Athletics Magazine

Happy Hour Talk

By Brisdon @shutuprun
48 minutes until official happy hour. The countdown has begun. Sure, like they say, it's 5 o'clock somewhere, but that's for hard core drunkards, not suburban moms like me (bahaha).
Happy Hour Talk
If we were to sit down for happy hour today and have a glass of wine, this is what I would tell you.
Today I got curious about the Whole30 plan. In five minutes I got un-curious about it because...what? No alcohol. No beans. No sugar. No pancakes. I'm sweating just thinking about it. All of the refraining. All of the cravings. All of the desperation and longing. They say do it because you will feel a million times better. But what if you already feel pretty darn good? No alcohol. No pancakes, I said. Have you tried it? Maybe I will live vicariously through you.
If we were having a glass of wine or two I would let you know that I cannot wait for this weekend of running. I'll be doing a total of 20 miles - tomorrow 6 miles with hill repeats, Sunday 14 miles of trails. If you ask me what I want to do on Mother's Day, it truly is to run on the trails, eat good food, have my family around me. I'm pretty simple that way.
Happy Hour Talk
Two glasses in, and the inhibitions are starting to slip a bit. I would now probably tell you that one of my worst habits is picking. Picking my cuticles. Then I'd show them to you like an ashamed child. (what? I could be picking my butt. I don't do that).  I've done this for years, but at times it's worse than others. It's not a nervous habit, it's just a habit and something I like to do for some weird reason. Right now my cuticles look like a war zone. Angry, red, torn up. I'm not proud of it, but in the world of bad habits, this one is probably more harmless than some.

Happy Hour Talk

What is wrong with me?

Tipsy. Glass three. I better watch what I say. I could be on the verge of disclosing a bit too much.
Now I would tell you that I feel motherhood slipping away from me. Yes, I will always be a mother, but as my kids get older, they are around less and need me not quite as much. That's why when they ask me to do something for them that I know they can do for themselves, I do it (i.e., "Mom you are the only one that can make Kraft Mac and Cheese taste the best...can you make it for me?"). That is why I still stand by on the sidelines, watching them as they navigate their way through basic daily tasks, witnessing that they are their own people and now live their own lives. More than ever I am understanding that damn corny ass book that always made me tear up, "Love You Forever" (as long as I'm living my baby you'll be).
Happy Hour Talk
That is why I pause while in Target watching the woman with the toddler in her cart as they chit chat away about if they should buy Cheerios, because it was just yesterday I was doing that exact same thing and I did not realize the total perfection of that moment.
Then I do it. Oh, no. I fast forward my brain to 94 days from today and I visualize helping Sam set up his dorm room and that moment when we hug and cry and I slowly let him go and I get in the car and I feel in every cell of my being that this moment changes everything. Don't leave. Yes, you have to leave. This is what I raised you to do. And the fact that I will miss you so much is a testament to how cool and remarkable of a person you have become. I love you as my son, but I also simply love you as a person and more than anything I will miss your company.
Happy Hour Talk

If I was finishing my third glass of wine I would tell you: Hell.  How did this become an open letter to my son? Let me get my shit together.
Glass #4, yeah that's nearly the whole bottle. Now I tell you let's get off the sentimental boat. A confession: did I ever tell you about the time I was in labor and pooped the delivery table 10 times? Maybe that's for another day.
This has gone downhill fast.
So, tell me:
What are your Mother's Day Plans?

Ever tried Whole30?

Have you sent a kid off to college? How did you handle it?
Happy Friday!
SUAR


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