-week/week-33.aspx">33 weeks</a> this Thursday. I realize I'm in the homestretch in what is way-more-than-likely my last pregnancy. And I know the weight will come off after, and I'll be back to being more active (which, I realize, is going to take skills in time management). It's just that it's been hard for me, lately, to do the things that make me feel more...normal.<br /><br />And Mark, though his body hasn't changed at all in the last eight months, ALSO gets a baby out of all this.<br /><br />That weekend he was off racing bikes, Sam and I managed okay. We played with friends, ate pizza together, had a good time overall.<br /><br />I'm back to swimming now. And my doctor, after lightly pushing on my lower abdomen an me screeching in pain, has advised me to <a href="http://www.runnersworld.com/article/1,7120,s6-238-275--13651-0,00.html">wear a support belt</a>. I wasn't wearing it for months, thinking it was "tricking" my body into feeling more supported than it was. But, I've been wearing it again, and it does make me feel better.<br /><br />I'm back on the elliptical once in a while (which still makes me feel like a piece of taffy). I'm lifting weights, swimming again, aqua jogging occasionally, riding the recumbent bike at the gym, hiking with the support belt (the steeper, the better, for me), doing <a href="http://pilates.about.com/od/pilatesforeverybody/a/pregnancyBasics.htm">prenatal pilates</a> once a week and prenatal yoga once a week (and trying to hike/walk or do something else light on those days). I probably take one day a week where I'm just gardening, but that, lately, involves digging deep holes, carrying stuff around the yard, raking, weeding...pretty active stuff that seems like a bit of a workout.<br /><br />So, things aren't really so bad. And, you know? I feel a little less bitter after venting about it. (Thanks!)<br /><br />And there's always the little face of now-3-year-old Sam, above, that makes me smile, no matter how bitter I'm feeling.Lisa Jhunghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16470283981042341495noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562724895800858423.post-74163907227782854092011-03-28T08:27:00.000-07:002011-03-29T08:06:45.366-07:00Round Two<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj49rJyN0wQhXlYWecuWuoHjZuGRkk864i8XGnCDzB1r0VSLVqkB4PAzB3Vgx1xAu1jvUzefZAz3HY7TkBzh9bYwmKAhNos_Jk-AWiUbf0IhLwandTab2jdz7fvjmHk-fQXu1w0o2xzpwHw/s1600/Baby2_13wks_hiDef2.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 158px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj49rJyN0wQhXlYWecuWuoHjZuGRkk864i8XGnCDzB1r0VSLVqkB4PAzB3Vgx1xAu1jvUzefZAz3HY7TkBzh9bYwmKAhNos_Jk-AWiUbf0IhLwandTab2jdz7fvjmHk-fQXu1w0o2xzpwHw/s200/Baby2_13wks_hiDef2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589156612573415522" border="0" /></a><br />We debated trying to have two kids, or being content—and settling into a routine that had gotten easier with full-nights of sleep, transitioning out of diapers, cruising around with a little dude—with one. Mark had wanted another kid since about the time we got home from the hospital with Sam (to which I said, "Don't even talk to me about that.") But, last fall, he seemed to change his tune, thinking one would be fine.<br /><br />I had been on the mindset of not wanting to go through pregnancy again, and, wondering how on earth we'd manage two as active parents who like to travel. And I was getting back into racing, feeling pretty good.<br /><br />But something in me changed. For one, I hurt my foot with an odd, acute case of plantar fasciitis-like pain from racing a sprint triathlon last September. Secondly, someone I know emailed me a picture of her sons—one Sam's age, and a baby brother a few months old—holding hands in the back seat of their car. It made me cry.<br /><br />Not long after, we were pregnant (see pic of an early ultrasound).<br /><br />I'm happy to say that we still are. I turned <a href="http://www.whattoexpect.com/pregnancy/week-by-week/week-24.aspx">six months</a>, or, 24 weeks, this past Thursday. It did take me a few weeks...months, maybe, to wrap my head around the fact that we'd be having two. And it'll still take me every moment—even once this baby is born—to truly get used to the newer, crazier life. But, we feel happy, and lucky, and know we're in for a new level of insanity <span style="font-style: italic;">and</span> a new level of family love.<br /><br />Aside from the first four months serving up daily afternoon dizziness, nausea and extreme fatigue, I've been feeling pretty good this time around. A couple of months ago, about when the afternoon-sickness was ending, I got really achy from a mellow 40-minute run in the snow. It seemed like the same lower abdomen and abductor muscles and surrounding ligaments giving me pains that I had at six or seven months...<a href="http://babysteps.runnersworld.com/2007/12">at least five months</a>, and I was only at four months. That was a bummer.<br /><br />I've since been mostly running slowly uphill, and hiking down...shuffling down or on flats when I feel like it. I do this once or twice a week, and that's been okay for me, as a runner. Other days, I'm swimming and loving that (though, wondering how long I'll do flip-turns), sometimes aqua jogging, riding a bike at the gym and lifting weights, and sometimes pulling Sam in the Chariot for a 45-minute ride around town. I'm also doing a <a href="http://pilates.about.com/od/pilatesforeverybody/a/pregnancyBasics.htm">prenatal pilates</a> class, which seems to be helping me feel better. Occasionally, I do a prenatal yoga class, or do some moves on my own. I was skate skiing once a week, but it's been probably a month since I've been up to the Nordic center to do that (it felt <span style="font-style: italic;">great</span>, though, when I did).