Carry On, Part 3

There are very few things I have done in my life that I've done"in the "typical"way.

Needless to say, my labour and delivery was the same.  I woke at about 6:30am on Monday, December 30th with some bad gas; or so I thought.  I went to the bathroom, and when I went back to bed mentioned to my husband that maybe I shouldn't have had that piece of Chocolate Eruption cheesecake.  He laughed.

30 minutes later there was no laughing. There was just me, sitting on the toilet, definitely in labour and definitely in pain.  Let it be said here, that among the people who know me, my high pain tolerance is legendary.

I. WAS. IN. PAIN.

Contractions were 7 minutes apart.

And then my midwife says the standard line about ÿou are definitely in labour, but not until full labour until contractions are 5 minutes apart for an hour.

30 minutes after that call, my husband calls the midwife again and says "Her contractions are 7 minutes, then 3 minutes, 7 minutes then 3 minutes, she wont get off the toilet and she's screaming!"

During their conversation, 3 minutes had passed and she heard me scream.  From about 45 feet away. Over the phone.  In a different room.  Between two doors. 

"Jordan, she's in transition, and you need to get her to the hospital NOW."

To which my poor husband says "Transition to what?"

"The baby is coming....now."

Jordan told me we had to go. I told I wasn't getting off the f$%&ing toilet. He offered to call an ambulance, and I told him we couldnt afford a f^%$ing ambulance. So off my perch I got, put on his pyjama pants, his shirt and fuzzy bear claw slippers, and got in the car.  I shore looked preeeetttyyy!

And so, it was like the movies.  Husband blowing every light and stop sign to the hospital.  Wife in the passenger seat, unable to actually sit.  Jordan had the chance to call 3 people before we left.  My parents, his sister, and my best friend (who was coming to assist in the delivery room). 

We got to the hospital, I was raced up to a delivery room, and checked by the midwife who said I could push. 

First push, they could see a head full of hair.  Over two hours later I was still pushing.  Our baby was stuck!

The midwives called for an OB/GYN consult.  He took a look and said,

"Well, he's definitely stuck.  We are going to have to try forceps.  If that doesn't work, we will have to push him back up and go C-Section"

I am pretty sure I stopped breathing for a second or two there.  In my head, I was thinking "there is no goddamned way I have pushed for over 2 hours so you can push him back up!"

Thankfully, it was not necesary. The forceps worked.  Those suckers are HUGE!

On December 30th, 2002, after 4 hours and 43 minutes of labour, over half of it pushing-Zachary James Valiquette was born, at 11:13am weighing 6 pounds 11 ounces.

He came into this world surrounded by love.  In addition to my husband and the midwives, there were my parents and my best friend, Micheline, all there through the whole delivery.  My twin brother and his wife were in the family waiting area.

He had dark brown eyes and a head full of hair.  His feet were enormous, and he was so little.  He took my breath away, and I cried tears of joy.

Despite his difficult delivery, due to his head being tilted so that his ear was touching his shoulder (no wonder he got stuck), he was healthy and perfect.

Since then he was grown into an incredible young man.  He is quiet and introverted.  He's funny without trying to be.  He doesn't like to be the centre of attention.  He's very practical. He's incredibly generous. He loves karate and running.

In the last two years, using running as a fundraiser, Zachary has raised over $2500 for charity.

Every day, he makes me smile.  Every day he makes me proud.

Carry on, Zachary.  Carry on.

Carry On - Part 2

If you missed Part 1, go here--> http://zackandcorbett.blogspot.com/2011/12/carry-on-part-1.html

Oh boy. Holy crap! Wow.

Pregnant. We were going to have a baby.

Jordan was elated. Once the shock wore off, I was too.

Everyone's timeline differs, but in time people were told. Everyone was happy. Even better, my close friend announced her pregnany, and was due two weeks after me.

Life carries on. We had radically different pregnancies. She was glowing. I was puking. She kept glowing, I kept puking. A lot.

Pregnancy and I were NOT friends. But I knew this was meant to be. Babies come when they want, don't they?

We had a name picked the first week we knew, but truthfully, I think that our baby just picked his own name and let us know what it was. There was never any debate. One day, I looked at my husband and said "What about Zachary?" and he said "Yes!"

I was due January 8th.

By end of November, I had horrible heartburn. By mid-December, my feet were swollen. On December 23rd, I had to wear my husband's Size 12 running shoes to a funeral held for my friend's father. I couldn't tie them up. I looked like a beached whale. In running shoes.

