Kristy Maute

Marathon Dreaming through the Funk

The only running that took place this weekend in our house was from the couch to the bathroom. It was a not a good weekend in our household. Friday morning I woke up feeling weird. It felt like morning sickness. I couldn’t tell if I was starving or ready to throw up. Before I got Cole to the bus stop, I was throwing up in the bathroom. Cole was off to school, and it was just Chet and I. My stomach was not happy. I made at least four more trips to the bathroom that morning before 10 am. I finally felt like I had everything out of me and was recovery. Chet went down for his nap and round 2 hit. This time I sent my husband a text pleading with him to come home. My mother-in-law came to my rescue (my mom was home with the same issue). Christian got home early. He entertained the boys. Shortly after dinner, it hit him too. He spent his evening in the bathroom. My mother-in-law came back over. Thank goodness because I think Cole would have gone to bed starving if she hadn’t brought him dinner.

Saturday we took turns napping. We washed our hands like crazy. We kept our fingers crossed that the boys wouldn’t be affected.

Today, Sunday, I finally feel human. I’ve spent the day doing laundry, scrubbing surfaces, and finally enjoying some play time with Chet and Cole.

In the midst of all this sickness, I’ve been laying on the couch a lot. Knowing I was missing my last official long run (22+ miles before I head into my taper), I’ve been playing the what-if game about my marathon. Three weeks from today, I will have crossed the finish line.

What if….

…I have a dream run. Most of my long runs have been good. They’ve all felt comfortable. My legs have never screamed at me. My mental struggles have all been emotional. Besides my 17 mile I am broken run, I have loved them all (and I really loved that one too).

…I run faster than I’m expecting. All of my long runs have included trails so I have no idea what pace to expect on race day. For some reason I’ve had a number between 4:30 and 4:45 in my head since I started.

…I let myself really dream. I swore I wouldn’t set a time goal for myself since this is my first marathon. My only goal is to learn what it means to run 26.2 miles. BUT if I have that dream run, if I run faster than I’m expecting, I really think a sub 4:30 is in my reach.

…My 20-miler had an average moving pace of 10:19 with 4 miles of trails. My 18-miler was at 10:24 pace and more than half the miles were trails. My 17-miler was a 10:39 pace and most of the miles were trails. To go sub 4:30, I need to average a 10:18 min/mile.

Do I let myself dream big? Do I go in expecting a safe outcome? I know that no matter what I’m not going to be disappointed on race day. I’ve absolutely loved the process of training for this race. I’ve cried, laughed, grown, shattered, and healed on every single one of my runs.

I know race day will tell me the story I need to hear, but these next three weeks might drive the type-A portion of my personality crazy. How many pace calculators can I use between now and race day? Dream big? Dream safely? I think we all know I’m dreaming big on the inside….

In the meantime, I’m going to attempt that 20+ miler run tomorrow before taper mode officially takes over (and I’m running all my miles on the road to try to get an idea of my real road pace!)

Dream Big Little Baby! Chet chasing his brother as Cole ran a mile around the block! — Dream Big Little Baby! Dream Big! Chet chasing his brother as Cole ran a mile around the block!

Lighter

This weekend I ran a half marathon from my front door. This run was everything I need it to be. It was fast (for me). It was easy (relatively speaking). It was fun. It felt good. It was refreshing. It was joyous. It was one of those really good runs you wish you could repeat every weekend. It was light. It was one of those runs you crave after a bad run. It was one of those runs you remind yourself of after that bad run to keep yourself moving forward. I ran smart and finished fast (my fastest mile was mile 13). It was exactly what I needed at this point in my training.

Four weeks until my marathon. Next weekend calls for 20 plus miles, and then I taper.

I was mentally fading. Running through a cold winter that has been so emotionally heavy has had me feeling exhausted. After last weekends 20 miler, I was feeling proud. I was feeling optimistic. But I was so tired.

My new unofficial half marathon PR this weekend gave me the boost I needed. It refilled my energy level. My training plan is working. I finally feel like I’m going to cross the finish line of my marathon in four weeks. (!!!!!!!)

13.16 miles in 2:07:51 (9:43 pace)

New Territory: I am Doing it.

There are two mistakes one can make along the road to truth…not going all the way, and not starting. ~Buddha

This journey I have been on to cross the finish line of a marathon really isn’t about the marathon. It is and it isn’t. The end goal is to run 26.2 miles, but the joy comes from the process. The learning comes from all the hours I’ve dedicated to running since I decided I wanted to conquer this distance. Today my run took me into new territory for the first time in this training cycle. Twenty miles were written on my training plan.