<br /><br />So that's the news. The fact that it took me so long to post it here is testament to how busy life has been...with just one child! I'll try to post more through the rest of pregnancy, and to report on how nutty it is with two!<br /><br />(Sam turns three in May; Baby #2 is due on July 14.)Lisa Jhunghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16470283981042341495noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562724895800858423.post-55791133724953666942010-11-02T09:31:00.000-07:002010-11-02T11:54:17.116-07:00Summer of Love<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0SeLAWURQJcyYIxRFZXzEIP6hzy130G2bChXW-KwrucGcwU0WmNmGCK05BvV0duAdxYTGYal-4M4fUU-wIhoa4KVkYvP1VUALZ9CQnDFHTeThKd5zFQ8R01w3gzRU0EPT-r3hFrEzS77V/s1600/IMG_1287.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0SeLAWURQJcyYIxRFZXzEIP6hzy130G2bChXW-KwrucGcwU0WmNmGCK05BvV0duAdxYTGYal-4M4fUU-wIhoa4KVkYvP1VUALZ9CQnDFHTeThKd5zFQ8R01w3gzRU0EPT-r3hFrEzS77V/s200/IMG_1287.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534996730327585730" border="0" /></a><br />I realize that it's November 2nd. I've been meaning to write about summer adventures with Sam since, well, my last post in August when it was actually still summer.<br /><br />Anyway, with <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm0UTi_3B48VjsFc31N-_LvljyS_f3YWnM5VmTlDv2yhQDTdk0DoiX7ZSmFxjDvZ8FS-85Hk_o0A_Uf7_TIAXnxC4IgRbGGJAg1Kp3PYP0-E5QDSLvD9_z78A74nttyUrgpjPZq92jfmrP/s1600/IMG_1026.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm0UTi_3B48VjsFc31N-_LvljyS_f3YWnM5VmTlDv2yhQDTdk0DoiX7ZSmFxjDvZ8FS-85Hk_o0A_Uf7_TIAXnxC4IgRbGGJAg1Kp3PYP0-E5QDSLvD9_z78A74nttyUrgpjPZq92jfmrP/s200/IMG_1026.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534998986663630162" border="0" /></a>Sam turning two last May, I guess part of me feared what everybody calls the <a href="http://www.suite101.com/content/coping-with-terrible-twos-a272342">"terrible twos."</a> They really haven't come yet. Instead, I felt (and still feel) like now that Sam is two and two+, I have this little buddy to hang out with. He's active, mobile, has a great little personality shining through, and can communicate with me in his funny little ways.<br /><br />Over the summer, my little buddy and I did fun kid stuff together like ride the <a href="http://chariotcarriers.com/english/html/full_product_line.php">Chariot</a> (which, set up to my old <a href="http://mountainbike.about.com/od/buyersguideandreviews/f/twentyniners.htm">29er mountain bike</a>, is dubbed the "Mama Mobile" by me, and "Mom's Bike" by Sam) to go to the outdoor community pool. There, we'd play on the slide, swim in the pool, wrap ourselves in towels and sit in lounge chairs eating popsicles.<br /><br />We rode t<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuuMMt1kFe1LyoPPAuj-9M3uPEmeZAxoNl3HsyilHwF8IIpbO1L-lqwnwFfEnvvIXo01EqG1iQIEdB_MyTQFGxLAXxJPcESnT7TSFalamC02JetZHS8f8FjI449bG80Yakm1PuQa0DQ27_/s1600/IMG_1256.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuuMMt1kFe1LyoPPAuj-9M3uPEmeZAxoNl3HsyilHwF8IIpbO1L-lqwnwFfEnvvIXo01EqG1iQIEdB_MyTQFGxLAXxJPcESnT7TSFalamC02JetZHS8f8FjI449bG80Yakm1PuQa0DQ27_/s200/IMG_1256.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534997756786863746" border="0" /></a>he Mama Mobile downtown Boulder, and took the free train ride. We took long walks through the Community Garden with our dog Hannah, and picked cherry tomatoes ("nomaynos"). In our own garden, Sam sat on a chair in the shade eating a popsicle in the afternoon, and I'd bring him peas from the garden. Late in the summer, we dug up carrots and ate those, too.<br /><br />We had a breakthrough with him liking vegetables this summer, and I'm certain it's because it's fun to pick them from a garden and eat them.<br /><br />We walked, and Sam rode his <a href="http://www.stridersports.com/">Strider bike</a>, to the playground often. We rode "geen bike" (it's green) to the stream by our house and threw rocks in the water, <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLtCvv34J54TBTMqYxebQjDWszNACmI-yTWMMJ7Mpudqm-2JBuJlkb3BUXG3LBRfKVd4O2ju-45W73I94XBlPODE_L_O42RmeWPKpTEyE6J9vc8Hkyr4KonpUpdWcJw5Lc9AQqyMxDHSI9/s1600/IMG_1033.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLtCvv34J54TBTMqYxebQjDWszNACmI-yTWMMJ7Mpudqm-2JBuJlkb3BUXG3LBRfKVd4O2ju-45W73I94XBlPODE_L_O42RmeWPKpTEyE6J9vc8Hkyr4KonpUpdWcJw5Lc9AQqyMxDHSI9/s200/IMG_1033.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534999172664176002" border="0" /></a>and let Hannah cool off by going for a swim.<br /><br />We visited with family on a lake on the east coast, and family on the beach on the west coast. It's particularly fun for me to see him play in the waves and love sand. And it turns out he loves food from my favorite cheap taco stand in San Diego, too. We'd get lunch to go, bring it to the beach, and play there all day.<br /><br />Maybe what all this is really telling me is that, in a lot of ways, I am still a kid at heart and love doing all the things that my child loves to do. But it's also that I just love sharing things with him, and seeing him explore and discover. And it seems that hanging out with him on days he's not in daycare (whe<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju_iKR7Lnt7lRSkpzRcnFK2MP-iAC6lQGZ_ANSVQVdZXv-AK0gl5auRBX_r1z-Pn467cA2BEmz4Ca5V3aeUv1mDp94vISVx328Ai4Qa6C_PeVz-apqk5QNERQbYB9wI1VByqZa9UxDE_-a/s1600/IMG_1310.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju_iKR7Lnt7lRSkpzRcnFK2MP-iAC6lQGZ_ANSVQVdZXv-AK0gl5auRBX_r1z-Pn467cA2BEmz4Ca5V3aeUv1mDp94vISVx328Ai4Qa6C_PeVz-apqk5QNERQbYB9wI1VByqZa9UxDE_-a/s200/IMG_1310.