Cersey Says...

Sat
07 ^th

A Way to Prevent Hate Crimes?

Posted by Kristina Cersey — Comments Off

Every time I get on social media there is always some debate happening amongst “friends.” Sometimes they are about personal matters, but generally the arguments ensue over political and/or religious opinions. Because of the recent hate crimes the popular argument has been over gun control, but is it just gun control? No, as the arguments rage on, every other controversial topic is pulled in as evidence to back the original point and soon enough it’s not the topics that are being debated at all. The issues quickly become secondary to belittling the people that hold a differing opinion. These are not healthy debates. These arguments breed hate, looping back to the very thing which caused the original discussion, a hate crime.

Now, I am not innocent in this. I’ve had my fair share of bouts on controversial issues. There was a time when I prided myself on my debating skills. For a while, I even hinged my identity on being an arguer, a fighter. I was opinionated, impulsive and though I could not see it, I was almost always driven by my opinions and emotions rather than logic and facts. No, I haven’t become a monk, or a saint or anything remotely so pure and dispassionate. But, I have been on a journey to gain control of my own mind and it has helped me see the world in a clearer light.

Here are some truths:

Mon
31 ^st

How I Broke My Butt; A Femoral Neck Stress Fracture Story

Posted by Kristina Cersey — 3 Comments

Disclaimer, I’m on painkillers.

I had just finished my first sprint triathlon. You know, the one that I’ve been talking about for months now. It had been hard work, training for the triathlon, but it was fun—in a masochistic sort of way—and kind of addictive. So when it was over I wanted to keep up my momentum. Keep training. Keep moving forward. I signed up to play fall singles tennis. I was making plans to run a Ragnar race with some friends in the spring, and I registered for a local 5K race. Of course, I was still swimming, cycling and running whenever I could too. I was riding my post-tri high.

One crisp Tuesday morning I woke up before the sun to squeeze in a morning run. My neighborhood isn’t very big. I’d been running a route that was about 2.8 miles, which wasn’t quite as far as I’d like, but it got me home in time to get the kids ready for school. The temperature was perfect and the sun was just beginning to crest over the horizon as I started at a brisk pace. I was pushing myself to get just a little faster because my 5K was only a few days away and I was determined to place in the top 3 for my age division. Medals were my new drug and I needed more.

I followed the twists and turns of my neighborhood’s streets, going up and down and around streets, paths, and cul-de-sacs. The earbuds in my ears played that month’s book club selection, the audiobook version of Catch Me If You Can—a little ironic, in hindsight. My neon Niked steps pounded the pavement as Frank Abagnale eluded the FBI yet again. I picked up speed going down a particularly steep hill, and I felt a twinge of pain in my left hip, but I didn’t think much of it. The pain wasn’t severe and I suspected it was just a pulled muscle. I continued my run and finished in 24:35, an average pace of 8:31/mi. Though not as good as I hoped, it was one of my faster times.

When I got home the pain in my hip still bothered me a little, but there was no time to worry about it. My day was cram-packed with chauffeuring kids, chores around the house and errands to run. That evening I was invited to play tennis with a group of friends. I was the worst tennis player of the group, but I wasn’t about to turn down an opportunity to improve my game, so I accepted the invitation and even offered to host at my neighborhood’s courts. Trying to ignore the pain, I played very poorly for a couple of hours before I decided to sit out.

The next morning the pain was still there and I was walking with a slight limp, but it wasn’t something I was worried about. I knew running was probably not the best idea, so I went swimming and cycling instead. 14 laps in the pool and 10.7 miles on the bike later and my hip didn’t feel any worse, but it didn’t feel any better either. I knew I should probably take it easy so that I would feel well enough to run my 5K, so the next day I only swam laps and the following day I didn’t train at all.

The night before the 5K The Hubster and I went out on a date. He became a little concerned when he noticed I was lifting my left leg with my hands to get out of the car. “It’s just a little muscle weakness. It’s fine as soon as I stand up.” I said.

“Do you think you should be running a 5K tomorrow if you can’t even raise your leg out of the car?” he asked.

“Of course! It’ll be fine. I already paid to run this race and I’m pretty sure I can win a medal. Don’t worry.”

“Okay, but if you run this race in the morning, you better be willing to accept the consequences. I don’t know what’s wrong with your leg, but I’d say there’s a good chance you won’t be able to walk for a few days afterwards.” The Hubster said while we waited for our pizza at Mellow Mushroom.

“Nonsense! I’ll be fine. Besides, winning a medal will be worth a few days of soreness.”

