Ice Cream Candidate

For Cub Scouts, we're trying to teach the boys about the election process.  In order to help them understand, we are having each of the den leaders debate as a candidate for a flavor of ice cream that we will be having for refreshments.  At the end of our debate (or pack meeting), each of the boys will get to vote for the candidate (or flavor) of their choosing.  As with any election, whoever wins is the flavor that everyone has to partake of.  If you don't vote you get no choice and have to live with everyone elses choices.  We tried this for years ago and had a great time.  I'll post some pics when we're done.

What I remember about 9/11

Eleven years ago I was just getting back into the routine of life.  Todd has had survived near fatal pneumonia only 4 1/2 months before.  I had a c-section in July.  Only a few weeks before September 11th, we were back in the hospital after my six week old had contracted RSV.  I was now home adjusting to life after working, staying home with a newborn and (a soon to be diagnosed with Autism) almost 3 year old.   With all that had happened to our family so far in 2001, I was grateful to be alive and still have my loved ones close.

 That morning was crazy as usual.  When I look back now, the first thing I can remember was sitting in the living room and folding laundry.  JT must have been next to me and Garrett was playing in his room.  I was, for a little while, letting myself get lost in an episode of Little House on the Prairie on TBS.  It was the one where Albert and his friend accidentally set fire to the blind school and Mary's baby and Alice Garvey die in the fire.  I still even all these years later can hear Mary yelling, "My baby, where's my baby?"

As the two part episode continued into its second hour, I sat there so sad thinking about all those who had been lost and looking at my baby laying next to me.

Twenty minutes into the second episode, the news broke in with an emergency message.  At the time, I remember being so upset because I wanted to see how the episode ended.  It wasn't until the news reporter, started showing scenes of the towers that the sorrow that I had felt for Mary and Mr. Garvey was multiplied hundreds, thousands of times. 

I tried to call every one I knew.  My old co-workers filled me in on what I had missed.   Todd was in class at the vet school and the professors were not letting anyone out of class.  When he finally called to let me know he was safe, it was like a breath of fresh air.

When my calls were made and I knew everyone was safe.  I remember sitting there in agony knowing that there was nothing I could do for anyone on those planes, or anyone in that field.  I started to feel numb, so I got off the couch and walked outside onto our little deck.  It seemed so weird to me.  I was looking up at that Texas sky and it was the bluest blue I had ever seen.  There were no planes, no explosions.  In my world, I was safe.  In my world, there was peace.  Everything that was wrong was coming though that television.  The television screen was the only place that made the devastation real.  I wanted to turn the TV off, to turn off this movie that someone was showing.  But deep down inside I knew that it wasn't over, that the sadness that I had just seen was the real deal and that it would not be over anytime soon.

Years later, I finally tracked down a DVD of that episode of Little House on the Prairie and I finally saw how it ended.  Albert confessed that he and his friend had been smoking down stairs in the basement.   He was able to make amends and apologize to Mary and Mr. Garvey.  But for me and the people in my world, we will never hear the apologies of those terrorists who took away our "Adam, Jr.'s and Alice Garvey's."   We live knowing that even when we turn off the TV, the story doesn't end, the pain is still real. 

 

It's taken me eleven years now to sit and write my experience of that moment.  Does writing it out make it any easier to think about?  No, but  at least for now I know that each of us who suffered that day, whether from the loss of a friend or loved one, or for the innocence of our nation, that we can trust that we're not alone.

Day 48

The 5k

It wasn’t the Olympics.  It wasn’t the New York City Marathon.  It wasn’t Fifty Marathons in Fifty Days.  It wasn’t even a half-marathon…a 10k…or a 5k for charity.  All it was, was a little 5k that our ward does every six months as a way to promote healthy living and to encourage people like me to get their behinds off the couch and go out there and smell the fresh air.

