Fathers and Daughters

“The only man a girl can depend on is her daddy.” ~ Frenchy in the movie ”Grease” 

It took me until I was well into my 30s (and long after my father died), to realize that I was/am a total Daddy’s Girl. 

I actually really hate it when grown women call their fathers “Daddy” - feeling that it sort of infantilizes women, and we have quite enough of that in our history and overall culture, thank you very much! But even though, past the age of probably 10, he was “Dad” to me, I don’t mind (now) admitting to being a Daddy’s Girl. 

Which at its most basic level I think just means that he was the parent from whom I most sought love and approval. 

Even while I was teenage-rebelling against him, his ridiculous (to me, at the time) rules and all his ideas about how I was supposed to live my life, he was still influencing me, I think more than my mother was. Even when I was defining myself against him, he was still always somehow my gauge, and maybe that is why I feel like I am more like him than I am like my mom. 

He and I both got Masters degrees, but not PhDs, wanted to be intellectuals, or at least academics, but settled for the stability of more traditional business-y careers. I sometimes stand just like he often did, as captured in this photo, with “arms akimbo” without even realizing it (my husband helpfully points it out).

He and I both frustrated writers, big readers, and both runners. 

My Dad started running sometime in the early 80s when the sport was still sort of new, but he had run track in high school and maybe even college, not totally sure, but this photo is probably from high school, I am guessing.  

I was joining him on his runs by early high school, as the best way to stay in soccer shape. Long before all the technology we have now, he mapped out his different distance routes by speedometer and tracked his runs with a digital watch and his annual Running Journal that we kids bought for him every Christmas. 

There were a lot of runs in the cold wet Seattle weather that I don’t remember too vividly and we did a few races together also, like Beat the Bridge 8k, which apparently turned 40 years old last May, and the Torchlight Parade 10k, part of the annual Seafair in late July.

But what I remember more than anything is the conversations we had on our runs, and the closeness I felt, especially after I got out from under his roof and his rules and we got to enjoy each other more, almost like friends. I remember we talked a lot about politics, running together when I was home from college on breaks, and my women’s studies courses and what we were reading.

And so I thought of him this morning as I got up at 5:30am and traveled down to beautiful Fort Desoto to participate in my first race of the Florida running season; it was a long sloooooow 15k at around 11 minutes per mile. Sadly, I was almost 2 minutes slower than my prior 15k last December, which was a speedy (for me) 9:17 pace. Still, I had a great time and am excited for all my other upcoming races!

Dad backed off running and got into cycling in his early 50s, either because he was having knee/other joint problems or he was worried about having them. I think about him as I enter my 50s and seemingly start to slow down myself, frustrated by an issue with my left hip flexor/glute/hamstring that no amount of yoga, massage, and chiropractor treatments is yet resolving. Maybe he was onto something taking up cycling!

Had he lived, he would have been 80 years old last Saturday Sept.17th; approaching that milestone birthday, my siblings and I have commented more than once that we just can’t picture him as an 80 year old. He was still so virile and energetic at the time of his accidental death that it’s hard to imagine him becoming an old man.  

He will always be, tragically, 53 years old to me and I will always be his Girl. 

Hot Flashes and Hair

Last weekend, after one hot flash too many, and before leaving town for a brief Labor Day weekend getaway with my husband, I cut off a large portion of my long hair. I count it as one of a few relatively rare moments of insanity I’ve had in sobriety. And even though as I was mid-cut I had one panicked thought of “ooooo that’s too much” (but it was too late to turn back), it actually turned out fine. I confirmed my suspicion that my hair - being kind of an unruly mess to begin with - is hard to wreck.

The “before” picture, which I’d title “long hair with morning face” - 

(I’m not sure why all these photos from below, I must be a masochist - along with being a maniacal menopausal woman wielding scissors!)