At any moment, I was convinced that Greenpeace was going to find me, and return me to the ocean.

And boy were we under stress.

Jordan had been laid off part way through my pregnancy, and we had completely drained our savings so that he could return to school.

My job had ended. Remember that job I took? The one where I was covering the maternity leave, of a girl covering a maternity leave? Well, on December 20th, I started my OWN maternity leave. Clearly, this was a very fertile place.

On top of all this, we signed the papers to buy or first house on December 13th and were scheduled to take posession on January 15th, one week past my due date.

I was huge, I was swollen, I was stressed, I was DONE.

But depsite all this, on December 30th, when I went from no labour, to transitioning in less than an hour, I still had no bag packed.

Everyone says the first baby is usually late. Everyone says the first labour is usually 12 -16 hours.

Well, I like to prove people wrong. Even when its harder on me.

I'm kinda stubborn that way.

Part 3, tomorrow....

Carry On - Part 1

I dislike when people call it a "surprise pregnancy" After all when one engages in such behaviour, pregnancy is an outcome one can reasonably expect.

As a teenager, I was prescribed birth control pills to control extrememly heavy periods. For various health reasons, including debilitating migraines, I was unable to continue and really wasn't comfortable with the other options available to me. When I was 18, I stopped taking them. I carried on with life. I was careful. I was safe.

I started dating Jordan in 1994. Things got serious and I tried the pill again. It went poorly, so after a brief discussion with Jordan, I stopped . We were only dating at the time, but we were adults. Each of us were 22. The year was 1995.

We made the decision to carry on and if a pregnancy occured, we would carry on with that as well. We were careful. Oh so careful. We watched the calendar, I counted days...and our lives went on.

We married in October of 2000, with no immediate plans to start a family. It was definitely something we wanted, but to be honest, I had my doubts. After all, I hadn't used birth control in five years, and there had been no pregnancy.

During the late winter months of 2002, Jordan expressed a desire to add to our family. I wasn't entirely on board. What if we couldn't get pregnant? I was laid off and although he was working the pay was shitty. Being the practical one, I really felt it wasn't the best timing.

We made a deal. We'd carry on, as we had been, and re-evaluated at the beginning of 2003, or when our circumstances changed. A reasonable compromise.

As luck would have it, in April, I interviewed for a contract position. If successful, I would be covering the maternity leave for a girl covering someone's maternity-leave.

In hindsight, that might have been a clue as to my immediate future.

After 2 interviews and about 3 weeks, I was offered the position. My start date was to be the middle of May 2002.

On May 4th, my period was 3 days late. I had only ever been off schedule twice in my life. Once was while I was hospitalized after a major car accident, the other after undergoing surgery.

I decided to wait two more days. If I was still late, I'd take a pregnancy test.

Now, Jordan, on the best of days, is a pretty anxious guy, so I chose not to tell him anything. Why worry him, or get him excited, for nothing?

Two days passed, and there was no period in sight. I picked up a pregnancy test and brought it home. Alone. I closed the door, peed on a stick and panicked when two lines appeared, instantly.

SOMETHING MUST BE WRONG! The test said to wait 2 minutes!

I wasn't sure what to think. After all, the second line literally appeared , the instant that pee met stick. Instantly. Did I mention it was instant?

"It's calibrating" I thought.

So I walked away, and watched the clock tick away two minutes. 120 seconds...

When I looked at that stick, there were still two magical lines.

After 7 years of playing the risky game of russian roulette with my ovaries, I was pregnant.

And I had no frickin' idea what to do.

Part 2 - soonish.....

Part Two --> http://zackandcorbett.blogspot.com/2011/12/carry-on-part-2.html

8 seconds; My race report

On Sunday, October 16th, I ran my second half marathon.

I was pretty excited for this one, because I had been training with my friends, Sherry and Irene. About 4 months ago they decided to attempt their first try at the distance and asked if they could count on me for some training tips.

I told them NO WAY, I'd run it with them instead.

We were able to work our schedules so that we ran almost every single long run together, which means we ran together at least once a week. We dubbed ourselved "The Running Posse"and our LSDs (long slow distance for those not used to runner speak) were our weekly gab sessions.

Race day came and we were all ready, and thankful that it wasn't raining. It was a cool 8-9 degrees celcius, and windy, but NO rain, so I was relieved.

You truly can't imagine what its like to be surrounded by a crowd of that size. Between the 22, 000 people signed up for the 3 events (5km, half marathon, marathon), the race officials, volunteers and spectators it was one hell of a crowd.

