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

Child's Play

When we were kids, we played. We played because we could. We played because, besides chores and practicing the piano, we had no obligations. When we played, our bodies and our minds complimented each other. There was no "should;" there was no "can't." It was all about feeling and expressing and enjoying and sometimes getting hurt. But after the tears, we would jump up and keep running or spinning or pretending. Our childhood play was not about checking off our task list. It was about being - and enjoying - who we were.

So let's bring the "play" back into our lives! As adults, we are required to do more than chores and practicing (and of course, now I wish I had more time to sit down at the piano or with my violin). We must produce. We must accomplish. We must do. But that doesn't mean that we can't enjoy ourselves like we did when we were 8 years old, attempting a handstand.

This was the topic of the introduction of my yoga class last night. My instructor always begins class with a thought. A topic of focus for that night's practice. This word - "play" - has been at the front of my mind ever since. So during my run today, I thought about how a child might approach those four miles. I will admit that most children wouldn't have a training schedule to follow, and therefore might not set out to run a set distance. But while my legs were moving and my arms were pumping and my lungs were working, I felt a lightness in my mind and my heart. I let myself feel joy at my ability to move my body to the beat of my music. In fact, while Regina Spektor was singing, I practically pulled a "Phoebe." (Name that reference!) My feet fell hard on the beat and my neck waved from side to side as if there were a paintbrush attached the the crown of my head, trying to paint a rainbow in the sky. My arms waved wildly in the air and a grin spread wide across my face as my breath tickled my lips in even puffs.

I made good time on this run. I boosted my speed for the last half mile, which helped my average quite a bit. So as I approached the intersection where I turn east, up the steep hill (mountain) to my house, I considered ending my workout on my Nike+ (the iPod attachment that calculates my distance, time and pace). I didn't want the slower pace up the giant hill to ruin my average. Then, a child's approach came to my mind. Would a child care at all about her average pace? No way! She would approach that hill with gusto. She and her friends (or brothers) would race to the top of the hill, not because they wanted to save face on their workout stats, but because they wanted to see how fast they could fly. I kept my timer going and ran up that hill faster than ever. Because I could.

At the end of a wild and wonderful day of play, a child does not ask herself, "Did I play well enough today?" Let's approach our own goals with a little more compassion and just be.

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.

Lady Funk

Yesterday, I finally admitted to myself that it's time to get my sorry butt onto the treadmill. In the past five weeks, I have run once. But with my half marathon training schedule staring me down, I gave into the fear. And it's a good thing too because it is truly upsetting how far one's endurance can fall in a relatively short amount of time. I had to walk for a quarter mile after each of my three measly miles.

Even though it took me too long and I probably looked like a fat chicken trying to run on a treadmill, I felt good after my first post-holiday workout. As I stretched in the family room and basked in the glow of freshly released endorphins, my man walked into the workout room and quickly came back out.

"Whew! That room stinks!"

"Well YEAH. I just exercised in it."

"I didn't know you smelled bad when you work out!"

"What?! You've smelled me after a run before."

"Not like that. It smells like a lady gym."

Perhaps I should be offended, but I just feel proud to have made it 8 1/2 years with a husband who thought I never stink.

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.

I Am Woman

I had about 20 kills today. That's what my friend and former Ragnar teammate calls it when you pass a fellow runner during a race. But by comparing my speed to the speed of my fellow chicks on the road, I am comparing apples to... apples with two bites taken out of them. Let me 'splain. No. There is too much. Let me sum up. (Name that movie.) I completed my first triathalon this morning. (TriathaMom) But I'm cheating a bit when I say that. My teammates and I completed our first tri. Together. We did it as a relay! Heidi swam 300 meters. Susan biked 12 miles. And I ran the 5K. So as I passed those 20 women during the run, my pride was tempered because I knew that most of them had already completed the two other legs of the race that my teammates had done for me.

As I passed these fellow contestants, I cheered words of encouragement. "You're awesome!" "Looking great!" "Way to go!" Racing events bring out the cheerleader in me because I have been brought to tears when strangers have cheered for me during a race. I'm just paying it forward.

