It seems lately that people are constantly telling me how strong they think I am.  And to some degree, I agree with them.  I mean, I did remove a fully assembled grill from the back of my Pathfinder on Monday completely by myself.  Which was especially challenging with the Thule bike rack on the back of the Nissan. At one point I thought I was permanently stuck as I was wedged immobile between the bike rack and the grill.  Additionally, I have managed to come out seemingly on top of a fair amount of adversity. However, even the strong girl has days of weakness.

Yesterday I woke up feeling like a fish out of water.  Maybe it was residual from a rough Mother’s Day weekend.  Maybe it was in light of the devastation in Oklahoma this week and I was missing my kids.  I don’t know, but I was definitely feeling homesick.  I’ve always said, you can take the girl out of Chicago, but you can’t take Chicago out of the girl. I was missing having my mom only an hour drive away.  I was missing having Britta close by.  I was resenting living in Missouri, with none of my family around.  Don’t get me wrong, I love my friends here, but after all, blood is thicker than water, right?  Ok, so maybe Britta isn’t blood, but I can count on her like she is.  I was just generally feeling alone in the Show Me State.  Like I didn’t belong here.  Like a fish out of water.

So, what did I do?  I went to the pool.  Where I could ironically feel like a fish out of water IN the water.  After one length in the pool, Coach Andy yelled, “Who are you and what did you do with Lindsey?”  He wondered what in the world had happened to the stroke we’d been working on so hard.  It had been a while since I’d been in the pool and I’d kind of forgotten what I was doing.  I’d totally forgotten how to breathe.  But I slowed down, relaxed, reminded myself that I COULD do this, and eventually I got my groove back.  Sort of.  For me anyway.   2500 meters later, I was feeling like I’d made some progress.  But this whole multi-sport thing is still a little intimidating to me.  I am, after all, the rambling Runner girl.

After a quick change, a snack and a brief sobfest on the phone with my mom, I jumped on my bike to get a few miles in before I had to pick the kids up from school.  My pace was lame for the first few miles.  I felt sluggish and I kept getting stuck at stoplights but finally I started cruising.  I went out Old Manchester, then I went down into Rockwood Reservation and on my way back to Manchester, I had to walk my bike up the hill at the back of the park.  I probably could have made it, but I got scared that I would fall so I dismounted.  I re-mounted my bike thinking I was ready to go, but somehow after I clipped in I managed to immediately fall right over. Umm, does anyone else see the irony in that?  It was like it was happening in slow motion and yet there was nothing I could do about it. I still can’t get used to these pedals.  Fish out of water, on a bike.  But, I got back up and got back on the horse…err, bike.  I made it back to my neighborhood without too much trouble.  Then, with about a half mile to go…flat tire.  Drat.  I unclipped, successfully this time.  And began the clickity-clack walk home in my cycling shoes.

So, now I have experienced my first flat.  I guess it’s officially time to learn how to tend to that.  I’ve been expecting, or dreading rather, that happening, but it wasn’t a huge ordeal this time.  The good news is I wasn’t far from home.  I’m pretty sure I would have had a complete meltdown if that had happened 9 miles out.  Note to self: next time I ride alone, take the phone.  And cab fare.

Last night Silas graduated from Pre-school.  His teachers put on a very cute Circus themed Graduation and Silas was an adorable lion tamer, complete with a whip I had made for him out of rope and electrical tape.  I was very proud of the whip, considering that I don’t do homemade costumes.  Frankly, I stink at homemade costumes.  Anyway, Silas was definitely in his element.  And being a mom, I was definitely back in my element.  As we were driving home after the festivities, the kids were chattering in the backseat, playing with balloons and I was singing along with Chris Tomlin on the radio.  As I sang the words, “I can say, it is well” I thought, yeah, it is well.  I was back with my kiddos and I had survived a tough day of things just being out of sorts.  I am the strong girl.  But I realized that part of being the strong girl is, once again, admitting my weaknesses, owning them, and accepting them.

Even the strong girl has struggles.  And gets bumps and bruises.  And takes ibuprofen.  And uses an ace bandage to wrap a Spongebob ice pack onto her hand. Sometimes the strong girl even has to skip boxing and spend the morning at Urgent Care getting X-rays to make sure there is no fracture.

I’m glad to report that the strong girl is not broken, just bruised.  Both the hand, and the pride.

I don’t foresee this staying on long. It just makes me feel like I’m being overly dramatic. And dumb. Really, really dumb.