Snow Snow Snow Snow Snow...and...

...more snow!

Joy here...On Tuesday I had sprint drills to complete on my bike in my basement, and while I gave them a valiant effort (10sec sprint/50sec rest X 5, followed by 20sec sprint/40sec rest X 4, followed by 30sec sprint/30sec rest X 3), I will admit that I wasn't the best sprinter of all time.  Sure, wave a red cape in front of me, and I'll go; I'll even go superfast, but only for about 10 seconds.

So when I got up on Wednesday morning to head to my track practice (which we've dubbed "Women's Wednesdays" because it seems like only the girls show up), I was feeling the sprints in my legs and the disappointment because I couldn't hang onto the effort for the full 20 or 30 second sets.

I felt a little snowed under by failing to meet my targets.

But, boy was I about to learn what snowed under really means.

I did the warm up and drills with the other women at the track, and then as they headed off to do their individual workouts, I thought, "okay, I'll head home, put on some outdoor gear and run outside."

This is how my friend Nomi's daughter sees me,
an Arctic fox!

Ha!

Big mistake.  It's the end of February and a winter storm has raged across Canada and the US, dumping tonnes of snow on us up here in Ottawa.

Let's just say that faced with all that white stuff, I just went inside and settled in...I don't plan to emerge until it's spring.  Everyone okay with that?

Over and out,
Joy (the arctic fox)

Joy, you're an animal!

Joy here...Sometimes when athletes (or wannabe athletes like myself) are working out, others will shout something like "you're an animal!"  As the athlete hammers out 400w on the indoor trainer in their basement, or hits 9 X 1km repeats at 3:30min/km pace, sweating, groaning, huffing and puffing, and generally working out at a high level, that claim of his or her animal-like status is like a compliment, a symbol of his or her abilities.  When someone talks about someone's "monster workout" or how he or she is a "beast" on the track or the bike, it's the kind of compliment given with awe.

To put it another way, no one's ever looked at me working out and said, "Joy, you're an animal," and gee I wish someday someone would.

Out of the 7 weeks since we've been back from our Kuala Lumpur, Melbourne, Singapore trip, for 5 of those I've been able to pull off 6 hours of working out each.  Now to really start making some gains, I need to get that up around 10 to 12 hours per week, but since I always feel like I'm failing at my workouts or missing workouts or not hitting them, it's good to look back and realize that aside from my surprise week off when I travelled to Winnipeg, I've been pretty consistent.

Not a beast, mind you, but consistent.

To honour to all those athletes out there who are animals, beasts, and monsters, hitting their workouts, making bystanders both impressed and slightly frightened by their efforts, I give you this little tribute:

The King of the Beasts!
(Drawn by my adult BFF Nomi's 9-year old daughter, cool eh?)

Over and out,

Joy (the wannabe beast)

A Triumph of Mediocrity

Joy here...As I mentioned, we headed out of town shortly after our Saturday workout (ahem, where I ran with an Olympian...ha ha), and because I had been so diligent with seven straight days of hitting workouts that week, I gave myself Sunday off.  It is, after all, supposed to be a day of rest, right?

Turning around to walk downhill towards
that CN tower in the distance.

While we rested, we visited with friends--including ones who just welcomed their second daughter on February 14th and our tall, lanky friend who has been our running buddy and ski coach in the past and my super cute little nephew--and amidst the visiting, we snuck in a Monday morning run.

We headed out into the chilly city streets and started running steadily uphill for about 25 minutes.  Now I've been having a little bit of shin pain lately...probably due to the fact that I'm a lazy stretcher...and going uphill in the crisp morning wasn't doing me any favours.  I turned to The Man and said, "I'm not sure that I should keep going, I'm having some discomfort."  We were only planning an easy 40 minute run, but we made the executive decision to just turn around and walk down that hill back to the house where we were staying.

