The Very First Time...

Wow! What a day!

On January 24th I embarked on this crazy adventure called "running". I committed to joining Team in Training to run a marathon and raise funds for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. On May 31st, I will be running the San Diego Rock & Roll Marathon - the pinnacle of this training.

Today, as a practice run, I ran the Famous Potato Half Marathon. I thought it would be just another Saturday training run, just done with lots of other folks. I didn't think it would be that big a deal.

It was.

I woke up at 4:30 AM for a race that started at 8:00 AM. Why so early? Well, ya gotta make doubly sure you have all your gear, get a shower to wake up, have some breakfast (Nutrigrain Eggo Waffles with Adams Peanut Butter is my pre-run breakfast of choice), catch up with the friends for a ride, then be at the park at 6:30 for the bus ride to Lucky Peak. Cold, windy Lucky Peak. Of course, there's the necessary pre-race bathroom break, where you stand in line for a porta potty freezing your underdressed butt off with the other hundreds of underdressed runners. Our goose bumps had goose bumps!!! The hardest part was surrendering my jacket to head to the starting line.

As I approached the starting line, I noticed a new friend, Thomas, standing nearby! What a great surprise! He had read my Facebook post about the starting time and place, and came out to take pictures. It totally made my day to have a supporter at the starting line!



So, my friends and I are standing in the middle of a mass of people... and finally, the starting gun goes off. And we're OFF! Sort of... well... when a sea of people all start moving at about the same time, there's a lot of start... stop... run... walk... But soon enough, the crowd starts to spread out, and we're really off!

Throughout my training I've been running long runs as intervals, so I have my watch set to five minute run then one minute walk intervals. During my walk intervals I see people pass me, when I run, I pass them back. Sort of a see-saw effect. Some (actually many) just keep getting further ahead, but hey, I'm out there, and I'm running!

The miles go by fairly quickly. There are water stops at every two miles, so we're kept well hydrated. I have my fuel belt with my gel "candies" and my Crystal Light with extra electrolytes, so I'm set.

My friend, Jenn, was running the intervals with me, and we find we're making pretty good time with our "system". My goal was to average 12 minute miles throughout the race, and we're ahead of that pace. After about eight miles though, I really start looking forward to those walk intervals!!!

At mile ten is the Team in Training water stop! WOO HOO!!! My TNT friends are there with water, hugs and cheers. As I leave them it hits me, I'm almost finished with my very first half marathon!

The last couple miles seem to go on forever... and ever...

Finally, Jenn and I hear the cheers at the finish line. As we come around the bend, I get that adrenaline rush and go for the sprint. Stretching it out... opening it up... full on sprint... I see the timing clock. As I run through, I see my friend Jacob with his camera phone held high.

I register the clock: 2:35.

Official time from start line: two hours and 33 minutes for my very first half marathon!!!

I'm done! I stop running... and there's my daughter Kayte, at the finish line, supporting her mom. What a sight! Then I see Team in Training coaches Mike and Louise and give them a big, sweaty hug.


Holy Crap! I did it!!! I ran an official half marathon!

I didn't expect it to be so exciting, because we'd run 20 miles on our last training run, but that was a much slower, easier run. I was told to take this one easy, which I guess I sorta did, but didn't. Our long training runs averaged about 13+ minute miles, because we took bathroom breaks, took it easy, walked a bit more... this, my first event, was an average 11.6 minute mile! About a minute and a half faster than my normal long runs!

Yep... I'm feeling pretty good about that!

After a bit of food and catching up with friends, Kayte and I head over to join the Team in Training folks as they cheer in the rest of the TNT half marathoners and the TNT full marathoners. Eventually Kayte heads home and I stick around to cheer in the friends I've made over the past four months.

Four months.

I've gone from 0 to 20 in four months. In four months I trained for a full marathon and ran a half marathon.