Later today, I joined my three string quartet members at the beautiful Memory Grove to play a wedding. It was a gorgeous (albeit hot and sunny) afternoon. We enjoyed playing the ceremony, then chatted about newborn babies while we were packing up. My violist and cellist very recently gave birth to sweet baby girls.

On my way home, I flipped on the General Relief Society Broadcast to hear an all-woman choir sing. Tears filled my eyes as the power of women hit me. I had spent all day surrounded by women. The triathalon, my quartet... We are all women trying to feel good and do good, for our families, for our clients, for ourselves.

I actually thought about my boys at home and found myself wishing for a moment that I had a daughter who I could teach how to be a strong, confident, smart, capable woman. I always knew, for instance, that girls could do math because my (female) math teacher taught me so. But then I realized that I do have a great opportunity to teach my boys about us female types. I can show them that their mama is strong. She is brave. She is capable.

At least, I can tri.

Heh heh.

An Autumn Fall

Today is my man's first day at his new job, which means working from home, which means control over his own schedule and no commute, which means an extra hour of freedom in the morning, which means I get to run! By myself! Outside! At a reasonable hour! When I was feeding the basher in bed (best!) I heard the punk proclaiming his joy at seeing his dad in the morning with song:

"I'm so glad when Daddy comes home, glad as I can be!

I clap my hands and shout for joy and climb upon his knee.

Put my arms around his neck. Hug him tight like this.

Pat his cheeks and give him what? A great big kiss! Mmmwah!"

I knew it was going to be a good day.

As I ran north on Wasatch Blvd., I was reminded of the existence of rush hour. See, as a stay at home mom, I forget about these things sometimes. I ran on the side of the newly paved (read: bumpy and rough) asphalt road and hoped the drivers could follow the small reflectors that currently act as lane dividers. I was feeling good, running at a nice pace on my way back home.

Suddenly, a road troll appeared and grabbed my ankle as I sped by. Okay, okay... I tripped. I just plain tripped over nothing. My big (read: oversized, giant) toe caught on the rough road and in slow motion, I went down with arms outstretched. I landed hard on my knees and hands. My first thought was, "Ooooooowwwww!" My second thought was, "I'm on my hands and knees on the side of a busy road during rush hour." So I rolled myself over and up onto the curb, sat there for a few seconds to get my bearings and assess my injuries, then stood up and ran home.

The end.

P.S. As I huffed and puffed up the final steep hill, the song Love Today by Mika came on my iPod. I decided then that it would still be a good day. And it is.

P.P.S. Ouch.

Nighttime Run

Sunset

Twinkling city lights

Shining crescent moon

Peeping into inhabited living rooms and kitchens

Sweet campfire aroma

Party music

Shrimp scampi in my tummy

Returning home to a still house

A 9 pm run is a different experience than the same route at 6 am.

I like it.

[the view into my basement when I returned home]

Ladybugs In His Eyes

Oh boy. It's not even January yet and already I have cabin fever. I am 7 months pregnant. I am a tiny bit grumpy. I know from experience that endorphins will do wonders to chase those grumps away. But I think I'll be even grumpier if I have to spend the next 1800 seconds of my life on the treadmill, so even though it's only 15 degrees outside and snowing, that's where we went. "We" being the punk and me. Sorry punk.

He wore his warm hat, puffy coat ("too big!"), soft striped scarf, snow boots, and shark gloves. I wore under armour and a beanie. When we began our walk, there were a few snowflakes falling lightly all around us. The punk was not amused. Before we even left the border of our yard, he started whining. I asked what was wrong and he said he had a ladybug in his eye. I'm guessing it was a snowflake, but he probably knows best.

Due to complaints from inside the stroller ("Go home, nice and warm?") and the increasing snowfall, we took the shortest route possible.

Despite the freezing temps and cold precipitation, we had a pretty good walk. The punk is actually an encouraging cheerleader sometimes: "Up a hill. Almost there!"

