Tag Archives: release

SRR – Round Table Discussion – After Care

round table blank graphic

 

This is a great topic, and I’m so glad Renee Rose brought this up.  Thanks to Renee and Spanking Romance for hosting. 🙂

Aftercare is very important to me, as a reader an author, and as a DD’er.

It’s very important, sometimes even more crucial than the punishment itself – at least for me, anyway.

I am a sensitive (ok, hyper sensitive and over emotional) woman. I internalize every look, every comment, every action. I am a people pleaser, and the thought of displeasing someone, especially my HOH, hurts me greatly. (I should have also mentioned over-reactor in my list of attributes ).

 

Aftercare, is a necessary transition from the punishment to the closure that I need with my husband.

When he punishes me (usually in the form of a strict spanking), I know it is different than a sexy or fun spanking because of my guilt or my hurt over his displeasure. There is nothing sexy or fun about the punishment.

It hurts.

My bottom aches.

My heart aches.

 

But when it’s all over, he covers me with his body, like a warm blanket.

He holds me until I stop shivering and shaking.

His warmth envelopes me, and makes me feel loved.

I feel his forgiveness as it seeps into me, and I am finally able to release the guilt and forgive myself.

 

Now here is where it gets tricky. Do you know when I start crying?

During the aftercare.

I don’t usually cry during a punishment, no matter how upset I am; no matter how agonizing the belt feels lashing onto my poor backside; no matter how awful the strike of the Lexan.

I have had shaking, hiccupping sessions, where I have cried without tears. But have not very often cried real tears.

The care he gives me, when he spoons against me, or holds me against his chest after an over the bed spanking; when he is soothing me with his presence, with his warmth, and his love- that is when I finally break down the last piece of resistance.

Then I cry. I release all the tension, the guilt, everything. And I know I am loved.

 

This is what aftercare does for me in my real life.

It is crucial to my emotional well being.

And I am blessed that he gives me this care after each and every session.

LOL, I’m not even sure if I answered any of the questions, but this is where my heart led me on this topic, so I went with it. 🙂

Thanks for stopping by!

Have fun visiting the other bloggers and authors who have joined in the hop, and please join in the discussion by replying below. I love chatting! 🙂

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Life is a training run

woman running on hot day

Ok, it’s time for another metaphorical post.  Many of you know that I am a runner. I have competed for over half of my life, and am about to start competing again.  A good or bad day depends on how my run went that morning.  Luckily, I have been working on finding other outlets, like reading, writing and blogging.

When I went out for my run this morning, I was hit with a blog post idea. (Most of my ideas come while running. It’s Murphy’s Law. No computer or pencil and paper in sight.  I may have to start carrying a Dictaphone with me.  )

The idea was that my life is like a training run.  I was able to compile a short list of comparisons between my daily life, and my running. And I thought it would be fun to share.

So here goes.

The top 5 reasons how my life compares to running.

***

1.     All it takes is that first step.

 

Sometimes, I don’t want to get out of bed and run.  It’s early, it’s dark, and my bed is warm and snuggly.

I grumble and groan, and throw the blankets and pillows around, hoping to wake up hubby. (Misery loves company, right? If I have to be awake, he should be too! )

I stumble around, brush my teeth, drink some water, and put on my jog bra and shorts, and socks and shoes. In the area I live, the heat and humidity are already high. No reason to wear anything else.

Then I step out the door, and take my first short stride. As I continue to run, my stride lengthens, my pace quickens, and I relax into the run.

It’s a wonderful feeling, the fresh air, and solitude, feeling my body’s movements, in tune with my surroundings. And I would have missed it, if I hadn’t taken that first step.

Sometimes, life is like that. I may be grumpy or not in the right mindset to do something new and challenging.  But if I take that first step, I almost always surprise myself, and find that I actually enjoy whatever activity it is. But I have to be willing to take the first step.

***

2.     Out and back runs are good for laziness.

 

Sometimes, I get lazy. I don’t want to finish a whole 5 miler, I’m bored, or lonely.

(or sometimes, I come up with great ideas for a story or blog post, and want to rush back home).  But I know that doing the whole planned workout is what is going to get me to my goal.  So I force myself to finish the whole run, by doing an out and back run.

It’s just what it implies.

Out and back.

If I go 2 miles out, and get bored or lazy, there is no way I can shorten it and quit early. I have to go back the same two miles. There are no short cuts.  This forces me to stick to my game plan, even when I don’t want to.

