What's changed?

I look at pictures from when I was younger, and think, "damn, why did I waste time thinking I was fat?"

Honestly though, it's crazy looking back at old photos and generally reminiscing about life before adulthood, and by "Adulthood" I mean the time before mortgages, children, & droopy boobs. Stasha over at the Good Life's weekly meme Monday Listicles gives us an opportunity to brainstorm and list. This week it was Christine, over at Random Reflectionz asked us to list up Ten Ways you are either the same or different than your younger self.

Inspired by this list, I have decided to branch off a bit, and offer the following.

Ten Words Whose Definitions Have Changed Over the Years

1. Friday Night

Then:
Evening begins around ten p.m. and includes multiple alcoholic drinks, suggestive dancing, and a wardrobe that accentuates curves and boobs.

Now:
Pizza or take out, pajamas, and passing out into a bowl of ice cream while sprawled on the sofa while watching Fringe. After maintaining one is not exhausted, one succumbs to the comfort bed before eleven o'clock news theme has finished.

2. Sleeping Late

Before:
Making it to McDonald's in time for breakfast is a victory. More likely than not, brunch at the local bagel shop before noon is the norm.

After:
7:30 am M-F
And because it's the weekend, 7 am.

3. Hair

Before:
Stylish cut and highlights to add depth and dimension to one's hair. Daily blow out and style, a must.

After:
Cut to slim the face, and color to hide the grays. Blow out when necessary, to the point the kids ask, "Whatcha do to your hair mama?"

4. Dining Out

Before:
8:30 reservation, party of two, cocktails, appetizers, entrees, desserts with after dinner drinks. A hefty price tag and a three hour meal.

After:
If we're lucky, 6:30 party of four, bread and crackers to hold over the two while their chicken fingers and grilled cheese is being prepared, while Mom & Dad play rocks, paper, scissors to decide who gets to drink!
That of course, is the scenario if we're not eating at a diner or Panera.

5. Halloween

Before:
A time to be a slutty school girl a la Britney Spears, sexy nurse, or sport some other inappropriately short and almost indecent costume, while attending a Halloween party with others in inappropriately nearly indecent costumes, engaging in keg stands, jello shots, and beer pong.

After:
Staring in disbelief as one's four year old points to inappropriately, nearly indecent Halloween costume in catalog and maintains that that is the costume of her choice this year. Celebrating the change to Jessie from Toy Story, while putting off the anxiety that will come with Halloween costume shopping with a tween.

6. Working Out

Before:
Arriving at the gym after work, to attend various classes with favorite teacher at whichever time listed on the schedule.

After:
Does running up the stairs count?
Because attempting to make it to a class at the gym that doesn't interfere with school pick up/drop off, meal time or nap time, is next to impossible.

7. Birthdays

Before:
A time to drink and party and eat some cake!

After:
Screw the party, give me the cake!

8. Fertility

Before:
Two Words: The Pill

Source: someecards.com via Amanda on Pinterest

After:

Source: iwastesomuchtime.com via Jackie on Pinterest

9. Minivan

Before:
Why?
I'll never.

After:
Insert Hallelujah chorus here: 

Source: naughtybettyinc.com via Julie on Pinterest

How does one with children live without it?

10. My Body

Before:
I need to loose a few pounds.
I think I'm attractive some days.
Thank God, my boobs are looking good.

After:
I need to loose a lot of weight after this next kid pops out.
It's amazing what a shower, a little make up, and a blow out can do for one's appearance.
God, my boobs are enormous right now!

What's changed or stayed the same for you over the years?
Link up!

Just A Swim

Once upon a time, I thought I was fat.

College Swim Team 1997-98 Season

I walked into the training room and immediately was handed a piece of paper. My eyes glanced quickly and realized it was a spreadsheet. Listed in the first column, all the names of the men and women on my team. Of course, I found my own name and immediately to it's side I noticed 168 lbs.

Glancing over the sheet, it was there in black and white, for all to see.
Instead of concentrating on how I out performed all my female teammates on the bench press, dead lift, and squat (a few guys too), I was focused solely on my weight.
That number being public information pissed me off.