The following morning The Hubster the kiddos, and I all piled in the van and headed to the Baptist church a few miles down the street where the race was being hosted. My hip was still bothering me, but I could walk without much of a limp, so I figured running would be fine. Besides, it was only 3 short miles and I planned to get it over with quickly.

Mon
12 ^th

Post Triathlon Blues

Posted by Kristina Cersey — Comments Off

You look forward to something so much. You plan for it, you train for it. Nearly every day for months you spend time pushing yourself, preparing your body for this one big event. Almost everything else in your life has taken the backseat because you are so focused on being ready for this new and exciting experience. Your first triathlon. It’s an experience that you don’t want to screw up because if you do, it could mean blood or broken bones at best, or your life at worst. So, you wake up every morning with a drive to improve, to get better, faster, stronger, to go further. Some people think you’re crazy, some people cheer you on, and if you’re lucky, some people train alongside you. But no matter what people think, you surge forward because you have a goal to achieve, and every bit of progress makes you feel empowered.

Thu
25 ^th

Triathlon Training (Physical Torture) Wins Out Over Writing (Enjoyable Productivity)

Posted by Kristina Cersey — Comments Off

Triathlon. A word I never gave a second thought before three months ago. In fact, it was one of those words I tried to push from my mind as fast as possible because just thinking of training for one made me want to dry heave almost as much as thinking about my accomplishments compared to those of people who compete in triathlons. Nope. Swimming, running and cycling were not my thing.

Fast forward to today. I am a triathlon training beast! And when I say beast, let’s maintain perspective. I can only push my recently sedentary body so far. But let’s not downplay it either because I’m putting forth some major effort here! Every durn day I’m out there doing something. Run a few miles here, bike a few miles there, almost drown everywhere. Variety is the spice of life!

So, what changed to make me okay with doing a sprint triathlon? Why am I putting forth more effort to train for this blasted thing than I’ve put towards almost anything else in the last 10 years? Seriously, for years I’ve been telling myself that I am an “aspiring writer.” No offense self, but I think you actually have to write some stuff to maintain that weak-sauce title. I’m pretty sure aspirations have an expiration date and mine spoiled a long time ago.

But I like to write. I mean I definitely like to write more than I like to run. So, why? Why is it that I can get out there every dumb day and run, ride or swim, but I can’t sit down at my computer and get the words I have bouncing around in my head down on paper? I’ve been thinking about this today. You see, today was a hard day. Today I felt helpless. The Hubster is sick and he’s overwhelmed by his unrelentingly stressful job. Today I wished I had made my aspirations a reality a long time ago so that The Hubster wouldn’t have to carry the burden of supporting us on his own. Days like today feel like a shove, or actually more like a sucker punch in the back, pushing me towards being greater. Better. More. Just get your crap together and make junk happen! But here I am writing this instead of working on one of my novels. Here I am airing grievances instead of being productive. And tomorrow I’ll run or cycle or swim or do all 3 and probably won’t write a word. Why? I’ll tell you why. I have reasons, I do! I will suffer through the misery of training for this triathlon because it makes my body look and feel better. I’ll suffer through it because there is about a 50% possibility that I will take at least 3^rd place on race day (that’s probably a generous guesstimation.) I’ll suffer through it because I have a support group of friends that are training right along with me and we can commiserate. But with writing, I don’t have writer friends to bounce ideas off of. Obviously, it won’t improve my physique. And writing is much more competitive than a triathlon, so my odds for success are greatly diminished by comparison. In a tri I only have to beat people of my gender that are in my age division. Hello! Why not level the playing field in publication too? Honestly, I can’t compete with the George R. R. Martin’s of the world!

But my biggest holdups are more personal. The main reasons I don’t just write the crap out of those books are simple. Fear and insecurity. That’s right. I’m a yella-bellied sissy. If I ever finish writing my books, the next step will be critiques and submissions and edits, meaning other people will have to read them. That terrifies me. Just thinking about it makes me feel exposed and vulnerable. What if I’m like one of those contestants on American Idol that thinks she can sing like Celine Dion, but in reality she sounds like a pinched balloon squealing as it deflates. I don’t want to be that person. But then again, I don’t want to live a life of regrets and unmet potential either. You know that old motivational bull squeeze, “You’ll never know unless you try”? There’s something to that, I think.

So, it’s time to be brave. It’s time to be like those courageous, yet still hideous singers that audition for AI. It’s time to treat my writing like a triathlon. My triathlon motto is “Tri Not to Die”, so I think my writing motto should be “Write before You Die” (which could be 2 weeks from now if I fail at the former.) But seriously, I don’t want all of these words in my head to be buried with me!

