Hiatus.

If you follow me on Facebook or Daily Mile, you no doubt usually see postings from me about my runs.  It's a good way to keep track of mileage, pace, calories and all of the wonderful trappings that go along with running.  It's easy to get sucked in and become uber competitive with yourself.  Usually, that's a good thing.  It pushes you to do your best and to keep going.  Until it starts to become self-deprecating.  You find that you're not going farther, faster, or giving it your all.  And then you start to loathe it.  And then you fall off the wagon.

Running has done amazing things for me.  It helped me refocus my life when I really needed it.  It has helped to keep weight off for almost 2 years.  It has helped reorganize the thoughts in my brain and figure out where my priorities are.  Unfortunately, running has also started to deteriorate me.  Mentally and physically.  I constantly try to beat my previous times.  That's not a bad thing, but when you start to internally berate yourself, then it's time to take a break.  My knees have always been weak, but now my hips are starting to cry out a little more than normal.  My solution for the time being is: hiatus.

I'm not giving it up...rather, refocusing on doing other exercises.  I am signed up to run the Honolulu Marathon in December and this will be my last full marathon.  I had wanted to Big Sur at some point, but realistically, I don't think it will happen.  I don't know that my body could handle training for another full without cracking with an injury.  Maybe it could and maybe my body will surprise me and still have room in the tank after training for Honolulu.  I need to train my body in lower impact/high cardio exercises to help make up for the pavement pounding.  Elliptical and swimming will most likely become my BFFs until it is time to start seriously training for Honolulu.  I think it's a wise decision at this point.  I just need to keep it in check and not give up on exercising completely.  It's really easy to fall off the wagon completely.  I'm only halfway off right now.  :)

Valentine.

Valentine's Day.  If you want to bring out my grumpy, snarky, cynical side, then come on over and have a chat with me about Valentine's Day.  Who the crap thought up of a day full of hearts, candy, flowers, sappy cards and mushiness?  Here's my story of why I detest Valentine's Day:

I've despised this holiday for as long as I can remember.  As a kid, I was a little on the fugly awkward side.  I didn't wear the cool clothes, I had bad hair, I wore glasses and of course, I just wasn't the cool kid.  When Valentine's Day rolled around, I would get excited about writing cards to all the kids in my class and would dream about the candy, the little cards and such that I would get too.  Then I realized that it was mandatory.  In order to get Valentines, you had to make them for everyone in the class.  It wasn't really whether or not kids wanted to give me one...more of a "you-have-to-give-me-one-and-then-I'll-give-you-nasty-chalk-tasting-candy-hearts".  I can remember the boys in class would snicker when they had to dump one into my folder.  I can also remember overhearing a friend's mom at the class party mention that I would probably be one of those kids that would be a late bloomer...you know, the one that would look cute/pretty/socially acceptable later in life...just not yet.

In high school, I bloomed a little.  I had a steady boyfriend and I can remember that I was excited that I'd actually get to be someone's Valentine on Valentine's Day.  Yeah.  Fat lot of good that did me.  The one Valentine's Day I actually had something to look forward to, I ended up having to miss.  I had been diagnosed with mild scoliosis in my back and my mother conveniently scheduled the appointment with the spine specialist that late afternoon.  We conveniently hit rush hour traffic coming back from Sacramento and by the time I finally made it home, it was past the reservation time and wouldn't you know? It was almost past my curfew.  In case you couldn't guess, my parents despised the guy I was seeing at the time. 

When I met my best friend and the man I would marry, I explained that my track record with Valentine's Day was pretty sketchy.  He gave it a valiant effort in the first few years.  We'd go out to dinner or go do something.  As we got older and wiser, we realized that Valentine's Day was really just another day.  What makes this day any more special that yesterday or tomorrow?  We decided that Valentine's Day is null and void.  We celebrate being in love and having someone to love every time we say the three most terrifying and wonderful words: "I. LOVE. YOU."    Don't get me wrong though...my kids haven't discovered the cynical side of their mother yet (at least, not that I know of), so I still try to make it fun and perky for them.  I help them with their cards, provide stickers and markers to decorate their bags/boxes to carry home the mandated cards passed around at school, and volunteer for the class party. 

Flowers will die, cards get thrown away, and candy...well, candy goes straight to my ass and my thighs.  I don't like hearts, I don't like pink and I just plain don't like Valentine's Day.

Education.