Walking in a Winter Wonderland

Skinny Meili

I've reached the point in my pregnancy when I've started to daydream about the day that I can run again. I think all runners would tell you that running is pain. Especially in the days when you are starting from scratch, yet again. I know I'll have to go through that after the little bean is born and it will be miserable. Just running one mile will be a torturous battle of wills between my psyche and my weakened muscles and lungs. But when I see people running outside now, I must admit, I am a teensy bit envious. In reality, I guess I could attempt to run now. But it wouldn't be pretty. Just walking on the treadmill is tough. I guess I'm just looking forward to the day that I can feel in control of my own body again.

Of course, even after the baby arrives, part of my body will still belong to him. My gigantic boobs. Sigh.

Faster!

My long-legged running partner and I decided that we would sprint the last stretch of our run yesterday morning. Actually, she decided this and I grunted my assent. I am not a sprinter, you see. I'm just not built for it. I really don't have much muscle mass, unless you count the muscle that has formed around my midsection; love handles are muscle, right?

They're not?

Oh.

Forget I said anything.

So as we approached our last quarter mile, I could feel our pace start to quicken. It felt good. I was conscious of my form. My arms were pumping back and forth to help my momentum. I was breathing heavily, but rhythmically. And then Amy started pulling just a couple inches ahead. I lengthened my stride to match her. Now we were really flying! I actually started laughing! I was so happy to be keeping up with her. I must be a great runner! I glanced over at her and smiled, sharing my euphoria at our incredible speed.

Then she smiled back. And said, "Should we go fast?"

But...

But...

And then she took off and left my sorry butt in the dust.

Will Run for Sanity

Last night, I was in a bad place. Everything around me was irritating. Everything made me mad or annoyed or caused me to roll my eyes and walk out of the room. Of course, none of this was my fault. The dark, unfeeling world was provoking me!

But then this morning, against my better judgment, I went running for the first time in a week and a half. (Running is always against my better judgment. Why would a person willingly and repeatedly do this to herself?) It was beyond tough. I only ran 3 miles instead of my usual 4 because I had a time constraint. But despite the relief that should have come from slicing that mile off my workout, I felt like I had lead feet AND a giant rubber band tethering me to a light pole down the street. I couldn't catch my breath. I wanted to stop and walk the last mile, but I knew that if I did that, I would make my man miss his flight because I would never make it home. He would have had to come scrape me off the side of the road if I didn't force my legs to continue their movement.

So I ran. And I ran some more. And I didn't die. I walked in the door, kissed my man goodbye, and then didn't stop smiling for several hours. I was more patient and loving with the punk. I enjoyed the moments in my routine that may be considered mundane. I was more appreciative and more helpful and more fun.

All because of a few little endorphins.

Ragnar: Part 3

We finished our second leg at about 9:00 am and headed to Mellisa's parents' house in Kamas to rest for a few hours. After a shower, a pancake, and 2 hours sleep, I was feeling much better. Some of the others, however, had misbehaving intestines, as often happens during races like this. None of us were feeling at our best, but the end was in sight; only one run to go.

My last run was scheduled as 5.5 miles down the steep mountain terrain through Deer Valley and Park City Mountain Resort, for a descent of over 2,000 feet. However, that morning, we received a text from the race officials stating that, "due to an unforeseen obstruction," (which turned out to be snow) my leg was to be increased by 1.5 miles, to make it 7 miles. Once again, my sweet teammates offered to help me with this addition; they would each take half a mile for me. But I knew that in order for me to feel proud of my performance, I would have to make it on my own.