Logically I knew I was not fat, obese, or unhealthy. I was a Division One swimmer, practicing close to 20 hours a week and had a body to match.

However, seeing that number on paper logic was lost to emotion.

While I was one of the strongest women on the team, I also was one of the biggest.

No woman wants to be classified as big, because big is equivalent to fat, and fat does not equal attractive.

Looking back, I am sometimes amazed at my own strength. A teammate's own eating disorder coupled with this incident could have had a very negative affect on my self concept. However, on the contrary, my self concept seemed to improve after these events. I was on the bigger and stronger side, and that wasn't necessarily a bad thing.

As time went on I have held fast to my self concept, even as my exercise routine has shrank and my waist band has widened. My time in the pool had a great impact on who I am, but over time my time swimming all but disappeared. I had work, the graduate school, then a wedding, a baby, a house, and another baby. Swimming was a sacrifice I gave as time was precious.

Things have changed.

Last month it became quite clear Moira needs swim lessons. At nearly four, she is prime to learn how to swim. Deciding to join the local YMCA, was a compromise. As membership permits my children to partake in swim lessons, it also gives me, the former swimmer, the opportunity to return to the pool.

Gulp.

After digging my goggles and swim cap out of retirement and purchasing a new suit at Marshall's, I was ready for that first swim.

Walking through the door, the familiar smell of chlorine smacks me in the face. Descending the stairs from the locker room, I assess the pool. Four lanes are available for lap swimmers, and there are bodies in each lane.

My first time back won't be a solo mission.

In one, an older man floats on his back, occasionally kicking his feet at a snail's pace.

Not that lane.

In another, another older man again on his back, slowly kicks and does the elementary backstroke*.
*not an Olympic event

That lane is out too.

A middle aged man stands facing a woman in a speedo.
"You will get this" she says, "before long you will swim!".

Not this one.

One lane left.

She adjusts her goggles, and pushes off into a nice streamline. Her freestyle looks strong.

F--k.
This is it, my only option.

"Do you mind if I share the line?" I ask.
"Of course, not"  she says, "we'll split the lane".

Before I can nod okay, she's off again. Her stroke is relaxed, her swim comfortable.

Everything I think I won't be in that moment.
It has been over four years since I've swam a lap.
In that time I've popped out two kids, had two c-sections, and steered clear of most exercise and bathing suits.

What the f--k am I doing?

For some reason, I kept the goggles and cap.

Why?

Because if you are swimmer, even if you haven't been in the pool for years, there is nothing like a good swim.

The monotony of back and forth, the cadence of stroke, breath, and kick, the chlorine, are like an old, dear friend. Welcoming with open arms.

I'm going to swim.
Into the water I jump, and immediately I'm back to thinking
What the f--k?

My feet find the pool wall and push into a streamline. Without thinking, my body takes over.

It's not easy, as I feel like I'm pushing through molasses, but I do it.

I swim 1700 yards, which is a little over a mile*.
* 1650 yds. = the mile, one of my old races.

This swim was hard, and my body aches. I used to think I was fat, and I realize how damn fit I truly was!
No longer am I a college athlete with time to dedicate to the weight room and daily workouts. Instead, I'm a shadow of the athlete I used to be. Hopefully over time, a resemblance to that girl in the photo will emerge again.

One who knew she wasn't fat but strong.

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Linking up with The Lightning & The Lightning Bug
This week's theme: Kicking Ass (I think the water kicked my ass this week!)

Hazard Zet Forward

Rolling over, I open one eye.

5:44

One minute before my alarm, as usual.

Taking a deep breath, I push the floral comforter off my body and pour myself out of bed. Clicking the alarm off, my roommate sleeps peacefully. Onto the floor I fall, a large yawn overtakes my body, as I quickly pull on my sweats. The big blue parka hangs off my desk chair. Offering warmth, I quickly cuddle inside as I zip it up. I slip on my sneakers, grab my wallet & key and head out the door. Throwing on my hood as I step out the door.

