Quarantined!

It’s been over a year since I have blogged, and what better time to write than when we are forced to remain home. I don’t know about all of you, but I am still floored by how much our world has changed in two short weeks. Two weeks ago we had just wrapped up the spring play, and after the final two weeks of dress rehearsals and performances, and being at home only to sleep, I was ready to be home! I was exhausted; my house was a wreck; and I just wanted to spend time with my family. I got my wish in a big way.

Two weeks ago I had no clue that I was about to hit a brick wall. On Wednesday – 12 days ago – our 8th grade Washington, DC trip was rescheduled for fall. It was then I realized that things were getting serious, at least in DC. Then we heard about a school system in Indiana closing, but surely that wouldn’t happen in Tell City. And then Friday came. It was the day before spring break, so things were already crazy with students who were definitely ready for a break. During the day the announcement came that we would not be returning right after the break. $h!T was gettin’ real.

From that day on, it seems that things are changing daily. We began to limit being out, and people began buying toilet paper. Lots and lots of toilet paper. On Saturday (3/14) we went to visit my mother-in-law who was in the hospital in Frankfort. Only one of us was allowed in the hospital at a time, and we had to be interviewed prior to entrance. A couple of days later, I made sure my mother had enough to eat. She has a blood disorder, and cannot leave her home during this time. My step-dad refuses to listen to orders to stay home, which is frustrating.

Fast forward to today. Indiana residents have been told to stay home. As a runner, I am still able to go out for runs by myself, which is a lifesaver. Other than that, we are home. Gary, our daughter Morgan, and her boys, who are six and eight. This is a time that I am grateful we have 54 acres! The boys can get out and run and play army, and so far they don’t seem to mind staying home. Once eLearning begins next week, I’m sure that will change quickly.

While these are trying times, and people are worried not only about our parents and grandparents, but also about paying bills and just surviving, I have seen some great things! I’ve seen families out for walks, families posting about having game nights, friends cooking dinners, and people trying to help one another. I have friends who are sewing masks for hospitals and others who are delivering necessities to those who cannot get out. On Friday we went to Sam’s to get some groceries for home and the bakery. They had limited all items to one per member. We could not purchase the flour needed at the bakery. Two ladies overheard us talking, and they offered to each buy flour and meet us outside. First, just the fact that I had to make a plan to get flour was surreal. But these ladies were so kind. Gary gave them cash to pay for our contraband, and we planned to meet outside. Once there, they had not only gotten the goods, but they also returned the money and just asked that we pay it forward. Difficult times often brings out the good in society!

There are still so many what-ifs. Our daughter is supposed to get married May 30, and we just pray that we will be able to move forward with those plans. We have postponed her shower, but changing a wedding is so much more difficult. I feel for all of the brides and grooms, the seniors (both high school and college), and for those who have lost loved ones and cannot mourn that loss surrounded by family and friends. I pray for those who have loved ones in the hospital, but cannot visit them.

As a teacher, I feel for those students who rely on school to feel safe and loved. I hope there is no one who believes that teachers look at this as a vacation. We are heartbroken. If we didn’t love kids, we would not have chosen to teach. When we left for spring break, we had no idea that it would be so long before we saw our kids, and now even that could change. We are missing our kids. We are trying to rewrite our curriculum so that they can learn without our being in the same room. We are trying to plan material that they will find relevant and interesting. Many of us also have children in our homes, and we have to be prepared to teach and to help them with their assignments. Like some of you, we live in an area with limited Internet. This adds to my concerns.

What can we do? We can share our joys. We can exercise. We can take time to just breathe or do yoga. We can support our local restaurants so that they are still there when this is over. We can lift others up rather than judging each other on social media (seriously – have you seen the arguments already?). We can stay at home like we are supposed to so that eventually life can return to the busyness we are all used to. We can make our kids stay home and help them understand that they cannot be with their friends at this time. It’s hard to make them understand the importance of social distancing (I had never even heard that term two weeks ago), but as parents, it is our responsibility to enforce those rules. We all need to step up!

And we can share Andy Beshear memes because they are the best!

