FPAD: Front Door

Home, sweet home

FPAD: Sun

Sunset

FPAD: Button

My favorite winter coat

FPAD: Dinner

Super Bowl Sunday

FPAD: 10:00

Well, 10:01 to be exact :-)

FPAD: A Stranger

The Wall

FPAD: Hands

FPAD: Words

1 Corinthians 13:1

Running Towards a Goal

Let me be clear, I am NOT a fan of running. So ask me why I’m going to run my first 5k in November?

Go ahead…ask!

Well, I’m going to run a 5k because I can. Plain and simple. Actually, it’s not really all about the race. This race is a symbol, if you will. I have another goal in mind and I’m conditioning myself and training myself over the next few months so I can reach it. And since running has been known to be a thorn in my side and something I never thought I could do with success, I’m using this race to prove to myself that

I.CAN.DO.ANYTHING!

I’ve been online and read a few beginner running plans and have pretty much taken what they said and modified it a little. My goal is to run the entire race in November and not walk. But if I should walk, the goal is to finish in less than an hour. I know I should just choose one, but in life, sometimes you have to switch gears a bit to reach the ultimate goal.

Right.

So this morning, The Kirk texts me at 5:15AM asking are we running today. My first thought was NO. You see, I have a problem with getting up in the morning when it is pitch black outside. Darkness equates to night in my mind and night means sleep. But I knew better. It’s no time like the present and if I shrugged it off today, I’d certainly shrug it off tomorrow. So I sent him a return text (he’s only upstairs, mind you) and tell him that I’ll be ready in 15 minutes and to wake up The Last , since he wanted to run too.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m still in bed and I get a knock at my door.

“We’re ready”.

*deep sigh*

I tell them I’m coming and hop out of bed, throw on my yoga pants, sports bra, t-shirt and shoes and walk upstairs.

We stretch.

I knew in my mind what my goal was: run/walk – 5 minute warm up, walk briskly for 90 seconds and run for 60 seconds. I didn’t know what my distance would be.

We started. The Last told me to “JUST RUN”. And I quickly let them know that unless they wanted to carry me home, I need to go at my pace to avoid injury and frustration. He then says, “Well when you get tired, just push through it”. Sounds good, in theory, but I had a plan and I didn’t want to deviate from it too much. As long as I reach my goal, I’m good. I told him to go on and I’d catch up at some point. Their goal was to run 1.5 miles to our local convenience store and back – 3 miles. I knew better and figured I’d run/walk about 1.5 miles total.

I start with the walk and quickly nix the idea of walking for 90 seconds. Seemed too long. I start jogging…but, slowly. I do this for one block because it’s too dark to be looking down at my watch and I can’t lose my pace. I don’t know much, but I do know that when you run, pace and rhythm are key. The boys had their iPods. I wasn’t smart enough to remember that so guess what song I ran to in my head: The Bedroom Intruder Song…”he’s climbing in yo windows, he’s snatching yo peepo up…” Thank God for Antoine. LOL

There was only one major snafu on today’s walk/run. Leg itching.

Oh.my.gawd!

I have experienced this feeling before during brisk walks. It is the most awefulest, irritatingest feeling in the world. Feels like I could scratch my legs to the white meat. I’ve consulted Google about this matter and well, it’s not an unusual occurrence.

Basically:

If you exercise consistently, you have healthy arteries and capillaries that allow for maximum blood passage. If you are unfit, or have not exercised in awhile, then the capillaries can start to collapse. So when you start exercising again, the capillaries basically struggle to open back up which cause the nerves to create an itching sensation. This usually goes away once your body gets used to exercising. (Contributor, caramel825)

This makes sense to me. And when I think back to when I was really consistent with my exercise routine I remember the itching in the beginning but after a couple weeks of consistent exercise, it did disappear.

But let me tell you that today, I wanted to stop at the first sign of the itch. Because the last time it happened, I scratched my legs so much until red streaks appeared. Not cute! But then I remembered reading this blog post yesterday about a woman who just finished running the Chicago marathon. A good ways into the race, she felt soreness in her IT Band and what she did was recognize the pain and then leave it. She said, “…if we dwell on the pain in a race, we won’t get passed it and then we let our mind WIN!” So I acknowledged the itch and I moved on.

It worked!

All in all, I ran/walked about 2 miles today in 30 minutes. I felt great! I stretched afterwards and started my day.

Easy-peasy-bo-breezy.

