Here, have a stomach

Please tell me some of you are in your 40's.  I recently turned 43 and changed - what seemed like overnight.  For my birthday this summer, I got a stomach.  I've never been a lean mean fighting machine and I've had 3 8lb+ babies, but I haven't had too much of a  pooch until now. 

Happy Birthday, Clair!  Here, have a stomach.

BTW, the line above my navel is the graveyard from my belly ring.  I had to let it close.  Dang!

Gee, 43 - I don't know what to say:

I am listening now when the belly fat commercials come on.  Seriously.  Help.  It's all 43's fault.  It had nothing to do with the raw cookie dough I've ingested or my addiction to carbs.  However this got there - I don't like it.

Makes me want to do this:

I usually take the cork out first.  But I realized how silly I was being over my new kangaroo holder.  I heart marsupials.  But for goodness sake, I am healthy and sound in mind (sort of) so my pooch shouldn't make me hooch.  In fact, my new boss at Healthy Life Yoga said I should embrace my stomach.  It means I'm aging and still here.

I am teaching a class tomorrow at this new wonderful studio and I can't wait.  I'll bring my heart in my pooch and leave a little of my soul.  And I'm leaving the carbs out.

Today I had cereal for breakfast.
I ran 3 miles and took a Yoga class.
Went to work.
Had a clementine.
Worked some.
Had a spinach and tomato salad for lunch.
Came home from work.
Had graham crackers and peanut butter (SINNER!)
About to have fish, salad and potato for dinner.
Drinking some wine because it's Friday after 5 and not because of my 43rd birthday present. 

I'll get it right.  Belly fat, self esteem and all.  I'm just glad I'm here.  What did you get for your 43rd birthday?  If you haven't reached it yet, i pray and hope and expect you will.  i love life.  Mine is just without as many carbs and hopefully as much belly.  Running the Suntrust Richmond Half in November and the Shamrock full in March.  That ought to help.

Love.

Jimmy Buffett, Van Morrison, Larry Smith and me

I fancy my self a poet.  It's the nuns at St. Paul's fault.  I won a Poetry contest in the 4th Grade.  $100.00 and a little attention.  It was sponsored by the Catholic Daughters of the Confederacy (WHAT?!).  There were probably only 2 of us but money is money.  I love words and imagery and the power of the prose.  I am often moved by what I read but I have to be able to understand it at first blush - or it's nerdy.  Move over Robert Frost, bring on Jimmy Buffett.  Not a great vocalist.  A great story-teller and a ...umm poet of sorts.

He links tomatuh and potatuh/beer and steer like nobody's business.

Then there's Van the Man.  God do I love him.

He wants to rock your gypsy soul, into the mystic.

I'm not going to lie to you.  That line in that song makes me want to wear red pumps and dance on tables.  The imagery, moving me to action.  Poetry at its best.

And then there's Larry Smith.  A beautiful piece on contemplation from Yoga International Magazine

Walking a Field into Evening

For learned books, I read grasses.

For reputation, a bird calls my name.

I cross a stone bridge with the pace of dusk. 

At the meadow gate, six cows meditate.

For decades I ran with my mind up hill and down;

now idleness lets me see what is near.

An arrow of wild geese crosses the sky,

my body still, my feet firm, on the ground.

We age like trees now, watch our seedlings

take wind or grow around us.

I'm going to mark my books lightly

with a pencil.  When someone wants

to take my picture, I'll walk towards them

and embrace.  No more arguments

just heart sense, or talk about nothing.

Take walks in the woods at dawn and dusk,

breathe in the damp musty air,

learn to listen before I die

Really.  Darn.  Good.  As for me, one of my Yoga students told me I should be a poet or a writer because she loved the imagery in class.  I love the Yoga and the words used to describe it.  The funny thing, in Yoga there are no words.  Our bodies are the poetry - our own personal genre.

What's your genre?

The Irene Scene

I feel so bad for all the folks (who talks like that?) who are without electricity because of Hurricane Irene.  I admit I was a B-A-B-Y while our power was out.  For us it was only 2 days and there are always those worse off but dang it I didn't sleep much.  During Isabelle (2003) I had a 6-week-old, 2 toddlers and no way to flush.  So when Mother Nature called she really called me to her (my) backyard.  Sucked.  At least this time we keep our toilet (and our dignity) and our Pinot Grigio cold.  I heart generators. 

My children had a ball.  I watched them play with Irene just as she was getting going:

I could've been arrested for child endangerment since at any given moment a tree limb could've met one of their craniums.  Here's my struggle:  when do you corral your children from their frivolity when they are loving/living life in a risky situation (that wasn't all that bad - yet), getting along, and making memories?  I waited about as long as I could stand it and told them to come inside.  The still argued with me.  I felt glorious.  They need have wild abandon sometimes.  I was lucky they were safe and whole. Some folks weren't.  Why/how were we spared so much trouble and trauma?  Don't know but  I'm thanking my lucky stars.