 

Everyone’s Grandma Betty

Every once in awhile, God places angels right here among us. Grandma Betty, as she is affectionately known, was indeed an angel. I recently read a quote that said, “Your smile is your logo; your personality is your business card; how you leave others feeling after an experience with you becomes your trademark.” Betty shared her logo with everyone with whom she crossed paths, and one always felt better after spending time with her. She had the ability to make everyone feel loved and appreciated. She made others feel better about themselves simply by being Betty. That is truly a gift.

Going out shopping, to an auction, or to dinner with Betty was always an experience. She knew everyone, and it seemed that everyone was her cousin. Her family seemed to blanket Perry, Breckinridge, and Hancock counties. I often wondered if all of these people were actually her cousins, or if Betty just had so much love in her heart that she wanted everyone to feel like family.

I still remember the day I first met Betty. We had just moved into the house across the street from her, and she and Dorothy, another neighbor, came over to introduce themselves. That was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.Over the years, Betty became part of our family. She was a second mother to me, offering her wisdom and love whenever it was needed, even times when I didn’t know I needed it. She became a grandmother to my daughters, sharing her love of baking and of laughter with them. They loved walking across the street to Grandma Betty’s. I loved having someone who would share both my joys and my tears. No matter how down I might feel, talking to Betty always made me feel comforted. And when I had good news, she would end up being more excited than I was.

About 18 years ago, when my daughters were young and I was working full time as a hairdresser, I began to consider going to college to become a teacher. It was an intimidating decision, and I wasn’t sure I could pull it off. Betty encouraged me, never doubting that I could do it, and shared her stories of nursing school. She let me know that she would be there for me, and when I finally began classes, she even kept Addie while I went to school. It was during this time that Addie started her coffee addiction. “I just give her milk with a little coffee in it,” Betty would laugh. Addie and Betty had their routine; Betty let Addie watch her shows on Nickelodeon, cooked her better lunches than she would ever get at home, and they would swing. We all have such fond memories of the swing in Betty’s yard. And her yard…that lady could grow flowers. I will never look at an iris without thinking about Betty.

She took great pride in her flowers and in her home. She and I shared a love of decorating and of antiques. We’d go to a shop where she’d purchase some treasure, usually saying, “Don’t tell anyone how much a paid for this!” Every time I went to Betty’s house, something was new or rearranged. Her table was always set, and there was always candy on the bar for all of her kids. One always felt welcome in Grandma Betty’s home.

Betty spent her life helping others. Whether it was raising her six children or nursing ill patients, teaching school children or rocking babies at daycare, so many in our community were made a little better by a hug or kind word from Betty. As we all say our final good-byes, we need to take a piece of that with us and love fully just as she did. We need to pay attention, and when someone needs a lift, provide it. We need to make every child who crosses our paths know that he or she is loved and cared for. We need to encourage those who come behind us on this journey to chase their dreams, just as she chased hers to become a nurse.

And we should all thank Betty’s children for sharing their mother with us. She was so proud that each of them had gone to college, and she was proud of the caring adults they all became. So thank you, Donna, Doug, Debbie, Lorie, Lisa, and Janet. Your mother was a gem and she will be missed by so many. We all have an emptiness in our hearts, yet our hearts are also more full because of the love Betty shared with us all. Until we meet again…

 

Dear Santa…

Dear Santa:

I realize I’m not some cute little blonde kindergartner; I’m a no-longer-cute, 50 year old menopausal nana. After years of making sure everyone else has a perfect Christmas experience, complete with decorations in every room, cookies baked months in advance and tucked away in the freezer, and perfectly chosen, beautifully wrapped gifts, I’m exhausted. I’ve decided it’s my turn. Hell, I’ve been exceptionally good this year; I deserve my own visit from Santa.

I know you’re a busy guy, so I’ll try to make things easy for you. The following is my grown-up Christmas list, in no particular order.