And as we walked we enjoyed being in a city.  Over the past four months, we were lucky enough to be in London, Kuala Lumpur, Singapore, and Melbourne, and being in Toronto for the weekend brought back all those good feelings that cities always bring.  There's a vibe, a sense of liveliness, progress, ambition, choice, variety, and diversity everywhere you turn, not to mention the mere presence of pedestrian traffic...sidewalks aren't bare, and shops aren't closed.

exciting Singapore

sparkling Kuala Lumpur

All these trips have really hit home to me how much I miss living in a city.  Ottawa, as lovely as it is in many ways as a quaint capital with some pretty infrastructure, just isn't a city per se.  And for a long time when we first moved here, I took it as a personal challenge to make the best of this place that we had found ourselves living in.  I mean, it's not so bad, is it?

In a word:  yes.

lively London

dramatic Melbourne

It is so bad.  It's not bad in dramatic ways or drastic ways, but rather it's bad in insidious ways.  As one article puts it, Ottawa is:  "a triumph of mediocrity."*  And, well, I couldn't have put it better had I tried.

Ottawa is a nice place.  It's a kind place.  It's a safe place.  It's a good place.  And it's a fine place.

But simply:  it's an average place.

It's a place that makes you feel bad to complain about, because really (aside from the weather) there is nothing all that wrong with it.

And, yet, that is actually exactly what's wrong with it.  Ottawa feels kind of like that boyfriend or girlfriend you find yourself with, who you know you should be very much in love with, but you just aren't.  And no matter how many people tell you how much you should love him or her, or how lucky you are to be with him or her, you just aren't feeling it.

I've given Ottawa nearly six years of my life.  I've tried my darndest to fall in love with it.  But the ole girl still just doesn't do it for me.

Toronto (at least it's a city)

Now don't get me wrong, I'm not here to sing the praises of Toronto necessarily, but our weekend in Toronto did remind me that I'm dying a little bit each day on the inside living in this "triumph of mediocrity."  I'm allowing my creativity, my ambition, my drive, and my desires to do and be things that I can't even imagine and can barely dream of to slowly whittle away as each year I curl more and more inwards on myself under the weight of feeling like I should be much more appreciative of this bastion of mediocrity than I can actually feel.

Ottawa is a place where the virtues of a stable job, a nice family, and a comfortable retirement are touted by one and all as not just the most desirable life path, but virtually the only one.  Anything that seems a little bit different than that is seen to be a bit gauche or not on.  I find myself self-censoring, because to admit ambition that goes beyond this place and frustration with this place is like some kind of sacrilege.  So I spend a lot of time feeling frustrated, guilty, and unhappy.

And that's just no way to live.

So for all of you out there who love this little "triumph of mediocrity," I am envious of you.  I'm happy for you, and I wish I could be you.

Ottawa:  parliament and...well, yeah, parliament

But it's taken me to my mid (late) thirties to admit to myself that I really need to be in a city not because cities are so amazing in and of themselves, but rather because cities are lively and vibrant places where the best of the best (in every field) tend to congregate, so for someone like me who rises and falls to the level of those around her, if I'm not around the best of the best, then I will never reach my own best.

And that's just no way to live.

While I'm stuck here for now, I'm working hard to make other opportunities arise for me and The Man.  Because really, the world is our oyster and we should feel that and know that and not get sucked into any vortex of mediocrity.

So, Ottawa, let me just say:  "it's not you, it's me."

Over and out,
Joy

*The full article from Canada.com analyzes Ottawa's high ranked place as a place to live, pointing out that Ottawa scores no top 10 points in any categories, but a lot of above-average points overall.

Yup, Just Me and the Olympian

My friend's first book!!

Joy here...On Saturday morning we got up bright and early (as usual) to head to the indoor dome for our workout.  Later on in the day we were hopping a flight out of town so that we could attend a surprise party (!!!) for a good friend of ours who has been promoted and awarded tenure at her university (which happens to be the same university where I used to work).

I am super proud of her, as this past year has been a big year for her:  She became a mom a year ago July; her book was published; she just bought a new house; and now she's officially a tenured Associate Professor.

So it was with excitement and anticipation that we drove through the cold, Ottawa streets heading for our workout.  I think this is probably the second time in my entire life that I've been able to keep a secret and not ruin someone's surprise, so the fact that we were to be getting on a plane shortly after our workout filled me with glee (and not a little bit of pride at the fact that I had pulled it off).