I managed to kick out 6 soggy miles before Irene pounced and that was good.  This week I have run 15 miles so far, taught 2 Yoga classes and 1 Cardio Jam class.  Today I 'cross trained' by walking my dogs because I am sore as a mother.  Can hardly move but it feels good.  Tomorrow I run 7.  I am taking my training plan for the Richmond Half Marathon very seriously this time.  No substituting classes for miles.  There is nothing like being on your legs.  My children agree, it's even more fun in a hurricane.

It's Friday and 5 o'clock somewhere.  No hurricane to deal with this weekend.  Still getting aftershocks from the earthquake.  Still wearing good bras. 

Would you let your children play with Irene?

Prelude to Irene

I am sitting here in my cottage listening to the rain and watching the trees bend.  Irene is coming.  A few minutes ago my house looked like this:

Before Irene: Own Your Backbone Abode

(Tomorrow morning I'll take anotner photo and share it.)

A few hours ago I looked like this:

6 in the rain.  Bring it.

Felt good to be out in the elements.  Wind was whipping a little, rain came down sharply against my straining quads.  All the while, I was baptizing my attitude to look a life in a more positive way.  I was thinking about something my brother in law said last night at dinner:  Dream Big, Clair.  He asked me about how my Yoga was going - he knew I was recently certified to teach and added a new studio to places I am currently teaching.  I told him...

I love it.  Don't know where it's all heading but I would love to become so good at teaching that I can travel to offer classes and workshops at executive retreats.  Maybe I can Oom my way to the Four Seasons in Fiji to teach.

He says...

Go for it Clair.  Keep dreaming big.  I think Yoga is out there as a great exercise regimen and a wonderful lifestyle balancing tool but people are missing the mark that it can improve productivity.  You might have something there. 

He's a guy that dreams big and makes life  happen.  Husband to my beloved sister, fabulous father to 5 of my 17 nieces and nephews - he started a very successful business in a spare bedroom of my parents tri-level.  Now he's movin' and shakin' with the leaders of our city.  He's in numerous locations across the country and taking on more.  He's daggone smart, with a personality bigger than Irene, and dreams larger than life.  And he's not even 40.

So, in my wallet, I have tucked away some of my favorite items.  They mean so much to me that if I died in a car wreck whoever found me would find Me.  Here it is:

 My Dad's funeral prayer card, picture of my Mom (I miss her so!), notes, cards, etc.

Including this:

It is from my big-dreaming brother in law in response to a note I sent to him and my sister just before they ran the Suntrust Richmond Marathon in November.  It says:
Thanks Clair!  You should be proud as well, you've done it.  More than anything, YOU and Grace have really challenged yourselves recently to achieve new milestones in life.  Few people in life move themselves forward an get stuck in a life of complacency.  Both of you have shed that tendency and pushed yourselves further and further.  Way to go.  You both are an inspiration to me daily.  Thanks.
I keep these words with me at all times.  When I feel sluggish an unmotivated, I open my wallet and I remember to keep dreaming, keep moving.  That's what my husband and I did in the Irene rain today.  This note, the pile of treasures from my wallet inspired me.

So maybe on the other side of this Irene, I'll find myself in Fiji someday.  Where would you like to go after the storm of a lifetime?

Quaking in your boots

I mean boobs.   When Beth commented on yesterday's post, she wondered if my boobs shook during the historic Virginia earthquake just 48 hrs., 46. min. ago.  As always, that Beth is funny.  She made me start thinking about my babies and their bras and I have come to the conclusion that:

Running bras and Yoga bras are not the same thing.

I am a runner and a yogi with a drawer for all fitness clothes.  I don't have them separated by discipline.  Maybe I need to be more disciplined.  I went on a run today as part of my half marathon training and my legs felt heavy and sluggish.  My boobs did not because I was wearing this:

and not this...



I am brilliant.  It wasn't until the end of the run that I noticed just how in place my girls were.  Not moving or playing peekaboo with my neighbor walking his collie.  I'm not that brilliant.  I have worn that very bra to run and it hurt my pecs, pectoral muscles that is.  Shakin' like a quake.  On that day my legs were the perky ones.

Why am I discussing my boulder holders?