In two weeks I will be running my TNT event, the San Diego Rock & Roll Marathon! It struck me as I finished this half, that "Damn! In two weeks I've got to do twice this run!" It's a daunting thought! Can I do it? Yes! I can!!! I've trained for it, I've prepared for it... I can do it! It ain't gonna be easy, but nothing worthwhile ever is.

I, whose idea of exercise has been a leisurely bike ride, hike or backpacking trip, am now officially A Runner!!!

What a fabulous feeling!!!

Goodbye Dad

May 10, 2009

My dad went to his peace on May 10, 2009.

My sister in law called me at 7:27 AM and said he had passed about 10 minutes prior. 7:17 AM... 9:17 AM Georgia time. I have no idea why it matters, but it does.

My dad lived on this earth for 73 years, 5 months and 15 days. Not long enough, but I know, longer than many.

It hurts... but not as badly as watching him deteriorate and become a shell of his former self.

I think I'll just dwell on his former self...

My friend Carol, who has been a best friend since we were 13 (and through us, our parents became life-long best friends) made me laugh tonight. I posted a status update on facebook about appreciating those I love and who love me and her response was "Stripes and solids... I wonder who's running the table?" reminding me of how our fathers loved to play pool together during their summer camp trips. It made me smile and it made me think.

I have a handwoven basket in my living room. On the handle, in faded black ink it says, "Kyle Troop 50". This basket is the only memento of my father's childhood and time prior to college. My father's childhood pictures and mementos were destroyed in a fire years ago - all except this one basket. My parents gave me this basket about 10 years ago, because they had no place to keep it, and knew I would treasure it. I do.

I look at it often and think about how little I really know about my father's early years. I know he grew up in the mountains of New Hampshire. I know he went to Bible College on a basketball scholarship. I know he played basketball in an exhibition game against THE ORIGINAL HARLEM GLOBETROTTERS! (I always thought that was the ULTIMATE in cool!) I know his nickname in college was "Snake" because of his ability to weave in and out of the defense...

I know my father proudly served his country for 22 years in the Air Force, and inspired four of the seven of us to follow his footsteps.

I know my father was just that... a father... and a wonderful one at that. He "biologically" fathered three, and was the father to seven total. In my father's mind, it didn't matter "bio" or not... we were all his kids, and he would kick our butts equally when needed. We never knew the difference, it's only in looking back at how he loved us all equally that I realize the beauty in that fatherly love.

I have such beautiful memories... mostly random, very few really "deep". The best memories are those that epitomize the kind of man he was. My dad was a fishing fanatic, a hunting enthusiast, a pool player, a beer drinker (although never, ever did I ever see him even slightly drunk!), and a helper of anyone in need.

I learned how to put my heart out there from my father. I learned to give without expectation of return from my father. After my mother died, my father "hired" two different ladies to help care for us kids (on a bartender's salary with a small military pension) who were going through tough times or were in abusive situations and needed a safe haven. He was a friend to anyone who needed one, and expected nothing in return. If anything, that's what I admire most about him.

I could go on and on... but the specifics really don't matter. What matters is that I was blessed... and I do mean TRULY blessed, by being the daughter of an imperfect, yet loving and caring man. A man who, no matter what screwups I made in my life, loved me 100%. If I ever felt he was disappointed in me, that was my own problem, because he never made me feel that.

My children, and my brothers and sisters children, were blessed to have an awesome Grandpa. Whether it was basketball, fishing, wrestling, or just grabbing on to the biggest dang nose ever, they had that fun with Grandpa. He loved his grandkids beyond belief. Toward the end, when he reacted to little else, he would light up at the sight of his grandchildren. When no one could get him to eat more than two bites of anything, he ate an entire hot fudge sundae fed to him by his granddaughter... my daughter... smiling and enjoying every bite.

Goodbye Dad... thank you for 44+ wonderful years of love. On behalf of all your kids and grandkids, thank you for the years of joy we had with you. Goodbye is hard, but the alternative of the past months is much harder. You deserve this time of peace, and of rest...

