Do not call your eye doctor; you are seeing a second post this week. Wonders never cease.

Today, I’m guest posting at 3 Things for Mom, a blog so cool I wish I’d thought of it. Every day features a different writer sharing a truth, a tip, and a find for moms. The posts are short – the perfect quick, daily read.

Head over there to see what I have to say about having nice stuff, carb-laden meals, and stylishly saving your phone from imminent disaster. While you’re at it, please consider following 3 Things for Mom on Twitter and Facebook, too.

Thanks for visiting!

Learning to play goalie: one of many new skills he’s worked on this year.

I can’t, he said.

I’m the worst one, he complained.

Why do I have to do this? he asked.

Thanks to my many – many – years of life, and due to objectivity only slightly marred by Mommy Goggles, I know he’s wrong about being the worst. But I also know the danger of I can’t.

My father always quoted someone (who? I can’t remember), saying “I can’t never could do nothin’.” Even as a child, I was tortured by that butchering of the English language, and yet I cherished the wisdom within. Grammatically painful, yes. True, all the same.

I can’t is the kiss of death. The scariest part of lying to ourselves this way? We only need to utter one I can’t or I’m stupid or I’m worthless before we start believing it.

Mark and I regularly tell our kids that we want them to take I can’t out of the mix. Say it’s hard or I’m learning or I haven’t figured this out yet. But, for the love, don’t say I can’t. So when my son stared at the floor and mumbled can’t, followed by quit, I wanted to yell, Do not ever say that again!

I didn’t yell (a small parenting win, I guess). Instead, I told him about how hard it is for me to run. I told him that I kind of suck at it, although I think I said stink. We don’t say ‘suck’ (out loud, in front of the kids). I told him how I’m slow, I hurt, and at moments I want to quit. At lots of moments.

So why do you do it? Puzzlement in his eyes.

For the journey, I said. It’s about the journey.

You mean like a long trip?

Kind of.

No, wait, that’s exactly it.

This, here, this life? It’s a trip. As in, duuude, that’s a trip; and as in, a journey.

We can choose to sit still, doing only the things we’re good at – and for most of us who are not Justin Timberlake, the things we are really, truly good at number in the low single digits. I’m not saying we’re talentless hacks. We have a few things that are our things, but the rest of it takes work. A lot of work.

For me, the process of doing that work is where I find the reward. If I woke up one day and could effortlessly run 13 miles I would… freaking love it. And yet, crossing the finish line wouldn’t be as rewarding. Running would suddenly be like making coffee.

See, I make coffee by putting a pod into a magical machine that spits out liquid smiles on demand. The process takes, oh, 73 seconds. And the coffee is good. It makes me happy, and peps me up.

In spite of all that goodness and pep, I feel no sense of accomplishment, no pride. I have never posted a picture of my Coffee Making Finisher’s Medal (but I admit to posting too many cups of coffee on Instagram – it’s like posting pictures of your kids; we photograph what we love).

Back to the coffee-running analogy. It’s hard to feel pride in something that requires no effort. There’s no journey involved in my magical coffee-making, even if some mornings the 37 steps from bed to coffee do seem awfully long. Without planting, tending, harvesting, roasting, and grinding my own beans,  I can’t claim to have achieved anything in the brewing process. You know, other than a caffeine high.

Like putting in the training miles before a race, or growing your own coffee beans, it’s the process that changes us.

The moments in life that sand us until we shine are not singular. There’s nothing quick about them. Instead, it’s more like a cross country road trip with toddlers: when it’s over, you realize you made more stops than you planned, took a wrong turn or five, and – probably – wept a little.

These journeys make us who we are.

As for my son, he nodded along and said he got it. It’s likely he just wanted me to stop talking, but he did say that he wanted to work harder, too. He said he would focus on the process instead of on being the best. Sure, he has since slipped into mopey mode over a lousy ball game or a rough day at school. He has been grumpy a time or two, but not once has he said, I can’t.