In real life, I have a support network. People and events strategically placed, so when I have to absolutely get something done, I will.

I call this my house cleaning 911.

The surest way to get me to clean up the house, is to invite people over for dinner.  I scramble around for a few hours, frantically hiding toys and extra laundry, throwing away moldy cookies that somehow found their way under the couch.

(How the heck did that get there? Hey honey, isn’t that from Easter?)

My husband and I jokingly say that if we want to clean the house, we’ll plan to host a party that weekend.  🙂

***

3.     Running is tough, it hurts sometimes!

 

Some of my former workouts were so tough, I shudder to remember them.

5 by mile repeats at sub 5:30 pace. Ugh.

Yes, they were tough.

But once they were finished, I was stronger, faster, and ready to take on whatever workout was thrown at me next.  And as I pushed through one grueling workout after another, I knew that my goal was reachable.

I’m happy to say that my best season ever ended with a top 5 finish in a huge ten miler (61:49 PR). It was worth it.  All that hard work had come to fruition.  It meant something.

Life can be a hard sometimes also.  There are always ups and downs, struggles, battles to be fought.

They can be little, like trying to get a child to eat her hamburger as she loudly protests that she is a vegetarian; or big, like trying to get hubby to come on board with a new relationship that he doesn’t quite understand.

But pushing through it, and trying to have faith that there is a finish line, there is a huge goal to be reached, helps.

After the struggling and pushing have finished, I find myself stronger, ready for the next event.  And I am thankful for making it though that last event.

***

4.     Everyone has a different max threshold.

My favorite distance runner, Deena Kastor (2004 Olympic bronze medalist in the marathon, and American Record holder) has an amazing Max VO2 threshold, and capacity.  Her lungs and body are able to do amazing things that my body can’t even begin to emulate.

While she can run back to back 5:10 miles, I run 5:45 miles (or at least I did six years ago).  She can run several miles at the same pace as my fastest single mile.
But if I am trying my hardest, and working at the highest level my lungs and legs will allow me, does this make my efforts and achievements any less valid than hers?

I used to coach high school cross country and track.  One of my athletes was an asthmatic teenager who could barely run ½ a mile without needing her inhaler.

Through a slow, but steady workout regimen, we were able to get her not only running, but racing.  By the end of the season, she was racing 5K, keeping up with the other mid pack runners, and was the Captain of the team.

I have never been more proud of someone’s achievement, and I still cry sometimes when I think about how hard she worked to achieve her goals.

But she was just a 23 minute 5K’er.  Compared to my 17:40 5K, that should be negligent, right? Just as my times are compared to Deena?

In life, everyone has a different threshold, different goals, different pausing points, and different talents.  Is any one’s achievement any greater than another person’s?

I have to remind myself of this every once in a while. I will do the best I can in whatever situation I am in. And I shouldn’t compare myself to others’ successes, and feel like a failure if I don’t compete on their level.

I can only truly compete with myself, be the best I can be, and work to the highest of my own abilities.

My threshold is my threshold.

***

5.     Running should be fun!

 

Yes, sometimes running is hard work, it’s a job, it’s tiring, and overwhelming, and can be not much fun.

But it shouldn’t always be this way. Sometimes it’s necessary to lose the watch, forget about courses and overall time, and just enjoy the run.

It’s fun to go out, and watch the scenery, use your senses, people watch, daydream, or run with a group and crack silly jokes and laugh the whole time.  It’s fun, it’s therapeutic, and it is positive and energy producing.

Does it help with the overall goal of the big race at the end of the season?

Yes! It’s a release, a chance to let everything go and start fresh, coming back able to work even harder with the next workout.

It is just as necessary to have fun and enjoy the run, as it is to train hard.

Life is like this for me.

Sometime, I have to drop everything, being a wife, a mom, a role model, a runner, a writer… I throw on my shorts, tank top and tennis shoes, and play with the kids.

I play hopscotch, I climb trees, and I beam the neighborhood kids with water balloons, and laugh when they start crying. (Ok, I don’t really laugh at them.  That would be mean. )

It’s fun, it’s therapeutic, and energy building, while simultaneously releasing negative energy. I love it!

Sometimes I set up dance parties with some of the kids. (Ok, the adults just laugh at me when I dance. I’m not exactly known for my smooth moves).