I had warned my running posse that the start would be kind of anti-climatic, and that it was. The race started and we all just stood there, and waited. Then walked a few steps forward. And waited. It kept going like that until 11 minutes later, we crossed the start line and started to run.

We all were feeling good and kept a quick steady pace. It was quicker than we planned on, but we all felt great. We were running into the wind for the first 13k, but it wasn't too much of a problem. Once we turned into a tailwind and picked up the pace averaging between 5:45 - 6:00/km

Unfortunately, injuries I sustained in the car accident I was in 20 years ago, have recently flared up. My physiotherapist has done a great job in holding me together for the race, but it was hard to predict what would happen race day. At 15k, I could feel a twinge behind my knee, and adjusted my gait to a bit of a longer stride, which helps.

I let my running posse know that I was going to be struggling soon and that they were to go on without me. For me, this race was really all about them. It was their first half-marathon, and you never have another first!

I was able to keep Sherry and Irene in my sights with a pace of about 6:15/km, until about 17.5 km, when everything kind of fell apart for me. My glute muscles, hamstring and hip weren't really functioning anymore and about every 10 steps or so, my leg would collapse, and I would have to stop myself from falling over.

There was no way in hell I was going to run 17.5k and not run the last 3.6!

No. Way. In. Hell.

I kept telling my body "leg up, leg down, leg up,leg down" and " just a few more minutes, just hold out on me for a few more minutes" . I had to really focus on making my body do what it was supposed to. I would run for about 5 minutes, then walk for about 30 seconds.

At one point, at about 18.5km, a volunteer tapped me and asked "do you need me to call you a medic?". My concentration broken, I said "I don't need a fuckin' medic, I just need to finish".

I feel terribly for that poor volunteer, I know he meant well, but I was so startled when my concentration was broken, it just kind of popped out! Sorry!!!

I saw the 20k marker and picked up the pace. I ran the last 1.1k pretty quickly. I really dont know how, but I knew I had to finish soon. I rounded the corner and heard the crowds packed along the last 500 meters. It was so cool. People just kept yelling me name and encouraging me to finish. By that point I was pretty much dragging my leg behind me.

I crossed the finish line again and got my medal. My leg gave out again and I collapsed, but someone caught me before I went down and made sure I was steady on my feet. I declined medical assistance again, because I know there is nothing they can do for me. I have very weak muscles there because of my injuries and I'm working to fix that. It is so very very frustrating though that 20 years later, I still have to fight my body!

I finished with a chip time of 2:20:11. Eight seconds slower than my first half marathon. I alternate between being disappointed in the time. and recognizing that being able to pull off that time while struggling to even finish the race means that I have come far since the race I ran in May. Its just that eight seconds is so. damn. close.

However, as I said before, this race was not about me. In my mind, it was all about my friends and they ROCKED it. Sherry finished with a chip time of 2:13:53 and Irene finished in 2:18:41. I am so very very proud of them. Its funny, because when they started training, they said they hoped to finish "not over 2 hours 30 minutes". I told them I knew they were faster than that.

Its so true that the last leg of a long distance race is a mental game. I truly believe that if I had let the thought enter my mind that I couldn't finish, Iwould have been right. That's why I was so stunned when the volunteer asked if Ineeded assistance. I refused to entertain the fact that I wasn't going to be able to do it!

The biggest disappointment was the baggage reclaim fiasco. I don't know what went wrong, and I am sure the organizers will get it fixed for next year, but seriously. The last thing that people who have run 21.1 or 42.2 kilometers need to do is stand in the cold and wind for 90 minutes or more to collect their bags.

My leg kept giving out, Sherry was going hypothermic. She was so blue and shivering so hard I kept having to try and warm her up with my own body heat.

Otherwise, kudos to the orgainzers for a great event!

I think that the best way to describe the race for me was that while I didnt have a great race, I definitely did a great job!

Misadventure

On Sunday, October 9th, my husband took this picture.

Seems odd, I suppose, taking pictures of yourself in a public bathroom.

For thanksgiving weekend we travelled to Mississauga to spend the holiday with my Mom's family. Every year, Thanksgiving is spent together, rotating between Mississuaga, Sudbury or Pembroke.

We went shopping on Sunday, and made sure to take this picture. Anytime we are out with the kids in a crowded area, or away from our own city, we do this. That way, (shudder), if one or both of the kids were to become seperated from us, we would have a recent picture of them. In the very clothes they were wearing. If, heaven forbid, the police had to search for my kids, they picture that they would release to the media would be the most recent and accurate it could be.

