Living 40: Rock and Roll Recap - First Half Marathon

I want to remember this one for a while. Goal time? Two hours. My friend Rob paced me and told me on Thursday night we would cross the line at 1:57. Not a bad guess, eh?

Thank you Rob. You were steady the whole way through. You knew I had lost 10 seconds on the hill at mile 5 but stayed calm. (Thank you, Moms Run This Town ladies who were at the bottom of that hill cheering! You made that hill seem a lot smaller.) Rob, you did not freak out around mile 8 when I threw a cup of water on myself. I was wearing a t-shirt and warm leggings - and I was dressed way too warmly. I should've worn shorts or capris. At mile 10, you told me I had two minutes to spare, so I needed to turn it up if I wanted a little more cushion, but I'd be fine if I kept my pace. It was a subtle way to tell me that now was not the time to slow down. If you hadn't been there, I would've walked for a minute because I was tired, at that point. But because you were there, I sped up, and told myself I was sticking to your shoulder. I clocked my fastest mile at the end - 7:56 - the only timed sub-8 minute mile I have ever run - and you knew I was going super fast for me, and again, you just kept up and stayed calm. Knowing you were there meant a lot. And finally, when I misestimated how far away the finish line was, and realized it was a lot closer to 0.3 miles than 0.1 miles away, you just laughed as I grumbled something that rhymes with "go duck".

Loved my negative splits.

Loved my run.

Loved it when a woman who runs by / with me at the track on Thursday mornings drove by my house on Sunday to issue congratulations.

Considering a half marathon trail race this fall and a marathon next year.

On pace to hit 1,000 miles by December 31.

I love you, 40.
Elaine

My Culinary Masterpiece - the Strawbluple

Last winter, Facebook served as conduit to an amazing information exchange. My friend posted about a dessert called a "Cherpumple". Go ahead, check out that link. I'll wait. You want the summary? Three pies baked into three cakes to form one dessert. I was stunned by the notion. Even now, having made my own, I realize it is nothing but ridiculous. But celebrating 40 calls for ridiculous - so GAME ON!

An important note, with the exception of brownies, I don't tend to bake with boxed mixes or frozen goods, so rather than using frozen pies and boxed mixes like the dessert's originator, I'd be baking mine from scratch. Also, I don't like pumpkin pie, so that would need to be subbed out - and I had the ingredients for a strawberry pie and an apple pie already packed away from last season when I froze a few gallons of strawberries (finished just in time for fresh strawberries to appear at the market this season) and picked apples.

Knowing full well that my experiment could fail, and worse, I could be turning three incredible pies and three probably delicious cakes into one mess, I forged on.

Presenting, the making of my Strawblueple. A strawberry pie baked in a dark chocolate cake, a blueberry pie baked in a yellow cake, and an apple pie baked in a cinnamon cake.

Baking night 1 - the pies! I made an oat crust from The Earthbound Cook, and rolled it pretty thick, hoping that would make flipping the pie out of the pan easier. I also lined the bottom of the pie tin with parchment paper and par-cooked the bottom crust for 10 minutes before adding the filler and top crust.I could not risk having a soggy crust that would stick to the pan when I went to flip the pie.

I don't own three appropriately sized cake pans, so the cake baking took place over a few days.

Baking night 2, I made the chocolate cake from a cookbook a friend gifted me at my 30th birthday party. Usually when I bake I have at least one assistant, and often I have two. I had almost forgotten how quickly and how little mess could be made sans assistants. It was a good reminder of why I love baking, which I realize I don't do as much of now as I used to, in part because of the ensuing mess.

Step 1. Mix the cake.

Step 2. The flip worked! There is actually cake batter beneath the pie, but it's hard to see.

Step 3. Bake the cake. Mmmm...

Step 4. Flip out the cake - with the pie baked inside!

And, because I couldn't fathom moving that cake again, it was deemed the bottom layer.

Baking night 3: Repeat the above steps for a yellow cake with the blueberry pie inside. I flipped it out onto one of FOUR identical cookie sheets. That fact is important.

