T I R E D

Tired is a feeling I know well. From a very early age, It has been a significant safety net in a world that has always felt a little too fast, a little too loud and a little too busy to me. However, over the years I have become sloppy with my wanton usage of the word “tired”….

The conversation being…

“Hey are you ok? yes, I am just a bit tired!”

Now just change that word, the word “tired”, that innocuous, innocent 5 letter word to reflect its excuse to my real meaning. We then could replace tired with a multitude of hidden feelings that I am not quite ready to share…

Sad / angry / annoyed / scared / bored / uninterested

It is also my blatant lame attempt to avoid, confrontation / talking / expressing feelings / facing truths / doing something I do not want to / avoiding sex / avoiding physical activities that bore or scare me.

It’s true meaning is….

TIRED in need of sleep or rest; weary.

an anagram of ..

TRIED – found good, faithful, or trustworthy through experience or testing

Yet, 50% of the time when I say I am tired I am not “found good, faithful or trustworthy”. I am lying through a façade of sleepiness to avoid revealing the real thing that has me off center.

I am not entirely sure when I started to do this. I mean, do not get me wrong I do experience true exhaustion daily. I am a mother of three boys, and I am running after them, on top of running just shy of 60 miles a week. No I do not take naps, there truly is no time, so in reality, YES I am pretty knackered. I daily would love to lie down and stay very still, but no, instead in my world I am putting on ANOTHER WASH!!!!!

So when I say I am tired as an answer to a question, I truly may be tired, or failing that I just do not want to talk to you.

Love Kelly – so so tired – Mother of Three.

Not “Another” Mother runner!

As a mother and a runner, there is something really damn annoying about the title of “mother runner”! It is an over used rhyme, for runners who happen to be mothers. To be a runner and a mother are actually two very separate things for me. Both elements / roles are extremely important, commanding equal positioning in the genetic fabric of my soul, my being, my sanity.

Each have single handedly created a very resilient human being, blossoming from my core. Each have taught me love, deep deep happiness, a sense of order, and a sense of relief. In equal measures they have also driven me bat shit crazy and forced me to look at the reality of my failure. Of missing expectations and grounding myself in the limitations of my “Now”! Not that this has to be continuous, but it grants me the time and space to sit in the moment and to feel, taste, tangibly experience loss and pain, in a safe and controlled way.

Motherhood has been my making, yet, so has running. However, they are not part of the same thing, they are not joined or rhymed or even belong together. But they can flow in harmony, rubbing together with a slight friction that creates the “spark” that is my drive and superhuman powers to dig in and welcome the ability to feel extremely uncomfortable in wilding emotions and pain for long, excruciatingly long periods of time.

Although the Mother runner phrase is ridiculously over used, and even slapped across tee shirts, to be a mother and a runner with goals makes me an outlier, an outsider, a juggler. I cannot make the 7am run or the 8am run, I cannot take naps after a 60 mile week, I like many run on a perpetual empty, I cannot stay and chat, I have to run, pack up and haul ass back to the fold of wild boys, school, runs, packed lunches and activities. PTO commitments, work, dinner planning, shopping, washing, cleaning, folding, doctors appointments. I work fucking hard in my over scheduled life to carve out a daily 1-2 hour slot to run, to train and to not impact my home life. That does not make me a mother runner, but a “Mutha Fucking Runner!”

But, there are others, other mothers running in those twilight hours, alone and dedicated. Other Mother fucking Runners” all juggling, all exhausted, all so badass and dedicated to managing time to have the ability to leave, alone. Propelling ourselves forward, stride after stride. Stride, arm swing, breath, sweat, inhale, exhale – repeat over and over and over again. We run together at 5am pushing each other with a strength and understanding no one else can provide. We hold each other up and listen in those dark morning hours, just waiting for the sunrise to peek above the horizon, beckoning, calling us home. As the light hits the trees we crouch in tiny groups stretching, pulling off sneakers, guzzling water, moving inwards, shedding our runner skin as the mother once again returns, all business as she kisses small children awake, drinks coffee, busying whilst listening for the waffles to pop.

Wake up children! The Mother has returned.

The Cotton Debate

I have not written in a while, I have been busy loving our new life in Boulder, CO. Running trails, dragging the kids up mountains and just staring in wonder at the majestic scene that unfolds around me.