This coming week I’ll see my hair stylist for one of my far too frequent appointments to cover my grays, and I’m not sure if she’ll be horrified at what I did and scold me; or tell me it doesn’t look too bad and be impressed. (Others have said they are impressed, but they also have no financial stake in the matter.)

Either way I’m so glad I did it, because since then my hair feels much healthier (the ends felt - and looked - like straw before), and even though I’m still having hot flashes, they aren’t quite as massively irritating with less heat-gathering hair to wrangle off my neck. 

And let me tell you, in case you were wondering, hot flashes are no joke!  I have had them on and off for at least 3 years now (with varying frequency and intensity), while I’ve been in what they call “peri menopause” and I just have to wonder: how much longer?!? 

I read this fantastic book to try and educate myself on what’s truly happening when I feel so completely out of control over my own bodily temperature, and I still don’t know. 

But I highly recommend the book anyway.

This getting old thing! My husband recently told me I still look 25 (and encouraged me to continue covering my grays, when I expressed a desire to be done with that exercise in futility), but he’s full of shit; I know I don’t look a day younger than 30 (jk). 

🤩

Well in any case, we had a really nice out-of-town weekend (our first weekend away as a couple since last year’s Labor Day!) that I managed to NOT ruin with my impulsive decision. And so here are a few nice photos from that trip, where we both look much much younger than we actually are. Here’s to a happy fall ya’ll!

 

Gone and I Want You Back

In the couple weeks between my mother‘s death and her funeral back in April, I listened to the “Maid” soundtrack over and over whenever I was in my car. My sister Stephanie gave it to me because we both loved the show on Netflix and because making CDs and sharing music she loves is one of her superpowers, just like letter writing/sending snail mail birthday cards is mine (as I talked about in my eulogy at mom’s funeral, because I inherited this from her). 

When I first listened to that soundtrack, I instantly loved the song “Leave Like That”; listening to it even now, it catches my heart with the very first few notes.

Even though the lyrics seem related to a romantic relationship, for me the song will always be connected to my sadness at my mother’s passing.  

And so as we approach what would have been her 78th birthday on August 6th, I think about how complicated grief is, and yet sometimes it is as simple as “gone and I want you back” ~

Leave Like That by SYML

You never got the chance to know me
Packed it up and crossed the state
You left behind more than memories
Now when I sleep I'm only dreaming of your face

You never got the chance to hold me
I learned to love your selfish way
I still believe in you
And in this burning room
I'll suffer trough the pain

Oh no got me low how you gonna leave like that
Oh no got me low you're gone and I want you back
Oh no down so low feeling like I'm under attack
Oh no where'd you go you're gone and I want you

We never talked about forever
I never wanted you to change
Call me up and I'll be running
Loose my breath calling out your name
Loose my breath

Oh no got me low how you gonna leave like that
Oh no got me low you're gone and I want you back
Oh no down so low feeling like I'm under attack
Oh no where'd you go you're gone and I want you

You're gone and I want you back
You're gone and I want you back and I want you
Gone and I want you, how you gonna leave like that?
Feeling like I'm under attack, gone and I want you back
How you gonna leave like that, gone, gone, and I want you

Heart and Soul

This time in Hawaii with 5 of my closest childhood friends, for the year we turn 50, long anticipated: 7 full rich days. We got here yesterday, we don’t leave until next Saturday.

And while we have plenty of adventures planned (beach later today, snorkeling Monday, definitely some spa time and possible trip to Volcanoes National Park one of the other days) what I am really most looking forward to doing with these women is what I normally do at home by myself: lie in the sun and read. 

However, because my friends all have such good brains and I still find them interesting after over 40 years of conversation, I also want to talk about what we read.

And so, among the many books taking up way too much room in my suitcase (everyone encourages me to go digital but I just.can’t.yet) are these - Brene Brown’s latest because she’s so inspiring & one of Heidi’s favorite authors, and the other so we can talk about money. 

I want us to talk about money because we are all starting to envision what life might be like in “retirement” and I want so badly for us all to have the freedom to do what we want with the time we have left alive on this planet. Nothing like turning 50 to make you feel more in touch with your own mortality right?!?  