Whoever thought the act of obtaining an education was so convoluted?  When I was a kid, my parents didn't have a lot of money.  My brother and I went to public school for the most part.  There were two stints in Catholic school: kindergarten for one semester and 6th grade for one semester.  Both times, my brother was politely asked not to return.  For the 6th grade stint, my parents gave me the choice:  I could stay in the private school or I could go back to public school.  For a girl who was incredibly geeky and nerdy awkward, I didn't much fit in anywhere; but at least I had my friends at public school still waiting for me.  In my kindergarten through 12th grade education, I went to 7 schools: St. Bernard's, Pine Hill Elementary, Bonnyview Elementary, Sacred Heart, Sequoia Middle, C.A. Jacobs Intermediate and Dixon High.  Each transition was awkward, but I knew that for the most part, I'd be okay.  My parents did the best they could and they made sure that we lived in a good school district.  I remember my teachers were pretty awesome.  They were creative with classwork and homework.  We didn't watch movies in class (minus the "Miracle of Life" showing in high school) and if we did, it was usually the day before vacation or because we had earned it as a class.  School seemed pretty cut and dry.  We went to school, came home, did homework and then repeated this 5 days a week.

Now the roles are reversed.  I'm no longer the student, but rather the parent.  What makes it complicated is that we move.  A lot.  Gavin has gone to 3 schools and he's only in 3rd grade (this doesn't include the 3 different preschools he went to prior to grade school).  In Louisiana, we decided to send him to private school.  In hindsight, it was one of the best decisions we made.  He made huge strides in math and reading and he amazed me with how quickly he was picking up the knowledge.  He went to this school for kindergarten and 1st grade.  At this point, our funding of school became an issue.  Private school is not cheap and we realized that Lauren would be starting up soon as well.  This would mean double the tuition; something that we just did NOT have.  So, we made the decision to pull him out and put him into a good public school that was right down the street.  He did well--he didn't thrive or backslide, but he did excellent with his tests and grades.  Then we moved to Hawaii.

Everyone always says that their state is one of the worst in the nation for schools.  We had been warned that Louisiana schools were some of the worst offenders.  When we found out that we would be moving to Hawaii, people warned us that the education system was really bad.  Our reply, "Well, he went to public school in Louisiana...how bad can it be???"  Talk about your all-time ultimate rhetorical backfires.  We moved on base for a few different reasons: free-ish housing, easy access to everything, reverse commute for Mark and Hickam Elementary School (HES).  Everyone raved about how good HES was, so we had some warm fuzzies. 

As the school year started, I began to see changes in Gavin's learning behaviors.  Reading, which once came naturally and easily, became more of a struggle.  Math was still easy for him, but he mentioned that he was easily distracted in class because many students were just flat out disrespectful in class.  We worked on reading at home and it seemed to be okay.  His standardized test scores came back and showed that he was starting to backslide in his language arts progress.  Even his math scores came back lower than what we had anticipated.  Then I learned that there was some bullying going on during recess.  I brought it to the teacher's attention, where I was quickly blamed because I couldn't control Gavin's behavior.  Gavin is a shy kid, pretty easy going kid.  I don't think a game of pretend guns (minus the pretend guns) is grounds to have another kid come up to him and shove him on the ground.  This happened on more than one occasion. 

Mark and I briefly discussed the idea of private school again or maybe even home school.  Realistically, we cannot afford private school here.  It is approximately $3,000 - $7,000 more per year than what we paid in Louisiana.  Plus, we'd have to double it since Lauren is also now in school.  We simply cannot afford $20,000/year in tuition costs.  Maybe if I went back to work we could, but with Mark's unpredictable hours and such, it becomes an improbability.  Homeschooling has never appealed to me; which is ironic considering I just finished my master's degree in education.  I could easily home school Gavin, as he is respectful and would listen.  Lauren, on the other hand, is so spirited and creative that she's a bit of a handful.  I don't know that she would be willing and able to sit down with me and learn.  If I were to home school Gavin and not Lauren, then she would most likely see it as unfair and not understand why she can't stay home too.  And then there's the issue of sanity.  I love my kids, but every single day all day long is a little much.

Basically, it comes down to having to make a hard decision on what to do that will be best for Gavin.  Do we keep him in the current situation and hope that it gets better and supplement the learning at home?  Do we home school?  Do I go back to work just to send my kids to a decent school?  This is one of the crap parts about being a parent (aside from the stretch marks and baby pooch).  Having to make a decision that can truly affect his future sucks.  I wish I could peek into the future and see what's behind each door before we have to pick in order to make sure that we picked the right one.

History.

This is the story of Mrs. Anne Catherine Ferraro Will Tafel. On December 7, 1941, Mrs. Tafel lived in the house that we currently occupy.