I love you so much, Dad!!! I miss you!!! I'll miss you forever!!! Thank you so much!!! I love you... I love you... I love you!!! Oh God, I love you so much!

This Crazy Adventure...

18 miles... a helluva milestone for a rookie runner! My friend Theresa tells me once you've done 18, you're there... you can definitely run a marathon. WOO HOO!

The past few months have been quite an adventure in learning! I've learned to laugh at myself harder than I ever have, and I've learned a lot about the human body (not all of it pleasant, either). I've also learned that I can go out in public stinky and sweaty and really not give a rip about what people think.

So, for those of you who haven't run down this road and wonder what it's like from ground zero, welcome to my tale of the World of a Rookie Runner!

Having often thought that saying, "I'm a marathon runner" seemed pretty cool, I semi-impulsively (who? me?) signed up to join Team in Training to run the San Diego Half Marathon. That same night, at that same meeting I succumbed to the words of one of the mentors who insisted that I could run a full marathon! She told me I could do run/walk intervals, and if I changed my mind, I could back off to the half again. Having no clue what I was in for... I listened and checked "full" on my sign up sheet. And so began the journey...

The very first training run was on an icky, rainy, snowy, gloomy Saturday morning, I think in late January. All I know is that it was cold, and this crazy person stood up there and said we were gonna run three miles that morning! Are you kidding me? Okay, I'm active... I bike, hike, etc. when it's nice outside, but to start out with three miles? Well, we did it... and got back to the start looking like a bunch of drowned rats. I couldn't believe I left a warm bed and hot coffee for that!

Then we all got this training schedule emailed to us. This... this... Calendar that had pretty much every day filled with exercise stuff! Monday, Tuesday, Thursday - 30 - 45 minute runs, Wednesday core training, Saturday group runs... when the heck will I have time to drink my wine? I figured I'd better get a plan together! So I put the word out that I needed someone to run with, 'cuz I pretty much suck at the whole self-discipline thing. A lady I knew a bit from this group I hang with, Gwen, stepped up and volunteered to run with me. Gwen has been my life saver! She makes sure I get out there and run (even in 22 degree freakin' weather!!!) and has been my "coach" in all things running-related. The only bummer is, I can't just keep my butt in bed and blow off running, 'cuz she's waiting for me! Sheesh!

Week after week the miles we ran got longer. We formed our own little groups based on a common pace (heck yeah! I found my own rookie group of slower runners!). We were happy to learn that very few people run an entire marathon and that run/walk intervals are perfectly acceptable and endorsed by even hard-core runners. Yay! License to take lots of breaks without guilt! Works for me! I learned about "fuels" for running, which is a nice word for really icky crap you're supposed to eat or drink while you run. Crap like Gu, gel, and, horror of horrors, pure salt!!! I tried my first "Shot Block" on the six mile run... which if you've never had one, is a gel candy loaded with caffeine and sugar. The sugar/caffeine rush hit me so hard I thought I was going to pass out or puke... note to self: Shot Blocks ain't my "fuel"!

I learned that "hip flexor issues" is run-speak for "I think I'm gonna die, cuz my hip hurts like a sonofagun!!". I learned that I can rub a muscle out so hard I give myself bruises that hurt worse than the "hip flexor issue" ever did! I learned that instead of "My butt hurts like hell!", runners say, "I've got a strain in my right glute". But ya know, whether you call it butt or glute, hurt or strain... it feels the same! Fortunately, it all goes away the same, too.

After 14 miles, one of my new friends and I realized that we both suck at every other long run. Twelve miles, I pretty much walked the last three miles 'cuz my "hip flexor" was hurting. Fourteen miles, not too shabby! One of my other new running friends was having IT band issues (OMG! I'm sounding like a runner!) which is run-nese for "hard-core knee/outer thigh muscle pain", so I walked with her the way one of my teammates had walked with me on my crappy run.