I have acquaintances who have said I was paranoid for doing such a thing. Some who have said it was a good idea but that they would never remember to do it.

On Sunday, October 9th, while shopping in a large retail store, I didn't know where my son was for close to 25 minutes. 25 minutes.

Let me explain.



We were shopping as a group. My husband, myself, our 8 and 5 year old boys, along with my parents. When we walked in to H&M, the men went one way, my Mom and I went another. Not too long after that, my husband and our 5 year old came back over to me and said they were going outside.



"Where's Zack?" I asked



"I guess he's with your Dad", he said.



"You GUESS?", I asked.


"Well he was with us!" he said sarcastically.



I guess this was good enough of an answer for me, because I didn't pursue it further. But really, why would I? My husband is a good father, and I trust him.



Not too long after, my dad sent my mom a message to let her know he was off to find a bathroom. About 5 minutes after that, I started to wonder where they were. We hadn't heard from them at all. I text my father-- Is zack with you



No answer.



I took a quick walk over to the men's section. No Zachary. No Dad. Starting to get a little annoyed, I call my Dad.



No answer.



I text my husband -- Can't find zack


No answer.




FUCK.



In the back of my mind I knew that Zachary was probably with my father. But you know, what? He's 8. Probably isn't enough. Its just not enough.



I did another quick run through the store, calling his name. At the same time, I was calling my husband's cell.


No answer.



I found a sales associate and said, quickly and urgently.



"I may be missing a kid. He might be with my father, but I just don't know. He's not answering his cell and I just don't know. He's wearing a bright orange shirt with adidas on it and denim shorts. He's got dark hair in a brush cut"




Just saying those words---that he was missing, that I didn't know where he was, having to describe his clothing---made my blood run cold.


To my relief, the sales associate acted quickly. She asked all staff to listen to their radios, but to turn down the sound. She explained what was happening and posted herself at the entrance/exit so that Zachary couldn't leave. This was great, because I wanted to be there,and running through the store, and running through the Heartland Town Centre all at the same time.



I kept walking through the store, quickly, urgently, calling my son's name. This continued for close to another 10 minutes when my mom called my name.



"I've got Dad on the phone. He's got Zack. He's got Zack"



Relief. Pure relief. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I still didn't know where he was, but at least I knew who he was with. I knew.



I let the sales associate know that we had found him, that he was safe. Everything was okay.


It was all so simple. My dad decided to go look at some other stores and took Zack with him. He just didn't let me know, that they were together. (and boy, did I let him hear about that!) In fact, they were all together. No one heard their phones.



But at least, if we hadn't found him soon, when we would have made that call to the police. We would have had this picture.


The picture with the little 8 year old boy in the bright orange shirt and the denimn shorts with dark hair, in a brush cut.



So people can tell me that its paranoid to take a picture of my kids when we go out to unfamiliar or crowded areas. If it means I am paranoid, I don't want to be anything else.


Jessica

I'll Go With You

11 years ago, I married Jordan. He is a funny, caring, TALL man. I love him to pieces.

For our first dance, we asked our incredibly talented friend Tracy to sing an Italian song, Con Te Partiro (made popular by Andrea Bocelli).

To say she sang it beautifully would be to underestimate how incredible her performance was. About one minute in to the song, we stopped dancing just so we could watch her seemingly effortless performance. I truly wish I had a recording of her performance. (Hint, Hint T)

In celebration of our anniversary, I thought I would post the song and its English translation here.

I love you Jordan. I'll go with you!

(Sorry, I can't make the video imbed, you'll have to make do with the link!)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tcrfvP11Hbo

I'll Go With You - Con te Partiro

(E. Sartori - L. Quarantotto)

When I'm alone

I dream on the horizon

And words fail

Yes, I know there is no light

In a room where the sun is absent

If you are not with me

At the windows

Show everyone my heart

Which you set alight

Enclose within me

The light you

Encountered on the street

I'll go with you

To countries I never

Saw and shared with you

Now, yes I shall experience them

I'll go with you

On ships across seas

Which, I know,

No, no, exist no longer

With you I shall experience them

When you are far away

I dream on the horizon

And words fail

And yes, I know

That you are with me

You, my moon, are here with me

My sun, you are here with me

I'll go with you

To countries I never

Saw and shared with you

Now, yes, I shall experience them

I'll go with you

On ships across seas

Which, I know

No, no exist no longer

With you I shall experience them again

I'll go with you

On ships across seas

Which I know,

No, no exist no longer

With you I shall experience them again

I'll go with you

I with you.

