Hollywood Half: The Vacation

The destination race is the new weekend vacation. It was perfect. I flew into LAX Friday morning and took a shuttle to my hotel in Universal City. My room wasn't yet ready when I arrived, so I had an hour and a half to enjoy a leisurely lunch with my book. When I walked into my room, I whispered to myself, "Yesssss!" My friend Tara, who was the instigator of this whole thing, is married to the general manager of the hotel, and was able to get us a screaming deal on our room, which turned out to be an executive suite! Brit and I shared a room, but she was unable to fly in until later Friday night, so I had it all to myself for a few hours while Tara and Mariani drove in. They both live in SoCal, but stayed at the hotel the night before the race. The three of us gathered along with Tara's 4 other runner friends for dinner at Bubba Gump's on CityWalk. Carb-loading was achieved.

No one slept well the night before the race. Brit didn't even arrive at the hotel until about 11 pm; I awoke almost every hour and had a terrifying dream that my alarm didn't go off and we missed the gunshot. The race began at 6:00 am, so Brit and I got up at 5:00. Mariani and Tara (& co.) arose at 4:30! We all donned our apparel and gear, ate some breakfast, and walked together to the starting line.

Everyone ran extremely well. The Hill nearly killed all of us, but we all arrived at the finish line with hearts still beating. In the months preceding the race, we decided that the winner would buy lunch at In N Out for the other three. Yes, the winner. As I knew I wasn't in the running for 1st place, I fully supported our arrangement. Mr. Ernest Nicholas Mariani, winner by about 2 minutes, graciously treated us girls to burgers and fries (and a Diet Coke and chocolate shake for me).

After lunch, Tara drove home to her awaiting family and Mariani dropped Brit and me at our hotel for some R&R before dinner. We both laid down on our beds to read and woke up 2 1/2 hours later. We then headed down to the pool to soak up some California rays (it was snowing when I left my house in Utah) and relax in the hot tub.

Mariani and his lovely girlfriend Mel took us out to dinner at the Smoke House, where we enjoyed way too much food, an Old Hollywood atmosphere, and uninterrupted conversation. I could not have asked for a more perfect end to the trip.

[He speaks animatedly and tells great stories.]

Thank you Tara for inviting us to join you in this race. Food, R&R, more food, friends, and food. Oh yeah. And a half marathon. It was wonderful.

Hollywood Half: The Race

We rose before the sun to line up among the masses at CityWalk Universal Studios. When the megaphone voice yelled, "Go!," I started my iPod and my Garmin and my legs. I dedicated each mile of the race to someone I love:

Mile 1: My dad. Quirky. An expert in many things. Fun. Passionate. A comforting presence in my life.

Mile 2: My mom. Gentle. Positive. A kind and loving grandma to my boys. Makes the best chocolate chip cookies.

Mile 3: My father-in-law. Smart. Happy. Twinkling eyes. Has a unique and personal relationship with each of his three grandsons.

Mile 4: My mother-in-law. Supportive. Thoughtful. Generous. No pretense. Taught her 4 sons to work hard and be respectful. Can always be counted on for fruit snacks.

Mile 5: Michael (Brother #1). Seeker of peace. (+ Michael's super sweet girlfriend Paula)

Mile 6: David (Brother #2). Seeker of adventure. (+ David's fun and lovely girlfriend Natalie)

Mile 7: Jacob (Brother #3). Seeker of truth.

Mile 8: Rachel (Little Sis). My best friend. Makes me laugh harder than anyone else in the world.

Mile 9: Madame Falsone. My junior high school French teacher, and one of my all-time favorite teachers. We learned the day before the race that she passed away. In her obituary (which it seems she wrote herself), we learned that she was also a runner.

Mile 10: The basher. Giant smile. Full of wiggles and love. Endless energy. Loves soft things like blankets, stuffed animals, and sticking his hand down my shirt.

Mile 11: The punk: Sweetheart. Smart. Creative. Friendly. Always asks me after a training run, "How was your run, Mom?"

Mile 12: Tim. My #1 support. The reason I was able to take an entire weekend to run a race and be with friends. The best dad for my boys. Expects me to be my best self.

Mile 13: Me.

The last 0.1 mile: God.

The first 3 miles were tough. It always takes me a while to settle into my groove. Among the 4 friends who were running this race, I was bringing up the rear. I knew that Mariani and Brit were competing for 1st place, but I had my sight set on Tara, who had shot out ahead of me at the beginning. Even among the crowds, it was easy to spot the pink flower in her hair. When I saw her around mile 4, I knew that I could overtake her by increasing my pace just a bit. A few minutes later, I sidled up next to her and said hello before racing ahead. It was only about 2 miles later that I had to visit the facilities, so I knew I'd have to concede my 3rd place spot. Fortunately, the line wasn't too long and I was back on the road in no time. Soon thereafter, I spotted Mariani, and then Brittany, who was mere feet behind the only man on our "team," even though his legs are about a foot longer than hers. "Beat him!" I yelled to her. "BEAT HIM!" They had already passed the turnaround point and were headed back the way we had come.

