Author: jensumandthensome

It still gets my adrenaline pumping.  The notification of a road race on the horizon.  That guttural feeling, the angst, the anticipation and the thrill of being trained hard enough and proper fly enough to finish in the to 10%, to bear down and win my age group.  The Thanksgving Day Race, the Jingle Bell Jog, the Heart Mini Marathon, and the Flying Pig.

I trained to win.  Or to at least make a showing.  I mean, why else do it, right?

I used to marvel at, and be somewhat envious of, the girlfriends who would show up together at the races, giggling, and wiping hair out of their eyes as the wind blew during the wait for the start.  Their cute little kids and handsome husbands standing with them, lattes and hot chocolates in hand.  Cute outfits, too.  All the accoutrements, including headphones and water belts.  Not a nervous bone in their cute little fit bodies.

Me?

Insanely going over my plan of attack in my head.  Which mile do I take it out?  Deciphering every hill and valley in my memory, knowing when to turn it on, when to back off just a little for the best effect and outcome.  Where should I start?  It’s a chip race now, so a time is a time is a time, but I don’t want to have to weave too much through the masses at the gun, costing me valuable seconds and more aggravation.  (“Like what in the hell is she thinking starting so close to the front???  How annoying!!!!!”)

There’s no time for fun.  If I wanted fun, I just would have woken up at my usual 4:30 am and run in the damn neighborhood, for crying out loud.  I’m here for a reason.

LOL.

I loved the old me.  I really did.  And I still do.  I revel in my thrill of competition , and admire my spirit now from afar, like watching myself on and old home move.  Where did I go?  What has become of “Jen The Runner”?

Well, I’ve discovered she’s still here.  Only …tempered a bit.

Life gets in the way, or better put…Life happens and turns down many streets and up many hills, and saunters down a slope or two. Life’s partner, Age, has a lasting effect as well.  It’s just how it happens.  The evil enemy of the two, Injury, has a spat or two or three or more, with Life and Age, and the three battle it out.

And what’s left is … Jen The Runner…has now become Jen Who Runs.

I’m not going to lie and say it is easy to just become “Someone Who Runs”, because I still have it in my head tot are off and go for it, to try my best.  But now my best is a far cry off what it used to be.  And that’s something I just need to come to terms with.  And I am, little by little.

Now, all I need is a girlfriend to call me and say “Hey, Jen…are you doing the race next weekend?  No?  Not yet signed up?  Will you do it with me?  We can drive down together!!!  It’ll be fun!!!”

Maybe we can get a latte. 

I am writing this blog three voice text as I run on early Wednesday morning and the drizzling rain. I awoken to the update on my phone that somebody had died overnight in a three car pile up on Madison Pike. I’m not sure yet if I knew the person, and chances are that I do not. But that doesn’t matter. It’s still a person. It was a living soul.

It was somebody probably on his or her way home from work. Maybe even had Kentucky Fried Chicken in the backseat of the car to bring home to the family after a hard day at work and didn’t have time to cook. Maybe it was somebody heading to work. Perhaps it was just somebody out heading towards the mall to buy a new pair of jeans.

Worse yet… somebody’s child. A new driver. And somebody who is so excited about the right and the privilege to drive. With so much ahead in the future.

It’s weird how I often somehow secretly hope sometimes that I will read on and discover that drunk driving was the cause so that I can have something at which tobe angry. To give it a reason. A different emotion that I can harness better then the extreme sadness I feel when I wake up and read that.

Because then somehow we can all yell and scream and find somebody and some action to blame and ask the stupid questions of “why why why do you do that?”

But that doesn’t bring the person back.

A life that was lived less than 12 hours ago, is now over.

I’ve got miles to go before I rest.

10 Little Bitty Things That Won't Break Us

I have several intricacies which somewhat rattle my dear husband.  They won't be the death of us, but they are enough to leave him with a scowl:

10. I buy "US" magazine every week.  They lie around the house.  I just love Hollywood gossip.

9.  Whenever the featured "Scent of the Season" comes out at Bath-n-Body, I simply must have it.  So I do.  Now, multiply the months in a year, by fresh, sultry, sexy, exotic, relaxing, powdery, citrusy and merry….well, that's a lot of space under the sink.

