Introduction

JOIN AWARD-WINNING PODCASTER ZIBBY OWENS OF MOMS DON’T HAVE TIME TO READ BOOKS ON A JOURNEY FILLED WITH FOOD, EXERCISE, SEX, BOOKS, AND MORE.

It’s impossible to ignore how life has changed since COVID-19 spread across the world. People from all over quarantined and did their best to keep on going during the pandemic. Zibby Owens, host of the award-winning podcast MomsDon’t Have Time to Read Books and a mother of four herself, wanted to do something to help people carry on and to give them something to focus on other than the horrors of their news feeds. So she launched an online magazine called We Found Time.

Authors who had been on her podcast wrote original, brilliant essays for busy readers. Zibby organized these profound pieces into themes inspired by five things moms don’t have time to do: eat, read, work out, breathe, and have sex. Now compiled as an anthology named Moms Don’t Have Time To, these beautiful, original essays by dozens of bestselling and acclaimed authors speak to the ever-increasing demands on our time, especially during the quarantine, in a unique, literary way.

Actress Evangeline Lilly writes about the importance and impact of film. Bestselling author Rene Denfeld focuses on her relationship with food after growing up homeless. Screenwriter and author Lea Carpenter and Suzanne Falter, author, speaker, and podcast host, focus on loss. New York Times bestselling authors Chris Bohjalian and Gretchen Rubin write about the importance of reading. Others write about working out, love and sex, eating and cooking, and more. Join Zibby on her journey through the winding road of quarantine and perhaps you, too, will find time.

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Excerpt

Racing aAgainst the Coronavirus: How Working Out is Keeping Me Sane

By Zibby Owens

I need to work out.

I’d been comfortably ignoring this truth while managing my four kids’ logistical mayhem and building my business. But these uncertain and terrifying times have shown me how much I depend on it.

Emotionally. Physically.

Several weeks ago, as news of the coronavirus’s inevitable arrival in the United States.S. seeped into my consciousness, I started to panic. This wasn’t a test. This wasn’t a movie. It was coming. And I needed to plan. To protect my kids.

To take cover.

At first I was dealing with mundane things like rearranging plans for Spring Break and cancelling flights. I quickly moved into preparing for all the kids’ schools to be cancelled for months. Next thing I knew, hospitals up the street were considering building tents to prepare for the onslaught of patients. (I still can’t believe this is currently in place.)

Was this actually happening? I thought that in this hyper-speed day and age, we were impervious to these types of horror-story afflictions.

Oh, how wrong I was.

As I raced around the apartment packing up the kids, shutting down my podcast, trying to find the birth certificates, my divorce agreement, all of our passports, my sentimental jewelry, I felt hysteria overtaking me. I was shaking. Quaking. Crying. Although even in my panic I knew how fortunate I was to be able to leave New York City when others couldn’t.

That age-old fight or flight instinct took hold: I had to run.

Right then.

Urgently.

As a recreational jogger once or twice a month, I found this intense urge curious and unexpected.

But I listened to my body. I stopped packing, changed into my work-out clothes — which, if I’m being honest, had gotten a little tight — and descended down into my building’s basement gym.

A typical “workout” for me involved reading on the elliptical machine for thirty30 minutes, barely breaking a sweat. This time, I blasted music in my headphones, cranked up the speed on the treadmill and sprinted. My legs spun, my arms pumped, and I zoomed. (Back when “zoom” meant to go fast, not to communicate with the outside world.)

The music blaring was equally therapeutic. The lyrics took on new meaning, like in Jess Glynne’s “Hold My Hand:” “Tryna find a moment where I can find release.”

The kids’ “Frozen 2” soundtrack seemed wise and prophetic, especially the song, “Into the Unknown: “Every day’'s a little harder as I feel your power grow.”

That first day I only ran seventeen17 minutes until my older daughter came down to the gym asking me to help her find her Hebrew school homework. But it was enough. My face was almost purple with exertion, my heart was pumping, and I felt suddenly free. Uplifted. Empowered.

I did it again the next day. And the next. Until the car groaned under our heavy load and we headed out of town to hide out for the foreseeable future.

I’ve kept up the running. Even just twenty20 minutes a day is enough for me to emotionally reset, to find a slice of calm in the chaos, to re-center me so I can parent more effectively. I’ve gone running outside on the squishy grass as the last drops of rain splattered down. I’ve done online workout videos with the kids, dancing to Kidzbop.

Every day, a little something.

This time is simply terrifying. My natural inclination to plan has been thwarted. I can’t see past this day, this hour. If I peer out at what’s coming, I panic. Will I get sick?  Will my parents be okay? What about everyone else I love and care about? How will everyone in the country be able to eat and pay the rent if no businesses are open and no services can be provided? What will happen as a result of millions of people essentially being imprisoned in their own homes with no release date in sight?

I don’t know the answers to these questions.

I can’t know.

All I can do is keep my head down, try to find meaning in the world by helping others, particularly those in the literary community, and pray. One hour at a time.

Moving my body is keeping me sane. So I’ll keep squeezing into my sports bra and lacing up my sneakers as we all weather this storm together.

Minute by minute. Mile by mile.

Into the unknown. view abbreviated excerpt only...

Discussion Questions

1. What do you wish you could find time to do?

2. What story resonated most for you and why?

3. If you were to contribute a story to this anthology, what would it be about?

4. What have you learned about yourself during the pandemic—as a woman, as a mom?

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