Rounding the corner, I notice fire trucks lining the drive. A usual fixture at school as the freshman dorm is notorious for fire drills at all hours of the day and night. I have little hesitation as I walk in to the pool deck.

The blue parkas file in behind, crossing the pool deck and descending the stairs to the locker room.
Emerging minutes before 6:00, we all dress alike,  bathing suit, cap, and goggles.

I notice a few freshmen missing, and attribute it to faulty alarm clocks. They'll have to make up the yardage later, I think.

Into the water we jump, the first of a double for the day.

It has been about twenty minutes when I notice between breaths, figures walking on deck. The big parka easily recognizable.

My feet touch the ground as the water calms around me.

I can only hear bits of her conversation:

Fire...
Dorm...
Fire Department...
Shock.

Leaving the rec center, I set across campus. I pull the blue parka tight against the January morning winds as I exit the side door. The whirling sound hits me first. Looking up, two helicopters circle the area. I walk with a purpose across the sidewalk, as a stream of ambulance and firetrucks line the drive.

I am only thinking that  I need to find my teammates.

I enter the cafeteria to a sea of faces.

Someone has turned the televisions on to the local news stations.

The image shows the devastation a few feet away. Groups are huddle together, as I make my way through.

Then I see what I need,

two big blue parkas.

My girls are fine.

It is through them, I hear the horror of what is happening, as they live a floor below.

We focus our glance to the television as the newscaster reports. At the bottom of the screen a ticker emerges, "fatalities presumed" crawls across the screen.

An audible gasp fills the room as I feel the tears in my eyes.

Things will never be the same.

The ribbon is a symbol that we remember those lost and share a sense of hope with all those who continue to heal. Ribbons are worn each year on campus and around the country by alumni who remember.
We remember January 19, 2000. 

Hazard Zet Forward my friends. 

translated: At whatever risk, yet go forward

Alma Mater

"Are we there yet?" her voice rang through the minivan.
I took another glimpse out the window. The scene looked familiar, as we made the left at the stoplight. Looking down the large hill, the village (really a downtown) laid before us.
It looked the same, yet quickly as we passed, we noticed the differences. New restaurants, stores and outdoor seating peppered the pavement. Familiar sites were there too. The drug store, the Indian restaurant which hosted the Halloween party where I was the farmer and he the cow, the pizza shop that delivered until 3 am, looked the same.
Imagines of that very first day quickly came to mind as the tall metal fence came into view. I could feel my heart skip a beat as we turned into the entrance. Fifteen years ago, I had sat in the back of my parents minivan, my belongings stuffed in all its corners as my anxiety was at a fever pitch.
The first day of college, seemed like lifetimes ago.
We were back.
There it was, the place we called home for four (and a half) years.
College, a place like no other.
An alternate reality, for those lucky enough to partake in all it's splendors.
College; the bridge between childhood and adult responsibility.
College, the place where I feel I found myself (and a husband).
College.
As we pulled into the incredibly tight parking spot, I looked around as did Bry. It looked surprisingly so similar. The dorms stood tall, overlooking the parking lot, as Bry unloaded the double stroller. I watched as a father carried a case of water for his daughter down the path to the dorm. They engaged in some conversation over their respective shoulders. The scene could have been my father and I a few years ago, I thought and then, a shiver overcame my body as I thought that in fifteen years, this scene could be Bry and Moira.
"Is this it? Is this your school?" Mo asked as she climbed into her seat. Her voice regained my attention.
"Yup." I said, "This is Mommy and Daddy's college."
Attaching the straps to Maeve, I attempted to point out our surroundings. As Bry pushed, I began marveling to Moira. Informing her of the dorm that was Bry's home for three years, the library, the cafeteria, but it fell on deaf ears.
"Them got a bouncy?" she asked.
"Don't you want to see some more of Mama's school?" I pleaded.
"No." Her response short and without contrition. "Them got a bouncy? I LOVE bouncies."
And so we headed to the field house for the bounce house and other kid friendly activities.
Meeting up with a few friends over our trip, we all agreed somehow, returning here brought memories to the surface. It felt so similar, it was still the same in many ways, yet it had all changed. It was the same but yet so different.
Kegs and red plastic cups had been replaced with diaper bags and sippy cups. Walking leisurely with arms intertwined across the green now involved strollers and threats of time out.
Perhaps, the school was the same and it really was us that had changed?
Returning to the pool was the reunion I looked forward to the most.
The smell of chlorine hit our faces as we entered.
Arms and legs splashed about as they finished their practice for the day. Moira's eyes were as large as saucers, as the enormity of the natatorium stood in front of her. Diving boards, lane lines, and starting blocks abound.
I found her place of interest.
For me, the pool, this pool was sacred ground.  I had spent the most time during my tenure here, so sharing it was so personal.
The crystal blue water turned calm as the swimmers returned to dry land. A few girls came over. Introducing themselves as two seniors and sophomore, bits of nostalgia floated to the surface. With her little hand in mine, I introduced Mo. Gushing over her cuteness, I quickly offered my warning.
"Enjoy your time, every little moment here," I begged. "It will be over so quickly and you'll be wishing for one more night."
They giggled as they walked away, perhaps making light of my plea to each other, or maybe discussing their plans for the evening or lunch.
It was then I introduced Mo for the first time to my pool.
 We toured the deck, stopping to touch the water in the hot tub for the divers. Looking up, she gasped as I pointed out the 3 meter diving board, and asked to bounce on the 1 meter. She laughed at the pirate face on each starting block, and then told me the numbers as they increased on the digital pace clock. Rounding the corner, she seemed honestly interested and intrigued, and I couldn't have been happier to share my place, my history with her.
Not soon after our pool visit, we attempted a viewing of a production of the Wizard of Oz unsuccessfully and then arrived at the book store minutes after closing time. It seemed a good time to end our return.
We returned home.
Sitting down to dinner that night, Mo looked up to me and asked, "Tell me about your swimming pool, mama." A smile came to my face as I recalled my memories of the pool.
I guess our trip was a success.

