On Eggs

Most of my friends know I have issues with eggs. There's just something about them that made me horribly sick when I was pregnant with all my kids, and that distaste has carried over to the rest of my days. I have to be really in the mood for eggs to eat them now. And they can't be runny, or icky, or partially-cooked in any way. I learned to scramble them super-slowly so that they end up fluffy and light instead of cooked hard to death and smelling vaguely of sulphur. But even then, I REALLY have to be in the mood.

And I always hated the hard boiled whites -- ew...like eating silicone -- I prefer to lick the deviled yolks out of the whites and give the whites to the dogs.

Egg salad? Uh no. Forget it.

And pickled eggs? NEVER. EW EW EW! Reminds me of other sketchy countertop-of-an-old-corner-store stuff like pickled pigs feet, and pickled sausage, and the like.

However...I realize the significant nutritional value of eggs, especially in these middle-aged days of trying to lower my carbohydrate intake in favor of more protein and less overall body padding. I've been trying to figure out how to eat eggs without grossing myself out. So, Travis hard-boiled a bunch for me and I've been taking two to work every day to eat with my lunch (of mostly vegetables). Turns out, with enough salt and pepper, hard-boiled eggs are not so bad. Filling, tolerable, but...boring.

In browsing Pinterest the other day, though, I found a recipe for hard boiled eggs essentially marinated in a soy sauce based liquid over night. It sounded good, it wasn't purple (see those countertop eggs), and I liked the flavors. So I thought, what the hey, I'll give it a shot. Mixed up the flavors and put four eggs in a pint canning jar. I didn't can them, I don't know how to do that.

But here is the result:

Verdict? OMG. SO GOOD.
Then I was off and running back to Pinterest for more recipes. Different flavors, different methods....and then to pickles of all kinds. I LOVE a vinegar-pickled vegetable, and I have a long history of (being Italian) loving vinegar giardinera, pickled cucumbers, marinated sundried tomatoes, mozzarella, artichoke hearts, pretty much anything (except meat, OMG no).

Now I have a whole Pinterest board dedicated to pickled yum. And I've already decided what the next batch of soy sauce eggs will be. I'm going to tweak the ratios so that there is a little less soy sauce (because the flavor is stronger the longer it sits, it can get overly salty), and add some fresh gingerroot and a bit of chili for heat. And I want to try a balsamic vinegar recipe, and one with rosemary, and one with horseradish (I love horseradish!).

SO this is a great development for my work lunches, and for my attempts to eat more protein and fewer carbs. I'll let you know how the rest of the recipes go.

Thoughts on transitions

At the beginning of September, 2016, I went back to work full time. I haven't had a full time, out-of-the-home job in just about ten years -- the entire length of my youngest child's life thus far. Up to that point, I had worked part time from home for a company I had been a part of for the entirety of my time here in Richmond. Fifteen years. But in 2016, due to the aging of the company's owners, and the volatile market for health care provider agencies, the company was sold. My work appealing denials of payment for therapy services was not required by the new company, and I was laid off. The first time ever in my life I was let go from a professional job. By the end of the summer, though, I had found a new job, and began that work with a little bit of trepidation. It was full time, outside of the home. The kids would need before-school care, and the ability to let themselves into the house after school. I would no longer be able to run errands for the family, make daytime appointments easily, take time off without too much consideration, and be able to go to the kids' school for awards ceremonies, lunches, or to pick up a sick kid without a re-arranging of my day. I'd have to switch my volunteer work schedule at the museum to all-evening or weekend work.

And I would no longer have the ability to ride in the mornings, to have most days be available to spend a couple hours at the barn after my work was done, riding, helping out, and frankly, being with my friends. I know that sounds like a total first-world problem, and it is. But it was a life I had finally been able to craft for myself, in which I contributed financially to the family, took care of the kids, some house stuff, and our animals, and left time for me to pursue interests that had been gnawing at me for years.

Now, it's not all bad, and I don't mean to complain too much. I mean to reflect a little, and try to make some decisions about how my life is going to go in this new reality in which most everyone else already participates. I like my job, it suits me, and I like my coworkers, even though I am struggling to learn a new and very complex role in which I am no longer the authority figure. It's a state job, so the benefits are fantastic, and I do have some flexibility for appointments, sick kids, and the like. Also -- state holidays!

I generally am not an afternoon or evening person, though, so it's been very difficult for me to remain motivated by the end of a long sedentary day to get my ass out to the barn. I struggle with guilt over leaving my family to fend for themselves in the evenings I ride, and for Travis to have to deal with kid drama as it arises, or the function as the inevitable kid shuttle service to activities.

I find myself struggling with guilt over work when I take a sick day to be home with a kid who needs me, and the guilt when I notice I am thinking if I can possibly schedule some riding time into the sick day without abandoning my kid. Good Parent Guilt never goes away, no matter how old your kids are.

I'm not riding well consistently enough, and show season is coming up in a month. Joe needs to work consistently in order for me to be able to overcome his innate inflexibility, and my general lack of technique. I have goals I want to achieve this year, as always, but finances are tight and time is even tighter. I'm cramming the same number of activities and obligations into MUCH less time, and frankly, I have not yet found a weekly rhythm that I am comfortable with. To top it all off, it's winter, which means my hibernation instincts are strong on grey days, my mental health takes a hit (seasonal, and because of my 'new' life), and the afternoon/evening post-work window for daylight riding is small.

Things will improve; the days will stay lighter longer soon, it won't always be cold and grey (soon I'll be bitching because it's too fucking hot to ride), my kids will grow and become more independent, obligations may change that will make schedules change, and this dressage journey I am on is a long-haul sort of thing. Having the faith that I just need to keep plugging away and do what I can do each day is tough for me, goal-directed and ambitious as I can be. Nobody's pushing me but me. Well, my trainers push me, and my friends encourage me, but nobody is *pressuring* me, I should say.

I hope I figure this thing out soon. I love my guy Joe, and I love to ride, and the best thing that has happened to me in the last four years outside of family stuff has been finding my tribe at Saddlebrook, along with "my" horse, trainers who suit me perfectly, and the atmosphere for myself and Wren to enjoy riding and learn at our pace. I just feel like most of the time I am giving not enough attention to everything. It's a hard place to be, and I dislike it.

