Monthly Archives: January 2014

Do Your Boobs Hang Low?

Posted on January 28, 2014 | 33 comments

Body dysmorphic disorder is a serious affliction wherein a person is obsessed with some perceived flaw in their body. The most difficult part to understand is that the flaw someone is consumed with might not even be visible to anyone else. It might not even be real.

I have the opposite of that. I am not under the false impression that I am runway thin or bodybuilder strong or movie star pretty but I pretty much stopped really looking very hard in the mirror without my clothes on when I was about 24. By that point I had a pretty good idea what I looked like, I had a long-term boyfriend that I’d eventually marry and I had already been “the naked girl” in a play in college once, it was unlikely to happen again. So, I just stopped obsessing over my body. So I stopped really looking,

And then I had a baby and I was all “Holy fuck, what happened to me?” and then I got over that. And I had another baby and aside from that one day that I took a long look at the road map that is my stomach I really haven’t done much looking since. I stare at myself in the mirror at the gym just as much as the next person but since the invention of the wide-band yoga/running pant it’s not so bad a sight. And really when you’re dumping sweat and lifting weights it’s hard to be too hard on yourself.

Where was I? That’s right, I have the opposite of body dysmorphia. Instead of believing that there is something horribly wrong with my physical appearance I have this notion that I pretty much look like I did when I was about 23. Most of the time this serves me well. I am confident. I am sassy. I am not bogged down with worrying about my aging body. But then these horrifying moments of reality happen. I accidentally catch a peek at the back of my thigh and think “holy shit, when did that start to look like THAT?” Or I chat up a kid in line at the grocery store and he looks right through me and I remember that I am not a spring chicken as I catch a look at myself all decked out mom-style.

Ordinarily, I let these moments roll off me and I settle back into being blissfully unaware of aging.

I was at the gym the other day feeling strong. Busted out a two minute plank and dropped to the mat. I grabbed my phone and my water and I leaned back and looked back down to the mat and GASPED. My tits were inches, almost half a foot, lower than my elbows. IN A SPORTS BRA. I almost ran to the weight room where I could get a better look in a mirror because HOLY HELL I know I have been pregnant twice and breastfeeding for eleventy billion years but come the fuck on when did this happen???

But I couldn’t move. For one thing I was afraid I might trip over my knockers. It was dangerous to run. Things were sliding south and fast.

I took a deep breath. And I began to laugh. Look closely at the picture and you can see a second set of handprints. Look at the bottom of that picture. My knees. AHA! The wet marks were my knees!! I had pulled them up to the mat as I sat back to catch my breath.

And I got hysterical. That kind of belly laugh, I might pee my pants, holy shit do you guys see what I see laughter that you have to share. I looked around and there was not a single woman in sight. Now I wasn’t picky. I was ready to shout out “Oh my god, I thought those were boob sweat marks and it is only my KNEES! Hallelujah, it’s just my knees!!!” to anyone that looked even remotely female. Not a one. Somehow I didn’t think that the fellas that work out with me daily were going to be impressed. Or understand why this was such a reason to rejoice.

So, I snapped a picture and I strutted, yeah, strutted, my fine ass right out of the gym. Because my boobs are nowhere near that low. In a sports bra. So there.

Thanks for letting me get that off my chest.

33 Comments

Posted in Exercise, Nonsense

Tagged Aging, body image, boobs, Exercise, fitness, Pregnancy, sports bra

The Sad

Posted on January 24, 2014 | Leave a comment

It was years ago now. At least five, maybe even more. I was sad. Scratch that. I was Sad. I was so sad that I never really answered my phone and I rarely returned a voice mail. I didn’t have anything new to report. So, my phone went unanswered and my voicemails were unreturned.

Emily and I were sitting in the car somewhere and I remember noticing how clear her speech had become. We were talking, really talking about something and it made me smile. I didn’t smile then like I do now so I took note. I turned around in the front seat and said “Hey, do you want to leave my message on my voicemail? All you have to say is “This is Emily & Kelly, leave us a message and we will call you back.”

What she ended up saying was beyond perfect. “Emily and Kelly, leave us a message and call us back!”

It has been years now. My voicemail remains the same. I can’t seem to bring myself to erase it. It was my go-to smile generator at a time that I needed one.