Remembering Pearl Harbor: December 7, 1941, by Anne Tafel

My husband, Lt. Joe Orr Will, Jr., graduated from flight school at Brooks Field in San Antonio, Texas (my hometown), in May 1940. We were married in June. His first assignment was Wheeler Field in Hawaii. Several months later, he was sent to Hickam Field to be a bomber pilot. In a few months, his quarters were completed and we moved to the base. We lived at 103A Signer Boulevard, about two blocks from the Officers Club and the Pearl Harbor Channel.

In late November 1941, Joe's squadron was sent to Hamilton Field, California, to bring back B-17 bombers for delivery to the Philippines. He had not returned by December 7, 1941. I was along and four months pregnant with our first child. On that day, at 7:56 a.m., I was awakened by loud explosions. My first thought was, "Maneuvers at Pearl Harbor-on Sunday?" I went to get the paper, no paper! (I learned later that the presses had broken down the night before and there were no papers that day). I could see black smoke coming from Pearl Harbor, so I walked around to the back drive. Looking toward Pearl Harbor I saw, flying very low, a small plane with a large red rising sun on the side. Realizing that we were under attack, I hurriedly went indoors. I was angry, feeling we had been betrayed. Surely our government knew the Japanese were that close!

I kept hearing loud explosion after explosion! Smoke filled the air like dense fog. Noises came from the front of our quarters in the area of the Hickam flight line, hangers, and barracks; from the rear -- Pearl Harbor. I could hear bombs, machine guns, and the whine of diving airplanes. I dressed hurriedly and went next door where Lt. John Sullivan (Ground Officer), his wife, Hope (Yeaman) and their infant daughter lived. He pulled the metal dining table against the wall, told us to get under and stay there! By this time, we had been joined by Adele Moores, whose husband, Lt. Bud Moores, was at Hamilton Field with my husband. We knew that some of the B-17s were due to arrive that day, but we had no information as to who it would be!

John left, but returned shortly. He asked me, since I was a nurse, if I would go to the hospital as they were very short of help. The hospital was new and not very large, approximately 50 beds. I got my car and went to hospital right away. Due to the damage and chaos, I had to leave my car on the side of the road with the keys in the ignition. Days later, when my husband returned from the states, the car was still there.

The hospital was bedlam with hundreds of wounded along with the dead - all these wounded for fewer than fifty beds! The severely wounded were sent to Tripler Hospital; the corpses stacked in the halls. We all did what we could for the injured - mostly first aid. We were so busy, we lost all track of time.

Late that afternoon, John returned to tell me that women were being evacuated from the base. He had arranged to have his wife, daughter, Adele, three other women and me taken to his wife's parents' home, just outside of Honolulu. He took me back to my quarters where I packed a very small bag. As I was leaving, I noticed a bullet hole in the top of the bay window in the living room. I could see that the bullet had crossed the living room and dining room, grazed a small carved Oriental wood chest (which I still have), and lodged in the wall about 12 inches from the floor. We left the area by jeep.

We were taken to Hope's parents', the Yeamans, where we were treated like honored guests. The next morning, Adele and I went into Honolulu where we waited in line for hours to send cables. Mine read, "Safe at Yeamans."

In the next couple of months, most of the military wives and children returned to the states. Women whose pregnancies were near term were kept in Honolulu, where a maternity hospital was set up in a private downtown school. Being a nurse, I was allowed to stay in Hawaii and was asked to work in this "hospital". I did so until they were out of patients

Joe's squadron returned to Hickam about tend days after the attack. Two other women and I rented a house in downtown Honolulu (on the Ala Wai) where we lived in complete blackout at night. Joe stayed at Hickam and came in whenever possible. Our daughter was born May 1, 1942.

In late December '42, Joe left for the South Pacific. My daughter and I left on the same day in a convoy--we zigged and zagged our way to San Francisco to avoid encounters with submarines.

For his service during the war, Joe was awarded both the Air Medal and the Silver Cross. After Joe returned from the South Pacific, he was stationed at McClellan Air Force Base near Sacramento, California, and after due promotions became a Major. It was here that our son, Joe III, was born in June 1945. W went to Godman Field at Fort Knox, KY in 1946 and Maxwell Field in Montgomery, Alabama in 1947, where he attended Command and Staff School. In June 1948, we went to Walker Air Force Base near Roswell, New Mexico. On August 12, 1948, Joe was killed on take-off in a B-29. I was told that the plane had been overloaded.

I returned to his hometown of Louisville, KY with our then six-year old daughter and three-year old son. Three years later, I married Paul Tafel, Jr., a retired Marine officer who had also flown in the South Pacific during the war. He died of cancer in 1986.

