The Fat Lady Sang

It’s over. Officially. All those years (and entries) waxing on about the marathon and I’ve officially let it go. It all started in 1998. I was running lots and ran San Diego’s 1st Rock-n-Roll Marathon. I crammed in long runs at night with the hubby at my side on his bike — headlamp illuminating the trail ahead (never once thinking about the mountain lions and rattlesnakes that must have been watching in amusement). I’d come home from a week of traveling only to hit the trail. Or I’d go into the office late so I could run my 10 miles with training companions. (And then puke in the shower while getting ready.) But I did it. I finished the damned thing. ( Oh those were the days.) So somewhere in all of that torture-cum-happiness, I set my mind on running one more. Just one more and it had to be New York.

I had wanted it to be New York the first time. The problem was the lottery system of entry and the 5 or 6 of us gals who were in it to win it. We settled on an easy one to get into so we could all do it together. And that was that. It was fun and all. And after I was done, I took up eating meat again and swore off running for more than a year. Then the dreams of New York resurfaced. From whence I do not know. But there they were. I finally applied for the lottery the year after I had Miss 6 (now 7) and it took another two years of applying before I was accepted. It just so happened that the acceptance came just as our traveling budget had over-extended itself with trips to places like Hawaii, Oregon and Montana . So it was put off a year (I paid in full and cancelled which saved my spot). And then I was pregnant again (paid again, etc.). The following year, I had a newborn when re-application time rolled around. So here I am, facing another round of paying in full. And contemplating the sanity of holding my spot for a 4th year in a row when my running has been spotty at best. Between a toddler and a 1st grader and a thriving business and very full family life, I’m spent. I’m lucky to run 3 times in a week. So here’s where reality reared its head. Am I really going to take off from my little family every weekend for long runs, skip my much-loved coffee in the morning (not to mention that sliver of girlie time that I treasure before the day kicks in) just to run New York? It appears that I think not. And the hubby wisely asserts (in jest) that if I spend yet another $150 and don’t run he may just have to start docking my hair coloring budget. (And no one wants to see that ☺)

It’s a hard decision for me to reach. I’ve yammered on (and on) about it for so long that I almost had myself convinced that I was going to do it. The hubby says that I still can. And that’s true. We’ll see what happens. I may just be a late bloomer and come into my stride in my 40s or at 101 in London with a pint and a cigar. (Stranger things have happened.)

So life goes on. It’s been crazy busy. I had that god-awful stomach thing that just wouldn’t let it go already. Then it was a week of working at warp-speed to prepare for a week off when mom came. Then it was the hubby’s birthday. Then mom arrived. The hubby took off for California and mom and I hung out with the girls. We took advantage of the free time supplied by Rock Star each morning and trolled Urban and Anthropologie (throwing in a little breakfast time at The Kitchen of course). It was pretty mellow. Then the hubby came home and we had a night out of pedicures at the St. J and drinks with Purse Girl. We took off for Santa Fe the day after that and pushed mom to her outermost altitude limit. Unknowingly sitting by while her body contorted and revolted at the 7,000+ feet of elevation. (She kept it mostly to herself, so how was one to know?) Smart us just went ahead and jumped to the conclusion that she was a raving alcoholic. How nice of us, huh? I was thinking “rehab” when I should have been thinking “urgent care.” And that’s my family. (She’s okay now and safely back at sea-level. ☺)

I do love that town though. We are now fully informed of its vertical jump from Boulder’s already 5400 feet. I also know that when I enter that adobe-filled abode, something shifts a bit. I love the casual atmosphere, the great restaurants and the even better margaritas. I love spending a week or so eating every meal drenched in green chili. I also love going to Café Pasqual over and over again. (This time, it was the fresh pineapple juice infused with pulpy grated ginger that won me over.) We stayed in an old pueblo style home with a rough-hewn beam and plaster ceiling and terra cotta tiled floors in the kitchen and baths. It was a funky little place with a kiva fireplace in one of the bedrooms, ancient hardwood floors and a tree fort out back. I think it was the hot tub that sent mom right over the edge of utter dehydration. That and the fact that one glass of wine equals three at that soaring height above sea level. Live and learn.

I spent this past week playing catch up and bouncing around from one meeting to the next. We have two new and exciting clients (one isn’t quite official, but we’re hopeful!) Then Thursday came and the hubby informed me that something major was going down at work. (His work.) It wasn’t until the calls and e-mails started coming in that it really sank in. Something major was going down at work. By the end of the day, 700 people had been sent packing with over 70 of those from the local office. The hubby’s entire department was obliterated. He and his boss were the last two standing. I teetered on the verge of a panic attack that entire day. One friend was left with no job and no insurance at 6 months pregnant. It was a very bad day indeed. Now we can only hope we’re safe. We know it’s a relative certainty at least until June when the next quarter’s numbers are in. These are some serious times and when I heard that the yuan made major gains on the dollar that was just the icing. (Obama save us…)

So after the past few weeks, this weekend was a welcome reprieve. (Even though the hubby missed Miss 6 (now 7) win her soccer game because he was at home working —attempting to do the work of five people.) We had a hubby birthday do-over and a much-needed night out on Saturday. We saw fairies congregate on Pearl Street to usher in spring and the tulips. We pulled weeds and planted some more veggies in the garden. We napped. And now it’s Sunday. Next week? Mother’s Day and another parade.

Life is a veritable smorgasbord.

TODAY THEME SONG: Your Mother Should Know. The Beatles. Lift up your hearts and sing me a song that was a hit before your mother was born.