  1. Please make these hot flashes go away. They are not very sexy, although my husband kind of likes them since they typically happen at night and I end up stripping. However, I prefer to maintain a tolerable body temp and to keep my clothes on. Most of the time, anyway. I am trying to stay on your ‘nice list’ afterall.
  2. Santa, since I’ve turned 50, I keep gaining weight. I can hardly eat a slice of bread without seeing the needle on the scale inch toward the right. I would really like to have my 30-year-old body back – the one that could eat pizza and ice cream and not gain weight. I wouldn’t even complain about the stretch marks. Just let me eat some bread, dammit!
  3. I would like a new bathroom mirror. Every time I look in mine, my mother is looking back at me. It’s really creepy, Santa. All I see are crows’ feet accentuating squinty eyes, lines criss-crossing some old lady’s forehead, and the down-turned corners of my mother’s mouth. When I inquire, “Who’s the fairest of them all,” my mother peers back and replies, “Sure as hell not you, Sweetheart!”
  4. While you’re at it, I also need a new full-length mirror. Please make it a high quality one, not some cheap piece of crap like I currently own. The one I have adds at least 15 pounds. Seriously. They don’t make those things like they used to.
  5. I could really use some magic joint cream (not a magic joint; I’m too old for those now). I’ve noticed when I am wrapping all those gifts, it takes me much longer to get up off the floor. And it hurts. What’s up with that? Is that why old people resort to gift cards? They can no longer sit on the floor to wrap gifts in the glow of the tree lights? Well, now that I think about it, maybe a joint would help these aches and pains – or at least make me not care. Medical marijuana is a thing, right?
  6. You know that crepey, saggy skin you brought me last year? Take it back. I don’t like it at all. It totally ruins my cool nana image, and, well, it just doesn’t look good at all. It’s a little embarrassing to be in a plank position in yoga class, and to see my skin touching the floor.
  7. Santa, let’s talk boobs and ass. Not in a ‘Santa is a pervert’ way, though. I realize there isn’t much to talk about, but mine seem to be heading south. Could you just drag them a little northward with you? You’re already heading that direction, so it shouldn’t be a big deal. I just want some perkiness. Is that too much to ask?
  8. Something is happening to my eyes. Could you please bring me a new pair of eyes? I just want to be able to read menus in dimly lit restaurants without pulling out my Iphone flashlight. For some reason, that embarrasses my kids. And any font smaller than 12 is also impossible to decipher, even with my trusty bifocals.
  9. I’d like my own elf. You seem to have plenty at the North Pole, so surely you could spare just one. My elf could decorate my house, buy and wrap all the gifts, bake the cookies, plan the meal, clean my house, and just bring about overall Christmas cheer. I could actually sit back and enjoy the holiday season instead of always feeling like I’m behind. I could attend holiday parties and drink wine; I could sit and gaze at our perfectly decorated tree and drink wine; and I could watch Elf and drink wine. Imagine what fun that would be (okay, I’ve done that, and it really is fun!). I would even be willing to put out cookies and wine for you on Christmas Eve. Wouldn’t that make your trip more interesting?
  10. I’d really appreciate a smaller house. I know most people ask for bigger and better, but I want just enough space for my husband and me because people keep moving in. It had been daughters moving back and grandsons taking up residence; we’ve housed a German exchange student and a college friend of our youngest, but now our empty nest is full because of my brother. Our life is like some bad comedy where the crazy uncle moves in. We finally get rid of all the kids and have four glorious months of having the house all to ourselves, and boom! Once again our nest explodes. Think one bedroom, Santa.
  11. Finally, Big Guy, my list seems a little self-centered, so in the spirit of Christmas, I’d also like to ask for something for my neighbors near and far, both democrats and republicans. Please, PLEASE, cancel Trump’s Twitter account.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

 

In Honor of My Mom

In Honor of My Mom

My mom turns 84 this week, so I thought it was only fitting that I write about her. Of course, I knew she wouldn’t be here because she doesn’t go out after dark, so I knew I was safe. I am 50 years old, and I am still afraid of my mom. Do we ever get beyond wanting to please our mothers? My mother is a strict mother; she always has been, and she hasn’t mellowed out much in her senior years. I first realized this when she threatened my misbehaving children with a fly swatter when they were youngsters.

When we were young children living in Hammond, my older brother and his friends spent hours outside building forts, riding bikes, and trying to stay out of trouble. Mom was a stay-at-home mom of the 70s, so she always knew where we were. When it was time for us to return home, did she call us like the other moms? Of course not. She blew a whistle. She would stand out on the front porch, take a gigantic breath, and blow that damn whistle as loudly as she could. Birds and small animals would scatter in fear. Mortified, my brother would act like he didn’t hear it, wait a couple minutes, and then announce to his buddies that he thought he’d head home. By the time I was a teen, Mom had given up the whistle (or maybe it disappeared), and she began flashing the front porch light when I was out. There was no pretending it wasn’t coming from my house, so I’d hang my head and walk home while the neighborhood kids tried to control their laughter. Thanks, Mom.