***

A Note:

I’ve been away from this space for longer than anticipated. No good story behind that absence, just a little behind-the-blog writing and work going on. Some planning and thinking and dreaming. I’d rather write nothing here than post half-baked rambling (oh, I know I’ve done that before, it’s just not my favorite). I always miss this space when I’m gone, though – it’s nice to be back here today!

Happy Belated Mother’s Day to all of the fabulous mothers in my life. I hope you had a beautiful weekend. 

Race bling: necklaces instead of finisher medals AND a PR (personal record, which in my case was finishing!) medal.

I want to write a real race report here, but my brain is not fully operational.

In fact, I’m not sleeping well and I’m a basket case, emotionally. Is this a post-race thing? I have no idea. If you’re a more experienced runner, go on and weigh in, because I’ve been a bit wonky since about 24-hours post-race.

Before I continue, let’s all accept that I will leave out some stuff, won’t mention all the people who deserve a-mentioning, and may not do my best (or even good) writing here. If you cannot agree to these terms, you should move along. I understand.

If you’re game for some rambles, here we go. Let’s talk about the course first.

This course was not my favorite. Granted, I don’t have a lot to compare it to, but I still know it was not my favorite. The handful of sheriff’s department employees and race volunteers were the only spectators until the last couple miles. There is no entertainment whatsoever, unless you count livestock.

And the hills. The hills!

I was told the last three miles would be flat. Someone needs to revisit math class to learn about angles or however it is you measure hills. With the exception of a couple flat-ish, rolling miles in the middle (I’d call most of it a false flat, because it was a long, slow climb from mile 8-to-9; at least I think that’s where it was – my memory is not 100% clear on which mile was which), the entire course is hills. Some are huge, like vertical, straight up, my car struggled with them; some are more like gentle rollers, if your idea of gentle is hauling your substantial behind up and down hills.

Thankfully, I had good company from Lisa, Nora, and Melanie during the middle of the race. I’m not so sure the tragicomedy I was writing in my head, starring race spectators Bessie the Cow and Carmine “The Big Chicken” Ragusa, would have been enough to entertain me for those miles.

Then there’s the golf course.

The last three miles were a special kind of mental torture. Miles so unpleasant that I think Guantanamo should look into a similar set-up. The mind-numbing boredom was paired with physical pain from trudging through a rat-maze-like course of rolling, concrete, golf cart paths. Hell, really.

I thought some very foul language and contemplated cheating by cutting across the course to the finish. I contemplated hard. But I don’t cheat, except for at board games. Look, Chutes and Ladders could last for hours. Someone has to end the game, for the love.

Hills from hell and imaginary conversations with roadside livestock aside, the most important bit of information is this: I finished, and I felt unbelievably good during the run. I took things really, really, really slowly, but it was the best run I’ve had in a while, as far as how I felt. My feet were light (until mile 10, the beginning of the concrete wasteland) and my head was clear (until mile 11, when I began flirting with streaking across a golf course).

I know a lot of people were praying for me. You may not believe in that, you may think it’s cheesy, you may not even be reading anymore.

I believe it made a difference, though, since the day before the race I was hurt. I had serious pain in my knee and hip with every step. And yes, I did the work, meaning I saw the sports chiropractor, then I iced, rolled out, took Advil, and rested as much as possible. But I also felt completely lifted up by the support of my friends and family. And yes, their prayers.

So there was that, for which I’m grateful.

I realize I’ve whined a lot about the course, and friends, it was hard for a first-timer. But here’s the thing (there’s always a thing): I did it, I feel amazing, aside from mild soreness, and I’m ready to go back for more. I’m ready, even if more means another round with that infernal golf course. So thank you, all of you who cheered me on during training and race day. It means everything to me.

There’s more to tell about the weekend, but, whoa, this post got long in a hurry. In summary:

* Hyatt Regency Lost Pines is beautiful (and they have good customer service – thank you, Hyatt, for responding to my check-out time dilemma).

* ZOOMA friends rock (please see the Ambassador page and the Muscle Milk Light Challenge page for a complete list of my new ZOOMA buddies – I’m so proud to know all of you!).

* Spa Django, heavenly.

