Triathlon for Morons (an excerpt)

"You're going to be a great mother!" I heard her shout down the hall after me as I hurried away. Shut up, shut up, shut up! Why wouldn't she shut up?

I swung open the door and sat down on the polished pine bench, fighting back my tears, feeling completely defeated. Already. And I hadn't even started yet. What had I done? What was I thinking? I was too old for this.

The smell of the place combined with the nervous pit in my stomach left me wishing I'd skipped dinner. That horrible woman's comment about my supposed pregnancy had me feeling the same way, albeit for a different reason. Note to self: salads from now on. Forever.

When I called yesterday to get myself registered, I was pretty pumped up. I felt kind of invincible, ready to, like... totally crush it... or something. OK, maybe that was a stretch, but I at least felt empowered, ready for the challenge. Now, sitting here in this too-bright, stinky, stuffy, overly-mirrored room, I felt anything but.

After the "well-wishes" I'd just endured, baring myself in public was among the last things I felt like doing. Awesome. I pulled myself together, found a semi-secluded corner, and began to disrobe. I was here. There was no turning back, at least not without passing that woman again. How long was her shift, anyway?

It was time to learn how to swim. At 38.

Don't get me wrong, I don't sink or anything. The fact is, I was probably more buoyant than I would have preferred, as evidenced by the congratulations I received on my pregnancy that wasn't. I could swim underwater pretty well provided I could hold my nose. And I was a master at the triple crown: doggie paddle, treading water, and floating on my back. My greatest skill in the water, however, was my ability to be in the pool with my children for hours without getting wet above the waist. No small feat when surrounded by children ages seven and under doing cannonballs. Yay, me!

When I looked at the description of the adult swim classes, I skipped right over the beginner class, the one for those "fearful of water." I was totally comfortable in the water. I had no fear, just no skill. Other than that staying dry one. And that didn't really count. I chose the "intermediate" level, reasoning that I wasn't afraid and that I could swim the whole way across the pool without stopping. Right?

I registered and paid for my class at the YMCA over the phone, while at the beach honing my second best water-related skill, getting my toes wet in the surf and then sunning myself while reading a good book. The class was to begin the next evening and I already had butterflies in my stomach, excited for the challenge, but nervous because this was completely out of my comfort zone.

Pushing my comfort zone was kind of my theme for the year. Two months earlier, I'd completed a 10K mud run complete with military-style obstacles. In training for the run, I totally messed up my ankle and found myself in a walking cast for four weeks. I had been doing a pretty easy 3.5 mile loop before I hurt myself - sitting on my dining room chair... what? - but with the boot off just two weeks before the race, I was kind of screwed for completing my training. A 10K is 6.1 miles. I had only been running half that, always flat, no obstacles. I expected to make up the other three miles and add in some hills in the last six weeks of training. Or not. The furthest I got before race day was 4.5 miles. And it sucked.

I was on a team, and they couldn't compete if I didn't run. So, race we did. It wasn't pretty, but we completed the difficult and hilly course. Lots of laughs and a few short walk breaks actually made it enjoyable. Three cheers and and post-race beer for everyone.

On a high after the race, I went looking for my next physical challenge to push my limits. The obvious answer to me was a sprint triathlon. And, no, I don't know why that was obvious. Depending on the particulars of the race, this involves an open water swim of 1/4-1/2 mile, a bike ride of 12-15 miles, and a 5K run at the end. Since I could easily run a 5K, I figured this would be great. What the hell? Why not add the other stuff in the beginning?

Except that I couldn't swim and was afraid to ride my bike.

Oh, details, details! I had time! Nothing but time! It was only May and the tri was in mid-September. Plenty of time! Like I said, I was on a high.

My always wise and honest husband's response when I told him I'd registered for a triathlon was, "Um, Tash... You can't swim and are afraid of your bike. What are you doing?"

Hmmm... When you put it that way...


---- If you want to read more, contact me! 

After Twenty Years of Thinking (an excerpt)

As I found myself driving into the parking lot in my silver Dodge Grand Caravan, you know, the one with the "Stow 'n Go" seating for all kinds of flexibility, seating, and storage options, I had second thoughts. This was so not my kind of place. I am comfortable just about everywhere, but this place was a stretch. Even for me.