Let’s just pray it remains this way.

Fourteen Sixteen Seventeen Twenty

No, I haven’t forgotten how to count by 2’s. Those are the ages of the young men that live with me. I affectionately call them “The Boys”. They are awesome kids who I have had the privilege of parenting in whole or in part.

Meet Capt. Kirk - the twenty year old college sophomore. My brother and the oldest of The Boys. He’s Kirk because he writes beautiful lyrics like Kirk Franklin but can’t sing a lick, save for the choir where his voice blends in. He also used to “kirk” out at random times throughout his pre-teen years. You should have seen it; it was amazing and not in a good way. Very smart kid who drips of sarcasm, attitude, determination, vision, humor and sweetness. I spoiled him rotten as a kid and am probably mostly responsible for his love for all things candy. I’m not proud of this accomplishment. He doesn’t have a driver’s license and I wish he did. He’s creative, loves music and is a preacher - not in the “he lectures everyone all the time” way, but in the “…and God said He loves you” while standing behind a podium/pulpit way. A very inspirational fellow who definitely has a special calling on his life. But, he’s also a twenty year old college male. Yeah.

Next up is The First – my oldest son. Smart as a whip and stubborn as a mule. He’s been known to be the clown, most times to his detriment. He’s getting better with being mature and making momma proud. He has a heart of gold and is the first I call for help with anything. He says “yes ma’am” and “yes sir”, opens the door for females and is known to help old ladies with their bags. I must’ve done something right. He’s the self-proclaimed fashion guru of the house. He knows the hottest male fashion trends, refuses to buy cheap and could be known as a label ho. Champagne taste on a kool aid budget. He likes what he likes and won’t settle for less in anything. I love this and hate this about him simultaneously. Remind me to tell you the story about Easter suit shopping 2009. He taught himself to play the piano and is pretty good at it. He’s deathly afraid of cats and neither of us knows why. He loves all things food, except for potato salad. This kid will be 18 at the end of the year and is smelling himself. If you didn’t know, 18 is some sort of magic number. I’m pretty sure I heard him say something about being and man and doing what he wants. We all know how that goes, right? Right. He used to want to be a chef (and can cook really well) but couldn’t figure out how to be a millionaire within the first few years of graduating culinary arts school. He’s now going to be an entrepreneur who makes boat loads of money. I believe him because he’s a hard worker and determined.

Then we have The Last – my youngest son. There will be no more unless God wants me to be the virgin that brings the second coming of Christ. I’m not a virgin. So yeah, shop’s closed. He’s a cool dude. Very unassuming and off-the-cuff hilarious. He’s my affectionate kid. I picked him up until he was seven years old. Judge me if you want, I don't’ care. He’s mature for his age, very logical and very matter of fact. There are no cut cards with him. He hates that I follow him on Twitter because he can’t say what he wants (read: cuss). I don’t care if he does, by the way, because I’m pretty sure I cussed at his age. But out of respect for me he won’t tweet a curse word. But he has no problem re-tweeting a curse word. There’s more than one way to skin a cat. He’s clever and loves animals (except for cats) and the guitar. Taught himself how to play and I’ve been told that he’s actually as good as I think he is. He’s unconventional. Loves rice and potatoes, hates biscuits and is the laziest boy to walk the earth.

And last but certainly not least there’s Sly. My nephew. Tall, skinny and cute as a button. Very sensitive and very lovable. He’s the quiet type that you have to watch out for because well…he’s sly. He’d convince an Eskimo to go out and buy ice cubes with the money they made from building igloos. He’s got that pretty boy swag and I’m pretty sure he knows it and will use it to his advantage. He’s the baby of The Boys and they remind him of it - and treat him like it - often. When everyone is chipping in to complete a task, he’s the one that slipped away to use the bathroom 5 minutes into the task and never returned. You don’t realize this until you’re about 15 minutes from finishing said task. He’s a wrestling fan. Not the real professional sport, but the WWE type stuff. He thinks it’s real. o_O He loves the drums and also plays the piano. Self-taught, like the other ones. He’s also into that weird spooky stuff like those paranormal-type shows and horror movies. I am anxious to see his personality develops in the next couple of years. Should be interesting.

So, these are the men that sleep in my house. They make me happy, mad, frustrated, worry, laugh out loud, cry, pray, be thankful and love. They are so much more than the few lines that I’ve written about them here. But don’t you worry, I’ll be writing about them again.