"WHAT is FUN about this?"
I train for the Ragnar Relay experience because I know that the more prepared my body is for the abuse the less miserable it will be.
That is my motivation--to make it "less miserable".
I ask: "WHAT is FUN about that?"
As a consequence of the passing days the miles pounded accumulate and the time of the carnage is palpable. At this time I get nervous. Sick to my stomach nervous. Can't eat, sleep, or be productive nervous. If I am not running the only thought going through my head is: "I should be running, #*@*" (yes, that last part is an expletive). And to top it off my body is constantly sore. Either a muscle, a knee, a blister, the list goes on and on.
Once again, "WHAT is FUN about that?"
During the Race I push past any limits my body has already set. I run and it is not that exhilarating, renewing type of run that I love. Somehow it is different. More of a panic--a panic "can I finish this" run. I ride in a car for a crazy amount of time. I ride in a car with 5 other runners whose bodies are like mine: sore, exhausted, stinky and sick. I drink an unusually high volume of fluid--some of which I have to choke down because of taste and texture. As a result of the previous statement I am continually looking for a bathroom so I can pee clear. I force feed myself--knowing that I need the calories for my upcoming run, but also feeling a complete tightness in my stomach that begs to be left alone. I close my eyes (this does not count for sleep) for 1-2 hours at a time as I am laying in a parking lot or on a field of a elementary school.
I Run. Drive. Sleep? REPEAT X3.
All of this last for about 30 hours. 30 straight hours. No breaks.
"What is FUN about that?"
After the race I can walk--barely. It is more of a hobble. Sitting down to eliminate all the fluid I drank is almost untolerable. All of my leg muscles are screaming and unforgiving for my past behavior. I am unable to stomach food. I am exhausted. My head is literally too heavy. I am so sleepy that it is hard to go to sleep. Once I fall asleep--I pass out. There is no reviving me--unless of course I have to pee again. Which is a huge pain! I won't even comment on how emotionally tired I am and the consequence of that. Okay--one word: Unstable!
I beg: "What is FUN about that?"
Maybe the answer is that it is NOT FUN. It is different than FUN.
It is sweet. I am unable to describe the high I get from accomplishing this goal. And to be able to do it with the 5 other members of your van makes it even more wonderful. It multiplies the experience.
I am proud of my showing at this Ragnar Relay. I ran harded and faster than I ever have. I am even more proud of my van-mates showing. They did the impossible in my eyes and they did it with great courage.
What an experience! It may not have been fun, but it was so worth it!
Monday, October 12, 2009
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Mane Event
What is it about humans--I believe mostly of the female variety, that place such importance on the outward appearance? Why must the value of a woman be measured by the size of the dress, shape of the eyebrows, length of the legs, or beauty of her hair?
And, a more important question might be--do we as women do this to each other, or do we just do it to ourselves? I hear many a female complain about this or that in relation to their appearance that I too have noticed on them, but unlike them, have not seen it as an imperfection but just a difference--and this difference makes them simply different--beautiful even.
Regan has beautiful hair. It is long, thick, and blonde. She is known for this long, thick mane. She hears all the time how beautiful her hair is--it is uncommon for her to show up anywhere when someone does not comment on it. It has become an important part of her outward appearance--I dare say even her inward value. Did her peers/friends place this perception on her, did I do it as her mother, or did she do it herself?
Today Regan cried over her hair.
As she was weeping the words were muttered: "Isn't this silly, it is just hair, it will grow back!"
Yesterday Regan went to school with this hair:
Today after school she looked like this:
Then she did this:
Now her hair looks like this:
Regan was brave and cut off her beautiful mane. Brave in the fact that so much of her identity was confused with her hair.
Even with the shorter "do" Regan is still sweet and fiery, smart and innocent, loving and sassy--she is still Regan!
Wouldn't it be a great if we valued our differences--or imperfections as much as we value the optimal?
I love Regan's hair even more now, but that is how a mother is--my favorite "do" will be the one she is sporting in the present time--short or long, straight or curly--the one she has when I see her first thing in the morning, or the one she has when she is loving her brothers, or the one she has when she crosses the finish line of her races, or the one she has when she is sitting across from me at the dinner table retracing her day for me.
Why can't we all look through our Mother's eyes and value ourselves--not our appearance?
For the record, her disappointment in her hair was short lasted. She stated to me right before I dropped her off at XC practice after the cut: "Mom, this wasn't about the hair, it is all about running, that is why I did it." Then she trotted off to join her team.