By the way, I was a little hesitant about running an out-and-back race. On my long runs, I like to map a route that will take me to a destination other than the one from which I came; I like to have new scenery for every mile. But it was at about mile 4 or 5 that the leaders of the race blew my mind. We, the masses, were running on the right side of the road, leaving the entire left half empty. Out of nowhere, two black men (Kenyans perhaps?) blasted by me! I actually shouted "Woah!" They appeared to be doing the splits in between each footfall. Their stride was unbelievable. Their power, their speed, their form. It was all so inspiring.

Miles 4-9 were my sweet spot. At the beginning, I felt like I was being passed left and right. In the middle, I finally felt like I was the one doing the passing. I was smiling, cheering the leaders, weaving through the crowds with small bursts of speed, and staying ahead of my goal time by 3 1/2 minutes. I passed Tara again, and this time I knew I would stay ahead.

Around mile 10, I started feeling the distance behind me. Then mile 11 hit, and the $@&% hit the fan.

The Hill.

The last 2 miles of the half marathon were one giant, ruthless hill. Now, I run hills at home, some of them quite steep. But they end. This one didn't. We climbed 550 feet in 2 miles. After running 11 already. At mile 12, I thought to myself, "I am never doing this again!" There were traffic signs on the right side of the street that warned, "No Stopping. Tow Zone." My legs and my spirit were giving out, but I knew that if I stopped to walk like so many around me, I would never get going again. So I obeyed the signs. My pace slowed to 11 minutes for each of those 2 miles, but I never stopped fighting. After all, I was dedicating those miles to my man and myself, two people I didn't want to disappoint.

Finally, the incline turned flat, then downhill for the last quarter mile. I looked down at my watch and realized that I was mere seconds from my goal time of 2 hours 5 minutes, so I willed my arms and legs to start pumping. I sprinted the last stretch, hoping and praying that I would come in under goal.

I did.

2:04:50.2

Vegas Observations

Musings on a girls' weekend in Las Vegas...

If one loses her voice while chatting continuously with her girlfriend during the 6.5-hour drive to Las Vegas, many people in said city will assume that she lost her voice during a wild night of cheering for the glistening "performers" of Thunder Down Under.

Waiters on the strip refuse to split a party's bill, and may hate you a little bit if you and your friends take it upon yourselves to split it for them.

The drunk chicks at the next table will openly make fun of you for such responsible (cheap? tacky? hateful?) behavior.

Waiters on the strip may hate you a little bit when you don't order alcohol. Always order an appetizer to sweeten the deal.

The moment you declare that you aren't in the mood to shop for clothes is the moment you find the two dresses (on sale!) you didn't know you can't live without.

Observing the (swollen, lumbering, drunk, dirty) masses on The Strip is amusing the first day, appalling the second day, sad the third day and just plain depressing the fourth day.

The Universe has no choice but to balance a relaxing full-body massage complete with an invigorating exfoliating scrub and a refreshing mini-facial with a subsequent and lasting kinked neck and giant forehead zit. It's only fair.

If one leaves her babies for 4 days and returns with a voice like Darth Vader, she may be met with four eyes wide with fear. However, it is possible to distract the frightened children from the scary (lack of) voice by presenting two large and very sticky suckers shaped like dice.

Runner's Low

Gretchen and I started our run uphill. Maybe this is where it all went wrong: at the beginning. When given a choice between uphill and downhill, when the end goal of completing 8 miles is not dependent upon this choice, what would a sane person choose? Yes, this must have been the decision that sealed our fate, because it was all uphill from there. Figuratively, I mean.

The wind.

The wind was frigid. Strong. Miserable. And heading south, which was not optimal, as we were running north. Well, we were trying to run north. I think at more than one point, we resembled a large black bird we saw with wings outstretched, facing the wind and going absolutely nowhere. While Mother Nature may have been providing entertainment for this winged creature, she was not doing us humans any favors. There is an overpass that connects bikers, runners, and pedestrians from one side of Parley's Canyon to the other. Crossing above the freeway that runs up the canyon was like trying to run through a tornado. The canyon was the perfect chute for the icy air to gather momentum and explode in our now numb faces. It took us 34 minutes to complete the first 3.2 miles. Possibly my worst 5K time ever.

The rest of the run was spent in survival mode. Just keep running. Just keep running.

So why do I find myself smiling when I think about the 8.5 miles we accomplished this morning? Because I did it with a friend. Because we laughed (and yelled and complained) through the tough spots. Because Blue Plate Diner was our destination, and chocolate milk and a giant omelette was my reward. Because the last time I ran that far was five years and two children ago. Because I can do hard things.

Bacon

It is an unseasonably warm night in January. The neighborhood snowmen are being assaulted by drops of heavy rain, and the valley lights are made brighter by the clarifying moisture.

