Race Recap: AC 70.3

For the past 8 months my Atlantic City half Ironman journey motto was "How bad do you want it."

On days when I wanted to cut a run short or jump off the bike early or skip the pool because the pool is cold, I would say that to myself to remind me that this journey would NOT be easy.

Racing 70.3 miles is NOT a walk in the park, it takes training, early morning and REALLY late nights pounding pavement or on the bike trainer. I started a new job in March, have been planning a wedding and help Ainsley's Angels full time. I could have made EVERY excuse in the book leading up to yesterday, but I wasn't going to do that because I wanted yesterday. I wanted it BAD and I wanted to cross that finish line. I'm blessed to have the ability to do this and there is not one day where I take it for granted.

I'm not the skinniest, lightest or fastest athlete, but I'm STRONG, physically and more importantly, MENTALLY. I was without a doubt one of the heaviest females out on the course yesterday representing the Athena's, and proud to show all of the spectators watching on the Boardwalk yesterday that weight is a NUMBER, it doesn't define who you are or your availability to compete at this caliber of a race. It all comes down to how bad do you want it!

Race Expo

I won't write much about this but the expo was great. I got to meet other Athena ladies who I'm friends with on a Facebook page in person, as well as the Women for Tri ladies which is a Facebook page I LOVE. I got to see the IronVillage and FINALLY bought some Ironman branded gear. I have refused to wear it until I did an Ironman race. Happy the wait is over.

Day Race

Yesterday was a long, hard, yet amazing day. I knew it was not going to be easy, but for some crazy reason, I feed off this shit. I live for race day and the nerves and the pukey feeling leading up to it. Taylor deals with my crazy emotions and is always telling me "I know you're going to kill it, you always do!" He's usually always right. He's the best.

It was an early start on race morning. Up at 4:30 a.m. and got to the site around 530. I had an hour in transition to get all of my gear laid out and ready to go. I filled up on bike water bottle with my nutrition, placed my fig newtons on my bike and placed my sneakers, hat, sunglasses and running bib together for the run portion. Janice and I were about 10 bikes away from each other in transition so we chatted as we set up. We both left transition and tried to choke down a bagel before the start. I can NEVER eat on race day because my nerves are so high but I was able to eat half as Taylor stood there

as my food monitor. (Again, he's amazing and wants the best for me.)

Anxiously, 2500 of us waited at the swim start. This course was a rolling start so you put your self in line with what time you think you will finish. With a goal of 45 minutes, Janice and I set ourselves in the middle. We chatted with our friend Kelly and met a nice woman from State College in line. Chatting together settled the nerves...at this point, I was ready to get the day started.

The swim is my favorite part, it always is because for some reason I'm good at it. With the rolling start, 6 of us started every 10 seconds. I got to the dock with Janice and 4 dudes...beep, beep. beep...GO! Off the dock, no turning back. For me, the swim is all about keeping rhythm with my stroke and breathing. I passed lots of green caps (guys!) and found my rhythm after about 200 yards in. For a while there was no one around me..just the water and the casino skyline I saw with every breath. It was an out and back swim and I was so happy to hit the turn around. Coming back we were swimming into the current so I had to put a little extra pull into the swim. Around 1300 yards my neck started to burn. I realized my suit and sports bra were chafing the back of my neck. I've never had this before and it was so painful. I knew that would NOT be pretty at the end of in the shower later that night. People were getting tired and lots were converting to breath stroke to catch their breath. I knew I had to keep fighting and did. I could hear the announcer and knew I was getting close. Through the two buoys and I was finished! Goal time: 45 minutes Actual Time: 47 minutes

Into transition I went and was in and out in under 3 minutes. I racked my bike, dried my feet, put my shoes and helmet on. Lets ride -- my least favorite discipline in triathlon. The bike was looooong. It was a 2.5 loop which took you on the AC Expressway and off exit 5 through a community there. That loop at exit 5 we had to do 3x and it was terrible for me. The road wasn't very smooth and just enough small hills to kill your legs. I kept telling myself get through those 5 miles and hammer it on the straight away on the Expressway -- so that's what I did. At the other turn around I saw Taylor camped out on his chair cheering EVERYONE one. By mile 45 my ass hurt so bad I had no idea how I was gonna get done. When I sat up it hurt, when I went down into aero it hurt. Only 10 miles and you're off this damn thing I repeated over and over. The bike is my weakest and I really prayed to be fast enough to give myself enough time on the run to make the cut off. Goal Time: 4 hours Actual Time: 3:44

I finally got off the bike and had to change up for the run. I racked my bike, grabbed my run gear and onto the LAST leg. Another fast transition. (I dont know how so people take SO LONG in there, boggles my mind!) As I was running out of transition there were two volunteers there to spray you down with sun screen. The entire bike ride was cloudy but for the run the sun was out. I knew I'd regret not putting it on so I decided to lube up. I had terrible chafing on my neck from the swim and it burned soooo bad when the ladies sprayed. I actually yelled and the one lady said "I know sweetie, I'm sorry but itll be worth it. Now go become an Ironman."

So off to the run...I took about 15 steps and said to myself ohhhh boy, this is gonna be a long 13.1 miles. My legs felt like jello and it took me the first mile to find them. I saw Taylor waiting for me and I finally saw Janice. It was great to see her face. I was cruising for a bit and Janice caught up to me around mile 4.5 She was feeling it and I told her go sister, crush this!! I was feeling good through mile 8 and that is when the struggle bus hit. I knew the last 5 were going to be more than moving my legs but mentally getting through it.

I didn't train this way but sometimes you need to make a race day decision...during the run I did a run/walk method. I really wanted to run each mile, walk each aid station, but it wasn't happening and I wasn't going to let it ruin me. I was still smiling and loving this day. So on the boardwalk there were flags hanging on the pools...I ran 5 flags and walked a flag. I did this over and over and over again. It made the miles go by quicker and kept me moving forward. I had the same routine at each aid station, two cups of water (drink one and one on me), orange slice, and cup of ice that went into my tri kit.

I ended up running into my friend Howard from the Lansdale Run Club and we ran alot of the run together. We didn't say much, but knowing he was there gave me some comfort. I saw Janice at mile 11 when I was at 10.5. We knew this stretch was doing to be hard and hurt. We hugged each other and I told her how proud of her I was. I wish I could have seen her cross the finish line. I tried so hard to catch her on the turn around but I just couldn't. With two miles left I looked at my watch and started crunching numbers. I knew I was going to make it happen, today was happening. Hello water works. Spectators kept saying to me "you're there, hang in there." I think they all thought I was hurt and I'd ugly cry saying to them "I did this, I'm really doing this". Them all smiles would say Yes you are, keep going.

Howard and I ran the last mile together and I told him to go ahead of me because I wanted MY moment running down the chute alone to the finish. That red carpet and the fans and seeing Taylor was just as I expected. I soaked in every. single. step of that red carpet and that is the moment I've replayed in my head for 8 months straight saying "how bad do you want it." Hands in the air, playing off the crowd and finally a big huge yell...I did it. I fucking did it!!! "And here is Amanda Piccccccirilli from Lansdaleeeeee, Pennsylvania" the announcer said for the crowd to hear. I walked through, got a water towel and my finisher pint glass. And there waiting for me was my IronBestie Janice. I hugged her so tight and cried like a baby, then she cried. She did it. I did it. WE did it. TOGETHER, from start to finish. Run Goal Time: 2:45 Actual Time: 3:12

Yesterday was definitely the hardest thing I've ever done in my entire life. Way harder than a marathon.But i loved it, every single minute and mile. I literally smiled the whole race and enjoyed it and the people. Yesterday's main goal was to have FUN and enjoy every moment. I did just that and was happy with my time based on what I was hoping to get. Overall Goal Time: 7:45 Actual Time: 7:52

Re-Scheduling & Dog Barking: Road to AC70.3

I just looked at my GoPro video from last night and I was so pissed. HAHAHAHAHA But in all fairness, the gym is seriously insanely packed and I need to come up with a new game plan on run days.

