It's a Big Deal

My soul sister turned sole sister, Aimee, ran seven miles today.  It's the farthest she's ever run so this was a landmark day.  She's training for her first half marathon in January, so there are quite a few more days like today in store for her.  It's so exciting!  I don't remember when I ran seven miles for the first time, but I do remember my first 10K (6.2 miles) that took me an hour and two minutes.  I couldn't get over the fact that I had run for over an hour straight.  A whole hour!  It's cool to reach new milestones and feel that sense of accomplishment and pride, but I think it's almost better to watch a close friend reach them.  Hard work does pay off, and I know she's working hard at this.  Really hard.

I ran seven miles at the park today, too, but we run at different paces so we go our separate ways and meet up when we're both finished.  The trails twist and turn and overlap each other and there are also a few hills where you can get a better view of the park.  While we were out there running, I happened upon her a few times from afar.  I saw her through the trees, she passed by a trail I was on, and I saw her as I was coming down a hill.  She didn't see me, but I could tell she was having a good run.  She looked strong and happy, and it made me happy and stronger.  The girl was doing it!

I know she was nervous about today's run.  New distances can be scary.  But I also knew that she had it in her.  She has so much more in her, too.  If I wasn't confident of that, I never would have suggested a half marathon to her in the first place.  She likes to tell people that I talked her into this race, but the truth is, I didn't have to twist her arm at all.  She really wants it and she's going after it.  And in less than two months, she's going to have it! She's also going to have lots of people celebrating with her--her husband, her boys, her mom and dad, and lots of friends, but you better believe I'll be the one at the finish line cheering the loudest.

Hustle & Bustle

It's here--the most wonderful time of the year.  Well that's what it's supposed to be.  Instead, I usually turn it into the worst time of the year with a long to-do list that gets the best of me and stresses me out:

• Get family photos taken.
• Shop.
• Design and order photo holiday cards.
• Put up the tree and the rest of the Christmas decorations.
• Address, stuff, and mail holiday cards.
• Shop.
• Get ingredients for holiday baking.
• Bake.
• Go see Santa.
• Shop.
• Get prints made for GiGi's cards.  
• Address her cards.
• Shop.
• Wrap gifts.
• Bake.
• Mail packages to Mom & Dad, Bob & Sue, Jason & Meg, Nick & Theresa, and Mike.
• Shop.
• Bake more.
• Go see Christmas lights.
• Celebrate the holidays!

This year, my list is the same but my attitude and mindset are better.  I can do this.  I want to do this.  I'm looking forward to doing this! 

The first item was crossed off this afternoon.  I asked my friend Aimee to take our family photos, so we met her at the park and she snapped away for about thirty minutes.  She sent me some previews this evening.  I was so excited I immediately tried to open the attachment on my phone.  It was taking forever so I literally ran to the computer and impatiently waited for them to load.  Here are some samples:

She's such a meanie for initially sending me bad shots and awkward, blurry photos.  She knows I get excited easily!  Cruel joke, Aimee.  Cruel, cruel, cruel.

It's okay.  I'll get her back.  Somehow.

In the meantime, I'm going to enjoy the rest of this weekend with the family and then hunker down and focus on this list as soon as the kids go back to school on Monday.  It's going to be the most wonderful time of the year for real!

Keep Calm and Give Thanks

Today was the most relaxing and laid back Thanksgiving I've had since I was a child.  Thanks to a good effort towards preparation yesterday, I really was able to enjoy the holiday today.  That included running at the park and drinking coffee with my friends early this morning and even a little guitar playing this afternoon.  Brian, the kids, GiGi, and I had a good dinner and dessert, and we topped off the day with Charlie Brown's Thanksgiving special.  Shopping?  Not on your life.  I just put the kids to bed, am in my pajamas, and Brian and I are going to watch something.  I don't even care what.  And everyone gets to sleep in tomorrow!  Yay!

I'm grateful for so much in my life, and at the park this morning I reflected on everything and silently thanked whomever was listening.  I'm a lucky girl and I don't ever want to take my good fortune for granted.  I hope your Thanksgiving was as peaceful and gracious as ours.  Much love to my family and friends.

Thanksgiving Prep

I love Thanksgiving.  When I was little, we'd always go to Grandma's house with my aunt, uncle, and cousins.  We'd all squeeze around the table, some of us sitting on her piano bench, and eat her delicious meal prepared with love.  Her mashed potatoes were my favorite--fluffy and buttery, oh so buttery--and I remember loving the rolls.  (I was a carboholic like every other kid back then.)  I also remember being deathly afraid of her electric carving knife and that Pap Pap would always ask someone to pass the beets (actually the cranberries), and everyone would giggle.  Ahhh, holiday memories.

Though our celebration today is small, normally just the four of us plus GiGi, I like to make a big deal about it.  Besides, I enjoy cooking and entertaining so hosting Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter are big affairs at our house.  Sometimes my parents or in-laws are in town, and last year we hosted Brian's co-worker who was here from Malaysia.  Brian thought it would be nice to show him a traditional American Thanksgiving, and I agreed.  Cultural differences made themselves known when he arrived two hours later than Brian had told him, and GiGi was not amused.  As we waited, I strategically tried my best to keep the meal ready and warm without drying out but that proved difficult as time went on.  I coped as best I could then when the doorbell finally rang GiGi said, "Now, Sara, don't act drunk."  Whee!  What a day!

This is what our cozy and quaint Thanksgivings normally look like, though.  And dessert really is always the best part.  Poor Brian is stuck taking the photo again.  Note to self:  must set the camera timer this year.

GiGi will be our only guest tomorrow.  She always makes the dressing, and helps whip up the gravy right before we sit down to eat.  The rest of the day, I'm normally multitasking like a champ by cooking, cleaning the house, and washing the china and crystal.  GiGi always says, "Don't go to any trouble, Sara," but I'm a stickler on using the china, crystal, and fancy silverware at holiday meals.  If I don't use them then, when will I use them?  Why did I agonize over which pattern to register for fifteen years ago?  Plus I'd feel guilty for leaving all those beautiful gifts from our wedding guests in the cabinet.  No.  They must be used.  But because they are used so infrequently, I feel better if I wash them.  My schedule this year allowed me to cook and clean and prepare today so that I can actually enjoy my Thanksgiving tomorrow.