Its Not About the Politics

When I heard that Jack Layton had passed away, I was sitting in a room at my chiropractor's office, waiting for my appointment. I sat there in stunned silence. I truly wanted to believe that it was one of those jokes. That someone had hacked a twitter account somewhere and posted a cruel joke. Sadly, it is heartbreakingly true.

When the last election campaign was running, Zachary was very curious about the whole process. He is eight, and they had been talking about it a bit in class. I have always, always exercised my right to vote, and was thrilled to be able to talk with my son about it.

I remember in one discussion, he asked me who I was going to vote for. We spoke a bit about how voting is a private matter and typically it wasn't polite to ask someone who they planned to vote for because it is a personal choice. I then told him that I wasn't yet sure.

Like many Canadians, I was very disenchanted with the system. It seemed that we were forced into another election, but being presented with the exact same choices.

But as I watched the campaign unfold, Jack Layton began to truly stand out.

And it wasn't about the politics.

It was about his positive message, his passion, and his integrity. I didn't necessarily agree with all of his policies. It would be rare that I ever fully agreed with any one party's politics. Jack's character, however, completely impressed me. And that's what truly matters, I think.

If only all our politicians loved Canada and its people as much as Mr. Layton did, and loved the politics just a little less, Canada wouldn't just be great, it would be incredible.

In our election discussions, I tried to explain that eachof the parties' policies are important, but the most important is the integrity of the person. Jack Layton showed that in spades.

I have always voted for the person I felt was best for my riding. In the most recent election, I voted for the person I thought could change Canada.

I truly believe that he already has.

One of the strongest examples of this, for me, is in his farewell letter to Canadians.

He reaches out to others fighting cancer; people he knew identified with his fight and felt they were fighting along with him.

He tells them to keep fighting, and reminds them that there is hope. There is always hope.

I hope that my children have the opportunity to learn more about Jack Layton. He is an incredible role model. Canada - the whole world- needs more people with that kind of heart.

RIP Jack Layton. Thank you.

My friends, love is better than anger. Hope is better than fear. Optimism is better than despair. So let us be loving, hopeful and optimistic. And we'll change the world. ~ Jack Layton

How are YOU going to change the world?

Jessica

Holiday....Celebrate!

Three long years.

That's how long its been since we have been able to have any semblance of a family holiday. In August of 2008 we took the kids to Great Wolf Lodge for two days and it was a blast. We enjoyed the mini-holiday. It was enough time to get away, have fun and refresh, but not so long that you needed a recovery from the holiday.

We swore that we would do more of these mini-vacations. But then, Jordan got laid off. For 22 months.

So, as one does when this happens, you re-structure the priorities. Vacations fell to the wayside in favor of basic needs and karate memberships. At the time Jordan was laid off, I worked about 30 hours a week. Enough to do the job I loved, but also that I could be home to meet the boys off the bus. When the layoff occured, I was fortunate to take on two extra jobs, but this meant I was working--a lot. Upwards of 80 hours a week.

In fact, when I left for Girlz Weekend 2011 at the end of June, that was the first time I had taken more than two days off in a row in that three year period! Again, although it has been tough, we were fortunate that the opportunity came our way.

But, it means we all really need a break. We need to go away and have f-u-n. So, on Thursday afternoon we leave for Niagara Falls for a 4 day mini-vacation.

Or as I like to call it "Running trip disguised as Family Vacation".

Once my friend Denise and I booked ourselves to run www.thechocolaterace.com, I spoke to hubby about making it into a family vacation.

You know, the kind of vacation where your family waits in the heat for you to finish a long race.

Seriously, though. the kids haven't seen Niagara Falls, nor have they been to Marineland. We have people we can stay with, to lessen some of our costs, so heck.....WHY NOT!? We've decided to spend two nights in a hotel, because we got a great deal on Hotwire and two nights with our friends.

The kids are excited. The hubby is as excited (as excited as he gets), and heck, I'm running a race that has chocolate, so I am CLEARLY excited.

But as much as I love to run, I am so excited to get to spend time with my wonderful kids and husband.

Wish us luck and great weather on Valiquette Vacay 2011!

Jessica

Sunshine

You are my Sunshine

My only Sunshine

You make me happy

When skies are grey

You'll never know dear

How much I love you

Please don't take

My Sunshine away

This is Corbett. My how he's grown!