I've been a baby this winter and hitting the treadmill more than years past, HOWEVER, each and every time I go to the gym there are no available treadmills. So after being upset for the 5th time I think I need to say enough is enough and only head to the gym for spin, yoga and lifting.

In theory I should REALLY start getting up early and running with The Run Club in the morning (I miss my asscrackers). But let me type out my logic and MAYBE I'm insane for thinking this way, but I'd love your comments on this post to say "Amanda, I can understand your view point" or I'd appreciate hearing  "Amanda, you're insane, that's a dumb reason." So here we go.

Since moving out of my parents house I've not gone for early morning runs with The Run Club. When I lived at home I'd take him out for a quick pee, I'd get dressed and he'd curl up in bed with my mom until I got back. I now live in an apartment which is a twin house converted into an upstairs and downstairs apartment. Our neighbors upstairs are super cool and the twin connected to us is a family of 6 - two adults and 4 kids. Run Club runs START at 5:15 a.m. which means I need to leave the house at 4:45 a.m. Taylor leaves the house every day at 5:30 a.m. for work.

It doesn't matter if it is 5:30 a.m. or 2:30 p.m., Gatsby barks his face off when we (mainly I) leave the house. I'm sure this is normal, HOWEVER, to have my dog barking his face off at 4:45 a.m. and/or 5:30 a.m. when Taylor leaves, I feel awful that my neighbors have to hear that/deal with it so so early in the morning. So to not have to deal with it I just run at night.

Am I insane for thinking this way?! He has to stop barking at some point, right? I feel like my only other option is to run at home BEFORE Taylor leaves at 5:30 a.m.

Please, some feedback is appreciated. 

Off to Spin tonight with Janice and Taylor. I've been using the My Fitness Pal for logging my food and workouts and it's working really well. I have a few accountability buddies on there so it's nice to have the support. Love you A.R.

#DreamReallyFreakinBig

Fight The Food: Road to AC70.3

How many of us can relate: We just had an 8+ hour work day, we know we need to get to the gym to get a good workout in and then we realize we didn't meal prep for dinner. You get in your car after your awesome workout and you just say to yourself, "I'm too tired, I'll just go pick something up." The "go pick something up" usually means fast food or something of poor quality. Say goodbye to the 1500 calories you just burned.

I am the first one to say I am guilty of this...tonight was ALMOST one of those nights -- I was debating between Saladworks and Wendy's because they are both easy stops on my way home.

And then as I put my car into drive I said NO AMANDA!!! Stop being a lazy turd and go home and make food. MAKE THE SMART DECISION, AMANDA.

My eating habits are not great -- I  can work out has hard as I want, but exercise will NEVER outweigh an awful diet. I've been heavy and Ive been thin. I know what it takes to lose weight and get to my fittest ability. But it doesn't come without WORK and smart choices.



Tonight was a victory in my book -- I made the RIGHT choice to make a healthy dinner and not let the inner demon win.

Celebrate the small victories in life -- sometimes they are some of the biggest ones.

#DreamReallyFreakinBig

Dip, Baby, Dip: Road to AC70.3

It felt so good to get into the pool on Friday. Like really, really good. This was the first time I took a dip since my Olympic Triathlon in Atlantic City back in August. I really only planned to swim maybe 400m but I felt really good and it turned into 1000m.

I went about it in 100m intervals....swimming the 100m and then giving myself a 20 second rest and completing 10 sets. Taylor and I joined the YMCA this summer and I'm so glad we did. Our facility has three pools and the one pool is amazing. Six lanes of quality. Surprisingly it is always jam packed. Luckily, there were a few lanes open on Friday and I got it done. I know others would have been willing to share.



Friday night was spent at dinner with my parents and packing for a weekend trip to Philadelphia as my best friend and her husband decided for a random visit. Saturday morning Taylor and I got up super early to run with our friend, Vickie. I knew I had to call someone to run with me for accountability or I would have over slept and missed the workout completely. Vickie is one hell of a lady and I miss not seeing her as much. It was great to catch up with her and hear about her fitness adventures for 2017.

The rest of the weekend was spent in Philly doing super tourist things, drinking and eating way too much and belly laughs. Sometime it is the perfect medicine the doctor subscribes.

On to another week of meditation, workouts and burning off the thousands of calories I took in this weekend.

#DreamReallyFreakinBig

Meet Janice: Road to AC70.3

Everyone, meet Janice. She is the one who is going to have to put up with me most over the next250+ days. With unusual 60 degree temperatures in January, there was NO WAY I was going to run inside on the treadmill on a day like that. So we packed up our cars and headed to Fischers Park. Janice's babygirl, Brooklyn, tagged along with us and she did amazing in the jogging stroller. I have a feeling she's going to have to get use to it because IRONmama Janice will most likely be bringing her on more runs than not. It was great to see Janice experience what I do during Ainsley's Angels events pushing.



Brooklyn is a great little distraction and her laughing when we laugh is the cutest thing in the world. I got to pick Janice's brain a little bit and see where she is mentally as we go into this journey called Ironman.

Post-run I hung out at the dark for a little and did my meditation there. With a backdrop like that, how could I not.

I can't help but let doubt creep into my mind every so often...I'm not strong enough....I'm not fit enough...I'm not capable of doing this. Doubt is the worst thing, but it's digging deep and facing that demon head on and saying YES I CAN that will get me through my darkest days of training.

Things are happy go lucky right now but give it a few weeks and tougher days are ahead. But I've learned to appreciate my efforts and believe in me. YES I CAN!!!

IRONbesties: Road to AC70.3

In my eyes, it's pretty freakin cool when you and one of your best friends get to tackle a HUGE milestone together, like a half Ironman. That best friend is Janice. I just recently asked Janice to be in my wedding this October and as part of our wedding website, I asked all my bridesmaids to write a little blurb about how they know me. Here is what Janice had to say:

I met Amanda in second grade at Gwynedd Square Elementary. It was always easy to be friends with
her. She is outgoing, kind and leaves a lasting impression. Our friendship is simple, we push each other to be our very best! It started spending endless years competing on the soccer fields as kids. Soccer was life. Fast forward, we now share a love/passion for Triathlons. She's the only friend crazy enough to sign up for a 70.3 Ironman this September with me! Amanda is the most fierce athlete I know. She never quits!! I am beyond honored to be her bridesmaid and share this journey with her!

I am beyond humbled to hear those words come out of Janice's mouth, however, I'm not too sure if she knows how much she means to me. She taught me at a very young age friendship loyalty. For instance, she grew up loving the Backstreet Boys....I was an N'Sync fan. Two rivals, however, we loved each other for being opposites and regardless of musical preference, we still had each other. We sang our hearts out to both bands and told all our secrets as we laid on her water bed. Her basement bedroom was the coolest bedroom any of my friends had. In my eyes she was SOOOO cool. I was the lucky one.