Personally, I figure I have what, about 40 more years tops? Yet the internet tells me the average life expectancy for a woman in the United States in the year 2022 is 81.2 years, so maybe not, maybe less, yikes. 

But I really only want to live that long if I have a certain quality of life, which I define as being a minimum of ambulatory and continent. Having seen what my mom went through living so many years trapped in a failing body, I say no thank you and I’ll just quietly see myself out…I’m a planner, so it strikes me I should really plan for that, as much as I plan for retirement, new thought. 🤓

Anyway: money. Not an easy topic…but we are all amazing powerful women and will figure it out!

Ironically also reading this highly praised novel at a time when I feel the least alone I have ever been (and, the furthest from cold Alaska), while here in paradise celebrating this milestone birthday with these women, who’ve been loving me and lifting me up all my life. 

Because truly it’s the heart and the soul that get deeper and richer over time, along with our relationships if we are lucky and put in the effort to stay connected.

The “Big Island” of Hawaii ~ July 2022

This is Also The Month

So yesterday, just days before my 50th birthday, I did this kinda.crazy.thing.

Crazier than running a 50k - my first ultra marathon - after only “training” up to a half marathon distance? Uh yeah, far crazier in fact.

Just before becoming a 50 year old & qualifying for AARP membership (yes, like a lot of others my age, they already snail-mail-nailed me, those bastards), I got glued into a teeny tiny sparkly turquoise bikini, wearing layers of spray tan and more makeup than I’ve ever had on in my life, and tottered on high high heels out on stage in front of judges under paralyzingly bright lights, where I tried to flex all my muscles at once while holding my arms in slightly unnatural positions and sucking in my stomach. 

And remembering to smile. 

And breathe.

It’s not like I didn’t prepare. In fact, I’d been working on this other turning-50 fitness goal for well over a year, and intensively since January.

It’s just that nothing can really prepare you, in my opinion, for the actual experience of being in a body building/figure competition. 

And it was WAY harder than anything I’ve ever done before. Truthfully, I did not feel very confident, I did not feel that any of it came naturally, I did not feel I was particularly good at it. And in fact, I came in dead last in the two “classes” I entered: bikini masters 40+ and open bikini “tall”

But the “win” for me is that I did it at all, when I wanted to quit so many times since it started to get more & more real and the things I had to do to be successful became harder and harder - including drinking 2 gallons of water a day, doing 2 hours of cardio and 45 mins of abs per day + weight lifting sessions, which required many mornings where my alarm went off at 5am. Not to mention the super-restricted eating during that final “cutting” phase, which in all honesty was its own kind of special hell. 

After driving to the show hotel in Orlando (itself a physical and mental challenge, every time), and spending Friday night, the day of the show itself was a lot of prep - starting with 4am wake up call for hair & makeup. I was permitted only 2 spoonfuls of peanut butter and 1/2 protein shake for breakfast, no coffee not even black because of the dreaded bloating it causes, who knew? And then the rest of the day consisted of a lot of waiting around backstage while other “classes” of both male and female athletes, got their chance on stage; just hours back there in the “prep” area, stewing in all that spray tan and a toxic emotional brew of boredom and dread. 

They call us “athletes” but I have never felt more like a beauty queen. Minus the tiara since only the winners got those, and all I got was my weak “participation” medals. 🤣 

Being a beauty queen was sort of fun for a day I guess, but I can’t see making these types of competitions an ongoing part of my lifestyle or fitness routine. Because it just didn’t feel like me and then also, the fear I had of going onstage and the sense of relief I had when it was all over was palpable. I have never felt that way about any race I’ve done. Not once, no matter how tough, ever.

But I did learn some interesting lessons through it all - about getting out of your comfort zone, for instance, which I think is good, but maybe only up to a point! About being careful with the goals you set and how many people you tell and how invested you get (monetary and otherwise), because you might end up feeling, much as I did, like you can’t turn back.

