So who was it that tried to convince me that 50 was old and no longer sexy?
Who decided that grey hair was unattractive and we needed to dye our hair all the time and damage it even more?
What bozo tried to convince us that we need plastic filled faces to eliminate wrinkles so we can hide the years of happiness carved into our eyes and stop us from smiling genuinely?
Who said Boomers can’t do what they used to? Because I’ve become better as each decade has passed.
This week I enter the 51st year of my life… and I’m not hiding it, lying about my age or what I choose to do in it.
You can diet, starve, gorge, exercise, couch potato like a pro, you can knit a pot holder at Burning Man, kick back as many drinks as you want (so long as it’s lactose free), and hold any opinion you want because it’s backed by personal experience so long as you’re a Gen Xer surviving. We are the children of Boomers and hippies. We are the parents of Millennials. If you’re in your 50’s you can do what you want. I’m doing what I want… and I really don’t care what YOU think about it.
I really don’t care if you think I’m fat or slow or weak or old or ugly. I feel pity for you if you don’t recognize my value and just focus on totally unimportant characteristics. I really don’t care if you think my political views are wrong. I voted. End of story. Move on. I’ll turn up the volume to my car stereo and sing melody, harmony and back up vocals to Bohemian Rhapsody. I don’t care because you are not Simon Cowell. I’ve learned that every criticism you have of me tells me soooooo much about you. That’s wisdom right there. I’m liking it but it’s a double edged sword.
I’m pretty happy where I am in my own skin. I am amazed at the sudden wisdom and insight I have now… especially gained over this year. I remember as a kid opening up Cracker Jack boxes hoping I would finally get the ex ray glasses so I could see through things and be prepared for everything hiding out to get me. I now marvel in enlightenment as I can now see right through people… but now see how empty, sad, unfulfilled, envious, ignorant, codependent, narcissistic, materialistic, angry, neglected, rejected and confused they are… and I want to give my glasses back. I’ve been there. I was in each of those phases and didn’t enjoy them one bit. But I made it look good to others and convinced myself that it was a good thing for me to be like that.
But it’s true. With age comes wisdom and when you know better, you do better.
AND HONESTLY I CANNOT WAIT TO GROW YOUNGER NOW. I’m 51. Fifty freaking one!!!!
My baby brother lived to the age of 38. My grandmother and namesake lived to be 45. How incredibly blessed am I to have these days that they were never able to.
I cried when I turned 30 because I thought I was old. I laughed when I turned 50 because I realized my life is just now becoming my own!
Wow! What a wish I had!!! It’s half way through the day and my Facebook has exploded!!!! The number of well wishes are overwhelming. And the sentiments shared via private message are beyond surreal.
Best of all… The donations are trickling in $10 by $10!!!! Last I checked this morning between meetings I was just over One Thousand dollars!!! Incredible!!!
Thank you! Thank you everyone for proving to me and the world that what I have been doing has not been in vain.
My brother was once asked if he thought his glass was half empty or half full. He responded with “My cup runneth over.”
And that’s exactly how I feel today.
Thank you!!! Keep those donations coming!!! Please! Together we can help makes other birthdays a reality.
Wow! What a wish I had!!! It’s half way through the day and my Facebook has exploded!!!! The number of well wishes are overwhelming. And the sentiments shared via private message are beyond surreal.
Best of all… The donations are trickling in $10 by $10!!!! Last I checked this morning between meetings I was just over One Thousand dollars!!! Incredible!!!
Thank you! Thank you everyone for proving to me and the world that what I have been doing has not been in vain.
My brother was once asked if he thought his glass was half empty or half full. He responded with “My cup runneth over.”
And that’s exactly how I feel today.
Thank you!!! Keep those donations coming!!! Please! Together we can help makes other birthdays a reality.
I am very grateful to have so many wonderful friends wish me well on my birthday every year but this year my wish is for those wishes to turn into $10 donations. In exchange for your donation, you’ll receive either a necklace or an orange or purple beaded bracelete with my Momma’s signature “I LOVE YOU” hand sign silver charm. Turn my birthday into someone else’s birthday to beat cancer. Together we can! Anything is possible. Donate online here:http://pages.teamintraining.org/sctx/txtri14/mcardenasb
After every race, I have a photo made with me holding up my medal with one hand and throwing an “I love you” sign with the other hand. That was originally done so that my mother could see my progress on facebook while she was at MD Anderson getting treatment. We always held up our hands with this sign to each other in the same manner that Carol Burnett tugged at her ear after each show for her mother.
It is because of this that our little sign has now suddenly become so popular at our local races… many of us are racing for someone that we love and when we see the photographer around, lots of us show our love to others by showing the sign.
