Mom On The (Bridge) Run

What was I thinking?

Or really, when I signed up for the 35^th Cooper River Bridge Run, was I thinking at all?

Apparently not, because my registration packet has now arrived via USPS and even though I haven’t yet “been there and done that,” I do have the t-shirt, along with a race bib with “Cheryl” imprinted on it and a computer timing chip built-in.

Let me be clear:  I am not a runner.  I'm a 49-year-old mom who would never be confused for a runner.  A single glance tells all:  I am not built for speed.  If anything, I’m built for sauvignon blanc.  Or, in the right company, single-malt scotch.   I didn’t run track in high school.  I’ve never run away.  I’d never consider running for office.  I’ve never even run out of gas.

OK.  I have had my share of runs, but that was back in the days of pantyhose, and I can assure you that a silver "egg" of Suntan Sheer Energy L’Eggs did nothing to prepare me to run 10 kilometers in a pack of 43,999 athletes from Mt. Pleasant over the (new) Cooper River Bridge and into downtown Charleston.

I am, however, making an effort.  I have a training schedule.  An eye-popping neon yellow top so Cougar Bait can rescue me after race.  And new shoes.  I know.  In most situations, "new shoes" would cure all ills.  But when it comes to running shoes, maybe not so much.  My 17-year-old son's response to my recent "mile-time" stat was, “Gawd, Mom.  Were you even trying?”

Was I trying?  Did my hunched-over hobble to the sofa not give it away?  Where are crutches when you need them?

With the run now two weeks away, I am verging on panic.  Yesterday, I pushed to prove that I can go the distance.  The good news is that it turns out that I can.  The bad news is that the weather must be perfect, that I’m on a course I know like the back of my hand, and that 43,999 other people aren’t running with me.

Maybe I just need to eat better.  Something like this Seared Ginger-Lime Salmon with Slaw.

Nah.  What am I thinking?  It can’t be that easy.  It can however, be pretty darn tasty!

Seared Ginger-Lime Salmon with Slaw

I use the same, super-flavorful mix for both the marinade and the dressing.  This amount will work with up to four salmon fillets.  

Pieces of salmon fillet

Napa cabbage, sliced in ribbons (1 heaping cup per serving)

Red bell pepper, sliced in thin ribbons (1 quarter pepper per serving)

Feta cheese, crumbled (2 tablespoons per serving)

Pignoli nuts, toasted (1 tablespoon per serving) 

Marinade/Dressing

Juice of two limes

1 large clove of garlic, chopped

2 inch knob of fresh ginger, peeled and roughly chopped

2 tablespoons rice vinegar

2 tablespoons soy sauce

1 teaspoon toasted (dark) sesame oil

1/4 cup vegetable oil

Combine marinade/dressing ingredients in a blender and blend until very smooth.  Pour about half (1/4 cup) into a zipper-sealed plastic bag with salmon pieces.  Marinate, at room temperature for 15 minutes.  Drain and remove salmon pieces.  Sear in a nonstick skillet over medium heat, until done and flakes easily.  Set aside, covering loosely with aluminum foil while you assemble the slaw.

In a medium-sized bowl, combine remaining "marinade/dressing" with napa cabbage and red bell pepper (for four servings, use one small head of napa cabbage, plus, one bell pepper).  Toss well, serve with salmon, garnishing with feta cheese and pignoli nuts.  

What's So Special About 17?

Carter celebrated his 17^th birthday this week, but according to him, 17 is nothing special.  No big deal.  It’s not 16, it’s not 18, it’s just kinda whatever.

I disagree.  Vigorously.  For me, 17 is momentous.

First of all, as Carter himself said to me few months ago, “Look, Mom, I’m not smart yet, but my stupidity is on the decline.”

Thank you, Jesus.  And please don't take offense, because that’s not blasphemy.  That’s genuine gratitude.  Maybe not every mom would consider herself blessed to have a child with “declining stupidity,” but since I live with two – count ‘em, two – hormonal, impulsive, illogical, unpredictable teenagers, “declining stupidity” sounds pretty darn good.   Particularly in the face of my own hormonal, impulsive, illogical and unpredictable behavior.

Mostly though, Carter’s 17^th birthday reminds me marvel at the man he is becoming.

