September 29, 2015

Guest Post: Fall Back On Track

Indian River Juice, Fall Back on Track
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Photo: Indian River Juice

June 27, 2015

Carrying On

There has been a huge amount of change in my camp since the beginning of the year. After 16 years of working for the same employer my husband handed in his resignation. It came as a pretty big shock to most, not only was he leaving a secure job, he wasn’t going to work for a competitor, he was going to do something entirely different. The decision was an extremely well thought out but scary as hell. Given our stage of life it was a pretty bold move to make, but if he was going to do it, there was no better time.

Perhaps him shaking up his world spurred me on to make some changes myself. I was already knee-deep working on a diploma in Applied Nutrition, personal training as well as teaching classes from before sunup until well after sundown, had just birthed Keri On and I was starting to struggle to find balance in my life. I have always loved schedule and structure in my day, but over the past few years have realized that every hour doesn’t need to be allocated, you have to go with the flow and sometimes you have to let shit go.

I know that I can’t do everything, and learning to be ok with it has been strangely empowering for me. In order for me to have more flexibility, I needed to give some things up and chose to end my contract with Parks Leisure Services at the end of Spring. After meeting with the powers that be, I was excited that nothing would change for my instructors as another fitness company absorbed my Pilates and Body Camp programs, however the running programs would sadly come to an end.

The people I run with on Saturday morning aren’t clients, they are family. Together we have run through life’s torrential downpours as well as beautiful sunshine and all that is good in life. We run on Saturday morning, it’s what we do. I dreaded my last running clinic. I woke up early with a knot in my stomach and second guessed my decision.   I sat at my kitchen counter with tears running down my face, trying to eat my toast and put my thoughts into words as my husband and daughter watched with uncertainty. There are two things that you shouldn’t attempt to do when you are bawling uncontrollably, the first is run, it always ends in hyperventilating, the second is eat toast.

There was really nothing that anyone could say or do at that point to comfort me or to reassure me that I in fact had made the right decision. But when 8 o’clock came and I got in my car with my running gear on and went one way, and they got in my husband’s truck with their suitcases and my daughter’s ball gear and went the other way, I knew it was the only thing to do.

Following our last formal run together my running family, and I am talking family from years gone by too, surprised me with a farewell tailgate party. Completely overwhelmed with all of the photos, gifts and kind words I ugly cried my way through the event as well as the rest of the day. Inside one of the gift bags that they had given me was a jar filled with notes that sat unopened on my desk until yesterday. Once again the flood gates opened.

I had a wonderful informal run with the gang last week, ran like I hadn’t in years. But this morning I opted for an early morning run to beat the heat. By noon I had already picked up coffees, made breakie for my fam, took Stanley out for a walk across the ridge, showered and blow dried my hair and was on the road. While I missed my weekly catch-up with everyone, it was sure nice to have the flexibility to skip out, but I will see you all next week.

February 13, 2015

Passing the Baton

Oh how I have missed my Sunday morning training sessions at the track, said no one ever.  But I have.  And for the last three weekends I have arrived slightly giddy not just because my hamstring is finally feeling strong enough to make a comeback, but because my daughter (who is not giddy) is there with me too.  My early days of running were at the track, and I was excited to show her that I am not just that sweaty mess running at a snails pace that she sees stumbling over ½ marathon finish lines, and that I can still actually generate a respectable amount of speed.

On Sunday’s Soraiya is the boss, and as much as I give her a hard time, I like it that way.  After our warm-up she gives us our assignment, which has been 10  – 100 metre sprints with 300 metre recoveries in between.  Inside I scream “YES”, back in the day they were my specialty. Even though Ry has played sports at a high level for most of her life, I’m her Mom and felt the to give her a few tips but fully expected that she would follow my lead, of course from behind, as I showed her how it was done.

As our kick started to increase we hit the go line and the gloves were off, no longer mother and daughter, we were now two fiercely competitive athletes looking for the win.  What can I say?  We are cut from the same cloth.

She easily took the first one, and I was more than impressed.  Without batting an eyelid she took two as well as three. I fully chalked it up to young legs, and was confident that experience and pacing would prevail in the end.  As I predicted, I took four, and feeling just a bit little cocky, I looked back at her and said “don’t let me have it, fight me for it”.  She responded by taking five through ten.

In efforts to keep my darling daughter’s muscles fresh for an afternoon hockey playoff game, she did not accompany me to the track on week two, giving me an opportunity to dust off my ego and rebuild my confidence…which was once again handed to me after a 10-0 thrashing in week three. Sigh.

As parents we want nothing more than for our children to surpass us in everything that they do, and that even includes areas that give ourselves that feeling of ferociousness and glory. I’m proud of her, she’s out there upping her game early on Sunday morning when most of her teammates are sleeping and she will see the results.  And yes, while I do wish I had left a little more of my legacy on the track for her to see, she sees me out there busting my ass, albeit stuffed like a sausage into my core shorts, but I’m still out there giving my all.  And who knows, I just may take my title back when we move to 200 metre sprints.

Still not giddy, even with Starbucks in hand

Still not giddy, even with Starbucks in hand

 

December 2, 2014

Stay tuned…