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534998050898604834" border="0" /></a>n I'm working) adds fun and balance to my week in a way I never would have known without him. It kind of forces me to slow down and...play.<br /><br />So maybe the terrible twos will come. Maybe we'll have terrible threes. But for now, well into fall after a fully fun summer, two is pretty terrific.Lisa Jhunghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16470283981042341495noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562724895800858423.post-46542287616830486842010-08-17T12:57:00.001-07:002010-08-17T20:21:58.958-07:00Confessions of a Traveling Mom<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNux39PvGYKQM-zPnwiEhpAKKj0BRlCz3PJ_GZEChngT0fvaDt9MJU-zpoMhyD1tnBy0A6I-LYrRUaibiTrc2jLEXrVEb1vxMjS4I6TkUDN_qSGsYpYQuQ9twqVTk7yInFRRZCfCbkTLBI/s1600/IMG_2752.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNux39PvGYKQM-zPnwiEhpAKKj0BRlCz3PJ_GZEChngT0fvaDt9MJU-zpoMhyD1tnBy0A6I-LYrRUaibiTrc2jLEXrVEb1vxMjS4I6TkUDN_qSGsYpYQuQ9twqVTk7yInFRRZCfCbkTLBI/s200/IMG_2752.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506474126632449346" border="0" /></a><br />I have a confession to make: I went on an 8-day trip to the Alps. Without my son or husband. And I liked it.<br /><br />Let me clarify/justify: It was a work trip, and I did almost cancel the trip when I figured out it was eight days long. I had agreed to go when I thought it was a six-day trip, and even that seemed long to me. The longest I'd been away from Sam in his 2-year, 3-month-life is five days, and that was hard. But eight days away, and so far away...I just didn't know if I could do it.<br /><br />Yes, I missed him terribly, but I got into the groove of traveling by myself (until meeting up with the others, but even then, I was traveling more by myself than usual) and enjoyed the change of pace. The trip included running/hiking on the Trail du Mont Blanc which circumnavigates the Mont Blanc Massif, crossing over into Italy and Switzerland and then back into France.<br /><br />There were a couple of hard days out there. One day, in particular, I thought I'd be hiking/running 10 miles and getting in a van. Due to logistical difficulties, I ended up having to hike/run 26 miles instead on a sore big toe and sore knee. But as we climbed into a storm atop the Col de la Seigne, crossing from the French to Italian border, I was pretty happy to be out there suffering. It'd been a long time since the whole purpose of a day was getting from point A to point B by foot, and that, I cherished.<br /><br />Another highlight of the trip for me was sitting in cafe by myself in Chamonix for the better part of four hours. I alternated between working on my laptop, reading a book, writing in my journal, and...just sitting there listening to people speak French. I switched between Orangina, Perrier and coffee, after eating lunch. Just to have the time to think, or not, was fantastic.<br /><br />Now back at home, a month later, I'm back in the swing of family life and juggling everything.and I really dig that, too. (Sam and I rode a little train in downtown Boulder this morning and had some lunch--a very pleasant couple of hours.)<br /><br />I do feel a little guilty for having gone on that trip to the Alps, but Sam and Mark were totally fine, and I came back having a little more sense of self that I'd missed.<br /><br />I do realize that I'm lucky to get opportunities to go on trips/adventures like this for work, and this was a big one. But even small outings -- a two-hour trail run, or going to do a race with a friend -- seem really valuable in maintaining life balance between being a mom, and everything else.<br /><br />I do think adventures are always good, even when they're bad. This one just happened to be pretty darn good.Lisa Jhunghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16470283981042341495noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562724895800858423.post-10161095891620201562010-07-09T08:47:00.000-07:002010-07-09T08:54:19.348-07:00The Dipsea<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhruAcu6YhHBikbfPzq6A_0smXDxAjvDLGQPXE3g92DbRxZrN9G-6TYZFF0uYbkO0vlE142K8A2e6kMqv8aOp7SOI_XEP3ZbiTzJJq0svqrlCTB8Me-YIM1X85CktN9wVIPQlloRB8sgELF/s1600/DipseaSam.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 76px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhruAcu6YhHBikbfPzq6A_0smXDxAjvDLGQPXE3g92DbRxZrN9G-6TYZFF0uYbkO0vlE142K8A2e6kMqv8aOp7SOI_XEP3ZbiTzJJq0svqrlCTB8Me-YIM1X85CktN9wVIPQlloRB8sgELF/s200/DipseaSam.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5491934364702091026" border="0" /></a><br />My favorite running race of all time, <a href="http://dipsea.org/">the Dipsea</a>, was about a month ago, and I’ve been so busy with work, travel, and … life, that I’m just now writing about it here. <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--><!--[endif]--> Yes, I had been trying to rehab my hip/hamstring/back injury just enough to be able to run, really run, <a href="http://www.runnersworld.com/article/1,7124,s6-238-511-0-13518-0,00.html">my favorite race.</a></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--><!--[endif]--> And I was really very happy to be there, at the starting line, with minimal aches and pains. I was raring to go. (And I was ecstatic that friends of ours agreed to drive our little Sam from the starting line to the finish line, and that he didn’t cause too much trouble for them.)</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--><!