If you've read this far, you're a saint. Mostly I'm talking to myself. It's Saturday, and there's nothing on the agenda, and my coffee cup is empty, so I think it's time to head out to the barn and refresh my soul, and get some air, and love on Joe.

New Year, New Perspective, New Horse

Well, 2015 did not start out the way I had hoped, what with a fairly significant riding accident, and what I planned to be doing this month has not yet come to fruition (lots and lots of riding). 2014 definitely was the Year of the Horse for me, even though I didn't end up purchasing my own horse as I had hoped. I rode more in 2014 than I have in years, and improved so much, that I am thrilled. I even lost a whole bunch of weight (just about 18lbs), which I am desperately trying to keep off during this month of forced (relative) inactivity.

Since the early spring of 2014, I have been focused on improving my dressage skills, and because of the generosity of a new friend, I was able to lease Silver's Destiny, a 14h Welsh/TB cross pony mare with the capability of First Level work. It took a while for us to build our partnership, but we were able to do some really good things together, earn some respectable scores, win a couple of classes, and try out the First Level work. Unfortunately, she and I are not continuing into 2015 together, but I have been so very grateful for the opportunity to ride and care for her for the large majority of last year. I can't wait until the Virginia Dressage Association - Central Chapter end of year banquet tonight to find out how we did in the placings overall for Introductory Level!

Toward the end of the year, I started riding a mare, Something Victorious (AKA Flicka), a 15.1h Arab/TB cross that belongs to my trainer. Beautiful, forward-moving, graceful, she was MUCH different than Destiny, and I loved riding her. Another teenage girl at the barn has been riding her for the past couple of years, too, and I considered taking this mare on for 2015. A little less well-schooled, definitely NOT bombproof in the least, but still safe and willing. We did some nice work, rode out on the trail, and I never had a problem catching her in the field. I rode her in the last schooling show of the season, receiving not-terrible scores, and learned what to do when your horse totally freaks out during your test (answer: keep moving forward). She is the mare I was riding the Sunday after Christmas when I fell. Totally NOT bombproof, indeed.

I also rode my trainer's gelding, Reiner, a Dutch WB/Arab cross, about 16.something hands, grey, lovely mover who covers some serious ground. A little lazy when he isn't fit (and he isn't fit, really), but comfortable and fun to ride. He's TALL, and it's been so long since I rode a horse over 14h that he feels like a skyscraper, but I like the way I look on him, and he seems to fit me. I've only ridden him maybe two or three times -- once in a lesson -- but I think he might be my guy. Not loving the Arab in him, since I generally think Arabs are nutty, flighty creatures (and this was fairly proven the Sunday after Christmas...), but the warmblood part of him seems to be more prevalent. Of course, I rode him in a lesson, we did some First Level work, and then he was lame. Thankfully, it was only an abscess, which blew out of his heel a week or so ago, and now he is fine. He'll be who I get on, when I get back to riding.

And so far, tentatively, that day is Tuesday, January 27th. I'm going helmet shopping with a friend on Saturday the 24th, and then on Tuesday, I will ride. I can hardly stand it, the not riding. Thursday, I spent part of the afternoon watching my trainer and others have their lessons with Debbie Rodriguez, and I just wanted to ride so badly. Ugh. Soon, soon.

2014 was a great year for my riding. I can't believe how different I look, how much better I have been riding, and how much things have changed. I found two pictures of myself that Travis took, one in April of 2014 and one this past December. I was completely astonished by the difference in the way the photos look. Two different horses, yes, but everything about me is different in the December photo. Amazing. That's what good instruction and lots of practice gets you. Thanks so much, Wanda. I'd never have gotten this far without your excellent guidance. I can't wait to see what I look like at the end of 2015!

Immortal

I think I was maybe 12? Maybe younger, when I first realized I was not going to live forever, that people did not just live forever. That seems old to be discovering that fact, but it's when I had my first experience with a family funeral -- the death of my maternal grandfather. I saw the ritual, the mourning, the disbelief and devastation that the loss of him wrought on my family, and it was odd to think he would no longer be around.

I think I was 30 when the *actual* realization of my mortality hit me. It was then that I made some significant changes in my life -- painful, difficult, with long-term ramifications -- but necessary, as I realized then that I did not want to live the rest of the time I had left in the manner I was living it.

When I was forty, well, that's when I got scared. Not by any particular thing, except the realization that this life, this very life that I was living, would end someday. By forty, I had had all my children, my career was stable, my marriage solid and joyful, and I was living the best life I could ever have imagined for myself. It was in that year, and in subsequent years, that 'things' started to happen around me. Not TO me, but near enough that I felt twitchy. Accidents, unexpected deaths, CANCER, irreversible changes in economic status, career, relationships...all to people I knew, people I loved, people in my sphere of acquaintance. It was, and still is, periodically, enough to make me want to hide. Or to do something reckless, because I'm going to die anyway, right??

Except I have come to the separate conclusion that there really aren't as many opportunities to be truly bad-ass anymore, once you've passed your thirties or so. Definitely by 40, the *chances* of badassery are much less, sadly. Not saying it can't, or doesn't, happen, it's just...less. Badassery in your forties is typically some level of insanity, and is described by others as such. Not that I much care for others' opinions at this point in my life. Although I do, sometimes.

But I digress.

I've come to make a level of peace with the fact that I will be gone from this earth one of these days. Hopefully not soon, and hopefully after my children are well-established in this world. I think the biggest fear of leaving is that I would hurt the ones I love, so I am trying to have as wonderful and fulfilled a life as possible, so that when I am gone, my loved ones can say that I lived my life to the fullest. It's a personal goal. I'm under no illusion that I will leave this world having done all that I really want to do -- that list is long, and monumental, and my personality is such that I am constantly finding new experiences that I want to be a part of. See my previous post about creating, for some of that.

It's pretty likely that I will live a long time more, at least another 40 or so years, given my family history, and my general good health. But I think the drive to create, to make things, make experiences, make memories, photographs, costumes, saddle pads, jewelry, dessert, essays....I think fundamentally all of that comes from a place of a desire for longevity, permanence, a legacy. On some level, I hope I am leaving enough of a mark. On another level, I know I am. Life is an adventure to be lived.