Please continue to spread the love! On Tuesday, my birthday, I have challenged my social media friends to donate $10 instead of posting a HAPPY BIRTHDAY on my social media walls. In exchange, they’ll receive a necklace or bracelet with the symbol that means so much to me… and hopefully will allow others to beat cancer and experience a new birthday for themselves.
Anything is possible. Together we can.
Oh… wait… you’re a guy? Or you don’t like to wear jewelry because you’re always working out??? Well, you must stink. A lot.
(How’s that for a sales pitch, eh?)
No worries, you can still help on my birthday!!! Because all those technical dri-fit jerseys, sports bras, bike jerseys, cycling shorts, etc… in fact… anything that is NOT cotton that you wear while you sweat can use this.
Click on the photo to get WINdetergent to launder your own sports gear and finally get that funky smell out!
WINdetergent has offered to partner with me on helping me fundraise in memory of my Momma and Sissy and Rodney and Donny and…. ya, it just goes on and on…
So why don’t you click here http://tnt.windetergent.com/myssie
and you can smell sporty fresh, celebrate my birthday AND help us with the fight again cancer!!! WINdetergent will donate $5 for every two-pack that you buy to my Mimi’s Miles fund with the Leukemia and Lymphoma society… but you HAVE to use THIS link
When I was a teen, I looked older than I was and hardly hung out with the kids in my own class. When I was in my 20’s and 30’s, I was the most prim and proper princess and exuded maturity and good manners. In my 40’s, I began running and accusations of hitting a mid-life crisis arose.
In my deep core of myself, I’ve never really been very comfortable discussing my age, acting my age nor feeling age appropriate. So when birthdays come around… I freak out a little bit.
It’s that time again. Well not today but on Tuesday it is.
The thing about the sport of triathlon is that you MUST get over it. Triathlon isn’t like zumba in that you can do your thing next to someone else and never know if that person is 5, 10, 20 years younger or older than you. Not so in Tris. You get your age sharpied on the back of your legs for the whole world to see. There’s no fibbing, no fake facebook birthdays, no lies.
So here I am in an age group that I don’t feel like I belong in… again. But what can I do? I figure I’ll just make the best of it. Surely I’m not the only one. As I take a good look around at some of the competitors around me, I see them in similar situations. We put 110% effort in what we do. We crack jokes about those outside our age groups and now… I find myself zeroing in on those inside my age group.
I don’t care what the people in my age group look like. I don’t care what they do 9-5. I don’t care about the gossip and drama that surrounds them. I pay attention to what they do to make them excel and do better than last time. I pay attention to smile they have on the podium. I pay attention to the intensity of their workouts, their determination and their overall happiness. I’ve never done that before… pay attention to my own peoples, I mean.
It’s weird to me that when I first meet someone, no matter how much I stress the age difference between us.. they seem to forget it. Either age means nothing to them at the time or age means too much to me at the time.
It was quite comical how during casual conversation the other day that I reminded a friend of mine that I was older than her mother. You should have seen her face when that realization came over her.
Age is a squiggly topic for me. On the 19th, it was my brother’s birthday. He would have been 41. That was the age that I began running. It changed me. Had he been given the years I was, what would he have done to change his life if given the opportunity?
I remember turning 30 and crying while Raudel and Piper were giggling at me in the office at Mission Economic Development. I remember turning 40 and crying because I was alone. I had birthday parties until I was in 6th grade and then nothing else except for one dinner party when I was 23 and that was only because Xavie set it up so that he could pop the question to me and when Kristie threw a little get together for me with a running theme. Other than those… I’ve never had real birthday parties. I’ve never really celebrated my age.
And honestly, the party stuff will likely never change. But celebrating my age… I need to change my attitude about that. Quick.
It’s a pretty good thing that God has given me a chance to do all these crazy things I do… not just for me but for others, too. That’s a gift. It’s a gift that my brother never got. It’s a gift that so many others take for granted. I must stop taking what I have for granted.
I should not be ashamed of being “old”.
I’m an old woman who can run 9 minute miles.
I’m an old woman who can wear a size 6 without a “faja”.
I’m an old woman who can swim for an hour straight.
I’m an old woman who can ride her bike for 100+ miles.
I’m an old woman who has a pretty damn good life.
Unfortch… I’m an old woman who has some kick a$$ women in her age group that are training right this very moment… and I am not!!!
If you follow any of my social media accounts, you can probably agree that one of my most iconic photos was the one of me crying as I crossed the finish line at the LiveSTRONG half marathon (my very first half marathon) on my baby brother’s birthday a few months after his death while listening to his voicemail on my iPhone.
That was on February 19th. Donny’s birthday. Two Nineteen.
I have since turned this number into a goal, a race goal. And the thing about me is that once I set my mind to something, I make a plan, practice, practice, practice, and then I go get it.