The china and silverware are ready.

I also polished my silver relish platter, and then got carried away as a domestic goddess by bringing out GiGi's old silver plate and candy dish that she almost sold at a yard sale.  "Sue gave us these for our 25th wedding anniversary, but they're so much trouble to polish."  I thought they should stay in the family so she gave them to me, and I apparently took awful care of them by never, ever polishing them.

Because she was right.  They were a pain to polish, and I obviously gave up on the plate because an hour and a half of polishing was starting to feel like a strength training session.  To show off my work, take a look at this before shot.

They were black!  Oops.  I guess I have a project to work on because I don't intend to ever sell these on a garage sale.  

While I was working on this stuff my sweet potatoes and pumpkin  pie were baking, so a lot of my work for tomorrow has already been accomplished.  Tomorrow I have to roast the turkey and make the mashed potatoes.  Easy!  I'm looking forward to a peaceful and relaxing Thanksgiving.  I hope yours is peaceful, relaxing, and delicious, too.

Unpopular Favorites

I heard this song on the radio today, and it made my day.  Isn't it great?  These are the kinds of songs I love.  Love!  And you don't get to hear them on the radio too often.  Their "Long Cool Woman in a Black Dress" is a common track on classic rock stations (which is a very good thing), but it's always a treat to hear a more obscure song.  I know I'm weird.  It's weird to not be weird.  If we base it on the music that makes me happy, you could say I was born at the wrong time as other artists I truly enjoy are The Byrds, The Monkees (because who doesn't?), and let's not forget that my guitar is named after The Kinks' "Sweet Lady Genevieve."

These favorites have not, do not, and will not ever make me popular or cool, but I'm okay with that.  I like what I like because I like it.  Sometimes it makes me look like an idiot, though.  A long time ago, I posted a video of The Box Tops performing "The Letter" on our PTO's Facebook page.  I don't remember exactly what I said, but I was reminding everyone to send in their General Mills Box Tops and asked if anyone else sings this song every time they think of Box Tops.  Crickets chirped.  No one gets me.  And that video was hilarious!  It was from the sixties and looked it, they were clearly lip-syncing, not even playing their instruments, and they were trying so hard not to laugh.  It was awesome and silly and lighthearted.  Or so thought I.  Sigh....

No matter.  I don't have to defend my taste in music.  These are classics for a reason.  Though I am afraid my love for them is making my good friend Jennifer rethink her decision to ask me to go with her to the Justin Timberlake concert next week.  I enjoy him, but I have to admit that I'm not really, really, really familiar with his music.  I mean, I only know the ones on the radio.  I did get his latest album and have been listening to it often.  A crash-course in JT is the best version of studying.  I promise not to let you down, Jennifer!  I will be cool.  So cool.

Fitness is Fun!

I'm taking it to the catalogs again.

Despite what current It Girl Jennifer Lawrence says, exercise can be fun.  If you're joined by friends, then it's practically a party and is most definitely as fun as the RoadRunner Sports catalog illustrates.  Honestly, it's as if they hid behind a bush and took photos of us at Fitness with Friends.  Yes, we look exactly like these girls.  Exactly.  And we laugh hysterically the entire time, too.  Even when we do yoga.

And twist with medicine balls.

Push ups?  Tricep dips?  Pssshhh.  Those are so easy we laugh at them.

This photo is my favorite.  Remember when we dressed up that snowman that morning at the park?  Oh man.  Good times.  So fun.

Nah. I kid. It's not all smiles and snowmen, but we manage to have fun while working hard for our Starbucks reward.  So hard that those Road Runner Sports models would have this to say about us: 

I'm so glad all we do is sit on the grass and chat.  Thank goodness for our token exerciser.  "Keep it going, Molly.  Make us look good!"  Man.  Check out those crazies at that boot camp over there. 

Yeah.   That looks rough.  They look tough.

:-)

Winter Weight

I'm not one for weighing myself daily, weekly, or even yearly, but I believe it's safe to say that I weigh more in the winter than I do in the summer. I've heard that's pretty typical as there are several excuses reasons for a little increase.

First, the summertime is more footloose and fancy-free, while the wintertime can be pretty stressful.  Aren't we all emotional eaters to some degree?  Yes.  And during Arizona summers, sometimes you're just too hot to eat much.

Second, what am I supposed to do with a pantry full of Halloween candy? (Hint: Sara, stop eating it.)  To make matters worse, but oh so much more delicious, baked goods  will soon be coming out of my oven with the spicy fragrances of the holiday season.  I know everyone goes crazy for chocolate, but I tend to favor the flavors of cinnamon, ginger, clove, and nutmeg.  Oatmeal raisin cookies are my favorite throughout the year, but at Christmas I look forward to dark, chewy, spicy molasses cookies.  It's as though I feel I've been good the rest of the year so this is my time to really live it up.  I've earned it.

Lastly, now that it's finally getting chilly out we don't have to wear our shorts and t-shirts anymore.  Jeans, sweaters, and scarves are coming out of storage and those tend to hide ourselves better.  This morning it was 45 degrees, so I certainly didn't run in my sports bra like I had to just to make it through three measly miles in July and August, and I'm not planning trips to tropical locales anytime soon so swimsuits are shoved to the back of the drawer.  My abs are safely covered for a few months, and I'm not ashamed to admit that I really don't care what they look like.  Besides, if anyone ever tells me I've "let myself go," I will let them go.

So I'll take my winter weight and wear it well.  By the time spring rolls around, my taste buds will be tired of the sweets, and the warmer weather will encourage me to put in a better effort.  So until then, I have a lot of baking to do...starting with a pumpkin pie on Wednesday.

Let's eat!

Marshmallow World

Growing up, we were a pretty average family.  We weren't wealthy or poor.  My parents were happily married and still are today, and my brother and I grew up as normal as two kids could.  We were good students at school, participated in extracurricular activities like music and sports, graduated from college, met our spouses, got married, and started our own families.  We made a few mistakes and bad choices along the way but nothing major.  In essence, we did what we were supposed to do.  Neither my brother nor I was ever arrested and, as far as I know, never did anything that warranted that kind of punishment.