However, I have been silently watching as our 2nd COVID wave or is it still the first, surge through this country and push us all back into our boxes. Mainly, because people are essentially selfish, by the way I do include myself in this, I am no Mary Poppins, although I wish I were. Yes, I have certainly experienced COVID blues and went all gung ho on it and wanted to scream “fuck it”, whip off my mask and burn it in the street, standing naked with freedom written across my tiny breasts, hum I may just have to use my forehead as any part of my body is bigger than my puny chest area. But, of course I did not, as I am a wimp and I certainly did not want to stand in a public street naked. But, mainly it is because I believe in the virus, I believe in science, I believe that the teeny tiny piece of cloth over my mouth and nose, if worn correctly, will keep me safer, people safe and enable us to get this silent virus (unless you’re coughing REALLY loudly) under control. Which means eventually, life will go back to some form of normalcy. Maybe?!

However, people have got their “its my right”, knicker’s in a twist. I have heard, read, watched the rants. As fully grown, usually sane humans throw all their fucking toys out of their pram and stamp their feet, just because a government official has made it mandatory to place a piece of cloth on your mouth and nose. Firstly it would actually muffle your screams and moans about your “rights”. Man I want to swear so much right now, as this is making me beyond angry at how this has become such an issue. Hey, yes wearing a mask isn’t fun, but neither is wearing 6 inch heels (I still do that) or going to the dentist or cleaning up your dogs shit, but we do it, because it is the correct thing to do.

There you are, all messed up because a store or restaurant has asked you to wear a mask to …..

  1. keep their staff safe, who are working to serve YOU
  2. keep other public members safe who also need to shop/eat
  3. keep you safe.

But, some crazy human beings are losing their goddamn minds over this and it is ALL about their fucking rights!!! Hey you’ll have no rights when you may just die of the virus – roughly in America, you have a 4% chance.

Do you lose your shit and mental faculties when you are told to wear your shirt and shoes in a store/restaurant? Um no and that is a way larger piece of cotton. Do you puff up and go red and bang on about your rights, UM NO. There would not be these mandates if human beings were actually cool and put these suckers on, but they do not and we are having surges. So if people cannot do the decent thing, well in come the rules and the fines. You brought it on to your self. Do not want to wear the innocuous piece of fabric, well then, just stay the fuck home and relish in your rights, don’t get angry or dickish about it, read the science, talk to doctors, speak to people who have had the virus. I am sure they do not care about your rights while they are trying to breathe in intensive care.

It astounds me at how up in arms people are about this, I am perplexed, I seriously do not think “big brother is watching me” when I wear my mask. First up they would have a job to recognize who the hell I am, with my mask on.

Your mask is a :-

  1. double chin godsend
  2. spot hider
  3. halitosis saver
  4. coffee breath extinguisher
  5. burp holder
  6. dumb comment muffler
  7. chin warmer
  8. UV protector
  9. eye mask
  10. head band
  11. emergency panty liner
  12. funky wrist band
  13. back up oven glove
  14. shit the list is endless and to be honest I’m glad some people have to cover their faces, I just wish Trump would do it more often. .

Lovely people, many whom I love, please, be kind, suck up and cover that goddamn mouth. If you cannot, please stay home and rant on Facebook about how terrible life is, because at least then no one will get hurt.

I love you by the way in your mask anger.

Love Kelly “The Mask” Joy

The lost HUG!

Today, I dedicate these heartfelt words to the elusive hug. Oh where for art thou sweet hug? Unbeknownst to me, you have been ripped from my bosom, tossed away and fed to the COVID lions, all 19 of them. As they roam our fertile, overpopulated earth, feeding off our vulnerabilities, locking us up in our homes to stare at four stark walls, listless, lifeless and hugless.

SO hugless. I am not a talkative soul, I communicate through written word or with my physical being. I can still write, so here I am writing – SURPRISE, but I have not touched another person (my husband and 3 squirmy boys, are not included here) for 5 whole weeks. No hug, no hand shake, no kiss on the cheek, nothing! Just 6 feet of heart wrenching emptiness, yawning like a chasm, petrifying and unobtainable. I never knew how much I needed that type of connectivity, that feeling of closeness. Now please do not get me wrong, I do not go around bear squishing everyone I meet, but the people I care for, share time with, who open up to me, share moments with me, I want to express my delight with them. My deep soul love for them and there is absolutely nothing sexual about this at all. It is all about occupying, unifying a space and handing them my trust and devotion to our friendship, in a neat, hug sized package.