On Friday, baking night 4, I had plans to meet friends for dinner, so after putting the final pie-cake in the oven, I told Ed "I have no idea when it will be done - but the cakes seem to be taking a long time. Please flip the pie-cake out of the pan when it's done", which he agreed to do.

One very important instruction is missing from that list. "Move the blueberry-yellow pie-cake." That, as it turns out, was not a mistake on my part.

For whatever reason, when Ed went to flip the final pie-cake, he decided he had to move the blueberry-yellow pie-cake, and use the pan it was sitting on (rather than one of THREE identical sheet pans we own!). This required Ed to flip the blueberry-yellow pie-cake off it's current baking sheet onto another pan. And that's when structural problems ensued. The blueberry-yellow pie-cake died. When I got home with one of my friends who was spending a couple of nights with me, Ed looked at me soberly and said "I hurt the cake". And there it sat, all gooey and broken. There were questions on my part. There was disappointment. I did not, however, totally lose my cool.

Instead, I shoved the clearly underbaked mess back in the oven and crossed my fingers. Also - I made note of the structural issues and determined that this would be the TOP layer of the Strawbluple.

This is what the blueberry yellow pie-cake looked like BEFORE Ed touched it.

I don't have a photo after it, because I was so stunned. The mess that it had become is NOT something that needs to be documented on film - or digitally, as the case may be. I will say that the kids witnessed the disaster, and both of them noted very early in the morning "Dad did it". Well played children, well played.

However, one cannot let a little collapse get in the way of projects like this. So the next day, I stacked the apple-cinnamon pie-cake on top of the strawberry-chocolate pie-cake, and then piled the rebaked blueberry-yellow pie-cake on top.

Viola! It's taller than Helen's head - which is a pretty tall cake.

The Strawblueple served many people - and was definitely the dessert that just kept on giving. I have to admit that my creation might have gone down a little better with a side insulin. Wow. I was a little jittery after my slice.

Several people asked if I will ever bake this again.

No, I will not. Like many projects, the temptation to do it over is high - given that now I sort of know what I'm doing. However, it truly is a ridiculous dessert, and I can't imagine an occasion that would call for one (except maybe a 50th birthday?). A parent at Helen's school did suggest I could auction this off at the school's annual auction, but that would be way too much pressure. No rebaked, crumbled, blueberry-yellow pie-cakes would be appropriate if someone had actually paid for the dessert.

However, I would make a single layer again. I like the taste of pie and cake together. And I had forgotten how simple it is to bake a pie, so having an excuse to make another seems like a good thing.

If you should try this at home, I have two pieces of advice. First, do not let Ed touch it. Ever. Second, acquire a giant spatula like the one seen in the above photo to serve it. There's no way I could've transferred slides of the Strawbluple to a plate without that monster spatula.

Elaine

On Turning 40

Dear Helen and Connor,

Today, I'm 40 years old. I don't know when you'll read this, but however old you are, I hope you know that I'm not the kind of person who pretends I'm a different age (though if you ask me how old I am, I swear the number that comes to mind is 27, and I am almost always surprised when I calculate that it's much higher than that). I claim my years. I'm proud that I've made it through every imperfect one of them. I know how lucky I am to be alive.

I'm also lucky to be your mom. I've seen your first steps, heard your first sentences (Turn 'da mixer off! and Helen made a mess!), and you've given me a million memories to fuel my soul. Why I have trouble recalling those memories sometimes, I do not know. But they're in my heart, and many are recorded on this blog as well. It's a great joy for me to reread them. Connor, you have mentioned that it would be nice if I made you a book full of photos and stories. I haven't yet told you about this blog, but that wish brought me a lot of happiness. I hope you find what you're looking for in these blog pages.

I've thought a lot about what I would tell you on turning 40, and the thing that always comes back to me is how exceedingly lucky I am. I hope you never underestimate what a huge role luck plays in your lives. We don't have a lot of control in this world. Terrible things happen, wonderful things happen - and almost all of them are completely unexplainable, or their explanations ring hollow if given more than a moment's thought. I urge you not to dwell on either. Just keep moving forward - luck can turn on a dime. And wear a hat when it's sunny!