The 16 mile run was my big, hilarious oops! I don't know how many times I was told to be careful with what we eat the night before a big run. I heard how too much protein will mess with your guts, how we need to balance carbs with a little protein, etc. Did I listen? Well... yeah... sorta! But I'm a protein-eater, right? My body is used to protein and I don't eat a whole lot of carbs... so I'm different, right? WRONG!

Friday night, I worked 'til about 8:30. I hadn't eaten since about 1:00 so I was pretty hungry. I decided to catch up with a friend at Cheerleaders for a beer. We were sitting at the bar and I knew I needed to eat. The bartender told me about that night's special: Filet Mignon with grilled prawns... uh-huh... I ordered it! It was soooo good! And hey, I had two beers, so I actually did have some carbs, right?

Next morning... feeling pretty good. Start the run... still good. Mile 10... uh oh, not so good... we run to Zamzow's cuz I think I need a restroom. Nope... that's not it and it's not getting better! Keep going... only about five to go... I didn't really get what was going on, I thought my body didn't like the "fuel" I was giving it on the run. At mile 13 I looked at my running partners and said, "I would give $100 right now just to puke!" A bit later one of the coaches came back to us and I was telling him about my dinner the night before. I think if he coulda laughed his butt off, he would have! "There's your problem!" was his euphemism for, "Way to go, dummy!" (not really, but close enough). So I struggled through the rest of the run, finished the 16, with the help of great friends who stuck by me, and learned a very hard lesson. A lesson I still laugh about!!!

When you embark on this journey called "marathon training" you start with your pride and prudishness intact. Over the weeks and months the pride changes to a different sort, and your prudishness pretty much goes out the window! You talk comfortably about body functions, and quit caring who sees your nose run or hears you talk about your tissue-less, no hands, while running nose-blowing skills (I have yet to master that skill!). You're perfectly comfortable announcing that you need to find a bush to go behind. I realized I'd taken a huge step toward being a runner when I met my daughter for a movie after a run and hadn't had time to shower or change yet. Did I care? Not really... and hey, if it got us a whole row in the theater to ourselves, who am I to complain? (well, I was nice enough to leave my jacket on!).

Yeah, this marathon training isn't all about the running, although finally, finally that part became fun. It's about pushing on to do something you thought you knew you couldn't do. It's about realizing that with enough motivation and great friends you can accomplish anything. Most of all, it's about knowing with 100% certainty that I can't is your own personal limitation, not necessarily a fact. Anyone with working legs and reasonably good health can do this if they want to... ya just gotta want it, and ya just gotta do it.

Oh, and the perks? I'm not gonna lie, I'm lovin' my legs these days!!! My running buddies bodies are looking pretty phenomenal too! We were talking about a theme song for our little group and one suggested, "Fat Bottom Girls"... I voted no for that, cuz there aren't any, and these butts are all tighter than they've probably ever been! So yeah... the body perks pretty much rock!

Five more weeks till D-Day! Or shall I say SD-Day? On May 31, my girls and I are running the San Diego Rock & Roll Marathon together. We know we're gonna finish, we probably aren't gonna win (HA!) but we will finish!

What a difference a couple days makes...

Not health-wise, nothing is better for my dad there... doctors are still working on being able to install the shunt. The geriatric doctor gave the go-ahead for surgery, but they need to have three good spinal taps before installing it. The first one failed when no fluid was extracted - may have hit scar tissue from an old back surgery. So phyically, nothing has gotten better, doesn't seem to have gotten substantially worse.

My attitude and outlook is where the difference is. I got my anger and frustration out and I can now look ahead with a clearer vision. I can't change the outcome, I can't control the universe... but now I can control my reaction to it. I am, for now, centered.

Pain... sadness... I don't know what to call this...

Too many things going on in my head... too many stresses, too much pain. I thank God for a forum in which I can write, because otherwise, I truly feel my soul would shatter.