Lesson Learned

Little red plastic cup. innocently stacked in a pile.
"Here" he says, "It's for you. I take care of my freshmen". Into each hand, he places a red cup.
"Enjoy" he continues, as he walks away, leaving us alone. A sea of unfamiliar faces look as we hover in the doorway.
I feel like I don't belong here.
I'm not this type of girl; not the partying type. Not the girl to be holding a cup at a fraternity party.
I'm a good girl,
But no one knows this.
We are virtual strangers, the girls and I. Barely do I know their names, their stories have yet to be revealed, as we have only met a few hours before. Since we are all collegiate athletes to be, we have been grouped together for Freshmen orientation class.
It is his idea, our peer mentor, an upper class man, to come out to this party this night. We later discover, that he is pledging this fraternity and so his actions may have ulterior motives.
In the doorway of the large white house we cling together, our shared naivete, our bond. As one unit, we walk to the kitchen, and discover a blue plastic tub filled with a purple punch.
"I guess I'll just try some" I say.
I'm a good girl, not the partying type.
It appears I am alone in my inexperience, as they quickly empty their glass.
Bottoms up, I suppose as I join them back at the rubber tub.
The little red plastic cup holds another glass of the purple punch, and then another. (and another?)
Our inhibitions begin to fade, as the liquor takes hold.
I'm a good girl, not the partying type.
I find a seat in the living room, and sit.
The room begins to spin as my stomach churns.
Purple liquid splashes onto the white carpet as I drop my little red plastic cup.
"Who's ready to head back to the dorm?" the familiar voice asks. I look up to spy my peer mentor.
I walk to the car, and crawl into the back seat. Two of my new friends, sit next me.
"Can you open the window a bit?" I ask, my stomach continues to churn, as I attempt to hide my intoxication.
"Of course" he responds, as the car takes off back to the university. I feel the cool air on my face as the window rolls down, then I hear the lighter click. He places the cigar between his lips, and immediately the smell overcomes me.
"Pull over! Pull over now!" I yell.

It was that early night in my college experience that I learned to be hesitant about those little red plastic cups.
Lesson Learned.

*Sorry mom & dad! I know you thought I was a good girl, and I was, most of the time! :)

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