OH that delicious hug, the feeling of my cheek on your shoulder, the heat against my skin, the complete safety of being enveloped, for a brief tiny moment into the safety of another. Heart beats tick tocking in unison, thrumming tunefully together. A glimmer of a soul can shoot through and then be lost as you pull apart, in the unspoken knowledge that you have both shared something deeper than a spoken word.

I count down the days until I can share freedom with another human being. Supping coffee, running together, sitting close and chatting, hugging, tight squeezes, brief grapples, a peck on the cheek and head on a shoulder, just being close to a person you want inside your 6ft bubble.

I miss you dear hug, please come home soon.

Love a very sad K K Joy

Mrs. Home “not” fooling anyone!

I would like to introduce you to Mrs. I have No Bloody Idea, a shit show of an educator, a human thrust in to the limelight to teach her children for the foreseeable future.

Her skills lie in baking, science, writing amusing self depreciation blogs, headstands and running long distances. She knows her multiplication facts and is pretty good at percentages. Her laundry skills are shite, but her cooking is pretty good.oh and she knows all the words to the opening scene in Macbeth and all of the Sound of Music.

Which is pretty apt in the current climate

“When shall we three meet again?

In thunder lightening or in rain?

When the hurly burleys done,

When the battles lost and won, that ere will be the set of sun…….. ”

From this very small base she now has to teach a 5 / 8 and 10 year old (who is already way smarter than she)

I would like to apologize to all my children’s teachers for the fuck ups I will make. But know they are loved, safe, brushing their teeth and can cook a mean banana bread 😂

Drowning in Motherhood 2020

I would like to caveat, that no I will not be ending my life anytime soon. Some days as a parent I just cannot keep up with the demands of being a mother of three small dragons (boys), of being a wife and then meticulously making sure I have time for me. This post was borne from a day when I felt like I just could not keep up.

Drowning in life! An oxymoronic phrase? Not just my life, but the life of my kids, my husband’s life and even the darn cat. Scrabbling to hit all the bases, these lives throw at me and always missing the mark. Treading water and slipping under, allowing the water to slowly seep in, fill my lungs and pull me deeper into the depths of a sweet, dark, silent oblivion.
A world of gentle nothingness. No laundry to be done, no “healthy” dinners to be made, no cleaning to get to, or beds to be changed, no first job or second job to create time for or not fail at, yet excel at and then off to mop and care for my sickened child. Pay bills, change the car oil, activities to sign for, pay for, get to. ALWAYS running late, never on time. With the last-minute shoe searches of three young boys, hanging like shackles on our ankles dragging us back, never on time.
Activities! The dictator of my day, ruling my life with its iron fist. Where each activity cannot comprehend that your kid may do another (god forbid your loyalties are split). Or you have more than 2 kids, each an individual and each wanting to do something uniquely theirs. We have homework, school trips, lunches to be made (uhum they must be healthy or be classed as the shit mum with the unhealthy kid). Snacks to remember, water bottles to be filled, sort clothes into piles that need to be scrubbed and bodies to be bathed. Because, boys seem to be perpetually dirty or covered in a bodily fluid of some sort.
Then there is ME. I must remember me! I want to run and run daily. Running is what keeps me calm and happy. But, sadly this is just another weight tied to my ankles dragging me further into the silt of not enough hours, dark dreams and no air to be found. With a sickly glow of light filtering through the watery murkiness of my fears, that ……
I am not enough.
I will never be enough.
I am failing.
I can never be the person that the life I have created needs me to be.
I am lying in the depths of failure and wishing I could breathe.

Signed – Motherhood 2020

To write – Poem

Weirdly or maybe not so much, poems pop in my head and I write them down. This appeared in the shower today and here it is…

TO WRITE – by KKJOY

When I write, I lose the fight of hiding from myself,

When I write I stand in sight and the façade melts away.

RAW, BARE, EXPOSED,

Watching, alone, my breathing slows.

No one is listening, as no one dares,

As to be real, is to feel, is to care.

