Run, lady, run

Well, I ran my ten k (68 minutes, I'll tell you why in a minute). I was signed up for a half marathon but my heel was hurting and I was afraid of the dreaded Plantar's fasciitis, and the Running Room wouldn't let me push it forward so I downgraded to a ten. It was fun but, as always with running, I learned some things along the way that I would like to share with y'all.

These tips are all interconnected, and if you follow them you will have a better time and make a better time too!

1. Get to your place destination an hour early! I arrived at the race area (no public transit, it was in a beautiful spot in the country), had to park in a distant parking lot, took the race bus but I ended up at the start line four minutes late (with a bunch of other runners).
If I had gotten there early, I would have had time to figure out where I was going, check in to the washroom (see next point), and get to the starting gate early.

2. Pee before you run! Gotta do it, even if you don't think you need to. Get in there and pee! Especially those of us with the female anatomy, it takes longer to pee at the side of the track, and its not always seemly to dribble as you run.

3. Figure out what's going on!!! If you're in your home town, or even your home country, you will probably be able to read the directions or at least understand what the MC is saying (btw, just a shoutout to my favourite Canadian mc Mark Stein). But what if you're somewhere you can't understand the mc? What if you go to Rome in the spring? (Check it out!)
All the more reason to GET THERE EARLY!! You need to know where everything is so you don't have to try to understand what is being yelled in a foreign language through a loudspeaker.

4. Wear a running watch or your smart phone so you can log your distance. Smaller races don't show you the kilometers, and of course its nice to know, even if you don't have your eye on your pace.

So why did I clock in at 68 minutes? I got to the starting gate, but I was with a large crowd of runners from the bus. Everyone was jolly, walking fast, and the mc was yelling loudly in French. All good. I was also walking fast because I wanted to get to the REAL starting gate. Then we passed a small red sign that said "1K". Shit! I started my TomTom watch and started sprinting, so basically ... my pace for nine of the ten was ok but for one of the ten it was snail slow. Also, yes, because of my late arrival I did have to make use of the Portapotty at k 5 ... so ... live and learn.

Looking forward to getting faster and stronger.

Wayne Gretzky or PK Subban?

Just a minute to think outside the birth box a little today, bear with me folks.

I was waitressing at the White Spot back in 1979, making money for my trip to Africa. The White Spot was a typical Calgary steak house, just down the road from a popular bar, and it was a busy night. Two couples came in and sat in my section. I served them and catered to their every need, as you do as a waitress. I realized the other waitresses were in a frenzy and I asked what was wrong. See, I was a poet back then, an artist, a revolutionary. I didn't know about normal Canadian stuff like hockey. One of the girls let me know that I was serving Wayne Gretzky! So, whatever. I brought them the bill, Gretzky paid with a Visa (wish I'd kept the receipt - his signature was probably worth a lot for a while), and he tipped me $9.00.

Nine dollars on a $91.00 check ... doesn't even add up to 99! Just under ten percent. I always remembered Wayne Gretzky as a bit of a cheap customer, however well he may have played hockey. The Wayne Gretzky story figures as a small chapter in our family's "Mama's waitressing stories". The guy who lifted up my skirt and got a boiling hot steak in his lap was another story altogether...

I traveled through Africa and Europe on my own for a year after that, and I think there was one moment during that trip when I knew that one day I would be able to provide maternity care for underprivileged women. I was somewhere on the border between Tanzania and Uganda, and a young woman came up to me with her baby, who was clearly dying. She thought I would be able to save him, but I couldn't. She will remember me. Not as the great white hope, but as the useless traveler who was just wandering around her country without a pot to piss in, and couldn't even help save her baby boy.

Move forward thirty-odd years. One of my kids has a job in a cafe. P.K. strolled in and had a little brunch, and left a hefty 20%. It's not that times have changed that much - even thirty years ago the good guys left around 15%, the jerks left nothing, and the nice guys...well... in my books, I will now think of Subban as a better hockey player, just because he is a better tipper, and an all-around nicer guy.

So what does this have to do with birth?

Memories count.

When a woman is giving birth, or when she is expecting, or after birth when she is breastfeeding and finds herself a mother, or a mother with a bigger family, she is incredibly sensitive to what is around her. That is why the best place for a woman to be when she is in labor is at home, surrounded by her own furniture, her own people, and her own germs.

If she cannot stay at home, because she can't find a midwife, or doesn't want to, or needs specialized medical care, the doula is there to create an environment in which she will feel safe. Where her memories of that intense time in her life with be bathed in pleasure, even if at the time her physical sensations may be painful and downright unbearable. The doula is there to let a birthing woman know that she is doing exactly the right thing, that her body knows what to do, that she is doing just fine. The particular skill that a doula has is that she manages to translate the woman's reliance upon her, into a memory of self-reliance and self-love. She is so invisible, so subtle, that the woman will remember only "I did it! My body DID know what to do!"

At that moment, a woman is a queen. She should be treated like the royalty she is, like the famous person she will always be remembered as by her children.

So, if you are a doula, remember to give that birthing woman 100%, so that she can remember her birth experience with joy and a sense of accomplishment and peace. What you do doesn't really matter, in the long run. It's how you do it, how much of yourself you give, how big an emotional "tip" you leave that new family with, that really counts in the end.

Life, birth, hockey.