A loss of light and clarity

Maya Angelou passed into the next life this morning after battling health issues recently. I find myself unexpectedly moved by the loss of her spirit and her determination. We shall not see her like again, I am sure, and I am grateful she was possessed of both her voice and her cognition until the last.

I followed her Facebook page, and loved to read her insights, quotations of her work, and perspective on the human condition. More often than not, I found something to think about over the course of my day. That, to me, is the best kind of writing, that which makes you think, or inspires you to more.

Years and years ago, I read the poem below, and my perspective on myself was altered. I'm not arrogant enough to believe that all of it applies to the way I carry myself through this life, but I'd like to think most of it does, or at least, that is what I am striving for.

Phenomenal Woman
BY MAYA ANGELOU
Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I’m telling lies.

I say,

It’s in the reach of my arms,
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.

I say,
It’s the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can’t touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them,
They say they still can’t see.

I say,
It’s in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

Now you understand
Just why my head’s not bowed.
I don’t shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing,
It ought to make you proud.

I say,
It’s in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need for my care.
’Cause I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

I think it's time to go back and re-read her writings at this stage of my life. She will be so very missed.

Reflection

Yesterday, I rode Silver's Destiny in a schooling dressage show. It was held at the barn where I am riding and boarding Cinnamon, Saddlebrook Stables, which was wonderful, since I had all my stuff there and didn't have to trailer anywhere, and I already knew most of the people.

Starting the show day off with mimosas and a toast to friends, horses, and our instructor is pretty cool, too.

I rode the Introductory Level tests A and B, and while I was not totally thrilled with my performance, it wasn't bad. I did better earlier in the week in my lessons and practices. I was slightly nervous, but not horribly so, and it was nice to ride in my "home" ring. Easier still, my instructor called the tests for me, so I really didn't have to remember them myself. I had hoped for better than low 60's scores, mostly because I know I am riding a pony with really good skills, and I felt a bit of pressure to at least ride her as well as her owner does, but I just didn't get there this time. One of my very favorite things about dressage, though, is that you actually get a score for your efforts, and while the judge may change at each show you ride in, you can gauge your progress by your test scores. I love me some data. And I always like getting a ribbon or two.

Travis took pictures, which makes me happy, and also makes me sad. I never, ever look in photographs like what I think look like in my own head. Somehow, my own image surprises me every time. "Really?? Do I really look like that??" Of course, event and dressage riders can all agree that the requisite white breeches for showing never do anyone any favors, and especially not the much-bigger-than-a-stick people. And I've had three kids, and I'm well over forty, and that belly pooch is just. not. going. away. But in the pictures, I look too chunky for that pony, even though everyone assures me I am not.

 "Does this pony make my ass look big??" 

I can't focus on the lovely straight line from the bit to my elbow, or my upright, balanced position, I only see all the pudge below my ribcage, and my dancer's turned-out toes, and the boots whose tops are way too wide for my muscular, but hefty, calves.

I can ride her well, I know I do, I trust my instructor and Destiny's owner not to lie to me -- they have no reason to. And there has been an unexpected benefit to the shorter, smaller equine -- my left hip (that has been killing me off and on since last summer) has bothered me hardly at all since I started riding her only eight weeks ago, and even though I have worked hard at lessons and on my position, I have been sore, but not crippled, afterward. A benefit and a relief.

A couple of days ago, I was saying to myself that even though I weigh more than I'd like, I felt strong and capable while riding this horse, I felt like I was getting the job done most of the time, and definitely had improved my balance and my position in the past two months. I can tell -- she's more responsive and smoother to ride, and I'm beginning to have control over aspects of the ride that I didn't before. I tried to convince myself that I preferred strong and slightly bigger,but gets the job done, to thin and incapable, but really I just wish I could still look like this:

The annoying part is I remember how much I hated myself then for not being thin enough. At seventeen years old, 5' 2" and 115 pounds, I thought I was grotesquely fat for a dancer. It was a constant battle, and I don't remember ever thinking I was good enough or thin enough. Ugh, SO much wasted emotional energy over something that was so ridiculous!! I hate that there are still remnants of that thought process left in my brain, almost thirty years later, and I know it's still ridiculous. I'll get over myself, eventually. I love to ride, so I'm certainly not going to stop doing that just because I think I'm a mess. My family thinks I'm beautiful, and that matters quite a lot.

I wish I could go and ride today, but Wren is shooting in an archery tournament this afternoon, and that takes precedence. If I focus at work, I might be able to sneak four rides in this week, which would be fantastic. I know from my test comments yesterday that I have a good bit to work on, and so I will. Bend, rhythm, straightness...the basics.

And I'm shopping for better-fitting white breeches and a black show coat.

Random running thoughts

On a good run, my brain goes on autopilot.

...in my mind's eye, I can see it, the photograph of myself and the big dark horse that has no name. The photo captures the image of us sailing over a fence on a cross-country course -- a fence of decent substance, too, not my usual 18" hop -- outfitted in our XC battle gear. We both have the eagle-eyed expression of individuals intent on their job as we look toward the next fence, focused, concentrating, getting the job done. Making the time. I wonder if I'll ever have a real photograph of that...

I've realized that aging means so few opportunities left for true bad-assery in any sort of real, athletic way. Or at least it seems that way at the moment.

...at the Introductory level there's not a lot of exciting movements to ride.Walk, trot, 20m circle, halt. Across the diagonal at the trot and the walk. Not even a rein back or canter. Lots of good foundation for later levels, but what kind of freestyle ride can I choreograph that will be at least slightly more exciting than watching grass grow?

...so should I think about the competitive running season this year again since it doesn't look like horse shows or trials will be part of my plans? Probably. I know I can get to the 10k distance, and definitely the 8k...probably not the half marathon. I wonder why that distance puts me off so much? I think it's the time I know it takes to run ten or twelve miles at a stretch. Hm. I think I need new sneakers.

...hopefully I don't look too chubby and middle-aged here on the side of the road. I wonder if I'm breathing really hard to the people I pass. I don't think so, but these headphones kind of mute that...

...crinoline and shoes, purse, jewelry. I hope I can find a crinoline for that prom dress before next weekend....