* Coming home to 13 balloons, chocolate cake, and a proud family? Rocks.

Thanks to all of you!

And finally, here are some things I can now recommend as a running expert enthusiast:

* Trigger Point therapy

* Active Release Therapy (if you’re anywhere near Round Rock, TX, check out Dr. Seth Wagenblast at Active Sports Therapy)

* Pilates to stretch and strengthen hips and core (or any exercises that strengthen your core; I just happen to love Pilates and I have a great teacher if you want her name)

* Cross training (I need to do more of that)

* Compression socks and sleeves

* Good shoes (to celebrate my finish I ordered another pair of my beloved Brooks Glycerin 10s)

* Teammates or a training group (some kind of accountability)

* Body Glide

* Advil

* Tacos

I wonder…

:: If you run, what’s your favorite distance to run?

:: Any advice for recovery, especially my poor sleep and angst-y emotions?

P.S. None of the above links are sponsored. I’m just sharing them in case you want more info.

In a little less than 120 hours, I will be a half marathon finisher. Even if it kills me, and based on the symphony of aches and pains I have right now it just might kill me, I will run/walk/crawl 13.1 miles on Saturday, March 23 at ZOOMA Texas.

When I started this journey, I had one big goal and one smaller (tastier) goal:

:: The big one? To become a runner again. The last time I called myself a runner, the time I ran 26.2 miles in Hawaii, I had a different body and a different life. I was in my 20′s, childless, and had not yet nearly destroyed my calf muscles. That was almost a decade-and-a-half ago. I miss that woman, the one who ran.

:: My littler goal? To continue eating tacos and carbs without getting any fatter than I already am. As goals go, it’s not exactly noble. But it tastes good.

Come to mama.

Now, three months into the journey and less than a week away from the race, I’ve eaten a whole lot of tacos (breakfast tacos, lunch tacos, snack tacos…) and a few doughnuts.

More significantly, I found her. The runner woman. She’s still disguised in some extra pounds (see: tacos and carbs), but she’s closer to the surface than she has been for many years.

On the path to… me.

I think a lot about why I run. As the miles slip slowly beneath my feet, my mind wanders, stopping off at the mundane (To-Do-List-Land) and the fantastic (When-I-Win-The-Lottery-Berg). No matter what I daydream about, my mind always makes a stop at Why-Am-I-Doing-This-Ville?

I learned something over the miles: there isn’t one, simple reason to run. Depending on the day, my answers have included:

:: Community, both the abstract sense of community you get as you nod or gasp out, “Morning!” to strangers on the trail, and the concrete sense of community through something like ZOOMA. Reading blog posts and Facebook updates from ambassadors and Muscle Milk Light Half Marathon Challenge participants always lifts my spirits. Their encouragement gets me out the door on days I don’t wanna, and they talk me down from my panicky cliff when a run goes badly.

:: Gear. Really. I love all the stuff. Garmin watch, compression socks, Spibelt, tech tees, and shoes, oh my.

Compression socks. Sexy, yes? No.

:: Getting in tune with, well, me. I feel stronger, mentally and physically, after a long run. I remember now that I can. Can what? Just about whatever I decide to, that’s what. We all have our limitations, but remember: we’re not defined by our limitations – and more importantly, we can change them. In December I struggled with three miles, but today three miles is a fun, easy distance. Limitation, schmimatation.

Running in Central Park. Can’t think of better place to find myself.

:: Nature. I’m not that outdoorsy. I don’t camp, and heaven help us all if I have to hide among the trees to take care of business that God surely never intended to be an outside activity. When I’m on a run, though, I feel very Walden about it all. Gale force winds aside, I love the sun on my face and watching bluebonnets sprout along the trail. I appreciate rock formations that provide shade. I find a train trestle that once provided the pathway for moving granite used to build our state capitol building.

One of my favorite spots. I think the center rock looks like a turtle’s head. Do you see it?

