It's anonymous and you're among friends.

So tell me the truth.

Do you tip the post man this time of year?

You know you're supposed to, right?

I don't have a really great post man.  At least a couple of times a month, I get someone else's mail and have to schlep it to them.  But then today, he walked my mail up to the door because there was a lot.  I'm trying to decide - does he sincerely care that much about my mail and my life that he was trying to make things easier for me - or does he want some loot?

I'm on the fence - do I tip - do I not? Maybe I get crappy mail service because I'm the neighborhood cheapskate. And how much do I have to give him? Can't I just make him some cookies like I do everyone else? It'd save me a sheckle or two.

So - this time of year - who do you tip? But let us in on the real scandal - who do you refuse to tip?  Do tell.....

In case you thought I was getting a big head...

Apparently, my children thought, in spite of my hearty protests, that I would win that little race I was in.

Yeah.  Right-o, kids.  Like I can zip through 3 miles in 17 minutes like the winner did. Uh huh.

As I came running up to the end, I saw my little family waving at me and cheering.  I was so happy to see them!  And I stepped to the side to give them high-5s before crossing the finish line (thereby adding an easy 24 minutes to my run. Otherwise, I WOULD have won, ya know.)

As I was high-5ing my curly-sue 3.0 she said, "Mama - you are NOT a winner!  You are NOT A WINNER!"

Thanks, kid.  I limped on over to the finish line and called it a day.

Apparently, the folks who finished ahead of me were winners. To her, I was the big loser.

She kept telling me over and over - for most of the way back to the car - that I was not a winner.  That combined with the 1.0 and 2.o explaining to me how much less sweaty the other folks were than me really keeps a gal humble, ya know.

I do believe my children will cross stitch this into a sampler for me someday.

Now for the obligatory...

...life is like a race post.

I know - you've read them before. But here are the thoughts that were going through my still-naturally-dark-brown-Mormon-mother-head as I was a jogging my 5K yesterday...a day that does not have to live in infamy!

Let me start by saying - I am a fierce runner...when it's so cold I can't feel my legs.  Anything over about 50 degrees, though, and I stink.  Tis true.  Mr. Mormon says I should be an Alaskan racer. I concur.  Yesterday - RACE DAY - the high was in the 80s.  Ohhh - poor Mama.

Anyhoo - I knew the odds were stacked against me. But I'm all about persevering when I feel like it, and I felt like it, so I went for it.

I didn't study a lot for the race. I didn't know the exact path or how many folks would be there. I didn't know where the official start and end points were and I didn't even know where to park. I've noticed a theme in my life - if I'm nervous about something, I'd rather know less and figure it out when I get there.  For many, knowledge is power. To me, when I'm stressed, knowledge is nervousness!  I'm glad to have not known in advance that part of the path was through a cemetery and that there was virtually no shade to escape to in my black, heat-absorbing MAKE IT WORK shirt (thanks, MM!  I channeled my inner Tim Gunn!)

So, I hobbled along and just let the road take me where it took me. I had a general idea of what was going on (running around a lake in Mormonville for 3.1 miles) and for me, that was enough. Sometimes, people were behind me for a bit - and then they passed me - and then they were behind me...  

As I was putzing along, some men were just deadset to get ahead of several of us.  In fact, one gang of guys was so adamant that they would pass some of us -they cheated and took a short cut.  Ohhh - that got me hot for a couple of minutes until I realized, like your mother always teaches you, they're really only cheating themselves. A mile later, when I ran back into them they stayed ahead of me for a bit, but quickly had to stop - and one man ended up dry-heaving in the bushes.  I'm sure he "beat" a lot of people, but in the end, he didn't beat me. I passed his dry-heaving-too-small-shorts-self and knew he was suffering because he had chosen to walk for a long time across the short cut and now, the heat was getting to him. Sure, I was on the slowpoke but steady path, but the heat and exhaustion wasn't so overwhelming that way.

