Always flight.
My sister just posted a beautiful and inspirational piece about her family's foray into taekwondo. (http://reckonwewillshine.blogspot.com/2013/10/worth-fighting-for.html) As one with some inside knowledge of how their new skills are developing, I am really impressed. They are all gaining strength and discipline; the kids can do push ups, break boards with their fists, and count in Korean. Without projecting too far, I see this as an empowering activity.and I'm really happy for them.
Last summer I joked that once my baby was born I was going to become a mixed martial arts fighter. In my mind, this would be a great way to get into great shape and have the added benefit of relieving my mind regarding the firearm while running debate (http://greenbeanclub.blogspot.com/2011/12/pot-and-kettle-and-hillbillies-who.html) No need to join the gun toting populous, I would simply become the ultimate fighting machine.
Since August, I have gone so far as to research MMA gyms from Rockford to Madison. I am certainly intimidated, but also a bit skeptical as each website features a photograph of the same woman, dressed in black hot shorts mounting a punching bag that she tore off the chain and will finish seducing using her martial arts skills. Is she a character from Mortal Kombat? KO!
This may not be for me right now - I would prefer to use my work out time and money to take my whole family to the YMCA and swim together.
My decision to avoid these classes raises two questions: Do I need a gun now? No. Do I need an outlet? Yes.
Now that there are two kids, and one of those kids has taken to hitting the dog without abandon, my patience has been forced to expand to include three humans and one terribly disobedient dog on a regular basis. (I'm not proud of it, but yes, at times the explosion of my frustration would manifest itself in blows, pouring down on the concrete head of my dog; all the while his tail continued to wag and his mouth continued to destroy the shoe, egg carton, box of crayons, chicken carcass, etc.. only to increase my fury. Now that my little mirror has begun to act in kind, it is clear that even the dog may seek amnesty.)
This leaves me without any patience for myself, and while this isn't a new situation, generally, in the past, I could quell this anger by punching myself in the stomach until I felt better. Right now, though, I am hesitant to internalize my shortcomings in such a way because of this pesky umbilical hernia. So, last week, I smashed a wooden spoon to bits after burning a pot of beans - a similarly unacceptable outlet as I do not have an inexhaustible supply of utensils to destroy.
What to do? What to do? When faced with the option - fight or flight - what to do? Flight, always flight. Put on your shoes and run!
My whole life, I've been running up and down this same road - from the farm where I grew up to the farm where we live now. Sometimes running for speed, sometimes running for fun, running (slowly) for good conversations often happen when you're out running with your dad or your sister, your friends or your husband (who hates running, actually, but does it anyway because you ask him), sometimes running to get somewhere, sometimes running to reconnect, and sometimes running to refresh your outlook and keep yourself sane and pleasant.
And, when you're running and your only company is that dog, he can seem like a pretty loyal companion and it makes you glad that you found that cement headed puppy beside the road. (And then, of course, walking up the driveway, you see him sneaking across the field with something dangling from his mouth. You worry that it may be the neighbors' missing cat, but you tell yourself that it's probably a opossum...no need to ruin that happy endorphin buzz!)
Last summer I joked that once my baby was born I was going to become a mixed martial arts fighter. In my mind, this would be a great way to get into great shape and have the added benefit of relieving my mind regarding the firearm while running debate (http://greenbeanclub.blogspot.com/2011/12/pot-and-kettle-and-hillbillies-who.html) No need to join the gun toting populous, I would simply become the ultimate fighting machine.
Since August, I have gone so far as to research MMA gyms from Rockford to Madison. I am certainly intimidated, but also a bit skeptical as each website features a photograph of the same woman, dressed in black hot shorts mounting a punching bag that she tore off the chain and will finish seducing using her martial arts skills. Is she a character from Mortal Kombat? KO!
This may not be for me right now - I would prefer to use my work out time and money to take my whole family to the YMCA and swim together.
My decision to avoid these classes raises two questions: Do I need a gun now? No. Do I need an outlet? Yes.
Now that there are two kids, and one of those kids has taken to hitting the dog without abandon, my patience has been forced to expand to include three humans and one terribly disobedient dog on a regular basis. (I'm not proud of it, but yes, at times the explosion of my frustration would manifest itself in blows, pouring down on the concrete head of my dog; all the while his tail continued to wag and his mouth continued to destroy the shoe, egg carton, box of crayons, chicken carcass, etc.. only to increase my fury. Now that my little mirror has begun to act in kind, it is clear that even the dog may seek amnesty.)
This leaves me without any patience for myself, and while this isn't a new situation, generally, in the past, I could quell this anger by punching myself in the stomach until I felt better. Right now, though, I am hesitant to internalize my shortcomings in such a way because of this pesky umbilical hernia. So, last week, I smashed a wooden spoon to bits after burning a pot of beans - a similarly unacceptable outlet as I do not have an inexhaustible supply of utensils to destroy.
What to do? What to do? When faced with the option - fight or flight - what to do? Flight, always flight. Put on your shoes and run!
My whole life, I've been running up and down this same road - from the farm where I grew up to the farm where we live now. Sometimes running for speed, sometimes running for fun, running (slowly) for good conversations often happen when you're out running with your dad or your sister, your friends or your husband (who hates running, actually, but does it anyway because you ask him), sometimes running to get somewhere, sometimes running to reconnect, and sometimes running to refresh your outlook and keep yourself sane and pleasant.
And, when you're running and your only company is that dog, he can seem like a pretty loyal companion and it makes you glad that you found that cement headed puppy beside the road. (And then, of course, walking up the driveway, you see him sneaking across the field with something dangling from his mouth. You worry that it may be the neighbors' missing cat, but you tell yourself that it's probably a opossum...no need to ruin that happy endorphin buzz!)
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