It appears, in spite of all the "You have to eat, if you want to grow up big and tall like Daddy" threats, that even children who don't eat much food will still grow.

This is good, because he really doesn't eat that much. The part that eludes me is how he has the energy to be a ball of non-stop energy. From the time he wakes up until the time he FINALLY goes to sleep, he is constantly on the move.



Corbett is often still awake at 10:30 or 11:00 at night. He goes to bed at 8:30 and talks or sings to himself, then talks to his stuffed animals, and eventually falls asleep. Then, he's up at 6:30, fired up and ready to go.



He is very much like me, that way and frankly, he exhausts me. Hell, Corbett exhausts our dog, and she's a beagle. This is telling. There are very few things that exhaust that dog.

Often, when describing my kids personalities, it is hard to say more about Corbett than "Corbett...well, he's Corbett!" Once you've met him, you just know what I mean.



But here's the thing. When I took the picture above, Corbett kept saying "Sunshine! I'm sunshine!", and you know what? He's right.




He IS sunshine.





Like the sun, when you see Corbett, you can't help but smile. He brightens people's day. Sure, the curly hair and adorable mischeivous smile are a part of it, but its his personality too. He is fun, snuggly and charming. He gives hugs that warm you up all over. He wants to be a part of, and see everything that is going on around him.




But, like the sun, he can be fickle. He is either very very sunny, or he is cloudy and stormy! He switches from one to the other in lightspeed, and it throws me off guard at times.

If you don't pay attention to the sun, you can get burned. With Corbett, if you aren't watching, well, you may soon wish you had been watching. He's GOING to get into something. He's impulsive and he hasn't yet developed the skill of knowing that just because a thought enters your mind, doesn't mean you absolutely MUST act on it.



An exercise in extremes, Corbett can go from laughing and smiling one second to howling in frustration or sadness faster than you can snap your fingers. Kind of like the sun, hiding behind a cloud, only to peek out a few moments later.



Thankfully, more often than not, he is as you see above. Smiling, happy Corbett.

He warms my heart, he gives great hugs. He drives me crazy, and sometimes his mood swings make me worry about his future. He's quirky and he makes me howl with laughter. He does what makes him happy, and doesn't care if people think its weird. Whether he is wearing his shirt backwards, or wearing blue polish on his nails. He does what makes him happy, and that makes ME happy.

He's a great kid. He's my Sunshine.

The Runner's Cheerleader and Lessons Learned

Last night, the kids and I participated in the 20 minute challenge at the Running Room.

Basically the purpose of the event is to encourage people to be active for 20 minutes. Anyone can do that!

The plan was for Zachary and I to run about 5km and for Corbett to ride in the stroller. Being the planner that I am, everything was set the night before--the Chariot stroller was loaded into the trunk, the run clothes were packed.

We were good to go.

Come Wednesday night....it was HOT. HOT and HUMID.

We decided to stick with the plan, but take it nice and slow. Corbett asked if he could run with us and promised he'd keep up. We let him out and off he went. About 100 meters later, he gave up. No surprise there, being "fast" is not his thing. While he was "running" we averaged a 9 minute per KM pace! But, he was having fun, and that's what matters.

Once we got him all settled back in the Chariot, he assumed a new role.

Corbett is probably the best cheerleader for runners ever.

There he was, chilling out in his stroller with his legs crossed, clapping his hands and yelling words of encouragement to everyone we passed, or who passed us!!

"Great job!!"

"Lookin' good!"

"You got this!!"

"GO! GO! GO!"

and one of my personal favorites, "There's a potluck at the store! Go, Go!!!"

Let me tell you, he sure got a lot of smiles and laughs out of all those poor runners, sweating like crazy in the hot, sticky weather!

Which brings me to lessons learned.

When it comes to running with Zachary, I typically let him learn lessons the "hard" way.

He's learning about not starting out too fast on a run by doing just that. He's started out too fast a few times and then struggled to finish.

He's learned that 3 slices of pizza does not make a pre-race meal.

He's learned the value of planning a run around bathroom stops.

The problem is, when you are 8 years old-or any age, for that matter-it is difficult to see the distinction between coach and mom. Or student and child.

Kids love to challenge their parents. They disagree with us just to see what happens. It can be good for them, both to learn to use their voice and to learn their boundaries.

Other times its not so good at all.

A few times before the run, I suggested to Zachary that he have some water and a little bit of food before we leave.

"It's really hot, Zack, you have to make sure you are hydrated. You need lots of water", I suggested.