8.  Always says I'm "pound wise and penny foolish".  I scream when a light is left on for no reason, but I'm first in line at the new fashion of BCBG.  Don't care if it's on sale.

7.  Water.  I drink water.  And water only.  The problem is, I don't do tap water.  So I am afraid of running out of water and consequently currently have 23 five-gallon bottles in my garage waiting to be imbibed.

6.  I like a good beer.  And therein lies the issue.  I hate cheap beer.  I only like the fancy stuff.  So I'll buy a 12 pack.  So that's not so bad, right?  Well, it is in his eyes when I take a sip or two, it gets warm on the couter and I chuck it down the sink.  Really gets him in a tizzle tazzle.

5. He's a night owl.  I wake up way before the crack of dawn.  Just how exactly did we even meet, anyway?

4.  Shoes.  Yeah.  I'm a lover.  I don't feel like explaining this one futher.  I mean, he did have his own closet built, so…it's all fair.

3.  I still love the soap-opery kinda shows on TV.  He doesn't.  So, it's a fight for the right channel.

2.  I every so often moan and groan about being the Florida girl who was ripped away from her beach life to the gray skies of February.  I did it all for love, and certain days of the year  I don't let him forget it.

1.  I put ice in my red wine.

We are still currently living in wedded bliss.  

Nobody makes me smile like you do.

With just a look,

You can crack me up.

And when I’m in a bad mood,

You can make me laugh

My way out of it.

Not only are you funny,

You’re just plain fun to be with,

No matter what we’re doing.

For all the fun and funny moments,

The smiles and the laughter,

Thank you from the bottom

Of my heart.

HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY ❤️

“The light within me bows down and shines to the light within you”.

We all want to live in peace and harmony.  We want to love our neighbor and nourish our relationships with others. A world of trust and compassion , getting to truly know and understand each other’s likenesses and differences is a common goal among most, no doubt about it.  What a peaceful, kumbaya existence that would be, complete with sun rays , rainbows and a unicorn or two frolicking in the rose petal-strewn green, green grass of home!!  Namaste, indeed.

Who wouldn’t want that?

Watching the SAG (Screen Actors Guild) Awards literally had me shaking my head.  Once again, I find myself wishing for ignorance, and the blissfulness of it, as many of my favorites spouted off at the mouth their political viewpoints.  Just act.  Be cool.  I don’t care how you feel about the other stuff.  And I certainly do not appreciate you looking directly into the camera while accepting your award or announcing a winner and in effect, trying you hardest to condemn me because of the gut feeling I have. 

I already feel badly enough about it. Do you think I want to feel this way?

Yes.  I am talking of the immigration issue.

I am an #AmericanBadassWoman.  I love my country and all it has to offer.  I love my freedom.  I love being an American.  I love being able to be along for the ride pursuing the American Dream. I love to vote. I love to drive. I love to travel from state-to-state with Homeland Security on my side, never being offended by a pat down. I also love talking about God or raising my flag wherever and whenever I damn well choose.

And with this, I have come to expect, enjoy and RESPECT the security my country has offered to me.

I am a child of the military, so I probably have more firsthand knowledge of what it feels like to be looked at in a weird, unsettling way.  In my elementary years, I lived in Europe with my family; my mom, my two sisters and my Marine Corps father, who was attached to the American Embassy.  We drove around in a black four-door sedan with “CD”on the back, which meant “Corps Dipolmatique”, in essence, making us a mark, and quite often maybe even a target of disdain. I didnt’ realize it then, but I always wondered why I felt, even at the age of 11, a sudden surge of relief when we finally made it to the American Embassy to watch a movie, or to the commissary to grocery shop.  We usually took the train everywhere, but when we took the car, we were a mark. We stood out. 