...I wonder if I should start buying some nice tack for my "someday" horse? A nice black bridle and maybe a halter? What if I find my horse and then have no tack to ride with? Or worse, have no budget for tack? I could get a horse bridle...that would be cool....a saddle, probably better wait til I have the horse.... I should find a decently-fitting black dressage show coat, too....navy blue is not my favorite, but it's all I've got for now......and Wren needs a new helmet for sure....and I would like a new one for myself....

...I have to have to have to lose some weight....have to. Twenty five pounds would be awesome, but ten would satisfy me for a little while...I still can't believe I'm not too heavy for this pony....

Finding the Holy Grail

Yesterday, I drove out to the Calais Horse Trials, a local schooling event held at Level Green Riding School in order to watch two of my Pony Club members ride in the Introductory Novice division. This is the event I did last year, on Champ. I had the opportunity to ride it again, but due to Life Circumstances, opted not to. Instead, one of the Pony Club girls rode Champ this year. She has been doing a much better job with him than I was, so I was interested to see how he'd do in the same situation.

It was raining. The trailer parking field was a squishy mess, and getting into the farm, I kicked myself for not just parking the car out on the road and hoofing it (ha!) into the event, but I knew there would be tractors available in case I was stuck.

I missed the dressage tests, having spent too much time shopping online for the Horse I Cannot Find, but arrived in time to snap some pictures of them getting ready for stadium and cross-country.

I also spent some time watching the dressage tests done by other competitors, because it's a good exercise for my eye to see the differences between people who practice dressage training principles when riding on the flat, and those who ride hunters most of the time. Because of my love for dressage (and so many day-of scratches that the event no longer ran on the time schedule), I caught the tail end of the kids' stadium rounds, finding that Champ and his rider came through with possibly some time faults and one refusal. The other horse and rider combination was eliminated in their first event in stadium due to refusals. Unfortunately, even though it was a schooling event, they did not get to continue on the cross-country.

Watching Champ and his rider get through the cross country phase was exciting, and they came home with a minimum of faults on course to finish the event without the dreaded 'Big E', unlike myself last year. So very happy for them! I don't know what their end placing was yet, because I had to leave before they tallied the scores -- I was completely soaked through, and concerned the additional two hours of rain would make it even harder to get my car off the site.

But all I could think, while I was there, was just how much I wish I had been riding. Oh, I probably could have done it, on the big Belgian/TB I've been riding, but I really do not enjoy half-assing my way through the practice only to try to pull a good performance out of thin air. Too nerve-wracking. I just did not have enough time in the preceding months to put in the focused practice I feel is necessary. Still. Still.....

The conditions were horrible, and the footing was greasy and crummy even in the (grass) dressage rings, so I can't imagine what the (grass) stadium ring was like, not to mention the footing out on the XC course. I watched people go, and I thought, "I can totally do this", and I sort of kicked myself for getting nervous last year and screwing it all up. No, I didn't beat myself up too much -- I did place in dressage last year -- but this year, I just thought that had I the horse, I could have handled it. Familiarity with the course and site? Probably that's a portion of it -- the XC course for the Intro division was pretty much exactly the same as last year. Improvement in my riding? Nah. I haven't improved much, if at all, in the last year, really. I'm going to be doing something about that this year, though. I'm not sure what it was, except a feeling that getting through the three phases seemed like less of an insurmountable obstacle this time, even from the rain-soaked ground.

I hope against hope that the Year of the Horse will reveal one for me (...still...again....I know, how many times do I have to say it?). I'm saving my pennies, and trying to do everything I know how to get myself in whatever serendipitous position I need to be in to make this happen. I'm not sure how totally on board Travis is with my idea, but he loves me, and I think he knows just how deep this particular fire burns, and for how long it's been banked. The practical side of me says I have to wait til we have our own farm so boarding a horse isn't necessary, but the little-girl part says it's not fair that Wren gets a pony and I don't. And part of me feels like I'm forever racing the clock, running out of time to do the things I want to do before I get too old, too broken, to physically incapable to handle the demands of the sport. Never mind the assumption that I have upwards of 40 years of life left, and that there are plenty of seventy year old people out there still riding and jumping and handling horses, a level of anxiety always says "But what if I don't?"

Hopefully, I do. It's raining again this morning, and while my riding is uncertain, I can take responsibility for some things, and so I will go out and get back on the running routine. It keeps my arthritis at bay, and makes me feel like I am doing something on this journey.

My particular Holy Grail is still waiting.

(photo courtesy of Kevin Maxson)

Brittle

Some days when I run, I feel almost invincible. Strong, athletic, powerful. Other days, no matter what I do, all I feel is brittle. Like every step is painful, risks shattering the whole of me into tiny pieces on the road.

Today I was brittle. Like the ice hiding in creases in the ground, along the ditches and in the birdbaths and dog bowls. Sure, the temperature was just below freezing, but the sun was out, and there wasn't as much wind as yesterday, and I needed to get some air for sure. I thought about just going for a walk, but why walk when you can burn more calories and "work out" with a run?

A walk would have likely been more pleasant, and more conducive to a clearing of the mind, but I know I would have felt guilty for walking when I could have run. Isn't it terrible, the things the mind does? Can't take it easy, that's not the way you should do things if you want to excel.

I don't like doing this to myself, the guilt for not measuring up, or for wanting to relax and slow down, or for choosing what feels the most right at the time, even though it isn't what I "should" do. Discipline is a hard mistress sometimes, and acceptance a virtue I don't often keep about myself. But I need to, and I will take a few quiet moments now and realign my attitude and take a deep breath and move on. Some days, you do what you can do, and that's it. And that's today. I am grateful I could even get out there, and proud of myself for doing it, cold as it is.

But I am hoping it's the cold weather that makes getting off a piece of furniture an exercise in stiff unfolding of body parts, and a feeling like I need all my moving parts oiled.

Permanent

For Christmas last year, I got a tattoo. I have wanted one for a long time, and originally intended to get one on the occasion of my fortieth birthday, but getting artwork permanently inked on one's skin requires a certain level of commitment and surety in the artwork chosen. I had a hard time choosing a design I loved and would want for the rest of my life.