A handful of pretty ladies have gathered in Danielle's kitchen for a night of food. It's our first monthly dinner night, and Danielle is our gracious host. Two days ago, she revealed tonight's secret ingredient... Bacon! Salty, crispy, nutritious bacon.

We each brought a dish containing the most delicious of all meats.

We came. We ate. We talked about boobs and illnesses and children and house demolition projects. And we were happy.

Gratitude Day 23

I am so grateful for good friends, old and new. Tonight we got together with some neighborhood buddies for takeout dinner and a potato peeling party since all three of us have been assigned mashed potatoes for tomorrow's Thanksgiving feast. The punk joined all the older kids (his "best friends") for a dance party in the basement. When there are 5 girls and 2 boys (plus the basher), wrestling and sword fights take a back seat to dance parties. He didn't mind one bit.

Gratitude Day 3

I am grateful that my punk has adorable friends with generous, supportive parents and grandparents. The area in which we live is not overflowing with children like some other areas of the city. But the kids that do live here are so sweet, so fun. I can see the punk walking to school with these friends, arms linked, singing and skipping... Wait, am I living in a musical?

Calvin and Hobbes

This may have been my favorite Halloween ever!

• Improv Thriller dance party; the punk has some serious moves!
• Family lunch at Five Guys, where the punk loudly wished the adjacent table full of missionaries a "Happy Halloween, missionaries!" and elicited an "Aaawwwww!" from the sisters, who then shook his hand.
• Soaking in the surprisingly warm sunshine before naps. Last day in the '60s?
• Trick or Treating with the punk's two little buddies. The punk loves his friends, and could the weather have been any nicer?!
• Chili, cornbread, pumpkin chocolate chip bread, and chocolate cake with family.

Let's Hear It For The Girls

Friendship. It's on my mind. Tonight I find myself incredibly grateful for my girlfriends. There was a time in my life when I didn't feel like I needed my girls as much. Namely, during the dating and newlywed phases. All I needed, all I wanted, was my man. I didn't care about chatting with friends I had known all my life when a brand new man was in my arms and on my lips.

But I am now 8 (lovely) years into my (perfect) marriage. (Ha!) The honeymoon is over (just barely) and I have rediscovered how much we women need each other. For support, for inspiration, for ideas. For running, for food, for conversations about boobs. For laughing, for crying (sometimes in the same breath).

I am fortunate to have many different girlfriends who have been in my life for different amounts of time, but who are all important to me. Last week I brought post-surgery dinner to a friend I've had since before Kindergarten. We have always been chums, but there have been times in our lives that have brought us closer than other times. As children, we jumped on the trampoline and had picnics in the front yard and played barbies. Now we talk about kids and husbands and our changed bodies. The kind of longevity that our relationship has is remarkable. I love her and always will.

Yesterday a newer friend delivered some chocolate cake to my house while I was away at a yoga class. (I am kind of, but not really, embarrassed to say that I ate all three pieces before going to bed.) I have known her for only the two years I've lived in her neighborhood, but her presence in my life has taught me so much about friendship and motherhood, photography and running, loving oneself and loving others.

Tonight I had dinner with some friends I've known for 14 years. At the end of the night, I said goodnight to a fellow redhead and was reminded that we will always be there for each other when we both need it. A couple years ago, we were going through similar difficulties with our families. Through our pain, we found comfort in our friendship and even now, we can rely on the honesty, the healing, and the faith that we found together during that time.

Because of my friends, I am stronger, more creative, more giving, more inspired, and more full of chocolate cake than I would have ever been alone.

Tired

I'm tired. I'm tired because I have fallen out of a solid workout schedule. (I'm also tired because the punk thinks getting up at 5:30 am is the right thing to do.) I'm tired so I don't work out. I don't work out, so I'm tired. We've all been there, right? Even though I hadn't run (or exercised at all) in 2 weeks, I joined my friend Brittany in running the Murray Moonlight Run (whose worthy cause is to fight online bullying).

It was a perfect night for a race. Temps in the mid '60s, a nearly full moon... Perfect! I really do love running at night. We all wore glow sticks and glow in the dark body paint. I had jammed two glow sticks in my shoes, which was uncomfortable, but necessary. Necessary because it was awesome. Brit sprinted off the starting line and never looked back, so I ran alone. Just the way I like it most of the time. We both accomplished new PRs (personal records). Brit beat my time by nearly 4 minutes, but we were both happy. And there was pumpkin pie at the finish line!

I got to bed around 11:00, then got up with the basher at midnight. The punk waltzed into my room at 5:30 this morning. I'm tired.

Stabby Park

"Stabby Park." That is what my friend calls Pioneer Park downtown. As many of its usual visitors hail from rough circumstances, I'm sure on most days she's not far off, but on Saturday mornings, the place is transformed into a lively farmer's market. My three boys and I met our girlfriends for an afternoon of sensory pleasures. The people watching (there is a highly concentrated number of crazies), the fresh produce, the handmade goods, the music, the tasty food... Summertime bliss.