Today there are two people that I love experiencing a sadness that I can not even begin to understand. Even more people if you count all of the people that love them and the sadness that they feel, too. I have struggled to find words. Words that carry more weight than “I’m sorry,” words that heal more quickly than “I am here. I love you.” There really aren’t any words.

You will carry this Sad through days or weeks or months until one day something makes you smile. It won’t eradicate the Sad but it will be a window into the world of “It’s going to be okay” that you have to believe exists. There is no telling what will make you smile or when it will happen. But you will. You will smile.

I have stared at the computer all day. I recorded my voicemail message in nineteen different ways just to keep myself busy. Because I needed a project, I needed to be busy because I can’t really wrap my mind around the Sad that you are experiencing. While I have never known the path that you are walking right now I have known a Darkness that I believed to be impenetrable. Hold on to one another and watch for the Light. It will come. I love you.

I told you the other day that people will say things that make you want to pound them in to the ground. Because people don’t know what to say. I hope that this isn’t one of them. But I don’t know. I really don’t know.

I love you both so very much. I’m here, holding your family in Love and Light. I won’t forget. We won’t forget.

My apologies for the vague and unstructured nature of this post. When you write to make sense of the world around you sometimes things happen in your world that are not your story. The story belongs to someone else. Comments are closed on this post because, simply, there are no words.

Dear Lucy on your 2nd Birthday

Posted on January 20, 2014 | 5 comments

Dear Lucy,

Happy Birthday, kiddo! Two!! I think you had a bang up birthday. Daddy, Emily, Papa and Gram set up a Yo Gabba Gabba explosion in the kitchen while you took a nap and you were so tickled when you woke up. It was like you couldn’t believe that all of your buddies from Gabba Land were here for a party. It is impossible sometimes to tell if you are saying “potty” or “party” so the day was exciting. You ran through the house yelling “party” while I trailed after you saying “Do you have to go potty, Lu?”

You’re such a happy little lady. You’re always smiling. You are such a menace. Somedays I think you spend all day developing your crackpot plans for destruction but you mean well. The delight in your face as someone yells “Oh, Lucy!!!” makes cleaning it all up worthwhile for the time being. Don’t feel like you need to stay in this phase for too awful long. I will suffer through the momentary sadness when I mention to one of your many doting grandparents “I noticed today it has been weeks since Lucy mindlessly dumped out an entire drawer full of stuff.”

You love your babies with your whole entire little self. You are frequently walking around the house bouncing a baby on your shoulder saying “Shhh, shh, shh.” Your babies are busy, too. They are always napping or crying according to you. I ask you what they are doing all of the time. I think I ask you what you are doing a lot, too, because in the last month you have taken to constantly asking us “What are you DOING?” in this tone that suggests that whatever we doing is inane.

You are not the most graceful little person. You have a tendency to crash and burn but nothing slows you down. If I have to be honest with you, Lucy, your head circumference is off the charts, it’s no wonder you tumble from time to time. But you never make a peep. You are back on your feet, onward and upward, in no time. I hope this “nothing keeps a good woman down” attitude serves you well in your life.

You’re not really a baby anymore. I mean, you got a bike for your birthday, man. Babies don’t ride bikes. But I have news for you, Lu, you will always be the baby. It’s going to drive you totally crazy someday when I hold you extra tight or kiss you in front of your middle school. But I promise that being the baby will pay off. You will probably also be able to stay out ten minutes past your curfew someday because everyone knows that the youngest kid in the family has slacker rules as a teenager. And we won’t even talk about the inappropriate movies you will probably get to watch because by the time you are your sister’s age I will have been watching heart-felt animal movies for almost fifteen years and sometimes a girl just needs a break.

Lucy, I love you like crazy. You haven’t slept through the night a single time in your two years and you still won’t take a nap without a solid twenty minutes of snuggling with your mama in the middle but you know what – I wouldn’t change a thing. Two years later and I still bend my face down to the top of your head and inhale and think about how these days will pass faster than I can even imagine.

Happy Birthday, Lucy Quinn. I tell you all of the time, but don’t you forget – you’re a really good baby. And try not to think too much about how I sometimes say it in the same tone of voice that I say “You’re such a good dog” to Fisher. You two spend a lot of time together but it isn’t like I can’t tell you apart.