:: Sanity. All that hullabaloo about endorphins happens to be true. I have a sunnier outlook when I run, and I think everyone in my house appreciates that. I don’t have the scientific evidence to back it up just now, but if we were to all Google it, I can guarantee we’d find study after study espousing the benefits of a body filled with oxygenated blood. Circulation is good, yo.

:: Food. I may have mentioned that? I’m an unapologetic lover of stuff that tastes good. Now that I’m closing in on 40, even 13.1 miles isn’t enough to warrant eating whatever I want, but it sure helps. I still have to behave myself most of the time. Running means I don’t feel guilty about the other times, though.

Homemade doughnuts. Have mercy.

Saturday is going to be hard. It’s a hilly course, and central Texas has been windy lately (oh, how I hate you, wind). When I have to dig deep, I will let my mind wander through the whys, and remember that struggle isn’t a bad thing. Struggle, in fact, is the slow process of chipping away the junk, allowing strength and character to shine through.

I wonder…

:: Why do you run (or bike or do martial arts or climb or whatever it is you do)?

***

Some ZOOMA-related business for you: Check out the Run to Chi-Town Sweepstakes. Please enter, win, and take me with you!

The Blog Blahs are a real thing. Truth: everything that once seemed fun will, at some point, feel like a grind. Bloggers begin questioning what to do with their piece of the web, a practice that, unchecked, leads to questioning the purpose of life.

Not really. Or at least not much.

It does get monotonous at times. Lonely at other times. It always feels self-indulgent to me, even when I’m holding firm to my party line, This is where I practice writing.

And then something fun comes along, and while, yes, the fun thing may be a tad self-absorbed and self-indulgent, it provides a much needed shot in the blog arm. This week, the shot came from my friends, Elaine from The Miss Elaine-ous Life and Heather from Theta Mom, who are Old School Blogging again.

My blog has been on the back burner – no, not even on the stove – this week… and last week. When I saw the Old School posts, I had to fire up the burners and join the fun. This month we’re all answering the following questions. Read on, and if you’re a blogger, consider linking up at Elaine’s or Heather’s.

What Were You Doing 10 Years Ago?

This question required math. More math than I was prepared for since I was momentarily stumped on the current date. This is what happens to old people, right? We get stuck at a certain age, and it’s nearly impossible to accept that it’s 2013. My great-grandmother’s voice echoes, Oh, my, my. I don’t know anything about these VCRs. Why don’t we listen to our programs on the radio?

After some struggle to identify the date, I then had to think back to 2003. What was I doing? At that time Mark and I lived in, and were constantly renovating, this house:

This was actually taken in 2004, when it snowed on Christmas Eve… in Houston.

I had my own copy writing business, no kids, and so much free time. When I think back to all the free time I wasted, I feel nauseated.
 

What Are Five Things on Your To-Do List?

:: Schedule P’s birthday party
:: Make a long overdue hair appointment
:: Finalize summer schedule
:: Get squeaky brakes checked
:: Research for an article
 

Five Snacks You Enjoy

Just five? I do love some snacks…

:: Chips, of almost any kind, particularly if they go well with guacamole
:: Apple, with or without peanut butter
:: My new addiction, HONEST Tea’s Pomegranate Blue HONEST Ade
:: Popcorn
:: Nuts and/or trail mix (even better if you sneak some chocolate in there)
 

Some Things You Would Do If You Were a Millionaire

Gee, I’ve never thought about this before. Hahahaha. It’s one of my favorite – and possibly, one of the most dangerous – games to play. I think it’s unhealthy to spend a lot of time dwelling on what-ifs, but it’s perfectly reasonable to spend a little time dreaming, right?

I would… share huge chunks of cash with my family. And I would take them, and my best friends, on fabulous trips. I’d put even huger chunks of cash into a charitable foundation. I would have a house on the Pacific Northwest coastline. I would never have to worry about paying for my kids to get braces or go to college. I would have a full-time masseuse on staff.

Oregon coast, where my millions will be spent on a house.

Some Places You Have Lived

Texas. All Texas. San Antonio, Austin, Ft. Worth, Houston, Austin again.

Texas Forever. (Anyone else desperately miss Tami Taylor and Tim Riggins?)

