The most common question I hear when I mention my goal to run a marathon on each continent is easily, “There’s a marathon on Antarctica??” Yes, there is.  And I’m running it in March of 2018. I just received the itinerary in the mail and had a minor panic attack while reading it.  The trip will begin with a flight to Argentina.  Brian is excited about this since he lived in Argentina for two years serving a mission for our church.  After a few days there, we’ll board a boat that will take us to Antarctica.  The trip there and back, from Argentina, with stops included, is about ten days.  I start to go a little crazy after a week of being away from the kids so I’m praying that I’ll survive two weeks without them.  I’m also a little nervous that everything will fall apart without me around to hold everything together, but that’s crazy mom talk.

The other night, after Brian and I saw, “Patriots Day,” we were talking about my upcoming marathons and he said, “Part of me thinks that if we’re in Antarctica, I’d rather be running the race than watching it.” I said, “You should do it! It’ll be fun to do it together!” You might not be aware of this, but Brian has run one marathon- Dublin 2012- and he said he’d never do it again.  (He also did not train.)  Homeboy could hardly walk through the airport the next day I think we might be able to arrange a bib for him.  We’ll see.  I’m really excited to do it together.  Antarctica is about five and a half months after Berlin, so I’ll have a couple months of easy running after Berlin before training buildup will begin again.

In other news, competition season has begun for my tiny dancer, Posey.  Dance is a big part of her life, which means, it’s also a big part of mine.  Dance moms have a bad rep (and admittedly, there is a bit of truth to it in some cases), but I love it.  I love it all.

When I found out I was pregnant with a little girl, after having two boys, I had this picture in my head of what she would be.  She would quietly sit on my lap with bows in her pigtails.  She would be sweet, timid, and snuggly.

Then I met her.

I had to hold her until she was four months old (when she started to crawl.) But I couldn’t just hold her. I had to bounce her.  And I had to be standing.  (And how did she know if I was standing or sitting anyway? I was still holding her the same… I was still bouncing her…) But Heaven help me, I couldn’t get anything done.  I couldn’t do dishes or eat or blow dry my hair.  My only relief was when Brian was there to  help.  And the car seat!  When she buckled in that seat, the screaming didn’t stop until she got out.  She became much happier once she could crawl and was free to explore as she pleased.  But she was a tornado of disaster.  In minutes she could have my bathroom cabinets emptied, all the tampons opened and then sling-shot throughout the room, deodorant stick used to draw all over the glass shower walls.  Mere minutes.  She started running at 9 months.  She was 14 pounds.  She. was. hard.  Each year of her life, I found myself saying, maybe next year she’ll get easier.(one of my favorite photos of all time)

She definitely has been my most challenging child so far.  Her most basic, but very important needs are food, sleep, physical affection, and one on one attention.  And if all of these needs are not met, a disastrous meltdown is on the horizon (if it’s not already happening.) In addition to this, she doesn’t stop moving.  Ever.  I’ve had a couple of her school teachers tell me they’ve never seen anything like it.  She cannot, and I mean cannot, be still.  I’m used to it; I understand her.  Dare I even say that it’s something I admire about her.  (So much for the lap daughter I envisioned.)

This is where dance comes in.  She started when she was 2 years old.  It was a movement class for toddlers and when all of the other 2 year-olds were crying and clinging to their moms, she ran right into the classroom.  Over the past six years, she has continued to love it, but most of all, it’s been a blessing in that it’s a positive, artistic use of her abundant energy.

During a typical week, she dances 12 hours (if there are no extra rehearsals or shows.) Some moms I know have commented, never rudely, but just generally commented on the hours that she spends training to become a better dancer while other girls her age have more free time for friends, relaxation and other hobbies. But my Posey is not like most other girls her age.

I am grateful for dance and it’s role in her life.  It has taught her many of life’s important lessons, and continues to teach her.  Not to mention the change in her behavior that comes when she has long breaks from dance during holidays and breaks.

Yesterday she competed her solo for the second time and won 6th overall in her age group.  She is my hero.  Whenever I watch her dance I start this weird combination of laughing and crying because I’m so proud.For the record, on the way home from the competition, I won the Most Patient Dance Mom award after she spilled her Portillo’s Ravioli all over the back of my car and I didn’t freak out because I didn’t want to ruin a good day.  (She was shirtless because she had taken her dance costume off and was so hot so she wouldn’t put her jacket back on to go inside and eat.) So there’s that.  Still a tornado of disaster.

Guess what. I only have about two and a half weeks until I can run again. And here’s a new song of the week for you.  Ed Sheeran’s new stuff is gold.  As expected.

Happy running, my friends.  Cover some extra miles for my shapeless, withering legs.

Mwah.