I’ve been babying a very angry hip since my 18 mile run. It’s ached. It’s been uncomfortable. It’s spread into my leg causing me to have a few private freak outs about stress fractures and injuries (again). I’ve been tiptoeing around my training. I ran an easy 10+ miles last weekend to test it out. It survived. I nursed it again all this week. Friday night I attending my yin yoga class. In a weird crazy bend your legs in opposite directions while seated, twist, and touch your head to the floor behind you pose, my left hip let out a scream. I modified and settled into the pose comfortable. For several minutes we sat in this pose, breathing, and sinking into it deeper. It touched the very spot that has been hurting for weeks. Post-yoga, my hip pain was gone. It only resurfaced slightly this morning as I set out to run.

At least we only got rain. I could have been snowed in this weekend.

My first 7 miles I ran solo. I hit the trails for a mental release. As I made my way towards the boat ramp, I came face to face with another runner. A small river separated us and blocked the trail. After a lot of search, neither one of us could find anything to create a temporary bridge. He took a leap of faith to a log and carefully walked to my side. I could do it too. He was much taller than me, and his legs were twice as long, but I could do it. I crossed the log and crossed my fingers. My leap of faith almost worked. I fell just short resulting in one very wet right shoe. At mile three of a 20 mile training run, I couldn’t worry about it too much. It had 17 miles to dry. At mile 5 on the trails, I came to another closed trail. High tide had washed it away. I decide to call it quits on the trails at this point since I was spending a lot of time thinking and coming up with alternative routes to mud puddles and missing trails.

At mile 7, my friend Rachael joined me for the rest of my run. We ran through a neighborhood I’ve never explored. I think I found the only hills in Virginia Beach. I think I also found my future training route when I’m preparing for my hilly half-marathon in Nashville. The next 10 miles flew by. She brought the most delicious orange with her that she shared. She saved me when I realized I was starving and forgot my fuel in my car. She held my extra stuff in the stroller she was pushing (Yes! She pushed her son the whole way! Super woman!). She kept me going (and talking and smiling) on this 20 mile run.

I’m at a cycle right now in my training where miles are becoming mentally tough. I’m having a hard time finding excitement leaving the house for 3+ hours of running. Once my feet are on the road, I’m okay. I’ve been training almost completely solo this time. I’ve experienced so many emotion filled runs in the past few months. I’ve carried the weight of loss and grief and sadness. This run was light. It was comforting. The miles started to get tough around mile 17, but I’ve shed everything that holds me back. There was no I can’t, what if I don’t, maybe I shouldn’t. Although I’ve hit a mental wall (for now), I’ve also transition to a place of just doing. I ran 20 miles because I can run 20 miles. Having my friend run with me gave me back the ability to enjoy every mile for what it was – easy and hard.

Today’s run, like every run so far, was exactly what I needed. I conquered 20 miles. I enjoyed the companionship of a good friend. I dismissed my worries about injury and not finishing this journey. I am doing it. One mile at a time. I am doing it. My marathon is right around the corner.

20.01 miles in 3:31:01 (10:33 pace) on trails, through a hilly neighborhood, and along the beach.

(Normally I don’t put much value on my moving pace versus average pace, but since today I spent a lot of time standing and thinking, I think it’s worth noting. Average Moving Pace: 10:19)

I still can't believe I ran 20 miles — I still can’t believe I ran 20 miles

Loving vs Labeling

In the midst of saying goodbye to Christian’s father, I sought out a fine balance for how much I wanted Cole to know about death and dying. How much did I want him to see? In the few days that my father-in-law was in hospice care and in the hospital, he changed rapidly. He went from being the man I love to a man I didn’t recognize. He was dying. Cole is a very aware eight year old. He feels things deeply, yet his brain is so scientific. He wants answers for everything. X plus Y must equal Z. If they don’t, he will dissect it until it does make sense. We discussed his grandpa’s health. I asked him what he wanted to know. I allowed him to hide behind his book during one of several short visits I made with him. We never took him to the hospital.

After the first visit, Christian was saying good night to Cole. He told him he loved him. He told him he was happy to be his dad even if he was his stepdad. He was proud to have him as his son. Cole responded:

The step doesn’t matter. It’s all the same.