Austin is dear to me, but it’s no secret that I would love – really, really love – to live in a place with green plants and summer temps that don’t melt off your face. But, I love my family more than I love rain and lush greenery. It’s close, but family ekes out climate. So here I am. In Austin. Until I die of heatstroke.
 

Some Bad Habits

I don’t have any.

I lie sometimes. That’s one, I suppose.

Seriously, I may have some rotten habits. For example, I cuss. Coincidentally, I now have a nearly-four-year-old who screams, Oh, dammage! when he’s mad. I hope his teachers haven’t figured out that he thinks that’s what I’m saying when I say, Dammit!

I eat way too many sweet things.

I’m a terrible – TERRIBLE – phone person, and therefore am out of touch with some people I would love to talk to much more often.
 

Some Jobs You Have Had

:: Lifeguard (Please don’t run around the pool. I am seriously considering buying a whistle to take to the pool this summer.)

:: Camp counselor (Bagged a husband at that job.)

:: Event planner and continuing ed manager at the United States Professional Tennis Association (I am a horrid tennis player.)

:: Community Relations Manager at Enron (Yes, that Enron. No, I had no idea about any of it until it was much too late.)

:: Freelance writer. (I am currently figuring out how to make this job work for me again.)

:: Mom. (The only job I promise I’ll never quit.)

Alright folks, that’s it for the March edition of Old School Blogging. I had fun – hope you did, too.
 

I wonder…

:: What were you doing 10 years ago?

When I say what I’m about to say, anyone with a human infant right now – or anyone who’s ever had a human infant – may laugh at me. Or yell at me. Or roll their eyes. (Be advised, I could win an eye-rolling competition, so go on, roll ‘em at me. I’ll be rolling right back.)

I’m going to say this thing anyway: puppies are ridiculously hard work. And I am tired. Not I’m-not-getting-sleep tired, but is-it-necessary-to-pee-on-all-the-things tired.

You may remember that we decided to get a dog. If you follow me on Facebook or Twitter (shameless plug: please follow me, won’t you?), you may know that we did, in fact, recently adopt. She’s not so much a dog, though, as a puppy. We ended up with Piper, an adorable three-and-a-half month old of indeterminate parentage. Austin Dog Rescue named her, and told us we could change it as the puppy was unaware she had a name. My boys loved Piper, however, and it does suit her, so the name stuck.

The pink dragon is gonna get it.

Ah, Piper. She is cute and cuddly, liking nothing more than a warm lap to wallow in. Lies. She likes chewing on my rugs and new shirts more than she likes laps. Why must puppy teeth be prison yard shiv sharp? So… laps are second place.

We all love her, but we are all weary of living with a four-legged land mine. You never know when she’s going to explode. (This is a metaphor, people: what we’re afraid of is the pee – or worse – on the floor. As far as I know, dogs do not spontaneously combust. They don’t, do they? Because that would be just my luck.)

Last week I was a shell of a woman. Mark and I slept restlessly, always sure we heard Piper whining to go out. She usually wasn’t. We arranged our daily routines around potty breaks (for the dog; we didn’t have time to take our own breaks), always keeping one eye on the land mine. It’s better this week, mostly. I mean, she’s a puppy and therefore without manners or scruples. We’re still on wee-wee watch, but we’re settling in. Kind of. At least I’m stringing together a few complete, non-dog-related, sentences each day.

I would like to offer you a masterful blog post, but since I only get a few cohesive thoughts a day, it’s not happening. I do have things I want to tell you, though. So stick around for (quite) a few more paragraphs, please?

The Things…

A Book Recommendation

I’m considering doing some book reviews in this space. At the very least, I’m going to tell you what I’m reading and whether I think you, too, should read it. I want to write a glowing review for one recent read, and perhaps I will soon, but for now: read Rules of Civility, by Amor Towles. Just do it.