My run workout was scheduled as:  drills + strides + 10x40s @ stride pace w/ 1:1 recovery.  What that means is that I had to run for 40s, rest for 40s, and do it all over again 10 times after doing an hour's worth of warm up and drills.

Okay, fine.

It's still a heck of a lot easier than what some of the other more serious athletes were doing as their workouts.

For instance, one of the Olympians (who I've mentioned on this blog before and whose profile can be found here), was doing some gruelling 400m repeats.  There was another guy who was running 1km repeats.  A lot of them were sweating, running hard, and making me look like the neophyte I am.  However, it's a good group of people that Coach Woods has gathered together, and they cheer me as I run just as much as they cheer each other, the more elite athletes.

Competing for her country:  Go Mel, go!

And as I was doing one of my little 200m repeats (about the distance I was running in my 40s intervals), who started up one of her 400m repeats?  The Olympian who is ranked 14th in the world in her sport (modern pentathlon).  Yup, just me and the Olympian.

So she's running to the left of me in her lane, and I'm just to the right of her, sticking in my lane and sure that she's just about to pull ahead of me.

But, lo and behold, we were running step for step around the corner and into the straightaway.  My legs were pumping, as were hers, and we were matched together stride for stride.

Before I got too excited, my iPhone timer beeped indicating my 40s were up, so I pulled off the track, breathing heavy, while she effortlessly just pulled away from me to continue on with the rest of her loop.  So, uh it's not like I really ran with an Olympian stride for stride...just for a few seconds.

However, when she is standing on the podium in 2016, as I'm sure she will be, you better believe that I'm going to build up this story to epic proportions.  You've been warned.

I ran with an Olympian.

Over and out,
Joy

A Valentine's Day Ski

Chaucerian Valentines

Joy here...Today's Valentine's Day, a day where lovers run around trying to find appropriate and creative expressions of their love and affection for those they care about.  Schoolchildren exchange Valentines with their friends (and sometimes even their frenemies) and often make Valentine's crafts for their parents.  Spouses search out the perfect bouquet of flowers or chocolates that attempt to say "I still love you after all these years."  Young couples try to outdo one another with their romantic displays and inventive performances that articulate their love and devotion.

The ex-English professorial dork in me must take a moment to point out that Chaucer was the first to reference this kind of romantic love associated with St. Valentine's Day back in the fourteenth century:

For this was on seynt Volantynys day
Whan euery bryd comyth there to chese his make.

["For this was on Saint Valentine's Day, when every bird cometh there to choose his mate."]

It takes more than roses to make a relationship work.

But romance isn't just about little notes we give those we love; it isn't just about the chocolate we buy for each other (or hog all to ourselves); it isn't about the buying and giving of roses.  While everyone's relationship works differently, and no relationship would work without those little special touches every now and then, it seems to me that the most romantic thing doesn't come from a chocolatier or flower shop but comes in how you spend your time with the person you love.

That old cliche about being with your best friend might just actually make sense.

Nearly five years ago I married my best friend.  We had been friends for years and finally decided to go on a "date."  Well, we haven't looked back and it's going on ten years since we first met.

One of the things that makes us work is that we love hanging out with each other.  We share hobbies; we like doing the same thing; and we prioritize together time like nobody's business.  

Happy Valentine's Day...my first ski of 2013!

So while other lovers were getting in long lines to buy treats for those they care about and making reservations for fancy restaurants, The Man and I kitted ourselves out in our outdoor gear, waxed our cross country skis, and headed out to the park for our first cross country ski of the year.

Sure we were a little rusty; sure The Man fell over; sure we need some practice, but nothing says love better than spending a few hours together under a bright blue sky, sharing some laughs and getting the endorphins pumping.

Happy Valentine's Day,
Joy

TTT, Time Trial Triumph (sort of)

Joy here...A Time Trial is a strange thing; it's just you on your bike and the clock to keep you honest.  There's no competition, no adrenaline rush of chasing down a pack, or being pulled along by the riders around you.  There's nothing but you, your bike, and the thoughts running through your head.