--[endif]--> What happened over the next 7.5 trail miles was both fun and extremely painful. I just didn’t have any gusto off the starting line. I ran those 676 stairs okay, walking up the steepest ones and trotting when I could. But I felt slow. On the downhills, the first, through Windy Gap, I had a blast. I charged and passed people, riding the line between just barely in, and<span style=""> </span>totally out, of control. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--><!--[endif]--> All the downhills that day were equally as fun. I tore down Suicide, the steepest, roughest of descents about midway through the race, and charged down the Swoop, a rutty singletrack with falling into tall brush as your consequence. But on the uphills, and on the gradual downhills where you can really stride out, I just didn’t have it. I slogged through those portions, and it hurt.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--><!--[endif]--> My husband, who started five minutes behind me in the uniquely handicapped race, passed me about mile five. I’m pretty sure I said the F-word, followed by, “Oh, Mark!” followed by… “Go Mark!” And I meant the latter (and the prior). I wanted him to have a good race, even if I was having a bad one.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--><!--[endif]--> When I crossed the finish line, I about collapsed. But I also cried. I was in so much physical pain from the effort, but I was also pretty bummed I hadn’t had a good race. I finished much further back than I had in the past six times I’d run the race, and I guess I just hadn’t realized I was that far off where I’d been. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--><!--[endif]--> Then I got a big hug from Sam. “Mama,” he said, and reached for me from my friend’s arms. I had this overly sappy sentiment that no matter how slow I was, my son still loved me a whole lot. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--><!--[endif]--> Supportive friends and family members have since said things to me like, “You’re older now,” to which I say: “Phooey.” They’ve said, “You have a child now,” to which I say: “There are plenty of fast moms.” There’s the whole: “You’ve been injured” thing, which I can stomach—I have, and that one means there’s hope I can regain speed.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--><!--[endif]--> I am happy that I’ve been so busy being mom, working, going to physical therapy, traveling (more on that later), and running. As long as running is in the mix—even if it is slower than I’ve been, and like to be—I feel…like myself. And that’s good. </p> <!--EndFragment-->Lisa Jhunghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16470283981042341495noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562724895800858423.post-49699230576630483362010-05-14T10:57:00.000-07:002010-05-14T13:30:25.225-07:00Running Wild<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtozgUx4DUBtNbhAK3Elmle6y7Dpn0cQQOdBz_m3NVyJd5xKlX3zNlm6KSedJ1if72TK0fVFVoe2VLEzr2SYGzC_4UTzfiUEqDJlFGd4POYVYhp-cs1UbhV4yNadw9k2DguWI-NqqrS7Qw/s1600/RunningWIld.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 139px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtozgUx4DUBtNbhAK3Elmle6y7Dpn0cQQOdBz_m3NVyJd5xKlX3zNlm6KSedJ1if72TK0fVFVoe2VLEzr2SYGzC_4UTzfiUEqDJlFGd4POYVYhp-cs1UbhV4yNadw9k2DguWI-NqqrS7Qw/s200/RunningWIld.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5471189236913968274" border="0" /></a><br />Sam turned two last Sunday, on <a href="http://www.holidays.net/mother/story.htm">Mother's Day</a>, which means a lot of things around here.<br /><br />Firstly, I now know how to <a href="http://www.ehow.com/how_5079865_ink-off-wood.html">clean ball point pen off of wood</a> doors, and am getting good at <a href="http://www.ehow.com/how_113023_clean-crayon-wall.html">cleaning crayon off walls</a>. I also know that when Sam says, "Rwaock" when he's leaving for daycare with his dad some mornings, it means he wants to "walk" to the car himself. And I know that when he closes the doors to the armoire that houses the television, he wants me to put on music really loudly so we can have a dance party in the living room.<br /><br />I've danced more in the last six months than I have in the last six years.<br /><br />The kind of dancing I do with Sam is actually perfect for me. It's silly, goofy, almost ironic. Dancing normally makes me feel like a fool. Dancing with Sam makes me a fool, and that's the point. It works for both of us.<br /><br />Lately, little super-active Sam and I have been playing out on the sidewalk some afternoons. We walk along the street in front of our neighbors' houses, and sometimes he stops dead in his tracks. For a milli-second. Then he kind of swings his arms and yells, "Ggooe!" And then we run. We do these little 15-meter dashes down the sidewalk, me chasing his little silliness.<br /><br />It's pretty fun hanging out with two-year-old Sam. Sure, we have our moments—some longer than others—of <a href="http://parenting.ivillage.com/tp/tpdevelopment/0,,devtrkr_9rpm,00.html">fits and stubbornness</a> and...still taking up to 90 minutes (though sometimes 20) to go to sleep in the big boy bed at night, but this little person and all his new words and personality traits is really fun to get to know.<br /><br />Happy belated Mother's Day, everyone.Lisa Jhunghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16470283981042341495noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562724895800858423.post-11855832735911633372010-04-27T20:27:00.000-07:002010-04-27T21:48:42.085-07:00Newfound Freedom<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifOQtRES4o1UKKYhnGxbu6tC97FH4c6aYOzpbK1-UgRWs0Vi4sAqVtmxxCKGhVewAVutmhaZwlDsKYWcCx0PU1zHmzaFmY6D4ogb5FoSe3ortizmnOq7jnUkGHikmArjwP7j4ATHARzFEt/s1600/photo%5B3%5D.