Last year, Travis, unbeknownst to me, found some artwork online that he thought I'd love. He commissioned a ceramic mug from a friend, and had her carve the artwork into the side of the mug. Christmas morning, I was beyond thrilled with a beautiful new vessel for my morning coffee, and LOVED his choice of artwork. So much so, that he told me he thought maybe that was also my tattoo art. I agreed.

Here is the mug:

Made by Barbarah Robertson, of Dragonfly Arts

The day after Christmas, we dropped the kids off with friends, and drove to a tattoo shop down near Petersburg, near where he works. The tattoo shop was pretty much empty, save for the four artists hanging out and talking. I admit to being slightly intimidated; a middle-aged couple aren't exactly typical tattoo-shop denizens, but we showed the art to one of them, who said he could do it, no problem. Unsurprisingly, he was well-inked himself.

I assured him I would not faint, scream, flail around, or do anything unexpected. I didn't. Heck, I didn't even feel the need to hold my husband's hand, even though some parts of that drawing HURT like unholy HELL.

But after about an hour, I had this:

Inked in henna brown, on the outside of my right leg, just over my ankle. I love it.

I'm thinking I want another one, but as before, finding the right artwork is key. One of these days, I'll get my next one. I was warned they would be addictive, but I don't see that happening to me. I don't really like the overly-inked look, so maybe one more in some not-terribly-obvious location will be about it. And it has to be some kind of artwork that has meaning. The horse, the spirals, the Celtic/Norse feel of my ink all appeals to me as an artist and as a person. I would like some version of the Tree of Life for my next one, I think.

But nothing ever on my face, or neck, or hands.

Pondering

So, things with Champ haven't been going well, and I have given him a vacation from our partnership. It's been two weeks, and I rode Landie and Promise in my lessons during the time off. I think this week, though, is when I am going to get back together with Champ and see what we can do. I'm planning to do some bareback riding, maybe round-pen or lunge him, and take him out to graze where the good grass is. We'll see how things go. I am adjusting my expectations downward for both Champ and for advancing my riding skills this summer. I think I'll work on my horsemanship, stable management, and helping Wren with Gabby instead, because I want to, and because...well...I don't really have a choice. We haven't won the lottery yet, so no farm of our own, and so I can only do so much in terms of horse-having.

My trainer gave me an option to lease Promise instead, but that would be more money than we are paying for Champ right now, and Promise is so very green. She really needs the work I am sure I could put into her, but I can't afford half the board and farrier PLUS Wren's pony.

I would love to figure out a way to own this place, which just happens to be right next door to our trainer's barn. It's about twice our budget, though, so no chance of that happening, unless we won the lottery or had some wealthy benefactor. My trainer says it would be fantastic to make a cross country course through the woods there, linking with her property's course. I agree.

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Today's barn trip was so much fun!
Turkey got a bath and a haircut, and so much love. I think he was happy. I know Travis was happy, and I can't tell you how full my heart is for the man I adore who, just one year ago, was afraid of horses and would have nothing hands-on to do with them. Now, he brings in horses from the field, can tack and groom, bathe, pick feet, and hand-graze them. I am so proud!

Poor Turkey is SO HOT with all that mane and forelock. It's awful. He lives outside 24/7, so making him as comfortable as possible is a good idea. I shaved his face a little, and then started working on roaching his mane, which has nothing to do with nasty insects and everything to do with a good haircut. He has so much hair, I couldn't get it all done in the time we had today, so I will finish up this week and post a picture of the results. After his bath, he just gleamed! He seemed so happy and comfortable! I sprayed him all over with some fly spray, put some fly repellent cream in his ears, and we took him back out to his pasture. He is beautiful.

It really makes me sad that his owners don't come to visit him, or ride him, anymore. I wish we could have him. If we had a farm and didn't have to pay board, we'd take him in a hot minute. Still, it makes me happy that we care for him as we can.

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I haven't run for 18 days. I couldn't stand reading the posts from my friends who are all out there exercising and running....the competitive me couldn't take it anymore, and since resting my going-numb-when-I-run feet wasn't doing anything, I took off for two miles this morning. I always know when I haven't been exercising regularly -- I get a little out of breath climbing stairs, I can't hang on to the canter as long on my horse -- but when I haven't been running, WELL...I can tell. I can tell because when I get out there, the fat on my middle-aged ass jiggles and bounces along behind me like ill-fitting saddlebags.

THAT is NOT acceptable. Nor is it attractive. I'm only willing to give in to being middle-aged but so much at this point.

So, I'm back at it, at least until I am told otherwise. Going to keep the daily mileage low -- 2 to 3 miles, max -- until my orthopedist appointment in a few weeks. Then we'll see what I have to work with.

******************************************

Work is eating my soul, and also all the extra time and energy I have to be creative. It sucks, but it's enabling the horse stuff, so it's a catch-22. I haven't been able to make anything of substance in a very long time, and I believe my Muse is about to throw one epic tantrum. I also don't think it's possible to work fewer hours and get the work done on time, so I am stuck. The summer is going to be very, very tricky in terms of getting the volume of work done in the time that I have, given the kids will be home with me most of the time. I see quite a lot of evenings spent in my cubicle at the office, with the cleaning folks. Ugh.

I can't really complain, though. I have a good job, and I think I work for someone who values my work, although it's hard to tell at times.

At any rate, there's a thunderstorm tonight, which means I am putting Wren back to bed over and over until she finally decides to fall asleep. I think I've convinced her to stay in her room, though, so I'm going to grab myself some porch time before it gets too late.

in the middle

I'm feeling very middle-aged lately. My left knee is hurting for some unknown (probably arthritic) reason, and when I go for my usual runs, the toes on both feet, but mostly my left foot, go inexplicably numb. If I don't run, then my feet and legs hurt every morning when I get out of bed, stiff, and crackly.

The battle with my metabolism goes on and on, and I fight my genetics, my love for food, and my occasional periods of total physical inertia. Contrary to popular belief, I don't *like* to run, and I enjoy lounging on the couch with a good book or television as much as I enjoy being active. I run, as I've said before, so I can eat. Biggest cheap exercise bang for the buck, so I feel slightly panicked when I can't run, or fall out of the habit for periods of time.

Horse riding IS exercise, but it doesn't work the same as running. And no, I don't just sit there.