I did it for the first time in October 2008.  I was a good ten pounds lighter, but still hadn’t run for distance (at that point) since high school.  I think I practiced for two weeks and did the race in a little over 38 minutes.

May 2008

March 2009

Between that race in October and the month of March, I had a goal.  My youngest sister was getting married.  It would be the first time I would be back home since my family reunion the August before.  I was bound and determined not to return with the same 160 pound frame that I had taken with me the last time I embarrassed myself.  I was going to do it the only way I knew how.

On a steady diet of Coke Zero and Slim Fast, 1,200 crunches a week and a minimum two times a week 3-7 mile bike ride, I was able to get down to 135.  I was almost a size 6.  I felt wonderful.  I thought I looked good and then the wedding was over.

Life happened again.  I let my guard down and let myself eat like a normal human being again.  The boys were out of school for the summer and around here, unless you spend most of your summer in the pool, you’re not going outside.  The summer heat and humidity is miserable.  So I ate some more and I didn’t ride my bike.  I stressed about new callings (jobs at church) and how help my boys with their needs.  Between March 2009 and March 2010, I was back up to my reunion weight.  Since March and now I have been fluctuating between 162 and 168. (Don't worry, I'm not going to embarrass myself twice in one post with another crazy photo.)

Since I started walking, jogging, and biking again in August, I am eating better than I ever have.  I’ve swallowed more spinach and veggies in the last two months than I have in years.  I keep telling myself that I am building muscle, but when you’ve been killing yourself walking and jogging at least 18 miles a week for two months with no weight loss to show for it, discouragement starts to rear its ugly head.

I try not to let it get me down though.  I admit I did it the wrong way last time.  Exercise is important, but eating healthy is the most important thing you can do to lose weight.  Because I did it the wrong way last time, I’m paying the price for it now.  My metabolism has slowed and the body fat that I’ve accumulated is holding on for dear life.  I can’t complain too much though.  With the hard work I’ve already put forth, physically, I might not look better, but I have felt better than I have in years too.  Mentally, I’m more alert and ideas just seem to be pouring out of me.  Spiritually, I just feel more in tune and inspiration seems to come easier.  So I guess, if nothing else I’m happier with me as a person.

So, in a round about way, that is why I didn’t mind coming in last at the 5k yesterday.  I really worked hard the last two months to build up to where I am now.  I could make excuses as to why I didn’t do better; I mean I was only racing against 13 other people. But none of those excuses would have changed the fact that the people I was wogging with (they were running) had been practicing for more than two months and had been taking careful of themselves for much longer than I had been.  I can’t expect to have the pounds melt away this time like they did last time.  I’m doing it in a healthier way because this time I want it to last.  I just have to remember that the road to the “Ilda” I want to be is paved with hard work and healthy living and not with Krispy Kreme donuts.

Day 46-47

Day 46-47

After the mess yesterday, I had to blow off some steam.  I blogged (which for me is always therapeutic), went to the gym, ran errands (despite what you maybe thinking, I ran them in the car) and ended up at home with time to spare before it was time to pick up the kids again. 

Silly me thought that because I had an extra day that I should punish myself more than should be allowed.  Maybe it was just stress from the last year finally coming to a head.  Maybe it was my OCD getting the better of me.  Whatever it was, it made its way to my running shoes and I started the first training day of the “Couch to 5k” program.  I warmed up with a 5 minute walk then alternated between jogging 60 seconds and walking 90 seconds.  I closed with a 5 minute cool down for a total of 30 minutes.  Now don’t go thinking I have some special watch that helps me keep track.  I’ve tried it that way and I just can’t do it.  My ADD always gets the better of me.  Thankfully, I have an awesome app on my phone that does the thinking for me.  It simply beeps to let me know when to speed up or slow down.  That work out was pretty good, but I definitely felt it in my calves.  (A leg weight training session and a jog are not ever a good idea on the same day.)

