Damn Skippy We Won...Now Get Your Turd Out of my Punch Bowl!

After 23 years of lacing up my shoes, I can finally admit that I really do love running. I love what it does for my body and mind, but most importantly, I love the running community. It is comprised of people from all walks of life, all shapes and sizes and all levels of ability. They all come together in the form of training or races to laugh, joke and encourage - sharing both misery and success along the way.

I’ve never taken myself very seriously on my runs, even when I was able to pull off sub-8 minute miles. I’ve stopped for beers, a sandwich and even a couple of yard sales during my races. I’ve worn costumes, wigs, umbrella hats and trucker apparel at various events over the years. I always have fun and I know that if I show up happy and ready to run, at least some of that enthusiasm is going to brush off on someone else and the more happy people on the course, the better the world becomes. I suppose I believe that through running, I am spreading the gospel of happiness and giving back to the world – and that, in turn, makes ME happy.

Yesterday, my team won the local Fall Series for the second year in a row. For those who don’t know, there is no limit to the number of team members, but only the top three scores count for each race. As such, I am particularly proud of this series since my time actually counted for three of the four races – keeping in mind that I was wearing a keg costume for one of those races.

Mind you, I am NOT a fast runner and my time only counted because we had a teammate absent for three of the races.  Still, I kept on smiling and running, continuing to fight for a mid-pack finish each time. I feel like I put in my miles and some good effort and am rightly proud of my accomplishment. I had loads of fun as the stack of running, smiling photos can attest.

However, while still trying to catch my breath at the finish, I was immediately confronted by a member of the second place team who notified me that my team won (I had no idea as I was still trying to breathe and really wanted some water) and stated that our team win is “unfair” because she believes at least one of my teammates is “elite.” I’d heard this accusation from her before and tried to ignore the ugliness and spite, but no one likes a turd in their punch bowl.  This time, I was angry, offended and sad for her at the same time.

(The truth is that the results of the Series were so close that had the second place team simply run on average six seconds faster per mile, they could have won themselves.  Sounds like good competition to me and far from an “elite” team that ran away with the Series.)

Sadly, it was disappointing to see that someone truly missed all the best parts about running that I’ve come to love. I have a ridiculous collection of ribbons, trophies and finishers medals stacking up in my house. Some mean more than others not because of where I finished but simply because I did. They are happy reminders of my training, my travels and the friendships I made along the way. I’m reminded of the incredible volunteers and race directors that spent their time allowing me to show up and enjoy a good run. The cheering, the cow bells and the wonderful water stops along the way where there’s always a kind word for you, no matter where you are in the pack. I’m reminded of all the uplifting words that keep you going on the days when you really want to puke, give up or both.  Those medals mean nothing to me without the camaraderie and solidarity I experience when I run. 

My Fall Series teammates truly are the best and it has nothing to do with their finish times. They are good people who inspire and accept others no matter what your pace may be. I love my team not because we won, but because they make me a better, healthier person and they challenge me in ways I would never challenge myself. They inspired me to run my very first ultra race this fall, where I learned how much my body and mind are truly capable of delivering. I’ve shared happiness, frustration, sadness, elation, fears and beers with them all. When I’ve had a rough week, I still can’t help but smile when I see them at the start line. It means everything to me because when you run with your friends, you understand that simply making it to the race at all is sometimes a momentous feat, given all that life throws your way.

I know that they all have busy lives and spent the earlier part of the week juggling families, work, relationships and personal demons, just like everyone else. But on race day – the world stops for a brief moment and we make time for each and take joy in each other’s company. What draws us together is the shared journey and support we give each other along the way. We come together on race day and show support not only on the running trail, but for life itself. We are stronger together because we encourage, reassure, cheer and affirm each other’s success. We share hobbies, pet peeves, and a deep love for animals and good beer. We are friends before runners.

Success comes in various forms and I’d have to say that our biggest success this year is not the Fall Series but rather the friendships we have formed. I couldn’t care less about a medal or trophy at the end of the season. In fact, if anyone else wants them, I will gladly give them up because when I was told at the finish line that we won, my true response should have been – “In more ways than you will ever know.”

The Evil Stepmother: I Don't Deserve to Be a Mother

“You don’t deserve to be a mother!”

Those words burned through the text I once received from my stepson’s mother. This is the same woman who lost all custody of her son over three years ago due to homelessness and drug use and now only visits with him for a few hours every other Saturday. My stepson suffers from Reactive Attachment Disorder (RAD) due to the many early years of neglect she supplied and now he battles this mental illness everyday as he tries to awkwardly adjust and become a functioning member of society. He also suffers from a rare birth defect likely caused by his mother’s drug use that will haunt him for the rest of his life. His developmental needs and the road it has put me on is extremely difficult and has taxed my every nerve on a recurring basis and still I hear the words in my head – You don’t deserve to be a mother.