And isn't that how life is?  You don't know your exact path, but you have a general idea.  And there are folks who are just deadset to pass you on by - and maybe they will win - but in the end - it's all about just finishing. Whether you are first or last, your success is all about having tried and finished.  Sure - it'd be great to finish first, looking smoking hot, having some plaques on the wall, and in the cutest, sweat-free outfit. But that's gravy...not substance.

I believe in life, many folks are passing me by right now.  I am at a near standstill at having lots of big-deal-accomplishments.  I am not a success in a workplace and I don't always know exactly what is on my schedule for tomorrow. It might be helping someone find a ride. It might be going out with missionaries or listening to someone who is struggling. But I keep on jogging and putting one foot in front of the other. And while I don't know where the path will take me, I know that at the finish line, I will have traveled just as far as everyone else and I will have made it home. And that is winning the race.

Whine, whine, whine, complain, complain, complain

(cue the soap opera music)

This week in....As the Ward Turns....

...one young family finds out stage 3 cancer has metastasized and is now stage 4.

...a family loses their home and is forced to move.

...a young mother miscarries the weekend her family is moving across the country.

...two more families lose their jobs.

...a mother of 5 (the oldest child in elementary school) learns she has Lupus.

...a woman who has a crisis of faith, and when I don't have time to listen as much as she'd like, she hangs up on me.

As Relief Society President, I find I am just not that sympathetic to random whining. Additionally, I find that this is a problem. 

Your husband is laid off - talk to me. You are ill - share.  You get headaches at church and have decided to take a couple of months off - maybe you should not try to get me to feel tremendous sympathy for that one.

I wrestle with this every week, and I've had so much patience and compassion extended to me throughout my life that I try to model that to others.  But I think the faces I am making are giving me away that I think some of this....is bunk.

In my church-y job, I hear a lot of sad things. Large portions of heartbreak with sides of doubt and shame are often on my weekly menu. I try to compartmentalize individual problems and not make comparisons. I know the pain that comes from having your struggle set up against another's and you hear, "Just think - it could be worse!  It could be like So-and-So's....."  I've done that and seen the hurt it causes - and I've been on the receiving end and thought, "Thanks for sharing - now put your head down."

The point being, I know better.

But I am about at my WIT'S END with a couple of gals in my ward who have decided that things are sooooooooooooo hard for them. They require inordinate amounts of attention and when I reflect on their "problems", it's hard for me to not shout, "Sis. Blah's husband is DYING - can we talk about your church headaches and how the three-hour-block is harder for you than everyone else because you are sensitive AND hypoglycemic later, please?"

I know that would be wrong, but it's a large temptation on my part.

Last night at the Ward Christmas Party, I was speaking with a sister who shared with that she is feeling overwhelmed.  Her husband loses his job at the end of December and she has 5 kids, and learned she was pregnant with baby number 6 when she went to get her tubes tied. Now, the little Wombie she is growing  is having issues and she's in fear of miscarrying, which is an emotional nightmare for her (she feels she's wished that child gone at times - and now it might happen.)  Her middle son was just diagnosed as Autistic and she's stressed out.

Duh.

As I was speaking with her, another woman (no Mom - not THAT one) was waiting to talk to me.  Sis. Overwhelmed let me go saying something like, "I need to quit bending your ear - Sis. Eager is waiting to speak to you."

I turn to Sis. Eager who wants to share with me how I can better decorate for the Ward Christmas party and how she'd like me to let someone know that we should not have as much food at church functions. Also, she feels there should be more focus on service at church activities and women who have had multiple children should not be receiving baby showers. These things have been on her mind and she needs to get them off her chest as she is no longer enjoying church on Sunday and has thought about not coming back because of it.

Aaaaaaaaalrighty then.

So talk to me, Good Peeps. How do I make every sister feel like she can share and she has support - but at the same time - help folks to see that there is a bigger picture and maybe, their dramas shouldn't be as overwhelming as they have let them become? So far, I've tried:

• explaining that life is meant to be a time of growth and learning, not of pedicures and spa visits.
  
• helping them understand that real life doesn't look like TV.
  
• encouraging them to serve others so they have a clearer perspective of what real problems are.
  