The kids love it! We all slide across the hard wood floors, jump over the couch, shake our bodies, and yell at the top of our lungs, while singing to some crazy song with lyrics we don’t understand.

Oppa Gangnam Style, anyone?

***

So running is my life, and life is like my running.

Sometimes, it‘s hard, and I need help to push through.

I need my support network to either push me or give me positive affirmation to keep me going every once in a while.

I have to be ok with the fact that I’m doing the best I can, and remember not to judge myself or others in accomplishments.

And most importantly, I need to remember to stop everything and just enjoy it.

There’s a time for working hard, and there’s a time for dancing like a crazy woman.

To all the “runners” out there, no matter what your “run” is…

Good luck!

And

Happy “running”!

The painful side effects of lactose

woman_yoga_beach

*This is a true story from Saturday afternoon*

*******

I gave hubby one last glare, and huffed towards the bedroom in search of Jammy pants – loose ones. Very loose ones.

It turns out I had eaten gluten for lunch, and I had eaten chocolate covered berries (lactose) the night before. My tummy was NOT in the best of moods. I was angry, passive aggressive, bloated and gassy- the worst of combinations after coming home from vacation.

Hubby followed me into our room, and locked the door.

Uh oh. 

“Um, my tummy still doesn’t feel the greatest, but at least I don’t feel like puking anymore,” I offered with a half smile.

“Ok,” he led the way into the bathroom, and turned on the overhead fan.

The fan that drowns out the noises of repetitive striking of flesh on flesh. It’s the spanking fan.

He took me by the shoulders, and looked deep into my eyes.

“Why have you been so grumpy today? Why the passive aggression? What is going on?”

‘I don’t know, I’m tired,’ definitely didn’t cut it this time.

I tried to explain how unhappy I was, and that I just couldn’t shake myself out of the negativity. But the words just didn’t want to come.

So he carefully peeled my shorts and panties to my knees, and bent me over the bathroom sink.

He asked if this was hurting my stomach. I told him no, that pressing over his knee would probably have dreadful consequences for both of us, but THIS… this was ok.

SMACK!

I flinched at the first strike on my bottom. I always flinch with the first one. It’s not that it hurts. I think the sound scares me more than anything.

SMACK, SMACK, SMACK!

He slowly increased the intensity and the pace.

He proceeded like this for another minute, heating my bottom thoroughly. I was finally able to talk.

“I wasted two and half hours this morning,” I whined. “I could have written a blog post, a review, my WIP, anything! But I couldn’t focus. And I made it into a joke on Facebook. But it wasn’t funny!”

I sniffled and shimmied my bottom back and forth. He was listening as he spanked.

He gave me one particularly hard swat, and told me to continue.

“Mmf! I accidentally ate gluten today, and now I’m plump,” I was holding back the tears and clenching my fists onto the sink. “I HATE being plump!”

He continued spanking, slowly, methodically as I explained how angry I was about:

not accomplishing anything,

the messy house,

my painfully fat / gassy belly,

how disappointed I was that we might not be able to have our “together” time. (Ok, it has been over two weeks! And he has already expressed an interest in some “new stuff”. Come on, already!)

He stopped his assault on my poor throbbing bottom, and pulled me up into his arms.

“Is there anything else?” he asked.

“I LOST MY CHOCOLATE!” I broke down in gut wrenching sobs.

“What do you mean? You mean you can’t find it, you misplaced it?” he pulled me off his drenched shirt, and met my eyes.

To his credit, he didn’t laugh or smile. This was a very big deal to me. I was hurting.

“I just found out that my chocolate…” I sniffled, “my chocolate…”

“What about your chocolate?” he asked.

“My chocolate has lactose in it!” I wailed and buried my head into his chest again.

“Ok, listen up!” he said bringing out the old bit of Army in him. (We met in the Army. And man, he does Command presence and authority like nobody I’ve ever seen)

I sniffled and met his eyes.

“Listen,” he continued, “ I know of a LOT of women who are gluten or lactose intolerant. There is no way in H*ll that they would give up chocolate. We will find you some chocolate that you can eat without hurting your tummy, ok?”

“Yes, Sir,” I started crying again.

“Do you want me to help you out of the rest of this mood?”

I nodded and bent back over the sink.

I cried and grunted and sniffled and snotted. But I did not move out of place. The next 5 minutes hurt. (I have the red, swollen bottom to prove it.) But this was something I really needed.

When every last tear had fallen, and every painful swat delivered, it was over.

