Planting Time Seeds

I thought I’d write a poem this time
Cuz my ideas have been low.
I like to bounce my words around
And speak aloud and slow.

I find it gets my brain stirred up
And makes me laugh in my head.
I feel just like my fourth-grader
As I review the prose ahead.

But the reality is, it’s been a long time
That I’ve been writing this blog,
This post is number two nighty-six
And some weeks it’s a bit of a slog.

I love to write and the feedback is great
Per month I’ve got thousands of reads.
But when push comes to shove, the real story is
I need hours to be grown from seeds.

Between hockey and skiing,
Now is lacrosse and baseball,
School pickups and dropoffs
It’s become quite the haul.

Time is tricky to find
In the balance as a mum,
I wish those time seeds
Could be planted with my thumb.

I’d grow some for RockTape
And the Burlington Runners Club,
My writing commitments
Could be grown like a shrub.

I’d plant some more seeds
For my New York training fears.
There’s that 42.2 looming
My first marathon in twelve years.

Let’s not forget date nights
Which are nearly non-existent.
And our evenings on the couch
Have been less than consistent.

There’s parent council meetings at school
And kids coaching to do,
We also have a puppy,
She’s sweet and her name’s Blue.

There you have it my friends
What I’m trying to say,
Is let’s see what happens
At least I posted today.

I’m at my kitchen table,
I booked an hour off the hook
To wrap my brain around ideas
And maybe finally start my book.

But all that I’ve accomplished
Is this three-hundred word poem.
Yet I’ve also built this life;
My family, house, and home.

So even though it’s busy,
Full of rush and multi-tasking
It’s what I’ve chosen, what I’m proud of,
And in that I will stay basking.

I saw this post on Instagram,
It’s the background on my phone.
I’m thankful for every piece of my life
But perhaps I need a clone.

remember


Real talk.

Real talk.

I’ve had a rough month.  There’s been a few hurdles thrown at me lately, and I want to share those with you, in keeping with my “this is me” philosophy of transparency and honesty.

If you’ve read this blog over the years, you’ve certainly heard me talk about my love of running.  Being a “runner” is a big part of my identity, and it’s something I’ve loved to do since I was a little girl.  As a 12-year-old, I used to get up early on Spring mornings and run down to the end of my small-town street and back before anyone else was awake.  Other times, I would ride my bike over to the school track and run laps just for the peaceful bliss that I knew it would bring.

I didn’t have the vocabulary for it back then, but I do now:

running helps to keep me feeling like me.

I tend to worry about things, and running helps me to worry less.  It helps my mind to stay calm and my energy to stay high.  I’m a happy person at my core, but running simply makes me a happier person; a runner’s high is no joke.

And I think this is the reason that February has felt like such a tough one.  I had a week of a chest cold that wouldn’t let loose, four epic snow/ice/freezing rain storms that made for very tricky conditions, and a stubborn Achilles injury that just won’t cooperate.  My mileage was really low, meaning less fresh air, less group run support, less peace in my brain.  Crossfit helps, yoga helps, workouts in my basement help, but for me, there’s just nothing quite like the run.

Bring on Spring.  Bring on blue skies and clear roads and sunshine on our faces.  Bring on movement and sweat and feel-good hormones.  Bring on friendships and smiles and goals to be chased.

We’ve got this.  Happy March!

march


Shoot the puck

My daughter is six years old, and for the past two Winters my husband has been her hockey coach.  She plays for a local girls hockey league, and this year she’s got one hour of practice and one hour of a half-ice game per week.  If there’s anything cuter than a pack of ponytailed Grade 1-ers chasing a puck, well then I’ve never seen it.  She’s been on skates since she could walk, like a true Canadian kid, and she’s well-versed in Hockey Night in Canada and the Leaf’s Stanley Cup drought.  With sport-obsessed parents, she’s come by it honestly.

The improvement in her skills from the start of the season, at only two hours of ice-time per week, are incredible.  She’s gone from wobbly and timid to confident and sure-footed.  She can put her gear on entirely by herself, except for skate laces and helmet snaps.  She can pull her hockey bag, carry her stick, and she can last the full hour of ice-time.  She’s a dependable, capable competitor.  And yet, we’re teaching her to pass the puck….

Let me explain.

In a recent hockey meeting that my husband attended, it was pointed out that as our girls are growing into hockey players, they are often taught to pass the puck to their teammates.  In amongst the skill-building, they’re being told to give everyone a turn, to share the puck around, to not leave anyone out.  All good things, yes.  However, this has led to older players scoring less, favouring the pass over the shot.  Now, I have a son in hockey too, and I attend most of his practices and games; I see that he too, is told to pass the puck.  But not as often.  And not in the same situations.

You see, these instructions are heard differently through the ears of a young girl.  These words are spoken within a society that teaches girls to be polite and kind and teaches boys to be forthright and determined.  And while I’m not going to delve deep into the gender equality conversation on this chilly Tuesday morning, this post is a snapshot of what’s been on my mind.  I’ve got Sheryl Sandberg’s “Lean In” and Kirstine Stewart’s “Our Turn” on my bedside table and I’m fresh off a Mexican vacation where women in the workforce was a big topic of conversation.

So I hope that my words make you think.

This small example, using the metaphor of hockey as life, shows me that there’s still work to be done.

Let’s teach our girls to shoot the puck.

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Three years ago, learning to skate.