“A hell of my own making” I started calling it, in the last few weeks. And now it’s blissfully over, and even though my trainer is already talking enthusiastically about my “next show” in September, I know that I never have to do this ever again if I don’t want to.

As incredible as it all was, I think I may just stick to running because it’s about 10x more fun and 100x less difficult; just not nearly as extreme on almost every level, at least in my experience. I do love a challenge and I need to have fitness goals but I have now learned that such extremes just don’t work for me. I will let you know though, if my sometimes malleable opinions change by September!~ 

Time

Poem recited by the Deacon at my mother’s beautiful funeral mass last week, touched my heart.

Whatever the question is, Love is truly the answer.

“Time Is” ~ by Henry Van Dyke, Music and Other Poems, 1904

Time is

Too Slow for those who Wait,

Too Swift for those who Fear,

Too Long for those who Grieve,

Too Short for those who Rejoice;

But for those who Love,

Time is not.

Let It Be Beautiful, Let Her Come Home

When I think about what death could be like, what I want it to be (as I’m not sure I believe in traditional notions of a literal “heaven”), it would be described something like this song. And in her last days, I found myself wanting this for my mother; I was thinking that if I could convey this vision for her, it might help her be less afraid. But I had no idea how to paint that picture, so instead I just told her not to worry about us, her four children, that we were all doing OK, and that we would take care of each other. And she told me, with characteristic grumpiness “I wasn’t worried!” Which made me laugh. My mother made me laugh and feel loved and supported. She wrote me the sweetest letters while I was away at college, that I recently unearthed and reread in the midst of emptying the house of its contents, to be sold last spring/summer. My mother Judy passed away on Thursday April 14th, before I got a chance to talk to her again, and hopefully now she is truly “home” - in that way we all will be eventually. It’s a beautiful song, and a lovely thing for which I can hope.

“Enter One” ~ by Sol Seppy

After a storm

I want to be brave

And keep you warm

And not fade away

As we float from the shore

Into the light

Into the unknown

Like thousands of lanterns

Glowing with grace

In glorious silence

Descending through space

To a friend

A sister in need

Who is not alone

And they are surrounding her

And they will enfold her outstretched hand

In our love

Into the light

It's hard to believe

It's always been ours to give

And to receive

I want to be shameless like the sun

Moving into you

Entering light

Welcome

Inshallah, Inshallah

Enter one

Amazing grace is pouring down

Fear not this light

We are of this light divine

So come

We move as one

Amazing grace is pouring down

Fear not this light

We are on this light divine

Welcome, enter one

After a storm

I wanna let go

Of the things that I've done

Without any worry

I wanna come home

Into the light

Into the unknown

I want to be shameless

Like the sun

Moving into you

Entering light

Welcome

Inshallah, Inshallah

Enter one

Amazing grace is pouring down

Fear not this light

We are on this light divine

So come

We move as one

Amazing grace is pouring down

Fear not this light

We are on this light divine

Welcome, enter one

Source: Musixmatch

Songwriters: Sophie Michalitsianos

Enter One lyrics © Emi Music Publishing

This is The Month

Tomorrow morning at 7am I’ll be on the trail in Withlacoochee State Forest starting my first ever ultramarathon - the Croom Fools Run.

I’ve written recently on this blog about all my enthusiastic running but just to recap: I ran my first full marathon in 2001 because I set a goal of doing it before I turned 30. Quickly after that I ran my first half marathon, and surprised myself by being faster than I ever thought possible. I didn’t run regularly again until 2016 but when I did I picked it back up with a vengeance! What started with training to do a half marathon together with work friends as a lark, turned into over the last six years another full marathon, 5 15ks, a few 10ks, bunch of 5ks, (random 8k and 4 mile distance races in there also), and 21 more half marathons (for a total of 22 completed all told), my very favorite race distance.  

