Chuck Norris Has Got Nothin' On Me

It occurred to me over the weekend that at this time last year I was handing in my final Master's Degree project and putting the finishing touches on my half marathon training. My half birthday was last week, which means I turned thirty more than six months ago. And I started to feel a little down on myself. I mean, I basically went all Chuck Norris on the last year of my twenties, what with finishing my degree and running two half marathons (and obviously a ton of other cool stuff that I can't seem to remember right now). Since then, though, it's been kind of a random assortment of crafting and baking (thank you, Pinterest) and just sort of living life - all in a really great, non-martial-artsy kind of way.

But just as I began to think that thirty had gotten the best of me, I remembered that I'm doing something that even that silly Chuck Norris couldn't, that my thirtieth year (Or is it my thirty-first? That math is confusing...) is going to blow most others out of the water because of one small (well, about the size of an apple right now) reason.

The Arends clan will become a family of four in early October - and this little girl will  be a big sister!

So while it's true I haven't been logging the miles on the treadmill (thank you very much, morning all-day sickness) or writing any thesis papers, I suppose I can cut myself a little slack. There is a tiny person growing inside me, after all.

Even Chuck Norris has to take a break sometimes, right?

Hear Me Roar

I had many a good intention of getting this post out much, much earlier in the week. But wouldn't you know it, it's now Friday and I'm scrambling to get it together. Hmmm...seems like that's sort of a theme in my life, doesn't it?

Sunday was race day, and as you're probably sick of hearing, my left knee had decided to remind me that my old age was creeping up closer than I wanted to admit. Running had been pretty much out of the question for the four weeks leading up to the half marathon. I had managed a few miles here and there, but for the most part I couldn't get through more than a half mile at a time without any pain. I was seeing a physical therapist and icing and foam rolling like my life depended on it, and even though it didn't seem logical, I still convinced myself that come race day the adrenaline would kick in, my knee would magically feel amazing, and those thirteen miles would fly right by.

Ha.

It's probably a good thing that I didn't write this post on Sunday night, or even the next couple of days, because mostly all you would have seen on this page was a lot of really bad words, mixed in with some blabbering about knees and hips and ankles and muscle cramps, and I am never running again in my life, ever, ever, ever.

But like I said earlier, I'm a bit of a procrastinator, and because of my laziness busy schedule I've now spent the better part of the week thinking about my race and letting my body recover.

The race was hard. Really hard. Probably one of the hardest things I've done, physically and mentally, in my life. The adrenaline did kick in, for like the first mile. And then maybe again when I saw Mike, Anna, my mom, and T.J. around mile eight. And then maybe, maybe, it sort of gave me a slight nudge when I finally saw possibly the two most glorious words ever posted on a banner: finish and line. Mostly by that point, though, I was just trying not to throw up.

I won't go into a bunch of boring details of how much it sucked, though, because parts of the race were awesome. Crossing the Ambassador Bridge. High five-ing and getting cheered on by strangers. The woman who kept shouting, "I'm forty-four! And I'm running a marathon!!" Smothering my baby girl with kisses as we ran by, and the pride that I felt when she saw her mama cross the finish line. The hugs from Mike when it was over, who let me escape so many early Saturday mornings to run, and endured my non-stop obsessing over my knee. The fact that my sister, who was totally healthy and who once aspired to finish in under two hours, stuck by my slow, gimpy side the whole race without so much as a complaint, despite my moaning and groaning and the evil glances I was shooting in her direction.

Special shout out to my good friend Steven for taking these pics and for coming to cheer us on!

Not to toot my own horn or anything, but toot toot, y'all. Because at the end of the day (well the end of the week, really), I am able to look back on it and see that while, yes, it was awful and long (so very long) and three of my toenails may never grow back like they should, it was also empowering and inspiring and a sweet reminder that I am a strong, capable, healthy woman who has much to be thankful for.

Keep Your Eyes On the Prize

The knee is not cooperating. Just over a week until race day, and my plan of conquering the last month of my twenties by gracefully running through the streets of downtown Detroit (and Canada, eh?) might be replaced with hobbling and limping in a not-so-pretty fashion. And it might not be what I had in mind, what I have been envisioning since I started training in July, but that's okay. I'll take what I can get. Even if it takes me four hours to cross that finish line. (Many apologies to Mike, who will be the one stuck waiting for me.) As my mom always likes to say, if not being able to run a half marathon is the worst of my problems, I'm doing pretty good.

Remember my brother-in-law? With the broken neck? Yeah, he was the one last weekend encouraging me as I was heading out for a run. (Side note - he also just cleaned my kitchen. I guess it's safe to say that I've been slacking on my housecleaning skills when the dude with the neck brace is scrubbing counters and washing dishes. Sorry, Kristin!)