Bradley Wiggins storming to a
Time Trial Gold medal
at the London 2012 Olympics.

Now when you're outside doing a time trial, at least you have the road that you've covered to help you gauge your distance and give you motivation ("I'm almost halfway done," "I am halfway finished," "I'm almost done!"), and there are other riders out there who you might pass or who might pass you ("I can catch her, I know I can," "shit, I hope no one catches me!").  There's the wind blowing over your face and the sound of your bike against the asphalt.  There's the momentum you gain from simply being an object in motion, especially if there are little descents out on a time trialling course.

However, when you're inside, on a stationary bike you have none of that external help.

It's just you, your body, and your brain.

You stare down at your computer screen, willing your body to just stay focused and hit the numbers you want; and then you battle with everything in you not to give up.

For me, I usually give up.  Basically, I always give up.

So as I got on my bike and worked up through the warm up protocol that Coach Andrew had given me, I was having my own internal motivational monologue, as I tried and tried to convince myself that this time would be different; this time I would finish my indoor time trial; this time I would feel successful afterwards, not full of my own failures.

What I did to prepare myself for completion (rather than failure) was to take a piece of painters' tape (the opaque green stuff) and covered up my speed and wattage numbers on my computer.  Before when I've done time trials (both indoors and out) I always look at my speed and wattage to gauge my efforts, and increase or decrease according to my plan.  But Coach Andrew wanted me to focus on how I felt, and not on some arbitrary number that I thought I could hold (and then ultimately wouldn't hold, and would end up leading me to jump off the bike in a fit of anger).

Coach Andrew competing in
a Time Trial (he reached
60km/hr in the finishing straight
in this race!)

So I ended up looking at the cadence number as my main focus.  I tried to keep my rpms above 90, but I started off in a harder gear and after 3 minutes of that I really could only hold around 85-88rpms, so I switched to a slightly easier gear and upped my cadence.  Then after about 8 minutes of that I was thinking that I just wasn't pushing hard enough, so I switched back to my original gear combo for another 3 minutes but just could get my cadence above 90rpms, so I switched back to the easier gear combo, but for the final 3 minutes, I figured "what the hell, I'll just ride!"  So I switched to my original combination and rode my little heart out to the end.

And it turns out that after Coach Andrew looked at my data, he said:  "Perhaps you are trying too hard to keep the rpms up. It could be that 90+rpm is too high a cadence target for you. Looking at the file you were doing higher wattage when below 90rpm. This might be your self-selected cadence range 85-90rpm, the area where you are most efficient."  So it seems that all my freaking out about cadence and numbers and toggling back and forth between two different gear combinations was my own stupidity at play, and I would have had a better TT had I just focused on myself and not on any numbers at all, settling in for a sufferfest and just staying there.

Next time I'm using more tape to cover up the whole, damn screen!

Oh, god, did I just say next time?

Over and out,
Joy

Will is a Funny Thing

Joy here...On Sunday I hopped up on the bike on the trainer in my basement to do a high cadence workout (like the one I did last week), as I prepare for my first indoor Time Trial in a long, long time, which is scheduled for tomorrow (Tuesday).

And as I did my best to turn my legs quickly--keeping my wattage steady while turning my legs at 110+rpm for five 5-minute sets--it became a game of mind over matter.  I needed not strength to carry on and keep spinning, but mental fortitude...will.

You see, will is a funny thing for me, and I've been thinking a lot about it lately (more on that below).

I tell myself that I'm strong-willed, that I'm independent, that I'm driven with a will of steel.  But the truth of the matter is, my will is rather weak.  But no one likes to say that they're weak willed.  No one wants to admit that uncomfortable truth.

But I can't escape it.

As I spin my legs on the bike, staring intently at the numbers on my computer screen--willing them to stay stable--as the lactic acid builds up in my thighs, I am battling my will.  Everything in me is shouting:  STOP!  Those little voices that always lurk in the back of my mind come to the fore, and I doubt my abilities; my brain tells me:  "just stop now," "you've done enough," "this is good enough," "no need to keep going," "why not take a break?"  They always want to sabotage me (showing up during my first and second half marathon races and my first ever bike race), and it is all I can do to shore up my weak will to fight off these little inner voices.