Her humor, outgoing personality, and adventurous lifestyle are only a few of the things I love about Janice. I can remember going to her house in second grade, eating spaghetti and meatballs, dancing, and making up live performances. Luckily for me during middle school, Janice moved THREE DOORS DOWN from me!!! For nearly 7 years she was the first person I got to see EVERY morning. We laughed, shared stories, sat next to each other on the bus. Her hair was always a different color and most days ended with "wanna hang out later?" She was the best morning caffeine I could have.




From little 7 year olds, to now grown women, her as a mom, me as a soon-to-be bride, SHE is the one that inspired me to get into the sport of triathlon. She bugged me for YEARS and I always pushed back because I was too busy being just a runner. I am so grateful that she finally got me to commit to the Sandy Hook Iron Girl race in 2015 because this sport has opened my eyes to new challenges I never thought possible.

You're a wonderful mother, a terrific wife, a cherished friend and the greatest female role model Brooklyn has ever seen. Thank you for opening my eyes to new adventures....thank you for always believing in me when I don't believe in myself....and more than anything - thank you for being YOU. This journey would be nothing without you and it is because of YOU I hit the 'register' button.

Stroke It, Ride It, Pound It. Me and you girl.

#DreamReallyFreakinBig

The Yoga Struggle is Real: Road to AC70.3

The gym is absolutely packed with new year's resolution go-getters (GET AFTER IT!!) However, it is REALLLLLY screwing up my workout flow.

Despite the hectic YMCA, sometimes you gotta deal with the cards dealt and do whatever necessary to get it done. So that's what I did. I squeezed in an almost quick mile and then headed to yoga class. Fashionably late because I went to the wrong classroom, into yoga I went.

Yoga is seriously my real life torture chamber. I have ZERO flexibility and I haven't had any my  entire life. I'm no where close to touching my toes and Taylor has no idea how I was a gymnastic growing up (lets just say my splits and handstands were never straight but I still won first place in the all-around competition.) Enough down memory lane, back to today. Right, right, yoga is torture. I find no calm or peacefulness in the practice ... I sweat like a pig, my body shakes.  I hurt, I'm sore.



BUT, let me throw this in, I'm really starting to enjoy the challenge and I really think it will help with my flexibility and my stretching. I'm in it to win it. Plus, the meditation at the end is always my favorite. (I started a new year's meditation challenge...Ill post about that another time.)

Run - Yoga - Run was Tuesday's workout and mission complete.

On to the next day.

#DreamReallyFreakinBig

It's Happening: Road to AC70.3

2017 is going to be a big year.... with a wedding in October, one who is sane would think, "hey, maybe you should evaluate your life and what you have in store the next 10 months." Well let's get real...I'M INSANE!

In 276 days I get to marry my best friend. But before I walk down the aisle, in 249 days I will be attempting my first half IRONMAN with my best friend, Janice.

GULP!

A half IRONMAN is 70.3 miles in total -- that means a 1.2-mile (1.9 km) swim, a 56-mile (90 km) bike ride, and a 13.1-mile (21.1 km) run. I've ran half marathons and marathons, I've completed sprint and Olympic distance triathlons...and I can only do what is next on the bucket list...half ironman.

After several months of being UBER lazy after the Marine Corps Marathon, this past week I got back into the swing of training. Gosh does it hurt. Starting from step one is NEVER easy, but sometimes it has to be done - too frequently for me because after a major race I usually give myself a rest period. And to be quite honest, I didn't want to put my sneakers on. It was about the week of Christmas where I was REALLY craving to lace up and get back after it. So here I am.



I'm excited, scared and more than anything - thrilled to share this journey with all of you by vlogging (see video above). My "official" training plan starts January 29th -- I plan to use the IronGirl sprint triathlon training plan for 12 weeks (building my base endurance), followed by the Be Iron Fit Half Ironman training plan leading up to race day.

I've decided to REALLY focus on all aspects of my training this year -- swimming, biking, running, lifting and of course nutrition. Be Iron Fit uses zone heart rate for training so I'm excited to experience that. And in the end -- lets hope that I'm fit AF for the wedding in October (hoping I can spray tan the razor back tanlines off!!)

So here we go -- Road to AC70.3. Let's get it done!
#DreamReallyFreakinBig

Battle of the Sports Bra

While running in this heat and humidity is an accomplishment in itself, I think the true victory is getting the sports bra off. Cheers to all the ladies.

Guys and gals, you know how incredibly sticky you are post run. The moment you finish your workout the sweat explodes out of your pores like a waterfall. You're so wet and slick you could glide perfectly across a dry slip and slide mat.

As you take the next 15 minutes to cool down and stretch, your skin begins to dry and the salty, stickiness arrives.

Bug carcasses press against your chest where they ended the lives. Your compression shorts are attached to your legs as if they were cement. Your socks are socked. Your dri fit shirt is the only thing you know will easily come off. Your heart rate returns to normal, you pick yourself up off the sidewalk where your soaked body leaves a body/ass sweat mark, and you look forward to the most glorious reward at the end of every hot summer sizzling run....a cold shower.

As you walk to the bathroom, removing your shoes, socks, shorts, top, you have one final step. THE SPORTS BRA.

Step 1: It is at that moment your worst nightmare arrives. Your sports bra is attached to you like a suction cup...With all your might you pull the left under boob/cup portion away from your body to be able to maneuver your left arm into the slot directly next to your sports bra and side boob...a slot tight on a normal sticky workout day, but this slot on a summer-y ridiculous workout day is like shoving your hand down the small portion of your car seat and center consul when you drop your cell phone by accident. IT'S AWFUL, IT SUCKS. And that is only Step 1.

Step 2: Once left arm is in slot, you use your right hand to start removing bra away from your slotted arm and body. Instead of going over your head in one easy swipe, your sports bra rolls up your arm and chest, laying there stuck as it sits across your breasts. Your right arm turns into a contortionist as you try to peel away the bra off your back to keep that section from rolling. After 3 minutes of fighting like two pigs under a blanket,  you're almost home free.

Step 3: Removal. After fighting the back, side and front boob sweat, your bra is almost there. One more good YANK and the puppies are free. At this point, you're exhausted, forget the water is even running in the shower and you look forward to spending the rest of the evening bra-less - letting the girls just "hang" because the effort of reapplying a bra post-shower when you are sticky and wet from cleaning off is EXACTLY the same amount of effort as putting it on. (Ask my mom, she tore her elbow tendon getting ready for an evening out. Had to get surgery. #TrueStory). 

On a side note: Rewind to Tuesday night. I did a brick workout where I did speed work on the track followed by a swim. Have you ever tried putting on a one piece bathing suit AFTER your run? Nearly fucking impossible. I've never had so much trouble in my LIFE -- you think a bra is hard, getting the fabric over your legs, stomach, chest AND back is horrible. I wanted to curl up into a ball in the handicap stall and cry, but I thought the girls high school water polo players in the bathroom with me would have laughed at me.

So today's conclusion... you ladies are amazing. If you have a bad run or things aren't going your way, just know after you take off your sports bra, you're a winner regardless in my book.

Until next run...

V is for View from the Single Lane

I’ve only known Vickie for less than a year, but I feel like I’ve known her my entire life. It is pretty crazy how people come into your life and make such an IMPACT the moment you meet. Her positive energy, drive for life and humor are only a FEW of my favorite things. From bike riders, running, and drinking beer, she's one of the best friends to have on YOUR team. Today, Vickie takes us into the single world and she explains her life perfectly. Keep being that social butterfly.