I shifted the car in to "P" and flipped down the visor to apply my lipgloss in the light-up mirror. Then I fluffed my hair, gave myself a winning smile, flipped the visor back up, and climbed out of the van. Never before has the "toot" caused by the remote control lock for the minivan seemed so out of place – the announcement of the arrival of a woman who clearly does not belong – as it did in that parking lot on that day.

I looked around nervously, hoping no one would see me. I couldn't have looked more suspicious. This was a pretty sketchy part of town and I didn't need anyone to see me hanging around. Most people wouldn't understand why I was here. I wasn't sure I could explain it either. My thoughts wandered to marathoners, who, when asked why they run, answer with the unsatisfying, "Because I can." 

When this got out, I was pretty sure I'd be judged, and harshly, by my peers. Your every-day, average, suburban mom didn't do this. Was I your every-day, average, suburban mom? Or was I just a little bit... hip? Oh, who was I kidding? It wasn't too late. I could just get back in the car... While I would have been less conspicuous under cover of darkness, that wasn't going to work with my schedule today. I had a small window of time to get this done. You know, seize the day and all that jazz.

Earlier, while ignoring my children at the outdoor playground/hell on earth at McDonald's, I called my husband and told him what I had planned. I'd been thinking about it for some time, 20 years in fact, and I felt I had given it ample consideration. I was finally ready to do it. What the hell? Today was as good a time as any.

"What are you going to do with the kids?" he asked. Duh. I was going to take them along with me. While he was out playing Ultimate Frisbee, we'd finished our errands, and had the rest of the day free. After all, they'd just eaten a nutritious lunch and were getting their exercise all in one conveniently germ-infested location, so clearly, it would be fine for them to come along. Which is what I told him. Duh.

"Tash! You can't take them with you! They're six and eight years old! They don't belong there!" he exclaimed.

Um, what? They don't belong there? Huh? Our kids were pretty worldly, you know, for kids that haven't actually seen much and still get really excited to take the subway into Boston, just 12 miles south of our sheltered suburban home. They were cool. They could totally hang. Right?

Yeah... no. He was so right.

They still felt the need to point out every smoker they saw loitering outside of a building, reminding me how "totally stupid" it was to smoke because they were "going to die" from it one day, or at least get "really, super sick." Note that this was especially cutting, given that  "stupid" is now considered a bad word with the elementary school set.

They liked to discuss the tattoos they saw on the guy who pumped our gas, along with just about everyone else in modern society, and reflect upon the choice that person made to have that particular design emblazoned on his or her body for eternity. "Those things are permanent, you know. Like, when you're as old as Oma and Opa, they'll still be there. Will you want that?" they'd caution me.

They'd talk at length, for weeks, about the waitress at the Mexican place on Route 1, that wore bad lip gloss, too much eyeliner, and had a stud in her cheek, tongue, eyebrow, nose, wrist, thyroid, and likely countless other places that were thankfully covered by the pesky clothing required by her day job.

Yeah, he was right. I totally couldn't take them.

Shit. I was going to have to do this alone.

----- If you want to read more, contact me!

Parenting Opinion Article for Wakefield Patch

How Will Today's Generation be Remembered?

I know I’m going to sound like that old fart who walked up hill to school both ways – in the snow – but I gotta say, I think most of today’s kids are pretty coddled.

I don’t remember things being like this when I was a kid. So… pampered. In contrast, I remember not always winning games. I remember not getting trophies when I wasn’t first, second or third. I remember having to fend for myself in socially awkward situations and defending myself to my teachers. I remember getting bad grades when I’d earned them – and keeping them because it was what I deserved. I remember competing, losing, and crying. I remember staying out in the neighborhood with my friends. After dark. Without adult supervision. And living to tell about it. I remember being put in my place regularly and not feeling entitled just because. I remember earning the good things that happened to me and accepting punishment for the bad things I did. I remember, you know, being a kid.

The generation of children we’re raising today won’t – for the most part – have many of those memories. As I see it, many of them are learning to live in a bubble, where they always win, stay clean and safe and have mommies and daddies that will fix anything that goes wrong. They’re learning that they’re entitled to nearly anything they want without having to put in the time and energy to earn it. They’re learning to be scared of the world that might hurt them. They’re learning that there are few consequences and if there are, someone else will take care of them. They’re learning that “participation trophies” are just as good as first place.