I haven't been exposed to serious nastiness, and that's a really good thing for my vanilla personality.  You could say I've lived a sheltered life.  I'm thankful my parents or anyone else didn't abuse me, there were no drug addicts in our family, my parents kept us a far distance from my dad's alcoholic uncle (so far that I don't recall ever seeing him, only hearing stories as if he was some sort of legend), and we always had enough food to eat, clean clothes to wear, and a comfortable home.  I was very fortunate to live in my fluffy little marshmallow world.

Or was I?  Was I too sheltered?

I started thinking about this yesterday because one of my girl scout's mother is an officer at Tent City, an outdoor county jail run by the famous (mostly infamous) Sheriff Joe, and she was telling us stories about some of the inmates.  Let's just say there's a whole world of people and situations out there that Sara knows nothing about. Nothing.  And apparently hearing about things like the purses women use in jail unintentionally turns my facial expressions into that of someone who has been traumatized.  Then people start apologizing to me like I'm some sort of little bunny who can't handle this kind of information.  Of course I was appalled and grossed out because, well, you have to admit it is disgusting.  But mostly I was wondering how people get themselves into these tough situations or go down these paths that lead to such low places in their lives.  It's sad.  My friends all said drugs were to blame, but I argued that you have to be pretty low to start taking drugs in the first place.  I bet poverty forces you into situations you don't want to be in.  They said, not really; lots of rich kids from Scottsdale and Gilbert are sent there.  Okay then.  Perhaps their bad choices can be chalked up to ignorant parents?  Youth rebellion gone awry?  Stupidity?  Bad luck?  Mental illness?  There are probably many different reasons, or maybe there doesn't have to be a reason at all.

Sometimes I look at others' lives, and I wonder how they can manage it.  And if that happened to me, would I be able to handle it after a relatively easy kind of life?  You may have noticed how upsetting insignificant life events can be to me (most recently, a lock down drill at school and a girl getting a tummy bug at Girl Scout camp).  I tend to get distressed about blips, but what if life really punched me in the gut?  What if my husband starts gambling away our savings or turns into an alcoholic or gets addicted to oxycodone?  What if my kids fall in with the wrong crowd and start using drugs or end up in jail?  Those scenarios are (hopefully) highly unlikely to happen, but sometimes we're surprised even by the people we love and believe we know the best.  How would I deal with any of that?  Would I pretend it wasn't happening and run away from it all?  I'd like to think I wouldn't, but I kind of think I might want to. Or does the Universe know that I'm not cut of for any of that so it doesn't (and won't) throw those things my way?  On the flip side, maybe these kinds of things did happen to me and I handled it--like Matthew's birth or any near-missteps in which I ultimately made the right call.

I wonder if the way my life has gone is abnormal because it's been mostly rainbows and butterflies (big thanks to whomever is in charge of all that) or if my path is considered normal.  For society's sake, I hope this is normal.

Oh So Comfy Cozy

I just got home, soaked my feet in hot water, and am now sipping hot chocolate.  Only an hour ago I was on a fifth grade field trip to the American Heritage Festival at a farm in Queen Creek.  It would have been a really good time and a great experience, but it was rainy, muddy, and after a couple hours in the elements we all got pretty cold and had to cut our trip short.

It seems it never rains in Arizona unless there is an outdoor field trip planned.  I don't know how many zoo trips have been cancelled over the years, but this trip was nonrefundable because the festival was to go on whether rain or shine.  So we were going!  I had a feeling we weren't in for the best time because the forecast was 59 degrees with a 100% chance of rain.  Plus, field trips never go as planned even in good weather.

The district's transportation department always has some sort of snafu.  Sometimes the buses are late; sometimes they break down.  One time, we went to another school to pick up students and sat there for ten minutes until the driver heard from Dispatch that we were not to pick up a group at that school.  What?  Does anyone know what's going on over there?  Well today, they sent one bus for three classes of kids, teachers, and parent chaperones.  So three friends and I took my car, which wasn't a bad idea because bus rides are rowdy and noisy and the farm was 45 minutes away.  We followed the bus (driven by a crazy bus driver, by the way, who forced me to go through a red light and two yellows to keep up with her).  I'm sorry, Officer, but I was told it was very important that I stay with that bus!  

It sounds like I'm complaining, but I'm simply stating facts.  It wasn't bad once we got there because it wasn't really raining at first.  It was misty and cloudy and cool, but we were able to walk around the the exhibits and hear from the "actors," or whatever you want to call these history enthusiasts.  After nearly a day of rain, though, the fields were pretty muddy and there wasn't enough straw in the world to cover all the walkways.  Some spots were better than others, but there was literally no way of getting around some muddy spots without walking through them.  After we watched a Revolutionary War battle, which was nothing more than people pretending to shoot each other and them falling over (Yay!  Super fun!  I love guns!), we stood there and ate our lunch.  Then the torrential downpour began.

There was nothing to do but stand there and wait for the teacher to text me to take the kids back to the bus.  Elizabeth and I had ponchos, but the two other girls in our group had nothing but a light jacket/umbrella and a hooded sweatshirt.  I shouldn't judge other parents, but if you know your kid is going to be outside in the cold and rain, don't you think sending something waterproof would be a good idea?  I gave her my umbrella, but that only does so much.  They were so wet and so chilled.  It started to get not-so-fun for them pretty quickly.  Another mom ran into us, and she said they were going back to the bus so we went with them.  I got my kids on the bus and as soon as my friends brought their groups to the bus, we left.

When we got back to the school, I dropped off my friends at their cars, parked, and signed us all out of the school.  As I was leaving, the bus arrived and I saw Elizabeth's teacher hosing off the kids' muddy shoes as they exited the bus.  She hates messes.  The kids have to bring in cookies for their birthdays because "cupcakes are too messy."  The mud today is probably killing her.  I feel bad for her.

So that was then and this is now.  I'm dry, cozy, and warm and plan to stay that way.  I am glad home is in Arizona and not Seattle.