Thankfully, that was all the stupidity I had time for the rest of the day.  The evening went well and I spent the afternoon and evening helping the boys with homework, cleaning house or slacking off.

This morning was a complete 180 from yesterday.  The boys were on fire on the way to school.  It took everything for even Jax to try to keep up with them.  When we all arrived at school, I waited for them by the bike rack as I normally do, fully expecting them to come out and meet me after grabbing their “Grab ‘N Go” breakfasts.  Five minutes later I was still waiting.  I began to worry that maybe something had happened inside the cafeteria or maybe those specks in the distance that I had been chasing all the way to school really weren’t my boys.  I walked over to the window and peeked in.  There were my two guys sitting together enjoying a nice breakfast.  JT seemed to be teaching RJ something revolutionary, the way he was leaning in to make sure that only RJ could hear.  “So they do like each other,” I thought to myself.

Tomorrow, our ward (our church congregation) is sponsoring a 5k.  This is what I’ve been working towards for the last several months.  I guess we’ll see if any of that “stupidity” pays off tomorrow.  I tried not to push myself today, so I did an easy 3 mile walk with the dog (because I knew he’d be terrible if he didn’t get some exercise) and later this afternoon I rode my bike again to pick them up.  Not as easy a day as I had planned on, but easier than the torture I’m going to happily put myself through tomorrow. 

If you’d like to join us or be there to cheer us on, the race starts at Chapin Station at 7AM.  See you there.

Day 46 - Beware

Let me just confirm your suspicions, that me posting twice in one day, is not always a good thing.  I haven't gone out to exercise yet (other than my usual two mile hike back and forth to school).  This was something that happened when we got to school and I needed to vent it out somewhere or I was going to explode.  I will completely understand if you wish not to read it.  Maybe I'll post something happier after I go run for an hour.  Thanks for understanding.

 

Venting Post = Beware

Have you ever had those times, as mom, when you just want to scream?  Not because of what the kids did or didn’t do, but because of the way people around them treat them?  Sometimes you hear about something someone said about your child, or made fun of the way they dressed a particular day or made fun of an answer they gave in class.  Kids can just be so cruel sometimes.

Today was just one of those days.  As you know from one of my earlier posts, JT is still learning how to ride his bike.  He is far from mastering the skill but is making great strides towards being able to ride for more than a few seconds at a time. 

Yesterday was walk/ride your bike to school day and the police came and were registering bicycles and giving out free helmets.  JT’s been riding his scooter, but we thought it would be a great opportunity for the boys, so I strapped back on the training wheels.  Yesterday turned out great.

Today was a different story.  When I was riding with the boys, RJ decided he was going to be whinny all the way to school.  Brother was beating him and he just didn’t like it.  JT was, as usual, faster and arrived at school a few minutes before we did.  I usually just leave them at the bike rack, but I wanted to make sure JT was at school safely so I decided to look around.  I found him sitting in the cafeteria eating breakfast all by himself.  When I asked him why he hadn’t sat outside where I could see him, he told me that several of the kids had made fun of his training wheels.   His eyes started to tear up and he didn’t say anything after that.  Right then and there I wanted to find those kids and really give them a piece of my mind.

Didn’t they know that he’s someone’s son?  Didn’t they know that he hasn’t had the chance to ride a bike like the rest of them?  Didn’t they understand that he’s having a hard time with it?  Didn’t they understand that at one point in their lives, they didn’t know how to ride a bike either?  Didn’t they understand that they were hurting my son’s feelings when they said those cruel things to him?  Didn’t they understand that he has a hard time fitting in as it and that saying things like that only make him feel worse?   Didn’t they understand that he has a mom who loves him, who will probably spend the rest of the day crying, wishing that she could erase this black mark they’ve put on his already fragile ego?  Don’t they understand that he is a child of God?  Don’t they understand that they are too?  Don’t they understand that Heavenly Father loves them all and if they’d only take the time to love each other, faults, training wheels and all, that this world would be a much better place?