My stamina and strength seem to rise and fall, dependent upon factors that were non-issues even ten years ago -- how much sleep have I gotten, how hard did I work yesterday, what did I eat, did I drink too much last night?

The kids are fabulous, but also demanding. My name is called constantly, there is bickering and attitude and fighting a good portion of the time. It's always so LOUD. Homework needs to be done, grades need to be monitored, and chores are ever-present and necessary, but the adults have to follow behind all the time to make sure things get done. Sometimes It's just easier to do it yourself. The house is a wreck. I want to decorate, to put up curtains and have nice furniture and accessories, but I can't seem to make that happen. Toys and kid stuff are still everywhere. I'm in a constant state of being thisclose to antiques and nice things without the fear of destruction.

Life is easier and more difficult: five schedules, five sets of activities, three school situations, several separate nervous systems all wired in individual manners with separate functionality, but also the ability for some independence and autonomy, for real family fun, and for mobility with fewer encumbrances (no stroller, diaper bag, and other assorted paraphernalia).

There's SO much raw creativity and creative energy pouring out of everyone in the house. It's like living in an artist's colony.

We hang together like a circus with multiple acts, taking turns, but also all going simultaneously. This is how we are, how we are wired, and on the grey days, it's all chaos and cacophony, but on the glorious days, oh!, we LIVE so powerfully and with so much joy!

I worry about getting lost, myself, in the thick forest of my own life. About there not being enough life left to do all the things I really want to try. I feel desperate, sometimes, that time is passing and I am not making the most of all the opportunities that are presented to me, every moment of every day -- to be with my kids, to create, to play and experience, to teach. Am I doing enough? Am I letting them do enough? It's not always possible to tell, while things are still unfolding before you.

And some days, it's hard to remember that I am no longer the targeted demographic for things that don't involve cleaning products or furniture or domestic engineering. I am learning to sink into my roles, to live them as I am and not as I am told to live them.

I care so much less what other people think of who I am, or what I look like, what I wear, eat, create, think, and do.

This is the gift of middle age: the ability to finally reach the top of the hill you've been climbing for decades. About the time you think there are no more destinations, no more goals to reach for or options to choose from, you move past the treeline, and you get a clearer view to the possibilities that you didn't even know were still out there. Now, you can see where you're traveling to, or pick a new destination, because they are all laid out like an endless carpet of prospects. Sometimes the fog rolls in, and the view is obscured, but that never lasts, and if you're patient, the scene becomes visible once more.

Sometimes it's really hard to remember that.

Happy trails

Spring has sprung here in Central Virginia, and just like winter hanging on with a vengeance, spring has apparently decided to ramp right up into summer this year. It was 90 degrees yesterday. Two weeks ago, it snowed.

Today was glorious, though. Seventy-five degrees, slightly breezy, and totally and completely sunny. I wore shorts and flip flops out to the barn, which I almost never do, and reveled in being in the sun without five layers of clothing and my big winter coat. This past winter, I definitely felt the cold more than I usually do, and so I was determined to soak up as much sun as possible. I sure do need the Vitamin D anyway.

Poor Champ, along with the rest of the horses, still retains a winter coat, and although he is shedding, it's not happening fast enough for the weather. We don't clip the horses, either, so he was one hot Quarter Horse.

I noticed he was acting weird and not really wanting to work for me on Tuesday -- he takes a good bit of leg to get going and keep him going, but this was ridiculous! I had to completely hose him off afterward, because he was soaked in sweat, the poor guy. Today was shaping up to be the same.

He walked out of the barn toward the ring after we tacked up, and then he just stopped. Stood there like a bronze statue in the driveway and would. not. move.

I got a lunge whip to urge him along, but it still took me ten minutes to get him about 30 yards. I should have known. He just did not want to work.

The lesson plan for myself and Allison, who rides with me, was to work on dressage and then jump a little at least. But after about fifteen minutes of half-assing our way around the ring, and the horses getting sweatier and sweatier, Kathy said that we should just go trail ride.

WOOOO!!!!!

And we did.

I haven't been on a trail ride in at least fourteen years, and I haven't been on a GOOD trail ride in more than that. Champ was just wonderful to ride out with -- he crossed the road, rode on the shoulder and across gravel driveways, and into and out of the woods without even batting an eye.

When I say it was a joy to be in the saddle today, I mean it with the whole of my heart. I could ride like I did today every single day and be happy.

Chatting with my companions, the swing and sway of the horses walking along, and sun on my shoulders and arms, the occasional trot.....seeing the trees in bloom and the sapphire sky...just glorious. My heart was full to overflowing, and my mind was calm. The peacefulness settled deep into my soul, and I still feel it, even hours later. I want to go back and do it again. I wanted to stay out longer and go farther.

My time was limited -- the 2pm preschool pickup constrained me today -- but there will be more rides out, this season, into the summer, and into the fall, for sure.

I am so proud of myself for being comfortable, for trusting Champ to not freak out (not even close), for just enjoying the walk and the company and the horses. THIS is what owning and riding horses is about for me. If I never went to another competition, if I never did anything but had my weekly lesson and then trail rode all over the place, then I could be happy for the rest of my riding life.

I'm already pretty happy.

See? Even Champ is smiling!

Bitterness

I understand not being able to move on, to a point. I am certainly not one to forgive and forget very quickly, and I've been known to hold some serious grudges. But we only get a little while to be in this glorious world, and I cannot imagine living my life so consistently upset that I would waste days, or even years, holding on to something I could no longer change, or was no longer really relevant. At some point, you have to decide that YOU are more important, and that you are going out and making something of yourself. I hate to see a life wasted in the pursuit of stoking the coals of negativity.

Truly, it is. Should you feel a need for revenge against the one who wronged you, then make something more of yourself. Be happy, move on, get a life. Don't keep that back burner going. It's not worth it, and it only burns you from the inside out.

Making excuses for why you can't move on is sad. Blaming others for your inability to move on is pitiful. Right up there with blaming others for your not being able to do the things you want to do.

Don't miss out on the good stuff because you're too busy shoveling fuel into your fire.

The Ukrop's Monument Avenue 10K

I ran in my first real road race this past weekend. It was the Monument Avenue 10K, held each year here in Richmond, and it was so much fun!