Most parents have some memorable phrases they use with their kids. My mom’s favorite phrase was It just isn’t necessary. No matter our request, if Mom didn’t want to give in, she gave no reason other than it wasn’t necessary. “Can I take gymnastics, Mom?” “No.” “But why not?” I’d inquire. “Because it just isn’t necessary.” Oh, great, Mom. But those piano lessons are necessary? “Can I go out with my friends?” “No, it isn’t necessary.” But it’s fun, Mom. Can’t something just be fun? Algebra isn’t necessary, but I can’t get out of that. Dusting the floorboards isn’t really necessary, is it? But I had to do that.

My mom hates cooking, but she made sure we had balanced meals that included vegetables. I hated – okay, I still hate – vegetables, but she force-fed them to me: spinach (canned, cooked, nasty spinach), green beans, peas, lima beans – we had them all. I think the benefits of these vegetables were canceled out by the Spam she also served. She was one of those moms who made us sit at the table until we had eaten our veggies. Apparently she thought that was necessary. My brother would stash his in his napkin. I, being the younger, more creative sibling, swallowed them whole with my milk. Have you ever swallowed whole green beans? Just the thought of chewing a green bean gags me, so I became quite adept at swallowing them with milk. My family was amused by my ingenuity, and would watch me as I swallowed them down one by one.

My mom is a clean freak. In Mom’s home, everything has a very specific place. Her books and remotes are lined up with the edge of her end table. She has absolutely no clutter. How does she live like that? She is at that stage in life when she is getting rid of things. She’s even given back family photos we have given her. Thanks, Mom. Wouldn’t want those old things cluttering up your house. Every single year, she did spring and fall cleaning. Her house was already spotless, so I’m not sure why this was necessary. She would scrub down every wall; I’ve never scrubbed down an entire wall. Is that really necessary? She would Jubilee every piece of furniture (remember that thick, white furniture cleaner?); I am certain that’s not necessary. Mom, even at nearly 84, still keeps her house spotless. Last August I heard my cell phone ringing at school. I checked and saw it was Mom; she never calls during the workday, so I answered. In her weakest voice she told me she had fallen, and was certain she’d broken her wrist. I took off to get her and take her to the ER. As we were driving, she explained that she had been standing on a stool, cleaning her top cabinets. The next thing she knew, she was on the floor. Cleaning is dangerous, Mom. Stop it. It just isn’t necessary to stand on a stool when you’re home alone just so you can clean something that no one will ever see.

Not only is my mom’s home spotless; she also keeps her car looking like new. A few years ago, Mom decided to spruce up her car a bit. Do you remember those spinners that young kids put on their wheels? They were metal and, well, they spun around as the car moved. They were really intended for hot rods or cars that were all jacked up and had bass that could be heard from a mile away, but for some reason, Mom thought they were neat, and had a set installed. So, on the front of her car was a plate that said ‘I Love Country Music’, and on her wheels were spinners, the ultimate oxymoron. That’s the year I bought her black bikini underwear that said “Hot Momma” for Christmas. She did not find that amusing.

My mother did not find me very amusing this past Christmas either. I decided to buy a couple bottles of wine. My daughters are adults, as are my nieces, so I thought it’d be nice to try some local wines. I had worked my tail off preparing a nice Christmas; my husband had knee surgery two days earlier; and I was stressed. Wine was necessary. I thought it was a nice gesture, but later found that if she could, Mom would have used that fly swatter on me. I was in trouble – at 50 years old – for serving wine in my own house. I’m getting her a bottle of wine for her birthday.

Someday, I am quite certain my own daughters will compile their own list of “mom” stories. I intend to follow in my own mom’s footsteps and provide them with plenty of material.

Rex Greenland 1932-1974

June 7, 1974. I awoke that morning at my Grandma Allen’s house. My sister’s graduation was the night before, and afterward I spent the night with Grandma because we were moving from Hammond to Hobart to be closer to my dad’s business, the R. W. Greenland Co. His business made tiny colored gravel for aquariums.