When you are your age, your lives are filled with good news. Something new is happening - a discovery on the playground, a friendship develops, a teacher gives birth, you learn to tie shoes (even you, Connor, and trust me we are all amazed)! When you hit your twenties and thirties, friends are getting married, babies are being born, careers are being realized, you learn to demand a raise! Announcements typically mean good things. When someone comes up to you and asks if you have a minute, they almost always divulge some lovely secret that is filled with hope and promise. Wonder abounds.

As my children, you both provide a great buffer to news at 40. Because news at 40 is not as kind as news even 20 years ago. Forty tries to beat you down. A friend has cancer, a friend has ALS, a friend dies, in fact, more than one friend dies. Friends of friends are dying. It almost seems impossible. When I was 24 and a very close friend died, most of my peers really couldn't know how I felt. Today? I can mention in passing some awful piece of news I'm digesting and the friend next to me knows exactly what I'm going through. Chances are, they're going through it, too. At 40, you know what to wear to a funeral. You wished you had to call your mom to ask, but you don't have to anymore. (And some people even wish they had a mom to call, and I am so lucky that mine is still around!) You even receive notes that say "if you want to say good-bye, NOW is the time to do it". Those notes are dreadful, though I'm grateful they are sent. I have never regretted responding immediately, rather than waiting for just the right thing to say. Trust me on this one, when you receive these notes, don't wait. Just act.

Forty, as it turns out, can be lonely. Forty will sometimes find you crying silently and biting your lip. Forty sometimes bursts into tears. I am learning that forty requires a very positive attitude. Forty makes you grateful for the memories you built at 20 - and before. Forty also sometimes mixes words up. Forgive me for this, it confuses me, too.

Your dad recently told me that he thinks people often mistake me for someone younger than I am, and he thinks it's because I smile a lot. I hope when you're forty, you smile a lot, too. I mean every one of those smiles. I love being in this dimension. And for as many days as you are granted here, I hope you love them, too.

Forty comes with confidence. You can ask a complete stranger in the bathroom if she has a spare tampon. You can send work back when it's not done correctly, rather than staying late and correcting it yourself. You can remain calm when the world around you spins out of control. Forty can say "I'm sorry" - and mean it. Forty also allows you to accept that help that you were too proud to accept before because you really did believe you needed to do it all. On the rare occasion that I find myself with a child at the grocery store, I say "yes" when asked whether I'd like help with my bags. I appreciate that help, and I don't mind waiting for the checker to find someone to help.

Forty allows you to sing really loudly on the way to school. Forty can tell the officer that just pulled you over that indeed, you missed that stop sign. And when that officer asks if it's your first visit to the park, you can confidently answer back "No sir, I've been here dozens of times. I have no explanation for missing that stop sign." And if you're me, he will check your license and tell you to have a nice day. Because at forty, you're somehow able to communicate silently that you're doing the best you can, and sometimes, no foul no harm is the name of the day. I do promise I'll stop next time, though.

Forty with kids celebrates life. Just this year, I've enjoyed a bike ride down to the cherry blossoms with Connor self propelling the whole way and Helen happily cruising along on the trailer bike waving to onlookers as if she were in some sort of parade. I've watched you both play soccer. I've seen Connor hit the ball hard, catch the ball, and run with more determination that I would've thought possible a few years ago. Where did that little wandering boy go? I've also enjoyed both of you coming up with mostly logical answers to sometimes perplexing problems. It's a lot of good news, to be sure. I am even learning to laugh inside at the foot-stomping insistence of an absolute untruth - as Helen refuses to believe the world operates in a way other than how she imagines it. I hope by the time you read this you're still standing your ground, Helen. Insistent and smiling can be a formidable force.