On the other hand, there are a lot of fundamental things they are not learning. I don’t see them learning to be independent, to get hurt, to heal, to communicate, to win properly, to show grace, to accept rejection, to fight their own battles, to be strong, to lose. It makes me sad that they’re missing out on those important lessons.

I know why these things aren’t being taught. They’re hard. And it hurts to see your kids learn these difficult lessons. Our job as parents – our most important job, really – is to keep our children safe. We all know what it’s like to “break up” with a best friend, to fail a test, to lose a game, to be under prepared and overly embarrassed. It sucks. Truly sucks. And we don’t want that for our kids. But by protecting them – however well-intentioned – we are crippling them and setting them up for inevitable heartache as the hurts get bigger and their tool boxes are woefully empty.

I want this generation of kids to be known for overcoming their well-meaning helicopter parents and for being independent, driven, creative and successful people. I hope they transcend the suffocation of lovingly over-protective mothers and fathers and follow their dreams, whatever they may be. In fact, I don’t just hope that happens; I expect it to. I just expect that it will take them a little longer to get to them since they’ll first have to achieve all of the dreams their parents have told them to have.

This generation of children has so much to offer and so many ways to express it. I want them to be known as the generation that kicked ass as soon as their parents stopped kissing it for them.

What am I thankful for, you ask?

When asked what I was thankful for, I wrote this poem to sum it all up. Enjoy!

I won't annoy you with sappy prose
And wax on and on some more,
Let's all be thankful for rhyming couplets
And a reader I hope not to bore.

I am thankful for my children,
Sweet Addison and Reid.
Without them I wouldn't be who I am,
For better or worse, indeed

I am thankful for my husband
Who puts up with all my crap.
He really is a saint, you know.
Anyone who knows me will confirm that!

And without my supportive parents
Who on earth would I be?
Surely no one I'd recognize,
Not the strong woman you see.

Thanks for my sister, Heidi,
And her fam, Don, E, A, and M
They're close by and I'm lucky.
Don't know what I'd do without them.

Thank you to sweet Sophie
My dog of over 13 years.
I love that stinky old pup,
And her toots that bring me to tears.

And without my awesome girlfriends
I'd be an empty shell me.
Who else would run at the crack of dawn
Or keep my secrets expertly?

I'm thankful for Lake Quannapowitt
And my runs before sunrise.
I am also so thankful for FightFit
And my sensei who is so wise.

I am thankful for the right I have
To speak my mind at will
I should be thankful for a filter of those thoughts,
But alas that filter is nil.

I'm thankful for a margarita
On the rocks with salt, no doubt
I'm thankful for chips and salsa,
And salted caramel chocolates I can't live without.

On that note, let me say thank you
For my Starbucks extended family,
And for Whole Milk Lattes and Decaf Americanos,
That I drink obsessively.

I'm thankful for People StyleWatch
And a fabulous eye cream as well.
I also say thanks for jewelry and shoes
And outfits that look wicked swell.

I give thanks for good hair,
Thick and healthy, curly or straight.
Thanks to Erica at Carl Michael Salon
Who performs magic to make me look great.

I'm thankful for my freckles,
That mean I've been in the sun.
I'm thankful for my wrinkles
That mean I've smiled, I've cried, I've won.

I'm thankful for my flabby belly
That shows I'm a happy mom.
I'd rather have my children and chocolate
Than a body that's the bomb.

I'm thankful for a sense of humor
That keeps me alive and (mostly) well.
I'm thankful for a body that moves,
Hands that create, and a voice to give 'em hell.

I'm thankful for the life I've built
And all things good and bad.
I wouldn't know how happy I am
If I didn't sometimes feel sad.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Motherly Advice for Mother's Day

This was written for Wakefield Patch in answer the the question: What's the best advice your mom ever gave you?

In the spirit of a child's poem for Mother's Day, I offer you this:

Roses are red

Violets are blue

I have a way better

Mother than you!