What a Lady

Brian's grandmother lives about thirty minutes from us, and she's the only family we have in town.  We've been here for about fifteen years, and Brian sees her more now than he did in all his years growing up.  His family never lived in the same town as his grandparents (which I initially thought was very strange, yet here we are with our children who rarely see their grandparents).  So now that we do live close by, we make it a point to visit Grandma nearly every Sunday.  It's a weekly tradition.  It's important that we go.

Grandma (or GiGi, as our kids call her, which is short for great-grandma) amazes a lot of people.  She is 96 years old, lives alone, and does pretty well for herself.  Although she doesn't drive and she walks rather slowly, her mind is sharp and her health is good.  She grew up on a farm in Illinois with eleven brothers and sisters, and it certainly wasn't luxurious living.  While the men and boys put in hours and hours of hard labor for the farm daily, the women and girls spent hours and hours doing the chores that take us mere minutes today.  You could say that she is "farm strong."  She also has "farm smarts" so she not only knows how to whip up a delicious homemade meat and potatoes meal easily and with close to zero waste, but she can tell you when to plant what, how to do it, and share with you all the ways to use it.  Actually, she is very good about telling you what to do.  Ha!  It's okay.  She knows her stuff, and usually I've asked for her advice anyway.  :)  Plus, when you're 96, you're entitled to speak your mind and do whatever you want.

She's been my grandmother for sixteen years, and I love her.  When I was home alone with babies, I'd call her every day just to have someone to talk to.  Now, I get to visit her every Thursday morning to take her to the grocery store or to get her hair or nails done.  Last year when she broke her hip at Christmastime, none of us said it aloud, but we were all thinking that it might be the catalyst to...yeah.  But it wasn't!  She went to rehab, faithfully did her physical therapy exercises, and she recovered as if she was 70 years old.  She surprises everyone with her strength and cheerful outlook.  She's an optimist, and that's probably what has kept her going for so long.  She's the last of her brothers and sisters, she's lost her husband, her daughter lives across the country, but she's still upbeat and spunky.  Sure, just like the rest of us, she has some down days, but for the most part she is a very happy person.  And why wouldn't she be?  She's lived a great life with not a whole lot of signs of slowing down.  She says her body is wearing out, but you wouldn't know it to see her or talk to her.

No.  GiGi is going strong and we're grateful that she's so close to us and such an important part of our lives.  I'm glad my children get to spend time with her, especially since their grandparents are so far away.  I hope we have years and years (and years) left with GiGi.

Hugs!

It's National Hug a Runner Day!  I don't really know what that means.  No one's hugging me, but maybe they should because if this past week is any indication, I think I can officially proclaim myself a runner.

I don't know what's up, but I have been super happy while running the past four or five times I've been out there.  I know, I know.  Don't get ahead of yourself, but I've also been performing pretty well.  For me.  I don't feel like I'm putting in more effort, but I've been finding my flow pretty quickly and holding onto it.  Plus, my pace is faster.  It's probably the weather.  It's perfect right now in the mornings--chilly enough to put on arm warmers and a thermal headband to start, but by a mile the arm warmers are hidden in a bush for pick-up on the way back.  I'm sweaty but not soaked through like in the summer.  The sun is just starting to rise as I'm finishing up.  It's gorgeous and peaceful and I'm cruising and enjoying every moment.  I come home, take a warm shower, and I feel refreshed and ready to face anything.  My good mood continues and I'm productive all day long.  After dinner, I'm anxious to go to sleep so that I can wake up and go for another run.  I crave it.  What's happening?!  Who am I?!

Don't question it.  Just go with it, Sara.  Enjoy.  And somebody hug me already!

Yikes

This morning, there was a lockdown drill at the kids' school.  I believe they schedule one every quarter, and it's certainly a good thing to practice.  Like a fire drill, you hope it's never going to happen for real, but everyone should know what to do if it does.  Unlike a fire drill though, it's more dramatic and, as I found out today, a bit traumatic.  I've been at school for fire drills, but this was my first lockdown drill.  I was impressed yet also unexpectedly pretty shaken up.

I had just finished helping a few parents and students purchase their sweatshirts when the administrative assistant told me to come into her office because they were going to do a lockdown drill.  I didn't think much of it, and I do what I'm told.  I went in there and sat down on a chair.  Then the principal and counselor came in along with the attendance clerk.  The counselor said to me, "You're gonna get dinged if they see your head there."  I laughed and said, "Oh.  Okay.  I don't want to ding anything!"  So I went over by the wall and sat on the floor since it's a small office and there really wasn't anywhere else I could go.  All of a sudden, the administrative assistant who is the sweetest older lady in the whole entire world announced several times in the most alarming tone I've ever heard from her, "This is a lockdown.  This is a lockdown."

They shut the door, turned out the lights, closed all the blinds, and we had to be quiet.  Our principal sat at the computer, and as emails from teachers came in he would say to the counselor, "Miller is clear" or "Hays is clear."  Then she'd check them off her list of classrooms that are deemed safe.

I'm a little embarrassed to admit how hard this all hit me, but in my defense, I was sitting on the floor of a tiny, dark office while the principal and counselor were confirming the safety of each of our school's classrooms.  I have close friendships with a lot of the teachers, and as I heard their names I was relieved to know they were safe.  I also longed to hear my kids' classes announced.  "Cavanaugh is clear" and "Lawless is clear," were two welcomed phrases to my ears.  I knew all along that this was a drill and it wasn't real, but it sure felt real from where I was sitting and, as you may have guessed, I'm not really wired for this kind of intensity.  When it was all over, I looked no one in the eye and headed straight for the restroom to get tissues.  Hours later, I'm still emotional writing about it.

The school takes these drills seriously. They know what to do.  Still.  May there never be the need for a real lockdown.

A Compliment

I spent the morning at the kids' school sorting and distributing sweatshirts and t-shirts.  It takes some time, but it's not hard work and it's really the least I can do this year.  I was doing my thing, minding my own business, when out of the blue one of the teachers gave me the best compliment.

"Sara, you look so happy!"

"Thanks.  I am happy."

"No.  It's like you're glowing now."

"Whoa.  Let's not say 'glowing.'"