I planned to write on April 3rd. I always get the urge to write on that date because it was my mother's birthday. In church the Sunday before, instead of listening to the readings, I scribbled numbers. I needed to know how old my mother would have been this April 3rd. She would have been 76. She died at age 42, when I was 10 years old, of colon cancer. Being 10 at the time, I really didn't know what was going on with her, all I knew was one day she went into the hospital, and very soon thereafter she died. I didn't know then about the surgery, about the military refusing to pay for her care at the university hospital once they deemed her "terminal" or my father's guilt over not being able to afford $800 per day in care. I didn't know that the transport back to the military hospital likely hastened her death. I didn't know that the time my father allowed me to stay the night at a friend's house instead of going to the hospital was my last chance to see her alive.

What I did know is that my world as I knew it ended on September 21, 1975. My 10 year old mind didn't know how to cope, so I did the only thing I knew to do. I put a shell around my heart to keep it from shattering, and since I had figured out how to protect myself, I set about protecting those around me. People around me felt the need to comfort me. I knew they needed to do this, so I would give them a little time, allow the appropriate noises to be made, thank them, demonstrate how they'd helped me, then move on. I didn't want comfort from them - I honestly didn't think they had anything to offer me. But I accepted their offerings graciously to make them feel better, and did what I needed to do.

I let my sister have the crying time she needed and comforted her. I stayed strong so as not to add additional stress onto my dad's shoulders. I returned casserole dishes, thanked loved ones, stayed out of the way, and finished parenting myself. My father never neglected me, he loved and cared for all three of us kids living at home to the best of his ability, and he did a wonderful job of it. I knew I was loved, but I thought I knew that it would be best if I didn't add anything to his already heavy load. So I chose to be "the easy" one.

The life pattern began at that point.

For the next almost 34 years I have continued that pattern. Yes, I ask for comfort when I need it so bad I feel I can't bear it. I have wonderful friends as well as a few of my siblings that I call when I just can't any more. They comfort me, and as they do, I wait for an indication that perhaps they've been listening long enough, and I make the appropriate "finished whining" noises, and move back into my upbeat mode. Were they really tired of listening? I don't know. Probably not. But I don't want to be a burden, so I cut it short, suck it up, make the appropriate noises, and move back to the positive one they know.

(note: I've never told them this, don't know if I ever will, so don't tell on me!)

The biggest problem with this behavior is that there's never full relief of the pain. I thank God for my writing. Without the ability to untangle the emotional knots through "writing it out" I truly feel I wouldn't survive. These blogs, tangled as they are, help me to sort through pain in a way no human being has yet to do.

When I write out my pain, it's all about me and what I need at the moment. There's no one saying, "Well, let me tell you about my life, my pain, my situation". It can be all about me for a short time, and people have a choice whether to read/listen or not. I don't have the guilt of burdening someone else with my problems...

So here's my pain relief.

Over the past few years my family has seen my father's health deteriorate. There's not any one diagnosis, it's a horrible mish-mash of shit that has changed my father from the fishing, basketball playing, card playing, fun man he was, to a shell who sleeps 20 hours a day, can't walk, talk or feed himself and is dependent on others for every physical need.

Parkinson's. Dementia. Muscle Atrophy. Muscle stiffness. All part of whatever it is that's going on in his body. Newest diagnosis: hydroencephalus. Fluid on the brain. Diagnosed because experimental spinal fluid draining caused marked improvement. A brilliant neurosurgeon in Macon, Georgia wanted to take things one step further, found hydroencephalus to be likely and is hoping to install a permanent shunt to drain spinal fluid. Permanent because while each draining has caused marked improvement, as the fluid builds up again he gets worse.

A few weeks ago it was seizures. Not the thrashing kind, but the "asleep but can't wake him up" kind. Recently he's "forgotten how to swallow" and had to have a feeding tube put in his stomach. The hope is that it can come out once the shunt is put in, because they feel he'll be able to swallow again, and possibly even walk with assistance.