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifOQtRES4o1UKKYhnGxbu6tC97FH4c6aYOzpbK1-UgRWs0Vi4sAqVtmxxCKGhVewAVutmhaZwlDsKYWcCx0PU1zHmzaFmY6D4ogb5FoSe3ortizmnOq7jnUkGHikmArjwP7j4ATHARzFEt/s200/photo%5B3%5D.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465034577684599666" border="0" /></a><br />Sam is one active little dude. He turns two(!) in a couple of weeks, and he's reached some big <a href="http://www.babycenter.com/toddler-milestones">milestones</a> lately...like learning to crawl out of his crib.<br /><br />One night, a couple weeks ago, I heard his little feet hit the floor (at least he stuck the landing) and then pitter-pattering: thump thump thump thump thump. For a split second, I thought, "What the..." but then I shot out of bed like a rocket. I found my previously contained boy, standing at his door. At 2 a.m.<br /><br />And so we bit the bullet, and switched him to a <a href="http://www.babycenter.com/404_how-and-when-should-i-move-my-toddler-from-a-crib-to-a-bed_4598.bc">"Big Boy Bed."</a> After debating between a toddler bed, a twin bed with a guard rail and just a twin mattress, we settled on the latter and placed in on the floor.<br /><br />To make matters even more exciting for Sam, we moved back into our house after doing some remodeling. So there we were on Sunday night: new bed, new room, new house.<br /><br />We tried to keep the same bedtime routine. We tried to put him to bed without much ado, aside from getting him psyched up for his new bed. But the little guy had something else in mind. For two hours after turning off the lights, my husband and I traded off laying in his bed with him...or, without him.<br /><br />Sam, the active little explorer that he is, cruised around his room. He'd lay down for a little while, then shoot out of bed, rearrange some books. Lay down, shoot out of bed, move his sippy cup from the book cubby to the little table. Lay down, shoot out of bed and play with the <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B000VZKGYY">ladybug that glows colored stars</a>. Change from red ("wreee"), to green ("neeen") to blue ("booo!"). Lay down. After two hours, he just collapsed on the bed.<br /><br />Once there, he slept...until about 2 a.m., when I heard him wake up. (I wasn't really asleep up 'til then anyway, worrying about him falling out, escaping from his room, etc.) I spent the rest of the night in his bed with him. We slept in his twin until 4:45 a.m. That's when we got up for the day.<br /><br />I get it, I do. He's never had the freedom before to explore his room at night. He's been in a cage (his crib), and now he's free. He has things to do. Books need rearranging, sippy cups need moving. Stars need to change colors. I get it.<br /><br />I can fully appreciate freedom--my running lately has given me that. I've had progress with a physical therapist treating me with <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dry_needling">dry needling </a>(OUCH, big time) and nerve openers for my back/hip/hamstring, and strengthening exercises. Running, for me, is freedom. And I'm happy to have it back.<br /><br />Hopefully, I'll soon have sleeping back, too.Lisa Jhunghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16470283981042341495noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562724895800858423.post-59521205444115991882010-03-27T08:37:00.000-07:002010-03-27T09:02:10.215-07:00Mini Me<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiacEC12QGPrKuJfeur_mW8SdzKku8dDoYNoYQ23YHQ2413fmd60j77EJM9HWb8N6UUa7eOyfllq4p_1DcEad81AMdGWu5eUWowo1AlSsnhYeqHd1tj9r6pyUR9FYRNQQeTmBu2BMmeffhJ/s1600/MiniMe.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiacEC12QGPrKuJfeur_mW8SdzKku8dDoYNoYQ23YHQ2413fmd60j77EJM9HWb8N6UUa7eOyfllq4p_1DcEad81AMdGWu5eUWowo1AlSsnhYeqHd1tj9r6pyUR9FYRNQQeTmBu2BMmeffhJ/s200/MiniMe.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453344465602466194" border="0" /></a><br />I'm in the habit lately of dressing like Sam, or, dressing Sam like me. It's completely subconscious. I only realize I've done so later in the day, when I'm running an errand with him on my hip, and suddenly become aware that we're both in brown corduroys and blue shirts. It's embarrassing. I feel like an overzealous mom trying to morph this little being into a mini version of myself.<br /><br />I'm not! I swear! Sam, who's almost two years old, may have some personality traits frighteningly similar to my own. We both love to run (the dude is non-stop). We both want to be outside all the time. And we both get really bummed out when we reach the bottom of a bowl of ice cream.<br /><br />But we have some differences, too. And I'm really happy about that.<br /><br />I'm learning all about things I never would have, had I not had a Sam. I now know what a <a href="http://www.cat.com/equipment/backhoe-loaders#">backhoe loader</a> is, and how it's different from a regular <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Backhoe">backhoe</a>. And I now know just how different a <a href="http://www.internal.schools.net.au/edu/lesson_ideas/dinosaurs/images/triceratops.gif">triceratops </a>is from a <a href="http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://healthstones.com/dinosaurdata/d/diplodocus/diplodocus.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.healthstones.com/dinosaurdata/d/diplodocus/diplodocus.html&h=433&w=650&sz=29&tbnid=AwR9cbIeHZjQ8M:&tbnh=91&tbnw=137&prev=/images%3Fq%3Ddiplodocus&usg=__ZQOPliJUC6psKq9frRaBHHyw68U=&ei=BCmuS-HCE8T68AaJlMyyDw&sa=X&oi=image_result&resnum=1&ct=image&ved=0CAoQ9QEwAA">diplodocus</a>.