After breakfast, the old, black rotary phone at Grandma’s rang. By the tone of Grandma’s voice, I could tell something was wrong. As she replaced the receiver, she turned to me and said words I’ll never forget, “Honey, lay yourself across the bed and cry; your daddy just died.” As a seven year old, I don’t think the words truly registered. How could my dad have died? We were moving that day. We needed him. I needed my dad.

My dad had been up in the attic getting things down for the movers when he suffered a major heart attack; he was 42. My sister was 18, my brother 14, and I was seven. That moment in time changed the course of our lives. The rest of the day was a whirlwind. We were very active in Southside Christian Church, as my dad was an elder and an organist. I remember church members just showing up to help us complete our move. Our neighbors, the Rectors (who are more like family), welcomed us into their home and helped take care of us kids. We made the move to Hobart, but only stayed there about six months before moving back to Munster, which was closer to friends, family, and church.

I remember thinking I was having a bad dream and would eventually wake up and Dad would still be there. I thought that for a very long time. I would talk to dad as if I were praying. I just didn’t understand how God could take such a good man away from us. I still don’t.

In the seventies, therapy wasn’t something ‘normal’ people took advantage of. Our family was expected to just move on. My mother told me that not long after Dad died, she was having a bad day, afterall, she was a 41 year old stay-at-home mom who was suddenly left alone to raise three children. She went to my Grandma’s house in tears, and Grandma told her she needed to stop crying and get over it. We never talked about Dad. I believe that family friends avoided talking about him around us because they were afraid it would just upset us. On the contrary, it’s much more upsetting to not remember him because we never talked about him. I still love to visit with our friends, the Rectors, because they will tell me stories about my dad.

Living life without my dad has been difficult. Even now, at 50 years old, I miss him tremendously. I see daughters and fathers, and feel the loss of never having had that special relationship. As I graduated, married, and had children, there was always an empty space. What kind of grandfather would he have been? Would he be proud of the things I’ve accomplished? What advice would he have for me? What would it feel like to have my father hold me when I’m sad?

I believe that all life’s events – good and bad – are part of our path, and that has helped. Had my dad have lived, our lives would be so different. We would not have moved to Tell City (this is where my step-dad is from), so I wouldn’t have my girls, and I would not have met Gary. I have a great life, and I have wonderful people whom I love. For that I am grateful. I can’t help but wonder, though, what my career would have been. Would dad’s company have continued to grow? Dad was pretty ambitious, so I wonder what else he would have tried. He was also a great musician and wrote music. I wonder what traits of my dad’s I carry. I feel that my youngest daughter, Addie, got dad’s musical ability. She has taught herself to play the piano, and has worked on some of the songs Dad wrote. She even looks like my dad, so I can catch glimpses of him.

When I turned 42, I struggled. All I had ever associated with that number was my dad’s death. As my birthday approached, I became more depressed. I had to do something, or my husband had threatened he would put me in therapy. That’s when I began to run. I decided I needed to be proactive and take care of my heart. I didn’t know if I would keep up with the running; I had never been able to keep up with any type of exercise prior to that. It’s been eight years now, and I have my dad to thank for my running. I still run for him, and because of running, I am a happier, more confident person. It has changed my life.

It’s been 43 years since I lost my dad…that’s a lifetime. I will never stop missing him or wondering what life would’ve been, but I am content in knowing that I have made the best of this life, worked hard to accomplish my goals, and have tried to use my experience to help kids who have lost parents. Dad, I love you.

Half Marathon #12 Training

In eight days I will be running my 12th half marathon. The Indy 500 Mini Marathon has been on my bucket list for a few years, but it usually falls the same weekend we take our eighth graders to Washington, DC. This year our trip is the week after the mini, so my daughter Bethany and I signed up. We actually signed up when we were at the expo for the Monumental Half Marathon in November. Bethany was a little freaked out that she signed up for her second half marathon before she’d run her first. But hey, we got $5 off and a free tech shirt, so how could we go wrong?