He was supposed to be admitted today for the shunt. No one told my family he needed to be off his blood thinners prior to surgery. Delay while they get those damn things out of his system, then they have to do three spinal taps to see how he reacts. Hoping for surgery Thursday or Friday.

The neurosurgeon said today he won't do the surgery unless my dad's geriatric doctor gives clearance, because he's so weak there is concern he won't survive. So that conversation takes place tomorrow.

As a family, per my father's wishes, it has been long decided that no "extraordinary" measures to keep our dad alive would be taken. Is this shunt extraordinary? I don't think so. It may or may not prolong his life, but the hope is not to prolong, but to give him a bit more quality and comfort. When the doctor discussed "quality of life", "next steps", etc. in my father's presence, thinking he couldn't understand, or was asleep - his blood pressure shot up about 30 points. Fear? Frustration? Anger? We don't know... but it's apparent to us that his mind comprehends, it's only that he can't communicate it. So as my brother said, if the doctor gives permission, we have to have the shunt installed. It may work and give him back the ability to eat, smile, maybe to say, "I love you", and maybe it won't. Either way, we tried.

So... everything leads to this.

I'm going to lose my other parent soon.

My instinct is to think about my stepmom losing her husband of 30 years, my siblings losing their father, the grandkids losing their grandfather, and worry about how they're going to cope. But right now, in this forum, for a few more minutes, I'm going to cry about what I'm about to lose.

My father and I weren't extremely close when I was growing up. I was "mom's girl" when she was alive, and for all intents and purposes I shut down after she died. I didn't need a parent, and in many ways, probably didn't allow my dad to be the father he was capable of. But I knew he loved me, and he knew I loved him. Over years our good relationship became even better. I always had a very healthy respect for his position as parent, and we never had father/daughter fights or anything like that. One thing I knew was that regardless of what decisions I made in life, whether he agreed or not, he would love me and accept my choice. I was the first in my family to get divorced (and the second one, too!!) He never judged me, just accepted my way of life. I knew he was okay with it when he made a joking comment, "You know Kim, maybe you just aren't meant to be married!" I laughed, because my Bible College attending, former assistant pastor, married 'til death parted Dad was okay with the fact that I had been divorced twice and was living with a man I wasn't married to. He was okay with it because he loved me. He saw me make bad relationship choices, and when they fell apart, he never said, "I told you so"... he just kept on loving me.

I was blessed this past summer to help my stepmom get my dad from California where they were staying to Arizona to see his doctor so they could see what was going on and consider next steps. I stayed with my dad while my stepmom ran errands. While she was gone he had a particularly lucid time. During this time I was able to thank him for being such a wonderful father to us all and for loving us the way he did. I was able to tell him, and know with 100% certainty that he understood, how much I loved him. I heard him say, "I love you too, Honey" just like he always did when I was hurting. So I have no regrets that things were left unsaid... they were said, and they've always been known.

I'm sad that my wonderful father is dying soon. I'm pissed because he's only 73. I'm sorry he won't see my grandchild. I'm upset that I probably won't be there when he goes.

I've had some time to get my mind around losing him... but it's not making it any easier. My logical mind is accepting it, somewhat... my emotional mind is railing against the injustice.

I want to escape... I want to cry until I feel full and total release... I want to throw things and smash things... I want to explode... I want to scream...

I want to hear the one thing that will take away all the pain... but there's no such thing.

I don't want to hurt... I don't want to say goodbye... I don't want to deal with it at all... I just want it to all go away...

Bored...

with those who have no soul...
no depth...
no passion.

with those who seek nothing...
accept status quo...
never question
never search...

with those who pass up opportunity...
pass up growth
pass up knowledge...

with those who do not embrace...
all that is
all that could be...

I'm bored.

An Amazing Weekend...