As you can imagine, this brought tears to Christian’s eyes. It made me proud as a mother. It doesn’t matter. It has never mattered in our house. Step dad and step mom don’t exist. Half brothers and sisters are just brothers and sisters. Cole has moms and dads. He has two brothers and a sister. Cole’s Grandpa John has loved him since the moment he met him. Cole has always been his grandson. It’s no different from his love for his other grandchildren. It’s all the same.

The night that Grandpa John passed away, Cole curled up in my lap. He cried. Christian curled up on the other side. He cried. We all sat in a puddle of tears together. My tears couldn’t be distinguished from Cole’s or Christian’s tears. We cried as a family. While Christian went to the hospital and later to his mom’s house, Cole and I laid in his bed. I was reading John’s caringbridge site. Cole asked if he could sign the journal. As I prepared to type his words, he asked to do it himself. He requested that I look away until he posted it:

Written Jan 27, 2013 9:54pm

Grandpa,

He past away on a full moon and high tide.I loved him very much,and i’m happy I got to meet him and he got to meet me and every one else.

But im very sad he past away but he’ll all ways be in our heart

Cole Maute

Sweet words from a grandson to his grandfather. It touched my heart deeply to know he wanted to say goodbye. I read it again and again. On my third reading, I noticed his name. Cole’s last name isn’t Maute. My last name is Maute. John’s last name is Maute. Cole shares a last name with his father. It really is all the same. We don’t share a last name with our son, but he is a Maute in his heart. He is loved by our entire family. He loves our entire family. Because love is such an amazing thing, he shares that same love with his dad’s side of the family too.

He may not share a last name with his grandpa, but he was his grandson. He may not share a last name with Christian, but he is his son. I don’t even share a last name with him, but there isn’t a love that compares to my love for Cole.

Grandpa and Cole burying Christian at the beach

The labels and identifiers we put on things in life do not matter. Last names. Mom. Dad. Stepdad. Half brother. Runner. Yogi. Writer. Brother. Sister. Doctor. Teacher. President. Boss. Employee. Student. None of these labels matter. They mean nothing if they aren’t rooted in love. It’s the love in our hearts that defines who we are and the relationships we have with those around us. It’s the love that we have for what we do that matters most.

Find love, share love, spread love, and embrace love in everything you do and with everyone you meet.

It’s love that really matters.

Celebrating One Year

Since Chet will be 13 months tomorrow, it’s about time I get his last monthly update on my blog. One year has come and gone. My baby boy is in full on toddler mode. He walks. He runs. He talks. He laughs from deep within his belly. Because life has been a whirlwind, I don’t know what happened last month or this month, so this will be a compilation of all things Chet as he finished up the first year of his life.

Teeth: 7 with at least 3 more on the way. He finally moved passed 4.

Eating: Hello real foods. He eats what we eat.

Nursing: I quit pumping at a year. He also quit wanting a bottle with my mom, so the timing was perfect. He has also quit wanting to nurse during the day over the past few weeks. Now we nurse in the morning and before bed. And can I please get a high-five for actually making it to a year with just nursing. It was a long hard road with lots of insecurities, doubts, and questions, but we did it. I learned to trust and enjoy they journey. We made it!

Milk: After A LOT of thought, we decided to introduce milk. A long talk with our pediatrician is what swayed us in this direction. Chet is small. He isn’t on the growth charts. He eats a ton. He was nursing all night long. Milk is a good source of vitamins, calories, and fat for his itty bitty body. I’m signing up for milk to be delivered to our home. Whole milk. It’s not officially organic (but I don’t believe in all the practices that must be followed to call milk organic. No antibiotics? How can you love your cow like family, if you won’t treat it when it is sick. End rant. That is for another day!). Chet LOVES milk too.

Sleep: This is a tough one. Up until about two weeks ago nothing had changed. I was still nursing about 2 times a night, but the tide is changing. It started to switch to one wake up around 4am. This past week, he has slept through the night every other night. Can I please get another high-five? Babies do things when they are ready. When they are ready, everything falls into place. TRUST! This baby of mine is teaching me the value of trusting life.

Words: He has a ton. Dog. Mama. Papa. Brother. Cole. Grandpa. Beer (sad, but true. That’s what happens when your dad works in the beer industry). Ball. Milk. He can tell you what a dog says: Woof. He can tell you what a cow says: Moo. And he grunts, groans, and whines the rest of his needs.

Current Favorites: Dancing. Mickey Mouse. Balls. Shape-sorted toys (he’s getting the hang of it too!). His car/stroller. Outside. Being Chased.