Bethany and I have been training for a couple months. Now that I am 50, I’ve found my long runs just keep getting slower. However, last weekend we ran our longest run of 11 miles, and our pace was a respectable 10:35 (respectable for me, but maybe not for Bethany). Sunday I ran five miles with my fast friends. They make running look so effortless while I am about 15 feet behind struggling to breathe. They were chatting away, and would occasionally ask me a question, but I had no idea what they were even talking about. So why do I run with them? Because I love them, and because it pushes me. Sometimes I get comfortable just getting my miles in, but I don’t really push myself out of that comfort zone. If I want to run well, I have to be willing to be uncomfortable. We ran those five miles at a 9:45 pace, which at this point is super fast for me. Jennifer had already run five miles, and then added another 3.1 after our five…at an 8:15 pace. Geez.

Fast. Something I’ve never been, nor will I ever be. When I talk to my eighth graders about my running, they don’t get that concept. When I told them I was running the Indy Mini, some asked if I thought I would win. Sure, Kids. I’m confident that out of the 30-35,000 runners, I will win. I told them that really isn’t the goal of most runners. But it’s a race. Why would you enter a race if you don’t think you can win, Mrs. Stath? I tried to explain the age groups, and how my goal is usually to place in the top 20% of my age group. But why would you run over 13 miles for that? Ummm…because we get really cool medals and a shirt. I guess from a 13 year old’s perspective, the fact that a 50 year old teacher would run 13.1 miles to get a medal doesn’t make much sense. It made me ask myself why I really do it.

There are so many reasons to run a half marathon. First, there is no other feeling like crossing that finish line, knowing I did something that not many people do. I have done the work – and it is work – and accomplished my goal. Running it with my daughter? That is a pleasure that not many moms get to experience. Running this distance has been life-changing for me. I didn’t begin running until I was 42, and I ran my first half almost seven years ago at 43. I never dreamed I could run 13 miles; I thought it was silly to even want to run for over two hours. But I did it. It taught me that even as a middle-aged mom and grandmother, I could still meet new challenges. It gave me confidence to take risks. I love the camaraderie of the running community. When we go to Indianapolis next weekend, I will enjoy being surrounded by other runners at the hotel, expo, and restaurants. There’s just a different type of energy in the air.

Running long distance doesn’t come without sacrifice and sometimes discomfort. My hip began hurting a couple weeks ago. It was fine when I ran, but hurt after. It is better after a couple trips to the chiropractor, and I have three more appointments scheduled for next week, including one right before we leave for Indy. Runners also sacrifice time. Long runs take time away from family, not only during the run itself, but when I am crashed on the couch afterward. Thankfully my husband is supportive since he was also a runner. Knowing he will be there when I finish makes me look forward to the finish line even more.

Bethany, thank you for taking time to train with me and to commit to this race. There really is something special about pounding the pavement with you. I am so incredibly proud of you. Let’s rock this race! Do you think we can win?

Turns Out 50 Isn’t Just a Number

I have been 50 for just over a month. It’s been a busy month, but I’ve still had time to analyze this next phase of my life. What I’ve come to learn is that a lot of people lied to me. I don’t know how many times I’ve heard 50? It’s just a number!  You’re 50? Oh, don’t worry about that; it’s just a number. You are all liars.

Guess what. It is not just a number. Not at all. 50 is hot flashes. 50 is wrinkly skin and baggy eyes. 50 is weight gain that can’t be explained. 50 is going to bed at 9:00. 50 is running slower even when one is training harder. 50 is craving chocolate. 50 is not just a number.

I’ve always known I wouldn’t age gracefully; I would fight it every step of the way. Some things I can’t really do much about. The hot flashes hit this past fall. I suppose it was nature’s way of getting me ready to turn 50. I remember my mother having them; it wasn’t pretty. And God forbid we tease her. That was not allowed. I thought I had hot flashes when I was pregnant, but I was really just hot all the time. These menopausal hot flashes are a different beast. They begin at my core and within three seconds consume my body. When I am at home, I start fanning, moving clothes, throwing off blankets, and sometimes go out to the garage where it’s cool. At night in bed, sometimes I just strip. In my younger years, that meant a completely different thing. At 50, it just means I am on fire. Flannel sheets? Hell no. I cannot even imagine how miserable those things – that I once loved – would feel. Heavy sweaters for work? Nope.