Screaming silently to nothing……

But myself. Healing, revealing, everything.

Too harsh a light for some to see,

The reality that is me.

Beautiful, ugly, perfect, ravaged,

Sane, insane, serene, savage.

Yet, when I write, I lose my fight of hiding from myself.

Because, when I write, I stand in sight, façade destroyed to stand true.

Marco Tona- Warrior runner

A interview I wrote for a local running group of a local ultra runner. 

“Greatness is achieved the moment you decide you cannot do anything else, other than that one thing” Marco Tona – 12.22.19

With his halo of wild curls, enthusiasm for life and relaxed demeanor, on initial inspection Marco Tona comes across like any other regular 22-year-old. Hailing from Destin FL, a student of Exercise Physiology and the third youngest of eight children, he grew up surrounded by family and well loved.

However, not every 22-year-old that you meet has just completed a 24hr. running race and run 100 miles. WHAT you say!?! A 100 miles! Now let us relook at Marco Tona, underneath his big smile and gentle personality there lies an old soul, the heart of a lion and a steely grit that is seldom found in the youth.

Okay, so who is Marco? I sat down and chatted with Marco on a wet, storm riddled Florida winters day to discuss his journey into ultra-running, what drives him and his aspirations for the future. Because at age 22, this is merely the beginning of his great journey.

Let me start from the “Big One” and take you back to his beginning. “Icarus Florida Ultra Fest”2019, a looped road race, where a runner will run as far as they can in an allotted time. Your choices being….

12hr / 24Hr / 48Hr / 72Hr / 144Hr

GULP! EXACTLY!

What they say about the race “What this means for seasoned ultra-runners and new runners alike is that the Icarus Florida UltraFest is not just a place to test your limits, but to abandon them” taken from website.

So, what is it about this race, after running only three 50K (Calootsahatchee, Croom Fools, Washington Red Devils) races previously that made Marco dive off at the deep end and jump straight in to 100 miles? Well, as with all great beginnings and heroes, it started in a bar. Marco goes on to explain that one evening before a long run, he was designated driver, as all dedicated runners are on a Friday night. His epiphany hit! He was finished with the nights out and wanted to push his limits. It was about, in his own words “shattering his ceiling” and really seeing what he could achieve. So in that bar he signed up on impulse for Icarus. Because in the realm of the unknown a person’s boundaries can be found, accepted, crushed, then rebuilt once the core is exposed and they know who they are. It was from that point, in that dingy bar that the training begun. As 100 miles is literally the only step one can take, to really find out what they can do.

In his youth Marco was a swimmer and as he moved into high school he began to run. He joined the cross country and track team as they did not have a competitive swim team. Blazing a trail through 600/800 m distances and the 5K, Marco carried through his running to college. Moving to Florida and continuing his studies, Marco met Aubrey Aldy, (his now trainer) in their local pool and another piece of the puzzle clicked in place. Marco kept running, he dabbled in triathlon and at 21 years old he signed up for his first 50K. Why? To see if running was “great”? So minimally trained and with the zeal that only a 21 year can bring, he completed his first 50K in 6hrs 40mins. The bug had bitten and in his 2nd 50K with some training he took 2 hrs off this time. From here his ascent had commenced. One more technical run, the Red Devil 50K in Washington and his love of endurance running was secured and the next big challenge set.

We went on to discuss Icarus and what it meant to Marco, how the race broke down and what he discovered about himself, as each layer peeled off with every 1.0408 Km paved loop completed. The key was to take heed of Icarus’s story. To listen to and respect your body, to push boundaries but not destroy your limits, to hit the edge but not melt and fall. Fly close to the sun but not too close, because like Icarus you could be doomed and not rise again to complete another loop. Running 100 miles is a fine balance, of training, respect for your body, nutrition, honoring the distance and to push the edge, while holding back. It takes grit and mental toughness, and this is what Marco had to discover and layer it thick upon his enthusiasm base.

After four months of long slow runs, he was hitting he said 50-60 miles a week. Pretty moderate for ultra-training, with most of his mileage scheduled at the weekends and with some double day running, he was ready. Nutrition was dialed in; he likes to use Electrolyte Fuel System (EFS) drink brand and not eat too many of his calories. This helps his stomach and reduces the usage of the dreaded port a potty, that my friend is a whole separate mental game in itself. The long runs revealed his weaknesses, he hit mental barriers and drove past them to more manageable mental ground. Marco said he loved figuring out “where his walls were” and obliterating them.

