Songs of Experience

It’s been a while since I’ve ranted, so here goes.
I just started reading Ann Crittenden’s “The Price of Motherhood” and my blood is boiling. If I were one of those geeked-out runners who wore a heart rate monitor all the time, mine would be around 190 right now – about what an all out 400m feels like for a 45 year-old. Anyway, here’s a Crittenden quote from a Q & A interview I found online:

Q: What is meant by “the price of motherhood?”

A: For the average college-educated woman who leaves the workforce to care for a child, that probably amounts to about a million dollars in lifetime earnings she left behind. Yet American mothers are not only not paid for all the work they do, but are also penalized for it-in terms of lost income if they stay at home, an inflexible job market that makes part-time work scarce or inadequately paid, and in the case of divorce, they’re refused family assets by divorce laws that don’t count their unpaid work. Unpaid female labor-raising the citizens of tomorrow-is the priceless, invisible heart of the economy. Those in this “unpaid labor force” deserve the same rights and respect as other workers.

I have known all this for years, but because I have been so busy caring for my 3 daughters pretty much round-the-clock it wasn’t until I decided (finally) to go back to somewhat “real” work that I realized the colossal injustice of it all. I hope my husbands (that includes my ex, whom I hold dear as family still) don’t get too pissed off when/if they read this … but we moms in the U.S. really do operate under a double-bind situation. Once a woman has a child it is up to her to figure out how, when, and if she will ever be able to leave domestic servitude again. Almost all fathers I know go right back to work after they have their little 3-6 weeks of paid paternity leave while the young mothers – suddenly home all day every day – have to come up with their own solution to how they will return to their careers. It is not society’s problem; it is a painfully private [secret?] dilemma that every single mother faces if she has ambition to do or be anything outside of the home. In many cases, the grandmothers step in (either a woman’s mother or her mother-in-law) to take over the primary caregiving of the infant. But, I imagine, they aren’t paid for their work either. Grandmothers do it out of their “selfless love” for their children; they want their daughters to be happy and fulfilled in their careers without worrying that Baby is stuck in some 10-hour daycare setting, being rotated like a turkey (change, feed, burp, nap, repeat) with a dozen other Butterballs.

When I left this week to travel to a race with my new CAC athletes it was a business trip. My daughters are old enough now to understand that mommy will be back in 2 days. I had no guilt or hesitation leaving, but as I drove away I did ponder why I had to give up 10 years of momentum in my career. When I left the coaching profession 10 years ago, I was on a fast track [no pun intended] mostly because there are so few female coaches in track and field, and now as I try to return to this mostly-male profession as a middle-aged woman, I realize I will probably never “make it.” I will coach individuals to FAST times, no doubt … but I won’t ever command a big salary at a major university because I missed that boat. If you want to be a mother, you have to choose between the BIG boat or the little dinghy.

At the end of a coffee meeting with one of my CAC athletes (Carrboro Athletics Club), after the usual talk about training [its a good thing that your legs aren't dead; don't worry, you are working hard enough] and race schedules [I like the idea of opening your track season with a race over and under your chosen distance ... i.e. run an early 5,000m, then an 800m before racing the 1,500m], I tossed this out: “What are your terms, Jason?”

“I don’t understand the question.”

“Your terms for success,” I said. What must be in place in your life, in your relationships, in your training, in your racing, etc. for you to succeed? State those terms and don’t settle for anything less.”

“Give me some examples.”

Hmmm … I thought. “For instance, after the 1988 Olympic Trials 10k, I decided to run only what I enjoyed – the 1,500m and the 3k. People thought I was crazy for moving down in distance instead of up to the marathon. Also, I decided I was NEVER going to be a high-mileage advocate, despite what the going theory argued. My terms were low mileage quality/intensity over LSD quantity. Also, I swore I’d never rabbit a race.

This last term gave me pause; it sounded so selfish and, well, UN-Christian. You know how the Bible says you can’t serve two masters? Everything in my life served my running. My terms were strict and necessary … back then.

