Tuesday, April 14, 2015

Shaking things up

I turned 40 last week...
I have good feelings about my age, so there's really not much to expound upon.
If anything, I'm like, "yay! I got here, let's keep going."
Every day, every year is a gift. As long as I can keep moving & laughing, I can handle anything (I think).
I've been riding a few times a week and it feels so amazing to be back on trails, back in short sleeves, back in the saddle (literally).
I've also been running and have recently challenged myself to a few trail races (10Ks). While I'm not setting the trails on fire with my pace or anything, I'm really digging it.
I find myself thinking about my mom a lot whenever I run/"race." Running was her thing and I like to think I'm channeling my inner Mare when I want to pass someone or when I need to push harder.
All these years, I've shared so many interests & pursuits with my dad (which is awesome, don't get me wrong) and I wish my mom was here to see me embrace something she was so great at.
I mean, who really cares about you placing third in your age group?
Your mom, that's who...

I've decided no mountain bike races for me this season...none, not even "for fun", not even our team race (On the Rocks at French Creek, my fave).
Races cost money and races eat up a whole day.
I'd rather spend the cash on a babysitter and ride with my husband.
Check in with me come fall, though...
I bet I'll be gearing up for a few cross races.

What else?
My dad & I took the kids to see my brother last week.
The worst part of visiting him is when we're in the little "holding pen" (after we've checked in, before we're called back to go to the visiting room).
I always feel uneasy and anxious, thinking about the day he'll finally come through the same door carrying all his possessions, a free man. I worry about all that has transpired since his sentence commenced and I worry about all that can still transpire in the coming years.
But, then we're called back and there's Rob and all is (mostly) well.
He showed Max a few card tricks, read a book to Maeve (Brown Bear, Brown Bear), and shared a mountain of microwave popcorn with us (he's got to be the only inmate who covers a tray with napkins and dumps out THREE bags of popcorn onto it).
I always feel so mentally exhausted (not necessarily in a bad way, but it's a very emotionally taxing experience) after visiting my brother and am almost thankful for the long ride home to sort of decompress (until the kids start coming unglued about 25 miles from our exit).
So that's that...two+ years to go {sigh}.

Having said all that, I guess I'm not exactly shaking things up after all.
But, I don't know what else to call this post.
Drawing has taken the place of writing for a while now. The little bit of writing I do consists of letters to my brother and my friend, Kate, in Colorado.
When the house is quiet, I like to zone out with my colored pencils and just draw draw draw...

Shaking things up?
Not quite...

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