The Start Line: –

Saturday November 23rd, 2019, 9am, seasoned ultra-dogs and young puppies alike, wait at the start line. Marco is there, mentally steeled, pacers in place, nutrition lined up and they are off, “let the games begin”. Because if you have ever run an ultra, you know that nothing invariably goes to plan. It’s about managing the situation, driving away the demons, embracing the crazy and the crazies around them. Because, to be a person who can step up to this line and cross it and manage the next 24 hrs, that element of crazy must lie deep within you too. As, it is that insanity which will ultimately carry you up to your goal and past it, then vomit what is left of you at the finish line. Kind of like the Exorcist, running 100 miles is like an exorcism, exposing all your demons and making you face them, because that is all you can do when you are exhausted.

Marco’s personal race to victory: –

We discussed in depth his race, how it panned out and what it threw at him. Marco revealed that no matter how tough it got he “never wanted to quit” that was not an option. It was never in his dialogue and he was convinced he would hit his 100-mile goal in 24HRs. Now my friends that is a very good foundation to any personal win. He found a steady pace and stuck to it, now remember this is not easy and he hit two huge low points. He told me that between mile 42-48 he felt terrible, yet he pushed through and only thought of the race loop to loop, his next drink or next piece of food. He was lacking a little in the nutrition and was given Ensure by his pacer and trainer and Marco said that totally put the wheels back on and he felt fabulous, with 15-20g of protein a bottle it was definitely the way to go. Miles 50-70 he felt awesome as the distance and hours ticked by. Through into the night he kept running, lulled by the solitude and hypnotic darkness, relaxing into his stride and putting his mind at rest; the ultimate meditation. Day breaks, mile 80 hits and he tumbles down a crevice of “low”, muscles are locking up, as the lactate acid builds, feet are numb, stinging from over use and at 20 miles to go, his cousin jumps in for 5 miles to eek him through the discomfort. Then his brother steps into pace Marco, who had come all the way from Oahu, Hawaii, to be with him for the race. He ran the final 10 miles with his brother, striding towards his goal. The pain is excruciating, every mile an eternity, but he remains steady, his dream taunting him and waiting for him to grab it with two hands and with a mere twenty minutes to go to the 24HR cut off Marco hits his 100 miles. YES! He hits 100 miles, can you even imagine what that feels like, the pain, the elation, the relief, the tiredness sweeping over, the excitement. AMAZING! His total mileage was 100.29 miles. He crushed it, ringing in at second place.

The Future: –

We go on to discuss his plans for the future, what inspires him, what he learnt from the race and areas he wants to work on. When working on his running Marco takes inspiration from the strengths of the people around him, his trainer, friends, running partners and creates a person of pure inspiration and looks at what he can draw from that. We talk about what he needed to work on, and he said “consistency” in his training, to get out there and run the miles and not be lazy – his own words.

His love of the outdoors drives him and when we talk about his 5 year plan in life and running, he reveals that he is striving to do some faster 50K races and 50 milers, begin to work on doing some long trans through hikes (think PCT – Pacific crest trail and AT – Appalachian trail) and a maybe a 200 mile race. In life he aspires to move to the beautiful, Rocky Mountains of Colorado, indulge his love of technical trails and being at one with nature. While there he aims to utilize his Exercise Physiology major and build up his own endurance coaching business, partnering with shoe companies and work on training and nutrition of athletes. I mean the world literally is his oyster, with his determination, lust for life, intelligence and cool confidence, I feel we will see and hear a lot more of Marco Tona in the years to follow. He truly was a joy to talk to and a person already in tune with themselves, which can take most people a lifetime to discover. I am excited to follow Marco’s journey and to see where he goes from here as he continues to shatter his ceiling and lift higher.

Marco Tona stats

-Favorite sneakers – Altra Torin

-Trademark look – Wild curls

-Thing most people do not know about him – He was a book worm and home schooled.

-Special power – Enthusiasm and excitement to run.

-Furthest run – 100.29 miles.

 

 

Crash landed and it’s not pretty?!?

