When Life Gives You Lemons

I might have an explicit imagination, or maybe it was Mother's Day on the brain, but my mind only went one place when I saw these two items at the store. Ouch. 

There's either something in the water, or perhaps it's because most of my friends are in the 24-35 female category, but I swear babies are taking over the world. My news feed is of growing belly bumps, first crawls, walks, and even hiccups. With the convenience of technology I feel like I can be there from first sonogram all the way to the delivery room. And when you have overly descriptive, eager-to-share friends, you get all the ooh and ahh moments of gruesome details that make me cringe and never want to touch another male again. I'm sorry, what came out of where?

Now I'm not gonna lie, I have really hot friends, and for the most part of 9 months, you could splash their pictures all over the cover of a magazine with a few touch-ups to the dark circles under their eyes and dimpled thighs, but all of us needed that way before a night of knocked-up fun.

When I see some of the sideways shots of the buns in the oven I look down to my own stomach and think, come on there's no way that gets that big! And since women grow up squeezing into skinny jeans and sucking it in, I can't imagine feeling utterly comfortable just letting it all hang out. Growing up I've pretty much wanted to sock anyone who has ever touched my love handles or given my stomach rolls a friendly squeeze, and yet I watch people all the time go up to total strangers and rub their pregnant bellies like a genie is about to jump out and grant them all their wishes. Hello people, she's gained 30 pounds, there's an elastic band holding up her pants, and her shirt looks like her grandmother's old curtains, let's make her more uncomfortable and rub your foreign hands all over. 

The first phone call announcing a pregnancy is always filled with excitement, anticipation, and a few high pitched eeeeee's. Well, at least when it's planned. The first call after a birth always makes me a little more nervous, mainly because momma hasn't slept in days and she's been without booze for even longer. Some people rave of how much they loved giving birth which I assume is either a total lie or their epidural hasn't worn off yet. And other people give you the gross explanation of pains, tearing, after births, stitching, oh lord sign me up for this it just sounds so wonderful glorious details. 

I've heard of sleepless nights with more bathroom visits then after a long margarita Monday. I've witnessed enough water weight to rival Lake Michigan with ankles appearing like they've grown an extra double stuffed potato. I've seen my friends turn into 24 hour milk drive-thrus, including carrying contraptions to pump and creating whole new meaning for second base. Crying, teething, burping, spitting, changing, and yet the common theme remains - it's all worth it.

As an independent, career woman I sometimes struggle considering how to balance being successful professionally and family minded simultaneously. As I lay in bed, I ponder the 4 cookies I ate for breakfast, the fact that I didn't shower until 4pm, and the sunburn I irresponsibly acquired today, clearly unable to accurately care for just myself. However, while I'd rather never taste breast milk, I do crave the day that I'll tie a child's shoes, while pouring cereal, buttoning my own shirt, balancing a toddler on my hip, testing milk on my wrist, answering a work email, and planning snack for soccer practice all at once.

Women are expected to squeeze big things out of little ones, but when life gives you lemons, make lemonade.   

To all the amazing mommas in my life - You impress me with your distracting bags of fun, army-sized stash of goldfish crackers, and ability to pop open a stroller with a flick of one wrist. Mother's Day has passed, but every day celebrate that there is a special child who thinks you are their world. 

Actions Speak Louder

I broke one of my cardinal rules this week. Six days out from a marathon. What was I thinking? Now, I have several random superstitions that I sometimes ignore, like beer the night before or downing a packet of salt pre-race, but there are two things that I always follow. Always. One I won't go into because it would detail the battle with porta potty lines and that's just gross. The other is never wear cotton socks on a long run. Never. Ever. And yet I did. Not only am I battling foot fungus and loose toenails, but I have to deal with two gigantic blisters, bloody and sore. Wow, I am sooo hot.

So chalk that one up for the book - do as I say and not as I do.

I just turned 31. Ten years past my 21st, I finally claim grown up. I've had my share of experience and adventure, and definitely enough headache and heartbreak to have at least a handful worth of advice to offer. Sometimes I wish I would listen.

Just the other night I was assisting Best Gal on a decision to change career direction. This isn't our first rodeo, we've ridden this bull before. But this was the first time I wasn't siding with promotion, skill development, and expanding her resume. Instead I stared at a blank email and pondered how after being so professionally minded for years could I encourage this girl to tell the job to shove it and focus on her husband and future family. And yet I sit in a chair finishing a 48 hour shift wondering why I have worked more hours in the last two days then most people do in a week.