V is for View from the Single Lane
By Vickie Reinecker 

I feel like I should start this piece off with a disclaimer.  “If you, the reader, are in a relationship of any kind that precludes you from defining yourself as single, please know that I am happy for you!  I am in no way discounting your lifestyle by seemingly bragging about mine.”

Okay, with that said, my (single) life ROCKS!  That statement, that truth, was a long time in coming.  As a young girl, I had the typical boyfriend/husband/motherhood dreams that my friends had; that my parents, in their close-minded “don't you dare be different” mentality, were sure would happen for their little girl. My parents should have had a clue that this “American dream” might not happen since I was notorious for not following “the rules”!

Labeled at an early age as a social butterfly in a disparaging way by a teacher, I was admittedly more interested in talking and socializing than in my studies.  That “flaw” would become the foundation of strength that got me to this point in my life.

When it became apparent in my mid-thirties that “the one” might not exist for me (much to the dismay of friends who continuously set me up on dates after a long-term relationship ended at age 28), I took serious inventory of my current status.  Was it possible to be happy on my own?  All of the people in my world were in pairs.  I'd be the odd man out.  The third wheel.  If a relationship/marriage/kids were not in my future, what then?
 
The answer was yes!  That social butterfly “flaw” meant that I was blessed to have maintained many of the friendships that otherwise would have gotten lost in the aftermath of a long-term breakup...you keep some, you lose some.  I realized, in the most cliché way, that I was the master of my destiny.  My happiness was my choice!  And I chose to be happy whether in a relationship or single.  As fate would have it, thank goodness I did because I've been single for more years than I've been part of a couple!

This epiphany came at a time that my closest friends were having children.  What timing!  Need a date night?  Call Vic!  Sleep deprived from walking the floor with the newest addition?  Call Vic!  She'll sleep over and get up with that little munchkin all night long!  I loved those years!  I got the good and not so good aspects of babies/toddlers and developed the best Aunt VeeVee relationship with six of this planet's most awesome kids, who are now almost all teenagers, starting to drive, date, etc.  Maybe it's time for me to enforce some distance...just kidding kiddos!!

All along, I have never felt that I was missing out on something.  That's a typical misconception of some couples, by the way.  How can you be happy single?  See how happy we are?  Don't you want this happiness?  I've had a “taste” of that happiness and let's just say we aren't all destined to like the same thing--kind of like pizza toppings!
 

I also got good, in my opinion, at being “that” friend.  The go-to friend.  The listener.  The sympathizer/empathizer.  I believe that because my day-to-day life is as drama-free as one can get, I have the extra capacity to listen, love, support and empower.  Not that I'm better than anyone else, I just have the luxury of being available and accessible when a friend calls.  You get 100% because nothing else is taking up my time and I acknowledge how blessed I am that that is my reality!  Had a tough day at work and need a drink and an ear to vent to and your other friends are running kids to practice/games, making dinner, etc.?  Call Vic!  Chances are she'll make you go for a run before that drink, but hey, it can't all be about you!!

A friend once sent me a meme that said, “It's not that I'm bad at relationships, I'm just incredibly good at being single!”, and the moment I decided to be happy no matter my relationship status was when I realized what I was good at...friendship!  My single status has blessed me with more in-depth friendships, not just acquaintances, and those friendships are my world.  Just like your spouse or your kids or your career are yours.  I can honestly say that while I am alone, I am not lonely.  Read that again.  I did.  It brings me to tears of joy to realize that I don't just say that flippantly but in all honestly.  It's especially true this past year.  So many ups and downs (not drama, just life) and the people I have met through running have, in my opinion, been the reward for my hard work!

I have an awesome life!  It just happens to be a single life and I am more than okay with that!  So if you encounter a “single by choice” person, please do not assume that something is wrong with them or that they can't possibly be that happy alone!  Instead, grab a net and capture that social butterfly!  I promise you, she will be the friend to change your view!

Q is for quest … and question.

Hi, I’m Nona Breaux and in a moment of weakness volunteered to help out Amanda by taking the letter Q. I’m no stranger to writing, having worked at The Reporter for more than 38 years -- yes, I’m that old -- before retiring at the end of 2011.

However,  it’s been a bit since I’ve actually sat down and tried to put pen to paper -- or make that word to computer.

But here goes!

Q is for quest … and question.

I don’t care how old I might be, I don’t think I will ever stop being on some quest on another -- and

I’ll never stop questioning what the heck is going on in this world, where exactly am I going, how did I get to be as relatively lucky as I have been in life or how I have survived some really horrific events and resolved to continue moving on.

When you think about it, we’re all on our own quests and probably we’re part of other people’s journeys and various causes as well. I can’t say that I have some magnificent goal to change the world; that I ever thought I’d find the cure for cancer; or that I’d be a changing force in anyone’s life. I doubt that I’ll be long remembered by other than a few family members and maybe a friend or two after I shuffle off this mortal coil; but I also hope I haven’t sat quietly by, saying nothing that might have made a difference here or there during my lifetime.

When I was growing up and living on a small farm, there were always plenty of animals in my life. I got my first pony when I was 3 or 4, graduated to a horse at about age 12, was involved in 4-H with cows, pigs and chickens, and always was surrounded by cats and dogs -- not to mention other farm critters.

And so I think my first quest was to become a veterinarian. I could just picture myself healing cats and dogs, horses and cows. I would be known far and wide as that woman vet who had a way with any critter.

Then I got to high school and encountered chemistry. I truly had to question my quest at that point, when it was more than obvious that this was not my strong suit. It was tough to give up that particular quest and to question what in the world would be any alternative.

It turned out that my years in college, working on the campus newspaper and truly loving to write would lead to my long career at The Reporter.

I certainly started at the bottom -- working in the morgue (library), writing weddings and engagements, handling rewrites and the like. But again I was on a quest, and editor Dick Shearer gave me the chance to cover municipal meetings. There was no looking back. I stopped questioning my career choice and, happily, was able to work my way up to various editor positions, holding the rank of executive editor when I retired.

During that quest there were so many changes in the world of journalism -- I actually worked on a manual typewriter at first, then an electric one, then finally a computer. The tech world changed everything, and at the end of that career I was handling our web page, Facebook page, Twitter feed and texts, plus the “normal” paper journalism.

Retiring led to another question -- what now? And the quest changed back to my original love -- animals and the world of veterinarians. I certainly could not actually be a vet, but I was so fortunate to land a job behind the scenes at Harleysville Veterinary Hospital. Front-desk work, appointments, cleanup (yes, pets DO have accidents at the vet), phones, helping out wherever needed -- I no longer had to question what would fill my day.

After about four years there, I decided to answer another question/quest -- travel. So once again I retired (although I still sub in at the vet) and had the great good luck to head to Germany with a longtime friend. Two weeks in a country where I had never ventured before proved beyond awesome. I had fulfilled another quest -- one that has left me hungry for more adventures.

Through this rambling, I want to encourage everyone to never stop questioning what they can do, what they want to do, what they should do. I have started volunteering again with Stray Cat Blues, helping kitties that need forever homes. I’ve joined a book club. I’ll never run like Amanda does, but I sweat through workout DVDs and hit the treadmill with music blaring. I sometimes feel like I’m running my own geriatric cat hospital at home, since my critters mostly are in the senior range, some with health challenges.

It’s still a shock to look in the mirror and realize how many decades have somehow flown by. But there’s no point in questioning that too much. It is what it is.

What I won’t do is end my quest for new adventures, for opportunities to help others, for ways to stay active and continue to educate myself.