But I can’t.  I can sit here and cry, but that won’t do anything but make the manufacturers of Kleenex richer.  So I did the only thing I could do.  When the bell rang, I pulled him aside and told him that no matter what happened at school, that he had a mom who loved him.  Then I told him that I was going to take his bike home and replace it that afternoon with his scooter.  He smiled and for the moment, that had to be enough for me.

Days 43-45

Day 43-  Rode the bike with the pup on a leash.  He's becoming a bit of handful dragging me along side him so I thought if rode my bike I could tire him out a little faster.  Didn't work.  I had to do it twice in one day.
 Rode 3 miles.  No difference in weight, no difference in puppy.  Hyper as ever.

Day 44- Volunteered in the morning, worked on JT's space derby spaceship from 12-2. 
Did 70 lying leg raises and 40 crunches.  Will feel it tomorrow.

Day 45- Felt it today.  Decided to do a practice 5k.  Pushed myself and did a rotation of 1/2 mile walking, 1/2 mile jogging.  Finished in 41minutes.  Of course, Jax dragged me the 1st jogging 1/2 mile.  But it was actually great to see that he was jogging beside me the last jogging half mile.  For once he was as tired as I was.
Weight, consistently around 163.  Just once in next month I'd like to see a 5 in that number.  Not as the third number, and definitely not in the first.

Day 39...oops 41

Day 39…

At least I think I’m on day 39.  I can’t remember if I’m supposed to be writing about Friday or Saturday.   Actually I just looked, I’m supposed to be writing about Day 41 (Saturday, 10/2).  Man, I am not good at this.  But then again, any of you who know me, know that this is par for the course.  So I didn’t count right or didn’t really count in the first place.  But then again, isn’t that how I always do it?

During the last post, I wrote about how someday I’d have to tell you about the first and only individual race I’d ever won.  Well, in order for you to catch a grasp of how awesome yesterday was, I’ll have to tell you about it now.  I even dug through my journal to find the story and to refresh my memory.

When I was in high school and all of a 90lb, dripping wet, sophomore I signed up for track.  All I knew was that I loved to run and my Grandpa Joe thought that I was pretty good at it.  I knew nothing of what the race names stood for or how many people would be watching or how many miles I would be running, killing myself just to get in shape for a race.  So when the day came to pick what races we’d sign up for, I stupidly raised my hand and volunteered to run the 400m dash.  I didn’t know what the 400m dash was.  I heard “dash” and thought “I can dash.”

Later that day, I found out what the 400m dash was and just about had to find the nearest garbage receptacle to contain my excitement.  If you don’t know, the 400m dash is once around the track.  Now once is better than five or six times granted, but it’s also once around the track as fast as humanly possible.  Imagine the 100m sprint that Usain Bolt does… 4 times.   Not even he can hold the record for it.  The fastest time ever is Michael Johnson at 43.18 seconds and he’s six foot one.  Can you imagine me, little 5 foot 1 (at the time) trying to sprint, let alone survive just getting around the track? 

We’d practice and practice and practice and I never was able to get around the track the whole time ONCE.  Not once.  I’d have to stop at one point or another just to take a breath.  Each time I tried, I failed.

The day of my first race came.  This would be my first track meet ever, the first one I’d ever been to or run in.  We piled into the bus that would take us to Riverside High School and I was one nervous wreck.  My teammates were cheering and laughing; I was looking for the nearest exit.  My friend, Violeta, was sitting beside me and at one point offered to split cab fair with me if I decided to make a real run for it.

As we entered the stadium, I panicked when I saw how many people would be in attendance.  I knew my coach must have been crazy to think “Little Ilda” could have succeeded in doing something so huge.  I knew I was going to trip on a shoelace or puke in the middle of the track.  I couldn’t go through the humiliation, but before I could collect my things to leave, some of my teammates got me to take a practice run with them as a warm-up.  We jogged three-fourths of the track.  The race was about to start and I still couldn’t finish the whole thing.