I picked up Rules at BlogHer Writers over a year ago, and it sat in the queue far too long. Once I got around to reading it, I was sad I didn’t start sooner. Then I finished the book, and was sad it was over. It’s set in New York City in the late 30′s, so if you like period fiction or New York City, you will love it. I’m going to gamble and say that even if you’re not a huge fan of period fiction or NYC, you’ll like the book. You’ll like it, because it embodies all that makes story telling beautiful: multi-dimensional characters in a setting that’s as much a character as the people.

I’ve read a couple books between Rules of Civility and what I’m reading now (Mr. Penumbra’s 24 Hour Bookstore – more on that one another time), and I still think about the story often. For me, that’s the mark of a good book, when it doesn’t release you once you read the last sentence.

A Stage Recommendation

Literature, now theater. So artsy today, right? Time is running out to submit for this year’s Listen to Your Mother Show in Austin. If you have a mother, are married to a mother, are a mother, know a mother, then you have a motherhood story. Please consider telling your story.

And please plan to attend the show. You will not be sorry, I personally ga-RON-tee it (Justin Wilson, anyone?). It’s not a money back ga-RON-tee or anything, but that won’t matter because you would never ask for such a thing because you are going to love the show. Thursday, May 9, AT&T Executive Education and Conference Center. Be there. If you’re not in Austin, check the Listen To Your Mother website for a show near you, since there are 23 other shows to choose from, all across this great country of ours.

A Race Recommendation

Oh, yes, I’m still training for the Zooma Texas Half Marathon in March. Man, has it been a bumpy road, but really, if I ever say I’m having an easy, pain-free season nobody will believe me. My IT band is acting up, and my problem foot still hurts frequently. I’m in love with compression socks, ART, and Trigger Point; they are my trifecta of pain relief, and I will gladly talk for many, many minutes about the benefits of each if you’re interested. Email me (wonderfriendblog @ gmail dot com) if you have nagging sports injuries and want my thoughtful thoughts on recovery.

Anyway, as for my training, some days I doubt myself, sure. Some days I feel like a beast. Most days it’s a combo, switching from beast to bumbling idiot and back every few steps. I know from past experience that it might hurt, and there are no ga-RON-tees on race day, but everyone who crosses that finish line will feel positively beastly, in the best sense of the word. So I beg you to join me on March 23 to run either a 5K or a half marathon. I’ve mentioned the wine and massages, haven’t I? You can register here and use my fancy, schmancy code while you’re at it: TXAMB6

That’s all, folks. For today anyway. The land mine is whining and the two-legged children are restless. I’m headed outside to watch the kids stuff rocks down each other’s pants while the puppy eats mulch.

I wonder…

:: Have any puppy-raising tips for me?

Last week was a bit of a cluster, and the guest post I told you about didn’t happen quite as planned. There was a proxy server issue somewhere between Kludgy Mom and parts of the interwebs (I have no idea what that means, but that’s what the internet told me was wrong). Some people could see the post, some people couldn’t. Some could comment, some couldn’t.

By the time the proxy server got its act together, I was traveling and having some minor issues of my own (my site didn’t want to publish anything). I’m pretty bummed I didn’t get to mention the post here, so I’m doing it today. In the constantly changing, up-to-the-minute-ness of the internet, I know it’s a little odd to promote a post that ran last week. Do we care, though? No, and that’s why I like you so very much.

So, let’s get right to it. The guest post, that is. Not too long ago I had a birthday, and was surprised by some of my feelings. I have no idea what’s next, and I’m not too sure how to go about getting wherever it is. You can read about it all here, in Adrift.

Hope you had a great weekend, and I’ll see you back here (or out there in the internets somewhere) later this week!

We are getting a dog.

On the surface this statement doesn’t carry the weight of, say, We are having a baby or We are moving to outer space. (Neither of those things are true, but of the two we are more likely to move to outer space.)

Below the surface, however, this statement is laden with tangled emotions.

My kids have been asking – begging – for a dog. They ask friends and strangers if they can hold, pet, walk their dogs. They spin tales about games of fetch and long walks and slobbery kisses, all with our very own dog.