<br /><br />I'm sure I'll learn more about these things as my son grows older. We'll have full discussions about which dinosaur is the biggest and what trucks are the coolest.<br /><br />What's funny is that my husband knows all about these things, and I never knew that before. It's not like you meet, date, get married and whatnot and often talk about trucks and dinosaurs. But raising a son together, I realize that my husband was once a little boy fascinated by these things, too.<br /><br />Seems I'm learning about two new people at once these days: Sam, and my husband as a little boy just like Sam. I don't think Sam is just like his father (his dad is rather impartial to ice cream), nor is he just like me. He's this new little person who we're both having fun getting to know. And I'm going to do my best to dress him like Sam, not a mini me or mini Mark.Lisa Jhunghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16470283981042341495noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562724895800858423.post-41660743145422528252010-03-01T21:45:00.000-08:002010-03-01T22:37:33.529-08:00Waves of Anxiety<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGL_pafWC-lSKJCrRqrYLs8ZofljaQa4cGouN25JjFSxAVSz5F_uWNMFNj8BD765U7mi5t6ikRNy8fUjQBCvEVVOb0cJB4MfuMWoprRIR25lZdCOrAsHINTAYJyv0JgathnI7zXw0BVv0x/s1600-h/photo%5B2%5D.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGL_pafWC-lSKJCrRqrYLs8ZofljaQa4cGouN25JjFSxAVSz5F_uWNMFNj8BD765U7mi5t6ikRNy8fUjQBCvEVVOb0cJB4MfuMWoprRIR25lZdCOrAsHINTAYJyv0JgathnI7zXw0BVv0x/s200/photo%5B2%5D.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443921926209846610" border="0" /></a><br />Writing from Hawaii tonight. Yes, the same Hawaii that was under <a href="http://www.hawaiitsunami.com/">tsunami warning</a> on Saturday. And boy, was that a stressful morning.<br /><br />Every time we have enough frequent flier miles from work travel, we book tickets for <a href="http://www.gohawaii.com/">these islands</a>. It's our family happy place, and we come here to play in the sand, the ocean, the warm air that always smells like flowers.<br /><br />Mornings usually start with listening to the birds outside before going outside to chase them across the lawn—a favorite activity of Sam's. Usually (lucky me), it's my husband who's up with Sam before 6, waiting for the sun to come up, playing carelessly. Not last Saturday morning.<br /><br />"Um, honey," said my husband, waking me up. "I don't mean to alarm you, but there's a tsunami warning."<br /><br />I shot out of bed like it was on fire.<br /><br />"It won't hit here until 11:30 or so, so we have plenty of time." I later learned that this was his attempt to keep me calm.<br /><br />It didn't. We packed everything up as quickly as possible, including 5 to 7 days of food (everything we had in the condo, anyway), which is what they were telling us to do on the news. It was 5:45 a.m. Just before 6 a.m., hotel staff called to tell us to evacuate. Minutes later, island-wide alarms sounded, and shortly after we had loaded the car. Sam in his car seat, headed...somewhere.<br /><br />I was in full-on survivor mode. We didn't know what was coming. Thoughts of the <a href="http://www.un.or.th/tsunamiinthailand/Tsunami.html">Thailand disaster</a> ran through my mind. It was much like a nightmare where it's up to me—and the decisions I make on the spot—determining the well-being of my family.<br /><br />I'm certain that if it was just me and my husband, I would have been stressed out. But having Sam with us...well that was a whole other level of stress. To feel responsible for the life and safety of this little child of mine, who I love almost indescribably, was a heavy, heavy weight. And as we settled into higher ground—a basketball court three miles from the beach—I couldn't help but tear up wondering if we were in the right place. Should we drive to the highest spot on the island? Should we ditch the car and hike? Did we get enough milk, enough water? Are we doing everything we can to stay safe?<br /><br />Had it been just my husband and I, I'm certain we would have put on running shoes and backpacks and been able to run to the hills, if we had to. But we had Sam with us, and I was overwhelmingly worried about making the right decisions for survival.<br /><br />This is heavy stuff, I know.<br /><br />Luckily, the day turned out fine. We played with Sam; he took a nap. We had a picnic. By the afternoon we were back in our room, back on the beach. But the gravity of a near disaster exhausted me, and made me...even more thankful for my family.<br /><br />In lighter news, I'm thrilled that my husband finally has something to do on the beach. Fill the bucket, dump it out. Fill the bucket, dump in out, all the while Sam asking his dad for "More, more?" The two of them are in the water, out of the water. Jumping the waves, dodging the waves. Chasing the funny kid down the beach, across the lawn. My husband—who used to get antsy on the beach after 10 minutes—finally has something to do, and we're all happy about it.<br /><br />All is well, thank goodness.<br /><br />Aloha.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">ps. I know it's been a while since I've posted. Life has been hectic, and then when I thought it wouldn't be (on vacation), it was...Thanks for sticking with me! </span>Lisa Jhunghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16470283981042341495noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562724895800858423.post-40624812477551066422010-02-07T08:59:00.000-08:002010-02-07T09:22:10.843-08:00Predictably Unpredictable<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUlR7SkX34hWdD1DL3lzVR8Y2E2pIp8Tsl73g0eSEWN-mostyk5IG5s0hZVA-MICpW-G4OFkFsjHZ7UPI-aSdTzkphyphenhyphenUGVnyGqD1tQguCB08iPNh7LW3e7kMpdLS-x6PCAt4F3AYEfLgZo/s1600-h/Sam's+day+off.