So, let’s do this! Let’s write a book! Or two or three! I can find a support group of writer friends. I can hone my craft to increase my odds of getting published. I can improve my looks in written word (because in reality writing leads to excess snacking and general immobility.) Yeah, I’m extending my aspiration expiration date! Game on!

Buuuuuuut, I think it can wait until after I win my triathlon. Welcome to my list of excuses, Procrastination. Let’s be friends.

Mon
27 ^th

Running a 5k Before Trying a Tri

Posted by Kristina Cersey — Comments Off

Keep smiling. You haven't lost yet. — Keep smiling. You haven’t lost yet.

If you’ve read my brief bio you know that I hate working out. That has not changed, but what I failed to mention about myself is that I love competition. Even if I’ve never tried something, I will talk smack about winning at it. Bake off, board games, sports of all kinds? Sure, I’ll play, and I’ll win (at least that’s what I’ll tell you, but I rarely ever actually win anything.) I’ve even been known to make up fake competitions and then tell people that I won. I once convinced a friend of mine that a church pot luck dinner was actually a chili cook-off. We both brought our chili, then, after the activity, I told her that I had been pronounced then winner. She believed me until, upon expressing her disappointment to others, she was informed that there had been no such contest. This sparked an ongoing feud involving a lot of back and forth pranks that we still like to laugh about.

So, a few weeks ago my chili cook-off nemesis invited me to train for a sprint triathlon that takes place in Gulf Shores in September. Of course my competitive nature prevented me from saying anything but “Heck Yeah!” Since then a ton of friends have been recruited to participate, which has added gallons of fuel to my competitive fire. So, I’ve been training for 3 weeks. But guess what. It sucks. I’ve been biking, running and/or swimming 5 to 6 days a week and I feel like I’m getting nowhere. My running pace isn’t improving, every time I swim I feel like I am going to drown, and clipping my feet into my bike feels like a death sentence. But I’m sticking with it.

In preparation for my triathlon, I ran a 5K race Saturday morning, only the 3rd one I’ve ever done. It was hosted by Chick-fil-a, which is a place I love, so I was excited about getting some generous giveaways. I dressed up in cow garb and a tutu to try and win the Costume Spirit Award, because, though I was hopeful that I could win my age division for speed, in all honesty speed isn’t my thing…yet.

So, I woke up before the sun on a Saturday and got ready to go. With my face painted, my tutu snug around my waist, my cow hat on and my family by my side, we drove up to the event. We immediately noticed that NO ONE else was dressed up for the race. This was my first rodeo, but I had been told that everyone went all out for these things, but the rest of the runners on Saturday must not have gotten the memo. That was fine by me, though. I have no problem dressing up and acting the fool if there is a prize involved. So, I registered myself at the Spirit Costume Contest tent. Then I smiled at every race employee I saw, hoping one of them was the judge.

Mon
20 ^th

Protected: I Wrote a Story Just for You

Posted by Kristina Cersey — Comments Off

Tue
24 ^th

A Mom’s Ode to Summer

Posted by Kristina Cersey — 4 Comments

It’s here. It’s here. I can’t believe it’s here.

I don’t know whether to cheer or to fear this conflicted time of year.

The cons and the pros beget a swaying anxiety, it ebbs and it flows.

The kids, they don’t know. Their excitement just grows. So, I’ll keep my repose…

For now.

Sure the sleeping-in sounds great, but it’s not something my kids appreciate,

So they wake up long before eight, and it’s probably illegal to sedate…

Them.

The pool is open now, and that’s super fun, no doubt

And if it didn’t freak me out that my little ones might drown, I’d be their lying out…

All the time.

I’d love to plan a vacation to a tropical location, but the constant desolation of our financial situation is an ongoing frustration and instigation for disputation that leads to the cessation of my travel motivation, and in my perturbation I accept with resignation that we’ll just have a stay-cation…

And that sucks.

Then there’s the constant chord of the kids shouting “I’m bored” while expecting some reward despite behavior that’s abhorred. Their fighting can’t be ignored, so I search for punishments unexplored without inciting a criminal record until we strike some acceptable accord…

Like bribery.

But alas, I must say that at the end of the day the pros do outweigh all that of the grey because time with my babes, I’d never give away, and someday I’ll miss the sound of their play.

Together we’ll run through our days in the sun.

We’ll have such fun that when it’s done we’ll wish for the day it’d begun.

Despite all I’ve expressed, I know that I’m blessed. My kids are the best…

And I love them.