Let's rewind three years. The Wasatch Back Relay was held in 2007 during a major heat wave. I ran my first leg during the afternoon when the temperature reached 104 degrees. Afterwards, I looked like this:

During the last leg of a difficult relay for everyone on my team, I gave up the ghost. I stopped to walk and couldn't make myself start running again. I only had about 2 miles to go, but those 2 miles seemed unattainable. I was physically and mentally weak, and I just gave up. Enter Blake (aka Donatello):

He stepped up and started running for me while I climbed in the van to drink some lukewarm gatorade. I was hot, tired, and miserable, but I felt ultimately defeated, not by the heat and the miles, but by my own weakness. I ended up running my last mile on my own, but never really forgave myself for allowing Blake to run for me, even after sending him a set of old school He-Man DVDs in thanks.

Fast forward back to this year. I took the baton and began my last leg: a 7 mile, "very hard" run. The first 200 yards were uphill, and then the descent began. As I began the climb up that very first hill, I almost literally ran into Blake! He was wearing a volunteer shirt.

"Hi Blake!"

"Hi Meili!"

And then I knew that I had come full circle. I was about to run 1.5 miles longer than I had anticipated, three years after Blake had run a mile for me. He was here, on leg #35, to give me his blessing. He thought he had volunteered at this time during the race because it was a convenient time of day for him, or because the location was good, or because all of the other volunteer shifts had been taken. But no. It was no coincidence. Karma, baby. The universe is now in order.

My triumphant finish:

The Duodecad at the finish line:

Ragnar: Part 2

Friday evening. We had successfully finished our first leg of the relay. We were all smiles as we made our way to Taggart's, a tasty grill converted from an old gas station and bait shop hidden away in the canyon near Morgan. In the dining room, we joined many other runners and their appetites. I ordered the salmon and a cheesecake brownie to go, because at Taggart's, you can't not order dessert. The mouthwatering brownies, cheesecakes, tarts and cookies greet you in their pristine display case as you walk in the front door, so you're forced to think about them all through dinner.

After our meal, we grabbed our fresh clothes from the van and went back inside to change in the restroom. (We had considered stripping down in the parking lot, but then we noticed a couple of young boys sitting in their car with anticipation on their faces. We didn't want to be their first lady underwear experience, so we went inside.) There were only two w.c.'s in the restaurant: one for men, one for women. We six chicks stood outside the doors along with one tall, skinny guy. The woman before us exited the restroom, but because we were caught up in conversation, we didn't rush in after her. When we came to our senses a few seconds later, we noticed that the ladies' door was closed again. Tami tried the handle, but it was locked. Odd. We hadn't seen any other women hanging around the door. So she knocked. Nothing happened. She knocked again and pressed her ear against the door to see if there was an "occupied" response from within. As she was hugging the door, it suddenly opened and the tall man walked briskly out with a sheepish smirk on his face. We all burst out laughing at Tami who had almost fallen in on top of him.

Our hunger abated and our fresh clothes on, we settled into the van (still in the now dark Taggart's parking lot) to rest for an hour before we had to meet the other van at the next exchange. Despite the soothing lullaby of the breast pump being used in the front seat, we couldn't sleep. Someone had the giggles. So, despite our lack of rest, we moved on to meet the rest of the team and start our second leg. It took us a while, and a lot of turning around, to find our other van. By the time we met up with them, I was quite car sick. As soon as we parked, I got out of the van. Usually solid ground and fresh air will help soothe my upset stomach, but even after a long walk, I couldn't shake it. Finally at about 2 am, as Mellisa began her run, I took the two spots left in the back seat and laid down. As all my other teammates were running, I tried, unsuccessfully, to suppress the nausea and get some sleep. Finally at about 5:30 am, someone said, "Meili, it's time for you to get ready." I sat up and said to Mellisa, "Move. I have to get out!" I stumbled out of the van, leaned up against a rusted pipe in the makeshift parking lot in the middle of nowhere, and heaved my guts out. As I was puking, I was aware that I was standing right in front of a row of parked vans. But what was I going to do about that? Nothing. So I just kept puking. Goodbye salmon. Goodbye potatoes. Goodbye grilled vegetables. Goodbye cheesecake brownie.