You both remind me how much fun snow can be (even when it falls on March 25!), how many colors of flowers exist, and wondering if, in fact, it's possible to ever touch the sky. We've tried so hard, jumping and bouncing. If anyone can do it, Helen, it's you. Ad astra per aspera. We've danced in the rain, gone on scavenger hunts, and enjoyed a lot of ice cream together. I will warn you - all this ice cream has a downside at 40 that didn't seem to be present before this! Really. At 40, you have to choose which dessert you're going to sample at the party, instead of eating them both. Until then - eat them both and love every minute of it. And when you're 40 - start lifting weights and running. Cross your fingers that the pounds fall before the knees give out. It sometimes feels like a desperate race. But I'm living proof that the race is far from over. Since November when I entered a 5K with no training outside of chasing kids to now, I've seen my race times drop from 10 minute miles to 8:43 miles. I'm gunning for 8 minute miles now - and then I'm going to start increasing race distances. Run, Mommy, run!

I've spent the past year trying to live a more contemplative life while at the same time trying to live in exactly this moment. I've been thinking about how powerful 40 can be. It's a large enough number to demand to be taken seriously. It's got enough punch behind it to know that the person turning 40 likely has a strong foundation from which to draw. It's an age that begs of the owner to shed the weight (both physical and meta-physical). It's an age ripe for challenge. Bring it, 40. I'm ready!

And just in case you're listening, 40 - you may be intent on kicking my backside with all your unfortunate news. But you know what? I'm going to crush you. I won't spend one moment hoping for 41 or wishing for 39. Because this year? I am 40. And oh, how lucky I am - to be forty.

Hope to see you the same time, next year!
Elaine

Facing 40: We Run This Town

I want my kids to know they can push their bodies into doing almost anything they want. I want them to know that they don't have to be first, but it's a wonderful thing to finish. I realized, recently, that one of the rewarding things about running at my pace, is that since everyone running near me knows we are not going to win, there really is a feeling of everyone encouraging everyone else to keep going and finish.

I'll probably never be as fast as Ed. I used to run so slowly that it was actually painful for him to run with me, although he would occasionally try. For our 8K back in March, he ran with me most of the way, possibly because he knew it meant a lot to me to run sub-10 minute miles (which I did!), and keeping up with him was part of my race plan. However, as Ed was running with me, he was chatting away, clearly at leisure. I was grunting "yes" huff, puff, "no", huff, puff until finally Ed realized that I just can't talk when I'm running. It takes everything I have to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

Connor's elementary school held a 5K and 1 mile fun run last weekend. I signed the whole family up. A mile is a long way for both Helen and Connor, but they had 30 minutes to complete it, and with enough walking, I was confident they'd finish. And they did!

Connor ran somewhere around an 11 minute mile - which is to say - he ran at about an 8 minute mile pace, walked, and then dashed off again. He was fast when he was running. I started off with him and he left me in the dust. Thankfully, he started walking not too far into the race so I could catch up with him. Helen trotted along with Ed and it was pure glee when she caught up to Connor and me. At that point, Ed took off with Connor and I ran / walked the rest of the way with Helen.

Helen ran / walked for 13:15. And she came in strong. As I ran with her across the finish line, I showed her how to pump her fists in the air and cheer for herself. You Go Girl!

The great thing about running at an elementary school is that there are a lot of parents cheering on all of the kids. It's a great environment for a first run.

Connor liked the donuts after the race.

After completing the mile, Ed and I went on to run the 5K. He left me in the dust pretty quickly. He ran sub-8 minute miles. I'm not sure I'll ever get that fast - although I'm now hoping to get to an 8 minute mile by next year.

I finished the race in 27:05, which is good for an 8:43 minute mile. This is, by far, the fastest I have ever run - and almost 40 seconds per minute faster than I ran in March.

Check out that heel-to-toe form I still have at the finish as well as the fancy new running shoes I treated myself to after I nearly injured myself at the March run, wearing shoes with literally no support left in them.

Next up? Run Amuck at Quantico. Ed and I both need to practice our push-ups and monkey bars before the race, since those are two of the obstacles in the course.

Elaine

Utility

Economists often talk about utility in the sense of trying to understand how much a person prefers one thing to another. For example, I have higher utility when I eat a tart apple (which I love) than when I eat a mushy apple (which I do not like). Because utility is measuring a set of preferences within an individual, one cannot compare utilities across individuals. How much happiness I get out of something cannot be compared with how much happiness you get out of something. It's just not measurable.