We got looks.  Our neighbors didn’t like us, as we were the Americans living in the middle of their street, with the Cold War still looming like a phantom.  I picked flowers from my neighbor’s yard once and didn’t sleep for many nights after out of fear.  Most likely unfounded. Most likely.

And herein lies the sentiment.

Most likely our country would be fine with most anyone entering our country, no matter the color of their skin, their political affiliation or religious beliefs.  In fact, Lady Liberty has held her arms wide open for years with this mantra.  And we’ve welcomed them, as they’ve given us their  poor, their huddled masses yearning to breathe free, and the wretched refuse of their teeming shore.  We’ve welcomed these, the homeless, the tempest-tossed, and we’ve lifted our lamp beside the golden door to all of them.

But the earth goes ’round and ’round on its axis, the calendar changes, the wind blows and the world changes.

We are no longer secure.

We’ve been left looking for a common denominator, and asking ourselves what is it that has changed and left us feeling so afraid to leave our own homes? To dance into the wee hours at a nightclub, to attend a parade without gasping in horror every time we hear a big rig truck driving by, then breathing a sigh of relief when it passes? When was the last time you climbed aboard an airplane without at least a flash of “that day” breaking into your thoughts , unnerving you as you take your seat? 

The elephant in the room is the answer.

I remember the hardest class I ever took in college was Intro to Logic.  Honestly.  The HARDEST.  But one thing I do remember is the generalization of totality.  For example:  If a flower is pink, it doesn’t mean all flowers are pink. If Tommy’s Rottweiler bit you, it doesn’t mean all Rottweilers will bite you. If an immigrant was evil enough to blow up a building, it doesn’t mean all immigrants are the devil incarnate and will do the same. If one refugee who gained access to the Promised Land committed heinous acts against others, certainly it does not mean all refugees seeking asylum would do the same.

But when it keeps happening over and over and over again,  if the pack of Rottweilers on the street attack the children in the neighborhood over, there may be a pretty good chance the Neighborhood Watch may get together and enforce a “No Rottweilers Allowed” treaty on the street.  To protect their own.  Because it’s better to be safe than sorry.  For now, anyway.  Until we can get it figured out. And keep us all safe.  Including the refugees.  Including the gay man who so bravely came out only to be brought to his grave for living it loud and proud in a nightclub in the free country.  Including the non-married pregnant woman who, if living in another not-so-accepting country, would be forced to abort, or worse yet, stoned and killed.  For them, too.  For now.

And it’s hard to shut people out. 

Do you think anybody wants to feel this way?  Do you think I do?  Do you think President Trump wants to?  To disallow passage, entry into the greatest place on earth, the USA?  Do you honestly think he or others who support the immigration ban are that cold-hearted to look in the face of a most-likely innocent human being and say “So sorry, M’am, but not today.  Maybe tomorrow” and turn them away?  Really?

Well, you are wrong. 

But there comes a time to put ourselves first.  Make it black and white.  To protect our own, just as you would your own. For now, anyway. And to sum it up:  

“To protect the United States and its citizens from foreign nationals who intend to commit terrorist attacks in the United States. A visa does not guarantee entry into the United States. A visa allows a foreign citizen to travel to the U.S. port-of-entry, and the Department of Homeland Security U.S. Customs and Border Protection (CBP) immigration inspector authorizes or denies admission to the United States.”

In all honesty, I am afraid. I want my freedom, and I want my security in my own country. And there is a huge part of me who feels badly for feeling this way.  I question myself and wonder out loud if I am a selfish monster who would knowingly look the other way if someone was in need. It’s not easy feeling this way, either. But there comes a time to take off the blinders and see the world for what it is, which isn’t always a euphoria.

Do you think I like feeling this way?

Self-reflection is one of the most eye-opening journeys there is.  And there is no better way to self-reflect than to decide on what you want to do the rest of your life.

Remember when we were kids, and people would always ask “What do you want to be when you grow up?” 