Wed
18 ^th

Lessons from a Mom’s Nightmare

Posted by Kristina Cersey — 2 Comments

Have you ever felt powerless and crazed at the same time? Fearfully and maniacally powerless in a moment that might change your life forever? Dread and adrenaline pushing your legs to run, but you don’t know where to go. This sounds like the introduction to a horror story, but it’s not. At least not in a Freddy Krueger type of way. But if you’re a mom, you might understand how I felt when I thought I’d lost my daughter yesterday. Of course, in retrospect I feel foolish. I feel like I overreacted. But then again, I don’t care how foolish I looked. Being in your own nightmare would shake anyone up.

Here’s what went down. This year I decided to sign all three of my kids up for swim team. For those of you that don’t know, swim team is like tiny people’s military boot camp. It’s swim lessons on steroids. The kids have swim practice every weekday, the water is frigid cold, and they have 5 hour meets once a week. It’s insanity for kids and parents. For years I was adamantly opposed to signing my kids up, but I caved last year with the boys because, you know, all my friends were doing it. It turned out to be great for my boys’ swimming abilities, because you’d have to be legless to not improve after 5 days of training a week. Jackson’s morale faltered by the end of the season, but I’m sure he’ll bounce back after the cold water numbs him into submissiveness.

Anyway, this year I signed the boys up again, and added the 4 year old Vivlett to our crew of swimming Cerseys. She has practice every day like the boys, but only for 30 minutes instead of an hour and she doesn’t have to do the weekly swim meets. Yesterday, in true Vivlett fashion, she refused to get in the pool. I made her sit by my side and for 30 minutes I tried to convince her that she wanted to swim. I tried bribery, I tried motivational speeches, and then I gave up and grounded her from TV. She never got in the pool. I call this a MOMM (Manager of Mini-mes) fail.

Then it was the boys’ turn to swim. Even they were reluctant to get in the pool, but I guess they are more afraid of me than Viv is because they did it without much complaint. I wanted to encourage and support the boys, so I walked alongside the pool as they did their laps and cheered them on. Viv was playing with a friend a few feet away, and I would glance her way periodically to ensure that all was right in the world. And time after time, there she was, right where she should be.

Towards the end of practice the boys were growing more and more laggard and unwilling to continue, so I was busy trying to motivate them to get back in the water when I realized I couldn’t see The Vivlett anymore.

Wed
11 ^th

My House is a Bottomless Junk Pit

Posted by Kristina Cersey — Comments Off

Last week was a turd pie with a chocolate center. Partially rewarding, but mostly a big fat pain. I spent all of last week collecting junk around the house. Toys, clothes, furniture, home decor, and basically anything that wasn’t nailed to the floor. Why? Because we were having a weekend yard sale. It was organized by the community, so the date was set. There was no turning back. Which was a blessing and a curse. A blessing because it forced me to get crap done, and a curse because it forced me to get crap done.

Fri
29 ^th

Bathroom Stuff Review

Posted by Kristina Cersey — Comments Off

Stanky Stuff

Since we are talking about “brands” of stuff this week, I thought I’d review a few items in my bathroom. In fact, what brought this thought on was disgust with something in my bathroom this morning. I know, this could be so many things! But it was actually something you wouldn’t expect to be disgusting. So obviously, the first review is less than stellar.

Have you ever encountered a drunk baby? No, I certainly hope not because the very idea is outrageous! But can you imagine what a drunk baby might smell like? Just think about a thick fog of white baby powder mixed with noxious, undulating alcohol fumes around a poor, sweet infant. It’s just repugnant, is it not? So why on earth would I want to spray something that made me think of this atrocity on my hair and then expose others to it by going out in public? I do not want to do this. Yet, as I sit here typing, my nose is afflicted by this very acrid smell. What is the source? Dove Hair Therapy, Style + Care, Strength & Shine, Extra Hold Hairspray. Aside from having the longest name ever, it also wins the stinkiest ever hairspray prize. Even the smallest amount of this hairspray will make your hair smell like an extremely elderly lady who’s lost her sense of smell, and has applied copious amounts of perfume under the assumption she is covering the stench of her abscessing corpulence, but without realizing she is only adding funk to fetor.

So, you might be asking yourself why I have applied this pungent vulgarity to my head today? The simple answer, my dear friend, is that I was too lazy to go downstairs and get my other hairspray.

Aside from the stank, I have not found its “hold” to be either Extra or Strong, and any Shine that it induces is very short-lived. So, in my opinion, this Hair Therapy needs some serious therapy of its own. I will not be using it again! (Unless, of course, I forget to take my other hairspray upstairs.)

Can’t Keep Your Hands off Your Face

Next up is something I love!

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