(She laughs.)  "I just mean it looks like you're enjoying yourself now that you're not on PTO."

I honestly didn't know what to say to that, and I began to wonder if I had looked harried and haggard before so I said, "Well, I'm pretty zen.  My chi is good.  A little downtime can be good for a person."

"It agrees with you!"

The ironic thing is I heard this song on the radio right after I dropped off the kids and went to pick-up the shirts this morning.  At least the conversation was the polar opposite of, "Don't you miss it?  Don't you miss it?  Don't you miss it?"



Yep.  I'm just sitting here watching the wheels go round and round.  And I'm cool with it.

I just had to let it go.

Ironman Arizona

Today is the tenth annual Ironman Arizona race.  It's a big deal and quite the event, and Ironman triathletes are an impressive bunch for sure.  It takes a certain kind of person to do a 2.4 mile swim, ride 112 miles on a bike, and then run 26.2 miles.  It takes a certain kind of person to agree to do that, let alone train for it for at least a year and then do it.  Did you know athletes must complete Ironman races in under 17 hours?  In a way, that doesn't sound like enough time.  Yet can you imagine exercising for 17 hours straight?

At one time, I thought taking on Ironman would be a good idea.  I even wrote it down.  Check it out here.

Uuuuummmmm.  Yeah, I wasn't myself at the time.  Let me explain how that post came to be written.

For the past two years, my friend Jennifer and I have volunteered at the race.  In 2011, we were assigned to an 80s-themed aid station.  Hey, we'll do anything to dress up in costume and act out for a day.

All we had to do was hand out water.

There's a certain way to hold the cups, but the technique was easy to master.  My arm started to hurt after awhile, but I didn't complain to the Ironpeople.  :)

I helped out from 1 to 4 pm on the run course.  Both the bike and run courses are loops that the athletes complete three times.  We arrived on the course just in time to see the leaders come through for their first loop.  They had been racing for six hours already, but they were looking strong and, therefore, making it look easy.  As the hours passed, the course became more and more crowded and mixed with the top performers as well as people whom I thought looked more like us.

Average people do Ironman races?  Who knew?  I was also noticing that not every body was svelte. By the time my shift ended, I was inspired!  I believe any body can be trained to do anything!  If I work hard enough, I can do an Ironman.  Yes.  I can do an Ironman!  And I want to do an Ironman!

The following year, Ironman came to town again a few months after my first "real" triathlon.  I was up to running 16 miles at the time so, you know, in my head Ironman was still doable if I continued putting in the work.  My parents were in town so I woke up my dad at 5 am and dragged him to Tempe Town Lake so we could see the start of the race and get a feel for the atmosphere.

It was dark and freezing.  At around 6:30, the athletes began getting in the water. The race was scheduled to start at 7 am, and, in true Ironman fashion, everyone starts at the same time so that they have until the midnight cut-off to officially finish the race.  I'm not gonna lie.  It was difficult watching the athletes slip into that cold lake even though I was dressed in fleece and holding a hot coffee mug.

They found their positions in the water.

The cannon went off, and they started swimming.  Just like that, their Ironman race was on.  Wow.  Look at them go!  They've put in all the hard work, and now there's nothing to do but just do it!  I was inspired again. 

I didn't personally know anyone racing.  Except this guy!  What a clown.

We watched some of the swimmers come in after an hour or so and a few athletes begin the bike.  But we went home, hosted a birthday party at the park for Matthew, relaxed a bit, and then I went back to volunteer at Ironman with Jennifer.  All while the athletes continued to exercise.

This time Jennifer and I were at an aid station that was handing out cola and potato chips.  What now?  Yes, the nutrition required to do a race like this seems a little unorthodox for an athletic event, but sugar and salt are what a body craves and needs when it's being put through such torture so I guess you gotta do what you gotta do.  Other items on tap were gummy bears, cookies, pretzels, GU, power bars, and chicken broth (because it's salty and night was falling so it was getting cold again).

Let me just say that the "clientele" stumbling through the aid station from 4-10 pm is a lot different from that that comes through from 1-4 pm.  I thought the people we saw last year were like us?  Hmmm.  No.  These people are more like us...if we were the kind of people who signed up for Ironman races.  While some athletes looked strong (and they may have already been on their last loop of this run course), many looked like hell.  Hell!  And, really, why wouldn't they?  They had been out there for almost twelve hours swimming and biking and now running or walking.  I started to rethink my big plan.

And the more I saw, the more I rethought it.  And the more I rethought it, the more I realized that this was something I didn't want to do.  Maybe I could do it if I tried hard enough, but do I really want to do it?  No. I don't want to.  I don't want to feel like that lady right there who can barely pick up her feet or that man who doesn't really look like he even knows where he is.  I admire them for being out here, though.  They put in the work it takes to train for it, and they can say (hopefully) that they are Ironmen.  I'm happy for them and I sincerely bow down to their drive and ambition, but I no longer have the dream of being an Ironman myself.

I still believe that any body can be trained to do anything, but you have to really want to do it.  I like swimming (though I should do it more often), I like biking, and I like running...but not for more than, say, about two hours.  I think it's better for me to train like a triathlete than to actually be one.

I also like to cheer for those who take on the challenge.  I really do admire them.  I have the live coverage feed up on my computer right now, and as the finishers come through (and the leaders should be coming in about 15-20 minutes, they say) I will joyfully cry with them.

Christine is Coming! Christine is Coming!

I recently got the best news!  My friend Christine, who moved to Omaha last year, is coming to visit in January!  I really miss her.  First she was Jennifer's friend and neighbor whom I talked to at parties.  Then she became our third workout partner.  Then on a day when Jennifer couldn't make it, Christine and I met anyway without "the glue," and I feel like we had only just started to become good friends before she had to move away.  Thankfully we text and keep up with each other on Facebook, but it's not the same as meeting every weekend at the park for a thirty minute workout followed by two hours of chatting at Starbucks.  It's just not the same!

Jennifer, deal-seeking aficionado that she is, bought a wine tasting for four at a winery near Oak Creek awhile back, so we're making a girls' weekend of it.  We're toasting Jennifer's birthday, memorializing or celebrating (that label is up to her) her divorce, and simply planning to have a blast with each other.  Allison, Jennifer's other friend and neighbor is coming, too.  I'm looking forward to it.  So much that I almost wish I didn't know about it yet.  It's so long to wait!