As I say, will is a funny thing.

I'm trying not to think about my indoor Time Trial tomorrow, because I know that more than a test of the strength of my legs and lungs, it will be a test of my will.  Can I simply force myself to do it?  I've failed in the past (like this one in August here and this one in November here).  I've given in to those voices before.  I don't want to again.

No one wants to be the type of person to be weak willed.  We all have heroic visions of ourselves in our heads.  I would be the one to stand up to the Nazis when they came knocking on my door, hiding countless unfortunates in my basement, my walls, my attic.  I would be the one to say "NO" to oppression and defend the woman being belittled by her husband in public.  I would be the one to run into a burning building to save a child.  No one wants to be the one who just stands by and pretends not to notice something happening.  I don't want to be that person, so as I struggle with my will on the bike, it's much more than just a girl trying to ride a bike.  I'm struggling with myself and who I want to be in the world.  My struggle to keep my legs spinning no matter what my head is saying is a struggle with each pedal stroke to get me closer and closer to the type of person I aspire to be.

For sport--and training in particular--gives you a chance to struggle with yourself and decide who you want to be in the world, what your legacy will be.

And I've been thinking a lot about legacies these days, perhaps because another act of will has been taking up my down time:  the act of writing up a will.

Heck, if I thought struggling with myself on my bike made me look at my inner self and that was hard, drafting up a will is even harder...it's one of those adult things that makes you stop and take stock of your life:  what are the things that will be left behind as your legacy?  Who will you leave things to?  What have you accumulated so far?  It's funny to come up with a list of your jewelry, your investments, your art, and things that you think it worth mentioning in a will as the other things--your big screen TV, your cool coffee maker, your mongo BBQ--become nothing more than material possessions, not worth a mention as part of your legacy.  As you go through the process of itemizing things and thinking about them, you can't help but think about who you are and what will be left of you when you're gone.  It is a very strange process, and I'm glad that I did it now when I'm young and healthy, because I think that the act of drafting a will one day when my mortality is more than just a mere thought a long way away might just be too much to handle.

I've said it before:  will is a funny thing.

Over and out,
Joy

The Process

Joy here...Last Saturday night we had Coach Woods and some of his other athletes--including three focusing on making it to the Olympics in Rio in 2016--over for dinner; on Wednesday I attended our weekly practice at the university gym with the others; on Friday, I joined The Man with some of his grad students at the university pub for a few drinks; and on Saturday, we went to our weekly track practice at the dome...filled with kids and Coach Woods's other athletes (them elite, me notsomuch).

It's been invigorating to hang out with these young people--these twenty somethings--filled with ambition, drive, enthusiasm, earnestness, and potential.  The world is their oyster, and you can't help but get the feeling that they're going somewhere in life.

And it seems like just yesterday I was there.

In fact, sometimes, I think I am still there.  I still think the world is my oyster and I'm full of potential.

But then I realize, that I'm my adult self.  No longer am I some bright, young thing...precocious and mature beyond her years.  Now I'm just a woman in the world going about the business of adulthood.

But I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up!  I don't know that I've actualized all that potential I demonstrated when I was their age.  I look in the mirror and slowly, but surely, the woman who looks back at me is getting older and older.  Sometimes, in the right light, I see my mom looking out at me.  And it scares me.

I lined up on the track Saturday morning with my iPhone in hand to time my 800m efforts around and around the dome, and I thought of that.  I'm not training with Olympic goals, and unlike those eager grad students, my PhD and postdoctoral days are behind me.  Heck, they want to grow up and be professors, and I can quite literally say "been there, done that."

So why do I do it?  Why do I train with a cycling coach and a running coach if I don't have big goals like some of the others?  Why do I publish and think and work on building a post-academic career if I'm no longer holding out hope of one day being a professor?  What's the end game for someone like me?

Aren't we all asking questions like that?