Love,

Mom

Lucy Quinn - Blowing your dad's mind since 2012

Lucy Quinn – Blowing your dad’s mind since January 20, 2012

5 Comments

Posted in Family, Parenting, Pregnancy

Tagged birthday, Dear Lucy, Family, happy birthday letter, Lucy Quinn, toddler, Yo Gabba Gabba

So, it’s been a while since I was totally disgusting.

Posted on January 12, 2014 | 37 comments

You don’t come here to listen to me talk about running. Or triathlon training. Here is not the place for me to do some deep thinking and journaling about how I am going to get enough swim workouts done and also get a new tattoo this winter. It just isn’t.

Writing. Write what you know. A million people smarter than me have told me that before. Blogging? It’s not much different. I suppose the only difference is that because you get live, human feedback you get to know your audience. And I don’t think you guys want to listen to me talk about running and endurance training and the relative merits of Shot Bloks vs G1, Gatorade’s energy chews.

You want me to show you pictures ofmy ass in mom jeans, my stretchmarks and my boob milk stains.

Guys. Today I need to talk about running. And there won’t be a picture.

I ran twelve miles today. Twelve. I have never run that far in my whole entire life. I have also never shit on the side of the road. And I did that, too. Oh. Did you miss that? Was I not clear? I pooped. Outside. In the middle of running. I ran about six and a half miles and realized I was not going to make it five and a half more. I wasn’t even going to make it the half mile to the coffee shop in town. I scanned the immediate area and I POOPED OUTSIDE. Two yards from the sidewalk. It was an emergency.

And then I kept running. And before you get all up on your “I have never, ever shit near a sidewalk” high horse let me tell you that I had baby wipes. Two of them. In a ziplock bag. Because (and here is where I consider if this is crossing a line to tell what my regular poop schedule looks like and realize there is no line, the line has been obliterated) I have not pooped in two days and I am an every other day pooper and I knew it could ugly and I thought being prepared would prevent it from happening. Wrong.

So, after doing my business and with two used baby wipes in a ziplock bag I ran off towards the closest trash can. Because while I will (apparently) poop in what is technically a person’s yard I will not litter.

I ran and ran. I changed musical playlists. I had this twelve mile run in the bag! Not unlike a dirty baby wipe. And I ate a few more energy chews and I ran some more and then…. then my stomach started to clench and I started to feel nauseous and I realized I had crossed in to new territory. I was now a person that shit on the side of the road. There was no reason to contemplate trying to run three, almost four, more miles with my ass cheeks clenched. AND I DID IT AGAIN. I made it in to the woods. Should that make me feel better?

And I kept running again.

I am not sure what the takeaway is here. I am a person that is just about ready to run a half-marathon. That’s exciting. I am also a person that pooped. On the run. I think that makes me a runner? It might even make me a long distance runner? Because this is a thing – other people have done this. Really. I’m not trying to go all Billy Madison on you and tell you that “it’s cool.” But I am not alone. And that’s comforting.

So. Yeah. I’ve been quiet. Because all I think about lately is training and which race should I sign up for and what am I going to do now that I own the last pair of hot pink New Balance 870v2 in a ladies size 10.5???

So, I told you a poop story so you wouldn’t leave me. But I really can’t figure out how to get the carbohydrates in without making the poop come out. Runners, can you help me? Will my body eventually be able to tolerate a long run without revolting against me? This morning I told MQD that maybe I need to try a different kind of “evacuation blocks.” He looked at me sideways. “I mean energy blocks, but yeah…” I can’t seem to not feel totally thrashed after about an hour and a half without a little something.

Trial and error is the answer, I suppose. And route my runs closer to a bathroom, huh? We live and learn in this life. And this morning I ran twelve miles, pooped outside twice, lost my car key and locked myself out of my house. That’s a whole lot of living.

I can’t do it. A post without a picture seems wrong. Here I am. In the bathroom at the gym. Why? Because Karen at Uncomfortably Honest and Honestly Uncomfortable takes adorable post-run pics in the bathroom at her gym and I wanted to test her theory about lighting. She also tells a mean poop story in case that’s your thing.

Happy Sunday, guys!