Catherine Connors is a mother, writer and recovering academic who traded the lecture hall for the playroom and discovered that university students and preschoolers have much the same attention span. She still dips her toes into academic waters by writing the occasional scholarly article about the place of motherhood in Western philosophy, but mostly now she changes diapers and wipes noses and indulges in long reflections on whether Yo Gabba Gabba is a harbinger of the decline of western civilization. Oh, and she blogs: in addition to Bad Mother blogging at BeliefNet, she is, among other things, the author of HerBadMother.com, Managing Editor of MamaPop, moderator of Her Bad Mother’s Basement, co-founder and co-editor of WeCovet, Contributing Editor at BlogHer, and (deep breath) founder of and contributor to Canada Moms Blog. And in her spare time… oh, wait. She doesn’t have spare time. But she’s okay with that.
I didn’t run the Disney Princess Half-Marathon. I am, to put it in as few words as possible, gutted.
I fell the night before the race. I had a bad dizzy spell – a fade-to-black-and-spin dizzy spell – and fell. I was carrying Emilia at the time. She was okay. I hurt my knee. Had it only been a hurt knee, I would have persisted and run the race. But as my travel companion, Katie, pointed out, dizzy spells and long-distance running don’t mix. “I’ll stop you if you if you try to leave the hotel room to go run,” she said. “So don’t even try.”
I didn’t try. I woke at the appointed time and swallowed my frustration and disappointment and poured all my Tiarathon determination into not crying through the wee hours until the kids woke and demanded to go see Buzz Lightyear.
I’m still not sure what to say or do or think about it. I was supposed to run 100 miles for Tanner this year. That was the whole point of our road trip, sponsored and supported by GM Canada and by everyone who cared enough to put up buttons and cheer me on. I can still run those miles, I think, I hope; the year’s still young and there are plenty of runs to pursue. But I got started by failing to run a single inch in my first race, and I don’t know that I’ve ever been this disappointed in myself in my entire life.