"I don't want any. I'm fine"

About 10 minutes later, I suggested it again. Five minutes before we were scheduled to take off, I mentioned water again. No go.

Thankfully the lessons he and I learned did not go anywhere near as badly as they could have. What happened was dangerous. It could have been so much worse.

About 2.5km into the run, Zachary said "My heart hurts and I feel dizzy". We immediately slowed to a slow walk. I encouraged Zachary to take some deep breaths and to keep walking slowly, but told him that if he didnt start feeling better soon to let me know right away.

After about 3 minutes, he said he felt fine and wanted to run. I asked him to walk for another few minutes then told him we would run if he still felt okay.

We started to run again at a very leisurely pace. After about 5 minutes, Zachary mentioned that he was dizzy again.

We stopped and slowed to a walk. I told him he had a few minutes, but if he wasn't feeling better he had to get in the stroller. This is not an exciting prospect for either of us--he wants to run, and I don't want to push both kids in that heat, their combined weight is about 115 pounds. But, safety first.

In hindsight, I should have had him get in the stroller right then.

We came to a small, but steep decline. We went single file, with me ahead, as we usually do. The momentum of the stroller meant that I was down the hill pretty quickly, so I turned back to see how Zachary was.

What I saw was my sweet, 8 year old boy, staggering side to side like he was coming back from way too many drinks at a keg party. On a sidewalk alongside a high traffic road.

I ran up the hill, pulling the stroller behind me, until I could grab a hold of him. I basically lifted him with one arm and tossed him in the stroller, then ran the 2km back to the store.

Thankfully, the evening was also a potluck, so there was plenty of water, juice, vegetables, fruit and other drinks and sweets. I just kept telling myself that I had to get him there and he would be fine,

I won't lie. That incident scared the shit out of me. There's nothing quite like the feeling of knowing, that your own actions put your child in danger.

It won't happen again.

So what lessons did we learn?

I hope that Zachary has learned that when we run, I am his Coach. He needs to listen to me just as he does to his Senseis in karate.

I'm there to share knowledge with him, from my own experiences. I'm there to ensure his safety. I'm there to help him be his best. I hope that next time I offer a suggestion, that he trusts my knowledge and does what I ask.

I have learned that even though I am his coach, I am first and foremost his mother. Next time, I'm just going to tell him he has no choice. He's going to drink the damn water.

And, if for any reason, he becomes dizzy again, he goes in the stroller right away. There will always be another chance to run. There will never be another Zachary.

Heel N Wheel A Thon

We are lucky enough to have become friends with a fabulous family, the Clements. I met Denise through the Run Club I attend and we have a lot in common, aside from the running. She and her husband Jason have two great daughters, Sara and Dylan.


Recently, Jason was diagnosed with Crohn's disease. Crohn's disease is part of a family of Inflammatory Bowel Diseases. People with Crohn's disease experience a range of unpleasant, painful symptoms.


On June 12th, Zachary and I will be joining Jason, Denise and a few others at the Heel N Wheel A Thon here in Sudbury, to raise funds for the Crohn's and Colitis Foundation of Canada.



As Zachary proved last year when he raised $1318 for CHEO, he is a far better fundraiser than I am. So I will be coaching him and running at his side on June 12th, but he is doing all the fundraising. He has once again set a goal of $500, and his well on his way having already raised $375!


You can help him out by following this link and donating any amount you can....every donation helps!


What a kid....he sure makes us proud!


Jessica

Generosity

I have always tried to teach my sons generosity and compassion by example. There are no tests, no report cards, no way to measure whether these lessons are learned. I believe that my children’s generosity will surface when they are ready—true generosity cannot be compulsory. Nothing prepared me for the level of generosity that my oldest son would display--at just seven years of age.

I am a recreational runner. There are many reasons I run, however one of them is the opportunity it gives me to raise money for causes that are important to me. It’s not something I realized my son was aware of until I asked if he wanted to run in the 2010 Ottawa Kids’ Marathon.

The Ottawa Kids Marathon is a fantastic way to promote fitness in kids. Kids are expected to log 41kms (usually 30minutes activity= 1km) and then run the last 1.2km on the same day as the Marathon on Ottawa Race Weekend. Zachary has often expressed interest in running with me, and he was up for the challenge. Zachary chose to run every kilometre.

What came next surprised me. “Who do I raise money for?”