I have been back to Hawaii and Hickam several times and hope to be there December 7, 1991.

--Anne F. Tafel

(*Mrs. Tafel made it for the 50th anniversary cermonies.  She passed away January 7, 2003, at the age of 83.*)

Done.

It's amazing the power that one little word can have. Just say these three little words to yourself: "I. Am. Done." So many things can be conjured up when this phrase is uttered. Done eating. Done showering. Done running. For me, it means I am done with a chapter in my life that has been almost 12 years in the making.

I graduated with my BA (*snicker, snicker*) in Human Communication on May 20, 2000. I'm a nerd. I have a thing for remembering dates. Names? Not so much. Dates? I'm surprisingly adept. What is "Human Communication"? Basically, it's a fancy schmancy, politically correct, California hippie term for an integrated Humanities degree. I concentrated my studies in Literary and Cultural Studies with an emphasis in 20th Century Multicultural American Literature. Whew! What a mouthful! Bored yet? After graduation, there were only a handful of things that my degree translated to: 1) Absolutely nothing related, 2) Going after my teaching credentials or 3) Keep going in school for a Master's degree. I chose the option behind door #3. I enrolled in Cal State University Sacramento for an MA in English. This would give me a few extra options in the teaching world. I was working full time, so I went to school at night. I took one semester and then life was turned upside down. My newlywed husband joined the Air Force.

We moved to San Antonio and I looked into transferring my degree to University of Texas at San Antonio. By the time I decided to put my application in, I was working full time *and* I found out that I was pregnant with Gavin. Life happened and I put it on hold. I figured that I could go back after I had my son. Whoop! Just kidding! Life happened again and we were reassigned to Okinawa. I finally decided that I would take this school things seriously and look at the different options in Okinawa. I found a great program through OU (University of Oklahoma....Boomer Sooner!) and enrolled. It was for a Master of Public Administration degree. I began my course and then was hired for a full time position on base. Shortly after, I found out that I was pregnant with Lauren. Something had to give. I finished the semester and decided to put it on hold yet again.

Fast forward many moons and another reassignment to Louisiana. The hubs needed his Master's degree to help with promotability. He earned his MAEd (Master of Art in Education) within 18 months. I looked into the program and learned that I qualified for $6000 in financial aid. On top of that, I would earn 2 free course, thus leaving me to only have to pay $3000 out of pocket. I couldn't pass this up. I suddenly felt the need to finish what I had started so long ago. Life in Louisiana was jam packed with adventure. Kids, work, Officer Spouse Club, volunteering and running kept me busy. It was different this time though...I decided to prevail and not give school up. I needed to finish.

This past Saturday, I turned in my final 2 assignments. I. Am. Done. I have completed all of the coursework necessary for my MAEd. I'm happy to be done. I'm happy that I finally finished something that I started oh so many years ago. I'm proud of myself for getting it done and feeling slightly smarter on the other side. Doctorate? Not right now. :)

Dependents (ce)

When I was growing up, I was always told that I needed to be independent of anyone else. My grandmother used to tell me that I shouldn't depend on anyone else to make things happen in my life. I would and should be the one to figure out my own way and how to get there. I've always taken pride in being independent and remaining true to me. Even though I'm a mom and a wife, I try to remind myself constantly that I am also me.

Being a military spouse is a bit of a funny thing. There are about a gazillion stereotypes and so many different things that we're told we should be. Even though I volunteer a lot with the spouse clubs and try to stay involved in base happenings, I tend not to classify myself as a military spouse--to me, I'm just a spouse; regardless of military. Sure, it can make things challenging at time, but I think that there are other situations that can be just as challenging (if not more so) than being associated with the military.

Today, I did something I never thought I would do. I turned down a job interview. I had applied for a really neat-sounding job. It was something that seemed right up my alley, and at the time, it seemed like a good idea. We'd be able to pay our debts down and everything would work out. But as the time passed, the husband's work schedule became more erratic and less predictable. At our previous base, I became so busy with work, volunteering, school and kids, that often my schedule dictated the family schedule. That's not how it's supposed to work in this lifestyle. Needs of the military/needs of the Air Force usually come first. After realizing the true reality of his new job, I knew that while I was ready and willing to go back to work outside of the home, my family is not. My kids had a hard time adjusting this summer with the move. It has taken the little one 4 months to finally get her behavior stabilized. She talks about her friends that she left behind constantly. It has taken 4 months for my son to finally make a friend that he wants to have over after school. Am I ready for all of that to change simply because of something I want? Do I turn their lives all crazy again just because of me? Am I sheltering them too much or smothering them?