Because I deserve it.  Almost 11 years ago (when I was 32) I had breast reduction surgery - deemed medically necessary by my totally cool plastic surgeon.  Now I did not have 'freak boobs' I am fairly tall (5'7") with a sturdy bone structure but they were too much for me.  Hated it.  Think Loni Anderson without the self-esteem.  I had just over 2 pounds of breast tissue removed (no, you cannot have it for yourself - do you how many times I was asked why they couldn't transfer it to a more flat-chested friend.)  I still have healthy C's but they match me.  Like your bra should match your sport.

This cottage is making me smarter already.  Here I am hard it work...

with her.

I love my cottage.

The State of Virginia owes me a Thank You note.  Because If I hadn't had that surgery, the quake would've been at least a 6 magnitude.  Less boob.  Less shake.

What kind of bra do you wear?  How do you lessen earthquakes?

My writer's cottage

I don't know why I have such long lapses between posts.  I do love to write and find the immediate gratification of instantaneous publishing quite... um, gratifying.  When I publish something I feel all giggly about, I think about it before I go to sleep, when I wake up and often check for comments (thank you!), visits, ANY feedback.  I'll post two or three times in a week - a good pace for me then, there's this huge dry spell mostly caused by negative self-talk.  Things like:
"You really should be cleaning the toilet."
"Your writing is not that good, it's self-indulgent to blog at all."
"You need to go cure cancer or something."

Sometimes it takes the earth moving to get me to move to my computer to write.  So I baptized our little outbuilding my 'Writer's Cottage'.

Clair's Cottage

Hmmmm... I' think, I'll go write.  Come on in.

Cute, huh?  My companion, Maggie awaits my hindquarters and my laptop.

Just below this sweet space, about 20 miles away is the epicenter of Virginia's biggest earthquake in history.  I'm feeling the energy from the tectonic plates all up in my business.  There were several recordable aftershocks - one at about 8 PM and another at 12:45 AM.  I'm having a hard time NOT comparing great seismic s*x with this LITERAL earthmoving experience.  Wouldn't it be nice if we all had aftershocks this often, this much later?  (Mind is back in the cottage and out of the fault line/gutter.)

So, in this hiatus from posting, I have been to Colorado and back.

Steamboat Springs

where I saw Beth finish her half ironman...



and an elk at Rocky Mountain National Park.

My kids started school.

They are thrilled.

I started training for Richmond's Half Marathon (11/15), have been teaching a bit of Yoga, taking and practicing some Yoga, cut way back on my wine, reconnected with friends and loved ones, got back into my groove at work, survived an earthquake and claimed my cottage.

I'll be writing more from here from my heart.  I hope you read it, I  hope you like it and I hope you all experience aftershockingly good stuff.

We are now bracing for hurricane Irene.  What natural disaster have you survived?

I’m always in a State

I love to watch the magic of a team coming together to win a title or a tournament.  If one of the players is one of my children that makes it even better.  I love the ultimate underdog Cinderella Story of the 2010-2011 VCU Rams during their journey to basketball’s final four.  Both of my older two children have almost made it to their titles.  My son is playing for a State baseball title right now and might yet pull it off but dang if this process doesn’t put me in a State, tournament that is.

The crazy thing is, I NEVER PLAYED TRADITIONAL TEAM SPORTS.  I was a dancer and an athlete nonetheless but I never got all those goodies folks say team sports gives you.  I also NEVER LIKED BASEBALL OR SOFTBALL and I am the mother of two muthaeffing Trojans at it.  Karma. God.  Atonement. Purgatory.  Not sure why it happened but I spend an enormous amount of time at ball fields.  I can’t say I love it but I do love watching my children do something they love and I am as into it as the rest of the die-hards.  I caught Nick’s coach talking on his bat phone before yesterday’s game.

  And yes, he is solving the word’s problems.  Training up a group of pubescent boys to work together, eat/sleep well, be accountable to each other and reach for more than they think they could ever achieve.  I think he’s the bomb.

So I ponder the issue of team vs. individual sports.  What if you are good at and like each?  What would you choose?  I love running and Yoga and dancing because you don’t have to rely on anyone else.  That translates for me to my personal history.  I like to take care of things myself, hold only myself accountable (easier/less fear and potential for disappointment).  But what about the exponential benefits of putting two or 5 or 9 talented individuals together.  Mathematically it reaps more and better benefits.  Personally it might not fit you. But the objective outcome is bigger, more and maybe better.  Not sure. 

So, I am in a State – baseball tournament.  Learning a lot from a group of 13 year old nice boys.  Batman’s wife told me Jane looked like Jodie Foster when she was a child.  The totally cool thing is that’s what people used to say about me as I was growing up.  What do you think?

See?  We do talk about things other than balls and at the field.  Maybe this team sports thing is worth acknowledging more deeply.

Where do you land?  Team or individual sports?