It took me a few days to really process the whole experience before deciding to write about it, and now I want to capture some of the details before I forget, so some of this will be poetic musings about me, and running and conquering personal goals, but some will also be race details and training information so I don't forget it for the next race.

Having not run this (or any, really) race before, and knowing there were going to be 42,000+ people downtown, I knew we'd have to get a decently early start. Thanks to our awesome friends, the little kids were able to spend the morning at their place, rather than be subjected to getting dragged all over the Fan and the VCU campus, waiting for Mommy. Kira opted to stay home and be a teenager (i.e., sleep in).

I got up really early (6:00) and got dressed, making sure I ate breakfast and had my coffee by 7:30, so I wouldn't be full by my 10:03 start time. Yogurt with honey and walnuts, and a toaster waffle was all I could stomach. I wanted that waffle really badly, and as soon as I ate it, I wished I hadn’t. Interesting side note: When I was getting dressed early in the morning, I looked out the bathroom window and noticed my neighbors' lights were on in their bathroom and downstairs. I guessed they were running the race, too, and I was right, as we met up with them after the race.

On our way down to the start line, it started to rain a little, which wasn't terrible, but it was chilly, and I didn't have anything to wear before the race but my well-loved black hoodie. Next time, I will remember to pack a trash bag just in case. I knew Travis wasn't going to be able to wait with me at the start, so he dropped me off a couple of blocks from the finish, and I walked, with a couple hundred other people, over to the starting area on Broad Street.

In my long shorts and short sleeve technical shirt, I wasn't totally frozen, but it was definitely chilly. I'd left my hoodie in the car, as I knew the only thing I could do with it would be to ditch it at the start, and I knew I would need it for afterward. It wasn't terrible, though, and I wasn't the only one without a jacket.

Getting close to the start area, I could hear the other waves getting on the course. The music was blasting, there were hundreds and hundreds of people all in a party mood, and I was walking into the midst of it all. I have to be honest and say that I was already starting to get all emotional. It was very powerful. I made my way down to Broad Street, and did get out of the rain for a while, both at the VCU bookstore, and in a small storefront church that had opened its doors to runners waiting for the start. The heat was on in there, and the company was nice; I spoke to two ladies for a while, and we talked about running and about the Disney marathon series. :)

I got into my wave group (WC) at around 9:30, so I could get a good position on the right side of the road. Originally, I was supposed to be *walking* this race with a group of therapist friends of mine, but it happened that each had developed issues along the way that prevented them from participating. I still looked around, though, in hopes of finding someone I knew. No luck. A sweet lady standing next to me offered to take my picture and text it to my husband, which was nice.

Before I knew it, it was time to go. The announcer was getting the crowd pumped up, and we were all jumping up and down to Van Halen's 'Jump'. It was still sprinkling a little bit. I set my stopwatch, and remembered my plan to walk the first mile, made sure my energy gels weren’t going to fall out of my sports bra, and off we went, cheering as we crossed over the start line. All I could think was, "Oh my God, now I *have* to do this!" I turned my music down a bit to listen to the people cheering, but as I rounded the corner and got out to Monument, I turned the music back up.

I walked the first three-quarters of a mile, until we got out on Monument Avenue, and then I started my (slow) run. I spent the first 2 miles frustrated by the number of people walking who were blocking the way. The rule is, only two people across, and stay to the right if you're slow, but there were lines of people four to eight across the road, all walking, and those of us slow runners were zig-zagging all over the road to get by. It made for a really irritating experience, but there was nothing I could do except be polite and try to get around. I would say that in the first three and a half miles, most of the walking I did was forced on me because of the crowd. No help for that, except to register for a faster wave next year. I think I ran about 7 miles total, though, with all that shifting back and forth across the road.

Miles 2 to 4 were good. My legs did not hurt, my pace was decent, and I was able to take a Gu (energy gel) and get a sip of water without any trouble. It was nice to feel good. I ran most of that distance. At one point, I debated taking off my music, but I opted not to, ultimately. As much as this race is one big concert and party, it was still going to be a physical challenge for me, and I needed to be able to deal with that. Music helps me crawl into my head and keep my focus away from the physical effort. The ability to dissociate is a powerful skill to have, and I haz it.

The mile distance between marker 4 and 5 was an ETERNITY. So much so, that I was wondering where the hell the 5 mile marker was, and then was thinking I somehow missed it! I walked more here than I wanted to, just because I was having trouble with cardio endurance at this point. My legs still felt great, so that was frustrating. Usually it's the other way around.

FINALLY, I came upon mile 5. I had been looking for my photographer friend, who had stationed himself at the intersection of Monument and Belmont, and I wanted to try to get him to take a picture of me, but as I struggled with mile 4 to 5, I lost track of the intersecting streets, and passed him without realizing it. He didn't see me, either. :(

At mile 5 to 6, I was just hoping I had enough in me to finish at a run. I let myself walk just a little to catch my breath and get re-organized, and by the time Monument turned into Franklin, I was running again. My iPod put on Kelly Clarkson's "Stronger (What Doesn't Kill You)", which was perfect for the end of this race. The run down to the finish was incredible! I could hear all the people cheering even though I had my music up loud! What I didn't know was that Travis had made his way to the finish, and was yelling for me all the way over the finish line, 'Go, Chris!' poster in hand! It was awesome. Really really awesome. I really had to work to keep from crying as I ran over the timing pads and into the finish area.

I was completely unprepared for the emotional feeling of "I can do ANYTHING!!" that came over me after I got through the finish. It was incredible, and I felt really overwhelmed. I know I said to myself, "I am SO doing this again!", and I am pretty sure I also made up my mind to try for the half marathon in the fall.

Not expecting Travis to find me right away, I went off in search of food and water. Yay for Ukrop's White house rolls and bananas! Food in hand, I wandered back over to the family meeting area, and Travis found me easily after that. He took some great video of me exclaiming over what I thought was my race time, only to found out later I was off by ten minutes. But he told me over and over how proud he was of me, and I almost cried. Of course I know my husband is proud of me, but this really felt like I did something big. We wandered around for a while, debated on whether or not I should eat a funnel cake (I wanted one but opted out), and then we headed toward the parking garage. Along the way, we ran into our backyard neighbors who both had run the race! By this time, I was really starting to get sore and stiff, particularly in my low back and left leg. Not horrible, but not comfortable, either. It was tough to slide into the car, and my ice packs were there, but not as cold, and it had been a while since I stopped running.