Thank You Note Friday

We're halfway through November, the month in which we're reminded to be thankful, so I thought I'd do a little thank you post.  But not in that hokey Facebook status way.  Ick.  You know what I'm thankful for?  This:

This viral note has prevented the overwhelming amount of daily posts that have graced our news feeds for the past few Novembers.  Aww, that's sweet but we figured you loved your family.  At least we hope you do.  Instead of telling us, you should tell them how you feel.  It means more in person and through your actions.  Also, are they not sitting right next to you?

Yes, I'm thankful and grateful and appreciative of my loved ones, our health, and our fortunate and comfortable lifestyle.  But do you want to read about that?  I didn't think so.  It's more fulfilling to reflect on the things for which you are thankful instead of hearing others', and I think we should all do more of that more often.

That said, a little humor is always welcome around here.  It's Friday and, as every Jimmy Fallon fan knows, it's time for thank you notes--when we thank all things random! Every year I wanted to somehow incorporate this bit into Teacher Appreciation Week, but no one knew what I was talking about and the teachers probably don't stay up late enough to watch it so they wouldn't have gotten the joke, either.  Whatever.  He makes me laugh and I know we could have come up with some pretty funny teacher thank yous.  An opportunity missed.  Darn it.

Maybe I can give it a try here.  Yes.  Let's see if this works.  Use your imagination to picture me writing my thank you notes to a few things that make me happy.  Pretend I'm mimicking Jimmy's emotional intensity and am being accompanied by peaceful piano music.  I'm not as clever or funny though, which is why he has a television talk show and I have this blog that, like, ten people read.  Here goes....

Thank you, Starbucks, for being the incentive that I think a lot of my friends use to workout with me every week.  Without you, my Saturday mornings would be lonely.  So lonely.

Thank you, sweet potatoes, for being nutritious yet yummy enough for my children to eat in any form I prepare you.

Thank you, air mattresses, for quality, restful sleep on family camping trips as well as Ragnars, even those trips in which we run into rattlesnakes or sleep for only three hours next to encroaching neighbors who listen to death metal.  Respectively.  (Thankfully.  I think.)

Thank you, duct tape, for making this year's Girl Scout holiday bazaar crafting session pleasant and burn-free.  Oh yeah...a big sarcastic thank you for all the burns, hot glue.

Thank you, person who invented the half-marathon, for realizing that running 26.2 miles is absolutely ridiculous.

Thank you, Pinot gris, for being grown, harvested, and fermented into one glass of bliss.

Thank you, Legos, for providing a creative outlet for my children that makes them happy (even though our storage wars often frustrate me and I call you bad names).

Thank you, tech fabrics, for allowing this sweaty person to exercise outside when it's as hot as Hades in the summer.

OK.  That's good for now.  I will hold some for next year.  Check in next week when Justin Timberlake guest co-writes and we perform the History of Rap, Part 42.

The Effing F Chord

Ugh.  I can't feel the side of my pointer finger.  There are a million lines on it!  Okay, that's obviously an exaggeration.  There are only six lines ingrained in it, but my finger is tender and red and will probably be in rougher shape pretty soon.

You have no idea what I'm talking about.  What's the first rule of writing?  Know your audience.  Let me fill you in....  See, I pushed myself to Stage 6 of Justin's beginners course and now look what I have to learn how to do:

Still confused?  Stay with me and allow me an attempt to explain because teaching others how to do something is known to be an effective way of learning how to do something yourself (a fact proven to me after Elizabeth potty-trained her doll), and you might be so intrigued by all this that you'll go out and get a guitar and, as Justin says, "Give it a go."

To successfully play an open F chord, I need to lay my pointer finger down on all strings in the first fret (section of the guitar neck), place my middle finger (2) on the third string in the second fret, and place my ring finger (3) on the fifth string and my pinky (4) on the fourth string in the third fret.  It's supposed to look something like this:

How sexy is that?  (By the way, that's not me.)  My hand looks and feels like an old lady's.  Or a witch's.  It's as dreadful as Justin said it would be.  But, he also said it's a rite of passage.  Unless I want to go around looking for songs that don't use F chords, I must learn how to play it.  He demonstrated two other ways of playing an open F but encouraged us to keep trying the proper way if we're able to get at least three notes correct.  I had five out of six strings ringing true (stupid muted B!) so I'm keeping at it.  I've gotten it a few times but it takes about ten seconds to set up, which will not hinder song-playing in any way I'm sure.  Hold on.  Wait a moment.  Okay.  There.  FFFFF.  No.  That won't do.

That's how things are going in Sara's Guitarland.  So, yeah, it's pretty much the dark days of winter.  Spring is always right around the corner, though.

Roar Bravely

During the car ride to Girl Scout camp over the weekend, we were listening to the radio.  A few times the three girls in my car would scream, "I love this song!"  So I'd turn it up and enjoy them singing along to their favorites.  While they initially didn't care for my usual car music, they like the songs I run to.  Good deal.

I'm calling it now.  Katy Perry's "Roar" will be the hot song at this year's school talent show.  Though that is a long time away and something else really hot could come out before then.....  The girls were singing that one, and I wondered if they could put something together as a troop.  That could be cute, but I didn't say anything to them about it.  Must find a way to have them come up with that idea on their own because if I suggest it, it will not be a cool idea.  

On the car ride home, though, they were singing along to Sara Bareilles' "Brave."  Elizabeth and I absolutely love that song.  We admire Sara because she plays the piano like a boss and writes such inspired songs without all the showmanship and gimmicks other artists use.  She's more like us; you know, if we were really talented like that.  Ha!  Elizabeth has mentioned that she might want to sing "Brave" in the talent show with her friends, and I told her that would be a most excellent idea.  I wish you could have heard those three girls singing that song from the backseat.  Their high, little voices were bringing out such meaningful and empowering lyrics.  I was feeling it.  Their words were anything but empty and they showed me how big their brave is!  If you're not familiar with the song, the lyrics are right here and they are definitely worth a look.  These are exactly the kind of words young girls should have repeating through their minds.  The moment was unbelievably touching and really beautiful.