To follow tradition the girls on the XC team cut their hair before Regionals that they run today. The boys shaved their legs--funny that Alec is not missing his leg hair as much as Regan is missing her blonde locks.
On the plus side: Locks For Love will recieve a substantial donation from Regan. Maybe her hair can help some other girl feel better about herself. Hmmm....
And, a more important question might be--do we as women do this to each other, or do we just do it to ourselves? I hear many a female complain about this or that in relation to their appearance that I too have noticed on them, but unlike them, have not seen it as an imperfection but just a difference--and this difference makes them simply different--beautiful even.
Regan has beautiful hair. It is long, thick, and blonde. She is known for this long, thick mane. She hears all the time how beautiful her hair is--it is uncommon for her to show up anywhere when someone does not comment on it. It has become an important part of her outward appearance--I dare say even her inward value. Did her peers/friends place this perception on her, did I do it as her mother, or did she do it herself?
Today Regan cried over her hair.
As she was weeping the words were muttered: "Isn't this silly, it is just hair, it will grow back!"
Yesterday Regan went to school with this hair:
Today after school she looked like this:
Then she did this:
Now her hair looks like this:
Regan was brave and cut off her beautiful mane. Brave in the fact that so much of her identity was confused with her hair.
Even with the shorter "do" Regan is still sweet and fiery, smart and innocent, loving and sassy--she is still Regan!
Wouldn't it be a great if we valued our differences--or imperfections as much as we value the optimal?
I love Regan's hair even more now, but that is how a mother is--my favorite "do" will be the one she is sporting in the present time--short or long, straight or curly--the one she has when I see her first thing in the morning, or the one she has when she is loving her brothers, or the one she has when she crosses the finish line of her races, or the one she has when she is sitting across from me at the dinner table retracing her day for me.
Why can't we all look through our Mother's eyes and value ourselves--not our appearance?
For the record, her disappointment in her hair was short lasted. She stated to me right before I dropped her off at XC practice after the cut: "Mom, this wasn't about the hair, it is all about running, that is why I did it." Then she trotted off to join her team.
To follow tradition the girls on the XC team cut their hair before Regionals that they run today. The boys shaved their legs--funny that Alec is not missing his leg hair as much as Regan is missing her blonde locks.
On the plus side: Locks For Love will recieve a substantial donation from Regan. Maybe her hair can help some other girl feel better about herself. Hmmm....
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Killer Conversation OR Conversation Killer
William is just shy of being 3.5 years old. He started doing this right around the time he turned 3--so almost 6 months now.
Mom: "William, its time to go get something for breakfast."
Will: "Why, why, why?" (He seems to stutter when he asks why--as a matter of fact one time Austin counted up to 15 "why"s before Will actually asked the question.)
Mom: "Because you haven't had anything to eat since last night and I bet your tummy is hungry."
Will: "Why?"
Mom: "Because your body used up all the food you ate last night so it could grow strong."
Will: "Why?"
Mom: (at this point I figure I can either delve into the Kreb's Cycle with him and explore how the body uses calories....OR I can resort to the old standby, which is what I do this time--with my fingers crossed) "BECAUSE! Now lets go upstairs and eat."
Will: (This is the word I have been waiting for) "Alright." (Not only is the tone of the word priceless as well as the body language that comes with it, but it finally means that THAT conversation can end.)
Sometimes the "Why, why, why" can go on until it cycles itself around again--where the answer actually becomes the question. Sometimes the "whys" just have to end in the "Because" statement, follow up by "Arghh! BECAUSE I SAID SO!". Sometimes he NEVER--no matter how many times a answer has been given, will voice the "alright", but SOMETIMES--in a truly rare, delicious moment, after only asking "why" once will he utter the end: "ALRIGHT".
Before I hear how this is how he learns and that being curious is such a "good thing", I ask you: Have you been asked "WHY?" you do everything and anything ALL day long?
Tell me again when we hit that "girl crazy, car crashing, no homework doing" phase--the one where they don't ask "Why?" (because they already know the answer). I am READY for it!
**I am mostly just kidding, I love (no, not really love--um...find amusing) this phase. It is great to see him learn and explore everything. It is even more fun to see Alec, Regan, and Austin answer his constant questioning. They spend a lot of time and effort to satisfy his curious nature. **
(Yes Leslie, you do have it recorded--it is labled: William July 2009. You just don't want to take the time to upload it.)