Weight gain. This is a real issue for me, and one I am not handling well. Until my late 30s, weight was never an issue. I could eat whatever I wanted (burgers, candy, donuts, chips, and on and on), and I still maintained my petite size. In my forties, this all changed. Suddenly I had to exercise, run miles and miles, and I had to be more conscientious about what I consumed. Still, an occasional cookie – or sleeve of Girl Scout cookies – didn’t hurt me; I just ran it off. Oreos and milk were still on my menu. My favorite post-run snack was a Diet Pepsi and Nutty Bars. I could not eat what I did in my earlier years, but I could eat smaller portions of what I liked.

Fast forward to the last year. I can’t eat shit. As of today, I am at my highest weight (besides when I was carrying another human inside of me). I know that it’s not awful, but on my five foot frame, those little fat cells are just accumulating around my middle. Heck, my workout clothes are too tight. I put my age, weight, and goal weight into the Lose It app a couple weeks ago, and to lose one pound a week, I can only eat 1049 calories a day! Seriously. As I was going through the McDonald’s drive-through today (Don’t judge – I got a Diet Coke and grilled chicken), I saw that one of those mint shakes has 680 calories. That’s over half of my daily allowance. That, my friends, sucks.

And if you watch television, you’ve seen that food, really fattening food, is marketed constantly. We have always joked about how little my mother eats at holiday gatherings. She literally has a teaspoonful of each item. Now I get it. If I eat a normal meal, I see it on the scale. I listened to a podcast while I was running today, and a doctor was talking about fat. She learned that she has to stop eating at 4:00 p.m., and doesn’t eat again until 10:00 a.m. She is a scientist and learned that there is something that happens at night that gets rid of fat, and if she gives it more time to work, she can maintain her weight. I would starve. And my family would make me move out because I’d be mean.

So, what’s the answer? I have not yet figured it out. I have begun to drink more water, and I can already tell a difference in how I feel. I was up to about five diet soft drinks a day. My belly felt bloated all the time, and I knew it was just bad for me. I am going to work on my diet, but it’s a struggle. I truly don’t like most veggies. I can’t even force them down. My daughters are all working at losing weight and getting in better shape, so that will help.

Skin. There are all kind of anti-aging products out there, but geez, they are expensive! Nerium and Rodan and Fields are constantly on my Facebook feed, and some good friends sell them, but I just cannot afford them. I found something less expensive that I am going to try. As strange as it sounds, I ordered Robin McGraw’s skincare (you know, Dr. Phil’s wife). I watched her pitch at the end of one of his shows (Don’t judge; there isn’t much on at that time), and since it was affordable, I thought I’d try it. I’ll keep you posted (it hasn’t arrived yet).

There are a few positives about being 50. I can tell people I am wiser; I’m really still learning, but because I am old, it seems like I should be wiser. I really worried about my wardrobe for awhile, but then I decided that I am 50; I can wear whatever I want. I also feel bolder in standing up for what is right and good. What the heck – I don’t have that many years left to say what I think.

I often think about what my mom was like at my age. She exercised and worked to maintain her health, but she did nothing outside of caring for her house and for me. Now, that’s not a bad thing, but I would be so bored. I am on the other extreme. I work full-time as an eighth grade teacher, teach Tabata classes, sell real estate, run, direct the high school play with my daughter, coach an academic team, and I just finished coaching the JV cheer team. It’s a busy life, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. I find rewards in all I do. For me, at 50, I still have a lot to give. I get really tired on some of my busy days, but if I am making a difference in a kids’ life, helping someone else get more fit, or helping someone find his dream home, it’s worth it.

50 isn’t just a number. It’s a large number that means life is passing by quickly. It’s a number that means I probably should spend less time obsessing over the negatives and more time appreciating what I can do. I ran nine miles today. I ran slower than I used to, but I ran nine miles on a Sunday afternoon just because I could. This body that is carrying several extra pounds carried me nine miles. This body, that some days I really dislike, can still do squats, burpees, pushups, and more. This body can climb up to my classroom several times a day to teach thirteen year olds to write, to read well, and to be kind to one another. This 50 year old body can run and climb with my grandkids and kayak with my husband. This 50 year old slightly chubby body can laugh and cry and encourage and scream and love.

50? It’s not just a number.

 

 

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