I walked off the track.  From behind me, I felt a hard cold stare piercing me.  It was our Coach, whom one of my teammates had once said looked like a middle-aged bull dog, yelled my name.  At that moment even a bull dog would have been better company.

“Jensen!” was the first word out of her mouth.  “It’s your turn up!”

When I hear those words I knew it was my death sentence.  I tried to move towards my assigned lane, but my legs refused to move.  Coach stared at me again and that was all the motivation my legs needed.  I was not about to ignore the bark of the “Bull Dog.”

My throat began to feel like the Sahara desert as I placed my feet in the starting blocks.  The track was so hot that I could see steam rising from its surface.  I looked up into the blue sky and prayed like I had never prayed before.  I truly felt like I needed His help.  The help wasn’t so that I’d do well in the race; it was for protection from Coach if I didn’t.

I looked around and I saw there were only going to be three other girls racing against me.  I kept telling myself not worry; worst I could do was come in fourth place.

“Runners!  On your mark!”  The butterflies in my stomach were multiplying by the moment.

“Set!”  I could feel my heart in my throat ready to leap out.

“Boom!”  It scared me so much that I almost forgot to run.  By the time the first second was over, I turned around and didn’t see anyone behind me.  The other runners were all in front of me.  Down to the middle of the first straight-away, I was lagging far behind.  To make matters worse, I got a cramp in my right leg.  I turned and saw Coach’s face.  She had always told us that the more it hurt, the more we were supposed to push.  The faster we pushed the sooner the pain would be over.

We came to the last curve (you all know how I love running curves) and I was even with the third placed girl.  I closed my eyes and could feel my legs running on air.  I knew Heavenly Father was answering my prayer.  I opened my eyes again to find I was now even with the second girl.

By this time, the curve was almost over.  I had to start my “kick” soon.  We reached the straight-away.  I realized I was going to do more than finish the race, I might actually medal.  I saw the long stretch of track ahead of me and told myself that some how I was going to do it.  I heard the rumbling cheers from the stands and I ran as I never had before.

As that straight-away began, the first girl was even with me and when we had seventy-five meters to go. The yells and cheers from my teammates pushed me to go faster and I passed her.

My eyes began to burn and the finish line was moving towards me in what felt like slow motion.  I closed my eyes again and I could feel, not just hear, the roar of the crowd.  The tape from the finish line was across my chest and I opened my eyes once more.

What place had I come in?  I was too nervous to even ask.  It wasn’t until I felt the crushing hugs of my teammates around me that I realized I had won. 

A woman, who I didn’t know, asked me how I was.

“I can’t believe it,” was all I could say.  Never in my life had I expected to win.  Maybe in dreams, but never in real life.  I was tired and out of breath, but ecstatic.  Even Coach was happy enough to give me a hug.

So now you know… the first race I ever ran was also the first and last one I ever won.  That was the prelims.  I think I placed third in the finals.  That part of the story I don’t remember. 

You’re probably wondering what the heck yesterday has to do with something that happened twenty-one years ago.  You’re right to wonder.  When I was 16, I practiced and practiced and never made it around the track without stopping.  It took the adrenaline from the race to push me forward. 

Yesterday, at the age of 37, after fourteen years of marriage, carrying a LOT more weight than that 90lb girl I once was and three c-sections later, I jogged that 400m meters without stopping and not only that I went on to wog 2.40 more miles and ride my bike with the kids for nearly 4 more miles.  Now, of course, it wasn’t as fast as I ran it the day of that race.  There was no crowd cheering for me at the end, but who cares.  I’m just glad to know that “Little Ilda” was just crazy enough to succeeded in doing something so huge after all.

As for the rest of Saturday and Sunday, it’s General Conference for the our church. You’re welcomed to join us you can view it at new.lds.org  Until tomorrow, happy blogging.