When he was just a toddler, and I was pregnant with Julia, a friend remarked, “I am SO glad you’re having another baby!”  Then, she shared this insight, “Now you’ll realize that you don’t get to take all the credit for what your child is or does.  And you don’t have to take all the blame, either.  They are who they are.  They just come out that way.”

They do.  For 17 years, I’ve tried to guide and shape and nurture.  I’ve tried to teach and encourage and motivate.  And I’ve tried to predict.  Lord knows how I’ve tried to predict.  Carter used to devour books:  English would be his favorite subject!  Until he was four, he wouldn’t poke a toe out of bed until I came to get him:  He would never be a risktaker!  He loved whole fruits and vegetables:  He’d never succumb to fast food!

Riiiigggghhhtt.  Or actually, wrong.  Wrong, wrong and wrong.

He's not crazy about English, he's well-acquainted with risk-taking, and more often than not, he'll drive through, rather than drive by, a Chick Fil A.  But I'm awestruck as he makes his way toward becoming the man he chooses to be.  He’s bright and funny and irreverent and opinionated.  He’s mellow and outrageous, devil-may-care and fiercely devoted.  

He just came out that way.  Or, he just chooses to be that way.

Either way, I don’t get to take the credit.  I simply get to appreciate the person he is.

Happy birthday, son.  Being a parent to you at age 17 is something special, indeed.

New Year's Traditions: Dick Clark, Hoppin' John And A Plunging Pickle

I'm a fan of holiday traditions.

I always watch Dick Clark’s Rockin’ New Year’s Eve – although I’m not entirely averse to channel-surfing now that I recognize so few of the featured performers. (Sorry, Nicki Mirage, er, Bling-Blaj, um, Minaj. Does your mother know you left the house wearing that outfit?)

I always have Hoppin’ John (for luck), collards (for money) and ham for New Year’s dinner.

I always bet on the bowl games. (However, given that I make my picks based on teams in towns I’d to visit, or teams at schools I wish my kids would attend, or teams wearing any color other than orange – take that, Clemson -- I can’t claim much success. Although all that would change if I just ate enough collards.)

Indeed, I’m so bound to holiday traditions that the kids often use it against me.

     You never make us listen to Christmas music until after Thanksgiving!
     You always let us open at least one gift on Christmas Eve!
     You can’t go to bed early! We have to go to the 10:30 p.m. service – it’s tradition!
     But we always have sausage bread Christmas morning!

With 49 years of tradition behind me, it’s hard to consider embracing another, but for “The Pickle Drop,” I just might. That’s right, “The Pickle Drop.”

Don’t know how I hadn’t heard about this before, but it turns out that for the past 13 years, Mt. Olive, North Carolina has hosted the New Year’s Eve Pickle Drop at the corner of, no kidding, Cucumber and Vine. Partygoers feast on hot chocolate and pickles (provided by the Mt. Olive Pickle Company, natch), before watching the lighted, three-foot pickle descend a flagpole. Again, just to be clear, no kidding.

And did I mention that big event occurs at 7 p.m.? That’s right. Seven-oh-clock in the evening, which means that, provided you don't over-indulge in pickles, you get a decent-night’s sleep -- on New Year's Eve.  I’m thinking Mt. Olivians are my kind of crowd.

Maybe my rigid, tradition-based mind could be a bit more flexible. In fact, I’m thinking I’ll add one more item to my New Year’s menu – this comforting corn chowder, crusted with bacon crumbles. But no pickles. At least, not until next year.

Jalapeno-Lime Corn Chowder

Four slices bacon, chopped

1 medium Vidalia onion, chopped
1 small jalapeno pepper, seeded and ribbed, minced
1 large clove garlic, minced

3 tablespoons flour

 
1 large baking potato, peeled and cubed
1 quart chicken stock
Juice of ½ lime
Corn cut from three cobs (or one 10-ounce frozen package)

1 cup heavy cream
salt
pepper

In a large, heavy, lidded skillet, sauté bacon over medium-low heat until crispy.   Remove browned bacon bits, to be used as a garnish later.  In remaining bacon grease, sauté onion until translucent, stir in jalapeno and garlic.  When vegetables are tender and fragrant, sprinkle with flour.  Continue stirring until flour is well-combined and slightly browned.  Stir in chicken broth, potato, lime juice and corn.  Bring to boil, then, reduce heat to low, and simmer, lidded until potato is very tender -- about 20 minutes.  Stir in cream, season to taste and serve hot, garnished with reserved bacon bits.