The answers were always so pure and innocent, and rolled right off the tongue:  “An astronaut.” “A teacher.”  ” A fireman.” ” I want to play in the NFL”. ” I wanna be a policeman”. “I’m gonna be a doctor”.  “I want to be a cake maker”.  And the vision of a future was right there.  Solidified through the spoken word.  Reach for the stars, kids, and you can achieve anything you want to be.

Derailments happen along the busy path we call life.  Not everything happens the way we thought it would, neither in a bad way or necessarily good, either.  It just plain…happens.  Life gets in the way of some dreams,  and out of necessity and the crime of maturity, different paths are a must.

Not necessarily a dream-killer most of the time, but a reevaluation of life’s goals.

If you ever want to know just exactly where you stand with yourself, create a LinkedIn page.  Yeh.  Describe yourself in a catchy, yet professional and inviting matter detailing in so many words just exactly what it is you do on a daily basis.  Do you exaggerate….maybe just a little?  Do you highlight fleeting moments as if they were events which changed the course of a certain part of the world you live?  Like editing that one last wrinkle off your eyes in a photo, do you embellish just a tad?

Or better yet…have you ever decided you may need to get back into the workforce as a COMPLETELY different individual from who you were in your prior life and sit down to pen your resume?  Dear Lord.  If that isn’t a moment of reflection and introspection, I don’t know what is.  

I recently created my resume.  My hand hovered over the keyboard for what seemed an eternity, especially over the area of past employment and tasks.  It was like writing about a character I had read in a novel…I had no idea who she was.  She was somebody else’s creation.

And it got me thinking:  What exactly is a resume, anyway?  It’s what you have done in the past.  It was the old you, if in fact you have been out of the work force for very long.  This was the case with looking into myself.  I looked at the words showing up on the page as I typed and extolled the hard-working talents of one Jennifer Ann Welsh in her past years as a sales rep and sales manager, kicking butt and rising to the top while making the bucks.  “Hard-working”, “Goal-driven”, “Desire to excel” describing her to a pinpoint.

Although true, those old jobs don’t mean a thing. That Jen has long since gone away. She’s been replaced with a newer, just as hard-working, yet different model, with new goals and visions. Her, er, uh, my talents, are vast.

So, instead, I deleted all content.  I made a somewhat more refined resume.

Some highlights:

Work Experience:  CEO of a major corporation of 8 individuals.  Organized schedules, implemented tasks and kept the corporation running smoothly on a day-to-day basis.  

Pay: Pro Bono

Upward Mobility: Was promoted year after year, with increased duties and responsibilities. 

Reason for Leaving: Still employed. Yet looking to expand on experience. 

I am I.  I am the I now who came to be because of the I who I was.

So that hot-headed basketball player cost him an injury all because he let out his anger on a chair and is now out for quite some time. Games lost, competitive energy halted and paycheck garnished somewhat in future bonus earnings. 

Dummy. 

But who am I to talk?

I was once so bothered by something I considered unjust that I went into the bathroom and sat on the top seat of the toilet and gave the yellow and white striped wall one mean jab . Like a Rhonda Rousey jab. Obviously, I didn’t know my own strength.

Huge hole. 

Wasn’t injured. But I was afraid. Afraid of the wrath I would eventually incur.

Covered that bad boy up with a eucalyptus wreath. All it took was a little rearranging of the decor in the powder room.

It wasn’t until we moved out of that house that it was ever even noticed, and by that time, I had covered my tracks and made it something about hammering the wreath on the wall and “don’t you remember that?”

It worked. But the point is…

Don’t be an idiot. Go outside and scream if you need to. No sense in hurting yourself or vandalizing your own home.

#AngerManagement 💥

Sometimes I wake up feeling the problems, or those I have perceived as problems, still with me.  I had hoped a semi-good night of sleep would alleviate that which travails me and worries my brain to the point of exhastion.  Just knowing with all I have that my REM, however deep, will cure me of my angst.  And then it’s stil there, making it harder to lean my shins over my very high bed into my in-house-only Danskos to be transported to the kitchen into running shoes which will further lead me on my welcome path of peace and clarity.

A run always works.  I mean…like always.