And aren't they the wrong questions?

running around and around the track

As I tick off one 800m set in 3:40 and Coach Woods tells me to slow it down, and I tick off the next one at 3:58 and get ready for my third, aiming closer to 3:50, it's the process I focus on.  I start up on that third set, and I try to get the rhythm right so that my pacing will be better.  In-out-in-out-in-out...I try to get my breathing right so that it is in tune with my legs.  "Keep driving the knees forward," I hear Coach Woods say in my head, and I adjust my stride.  I keep my arms bent at 90º and move them in tune with my breathing and my legs, letting my whole body tick together, and I finish that third set in 3:52, almost perfect.  For my fourth and final 800m set, I hold myself back for the first loop, 400m.  I keep myself steady so that for my final 400m I can just run...keeping my form right, but not worrying about whether my pace is on or not.  I just run for the fun of it; I run to feel like a kid again; I run because I feel good; I run because I like to feel fast; and I finish that last set in 3:44.  But it's not about that number.  It's not about what I'm going to with the data from these sets.  It's not about anything really but me.

I feel good, and as I start my final three 200m sets, I knock them off in less than 45seconds, feeling alive.

it's the journey, not the destination that counts

And I when I look at that woman in the mirror whose skin is losing the elasticity of youth, and who can't wear the same kind of make-up that she used to, and who needs to take a little more care in what she wears and how her hair is cut, I know that she's not about potential.  She's not about being on the edge of what life is just about to give her.  She's in it.  She's right there in it.  It's the process that matters.

I think I finally understand the cheezy saying:  "It's the journey, not the destination that counts."  Because I've belatedly realized that I've achieved all the destinations I thought to achieve, and now I'm just rolling with the journey...no end games in sight.

And along the way, I hope for there to be triumphs--little goals and little achievements, big goals and big achievements--that pop up and dot my path along the way, sign posts and turning points, but never end points.  I'm done with finish lines.

Unless they're provisional, just a temporary finish until the next one comes along.

Over and out (provisionally),
Joy

Musings, Sport and Otherwise

Joy here...Holy doodle!  About five times as many people read my last blog post than some of my more popular ones in the past.  I guess my musings on the flurry of views surrounding being a mom or not have certainly touched a nerve.

And as a result, I'm feeling kind of shy today.  I mean, Nomi and I started up our old blog ("East and West Running" which we logged from 2010 to 2012) as a way to chart our running progress as we aimed for half marathon distances and beyond.

Then I switched over to this blog by myself when I found myself doing more sports than just running.

But in the end, I still just envisioned it as a place where I could log my experiences of training and process the things that I think about as I run, bike, ski etc.

After all, I wouldn't have built a career in literary fields if I didn't find something powerful about the written word's ability to help me come to some sort of clarity with the thoughts that are often swirling and twirling in my head.

feeling a bit shy

But now I feel shy.

Not shy because people read my post and not shy because people have weighed in with their views.  I feel shy, because I'm not sure if I can just write a plain old training entry now, or if I should pick up the thread of my last post and carry on.

In the end, I have to admit that I write because I must.  I write because it helps me keep a record of things; I write because it helps me to think; I write because it helps me to process the world in which I live; and I write because, well, that's just how I roll.

So I think I'll just write what I want, and maybe you'll read it, maybe you won't.

Because despite continuing to think about "the dreaded kid question," I have continued to hit my workouts, a high cadence rides on Monday and Tuesday, and my track practice this morning (Wednesday).

I'm still carrying a few extra kilos from our holiday trip, and I'm still not 100% sure what races I'll sign up for and plan to compete in when the weather gets better, and I've still not been out on skis, but somehow this year with Coach Woods and his crew of amazing runners and fun people, and Coach Andrew's online insights and encouragement, I've been able to weather (pardon the pun) this winter better than many that have come before it.

But that's not to say that I'm not looking forward to NO WINTER next year when we relocate to Malaysia for a year.

And then...then...I intend to write while sitting on my balcony every day.