But now, at age 45, my terms have changed. I don’t think I fully realized this until I lined up for the CAC 5k road race time trial back in March. When the gun went off, I instinctively bolted out to position myself in the front pack … but not for myself, not for my own race. I wanted to hit the mile marker in 5:40 not so I could win the prize, but so they would hit the time. Sub-18:00 was required and I was the rabbit for the job.

Here I am, below, as two future CAC athletes, run away from me toward their finish line. “Go, Caroline! Go, Sarah!”

I sent this to my Janes today …

Hello moms,
I don’t know about the rest of you, but I am feeling the effects of May madness for moms. Maybe they invented mother’s day for May because it is the month when we get completely squeezed out of the picture of our own lives. In seasons past the Janes’ attendance rate in May always fell off and everyone felt “guilty” for missing …. so a late April goal race is perfect for peace of running mind. But what about peace in the rest of our lives? I was searching around on the net to find a suitable quote or reading to give words to this feeling and here’s a nugget I found. The writer is a blogger [Julie Leung] who links to SoE, by the way! I am giving you the story half-way in (the first part is that she had some scary abdominal pain and went to the ER …)

“I’ll fast forward the rest of the story. Ted and the girls waited for me for three hours while I sat in the exam room, staring at the gray curtain pulled around me from the ceiling. Blood and urine were tested, my body was poked and examined to eliminate various possibilities (dooce’s post yesterday was an appropriate one for me). Although the nurse on the phone had mentioned an x-ray and so did the ER nurse practitioner at first, it seemed that imaging wasn’t necessary after all. I had an IV for the first time and medicine was delivered through the tube in my arm. When the pain went away, that seemed to eliminate the serious possibilities. I was sent home with a note stating my diagnosis of Abdominal Pain of Unknown Cause.

I’m grateful! I’m thankful for my patient husband, Ted, and our daughters who waited for me. I’m glad my nurse practitioner was so helpful, explaining everything. I’m thankful nothing major was wrong. And I’m thankful for Dooce and her sense of humor again in her timely post yesterday that gave me a smile in the midst of the ER: As I lay there, feet perched in horse stirrups stamped with ZOLOFT ZOLOFT ZOLOFT, I thought to myself, please. Take your time. This, this is just so lovely.

The tests and monitoring though revealed a couple concerns that I need to pursue with my primary care physician next week. I feel frustrated. I guess I still think of myself as young. I think of myself as healthy. I eat well, for the most part. I exercise. How can I have problems?

I’ve lost a brother and others I’ve loved in life. I spent much of my childhood seeing my brother sick, watching him in the hospital, knowing he could die. Yet it was something else to meet the possibility of my own mortality for the first time face to face.

I cried last night. I was tired. I was exhausted after days of busyness and dehydration, summer weather finally arriving in Seattle. I cry easily and it is a way I react to stressful situations, my response, my release of feelings. I didn’t want to go to the ER. That evening, we had planned to take our other car to the shop. We’ve been planning to service the other car for months and we had finally made the appointment. I wanted to get that task done. However, I knew I didn’t feel well enough to drive an hour to the shop. I felt guilty that Ted and the girls had to wait for me hours and hours. I kept wondering how they were doing. I worried how much this trip to the ER would cost, and what effect it would have on our future applications for health insurance. Alone in my exam room I finally had a chance to rest and let down after intense days spent running to activities against a ticking clock.

Sure I was scared. But I think I may have also been mourning my youth. Yes, some people are sick from birth, like my brother. However, I guess I assumed I would be healthy until I was older.

Ronni at Time Goes By posted a refreshing essay last week (possibly written by Anne LaMott) that’s stayed in my mind, especially this paragraph.

And I know the truth that l am not going to live forever, and this has set me free. Eleven years ago, when my friend Pammy was dying at the age of 37 we went shopping at Macy’s. She was in a wheelchair, with a wig and three weeks to live. I tried on a short dress and came out to model it for Pammy. I asked if she thought it made me look big in the thighs, and she said, so kindly, “Annie? You just don’t have that kind of time.” I live by this story.