In another light, one could simply think about how another person's happiness cannot diminish my own happiness (there is no known set of happiness that we all draw from, and when it's used up, it's gone). Think about that for a minute. There is enough happiness for everyone.

Having children can be a great reminder of this. The first crocus spotted by Helen at Lubber Run park brings shrieks of joy, and each wave of this growing season has washed in more excitement. The snow drops defy the snow that is falling. The daffodils march right through the dirt and pop out right on schedule, even as cold days threaten. In fact, it seems like only the cherry blossoms are hanging onto their winter rest right now - but that'll change in the coming days. These, too, will make Helen laugh when she's sees them. Her happiness just grows and grows. It's like she knows what so many of us are striving to learn - that there is enough happiness for everyone. And, the crocus she spotted will be magical to the next spotter. That spotter's find is not diminished by the first spotter's find, just as the magic Helen felt was not diminshed by an earlier hiker in the park.

This year, I'm working hard to live in this moment. What I have learned so far, is that it means I have given up jealousy. There is no need for it, after all. It is not even possible to compare my utility and your utility. The things you have will make you happy, and I still have all the things I need for my own happiness. On top of that, I am happy for your happiness.

It's actually easy to give up jealousy. The harder job is teaching Helen and Connor about utility. It's not fair and accusations of one child being treated better than another abound. And so I tell them the parable again - about the workers who came last getting paid the same as the workers who came first. It's not fair isn't the way to look at it at all. Each worker was given exactly what they were promised. If some worked less, it doesn't matter. It didn't change at all the first worker receiving exactly what they were promised.

I have never been so free, or happy. Join me.

Elaine

Facing 40 - 8K

Last year, my fitness resolution was to complete 108 consecutive sun salutations. I did it. Twice. I'll do it again at some point. I found it to be very empowering.

This year, one of my fitness resolutions was to run 5 miles at a sub-10 minute pace. While this is clearly not a record breaking speed (the fastest runner in my race ran a 4:57 mile) it's lightning fast for me. You see, I run a 10 minute mile. I did that in 2004 when I completed a triathlon and I did it again over Thanksgiving when I completed a Turkey Trot. Those are the only timed running events I have ever participated in. In short, I am not a runner.

But I long to be a runner - to have one of those sleek runner bodies that just says "healthy" when it walks into a room. Not small. Not weak. But here to stand its ground.

So at the start of the year, I started running. I ran in the neighborhood when it wasn't too cold. I ran in the basement on a treadmill Ed and I purchased back in our Crystal City days which no longer keeps track of pace. I even ran in the gym in my office (shudder!). I also had a personal trainer visit me at home which I highly recommend to anyone who wants to change the shape of their body. I am stronger, today, than I was at the start of the year. My softer parts are turning to muscle.

Last Sunday, I made my first attempt at completing my running resolution. I participated in the St. Patrick's Day 8K - which is a super flat course, so probably one of the better chances I had at meeting my goal. My plan was to keep up with Ed for as long as I could. Then, I would attempt to keep running (no walking - except through water stations if desperate).

I kept up with Ed for most of the race. And when he left me, I sensed I had a legitimate shot at meeting my goal. I was passing as many people as I was being passed by - and except for a surprise turn in the course which lengthened it by a couple of blocks - I could see the finish line. I remembered the words my friend Billy had told me "You just have to want to finish it more than you want to quit" and I kept going, at the fastest pace I could manage. And in the end?

I ran for 46 minutes and 29 seconds - which is good enough for a 9:21 mile. I was / am exceedingly proud of myself. When I got home, Connor asked me how I did. I told him I wanted to finish in 50 minutes, but I finished in just under 47 minutes. Even he could tell how proud I was and he extended his congratulations.

I wouldn't yet say I'm a runner - but I will tell you I'm treating myself to a new pair of shoes and look forward to pounding the pavement more in the near future.

Also, yesterday morning Helen looked at my belly and rather than asking hopefully whether there was a baby inside, she said excitedly "Mom, your belly is really flat. Mine is bigger than yours now!".

40 - I'm coming for you in May. I'll be stronger, leaner, and faster than I've been since 2004 when I completed that triathlon. More important? I'll stand my ground.

Elaine