Oddly enough… when I tried to achieve this goal at the McAllen Half Marathon, I cramped up twice and missed my time. I failed.
I went back to basics. I went to Hector Gandara, my run coach and instructor for Valley Running Company’s Running 101 class, and told him that I wanted to sign back up for his class so that I could go back to LiveSTRONG this year and finish at 2:19 for Donny. He put me on a plan.
However, life happens… and I ended up missing a TON of classes. Doing his workouts on your own is very difficult. You don’t really know if you are doing them correctly, if your form is slouching and what hurts the most… the encouragement from your fellow runners. I felt like a foreign exchange student – part of the class but not really.
On that note, I questioned my ability to have progressed like how I was expected to or felt I should have.
After the Port Isabel Longest Causeway 10k run, I was extremely pleased with my time and knew that Coach Hector’s plan was working!!! But that was almost a month ago already. Had I been able to keep the momentum? Enough to finally reach my goal of 2:19? That was the question lingering in my head these last couple of weeks.
Well, as my life goes, everything I plan for ends up changing. Not having a “normal” 9-5 job with a regular income kinda hurt when it was time to pay property taxes so as I crunched the numbers in the family budget… seems that a weekend in Austin running a race was no longer an option. I should have known, too. The signs were everywhere.
I started a new business venture and am super stoked about it. *I’ll talk about it later I’m sure. But the work and the weather conspired against me and cut my workouts to a bare minimum making me really question whether I was able to reach 2:19 at the next available race, the “Get Up And Train” half marathon in Pharr, Tx. This race is now abbreviated to #GUAT.
Race packet pick up for GUAT was yesterday from 9a.m. – 6p.m. I drove up at about 5:30p.m. to late register. I must have sat in the parking lot for another ten minutes thinking to myself “How can I just show up like this so late?” I know most of the race event producers and they’ve become good friends of mine. I can just imagine the headaches I’ll cause being so late. After all they have done for me, this is how I treat them???? Good Lord Myssie!!! Just pass on the race. Suck it up and wait for another one to do when you get your act together.
*sigh*
I walked in trying desperately not be to noticed but the gymnasium was already clearing out and, honestly, I stood out like a sore thumb. I walked up to the registration table and asked to sign up expecting to be immediately turned down because it was too late or too full or too… something. But there she was… beautiful Amanda and her big smile multitasking while turning out some fires that always happen at registration events. With a nod of her head, her eyes pointing in the direction of a registration form… my registration was handled seamlessly.
I returned home to do everything you should NOT do the night before a marathon. I didn’t eat dinner. I stayed up way too late. I didn’t even shower much less shave. TMI? sorry… at least you weren’t running next to me today eh?
Before the race even started, I had already tied my orange jacket around my waist because I was already stoked and warmed up. I wrote “Donny” on my hand so that when I looked down at my Garmin, I would be reminded to go for my goal… Donny’s birthday.
The first mile was difficult. It always is but I found my rhythm by mile 2 and kept with it. There were actually times where I was going too fast and had to slow down a bit. How about them apples? Again, the high fives and hugs and cheers were awesome! Overwhelming at some times, too! But very welcomed 🙂
Once I got to Nolana, I closed my eyes and welcomed the mist as it cooled my face. I remembered the moment I reached the top of the Causeway and felt the same feeling… a euphoric dreamlike state of ecstasy. The playlist helped a bit with that, too.
Surprisingly, the entire run went really smoothly. Just like at the McAllen Marathon, my legs cramped up. I felt the ball of my foot and my toes go numb. While I was running, the thought came through my head… “When was the last time I cut my toe nails? Ouch! I think that’s what I feel. Well, there’s nothing I can do about it now. It’ll probably cause a blister or cut into my skin and bleed. I don’t have my trusty fuel belt with my little band-aid kit so… oh well… run through the pain. Deal with it.” I was pretty strong today. I had to do it. Foo Fighters were screaming in my ear. I had to do it for Donny. I’m not gonna fail again. No sirree!!!
Alright!!! My time is good! My time is really good! Not like Gandara or Kenyan good… but good for being me!!! Just before I hit mile 12, I sneak a peek at my Garmin. I’m way ahead of schedule. I’m going to finish before 2:19.
sooooooo guess what begins playing in my ears?
That’s right… it’s a sign.
2:19 was not a goal. My goal has and always will be to help those who have cancer and find a cure for cancer. THAT’s a goal. 2:19 was a sign.
Yep, a SIGN.
Just knowing I COULD finish in that time was good enough for me. Simple as that.
sooooooooo what do I do?
I took my phone out of it’s case. Went onto Facebook and sent Javi a message. I asked him what Lisa, his wife, was wearing. He responded two minutes later: “pink, long sleeve” The time was exactly 9:23 a.m.