I had the most wonderful weekend last week. Imagine if you will, eleven (yes, 11!) women together in a cabin in Donnelly, Idaho. Imagine the laughter, the sharing, the sisterhood... the absolute joy in each others' presence.

I don't remember how it started, the idea for this weekend, all I remember is saying, "Sure! I'll go to McCall in March with you all!" Before I knew it, the planning emails were flying as we all received our shopping and activity assignments. We were pretty excited, because this would be the first time since February 6th that we would see our "L'il General" Lola.

Lola had spent the last weeks recovering from her Valentine's Day kidney removal. She had volunteered to donate a kidney for a co-worker's daughter who had been on dialysis for several years. Long story short, a better matching donor was found (who unfortunately fell ill and that donation didn't go through) but Lola, having gone that far, chose to donate to an unknown recipient. She doesn't see herself as a hero... we beg to differ.

So, along with Lola, the wonderful women in attendance were: Theresa (our ultra-marathoner and the sweetest, most soft spoken woman I know), Michelle (Theresa's amazing friend from Corvallis), Char (deliberate, analytical, warm-hearted teacher), Paola (the Argentinian firecracker with constant smiles), Dodi (the sweet, compassionate teacher), Angie (the exuberant, loving engineer), Holly (the young one, and such a beautiful soul!), Karyn (my longtime, gracious, warm-hearted friend), Shellee (another longtime great friend and my "wife"), and me.

We were fortunate to have the loan of Theresa's friend's four bedroom, three bathroom "cabin" outside Donnelly. The word "cabin" is definitely an understatement, so we nicknamed it the "Cabin Mansion". We spent the weekend drinking wine, eating wonderful meals, snowshoeing in pristine white powder, soaking in the hot springs at Gold Fork, and sledding down the powdery hill right outside our door. We also spent a wonderful evening sharing... which is the inspiration for this blog posting.

Friday night, as we sat around the fireplace relaxing with a glass of wine, Lola asked us all to share two of our strengths and one of our weaknesses. After someone shared, we just naturally fell into a pattern of affirming and uplifting that person. It was a beautiful thing to hear women talk about what they saw as good and beautiful about themselves. Compassion, honesty, loving and helping seemed to be the strengths we had in common. Lack of self-esteem, unfortunately, seemed to be a far too common thread among the weaknesses. My hope is that the affirmations helped lessen that.

Somehow, I ended up the last to share. I had had a stressful week. The housing stimulus bill details came out, and I was very upset (I'm saving that for my blog at www.kimsmortgage.com), I had been stressing about my friends in danger of losing their jobs (I know far too many people at Micron), my business was extremely slow (being full commission, if I don't close loans, I don't get paid), and I was feeling overwhelmed. That morning, one of my clients called me to tell me he had been laid off at Micron. He then shared that his wife was due to deliver their second child end of March. She being a teacher, has an income, but he was feeling like a failure for not being able to provide for his family, and he was scared. Other friends of mine, one of whom was at our retreat, also were without jobs and in grave danger of losing their homes.

I tried to share a strength... I got out the words, "I truly care..." and broke down sobbing. I do not cry in front of people. My friends see me as the always up, always encouraging, always positive one. I couldn't do it any more. I couldn't fix it all, and I couldn't bear it. The words, "I can't take any more..." came out amid the sobs and gasps for air...

I felt love surround me... words of comfort... some embraced me, some touched me, but all loved me.

Some of the women I knew well, some I was just getting to know. At that moment, I knew I would love them forever.

This is how it is with wonderful, amazing, beautiful women. It's safe, it's loving, it's comforting and accepting. I think it's a bit like Heaven.

Oh, and the weakness I shared? Well... I did share that I'd been told by a chaplain I worked with that I have a bit of a "Messiah Complex"... feeling it's my calling to make the world right for everyone. Given the fact that my coach agreed with that wholeheartedly (and I admit, they're right to an extent), I guess I'd better work on that!