I also won’t stop questioning injustices, prejudices, bigotry or the motives of those trying to destroy this great nation.

I hope you will do the same -- find a quest worthy of yourself and never stop asking those important questions.

T is for Test-Taking

Welcome Margot Roberts! Margot is one of the many friends I made when I lived in Baltimore. She was my wing-woman, my sidekick and we were inseparable every weekend (and most weeknights). From movie nights, sushsi dinner and bar hopping, she is one of my greatest friends to this day. She's a driven woman and that is one thing I've always admired about her. Since I've known her she's been studying and excelling in her professional career. You're going places, Margot Roberts. Never forget that!

T is for Test-Taking
By Margot Roberts

From the moment Amanda sent her mass email requesting guest bloggers for her June A-Z Series, I knew what topic I wanted to write about. At the time, I was two months into a two and a half month wait to get my bar exam results. That means I was also four months into a period in my life where small panic attacks seemed to be an almost daily occurrence. From the pressures of studying, to actually taking the test, to the agony of waiting for results, I was at my wit’s end.

So when I got the email, I knew immediately that I wanted to write about a topic that has been on my mind a lot lately: test-taking.

We are a nation of test-takers. Beginning in grade school, our performance is based on a series of tests on various and increasingly more difficult subjects, to standardized tests that force a diverse group of individuals to be graded by the same standard. Then, there are tests to determine our eligibility for higher education. Then, college exams (fancy name for test). Then, tests to determine our eligibility for further higher education. More exams. Licensure tests. Continuing education. The parade of tests is seemingly endless.

I failed my first test when I was 27 years old: the first part of the CPA exam. Much to my surprise, the world did not end. And, my family and friends did not think I was failure. Despite being unsuccessful, I felt relief. The fear of failing had been the basis for my stress for over twenty years. The end result was merely that I had to take it again, which I did, and I passed.

During this time, my mother was also facing her own test-struggle. My mother became a teacher as her second career. She was told at the time that she would be able to teach high school math if she passed the Praxis 2 in business (which was her first career). After more than ten years of teaching, and at 54 years old, they told her she could no longer teach high school math under her current certification. She would either have to pass the Praxis 2 in math, transfer to middle school, or retire. In the ten years my mother had been teaching at the time, she was a finalist for teacher of the year in her county twice. If there is one thing I will take a moment to brag about my mom is that she’s an excellent teacher. She has a way of reaching the kids who most cannot.

Because my mother did not want to retire or transfer to middle school, she began studying for the Praxis 2 in math. Over the course of two and a half years, my mother took the test three times before passing on her fourth try. Seeing her battle herself in the way that she did and seeing her doubt herself in the way that she did was heart-breaking.

While I do think there must be assessments for fitness to practice a particular profession, the Praxis 2 in math required my mother to learn calculus at 54 years old, despite never teaching that subject or having taken the class. Her professional record of success is indicative that she was qualified to teach the subjects she was assigned. And yet, she had to pass a test in order to continue teaching.

During the weeks of studying for the bar exam, I had to come up with something that kept me from a having a meltdown almost every day. There was too much material, there wasn’t enough time, I couldn’t do it. The thought of spending several years of my life in law school and not crossing the proverbial finish line was overwhelming. However, I was talking with a good friend one day, who reminded me that even if I failed, I would still be Margot. We would still go get drinks, talk about life and how this election got out of hand, laugh at inappropriate times and love our puppies. It got me thinking and I came up with the following motto: Success, nor failure, on an exam defines who you are. 

While I often forgot the motto over the course of studying, knowing the truth of the statement helped me avoid the dread and fear of failing. My hope in offering this guest blog is to pass the message on to others. Passing does not change who you are – it may change what you do for a living or how much money you make – but it does not define you. Likewise, failure does not have that power. So, if you are reading this and you have an upcoming test, exam, quiz, final, review, assessment, etcetera, I hope you know that success, nor failure, on an exam defines who you are. You do that.

R is for Races

Today on the blog is Angela Alexander - she is the Southern Maryland ambassador of Ainsley's Angels. Angela was one of the first Angels I met when I joined AAA. My mom and I drove 3 hours down to Washington D.C. for an expo that AA was represented at. She took me under her wing, showed me the ropes, and introduced me to this amazing community. I ran my first Ainsley's Angels 5k with Angela and the list goes on and on. A former Marine, she is one tough cookie and an amazing mama. She's an AAmazing friend (she cut ALL her hair off as a fellow Ainsley's Angels ambassador battled cancer) and her heart is go giving. Stay fabulous lady!

R is for Races
By Angela Alexander

When I was in active duty, I hated running.  We were forced to run at least 3 times a week.  I never put forth effort, and I never trained or ran more then when we had our unit runs.  Who ever would have thought that within a few years of getting out, I would take up running again, and while sometimes I still hate it, I love it and look forward to running and racing with my friends.

I'm by no means fast, but I have fun and my friends know any race we do together is going to be fun and an adventure.  Over the years I've ran 5ks, 10ks, half marathons, ragnarians and triathlons.  I often hate the "training" part but look forward to race day.

I will carry the stories and memories of these races with me forever. I'll never forget my first 10k, running through the vineyards (literally) in SoCal, it was a tough course, but beautiful.  My first tri was the first time that I can clearly remember a song at the finish line, that feeling of knowing that I had just swam, biked and ran a race and crossing the finish line to Tim McGraw and Kenny Chesney signing "Feel like a Rockstar," I totally got it and I felt like a rockstar.  It pushed me to run faster and I felt like a million bucks.

Since I had conquered the tri, I set my sight on my next running challenge and enlisted the help of 7 of my other friends go run our first Ragnar trail and it was amazing. (Ragnar is long distance, team, overnight running relays that take place in the most breathtaking places in the world. Teams come together to conquer a course over two days and one night, and push their limits, on little amounts of sleep, with friends and a community of runners by their side.) This was one of the most challenging courses I've ever ran.  The starting hill, even the best runners had to break to walk up, and there was a few areas on one of the trails that you had to watch your step and literally crawl up on all fours. But, I'll never forget seeing the city lights from the top of a mountain at 2 am in the morning, or one of my friends telling me she didn't know if she wanted to hit me or hug me after she ran her second leg. (Note she hugged me, and even ran it again the following year).

After that, the Ragnar bug bit me (and my friends), to date I've personally run 6. The SoCal Ragnar is by far my favorite that I've ran so far.  Nothing like running down PCH as the sun is rising and watching the waves hit the shore.  The peacefulness of the ocean and the calmness of the morning makes makes you thank God for creating this beautiful planet and allowing you to witness his wonders. Some of my best memories and friends were forged on a Ragnar. There is something about being cramped in a tent or in a van with 8-12 other people for 24 to 36 hours that bonds you.  You barely sleep, eat horribly and laugh so much it hurts that keeps you going.

Rider Athlete, Ethan

Now I run for not only myself but for people who can't typically run. I have an amazingly inspirational running buddy through I Run 4, Brady J, and I am one of the ambassadors for Ainsley's Angels.  I have now had the pleasure of pushing and enjoying watching the faces and hearing the crowd when you push someone with a disability across the finish line.  I'll never forget the first time I pushed, earned my angel wings. It was the Baltimore 10 miler, I met my athlete rider, Ethan, and the other angel runner, Liz, for the first time.  We took off with all the other chair athletes, and on one particular hill about half way through the race we lost a wheel. While at the time I had no clue what to do, we laugh about it now. Ethan will forever have a special place in my heart and jump at the opportunity to push him at every race we run together.