I spend my days promoting healthy eating and weight loss, the concept of fueling yourself with the proper nutrients so that your body is primed when your mind is ready to accomplish. I believe in the combination of food and exercise as a balanced combo for success. And yet I devoured ice cream at 4pm yesterday and woke up to handfuls of popcorn, making the excuse that if I run today I can call it a wash. As if running for 2 hours is even close to what you would call balanced.

About a week ago a Special Lady shared a story of the never-ending single sucking saga. She had been spending time with a hopeful prospect, excited to get to know him and for the overall potential of something worthwhile, when the King brought another date to her place of employment and Special Lady had the privelege of serving them dinner. I'm pretty sure that even by the lowest of scum standards, that was absolutely ridiculous. And he's a cop, as if he didn't already battle the reputation of being a dick. I encouraged her to call him out. Pick up the phone, there are a lot of assholes in the world, but you sir are the King. And never talk to him again. And yet you would think I had a revolving door in and out of my life, allowing ongoing abuse mentally and emotionally, without ever calling out utter blatant bullshit.

So I've decided to work with a Life Coach. Considering I'm currently debating whether or not training to become a Life Coach myself would be worth sacrificing a piece of my future down payment, I figured I should test out the concept. A Life Coach is basically a more positive, modern spin for therapist, you know, so I don't have to consider myself totally crazy. Let's be honest, I work dispatch and I run 26.2 miles for fun, clearly I'm a little off my rocker. But sometimes we could all use a little encouragement, a time to reflect on choices, and everyone could use a cheerleader in their corner. At the end of this, I hope that my actions will speak louder than my words. Or at the minimum, I hope to find a louder voice.

Challenge: Complete!

I hate hills. I hate trails. And I especially hate punk males who throw me into competitive mode when I'm already clinching cramps in my rib cage, battling with service to Pandora, and trying to calm my breathing with inhales only comparable to the final stages of labor.

I celebrated the finale of my 90 day challenge at the Agoura Great Race. I woke up early, blended one of my favorite Body By Vi combos, and drove well over the speed limit to arrive with enough time to take a few breaths and battle the porta-potty lines. I started out too fast, but it gave me a head start before the trail went single file. At mile 5 I slowed to my normal stride, got into the groove with my girl Rihanna, and as my calves ached up the hillside I began my usual self talk Barth you seriously need to quit the beer drinking, cookie eating, pre-race ritual. And that's when I found Blue Shirt Camelbak.

B.S. Camelbak was a decent looking guy about my age, with lime green shoe soles that I stared at for an hour in my attempt to not land my face in the plastic surgeon's office. His inconsistent pace was driving my nuts; slowing at flat ground, crawling up hills, and frollicking on the way down. Every time I went to pass him, his eye met me at the corner and he'd step it up a notch; I wanted to trip him. It started to get annoying, and with limited oxygen circulating to my brain and my heart pounding out of my chest, I was envisioning pushing this guy off the cliff. That's when I had to remind myself only compete with yourself, quit the Hunger Games nonsense. So I walked. Yup, up that darn hill, actually, two of them, allowing way more people than Camelbak to pass me. But after 90 days, I deserved a time out.

At the top, I threw my hands over my head, wiped the snot from my nose (yes, glamorous, I know), and debated asking the cop on horseback for a lift. But as I turned to look down the canyon, the view was breathtaking. I was lucky. And with that, a boost of energy. I spotted Camelbak and set one more goal for my challenge. When I passed B.S. I didn't give him a sideways glance, but I'm pretty sure he could see the Body By Vi words printed across my back for the entire mile I was ahead of him.  

At day 90 I was lighter, fitter, and faster. And when I waited to shake Camelbak's hand at the finish it felt good when he said, wow you smoked it. When you set a goal, don't lose pace at the end.

I've been running 6 years and the only thing I've changed in the last 90 days is to have a shake for breakfast. Now posting half naked photos makes me want to vomit, but I must say - Challenge Complete!