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 148px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUlR7SkX34hWdD1DL3lzVR8Y2E2pIp8Tsl73g0eSEWN-mostyk5IG5s0hZVA-MICpW-G4OFkFsjHZ7UPI-aSdTzkphyphenhyphenUGVnyGqD1tQguCB08iPNh7LW3e7kMpdLS-x6PCAt4F3AYEfLgZo/s200/Sam's+day+off.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435551952760741874" border="0" /></a><br />I should have known. Despite all my grand plans of having one-hour escapes of guaranteed activity, joined with my supposed hours of guaranteed time to work when Sam’s at daycare, sometimes things change. <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--><!--[endif]--> Last week, Sam had a cold and cough. He sounded part foghorn, part seal, and he was running a <a href="http://www.babycenter.com/0_fever_11430.bc">low-grade fever</a>. We skipped swim class one night. We skipped the 90-minute daycare at the gym, where a couple times a week, I get my guaranteed workout. And we skipped his day at daycare, because he was too dang sick.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--><!--[endif]--> So I sat on the couch, with my little coughing, warm-headed, <a href="http://www.cybertraveltips.com/images/Austrailian-Koala-Bears.jpg">koala bear</a> clinging to me with his head on my shoulder. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--><!--[endif]--> I do still cherish the cuddle time. I know pretty soon his insanely fast-growing body won’t even fit on my lap – it seems the length of him is already longer than my whole upper half. We sat and cuddled. I took care of my boy.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--><!--[endif]--> The problem was that I had a big story due—some details to finish—and I couldn’t do it. It’s hard to type (and think coherently) with a coughing koala on your chest. I was helpless, and stressed out. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--><!--[endif]--> Luckily, Sam fell into a deep enough sleep that I was able to slide him off my body and onto the couch. I built a landing zone of pillows, should he roll off quicker than I could react, and I got to my computer a few feet away.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--><!--[endif]--> I was able to do what I needed to, on the work front. But I wasn’t able to do what I needed to on the workOUT front. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--><!--[endif]--> Once my husband got home, I snuck out for a quick run through the neighborhood as the sun was going down. It was my time to unwind, and it worked. By the time I got home, I was ready to act as a human eucalyptus for a couple more hours as my sick koala hung on.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--><!--[endif]--> Sometimes, despite the seemingly predictable outings we plan, things just change.<span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-style: italic;">ps. Reader Kimberly: You might want to contact the race director to ask what's allowed. (I assume you're thinking of walking the race with baby in an Ergo.) And: It looks like this </span><a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://www.mwrtoday.com/Sandiego/BR%202010%20info.htm">Bay Bridge Run/Walk</a><span style="font-style: italic;"> in May allows strollers. In general, if a race's website doesn't say anything about strollers being allowed or not, I think it's a good idea to call or email the race director to find out. You don't want to shcelp yourself and baby to a race to find out you'll be strolling on the sidelines.</span><br /></p> <!--EndFragment-->Lisa Jhunghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16470283981042341495noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562724895800858423.post-21843589557885112082010-01-24T18:28:00.001-08:002010-01-24T18:59:20.007-08:00Unpredictably PredictableI've long had a commitment issue...with signing up for anything that happens once a week. What if I get an opportunity to go on a trip? What if there's a race I want to do? What if my free spirit just wants to roam (or, I have to work) at that time, on that day?<br /><br />It's not that I'm over my need for adventure and spontaneity--not by a long shot. But something about being a mom has made me really look forward to things I know are going to happen once a week.<br /><br /><a href="http://abc.go.com/shows/the-bachelor"><span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);">"The Bachelor,"</span> </a>for instance. I'm partially kidding, but I do look forward to yelling at those girls on the TV every Monday night.<br /><br />What I look forward to even more are the times I <span style="font-style: italic;">know</span> I'm going to get out for a run or a workout during the week. I have certain days that are sure things (unless Sam is sick), where I go to the gym and he's happy in daycare for enough time for me to get in a workout, then we swim together in the pool. I look forward to that (and I think he does, too).<br /><br />And, I used to be an end-of-day runner, but the end of most days are just less predictable lately. I now realize the value of the morning run, and I look forward to those days, too.<br /><br />I'm also doing a beginner <a style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);" href="http://www.medicinenet.com/pilates/article.htm">Pilates</a> class, once a week. The little movements are hard for me, I think it's helping me stabilize my <a style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);" href="http://www.sportsinjuryclinic.net/cybertherapist/back/buttocks/sacroiliac.htm">S.I. joint</a>, my spine and my pelvis by giving me core strength, deep down. I think it'll help me get past this injury and back to the kind of running I want to do. I'm excited about that.