As I write this, I realize that all of my old memories of dreading running in the Marines have now been overshadowed by the amazing experiences that I have had over the last few years.

P is for Parenting

Welcome the beautiful Donavan Thomas to my blog this morning. A new mama, she found a few free minutes in her life to write a blog post I think new moms or soon-to-be new moms can relate to. Colin is so lucky to have you and Kyle as his parents. I'm so excited to see him grow up!

P is for Parenting
By Donavan Thomas

Full disclosure: I’ve only been a parent for 388 days, as of today, so I’m by no means an expert!

It’s cliché but true – my life changed forever the day my son was born. But no matter how many
blogs and books I read, parents I talked to and prayers I said, I was totally unprepared for just how being a parent would really change things. So in the hopes of helping someone else, here are the biggest lessons I’ve learned about life as a parent in the last (almost) 13 months!

1. Sleep might not be the hardest thing.
Everyone talks about sleep when you have a baby. It’s the first question friends, family and the random lady in the grocery aisle ask. “How’s he sleeping?” So you think sleep will be your biggest battle as a new parent.

Except when it isn’t. My son has pretty much always been a great nighttime sleeper. He “slept through the night” – and not the 5 hours that the doctors say is technically sleeping through the night, but from 9pm-5am – at about 6 weeks. And sure, we had a few weeks of harried naps and nighttime waking as he’s grown, but even on the bad days he was still a better than average sleeper.

Before you go dismissing me as having an “easy” baby, know that my kid has his own set of issues, mainly with eating and food intolerances. But that has been an adventure that I was totally unprepared for, because I read a whole lot about sleep – that’s what everyone scares you about! But you don’t know what you’re going to get, so maybe wait and see what kind of kid you have, before you go crazy reading everything about babies.

2. Try to get good at two things: trust and multitasking.
Many of us struggle with trust. But guess what – when you feel like you know nothing and you need guidance, you better get good at it. Especially when it comes to doctors and caregivers. If you can’t trust your pediatrician and your kid’s teacher/nanny/babysitter, keep trying until you find someone who you can. If you feel you truly can’t trust anyone, you’re going to feel very responsible, and very alone.

Also, I never really struggled with efficiency – I don’t like to sit on things. But being a parent has taken my ability to get.shit.done to a new level. Run a conference call on the way to a doctor’s appointment with a sick, screaming kid? Done it. Hold the baby while drying my hair? Yep, been there. Order late birthday gifts while breastfeeding in a Wawa parking lot on a family road trip? Not proud of it, but I’ve done that too.

But living life as a crazy multi-tasker can cause issues, which leads me to my next lesson …

3. You must put down the phone.
Let me be as honest as possible. You could miss your kid’s life by holding your phone. It’s so easy today to be distracted by our phones, and sometimes we have to be – looking at a recipe while making dinner, responding to a work email in the parking lot because you left early, or looking at an address when going somewhere new. But if you spend your days (and nights!) engrossed in what’s happening on your phone, you’re going to miss a lot of things happening with the little human in your life. I’m terrified I’m about to miss my little guy’s first steps or first word because I was on Instagram or responding to an email. So I’ve just about given up my phone when I’m with him, at least I really try to. It’s not worth it to me.

There’s also way too much information available at our fingertips, and it can be overwhelming. I could write a whole post about that, but I highly recommend trying not to Google every question, ailment, symptom and developmental question you have. The Internet is a scary place – I say that from experience – and sometimes it’s better to let things play out, or to get information elsewhere. Which takes me to …

4. It truly takes a village, but your village may come from interesting places.
I knew how critical my friends and family would be as I raised my child. After all, they were the people I trusted most for everything else in life, so why not this? But I live 3 hours from my family and 3,000 miles from my husband’s, and most of my friends don’t have kids. So while everyone checked in on us, was curious about what was happening, and gave really great advice, I often felt like I was on a small island.

Over the last year, I’ve found support in so many places. Our pediatrician has been a huge source of comfort and guidance for me – I truly believe she’s my guardian angel. My coworkers who are also moms have reminded me on the tough days that it’s just a bad day and things will get better. My son’s teachers, who I trust to raise him as I would, are an extension of our family and our partners in parenting. My neighbor answers my kid questions at all hours, forgives the loud noises coming from our house and is always there to share a glass of wine on a long day. There have been strangers who have helped me return carts in parking lots while my hands were full, cleaned my child’s puke from the floor of an ER waiting room, and given me encouragement as I try to get a workout behind the stroller.

Sometimes, it’s the people you never thought you’d need to lean on that support you the most. So look for them in hidden places. (This is not meant to discount our family and friends, who have been absolutely invaluable to us!)

5. Your heart is bigger than you ever imagined.
When I was pregnant, I struggled to imagine how I could find room in my heart to love someone else the way I wanted my child to be loved. But the second I laid eyes on that little guy, I swear my heart grew five times. Even on the worst of days, when I feel like an utter failure as a parent, friend, employee, wife, daughter … his smile fixes it. I never expected to be absolutely smitten with my child, and I’m continually surprised by just how wonderful I think he is.

But truthfully, I’m surprised by how wonderful I think it all is. The spit-up, the poopy diapers, the early mornings, the ear infections, the teething, the drool – so much drool! – the worries … it’s all worth it. And I had to live it all to really believe that!

(Important note: I know that I’m incredibly fortunate to have had the experience of being a parent, and there are many who would give anything to have the same opportunity. My heart goes out to all of you.)

N is for Not My Circus, Not My Monkeys

She's back for Round 2!

Not My Circus, Not My Monkeys
By Jen Lawson

A few months ago, my cousin learned his employer was sending him overseas, where he’d be working for two years. He has two cats, Bingo and Charlie, and the plan was for them to live with my aunt and uncle until he returned to the U.S.

My aunt and uncle agreed to it, but they’re not cat people and they were stressed out trying to figure out how to integrate two fuzzy house guests into their lives and their home.

My last foster, a kitten with an amputated leg, in 2012.

My husband and I are very much cat people, and dog people, and every type of animal people. I wanted to take them, but my husband and I already have three cats and he didn’t want to add two more to our pack.

So I came up with a plan that involved my husband and I taking in another relative’s cat for two years to free up some “cat space” in their home, then that relative could take Bingo and Charlie so that my aunt and uncle wouldn’t need to take the cats in at all.

I texted everyone involved. And, the idea was not well-received. In fact, people were offended and they said they had it handled and that my meddling wasn’t needed.

My husband and I were eating dinner at a pub at the time and I immediately burst into tears (I never hesitate to cry in public — it happens often) as the texts came in.

Right then I understood the concept of the saying, “Not my circus, not my monkeys.”

I shift into problem-solving mode whenever I see a problem that needs to be solved, even if it doesn’t directly involve me. It’s gotten me into trouble before, but I continued to be the savior that nobody wants.

After this incident, though, it really hit home: There’s no need to jump in and try to solve the problems of others. It’s a nice thing to be there for people, but sometimes the best thing we can do is to let them help themselves.

A friend had a baby recently and she and her husband struggled to come up with a post-maternity leave child care solution. I work from home, and I had an idea: I could maybe come out to her house a few times a week and work while keeping an eye on the baby.


I didn’t say anything right away because I wanted to think it through. Technically I could do it. She lives an hour away, but that’s okay. I don’t know much about babies —  babysat in high school and I have a bunch of nieces and nephews, but I’ve never cared for a baby for more than an hour or two at a time. Still, I could learn.