We all know that stepmothers are evil.  We were taught that in fairy tales from a very early age. They are jealous, manipulative and vain. They do everything they can to undermine and berate their stepchildren until they either leave home or are banished to a tall tower, all alone for the rest of their life. This is naturally me, because after all – I don’t deserve to be a mother.

I readily admit that I struggle with being Tyler’s stepmother. Due to his mental condition, he is extremely dishonest, manipulative and distant. He cares about nothing and no one except himself. He has no real hobbies or passion and if given a choice, remains disengaged from humanity as a whole. He refuses to manage the medical condition imposed by his birth defect and as result, regularly risks his long and short-term health. I spent the first few years trying to work with him, employing various disciplinary techniques that worked well enough in the past for my own three children, but fell flat on a child with his history and developmental struggles. I painfully labored alongside his father to help him catch up to the reading level of his peers, taught him to swim, ice skate, ski and zipline. I cleaned and treated wounds, drove him to sports, doctors, dentists and school. However, nothing seemed to help develop any real relationship with him. So, as you can see – I don’t deserve to be a mother.

I researched counseling options for him, selected one who specializes in RAD and made sure his dad got him to every appointment on time. These sessions were covered under my own health care program, which I paid with my own earnings. When I refused to allow my health care to cover private sessions with his mother, the counselor told me I was selfish and refused to see us anymore. I asked for his mother to cover the sessions under her own healthcare, but at two years after her divorce, she still made excuses about finding a job and therefore couldn’t cover the cost herself. So, Tyler stopped going to the counseling that he needed because as we all know – I don’t deserve to be a mother.

Having been through my own divorce almost six years ago, I now split parenting time for my own three kids. Their father and I live relatively nearby, remain cordial and work together to effectively raise our two sons and one daughter. My children are doing well and appear to be as happy and realistically adjusted as any kids of divorce can be expected. They are good kids that bring me more joy than I can ever express. They are my life. However, even six years later, on the three evenings each week they are gone, the wound in my heart rips open anew every single time. Leaving their father was my choice, but I still struggle like many other women with intense sadness, guilt and often feel like my soul gets ripped open so often I’m not sure it ever really repairs. I mourn every day they are gone and am often so depressed that I am simply unable to interact with Tyler, who remains in our house every night because his mother remains unable to care for him still. When I feel myself drawing away in those evenings and hiding in my bedroom , or out on the running trail, I hear those words repeated to me again – I don’t deserve to be a mother.

As three years of spousal maintenance payments come to an end for Tyler’s mother, my husband finds himself back in court to adjust her child support and discuss possible options I have suggested to him regarding more parenting time for Tyler’s mother. I am exhausted from trying to raise a son that I am repeatedly told is not mine and reaffirmed by a court that adamantly opposes my involvement in any proceedings.  If a child only has one mother, as many in society like to say, then I desperately demand that his birth mother be the one. I sincerely do not want to replace her and would love nothing more than to unload his laundry list of disciplinary issues, school work, haircuts, doctor appointments and activities to the one who haughtily proclaims herself as his mother. Alas, she laments that while she can spend a couple afternoons a month doing fun activities with him, she can’t possibly accept all those other dirty responsibilities and continues to discuss with her friends how, of course – I don’t deserve to be a mother.

My kids and I became even closer when I divorced as my energy was no longer split between parenting and trying to hold together a failing marriage. We spent extra time together and travelled from coast to coast on exciting vacations, read books together and enjoyed playtime in our new apartment and later, a five acre home. We laughed, lived and loved and I still treasure every moment and memory I have of those days. Since I have remarried, I’ve experienced the difficulty once again of splitting time between my children and my relationship. Although my children are easily the most important thing in my life and I try to tell them that often, I realize that no matter what I say or do, they will always hold some resentment for the intense love and affection I can’t hide for my new husband. Now add a new stepson to that equation as well - one that remains with me every single day and night, unlike my own kids. This creates a huge conflict for me and I feel like my loyalty is questioned at every turn. How can I convince my kids that they remain the most important thing in my world when I spend so much time with this other kid? How can I avoid Tyler when they are gone and not be an absent and evil stepmother? I have been a huge failure at this balancing act and no matter what I do, someone is slighted and resentful. Not surprising, since after all, I still don’t deserve to be a mother.

I certainly don’t seek any sympathy because I believe we all make choices for which we have to answer. I don’t know anyone that deserves to be a parent. In fact, I truly believe that no matter how great you think you may be, you are likely doing it wrong. We are all flawed and can only do the best we can under the circumstances. I, for one, am horribly flawed. I am often moody, emotionless and hold grudges far longer than I should. I can be selfish, insensitive, lazy and downright mean. But I am also very determined, loyal and focused. I work to direct my emotions into more positive actions like running and writing. I thrive on helping others see their strengths and know success. I vent my thoughts through my writing and hope that someone out there sees my struggle and recognizes it as their own.  I don’t pretend my problems are unique. Many of you struggle with similar issues every day.  Tyler’s mother was right. I don’t deserve to be a mother. But I do the best I can. And that’s okay with me.