Today I heard both these songs relatively close together, and I thought they sounded a lot alike.  Apparently, I am not the first person on the face of the earth who has noticed.  A quick search on YouTube tells me there is a controversy over whether or not Katy stole Sara's idea (have I been in a cave?), but there are also many, many mash-ups of these two songs.  Perfect!  We can divide up the troop into two groups--one covering "Brave" and the other covering "Roar"--and they'll switch back and forth and then come together towards the end.  Cool, huh?  This mix is awesome, even though it's two guys and we're not arguing over which song is better; we love them both!  We could use it, but I wish they were girls or sang in a higher key.  I dig this mash-up, too.  I don't think it would work for this vision but...wow.  They are really good.  There's plenty of time and probably new YouTube mash-ups on the way.  I'll keep looking.

I am stoked!  But don't tell my girls.  They haven't thought of their great "Katy Perry/Sara Bareilles Roar Bravely" idea yet. Shhhhh.

Miles and Miles

I use DailyMile to track my fitness progress. It's a great tool for me to log my workouts, keep notes on how things went, and share the workouts with my friends so we can encourage and cheer for each other.  I know some people put all their workouts on Facebook, but I also know that that annoys some people.  By using DailyMile, all my info is right there for me to review whenever I want, and my fellow workout buddies who are interested in it can read about it, too.  I consider it to be Fitness Facebook.  It also helps me sort my workouts by activity, months, years, and to note personal bests.  I really love DailyMile!

Yesterday I ran two miles, and after I logged those miles I noticed that since May 24, 2011, I've run, biked, walked, hiked, or swum exactly 3,500 miles.  In 2013, I've gone 1,107 miles.  It seems like a lot, doesn't it?  I'm going to admit I'm pretty proud of those numbers.  Thank you, DailyMile, for keeping track of my miles and allowing me to celebrate some hard work.

If you're interested in stupid statistics like you know that I am, here's a different point of view on how "hard I've been working" the past two and a half years:

• I've logged a total of 913 workouts.  Granted, some of those are Wii Just Dance sessions with Elizabeth, but still.
• I've spent almost 500 hours (493.65) being active in some way.
• I've burned 1,178 donuts and powered 7,224 TVs (but I don't really understand the second one, do you?).  
• I've saved 184.22 gallons of gas (if I had been using my runs, bike rides, hikes and swim sessions as a means to commute somewhere, I guess).
• I've burned (not lost) 62 pounds.  I'm still the same weight as when I started, but I do think my body composition has become leaner and I feel a whole lot better most of the time.
• I've gone 0.14 times around the world.  Holy moly.  It's going to take forever to get all the way around, isn't it?

If you're on DailyMile or decide join the fun, please send me a friend request.  I want to celebrate your numbers, too!

The Amazing Challenge

Seventeen teams.  Five countries.  One camp in Prescott.  Thousands of memories made!

This weekend was for the girls and they loved, loved, loved it!  The theme of the encampment was inspired by The Amazing Race (my favorite show), and the cadet and senior troops in charge of the activities did a fantastic job planning and executing their plan.  There were about 50 girls participating in the race, and they were divided up randomly as well as strategically (older girls with younger girls) to allow them to make new friends and learn to work with others.  It turned out that only two of the girls in our troop were together.  

On Friday night, the girls met their teammates.  Each team was given a different colored scarf to identify themselves.  They had a few hours that night to decorate their scarves, create a team banner, and make up a team cheer.  Just look at the smiles!

On Saturday morning, we got a cute troop picture before the team debriefing and race start.

The rules were explained.  Over the course of this five-hour competition (two hours in the morning, three hours after lunch), teams would visit five countries--England, China, India, Greece, and Brazil--and chose to complete either a challenge or community service project.  They had 50 minutes to do the task and report back to the map to check in with Phil Miss Kristi.  As teams came in, they were awarded points so the sooner you arrived, the more points you received.  At the end of all five legs, the team with the most points was declared the grand winner.  The winning teams of each leg also won $5 gift cards to Cold Stone and Starbucks.  It was as exciting and intense as the show!

In England, the girls could either make blankets Project Linus-style or complete four puzzles that increased in difficulty.  

 In India, the girls chose to create decorative salt dough tea lights for the Diwali holiday or prepare thirty Sweet Rolls for Soldiers (empty toilet paper rolls filled with hard candies and carefully wrapped in gift wrap) that will be distributed at VFW halls this Veterans' Day.

Jordyn (center) and her team, the Blue Jays, finished first in one of the legs!

In China, the girls had to either count how many stones were in the Great Wall of China or memorize a pattern of beads to create GS Gems bracelets and necklaces that bring awareness to human trafficking.

In Brazil, they had the choice of putting together and scoring in a life-sized Angry Birds game or making thirty Happy Socks (socks filled with stuffing and catnip to be distributed to animal shelters).

In Greece, the challenge was to first unscramble words and then a sentence, and the community service project was to make survival bracelets.

It was really an exciting day.  It was so fun to see the girls run on "Go!" at the beginning of each leg...

And also to see them run it in to the mat at the completion of each leg.

Miss Kristi was an excellent Phil. "Congratulations.  You are the seventh team to arrive."

As the race progressed, the banners hung in the lodge kept track of teams' scores.  There was plenty of math happening at lunch.

It was a fun weekend filled with great sportsmanship.  They all tried their very best to complete challenges and service projects correctly and efficiently with their teammates/new friends.  I was proud of all the girls, and the older girls who put on this event should be extremely proud of themselves.  

Well done, all!

Highs and Lows

This weekend, I took my girl scouts on a camping trip to Prescott.  We went to an established Girl Scout camp, slept in a cabin, and all meals were catered at the lodge as it was an encampment sponsored by our Purple Sage neighborhood.  The ladies who run these events do what they do very well.  They are troop leaders like me, but they care a whole lot more and do a whole lot more (at least as far as Girl Scouts is concerned).  While I do not aspire to be like them, I am grateful for them and their hard work because that means our girls simply sell lots of cookies so we can pay the registration fees for them to attend these well-organized, inspired, and insanely fun adventures.  I want to tell you all about it and I will.  Tomorrow.  For now, I want to take a moment to tell about the roller coaster of emotions I went through in a matter of hours regarding being the troop leader.