Over and out,

Joy

The Dreaded Kid Question

Joy here...As we went to the dome to train on Saturday morning, we were greeted with the many young children out there playing soccer.  They're cute; they're skilled; and their presence on my Saturday morning as I run around and around the track doing my drills (4 X 800m, followed by 3 X 200m this week), brings up the dreaded question:  to have a kid or not to have a kid...

I've officially reached the age when people stop gently hinting and suggesting that I sure would be a good mom, and I should think about having a kid, to aggressively telling me that my eggs are already probably too old and shrivelled up and I better get on that kid thing sooner rather than later.

And to top it off, while nearly all of my friends already have kids...the last few hold outs from my high school days are all having kids, like now, as I type.  One had a boy in Dec, a couple will be popping out screamers in May, and another one is due in August.  So that leaves me.  Basically out of any friend group I've ever had -- high school, sports teams, university, work colleagues, neighbours, miscellaneous people I meet on the street -- they all have kids.  They've done it the natural way, the IUI way, the IVF way, the calendar/thermometer method, the adoption method...any way you can think of having a kid, I know at least one (if not many) who have gone down that path to acquire their little bundle of joy.

And they've all started telling me to get on it too.

Some of these folks are even onto kid number two or three long before I've even been able to convince myself that one of them is do-able.

So on Saturday, as I see these kids playing, and I run past their parents keenly watching their children at practice, I can't help but rehearse the kid anxiety over and over in my head.

Now don't get me wrong, I like kids (generally).  I mean, some of my friends' kids are really interesting.  Some of them are really cute.  Some of them are really precocious.  Some of them are really smart.  The odd one or two is a royal pain in the ass, but then again, I've seen kids grow out of that too.

But here's also what I've seen:  people being fucked financially thanks to their kids; people's marriages ending thanks to the strain of having kids; people's marriages beginning to suck as they have no time, energy, or interest in their partners; people giving up their professions and interests for the sake of their kids; people getting fat and ugly thanks to the strains on their time and energy posed by kids; people never travelling again due to kids' schedules etc.; people getting stuck in jobs they hate, because they can't afford the risks of making a change; people getting sucked into being hockey coaches and chauffeurs to a bunch of kids; and I've seen a lot of really really really tired seeming parents.

And, to be honest, in almost all the cases, I see the moms get the really short end of the stick on basically everything to do with parenting.  Their bodies go through the biggest strain; they're the ones taken the most for granted by their kids; their jobs/professions/interests take the biggest hit (sometimes irretrievably so); they are often the ones who get ditched as dads upgrade to younger models; and society judges them super hard all the time about everything they do or don't do.

If you're a parent and you read that list, you know the magical joy of having a kid that I just can't understand that makes up for it all.  I get that.  I get that there's some powerful kid juju that happens that seems to make special sense to parents and you just can't get it until you become one.

But there's the catch.  What if nothing changes, and I just end up having a kid?  I can't really give it back, can I?

And I think I've figured out what's necessary to have a kid and not feel trapped, frustrated, angry, unfulfilled etc.  The answer is simple:  money.  If you don't happen to live anywhere close to family who can help you out (and wouldn't trust your parents with an infant even if you did!!!), then you need to pay for help.  So that means that if you want to have a kid but not see your life super drastically changed for the worse, then it seems to me that you need to increase your income by enough so that you can cover the cost of help and see that increased income have the potential to continue increasing over time to keep pace with the increased demands of parenting the way you'd like.

And, well, the truth of the matter is that I'm so totally not there yet.  I'm just not.

So the next time you see me:  don't ask me when I'm going to have a kid.  Don't tell me I should have a kid.  And certainly don't tell me that I'll be missing out on something if I don't.

Unless, of course, you follow that up with a cheque for $1m.  Then maybe I could wrap my head around having a kid.

And if a winter spent running around the track seeing the skilled kids and their parents, and the 9:30am takeover of the track by the kids' running club, where young ones no taller than my thigh race around the 400m track like nobody's business, putting me to shame and inspiring me all at once, is enough to change my mind on this...you'll be the first to know.

In the meantime, just don't ask.

Over and out,
Joy

PS - One of my friends who has a kid (don't they all???), posted this to my Facebook page to add here: