I went, I ran, I survived

26.2 miles is really long. I think I realized this definitively in two waves. The first wave came this summer as I trained, running longer and longer distances in the entirely too hot summer morning hours of the desert. And the second wave came at about 18 miles into the race.

My baby sister and I ran the Top of Utah Marathon on Saturday. The race begins at Hardware Ranch in the mountains above Logan, Utah and winds its way through the mountains, finishing up at Central (Merlin Olsen) Park in downtown Logan, 26.2 miles later. It promised to be a cool and beautiful, descending race course, a sharp contrast to my hot, uphill and hotter desert runs all summer.

My sister and I get each other into these things. I can't really say she talked me into this one, though. We both thought it was a good idea. For me, the appeal of the marathon had three prongs: a chance to spend some time with my sister, a training goal culminating in achieving something noteworthy, and running all those miles would surely help my weight, right? Well, I did enjoy the time spent with my sister. Here's our before shot:



We got to stay at my great grandmother's home in downtown Logan, graciously offered to us by its current owner, my great aunt Maureen. I hadn't been in the house since Grandma Great passed away in 1993. Funny how it still smells the same and how many memories came flooding back to me as soon as I opened the door.

The race in the canyon was beautiful, cool and a relatively easy run, except that they were unable to close the canyon, so we had to run on the slanty sides of the road and my sister ended up with tendonitis as a result. Things got a little more difficult as we came into the little towns along the way and it got less scenic and less cool and I got more tired. By the end, I felt like a hamster on a wheel--totally running in place. But we finished, just barely, as is apparent by my deathly pallor in the after shot.


But we did finish. I think I have to agree with my sister: I'm looking forward to doing some other forms of exercise for a while, although the cooler fall temperatures blowing their way into town are making me feel much more favorably toward running again. I am continually amazed by how soothing temperate weather is to me in the throws of a hot desert summer. I am definitely seeing the merits in summer mountain living! Now if only my budget would accommodate such a thing.

Years ago, CE's shy friend had as her motto for the year "I can do hard things." For her, those hard things were giving a talk in church or otherwise being in front of people. Doing this marathon has been the latest in my list of following the same motto. I, too, can do hard things. Somehow it helps me, when faced with the latest emotional mountain to climb, to remind myself that if I did this hard thing, I can do more. Not a bad Saturday's work, I suppose.

Eight was a long time in coming

Or so Z believes. He has been waiting for the twin honors of baptism and scouts for a very long time. Because his birthday fell on a Wednesday and scouts is on a Wednesday, he had the distinct pleasure of attending scouts for the first time on his actual birthday and that's what he chose to do, even though it meant foregoing cake, ice cream and the bulk of his presents until Saturday when he would be baptized and more family would be in town. But then scouts was cancelled. Oh the horrors.

His cub scout leader (the head one, I'm really going to have to get up on the terminology) and the Primary President, knowing how much Z had been waiting and how crushed he would be, decided to have his intro to scouting meeting (showing us the cub handbook, etc) in the same time slot as actual scouts would have been had his actual leader (wolf?) not been out of town. So, he had his baptismal interview with Bishop Dad and then we talked scouts with his leaders and went home, having opened family presents that morning. It was probably the most uneventful kid birthday we've ever had.

Fast forward to the weekend. Some cousins, an aunt and uncle arrived late Thursday night. A set of grandparents and another aunt arrived on Friday. And then the insanity began. I made two birthday cakes (one for Z and one for my sister whose birthday is the day before Z's):



I think Z's request for a Bionicle cake ("Mom, just put the Bionicle on the cake") wins the award for easiest birthday cake ever.

We gathered all the necessary accoutrements and went to the stake center for Z's baptism where we were met by friends and family for this most special gateway event. I love that Z was so excited, he nearly jumped out of his skin on several occasions.


Z has made a charming transformation in the past little while into the most affectionate and polite of children. He wants so desperately to do the right thing. He understands what that right thing is most of the time and he battles his inability to always make the right choice. It is a testimony to me of the divine wisdom in defining the age of accountability as eight. This is the exact right time. He knows right from wrong and he wants to do right but in a few years, guile and hormones will begin to overtake his innocent desire for goodness and without the blessings of the Holy Ghost, he (like all of us) would be lost.

These first eight years of his life have flown so quickly by. The world has literally changed since he was born just nine days before 9/11. It will likely seem like mere moments before he is receiving the Aaronic Priesthood, going off to college, a mission and being a grown up. I can hardly imagine what these transformations will look or feel like or how swiftly the roller coaster ride will be. Hold on to your hats!

What a Kid

Finally the long awaited day arrived. After an entire week in which every single time Bam asked if it was his turn to go to school, the answer was no, Tuesday dawned and it was Bam's turn too.



He picked his cool clothes, shod himself in his "exercise shoes" (why they are "exercise shoes" I don't know. He told his teacher that's what they are for. Last year he had jumping shoes. Sneakers: fodder for a fertile boy imagination), grabbed his backpack and threw out a final question as to why he didn't need a thermos for preschool and we were off. I worried that he would be reticent. This is the kid who didn't decide that nursery was okay until some time long after his second birthday.


So, we arrived at school. Isn't his teacher a beautiful lady? She's also the world's best preschool teacher, in addition to being a kickin early morning seminary teacher AND the stake president's wife (when I grow up, I want to be her!)


And mere seconds after the above picture was taken and he had accepted the obligatory good bye hug and kiss, he RAN into school with the glee I hope he never loses. School should always be this highly anticipated.

After school, there was a slight misunderstanding about the exact timing of his eligibility for treasure box. He had watched older siblings bring home coveted treasure box trinkets for years and he was so excited for his turn, that he seems to have glossed over the whole "fill up your whole sticker chart with good behavior and then earn treasure box" part of the deal. He adapted eventually.

And sadly, this first day was his only day at school this week. He has nursed an ugly cough off and on since then, particularly on during the hours between 2 and 4 in the morning, causing him to be asleep when school should begin. We'll try again next week.