<br /><br />And then there's soccer morning with Sam, and volleyball night for me. Predictable.<br /><br />In a time when so many other things are unpredictable and sometimes crazy (in a good way, but still), I've really come to appreciate these one-hour windows of activity throughout the week that I can count on.Lisa Jhunghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16470283981042341495noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562724895800858423.post-18150093401864092072010-01-09T12:49:00.000-08:002010-01-10T12:40:49.916-08:00Playing Games<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOQh182PckOsQIPIrkjtFpNzECyyr-cUCp-zLsBC53v0x8Y3skIPpJtLfuRq50TvXWD-UiJVmwSsLm3ydYJOFAtsAgzsSr0rLNRwUEY-ICbCQB2fOIKiagYZU40RSVVNsU4DLUvkOb8bX6/s1600-h/1+soccer+tunnel.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOQh182PckOsQIPIrkjtFpNzECyyr-cUCp-zLsBC53v0x8Y3skIPpJtLfuRq50TvXWD-UiJVmwSsLm3ydYJOFAtsAgzsSr0rLNRwUEY-ICbCQB2fOIKiagYZU40RSVVNsU4DLUvkOb8bX6/s320/1+soccer+tunnel.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424849628729252626" border="0" /></a><br />Earlier this week, I played volleyball in a warehouse full of sand in the suburbs between Denver and Boulder. It’s what they call “beach” volleyball out here in Colorado, and man, was it a trip. <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--><!--[endif]--> A sign on the door of the warehouse says, “It’s always summer when there’s Jose Cuervo!” and beach scenes are painted on the interior walls. There’s a bar. But there’s also six or seven volleyball courts, and a whole lot of people who can play.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--><!--[endif]--> As soon as I found my team (two guys and one other girl), and started warming up, I had a huge grin on my face. We played four games, and I had a blast. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--><!--[endif]--> There’s something about playing ball sports that makes me feel like a kid (probably because I haven't played much since being one). It's an escape very unlike running. I love the rhythmic motion of running for sorting through things in my head. But it’s also really fun to totally check out. There’s not really time to think about anything—other than what you’re doing—when a ball is coming at you on the court.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--><!--[endif]--> The night playing in that warehouse invigorated me in a way I’ve missed through pregnancy and the last 20 months (Sam is 20 months!). The last time I really played volleyball, or any ball sport, was in Santa Barbara when Sam was maybe four weeks old, and I didn’t yet know I was pregnant. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--><!--[endif]--> I had so much fun that I found myself feeling younger all week. Sam and I went to the gym the next morning, and even thought it was 20-something degrees out, I decided to ride my bike through the snow to get there. He was all bundled up in the Chariot. It was me who was a little cold, but happily having an adventure.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--><!--[endif]--> This morning, we took Sam to his first experience playing ball sports (aside from playing catch and "fetch" down the hallway and in the yard). They have Soccer Tots out here for kids as young as 18 months, and since our playgrounds are covered in snow, it’s tough to find something to do with a toddler in the winter. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--><!--[endif]--> It’s not like they were shooting on goal, juggling and practicing a set play. Sam’s “coach” led games and activities, and Sam ran around the indoor turf carrying the ball in his hands. Like his mother, he had a big smile on his face while playing. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--><!--[endif]--> Maybe it’s having a Sam that's making me realize new (and old, at the same time) ways to have fun. In the 10 or so years before baby, for years I was really focused on running and racing (running, adventure races, triathlons, etc). I still crave that kind of challenge—and hope to be healthy enough to do those things soon. But I also value the kid-like fun of chasing a ball around.</p><p class="MsoNormal">- lisa<br /></p> <!--EndFragment-->Lisa Jhunghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16470283981042341495noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3562724895800858423.post-10381177668651684602009-12-30T10:38:00.001-08:002009-12-30T10:46:37.551-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHrKhGzgiTbFRhRejnEp9TivxuWAALBB3BV0QAPTKToMWSOEBAgL8pD49EjJ5uehYCpvaYioglwl9zitUatOWV2h3aas4rrBP6OwnjLVoRgnACrJ_dLZc4A50O3LC_zQK15Hl1e7_BU2YX/s1600-h/IMG_0556.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHrKhGzgiTbFRhRejnEp9TivxuWAALBB3BV0QAPTKToMWSOEBAgL8pD49EjJ5uehYCpvaYioglwl9zitUatOWV2h3aas4rrBP6OwnjLVoRgnACrJ_dLZc4A50O3LC_zQK15Hl1e7_BU2YX/s320/IMG_0556.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421100948898730802" border="0"></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Welcome!</span><br /><br />(Next) Baby Steps is a continuation of the Baby Steps blog written on Runnersworld.com.<br /><br />Check back here for musings on life as an active, adventurous running mom to my 19-month-old son, Sam.<br /></div>Lisa Jhunghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16470283981042341495noreply@blogger.com9