Although he didn’t have to raise money for this race, yet he insisted that he wanted to. We went online and investigated the official charities associated with Ottawa Race Weekend 2010. Although all were fabulous charities who do excellent work, none resonated with him. So, after some discussion, Zachary chose to raise money for the Children’s Hospital of Eastern Ontario (CHEO).
Suddenly he was a man on a mission! We created a Facebook group. We filmed a video of him and posted it. We sent emails. Zachary set what I thought was a lofty goal of $500.

So he raised money, and he ran. And he stuck to it. Soon he was able to run up to about 3.5km!!

And my shy, reserved boy was asking anyone he knew if they would donate.
I was amazed when he reached his goal. I was stunned when he raised $700. I was overjoyed when he reached $1000. And I was moved to tears when on a sunny Friday in May, Zachary walked into the offices of the CHEO Foundation and handed them donations totalling $1318.

Inevitably, countless people said to us “You must be so proud”, and we were. How could we not be? But most importantly is that he was proud of himself. Countless lessons were learned in those short few months. I am still amazed at what he taught me.

Jessica

I DID IT!!!

Goal for my first half-marathon: 2 hours 30 minutes

Time for my first half-marathon: 2 hours 22 minutes 33 seconds (not official).
UPDATE: official time 2 hours 20 minutes 03 seconds

I will write a post about the race later, but for now, I leave you these...







Jessica

The Reason I Run

On May 24th, 1991, I was the driver of this vehicle.

I am thankful for every day- EVERY day-because I know how fortunate I am to be alive.

I suppose that a better writer could phrase that more eloquently, but there you have it. I am LUCKY. For some reason, my passenger and I survived that horrific crash. What's even better is that we both chose to live after we survived.

We did not escape uninjured. After leaving the road and hitting a small rockface, the 1982 Ford Escort flipped end for end multiple times. The force of multiple impacts tore the backseat from the floor - it crashed through the back window and was found outside the car. Eventually the seatbelt could no longer restrain me and I was thrown into the back. I suffered serious injuries. I ripped the clutch out with my foot; I bent the steering wheel with my face, breaking my jaw. My esophagus swelled shut, and one lung collapsed. Eventually, with my body so weak, I developed pneumonia. My digestive system went into shock and would not work for days. I was injured and sick, and I fought like crazy to survive.

However, despite incredible care, 20 years later, there are still after effects. I suppose one never fully heals from injuries of that magnitude. I've had several surgeries on my jaw and still suffer from a nasty case of TMJ. It was years before I could chew anything harder than overcooked pasta. It is still difficult to eat many foods. Due to the injuries to my ankle, which were initially overlooked in favour of saving my life, I spent about 10 years on crutches and canes and was finally given a brace to deal with a condition called drop foot. It was presumed I would likely not walk again without some minor form of assistance. It was presumed that because of the injuries to my jaw I might never play flute again, something I was very talented at and loved immensely.

HA!

I still play flute. I still walk with a limp and have reduced sensation in that leg, but I walk on my own. Not only do I walk - I run!

It was not enough for me to just defy the odds and walk unaided--13 years later, I wanted to see if I could run. First a 5km race, then another, and another. I am neither fast, nor am I slow. I am still always secretly amazed that my body has let me continue to run one more race. I have continued to train and on May 1, 2011 I will run my first Half-Marathon.

21.1 km. 13 miles. In one day.

Many people think I am crazy. For others the distance is not that far. It's important to remember that I have run with people that run multiple marathons a year. For some people, 21.1km is merely a fun run, not a challenge (they're the crazy ones, by the way)

But for me? For me, this is overwhelming!

Once, a handful of people who know medecine, but don't know me, decided that the odds were stacked against me. I decided they were wrong. For as long as I can remember I have chosen to believe that my willpower is stronger than "the odds". This doesn't mean that I am not plagued by self-doubt. I wonder if I can do this, I wonder if I should do this. But really, the only way to know for sure is to actually go out and DO IT!

So, in the end I will not be intimidated by this half-marathon, because for me, I have already conquered the real battle. The brace, and the crutches and the cane stay in the closet, readily available - just in case. But I know I won't need them. 20 years ago I could have accepted the fate offered to me by the doctors. I could have gone home and never played flute again, instead of going on to study music and psychology . I could have just accepted the brace and the cane. But always, always, I could see the end goal. The challenges were just part of the journey.

Finishing my first half-marathon? THAT'S the reward. THAT'S what I believe is owed to me.

Its been almost 20 years, and I have decided to collect.

(The friend who was travelling with me? I dont think she's run any half marathons -she says she prefers to sprint!)