 

My body has changed, but I've been more impressed by the people around me. My heart leaps for mommas losing baby weight after a long time struggle, friends with more energy to set fitness goals they never thought possible, and everyone squeezing into sizes they thought were a thing of the past. I'm so proud of everyone taking initiative to get HOTTER, because like I say, you're already hot. I'm brainstorming my next challenge, anyone interested in joining me? 

Bikini Body...Yes, Please!

And oh by the way, that dress I bought for Italy last May finally zips up!
So who's ready for a night out? ;)

 

Driving Ms. Daisy

I don't pretend to be an animal lover. I'm not the ohh Fluffy you're so cute, come lick my face, leave smelly slobber all over my legs kind of girl. Despite growing up with a house full of animals; we're talking walk outside to get eggs from the chickens kind of abundance, I never inherited that absolute yearning to be a pet owner. Regardless, I actually have a cat. Well, kinda.

My Baby was born senior year of college, easily my biggest confidant, lasting through years as my only roommate, and even survived being drugged to ride a plane. But when I found out cats can live to be 20 years old, I may have started letting her go outside. And after my escrow closed, I moved out of my parent's house, but Baby stayed.

Just recently I started tossing around the idea of another pet, secretly craving a puppy I can train to run with me. That's when I met Daisy.

About 3 miles into my normal trek, I got that eery feeling that someone was behind me. A shaggy, white, eager little thing wagged it's tail as I reached down to find no tags. This is so my life. My head fell back in a how horrible am I if I just leave her moment. But her sympathetic droopy eyes asked for help. Just as I was going soft, that darn thing darted out in front of a car. Not on my watch honey. I ran up and down streets begging her to pick a house, any house, and I'd open the back gate. When she lingered long enough at one, I took off. Not before I even turned the corner, I heard panting behind me.

Seriously? When I wanted a dog, this was not who I had in mind. I don't have time for shaving and little pink bows, I barely keep myself maintained. But standing on Santa Rosa Rd. during rush hour traffic was no place to debate her future. So we made a deal, you can stay, just don't get hit. And that damn dog ran 6 miles.

I'm not gonna lie, I was impressed, might have even liked her a little, but since I have commitment issues, I did the only thing I could think of to find her home.  Thank you mobile upload. Within a few minutes, my think-they're-so-funny, mutt-loving friends instantly deemed us a match and I was doomed for puppy love. Until the next morning when I got a call that a very familiar face was plastered on posters all over town.

Hi Chris, I think I have your dog. Tears and blubbering erupted on the other end and no sooner had I pulled down the street that Daisy was perked up barking toward a group of 6 flagging me down. It was a quick exchange, something about an alarm, worried sick, a confession that I prefer cats, and a big hug. I pulled away slightly relieved.

That night I had a voicemail requesting my address to receive a token of her gratitude. I sent an email instead:

Hi Chris!
Thank you for your voicemail. You are the sweetest, but sincerely I was just glad to get Daisy back to your family. She is one of the kindest dogs I have ever seen and it was evident that someone loved her. I was literally on my way to search for her owner when a girlfriend told me about the posters. My dad is a huge dog lover so I know how special she must be to you.
It's so nice to know that there are good people out there. Your tears of excitement were all I needed. Just remember to pay forward a good deed to someone else someday! Maybe we will cross paths again on a walk in the neighborhood. Daisy is a decent running partner!
All the best to you and your family.
Barth

The email bounced back.

And that persistent woman tracked down my coworker, found my address, and a couple weeks later I had the most heart-felt card in my mailbox. Crazy dog woman.

Now I thought that's where our story ended. But like most relationships in my life, they always come back. Just the other morning a woman rushed outside of a local restaurant, handed me $5 that I supposedly dropped, and then said Hi Barth, it's me, Daisy's mom. We had a quick exchange and as I pulled away, I realized that I definitely didn't have any cash on me. She just pulled the yawn, reach your arm over the shoulder, find-any-excuse-to-make-something-happen junior high gig on me. And it worked.

I don't believe in coincidences. I think everything happens for a reason and every person in our life serves a purpose. Our paths were supposed to cross. I do, however, believe in karma. Good things happen to good people. I don't expect to be paid back when I help someone, I simply understand that because I ease the path for another, someone else will be there to ease mine. So instead of battling with Madam Persistent again and refusing $5, I decided to use the money to assist 5 people in a different way. And maybe when they strike it rich, they too will pay it forward.