Last weekend, Mike and I had the chance to sneak away for the day to enjoy some grown-up adventures. For as long as I can remember, we've been talking about heading over to Grand Rapids - Mike's cousin and his girlfriend live there, and anytime we see them there's much conversation about visiting. Finally, Mike and I got it together, and we couldn't have  picked a better weekend. The weather was beautiful, and Art Prize was going on. It was an awesome day of meandering around the city with Nick and Emily, checking out some amazing art, and not worrying about nap schedules or diaper changes or what Old McDonald had on his farm. And oh yes, there was beer.

Hooray, beer!

Post-It Notes!

Our lovely hosts

Why, yes. I am a huge dork. Why do you ask? (Side note- I had to wait in line to act this dorky!)

Legos!

I felt a little silly that I have never ventured over to Grand Rapids before, because it seems like a really cool city. And if you ever have the chance to check out Art Prize, I really, really recommend it. 

The rest of the weekend was filled with football, trips to the cider mill, and (say it with me, people!) donuts!!

Yes, mom, you are right. I think, bum knee or not, I'm doing pretty good.

Time to Make the Donuts

Fall is in the air, people. I know this for several reasons, the main ones being that the calendar told me that my favorite season has officially started, and the fact that my mind has been consumed with thoughts of cider, cider mill donuts, anything pumpkin, more cider mill donuts, and Halloween costumes for Anna. Oh yes, and cider mill donuts.

Also, adventures to the apple orchard.

And baseball games.

In less exciting fall news, it seems as though my body has realized it is about to turn thirty (Ahhh! Less than a month!!) and decided to start acting like a little punk. With a little under three weeks until the Detroit Half Marathon, I have a pesky IT band injury to deal with. I have been spending lots of quality time with my foam roller, and getting some extra help from a physical therapist, and hoping that come race day all those donuts I've been eating will provide the extra oomphf I'll need to cross the finish line. Because donuts are an essential part of all training programs, right?

What is your favorite thing about fall?

Okay...off to bake some pumpkin bread!
Happy Monday!

Today, I Am Grateful

When  I head out for my long runs on Saturday mornings, there's one piece of advice that I always remember. I think it came from one of the coaches in the running group I'm a part of, and for some reason, the message resonated. Basically, she said that when she starts out her runs, instead of focusing on the freezing temperatures or blazing heat, instead of dreading the miles ahead, she thinks about all the people that would love to be able to be out there hitting the pavement, but can't. Like single mothers who maybe can't get a babysitter. Or the people with injuries, or worse, that prevent them from doing physical activity. Or the soldiers in far-off places who are busy defending our country.

This past Saturday morning was no different. Twelve long miles were stretched out in front of me, with the temperatures creeping and the humidity levels hovering somewhere around thick and soupy. Even though I was thisclose to making a detour into the bakery we were running right by (a cruel joke played by whoever mapped out our run that morning, if you ask me), I forced myself to keep going, and to think about the fact that even though I was tired and fantasizing about donuts, there were a lot of people who would do almost anything to trade places with me, to have the freedom and the time and the support to be out doing something they love.

And then I remembered that this Saturday morning was different. Because the "people" - the general picture I always had in my head of those wanting to run but couldn't - was a little more specific, a little bit closer to home.

Mike's brother T.J. broke his neck last weekend.  In four places.

I should tell you right away that he is going to be fine, because, more often than not, when you hear the words "broken neck", your mind doesn't go to a very good place. I know mine didn't. But he is - miraculously, he's going to be fine. Some mighty fine doctors down in Florida performed surgery (and told him, by the way, that he was the luckiest patient they had ever seen) and Mike and his dad drove down there to bring him back to Michigan so he could heal and recover with his family.

Even though T.J. probably hasn't been dying to train for a half marathon, I think I can safely assume that spending the next three months stuck in a recliner in his parents' family room wasn't exactly what he had in mind for the fall.

But when you think about the "what-ifs" and the "could-a-beens", it can take your breath away.

In a world where it's hard not to focus on the negatives -- the fancy cars we're not driving, the swanky vacations we don't get to take, the seemingly endless miles we have to run -- I'm trying extra hard to be grateful for what I do have.  A roof over my head. A husband I adore. A baby girl that brings more laughter and light into my life than I ever thought possible. Strong legs to get me through the miles, as tough as they might seem. And a healthy brother-in-law, who is still smiling despite that brace wrapped around his neck.

This wasn't exactly the way we thought we'd get him back to Michigan, but there is one little girl who is especially thrilled to have her uncle home.

Not a great picture, but the best one I had of the sweet hugs Anna kept giving T.J. from behind.

Happy Tuesday! Enjoy the miles - and be safe!