It makes me a nervous wreck thinking about getting three leaders, each with a carload of girls, to Prescott and back safely.  There's a lot to think about with all the planning, paperwork, and packing.

• Who goes in which car?
• These two girls don't get along so let's keep them separate.  
• She need to take her medicine at this, this, and this time.
• Remember to keep track of everyone's money for dinner on the way there.
• Don't forget to get the refund check for the mom who signed up but had to cancel.
• Does everyone have their water bottle at all times?  How about their whistles?

It's enough responsibility to make my head spin, and sometimes it does.  But I had it.  I had it all under control or delegated it out.  We had a little hiccup on stopping at the right place for dinner on Friday, so two cars met at Burger King and one went to Del Taco.  Not a big deal.  It doesn't matter.  No need to backtrack back to BK.  We'll see each other at camp.  We all made it on time, the girls had fun that night, we settled into our cabin and turned out the lights.

I lay there on my vinyl sleeping pad on the cabin floor thinking, This is great.  We made it here okay, the girls are having fun together, and I don't have to do anything but what the organizers tell me to do tomorrow.  The girls are doing the Amazing Race tomorrow, all activities are planned and they're awesome, and it's going to be the best experience ever.

Cue girl getting out of her sleeping bag, running to the bathroom, and throwing up several times.  

I lay there on my vinyl sleeping pad on the cabin floor thinking, This is horrible.  She's sick.  She has the stomach flu.  We're all stuck in this tiny little cabin with a germy bathroom.  Every girl is going to be throwing up by the end of the weekend.  I'm going to get sick.  The other two leaders will, too.  How are we going to drive home with the flu?  Everyone's going to be puking in the cars.  It will be a two-and-a-half-hour ride of vomit.

I get out of my bed and go to Susanna as she is technically our first aider.  "Susanna, ____ is throwing up in the bathroom.  What do we do?"  By then, the girl comes out and Susanna asks her if she's okay.  "Yes.  I just ate too many Doritos.  I forgot I can't do that.  I feel okay now."  And she was.  She went to sleep without any problems.

On Saturday, the race began and my assigned task was to walk around to the five different countries for each leg of the race and take photos of all the teams as they completed their tasks.  It was the best job I could have.  I basically hiked around the camp alone for five hours taking pretty nice photos with our new camera.  I'd  get the shots and then enjoy walking around, deeply inhaling the fragrant scent of the pines and relishing the cooler weather.  It was glorious.  So glorious I impulsively took a photo of myself...the only one of me from the entire weekend.  

I was happy.  So happy.  This is awesome!  The girls are having a ball, and I'm doing what I love!

After the race, our girls met up and were preparing skits for the after-dinner entertainment planned for that night.  They split up unevenly, girls felt left out, ideas weren't being listened to or respected, feelings were getting hurt, and I was so not happy.  Geez oh man.  Why can't they just treat each other the way they would want to be treated and get along?

Then they worked it out and things were good again.  We got ready for dinner.

Then the girl who ate too many Doritos the night before started to complain about her stomach being upset. It wasn't getting better, and to spare you the gory details, things got worse.  Finally I had to call her mother to come to pick her up.  Three hours later they were gone, and while the rest of the girls were at a dance party at the lodge I Lysoled every toilet, faucet, door knob, light switch, and anything else she could have touched.  I dragged her sleeping pads out into the dark night hoping the cold would kill any germs.  I wanted to air out the whole place, but we had been warned not to keep the doors open because of mice.  Oh this blows.  We're all going to be sick.  I hate this.  I hate this!  I didn't sleep the whole night.  I rested my body, but whenever anyone made a movement I was certain they weren't going to make it to the bathroom in time and I'd have a big mess to clean.  I was tense and anxious and anything but relaxed.

Thankfully, no one got sick and when I asked the girl's mother how she was doing today, she said she was feeling better.  Crossing fingers she recovers quickly and nothing spread to anyone else.

Although I love when the girls learn and have fun and get along, these highs and lows made me realize that this will definitely be my last year as troop leader.  Five years is a good run.  We've done a lot of cool and worthwhile activities from which our girls have learned a lot, but I'm a good leader only when things go right.  I don't have a decent crisis-mode.  Under pressure, I go straight to panic-mode.  That's no good.  God forbid something really bad happens.  The girls should have someone with better control, and I don't need this stress.  Let's start the leader search.  You interested?

Awkward Conversations

Have you ever had someone in your life with whom it's difficult to have a normal conversation?  Maybe it wasn't always that way.  Maybe things were once fine and natural and smooth, but then there's some sort of incident and from that point on nothing is fine.  Words fall out unnaturally and body language is anything but smooth.  You know life's too short for this and you miss your friend, but things will never be the same.  And it's really a shame because a friendship is lost.

I have this kind of person in my life.  Sometimes we walk past each other without a hello or even a glance.   We hardly see or speak to each other, but when we do it's as though each of us is only half-listening to the other because we're so worried about how we're reacting or what we're going to say next or wondering if there was something we were going to say or ask now that we have this chance.  Actually, I should speak only for myself.  That's what I do.  Then I do start talking and it's like an out-of-body experience.  I'm thinking to myself, What are you saying?  What are you doing?  It's mindless small-talk that means absolutely nothing, but because of the awkwardness I physically cannot make myself stop talking or walk away.  So I keep talking and my mind keeps reprimanding me for it so there's all this chatter going on in my head and out of my mouth, and by the time we part I think to myself, What just happened?  Sometimes I can't recall the conversation for days.  It's all such nonsense.

Then there are times when either bravery overcomes me or I simply feel like that's enough of this and I'm so over it, so I start asking about things that friends ask friends.  I'm not able to listen, though, because a thousand and one things are flying through my head and none are the answers to the questions I just asked.  This is what it's come to, and I don't think there's a fix.  I've tried.  It's just the way it is so nothing to do but live with it as gracefully as I possibly can.