And doesn’t it take a village to raise a child?

But ultimately I decided not to offer to help because I’d be biting off way more than I could chew. And then I felt guilty about it!

I know I did the right thing, though. My friend figured out her child care without my help and things seem to be going fine.

Butter and her kittens, 2010

This gets a little blurred when it comes to one of the biggest areas of my life: animal rescue. I’m part of a network of other animal rescue volunteers and I’m frequently asked for my help. How can I say, “Not my circus, not my monkeys” to that, when animals have no voice and they’re helpless and what they need more than anything is our help?

In the past, I’ve jumped in and I’ve done everything in my power to assist. I coordinated an off-site cat adoption center (which I still do) while also walking dogs at a different shelter twice a week. I signed up to volunteer at events nearly every weekend. I’ve driven all over the city with a cat trap in my car to trap feral cats at someone’s request.

It was exhausting.

The shelter where I volunteer regularly sends out emails asking if someone could foster kittens. I found those requests hard to ignore, so back when I was living alone a few years ago, I found myself taking care of nine cats: A nursing mother and three kittens, three older male kittens, and my own two cats. Oh, I also had a dog at the time.

“How big is your house?” a staff member of the rescue jokingly asked me one night when I popped in to pick up the male kittens the day after I picked up the mom and her litter. “I can’t imagine where you’re putting them all!”

I was stressed out. I mean, really stressed out.

And I needed a break.

So I took one, and I haven’t done any fostering for a few years now. Sometimes I think I’d like to start again, but then I remember how much work it involved, and I decide to put it on hold for another year.

Foster kitten Oliver in 2009

Now, rather than jumping into action whenever I see a plea for help, I connect the person with someone who can help rather than personally taking on more than I can handle. I’ll share a Facebook post about the need for kitten foster homes rather than picking up the kittens and bringing them home. I’ll let someone borrow my cat trap rather than going out and trapping the cats myself.

I can’t do it all, because no matter how much I do, there will always be a need for more and more and more help. And I’m just one person, after all.

Can you relate to the concept of “Not my circus, not my monkeys?”

M is for Mukaa Children’s Home

Readers -- please meet Denise! Not only is she one of the best dental hygienist in all of the land, but she's a pretty rad chick too. She loves to live an adventures life, always trying new things or making plans to a new location. Shes a lover of lipstick, cute hair and the queen of having fun. What I love about her most is her loyalty to her family, friends and those most in need. Have fun reading her AMAZING experience in Kenya at the beginning of this year. After reading it she will have you booking your own trip to help give back.

M is for Mukaa Children’s Home
This is my first blog EVER, so here goes nothing....

There’s a little village in the southeastern part of Kenya called Mukaa; a village that I like to think has become my Kenyan home.  Mukaa is full of green rolling hills, tall lush forests, and plenty of little makeshift fruit and vegetable stands with Coca-Cola advertisement stickers stuck to the side of them; a sight that I couldn’t even imagine prior to my first trip to Kenya.  But my favorite part of Mukaa, besides its beautiful originality, is Mukaa Children’s Home.

I am a dental hygienist, a career that took me years of college and thousands of dollars later to realize this was my true calling, and in my first few semesters of hygiene school, I knew right away that this was something I wanted to share with others.  Oral health education has made a huge impact on my life because I realize it’s a subject that not many are educated about even in America.  I’ve always dreamt, even as a little girl, of learning a trade or a talent and providing my knowledge to people who in a way, can’t help themselves, and I knew dental hygiene was it.

Mukaa Children’s Home became known to me after I had just graduated and received my hygiene license.  An old instructor of mine (ironically an instructor that I loathed) had contacted me and told me about this opportunity to go to Kenya and clean teeth with her at an orphanage.  Of course I jumped on the opportunity.  Children, poverty, Africa, cleaning teeth, it was a no brainer.  I was meant for this trip.  I only had a few months to prepare because the trip was scheduled for early January 2016, and in that time I had to come up with $3000 and enough vaccines that basically I would become the bionic woman.

So, $3000 is a lot of money to a girl who just graduated college, and doesn’t know how to save because she likes to buy too much junk on Amazon, but I didn’t care, I was determined to go on this trip and I knew God was going to help me.  Long story short, after months of stressing and scheming, and getting poked in the arm, it worked out, and before I knew it January 2nd came and I was boarding my flight to Paris, which eventually would take me to my Kenyan home.

We arrived in Nairobi Kenya around 9 pm their time, which immediately I was amused by the homemade Christmas tree and pictures of white Santa hung up around the airport.  I just thought this was funny because it was an obvious attempt for the Kenyan people to try and make American travelers feel “at home” when arriving in their country, and yet in my mind, I’m thinking “I’m in Kenya! AFRICA! How the hell is this anything like America?”  Anyway, there was supposed to be a driver there waiting for us who was nowhere to be found, but this is Kenya, which I learned, you can’t always rely on what people say they’re going to do  (not any different than the USA).

We finally get a driver who has a vehicle to carry the four of us and all our stuff to a hotel that would board us before we departed to the Children’s Home the next day that was a solid 3-4 hours away from Nairobi.  Now I have to just add this tid bit to the story, because I think it’s hilarious, but one of the first questions our driver asked us was “Is Donald Trump really running for president?”  YES!  This Kenyan man was astonished to find out that Donald freaking Trump was running for president.  An amazing thing to these people is that basically anyone in America can become president of the USA.  There are signs posted all around Nairobi illustrating Obama, which I learned then that Obama’s father is from Kenya, and they call themselves the land of the future Obama’s because it’s influential to them to work hard and follow your dreams, and one day you could be the next president.  It’s very empowering actually, and I was slightly jealous that we don’t even look up to our current president in that way in America.

Okay so Mukaa Children’s Home, I know, I’m getting there.  After breakfast the next morning, my first taste of Kenyan food, which was delicious by the way, Peter, our amazing driver, hauled us and all of our junk to Mukaa Children’s Home while explaining to us the lay of the land.  One thing that is very important when traveling to a third world country, always try and get in contact with someone who can provide you with a trustworthy driver.  Peter is known to American organizations and missionaries for picking American travelers up from the airport and driving them to their destinations while keeping them safe and showing them the ropes.  We also were very fortunate to have another amazing driver at the end of our trip, Nelson, who I feel the need to mention just because someone as simple as a driver, can really make or break your trip, and I felt truly blessed to have met these two men who really went out of their way to take care of me and my friends while staying in their country.

Okay anyway, the moment has come, where I first arrived to Mukaa Children’s Home! It’s a moment
embedded into my brain forever.  After hours of driving, and me having to pee really REALLY bad, we approach the blue steel gate doors with Mukaa Chilren’s Home painted on them.  And before I forget to mention, I do not at all understand how the hell drivers find any address’s because there are no real “streets”.  No street signs, hardly any paved roads, and Mukaa is so hilly, that places are basically stacked on top of each other.  It’s a mess, but a beautiful mess at that.

So I first expected that once we drove past those steel doors, that children would come swarming over to us, wanting to see us, touch us, hug us, I don’t know, I just imagined this happy moment of kids all around me who were excited for me to be there.  Yeah, not so much.  We pull in and all who is there is Armstrong, the home manager, Amos, the assistant manager, and Grace.  Oh Grace.  How can I ever forget Grace? I get out of the car and say my introductions, all while keeping my bladder as tight as I possibly can because I’m telling you, I had to pee that bad.  Finally I say hello to Grace, ask her to show me the bathroom, and she immediately grabs by hand with the largest smile and starts to show me the way.  I thought this was odd because Grace wasn’t a child.  She was a woman, around my age, who without hesitation, held my hand, and we basically swayed arms on our way to the bathroom.  I just met this girl, and yet, I already feel like we’re best friends.