So there. :p

I can't credit my mom - or anyone, really - with any life changing moments or deep conversations that define the way I live my life. What I can do, however, is look back and see a lifetime's worth of love, security, advice and support. I remember my mom always being there for me. Always. And still. She is my best friend. A woman I adore,  who happens to be my mom. I am very lucky.

I don't rely on sage words of advice or nuggets of wisdom she passed along to me. I don't need to. It was all there in the day-to-day way she raised me and in the way she lived her life. She modeled the behavior that I would one day aspire to demonstrate, both as a mother and a woman.

With my mom in my corner, I can do anything, try anything. If I fall, I never fall alone. And when I succeed, she's my biggest cheerleader. Sometimes she's quiet about it. Sometimes she's loud about it. But she's always there, even when I don't know it. To me, that's much better than a kitschy line of advice. That's a lifetime of unwavering support and love.

There are tons of nuggets of advice - don't lie, listen to your heart, go for it, there's always time to break up - and I live by all of them. But the best thing my mom ever told me was that she loves me.

And I hope that's what my kids learn from me too. That I love them, no matter what. Always and forever. That even when they don't see me, I'm still there.

If Only

She stole a glance
and her breath hitched
when she saw him.

Meeting his eyes
she looked away,
hiding her smile
in her shoulder.

She missed the look he returned.

He longed for her.
He did not look away.
He did not hide.
He wouldn't.
Not anymore.
He willed her to look at him
So he could tell her -
that she was beautiful
that she consumed him -
So he could tell her everything
with just the look in his eyes.

Having her there
so close
but still distant
hurt.
She was a world away.

He didn't see her look
that matched his.
He only saw her look away.

Opinion Article to Local Papers

Meet me at Town Meeting!

I have cleared my schedule and booked my babysitter. I am totally pumped for a night on the town. I will be spending the evening with forward-thinking, passionate and engaged people.

Yup! I’m going to Town Meeting!

On Monday, May 14, the citizens of Wakefield will be given a historic opportunity to vote in favor of a prosperous future for their beloved town. We can show our support for our children, our businesses and our property values by voting for the new Galvin Middle School. I urge you to join me at Town Meeting and be counted among the supporters of this necessary improvement. Without your voice, Article 5 for a new Galvin will not pass.

We’ve already cleared two major hurdles in the 4-step process to give our town’s children a new middle school. The first was to approve the $686,400 schematic design and feasibility study. The second was to have the budget and plans approved by the state to have them contribute 54.67% of eligible project costs. The third is to pass Article 5 by a two-thirds vote at Town Meeting in order to get the debt exclusion on the ballot for the June 9^th election. The fourth is to pass the debt exclusion in the town-wide ballot question.

We are half-way there. If we don’t get support at Town Meeting, all of the work and research we’ve done, all of the time and money we’ve spent, all of the excitement and awareness we’ve generated will have been for nothing. We will have to tell the children of Wakefield, the businesses, and the property owners that we did not care enough to vote for their futures.

We have an opportunity to impact this town by simply raising our hands at Town Meeting. If the vote does not pass, there will be no ballot question vote on June 9th. The school will remain in its current state and continue to deteriorate. The Town of Wakefield will lose a $34.7 million State Grant to offset the total project cost of $74.6 million. There are no alternative plans or funding available to remedy the numerous deficiencies of the current facility.   

I have two children that will attend the Galvin – new or old. I will not pretend that they are not a large part of why I support a new middle school. Obviously they are. But even if I were not a parent of children who will benefit, I would still raise my hand at Town Meeting to support Article 5. Without quality schools, property values will decrease. Without a vote for our children, families will not consider Wakefield when looking for a home. Without a community vested in its own future, businesses will reject Wakefield as a place to conduct operations. A “Yes” vote on Article 5 at Town Meeting is the right vote for everyone.

I’d like to thank you in advance for your support for a new Galvin Middle School. I am looking forward to seeing you at the upcoming Town Meeting at the Galvin Middle School Auditorium on Monday, May 14^th, 7:30 pm.

So… what are you waiting for? Call your sitter! I’ll save you a seat!

If you would like more information or would like to participate in helping to promote a new Galvin Middle School, please contact the Galvinize Wakefield Committee (http://www.galvinizewakefield.com/).