• setting them up as Visiting Teachers of sisters who are having a hard time (that went over like a lead balloon and is another post all its own.)
  
• telling them, nicely, to knock it off.
  
• giving their problems lots of attention so they feel better.  BIG MISTAKE
• praying for them.
• practicing inner eye-rolling but otherwise, plastering on the Look of Concern I was issued when I took over this job.

Help?

Run Mama MC

I am not really a super athletic person.  Roughly translated, that means, "I suck at sports."

I can kick your butt at many things so long as they are not sport, game, or intelligence-related. But an athlete, I am not.

From the time I was little, I wanted to be a runner. While I huffed and labored, I would see kids blithely running past me on the school track and I'd think, "Man - it stinks I can't run better. My dang asthma is always holding me back!"

Except, ya know, I didn't have asthma.

What I did (do?) have were really horrible shin splints. For as long as I could remember, I have had a lot of leg pain when I do much more than sit on my bum. Living in a mostly-tile home leaves me sore at the end of each day.  Going to the mall or Disney or someplace that requires a lot of walking leaves me limpy. I don't let it stop me, but I do enjoy whining and getting some sympathy from Mr. Mormon.

After Jackie's Near Death Experience 2008, I looked at my big fat bum and decided something had to change and I challenged myself to run a 5K before the year was over.  In my mind's eye, I wanted to be like those carefree kids running all smooth-and-easy around the track at school.   Knowing it's nearly impossible for my (svelte, trim, often tanned, and extremely long) legs to take the impact of running on the road for any extended period of time, I knew this was a pretty dang lofty goal. For most of you, it'd be no biggie. It should NOT have been a biggie for me, except, I'm a wimp with legs that don't enjoy impact.  I believe I could be a champion in an Elliptical Machine 5K.  But ask me to jog on a road for 3 miles.....gosh - my legs start to ache just at the thought.

Recently, I realized the year was nearly over and I'd not run a 5K.  In fact, I haven't even waltzed or skateboarded a 5K. So I began training and registered myself in the last 5K Mormon-ville was offering this year. 

I googled all sorts of info on shin splints and corrective exercises. Every shin splint-stretch on YouTube has been tried by Yours Mormon-ly.  I had my feet examined at a runner's store here and had them fit me for special shoes to try to alleviate some pain. Still, after a minute of jogging, tears would be welling from the sheer torture.

But I kept on. Because really, I'm one tough broad. I don't have a tremendous number of redeeming qualities - but freakish tenacity is sort of my claim to fame.  Each day I added a few more seconds to my (pathetically slow and painful) jog - until I finally mastered 3 miles of limping on a treadmill.

SHUT UP!  Whodda thunk the chunkette housewife could pull it off?

Then - I was off to the road.  OK - that stunk.  I couldn't run more than 6 minutes at a time on the asphalt.  The pain was so tremendous I almost called Mr. Mormon to come and get me as I didn't think I could even walk home. I gave up for about a week. I figured on race day, I'd just go to my treadmill and limp my 5K there.  I'd pretend someone was cheering for me and that I got the free t-shirt for finishing.  I'd call it a day and save myself the embarrassment and misery.

But eventually, that aforementioned freakish tenacity raised its freakish head and said, "Hey freak - let's try one more time."

So I did.

I kept on trying 

and trying.

And today!

I ran.....

on the sidewalks of my neighborhood....

for 3.1 miles.

I am happier than when I got married...happier than when I met my children for the first time...happier than cruising with Kahlik.

(That's some hyperbole for effect, folks. But I am really happy.)

And I'm sort of proud. It took me forever to do something that probably most of you reading here can do already - or could do in a week - but for me, it was a major accomplishment.

I run my 5K later this month, but I don't know that finishing that will make me any happier than I am today. I conquered my body. There's a lot about this body that doesn't work properly and that gives me fits, and I don't conquer it very often. More often than not, I'm conquered by it as I pop pills to keep me going. But today - I  won. 

Body: 362,000 wins  Mama:1 (but it's the one that I really wanted to count!)