I turned around to find my sympathetic teammates, shoes on and ready to run my leg for me. But, even though I had a pretty good excuse, I didn't want to let someone else do what I had come to do. So I visited the honey bucket (isn't that an awesome name for a porta-potty?), rinsed with mouthwash, sipped some water, ate 2 wheat thins, and laced up my shoes. Then I ran 5.5 miles around Rock Port Reservoir.

To be continued...

Ragnar: Part 1

The Ragnar Relay Wasatch Back is a 188.1 mile race from Logan to Park City with a team of 12. There is a runner always plugging along on the course for (in our case) 35 hours. Each team has 2 vans, with 6 to a van. The Duodecad crossed the starting line at 8:30 am on Friday. I was in van 2, so we arrived at the first "exchange" at 3:00 pm, when runner #6 in van 1 handed off the baton (a slap bracelet) to runner #7 in van 2.

I was runner #11, so I had to wait for a few more hours before I got to hit the road. By the time we arrived at the location of my first leg, I was ready to get going.

I ran my first three miles UP Snow Basin Road. This leg of 3.7 miles was classified as "very hard" because of the terrain; it was an elevation increase of 879 feet. It was tough, but I was feeling strong. The last 0.7 mile was downhill for an elevation loss of 358 feet. THAT was fun. As the road evened out and then started going from uphill to downhill, I felt all the muscles in my body shift. It was a glorious feeling. Suddenly, I was using all different muscles so I had a completely fresh body with which to complete my run. I passed three people at top speeds on the way down. Boo-yah!

To be continued...

A Taste of Ragnar

Ragnar was a success! (If you count vomit, intestinal problems, heartburn, nausea, sciatic pain, and exhaustion in the definition of success.) The Duodecad finished the 188 mile race across the back of the Wasatch Mountains in 35 hours 18 minutes. I am just beginning to sort through all the video footage. Here is a little taste of what Ragnar is all about.

But first, a little background. This is Terra (aka Rocky) running the most infamous leg of them all: Ragnar. This is what it looks like on the map:

That's an elevation gain of 1678 feet in 4.0 miles, on gravel. She's a rockstar. One more thing. Please don't blame my vocal teacher for this rendition of the Rocky Theme. No one can be held responsible for producing a lovely singing voice after 30-something racing hours and 2 hours of sleep.

More stories to come later. And yes, they will include vomit. You may want to reconsider visiting this blog in the future.

Ready Set Run

My third Ragnar Wasatch Back Relay is in 2 days. I hereby present to you the top 10 reasons why I am ready to run!

10. Unlike my previous two Ragnar races, I will be in a women-only van! We will have tons of yummy food like homemade oatmeal blueberry macadamia nut muffins, homemade energy bars, and gourmet yogurt. This is going to be much better on the olfactory sense than taco flavored Fritos. Plus, we get to watch chick flicks in the van instead of endless reruns of oldschool He-Man episodes.

Ragnar 2006. Starting Line. Team: Superheroes For Kids.

(Sponsor of The Christmas Box House)

9. Our team name was brought to you by yours truly. Actually, it was my friend Brittany who came up with it during our trip to St. George, but I was in the room with her at the time, so I'm taking full credit. The Duodecad! (Meaning: a group of 12 things.) It's delightfully nerdy. We will each have our own t-shirt with our runner number on back. I am "Thing 11."

Ragnar 2006. Still happy.

8. I finally bought a running skirt!

Ragnar 2006. Breakfast. 2 legs down, 1 to go.

7. After each of my other two Ragnar races, I immediately got a migraine. I just had one last night, so I declare myself free and clear of all migraines for at least a month! (Migraine gods? Are you listening? Hello?...)

Ragnar 2006. Waiting to cross the finish line.

6. My lovely mom-in-law burned a copy of Glee's 3rd volume for me. Oh yes. Running tunes? Check!

Ragnar 2006. Finished!

5. I have been seeing the Ragnar logo all over the freeways and side streets of Salt Lake; it's time to get me one-a-those! I want to show my love(?) for running... on the window my car.

Ragnar 2007. Blissful beginning.