The Children’s Home was unique.  Very colorful buildings, no air conditioners, electricity that only

ran sporadically,  sinks outside attached to one of the buildings where the children would line up before and after their meals to wash their hands, and a large play set with swings and slides directly middle of the home for the children to play on.  Looking around, I was high.  No but seriously, I’ve never felt such a natural high in my life.  At that moment, getting there, standing on the clay-like ground soaking in my surroundings, I thought I was going to cry.  Before I got there I was scared. How am going to survive in this place so different from home? But immediately after getting there, I felt so safe, so happy, so blessed to be there.

The children were all at school when we arrived.  DUH, they go to school!  The school is located literally a block behind the home which is convenient, so all the children can walk safely together to and from. I eventually got to visit the school, and with its broken windows, and lack of books along with electricity, I was surprised to learn that it’s one of the best schools in the area.  My friends and I got to stay in the guest house.  A cute little home with a kitchen, which we never cooked in because the women who work at the home do all the cooking, a living room where we ate meals every day, their nicest bathroom with a toilet that only flushed maybe twice a day, and a shower that was really a spout attached the ceiling over the toilet that had a drain in the center of the floor.  Our bedroom had three beds in it, one of my team members had their own room, and we all had super cute mosquito nets around our beds, which although cute, I learned that I never want to sleep with a mosquito net ever again because they are the biggest pain in the ass.

We took the grand tour of the home and were introduced to their home cow, which wasn’t a milk cow, and they didn’t plan on eating him, so I’m not quite sure what his purpose was, but he definitely added character to the home.  Mukaa Children’s Home also has a chicken coop where they get their natural eggs every day, and a hydroponic Tilapia farm that travelers from Kansas helped them set up, and a water well that a transformer uses electricity to send the water through a special system that converts the well water to clean drinking water.  Unfortunately, the transformer was broken, so they couldn’t use the well water, and only had collected rain water to boil and drink like many other Kenyan communities, but I learned that when the transformer works, it doesn’t only supply clean water to the home, but people in the village can come and buy gallons of clean water for a small fee. This place is pretty self sustainable and amazing.

Finally it was time for the children to be done school! They came trotting into the home with their school uniforms on, some of them not wearing any shoes even though they had them in hand, and they basically walked right past us with unsure looks on their faces when they saw us.  I realized right then that these kids were smart.  They weren’t going to just trust us in a second.  They wanted to learn about us before they showed us who they really were.  It took a day.  A full day of us approaching different age groups with our innocent smiles, and hands held out showing them that we were there at their mercy.  We wanted nothing more than to help them.  They didn’t want us to feel bad for them, and they made it clear that they were happy with their lifestyle, and once we realized that, they let us in.  Actually, it wasn’t long before they even started making fun of us, with our American accents and mannerisms.  They weren’t being mean, but they were letting us know they were comfortable with us, still shy, but wanted our friendship.

Soon the girls would approach us and ask about our American traditions and show us the stray kittens they had running around, and the boys would show us how to play marbles and how to slide down the slide at full speed.  There was no mercy with those boys.  They were tough, and played that way.  At one point I observed five smaller children sitting together on a ledge quietly.  I said hello to them, and they just stared at me wide eyed like they were in shock.  Armstrong explained to me that those children had just entered the children’s home about a week ago, and they only knew their mothers tribal tongue, no English.  They were all there for different reasons, their parents abandoned them in one way or another, or died tragically, but either way, they all knew that they were at a place that could provide them with a better life.  Actually, I learned that getting into the children’s home was a blessing.  Outside families envied those children in a way because they knew that they were being fed, receiving an education, and had regular clothes to wear.  It’s one of the only places in the world that you’re better off an orphan and staying at Mukaa Children’s Home, then having true parents.

After our first day, it was time to get to work.  We awoke with the sun; actually the loud ass rooster

woke us up every morning like clockwork, like it was out of a movie, and we cleaned teeth every day until the sun went down.  We set up temporary shop in the cafeteria, where the kids would lay on blow up rafts, and we would stand, and we would give them mirrors to hold so they could see what we were doing, while they spit into cups after we cleaned and brushed their teeth because there was no suction.  That’s something I take for granted, suction.  Let me tell you, after hours of cleaning teeth, the spit bucket would really fill up, and it wasn’t just spit, there was blood, and HIV, something we had to be very careful about, along with the heat and the flies, YUCK!  Suction is something that I will forever be grateful for.  We would take traditional “tea breaks” and have tea and biscuits in the living room, along with lunch and dinner, and we were never under fed, but our main objective was always to clean as many teeth in a day possible.  Towards the end of the week that we were there, we were exhausted, and dirty because we could only shower maybe twice for 3 minutes the entire week we were there, and so the irritation was there, but it never deterred me from the natural high I experienced every day.

On our last day as we were eating dinner, we could hear the children singing in the background.  It was so beautiful.  Armstrong told us that they were working on a song and dance they had created just for us, and that after dinner, we were to go see their show.  We walked down there in our traditional Kenyan attire, which by the way, women are usually expected to wear long dresses or skirts that cover their knees, and sat down amongst the rows of chairs they had set up for us.  Before they performed, Grace, Armstrong, and Amos made a few speeches thanking us for our service and commitment to them, and right before the show began, something amazing happened to me.  One of
the little boys, part of the five I mentioned ea
rlier who just got to the children’s home, came up to me in silence and sat right on my lap.  He walked right up to me like it was a natural instinct, and my friends, and some of the other children just observed in slight surprise, because this boy hadn’t shown any emotion since he had arrived at Mukaa Children’s Home.  We sat there together and watched the show.  Of course I cried because their words were so beautiful, even though they were in Swahili, and it was such an illustration of appreciation towards us.  It was one of the most amazing things I’ve ever seen.  I still cry when I watch the video I recorded of it.  It was the perfect ending to a perfect day.

That little boy who sat on my lap the last night I was there, his name is Shadrack.  He is 5 years old, and he is now the first little boy I sponsor in a third world country.  The day we were leaving, I talked to Armstrong, and learned that he was without a sponsor, and I don’t think it was a coincidence for this little boy to randomly sit on my lap one day.  We were meant to find each other.   Every month I send money to the orphanage to provide food, clothing, and schooling for him, and I recently sent him some new shoes along with books for school.  Facebook is a glorious thing, because Armstrong posted pictures of Shadrack receiving his gifts and I was so happy to know he was happy. I thought before I arrived at Mukaa Children’s Home that I would want to adopted several children, give them things they don’t even know exist, and I would be so much more grateful for everything I have, and although I am tremendously grateful for the simple things, my bed for instance, I left Mukaa with a completely different mindset than I thought I would.  I would never want to take any of these children away from their beautiful home.  Yes their schooling is not as advanced as America, or their medical care a bit sketchy, but the simplicity of their lives is something I envy.

I learned that I don’t always need an iPhone, TV or electricity for that matter.  I survived without taking a shower every day, and all the extra accessories in my life that I THINK I need that many people in Kenya don’t even know exist, is actually all just added stress!  Mukaa’s Children’s Home is more than just an orphanage; it’s an example of the way life should be.  It changed me forever, and now I can only count down the days until I can get back to my Kenyan home.