Travis dropped me off at home so I could shower and unwind a little while he went to retrieve the little kids. Kira, much like most teens, hadn't even gotten out of bed yet. I, however, had run six miles!

The rest of the day was full of kid activities (Easter egg hunt at our church), dinner out (MmmmMexican!), and me trying to avoid eating ALL THE THINGS!! I finished up the day with a celebratory beer, got briefly teary-eyed over my official time (which was ten minutes slower than according to my watch), but then reminded myself of the huge thing I had done, and resolved to be faster next time.

I still don’t like to run. I love what it does for me, and I love feeling as powerful as I did when I finished that race. That’s good enough for me right now. I learned a lot while training for this race, and I know now just how helpful it is to have experienced friends and other runners to help figure out what to do.

I know that there is nothing more comfortable than ‘real’ technical running clothing when you’re running.

I know that I really CAN do this running thing.

I know that racing is so much fun, even if there’s not a snowball’s chance in hell that I’m going even come close to winning.

I know that most runners are incredibly friendly, helpful, and supportive, even to 41 year old, slightly pudgy beginner runner moms.

I know about the incredible power of the ice pack/ice bath immediately after a run.

I know that there is strength in numbers. And in me.

Pre-Race Jitters

The Monument Avenue 10K race, which I am running on Saturday, is my very first 'real' race. Oh, sure, about 13 years ago, I completed the Charlottesville Women's 4-Miler after doing the training program. I don't remember my time, but I do remember I didn't stick with running after that.

There will be 42,000 people running this race, all cramming themselves into the Downtown/VCU area on Saturday morning. I am more stressed about the logistics than anything else. parking is going to be a small nightmare, which it always is downtown, and we aren't going to bring the kids (except maybe Kira, if she can haul herself out of bed in time), because they won't have anything to do for an hour or so while I run. But I haven't figured out what we ARE going to do with the kids yet, and I'm not sure how Travis is going to get me anywhere near the start of the race, and how I am going to find him after the race. I'm worried that he won't be able to find parking and will have too far to walk on his recently surgically-dealt-with knee to meet me at the finish. Basically, running the race itself is stressing me out a lot less than the logistical effort of getting there and leaving there.

Gah.

But I went and picked up my packet this afternoon. I got my nifty white official t-shirt, and a bunch of other things, stickers, a water bottle, keychains, and brochures for all kinds of other races and events coming up in 2012. I got a blue cowbell from Anthem, which Noah loves, and I wish I had gotten one for each of the kids, because when does life ever NOT need more cowbell? But then I remembered this is my family I am talking about and more cowbell is probably not necessary. I spoke to a woman from the local running club, who encouraged me to join their beginner group runs, and I talked to a gentleman who assured me I COULD do a half-marathon, seeing as how I was already going to be doing half that distance on Saturday.

I'm thinking about a half marathon.

It's been a long time since I reached for a very large, very challenging personal goals, and a half marathon just might be the thing. I crave doing something physically demanding.

I'm thinking about it.

But first, I think I am going to tackle the six miles I have in front of me on Saturday.

grace

Today is a day when I certainly feel how far from twenty I really am. Several essential body parts have been hurting in one form or another since I got out of bed.

Oh I hear, ya, all of you 'older' people....I know, I know...

It started with the crackling of my neck and spine, which sounds like a zipper being pulled up, one of those super-chunky plastic sport zips with the big teeth. *crrrrick* The official term for it is 'crepitus', which sounds a lot more like 'crap, it's crushed' or something. All of my joints crack now, and I guess if I were to have personal entrance music, that would be it: the sound of a thousand bowls of Rice Krispies all being filled with milk, all at once. Thankfully, I've never had surgery on any of my really important joints, but it IS annoying to have most of my movements accompanied by a symphony of biological noises.

I'm moving incredibly slowly today. And I'm tired.

Usually I don't feel any different than I did way back when I was young(er) and indestructible. Apparently today is the payback for all the hours-long dance classes and grueling rehearsals, throwing myself around, staying up all night, drinking too much, not eating. There are probably only a finite number of floor slides, falls, and overreaching leaps that a body can take. I was too busy pushing the limits of my physical self to try to remember that my body was an instrument or a temple.

Today the temple looks like I've been worshipping at the altar of Too Much Chocolate, Not Enough Working Out.

When I do work out, my right hip complains loudly, and it sounds much like the joint is being disassembled and then reassembled...a loud *THUNK* and the ligaments slip over the ball of the joint, and then *THUNK* as it slips back. For that, I can blame three pregnancies, and not so much excessive dancing. I think.

My husband has had five knee surgeries. I can't really complain too much, because even when I have a day of pain, at least I can still walk and get around and do what I need to do. When HE has a bad knee day, he can barely walk.

I'm trying to learn to age gracefully, because it's what I want to do and because I think accepting the inevitable is sometimes far more healthy than trying to fight it every step of the way. I can't really relate to those women who have all kinds of plastic surgery done to remove wrinkles and lift and tuck this or that. After a while I doubt they even look or feel *real* anymore. I can't grasp why anyone would artificially tan themselves and end up looking not like a bronze goddess, but like an old handbag. My single concession to vanity in my aging process is hair color, because at almost-41, my hair is more than 50% grey, and I am not ready to give up my hair color. The beauty of it is, though, that the excessive grey gives me beautiful natural-looking highlights when I color, without doing anything special besides slapping the coloring goop on.

I wish I could lose weight easily, though. I realize I would have to exercise to a level I don't know if I can manage, OR stop eating anything that is any good, or soul-filling, in order to get down to a weight I can honestly say I like.

So I waver between significant bouts of terrible insecurity about myself on this journey of getting older, and moments of true self-acceptance in which I am happy with the reflection that gazes back at me in my mirror.

Since time is going to march on regardless of what I do or do not do, or what I think about any of it, I suppose the healthier, happier path would be to extend those moments of self-acceptance into days and weeks and years.

I'll try.