HINDSIGHT: That is not a time. That is a sign. Sissy passed away on September 23, 2011. Nine Twentythree.
I went BACK.
See, I’m a woman of my word. If I tell you I’m going to do something, I’m going to do all I can to make sure I fulfill that promise.
Someone I run with in my all women’s run club (Run Walk or Crawl) had posted a while back about being upset that she may have to cross the finish line by herself and without her family. I could tell it was tearing her apart. There were countless posts that followed hers that stated so much support and understanding from our other sister runners. It was really heartwarming how this group uplifts and encourages each other. My response was something like “I’ll be there with you” or something of the sort. All I remember was that it was the shortest response of the entire string.
So I went back for her so that she wouldn’t have to deal with these last few miles by herself and cross alone. If you’re a runner, a beginner runner especially, it really does help when you have someone by you to push and encourage and drown out that doubter voice in your head. I know.. my inner voice is very loud… and rude.
I began to run the opposite way. I have to admit.. the faces of the runners that saw what I was doing were priceless. “Hey, you’re running the wrong way!” was said over and over and over again. But I kept running – at a good pace, too! – until I saw the familiar face in her long sleeved pink running sweater.
It was exactly 2:19 into my run according to my Garmin.
Lisa looked physically exhausted but still super cute. You know those running shoe advertisements you see in magazines with the sweat beads perfectly placed on their noses??? Ya, she had that.
“How do you feel?” I asked.
“Good!” she responded cheerfully.
“You’re a really good liar. These last few miles are the toughest of this race. I told you I would be there for you when you crossed. I’m here,” and onward we went!
I could feel her pace dropping and she was getting frustrated. I didn’t want her to stop and I could tell she wanted to quit and walk the rest. “We’ll keep running until the sign and then we’ll speed walk. You see the sign? Can you make it to the sign?”
“Yes, ok.” She replied with heavy breath. “Wait.. the first sign or the second one?”
“The second one,” I giggled. She knew now I was there to push her. I wasn’t going to let her give up on herself.
This pattern continued until we turned the corner and saw the finish line. Have you ever heard a smile? I have! And it came from her.
“Look Myssie! There’s the finish line!” she eagerly proclaimed.
“Smile real big now for the cameras. Make it look like this was easy. Papitas!” I told her. And then I cramped. Not just any cramp… it felt like a bolt of electricity was stuck on my calves. “Ayyyyyyy!” I screamed out (while smiling of course). “I’m cramping!”
“Don’t give up Myssie! You can do it. The finish is right there!!!” and the student becomes the teacher.
“Why does it seem like the finish line is moving further away???” she said. We laughed and we crossed and we hugged and we cried and we hugged again.
And here’s her side of the story:
13.1 miles. The Get Up and Train Half Marathon this morning… I started out with the best intentions, vowing to train and PR right around the time that Javi was rounding mile 18 at the McAllen Marathon a few months ago. I was doing pretty well; the most consistent I had been in a while, then the bipolar weather go the best of my training schedule — I showed up this morning having run only once in the last two weeks with a hand full of bike rides sprinkled in there. I was nervous, a little scared… but determined. I knew I would finish… it wasn’t the first one I’d done, but for whatever reason it felt different… probably because I was running this one solo… Javi taking the sideline for me this time. The first 8 miles felt like 3… and I was on track for a 2:30 finish… right around mile 10, my ankle started to ache… and right before 11, I had made the decision to just walk the rest of it…. I had seen Javi a couple of times by now… with water, peanut butter (my drug of choice), and all the encouragement a girl could ask for… but I was feeling pretty defeated… oh well… walk, walk, walk… then, I see this crazy woman running the wrong way… she got closer, and closer, and finally stopped… it was Myssie Cardenas-Barajas… it took me till the end of the race to realize what happened… she had said she would run it in with me… the story behind how this all unfolded is one that only she can tell… but she did… and together, we finished the last couple of miles — approaching to the finish line, the first face I saw was my mom’s… then dad… then Javi… then the babies… then my little brothers… they were all smiling and cheering… something that I had never had at a finish line…that meant the world to me… when Myssie and I crossed the finish line… I hadn’t hit 2:30; but I had PRd… and all I could do was hug her and cry…. I realized she had not only kept her word to me… but, she was kept me going… even reminding me to smile like nothing hurt for the cameras This life is full of obstacles… trials….accomplishments… running is a metaphor for all of it… life is also full of blessings… angels…. and wonderful signs… and today, I experienced all of those…. thank you Myssie… I don’t know how I will be able to repay you for the kindness you’ve shown me. I love you, friend… to my family… it meant everything to me to have you there for me! and for Javi… ay mi amor… there are no words for you
RunMyssieRun 