He held me in his arms, stroking my back as I leaned into him, breathing, leaning, re centering.

Something had released in me.

I don’t know what exactly, but it was something big and negative.

I could finally breathe again.

My bottom was red, hot, swollen and tender.

But my heart was free, and my head was clear.

I thanked hubby, and apologized.

I’m not sure why all those little things bugged me so much today.  But they did, and they escalated until they were suffocating the joy out of me and those closest to me.

After we kissed and made up, hubby sent me in to do some writing.

I have started with this blog post.

Next comes my WIP.

After that, I am going hunting for some chocolate. Without lactose.

Inner Child on the Run

skin is waterproof_ run

I have had kind of a rough “mommy” week. As some of you already know, my youngest child has been recovering from surgery last week.  The recovery has been going well, with some ups and downs here and there. But nothing too big to deal with.  I was even blessed with a very much appreciated OTK session from my beloved hubby.  But I still needed another outlet.

 (Note: Running has always been a big part of my life.  But I have backed off a bit since having children.  I started back into structured training, this year, in the hopes of alleviating some of my moodiness. I get VERY crabby when I don’t get my endorphin release).

Sunday afternoon, after a particularly long day of (PMS induced) extreeeeeeeeme crabbiness, Hubby decided to push me out the door for a much needed run.

It didn’t matter to him that it was 59 degrees and a torrential downpour.  He reminded me that ten years earlier, I would have been out there even if it was 20 degrees colder, and sleeting! He handed me a hat, swatted my bottom, and told me to “get out there and run!”

He also reminded me that an elite runner would not be making faces and acting uncomfortable during the run.

“Smile. Enjoy it,” he said.  “Make everyone else wish they were as dedicated as you,”

“Ugh, you’re right,” I rolled my eyes, “An elite runner hides her pneumonia from the neighbors, and smiles as she wheezes,”

That got me another, much harder swat, and a grunt, as he pushed me out the door.

I set off on my four mile trek through the water logged sidewalks, leaping over puddles, and watching for cars. One neighbor did drive past, laughing, and asked if I wanted a ride. I pasted a big smile on my face, and thanked him, and told him he could check on me in a few miles.

The great thing about running in cold stinging rain, is the solitude. No one is crazy enough to join you.  And you can’t get lost in emotions and thoughts like on a normal run (lest you miss a huge puddle, and find yourself swimming through the cross walk).  The run is, a RUN.

Nothing else matters at that moment.  You lose almost everything else around you except for the running itself.  Besides watching for the occasional dip in a sidewalk, everything else is awareness based.  You have nothing else to think about but the run, the elements, and how your body is reacting to all of it.

When I held my chest high and pressed out, I easily accepted the cold air into my lungs.  It was so invigorating!

I pumped my arms, keeping them loose and strong.

I lifted my feet, and stretched out my legs, feeling each connection with the wet, but no longer frigid pavement.

I luxuriated in the sharp stinging sensation of the bitterly cold drops lashing at my arms through my jacket.  I stripped it off, since it was not doing its job of protecting me, and I was already soaked.

And then the realization hit me.

I loved this!

I was the crazy, fun loving girl from ten years ago, with the ‘ship eating grin’ and manic giggle, running in the freezing rain- and enjoying it!

Oh, how I had missed this!

I stopped jumping over the puddles, choosing instead to slosh through them, soaking my already drenched feet.

My legs were so heavy and red from the cold rain.  My long, wet pony tail kept smacking my cheek, so I learned to be careful about sudden head movement.  And I did not care about any of it.

For 48-50 minutes, I was free from everything.  I was just a runner.  Alone on the roads. Taking pleasure where I could find it.

I let out a whoop, and tilted my head back to allow some of the rain to pool into my mouth. The exquisite taste of the pure frigid drops left me gasping, shuddering, wanting more! I spent the next mile sticking my tongue out for occasional sips, grinning and cackling like a mad woman.

I even added on two extra miles to the end. I was already drenched, and my body had somewhat acclimated, so why not?

I’m sure anyone who got a glimpse of me in my “free state” will forever be telling the tale of the crazy woman in the biker shorts, soaked from head to toe, grinning like an idiot, and tasting the rain drops, as she barreled through puddles, screaming like a banshee.

What a great run!

What a great escape!

And what a fun way to find the inner child / crazy woman that I thought had been lost so many years ago.

Thank you Hubby, for the push out the door.

And the hat.