Fuck fuck fuck! Today, out of nowhere, after 2 years, I had a full blown panic attack. In my car of all places…

I was alone thankfully, No small children were scarred, by my inability to keep my shit together. My heart was skipping beats and had been for 2 days. It feels like it is getting worse and that dear readers, was the catalyst to send me over the edge. Plummetting like a rag doll, back into that viscous, black abyss of brain crushing, hysterical, blinding panic.

I was sobbing, my face was numb, my heart raced the world was blurry and the white noise was screaming, I was hyperventilating and could not stop it, I just could not stop it, so I instead let it crash over me and hoped I would resurface soon.

Side note – Post meltdown recovery to be conducted as soon as functional, sane brain restarts …

I’m alive. I share, to show this is what myself and 1000s of others deal with and this is my way of making this rational, to remove the fear and look at it in black and white and walk away.

Darkest little secret….

WOW that sounds sinister?! Why do secrets languish in the shadows of guilt. Why is it wrong to admit the truth to something that is deemed against the norm? Am I scaring you yet? Pssttt, I am not a killer, sorry that would have been exciting gossip for the parents at the school gate? No, I do not have a favorite child, well to be honest that actually changes on a daily basis. Hey and before you mount your towering horse of parenting judgement, I love them equally, but for their differences and quirks. One cannot quantify love, it cannot be seen or held, only felt and how can one measure a feeling. Well I cannot. Good for you if you can.

Lets get it out there…

I Kelly Joy, GULP, sometimes wish I had a illness so great, that I am bed ridden for a few days. Enabling me to get off the whirlwind that is modern life. Hey and before we go all batshit crazy on this, I do not mean cancer or some other terrible heartache many humans have to navigate, just a nice dose of “friendly virus”. It can be uncomfortable and hurt, so it allows me to have a perfect excuse, just to not to get up. I can hide under those dark, deep covers of sanity. Away from the family chores, the cleaning, the responsibility of my children, my work, the bills, the scheduling, the driving. All the things I can never get to, that compound on my shoulders, weighing me down. My fight to push myself to a sub 3 HR marathon, balancing work, running and family, trying to cook a nutritious home cooked meal, bake cakes, organize birthday parties, vacations, getting to each of my children and giving them what they need at any given moment, to fight aging and look attractive against the sea of under 40 parents, the fear my husband may leave me for a younger model. Be put together and calm, follow social rules, think of others before myself, a good friend, a kind person, give back, organize Christmas, keep in touch with family abroad… ARRGGGHHHH I Just cannot keep my fucking head above the water line. I almost drown daily and thank god I am a pretty good swimmer, as I have always swam against the tide.

Can you believe, I curl up and cry and hide, SHOCKER? Sometimes I wish for a dose of friendly flu, so I can avoid and hide and sleep, I just want to sleep all bloody day and not empty the dishwasher for the 10 millionth time or listen to my kids kick the shit out of each other, not cook dinner, fold washing …. just sleeeep. Crazy huh?

Before you go all preachy and worried. No I am not depressed, never have been, I love life, I love adventures, I love my boys. My anxiety is gone, so have my panic attacks (thanks to my 40 miles a week of running), my anorexia is managed, I have great friends, an awesome husband, but life is messy and busy and cluttered and sometimes I want it all to stop for 24HRS. Like the Thanos SNAP and then we go back and start again, clean slate, tidy life, to go forth and mess it the fuck up again, as that is what life is, a long messy transition from birth to death. With so much love, living and being thrown in between.

Dirty little secret it may be? I am sure people will think I need help, or am nuts, or not coping, but who the fuck does not need help, is normal ( I hate that word) and is coping, no one I know on the inside. Why should it be a secret, why can we not share and care, love and help, laugh and cry together over this tectonic ride we are on, forever moving and changing.

I will always feel every moment, I will cry hard and laugh loudly, enjoy the good, balance along walls, cartwheel in the grass, sing to my favorite song, love with all my might and not apologize for my honesty. But I will be honest and not be perfect and a pain in the ass, a bee in your ear, revealing all I am and reflecting all you will not share and with that I am giving you permission to reveal, break down, join my party in life and that is my gift to you. I give you my dirty secret and honesty, so you can be you and release and know I am way crazier and needy than you will ever be. Don’t mind if I do.

You are so very welcome.

KKJ