And it also gives me a new sense of how my emotionally-tolling day before and morning-faced, although still my own, may very well pale in comparison to what others may be facing.  And are facing.  And handling mightily in a way I am not sure I could.

Nobody asks to be the shining example of what God intended us to be on this planet.  I can’t imagine one person imploring Him:  “Oh, God…please give me a test, a task so big it appears it may break me, so that I can show and share with the world my faith, my reason and my trust and explicit love for you, and be a shining example of how we all should be.  The more horrifying and emotionally-wracking journey I am imploring of You.  Like Mary, I want to be your hand-maiden, to help others see just How Great Thou Art.”

Nobody.  Nobody would ask of that.  And nobody with a sliver of compassion in their own soul would wish that on another.

Yet, daily, and now especially as we get older and time is marching, we witness it.  The sadness, the horror and extreme helplessness in others who are facing momentous and gut-wrenching times, trying hard to keep the faith and hope , emphasizing their belief in the Lord, yet all the while fighting the fight and never giving up the race, right up until the end sometimes, if in fact the end does come.

I have friends, acquaintances, family members of friends of mine, and those whom I have come to pray for every single day, but have yet to meet in person.  Sickness, cancer, horrific accidents, unnamed illnesses which ravage the body and heart attacks which end a life in a moment.  None of these children of God asked for it to be this way.

I feel guilty, sometimes, as I follow along on their journeys.  They have let me in, in one way or another, whether it be a closed prayer group, a Caring Bridges page, an update from friends, or some as open as social media like Facebook of which I am grateful.  At first I felt somewhat a voyeur, staring in deep with bewilderment and wondering how they were coping, just how…HOW?  Reading their innermost thoughts and feelings, not sure if I should.

But then it became and has become a huge part of me.  They inspire me.  Their hope.  Faith. Love.  And undeterred determination to see it all the way through with every single breath they take in a day.  These ….these people, friends, acquaintances whom I now consider friends, are the beautiful souls who help me in more ways than I can count.  They fulfill me and remind me of my faith, they make me want to be that “better person” of whom I have claimed to want to be on many January Firsts.  They light something up in my soul, even though they never asked to.

I want to thank them, but that sounds wrong somehow.  I want them to know how they have affected this often-worrisome girl.  Somehow I need to tell them how they have helped me with my daily, now more deep and true prayerful life.  

Because now I don’t pray like I used to, making deals with God, like: “Please, Dear God, please don’t let that happen to my family, and I will do this….”, but now like “Dear God, your will be done.  Please grant to me the peace and serenity and clarity of faith to handle any situation which comes my way.”

So, now , hopefully , I wake up and take on a brand new day with that.  

Love to you all.

I have been working out for the better part of my entire life.  I remember as a kid just always wanting run, catch a football, ride a bike, play baseball, kickball, dodgeball, tether ball, swim and just generally moving, striving always to beat the boys.

Organized sports came later on, starting in elementary school, developing though middle school and honing my precision in high school.  I was always pretty decent at most sports, not always the star on the team, but always one of the key players.  I dabbled in sports that right now I wouldn’t be able to even attempt, like volleyball, for example.  I remember distinctly in the eighth grade serving the ball overhand and making it over the net most of the time.  I also remember being a bad sport, particularly in one game where we were losing , the reason being apathy on the team.  I yelled right then and there at them on the court.  I got in trouble for it.  Had to sit the bench.  But to me…there is nothing worse than an apathetic attitude toward pretty much anything, and in this particular case, caring if we won or lost the match.

I found my love of running, and pretty much continued on with that sport throughout high school and into college, where I received a track and field scholarship.  I was pretty darn good, looking back, if I do say so myself.  I felt alive when I ran.  As an individual sport up against a black and white clock, it was all up to me.  No judgment or subjectivity from others to win first place.  Just myself .  Up against competitors and a finish line.  Win or lose.  The in between was always a gray area.  Second was “first loser”, third didn’t even ring a bell.  Right or wrong…it was what it was in my brain.