I am not anti-dog. I was raised with pets, and before we had children, we had a four-legged baby. Gretchen, a stunning, solid black German Shepherd Dog, was smarter than most people (Mark and I included). She had two orthopedic dog beds, special food, and annual trips to the doggy ophthalmologist (yep, she saw the eye doctor more regularly than I did).

Gretchen also had hair. So much hair that continually jumped off her body and onto my floor. I longed for a Locks of Love-like organization for dogs; we would have been honored at the gala for our generous dog hair donations. And now we’d like to recognize our Platinum Level Contributors…

Our sweet, hairy girl passed away unexpectedly when our oldest son was just five months old. I cried for days, and then off and on for weeks. We still get misty sometimes when we talk about her. But here’s the thing… While I miss that specific dog, I have not missed having a dog. I have not missed sweeping and vacuuming hair, or wiping muddy doggy paws.

For the last seven years I’ve been responsible for the care and feeding of two small humans. Wiping is listed in the skills section of my resume (counters, noses, floors, bottoms). Parents know: this is a labor of love, but it’s labor all the same. Often monotonous, rarely simple, definitely tiresome. Magical and lovely, too. But let’s not downplay the work involved.

And so, over and over, I’ve denied requests for a dog. My party line has been, “I’m only house-training one living creature at a time, so until everyone in this house is bathroom independent… no dogs.”

We’re basically there on house training all the people in this house. It’s not perfect, but it’s easier. I knew that excuse wouldn’t last much longer, yet I still didn’t feel ready to add a dog to our family. And then 2012 happened.

I believe every year comes with a mix of good and bad. Sometimes, though, a year knocks you upside the head in a way others have not. In 2012 I was repeatedly smacked by this thought: tomorrow is not a guarantee.

My mother stared down cancer. One day, everything was status quo, the next I was Googling survival statistics. She beat it, but I’m not going to lie: my world did not move forward during that time. We were in a holding pattern, holding off tomorrow until we could make today into something good.

A dear friend was not so blessed. She fought, and fought, and fought. She held onto her faith that there would be tomorrows, even when it was pretty clear the days were small in number. Her family of four is now three, braving all of their tomorrows in a way they never wanted to.

And then on December 14 we all witnessed 26 families lose their tomorrows. Like most of you, I spent that day – and many that followed – in tears, full of questions, feeling fear and rage. Almost certainly, you too had ping-ponging thoughts, some sensible, others borderline crazy. I thought of little else but Sandy Hook for days; still not a day goes by that I don’t remember and pray for those families.

On December 14, amid the devastation, one odd thought kept bubbling to the top. Get a dog, it said. And I would say, Not yet, I’m not thinking about dogs today, of all days. Every couple hours the thought would come back. Get a dog.

Finally, the edict was accompanied by a follow-up thought: Why would you postpone joy for one more day? And then I understood. Tomorrow is not a guarantee.

I can keep waiting for the perfect time, when my children handle all manner of wiping for themselves (counters, noses, floors, bottoms). I can keep my floors hair-free. Or we can embrace the messiness, for with it will come all those things my boys dream about: games of fetch, long walks, and slobbery kisses, all with our very own dog.

So. We are getting a dog.

We’re hoping to adopt, and therefore have actually postponed the joy a tad. We need to be matched with a dog that will do well in a house with busy kids, and we need be home for an extended period to let the dog adjust. In a few weeks we’ll be finished traveling for a while, and it will be time.

It will be time to put aside lazy thoughts, thoughts of dog hair and muddy paws. It will be time to embrace the joy. Because tomorrow is not a guarantee.

There are no sponsors. Just me. This is, in fact, a brief message from me.

I’ll be here tomorrow with a real post, and on Wednesday I’ll be at Kludgy Mom. Two and a half posts in one week: let’s take a moment to feel the building excitement.

Okay. Today’s brief message:

I’m accepting Guest Posts again. Wahoo! Starting in February – I hope – I plan to run two guest posts each month. If you have something to wonder about in any of these categories, please get in touch:

:: Books & Writing

:: Family

:: Fitness

I hope you’ll consider guest posting here, whether you’re a blogger or not. I’m happy to return the favor any time, too!