In the end, one thing has remained constant for most of their lives...I have been home. I have been able to help with homework and calm them down when their world turns upside down. I show them how to make farting noises and put bright yellow Spongebob band aids on their scraped, no longer model-ready legs. If nothing else, this has been one singular constant that they can depend on. So, when the hiring manager at the MWR marketing department called with an eager voice hoping I could schedule an interview, I politely declined. Yes, I could have gone through the process, just to go through, but it's not right and not fair to take time that could belong to someone else. I just didn't realize how much I really did want the job.

I'm not trying to be a martyr...oh pity me for staying home...I know that I am incredibly lucky to be able to stay home and raise my kids. In this day and in this economy, I am so grateful that someone--anyone--would have wanted to grant me an interview. I feel that I may have lost a little piece of "me" today by saying no to something that I wanted, and thus giving my family something that they needed. I know that sounds selfish and maybe it is. Tonight is one of the first times that I truly felt like a "military" spouse. In my heart, I know that I made the right decision. It may take awhile for my head to catch up, but it will get there. I'm not resentful or angry at all and I just need to quiet the "what-ifs" in my head.

I know that staying at home is okay. I don't sit on my couch eating bon bons and watching soaps all day. I'm proud of my kids and proud of the hubs. I just need to be proud of me too. Even if I'm not independent, at least I'm co-dependent. The hubs brings home the bacon, and I cook the meal. It works for now and that's what matters. Maybe there is something bigger and better on the horizon and maybe this is it. I have a few ideas I've been batting around in my head, so maybe this is my chance to explore those options. I just have to have faith that it will all work out in the end.

Hike 4: Koko Head Crater

Koko Head. Not quite the Haiku Stairs (aka: Stairway to Heaven), but I guess if you were to do that one, then Koko Head would definitely be a good warm-up or precursor to it. I had seen a few sites about it and have heard that it a fun-challenging-kick-butt kind of hike. More of a workout than a hike. So, when the OSC gals picked this for the September hike, I was totally for it. I think I may be a bit of a sadomasochist:


There were 6 ladies in our group, so we kind of split off into 2 groups going up: some that were super, uber athletes that probably could have run up the blessed steps and the rest of us that, well, weren't quite as athletically endowed or gifted (read slow as molasses and afraid they'd have to be carried back down). Obviously, I don't have athletic prowess, so I chose to bring up the rear (read take my sweet ass time and stop a lot).

When you first start, you don't really think to much about it. After all, my house has stairs. I go up and down them multiple times a day. However, my stairs are maybe 6 inches apart and are carpeted with a railing. These are old, decrepit, rotting out rail tracks that are at least a foot or more apart. The view the entire time is pretty well worth it though (this one is about 1/3 up the hill):


About halfway up the hill, there is a little bridge that has a drop off underneath it. There is a dirt path that goes to the right side that you can take if you don't want to go over it. I decided that I'd be brave and go over it on the way up, but would be smarter to go on the trail on the way down. Now, I have to make a side note here: there is a firing range just down the road from here. The sounds of the gunfire ricochet off the hill sides, so it sounds like someone is firing a gun at you. Let's just say that with the adrenaline running through you and the noises from the firing range, you feel a bit like someone in an Indiana Jones movie. After I crossed the bridge, I took a peek down:


We kept plugging up the steps and about 1028 steps later, with a 1,035 ft. elevation gain in 1/2 mile, we made it to the top:


It was so pretty! You could see the ridge that we had climbed in a previous hike. The day was clear enough to see the outlines of Molokai and Lanai in the distance:


There was a little path that went up a little further, to the tippy top of the hill, where the bunkers used to be. We stood on the top of the roof of the old bunkers and could see an amazing view of Hawaii Kai, the back of Diamond Head and the eastern part of Honolulu.


Amazing views definitely made this hike worth it. It's not a long hike, by any stretch of the imagination--just over a mile for up and back. But it is quite a workout. We saw a lot of people actually running up and down the steps. One woman was on her second trip up that morning as a part of her workout regimine. That's either crazy dedication or just plain crazy. What goes up, must go down. I think that going down is almost harder than going up--especially if you have knees that aren't in tip top shape. Unfortunately, my knees aren't in the best of shape, so it was pretty hard on the knees. It was a good reminder for me to start hitting the weights before doing any serious training for races.

I'm sure I'll probably do this one again sometime...just not within the next few weeks. But, I'm proud to have conquered this bad boy and check it off the list!