So, after college, I did not become a professional athlete.

My love and my need to workout was ingrained by that time.  I found other avenues to stay fit, push myself to new limits while creating a “real life” for myself, complete with a job, a car, house, utilities to pay and money to spend on bikinis and running shoes.  As a side job, I become a certified Aerobics Instructor through AFAA and delved into the ultra hip, spandex-clad, scrunchy-wearing, Reebok-footed world of disco music, stages, 8-counts and leg lifts.

My body seriously never looked better.  When combined with running on the beach, this workout seemed to suit .  I liked the way I looked, felt and dressed in clothes.  I had found the perfect fit workout.

Fast-forwarding through the years, my fitness regime somehow evolved with the changing times and events of my life, including moving to a new climate, working a different job and the huge, monumental joy of motherhood, the ultimate free-time sucker.  I fI wanted to work out, it was creating a spreadsheet, including buying a double jg stroller, a backpack for the third, and with the arrival of numbers four through six, the garnering and securing of a reliable and lovable babysitter.

I continued to teach my classes and to run, all with organized efficiency.  With each pregnancy, my body changed just a little bit more, but I worked with it…

After my sixth child was born, I ran my first marathon.  I did very well!!  I qualified for the Boston Marathon, and from that point on, a passion was born.  In the next six years, I ran 24 marathons, 6 half-marathons, multiple sprint and Olympic-distance triathlons, a Tough Mudder , countless 5, 10, and 15K runs and and Iron Man.  Fitness was not only my hobby, but also my job.

The classes I taught evolved as well.  Where it used to be up-down-up-down and turn on a STEP platform, the classes were now morphing into many different types.  More weight work was introduced, squats were plentiful and the smiling faces under the flowered headband were now replaced with a more serious, stern, and “kick my ass” glare.   Workouts were now serious.  I know, because the camouflage headband proved it.

All of sudden, box gyms, and all-in-one fitness gyms were being complemented and competing with more specialized workout facilities.  Boxing studios, ballet/barre studios, indoor cycling joints, sweaty yoga studios and cross-training garages were opening up everywhere!!

How in the world would one EVER be able to choose where to work out?????  Overwhelming choices.  All good ones.

Which brings me to the point of this blog.

We all have a choice.  The first choice is whether we do or don’t.  And the answer to that one is easy.  Yes.  We do.  We ALL need fitness in our lives, whether it is for the reason to fit into the size 2 jeans, to feel awesome while you go through your daily life, to meet new people in the best place possible or to train to compete for something in which you are interested.

A friend of mine posted a picture of the most incredible dancer’s pose I have ever seen.  I can’t do it like that.  Another friend performed a box jump to heights that now I, after several injuries which have held me down in the recent past, could not even dream of even attempting.  Still, another friend posted video of climbing up a rope like a ninja to the ceiling with incredible upper body strength.  I honestly think I could get halfway up and then plummet to the ground in a heap.  The one that hurt most is the acquaintance who posted a finishing time of her marathon.  Although it did not beat my best, it was still damn good, and it made me reminisce of the good ol’ days of Jen the Runner.

So then I wondered….do I practice the dancer’s pose to perfect it?  Do I go home and build my boxes in my garage until I can jump as high?  Do I head over to the box gym and practice on the hanging ropes??

I want to see if I can do all of that!!!

But then I remember….fitness now for me is a way of life.  It’s my way of waking up and realizing how much I actually do love to move.  The “why” in my head questions the need to jump high, climb higher and run faster.  The competitive side of me is grimacing, because I know it would be a huge challenge, and I hate losing a challenge.  I hate not even being able to try.

I am reminded of the days I could not work out the way I wanted, due to surgery on a tendon or a knee, especially during the Autumn months when the beauty of the world’s gym is on full display.  I felt left out of the party, and made a silent vow to myself that when I was back, I would remember that feeling and let me guide me through the rest of my life.

I’m still not a professional athlete.  I don’t even play one on TV.

But I’m still a contender in my own heart.

That’s the “Why” of it.