Thank you. You may now return to your day.

Slow and steady wins the race, they say. Maybe, if the race is between a smug, sleepy rabbit and a focused turtle. In races that involve actual people running toward an actual finish line, slow and steady never wins.

Slow and Steady: that was the name of my band in college. Kidding, of course. My band’s name was Sorority Girls Drinking Zima. And it wasn’t a band so much as a Thursday night.

Anyway.

I am a slow and steady runner. The other day I thought I was flying, running the fastest I’ve run in years. I looked at my Garmin – a watch that makes me feel like a cool, runner-girl even if I’m an old, runner-lady – and my pace was exactly the same as it always is. Slow.

I struck up a conversation with a woman on the trail the other day (Fun Fact: strangers talk to me, and I have no idea why. I have to fake death to avoid chatty seatmates on airplanes). I was on a five-mile training run, and H was riding his bike with me. I stopped to stretch out my latest ailment, a nerve issue that gives me numb-foot, and this woman started chatting me up.

It turns out she’s a triathlon coach, and is new to the area, so we talked trails and training until H reminded me that we had to get home before dark, Mooooommmm. And then he turns to this stranger and says, “We have to go, because she is the slowest runner ever. I’m going as slow as I can on my bike, and she still can’t keep up!”

First of all, didn’t your mother ever teach you not to talk to strangers, kid? And secondly, I have to nod in agreement, because it’s true. This woman, God bless her, looked at H and said, “But she’s not sitting on the couch, she’s out here getting it done and that’s what matters.”

Ha, take that, kid. I sit on the couch when you’re at school, sucker.

I saw something in H’s eyes when the kindly stranger pointed out that logging the miles is as important as going fast. I saw what looked like understanding, and – perhaps – pride? That look made the last couple miles easier, lighter. Later he told me that I was “super strong even though you’re not super fast,” because he was tired after five miles on his bike.

Maybe I am strong. Maybe I’ll never be fast (but, please, oh, please let me get a little faster), and I’ll probably never grace the podium after a race, but I’m going to finish. I just hope it’s not dark when I cross the finish line.

***

A little business to take care of…

1. Plenty of time left to register for ZOOMA Texas. There’s a 5K and half marathon, followed by wine and massages. The race is at the Hyatt Lost Pines, where there’s a lazy river, people. Registering is a no-brainer, really. What are you waiting for? Register here.
2. There’s a race in San Antonio this weekend that sounds very cool. I’m not able to go, but wanted to share it with you, just in case you’re looking to log some miles this weekend. Here are the details:

WHO: The Leukemia and Lymphoma Society and Team in Training

WHAT: Inaugural HERO-THON Half Marathon San Antonio

WHEN: Sunday, January 27, 2013, 7:00 a.m.

WHERE: Alamodome
100 Montana Street
San Antonio, TX 78205

• First ever race for the HERO-THON Half Marathon Series that will soon have more races scheduled throughout the country
• Open to runners and walkers of all abilities
• The course starts and finishes at the Alamodome and takes participants through some of San Antonio’s most famous landmarks (River Walk and downtown included)
• There is a Finish Line Festival for participants to celebrate their accomplishment and cancer survivors after the race
• Funds raised from the race go to the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society (LLS) as they dedicate themselves to finding cures for blood cancers
• The HERO-THON brings out the inner-superhero in everyone
• REGISTRATION – Half Marathon registration is available online at herothonlls.com;  Will also be available at the race expo on Saturday at the Henry B. Gonzalez Convention Center,  and on race morning, Sunday, at the Alamodome. Entry is $95

About the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society

• World’s largest voluntary health agency dedicated to funding blood cancer research.
• There are 61 chapters throughout the U.S. and Canada and Austin is home to the South Central Texas Chapter.
• The organization invested $76 million in blood cancer research in 2012.
• Mission is to cure leukemia, lymphoma, Hodgkin’s disease and myeloma.
• Every four minutes, someone is diagnosed with a blood cancer and every 10 minutes, someone dies.