Recently I also discovered Rhymes with Drowning, a blog written by a man who lost the love of his life to an unusual cancer last year. She was 35. His words leave me without words and remind me of truth, perhaps especially because his family is young, like ours.

I’m not going to live forever. This morning may be my last. Or I could have another ten thousand sunrises to see. Either way, I now know I need to take better care of myself. My first duty is to my daughters. But that also means taking care of their mommy, not ignoring her needs for theirs. I don’t want my days to be overloaded with what shouldn’t be important or merit even a moment of consideration. There’s both an urgency and a peace in me. What do I want to see painted on the canvas or sung in the song that is my existence here? Who will know I loved them? What will last from my life? I’d been planning to examine myself and yesterday’s emergency room trip only intensified my desire to simplify and focus. How am I spending the hours I’ve been given? What is it I want to do before I die? What am I wasting with worry about silly things? The clock is ticking. I just don’t have that kind of time.”

-from: http://www.julieleung.com/archives/001961.html

After hanging on to questionable fitness since January, I managed to box my way out of a paper bag last night at the Duke Twilight meet to break a US age group record in the 1,500m. I ran 4:43 . . . still not a sub-5:00 mile (which was my “radical” goal this year – ha! how odd that is to actually write down – radical goal – when I used to run mile repeats between 4:50 and 5:00). Anyway, after the race an “old guy” friend of my said the most sensible thing: “Just think, Joan, you won’t have to hurt like that for another five years – when you turn 50!” Indeed. Does anyone remember the Mike Myers character on Saturday Night Live named Deiter? At the end of his faux-European talk show, Sprockets, he would look at the camera and announce, “And now it is time on Sprockets when we dance,” then launch into hilarious gyrations. Well, now it is time on Nesbits when I dance.

U2 LYRICS

“Running To Stand Still”

And so she woke up
Woke up from where she was
Lying still
Said I gotta do something
About where we’re going

Step on a steam train
Step out of the driving rain, maybe
Run from the darkness in the night
Singing ha, ah la la la de day
Ah la la la de day
Ah la la de day

Sweet the sin
Bitter taste in my mouth
I see seven towers
But I only see one way out

You got to cry without weeping
Talk without speaking
Scream without raising your voice

You know I took the poison
From the poison stream
Then I floated out of here
Singing…ha la la la de day
Ha la la la de day
Ha la la de day

She runs through the streets
With her eyes painted red
Under black belly of cloud in the rain
In through a doorway she brings me
White gold and pearls stolen from the sea
She is raging
She is raging
And the storm blows up in her eyes
She will…

Suffer the [needle] chill
She’s running to stand…

Still.

Puppy and I

I met a Man as I went walking:
We got talking,
Man and I.
“Where are you going to, Man?” I said
(I said to the Man as he went by).
“Down to the village, to get some bread.
Will you come with me?” “No, not I.”

I met a horse as I went walking;
We got talking,
Horse and I.
“Where are you going to, Horse, today?”
(I said to the Horse as he went by).
“Down to the village to get some hay.
Will you come with me?” “No, not I.”

I met a Woman as I went walking;
We got talking,
Woman and I.
“Where are you going to, Woman, so early?”
(I said to the Woman as she went by).
“Down to the village to get some barley.
Will you come with me?” “No, not I.”

I met some Rabbits as I went walking;
We got talking,
Rabbits and I.
“Where are you going in your brown fur coats?”
(I said to the Rabbits as they went by).
“Down to the village to get some oats.
Will you come with us?” “No, not I.”

I met a Puppy as I went walking;
We got talking,
Puppy and I.
“Where are you going this nice fine day?”
(I said to the Puppy as he went by).
“Up to the hills to roll and play.”
“I’ll come with you, Puppy,” said I.