4. Besides my 11 teammates, I have 7 other friends running this thing (that I know of). It's incredible to be part of a community like this. A community of freaks!

Ragnar 2007. Still happy.

3. I bought a new sensor for my Nike+ so once again, I know my distance, pace, and time. With the help of my fabulous morning running partner, I have been running consistently under 9 minute miles for the past 2 weeks! Ever since I really started running about 4 years ago, I've been a 10 minute mile girl. So this recent increase in speed is very exciting for me.

Ragnar 2007. Kill me now!

2. A couple weeks ago, Ragnar announced that, as part of the new safety guidelines, headphones were banned from the race course. Gasp! There was such a huge backlash that, a couple days later, they reversed their decision. Headphones are back baby!

Ragnar 2007. Just keep running!

1. This is the first race I am running since the punk came into my life. My first race as a mama. If nothing else, I am just excited for a night away with the girls! (But maybe for my next night off, I'll go for a pedicure and sushi instead of a 24 hour race with a sweaty body, grumbly tummy, and little-to-no sleep.)

Ragnar 2007. Finish line!

Can I get a what what?

Health Regimen

I have occasionally and repeatedly found myself in a rut during the last few months. I shall not bore you with the details here, but I will tell you what I've decided to do about it. I have resolved to be better at three specific things:

studying my scriptures

(scriptures not pictured)

eating healthier

(specifically, not indulging in a treat after the punk goes to bed)

and exercising

(I now have a running buddy who encourages me to do more than I would on my own; we do 4 miles, 3 times a week. I then do a long run on Saturdays to prepare for Ragnar. Here, the punk and I are doing Ab Ripper X.)

I have started to become more in tune with my body and its needs, physically and mentally. I can tell when I haven't run in a while because I become irritable and grumpy. I run more for my mental health and the happiness of my family than to lose the last few baby pounds.

But just because I've made these decisions regarding my health and happiness doesn't mean they are easy or that I am magically consistent. I go through hot chocolate withdrawals every single night. Sometimes I feel like a recovering addict. Really. And I don't want to feel like that anymore. I just want to be me. Fit, healthy, happy, able to indulge occasionally, but not dependent on substances that aren't good for me.

So here's to health and happiness and the struggle it takes to get there!

8/2=3

Last Saturday, I completed an 8 mile run. Today, since my man was going to be away for most of the day, I decided to cut my run in half and take the punk out in the jogging stroller (because, really, it was that or no run at all because it's Saturday and treadmills are banned on Saturdays). I shall now explain the difference between an 8 mile run and a 3 mile run. (Yes, half of 8 is 3. I majored in math; don't question me on this.) Please enjoy the accompanying photos of today's run while you read this dissertation.

8: The first mile sucks.

3: The first mile sucks.

8: The runner is very aware of the state of her bowels and the location of the nearest "facility."

3: Eh, not a big deal.

8: When the runner is halfway done, she is 4 freaking miles from home, with no car. Just running shoes and an ipod.

3: When the runner is halfway done, she should probably add another half mile on her way out so she will have completed 4 miles at the end of her run, which sounds a lot better than 3. Three is wussy. But no. Either the runner's upper body has become weaker or the punk has become heavier since our joint run last fall (perhaps it's his 10 lbs. of cold weather gear), and 3 miles will have to do.

8: At the end of the run, the runner must a) visit the facilities, b) drink 7 gallons of water to ward off the migraine demons, d) stretch well, and c) eat immediately. If she does not do all these things, she will feel like she's been hit by a truck about 60 minutes after finishing the run.

3: At the end of the run, the runner can do whatever she wants. Stretching and drinking water are recommended, but not life or death.

8: Even if the runner has completed all the necessary steps above, she will not have the energy to do much else on her Saturday, and will probably have to take an afternoon nap, and then not be able to fall asleep later that night, until she finally resigns herself to counting backwards, slowly, from 500.

3: Even if the runner didn't complete the suggested steps above, she will feel great for the rest of her Saturday because she burned some calories and released some endorphins.