Athlinks.com does a great job of compiling all your races and allows you to sort and filter them different ways: Michele Hirning's Race History and Times

And now tomorrow another age related goal - to do an ultra before I turn 50.  I’m so excited!  (And, truthfully, a little bit terrified as well.)

I’m really looking forward to it also because I had such a good experience last weekend, all on my own (without my beloved running buddy), driving a couple hours north, staying at a hotel over night, and doing a half marathon the next morning, nice and easy, just to get the miles under my belt & to be semi-ready for this race. 

So this afternoon I’ll head up north and do it again. Unlike the half marathon my running buddy and I just did in New Orleans, where I killed myself to get as close to a 2 hour pace as possible (photo below of me high-fiving the race pacer who cheered me on to my PR), the last half and tomorrow’s race is all about just doing the miles, tomorrow more miles than I have ever done before - yikes!

And later this month I’ll celebrate seven years of sobriety, the sort of “platform” of my life, the thing which makes everything else, including all this running, possible. 

At the beginning of my 40s I felt depressed and anxious, directionless, out of shape and exhausted, my life almost completely without joy or purpose. Now at the end of my 40s I just feel so different (to quote a Sinead O’Conner song from long ago that I still love). And I feel lucky, lucky, lucky, to have made it to the other side of that crisis (which is essentially chronicled on this blog, if you go back and read it sequentially), and to feel so excited, hopeful and full of energy for all that lies ahead.

Airplane Poetry

1. words come more easily 

while traveling 

after the intensity 

of family - a few meals 

together, 40th birthday 

party, and visits with the 

last parent who is busy 

dying 

and walking with childhood 

friends to our old 

neighborhood park in 

cold sunlight with 

good dog company

 

all their ordinary lives 

that keep happening 

while I’m gone 

intersect with mine 

when I return and for 

a few shining hours 

we become - together - 

extraordinary

2. How do we forgive our Mothers?*

Maybe with a song 

that recalls their warmth

Do we forgive our Mothers for being overwhelmed too often or forever

when they told us we were “too much”?

Maybe for embarrassing us with unstylish clothes 

when they took us to soccer practice

or making us angry and abandoned 

because they never took us anywhere at all.

Do we forgive our Mothers for working outside the home,

Or not working outside the home?

For standing up to or not standing up to our Fathers?

And shall we forgive them for their lack of empathy or patience?

Shall we forgive them for their cold remove 

or for hot, controlling, sticky fingers in our lives 

like when they pulled tangles from our hair?

Do we forgive our Mothers 

in time, before they stop 

knowing us, when they stop speaking 

or only answer with one or two words?

If we do not forgive our Mothers

How do we forgive ourselves?

*with credit for cadence and form, to How Do We Forgive Our Fathers? by Dick Lourie and featured in the wonderful movie “Smoke Signals”

“Forgiveness is giving up the hope that the past could have been any different, it's accepting the past for what it was, and using this moment and this time to help yourself move forward.” ~ Oprah Winfrey

This is What (Self) Love Looks Like

10am massage on a work day 

to counteract all the sitting 

and running and lifting and

because I (gratefully) can 

hip openers in yoga class  

last weekend to help me  

access emotions 

sometimes suppressed 

enough sleep 

water 

good nutrition 

but beyond taking care 

of the only body I’ll ever 

have (in this lifetime) it’s also 

this mental/emotional balance 

no longer entertaining 

any delusions of grandeur 

or feeling like a piece of garbage 

now I muddle through the middle 

of these extremes, as happily and 

as humbly as I can

accepting my relative unimportance 

in the grand scheme of things 

and yet knowing how very important

I am, to those who love me 

knowing that what I do, 

how I treat people (including 

myself) matters 

so, giving myself 

gentle time 

not just cliched

“Self-Care” but 

something deeper 

the power of

God, and keeping clean 

and sober, working 

like magic in my life, 

for as many blessed 

days as I have left

Me, loving my time in last half marathon (also just loving that it was over!)