Mom: "William, its time to go get something for breakfast."
Will: "Why, why, why?" (He seems to stutter when he asks why--as a matter of fact one time Austin counted up to 15 "why"s before Will actually asked the question.)
Mom: "Because you haven't had anything to eat since last night and I bet your tummy is hungry."
Will: "Why?"
Mom: "Because your body used up all the food you ate last night so it could grow strong."
Will: "Why?"
Mom: (at this point I figure I can either delve into the Kreb's Cycle with him and explore how the body uses calories....OR I can resort to the old standby, which is what I do this time--with my fingers crossed) "BECAUSE! Now lets go upstairs and eat."
Will: (This is the word I have been waiting for) "Alright." (Not only is the tone of the word priceless as well as the body language that comes with it, but it finally means that THAT conversation can end.)
Sometimes the "Why, why, why" can go on until it cycles itself around again--where the answer actually becomes the question. Sometimes the "whys" just have to end in the "Because" statement, follow up by "Arghh! BECAUSE I SAID SO!". Sometimes he NEVER--no matter how many times a answer has been given, will voice the "alright", but SOMETIMES--in a truly rare, delicious moment, after only asking "why" once will he utter the end: "ALRIGHT".
Before I hear how this is how he learns and that being curious is such a "good thing", I ask you: Have you been asked "WHY?" you do everything and anything ALL day long?
Tell me again when we hit that "girl crazy, car crashing, no homework doing" phase--the one where they don't ask "Why?" (because they already know the answer). I am READY for it!
**I am mostly just kidding, I love (no, not really love--um...find amusing) this phase. It is great to see him learn and explore everything. It is even more fun to see Alec, Regan, and Austin answer his constant questioning. They spend a lot of time and effort to satisfy his curious nature. **
(Yes Leslie, you do have it recorded--it is labled: William July 2009. You just don't want to take the time to upload it.)
Monday, August 3, 2009
While some things remain the SAME......
Bear Lake 2009 happened without pictures taken this year (our camera was lost--until we came home and Ryan remembered where he had "put it away"). In a way, it seems as if I could just use pictures from the last time we were there (2008), or even the time before that (2007), or really any other year. It seems as if not much has changed.
I (and now we) have been camping in the same little canyon for 30 years with little variation to the original camping trip.
After my little brother died (Cody, 2 years old), and we had dealt with all the tangible things you have to deal with, my Dad packed us up and took us camping. He took us to St. Charles Canyon where we would return year after year. (We would be camping on the anniversary of Cody's Birthday/day he died/my Birthday--but as a child I never put this together, I think this was a good way for my parents to deal with this day).
And now we return year after year. We still take rice krispie treats, graham cracker cookies and homemade strawberry jam. We still play hours and hours of card games. We still make a daily voyage down to the lake with blow up toys. We still wash our hair in the freezing cold mountain water. We still use the same red table cloths (that my Mom made to fit the picnic tables at the campground). We still sit around the campfire and talk for hours into the night while watching the stars. We still hike.
My Granddad would often take me for a hike. I loved hiking with him, he would sing some crazy songs and tell me some even crazier stories and we would just enjoy each others company and our surroundings. In 1981 we reached the top of the mountain that we spent so much time hiking. I don't know what Gramps reasoning was, but he gathered a bunch of rocks and started to make a big solid rock pile. Gramps had picked up an old plastic soda bottle (Coke to be exact) off the trail on our way up. He tore the wrapper off of it and on the backside wrote:
July 9-1981
Leslie Austin
Les Austin
Then he rolled it up, tied a piece of grass around it and put it in the bottle. He buried this bottle in the rock pile. Then we started down the mountain. I don't remember if I told anyone of that at the time, but the next year we returned to the same spot and dug out the bottle, as we would do year after year.
Of course the hikers would change, in 1982 Brian's (brother) and Eric's (cousin) names appeared next to mine and Gramp's. My Dad's first trek up there was in 1983. Sometime we used scraps of paper found on the trail or out of someone's pocket, once we used a comic strip, another year is a wedding invitation (Eric and Stephanie's), my favorite is a piece of paper out of the notebook that we were keeping score of a Rook game on (yes, Gramps and I won!).
A few years ago, instead of leaving the names in the bottle on top of the mountain, I carried them back. I have them in my drawer now, with the intent to return them to the bottle once I had photo copied them.
This year we took the hike up the mountain. (By the way, this is an awful hike, straight up--never a break, fallen trees over the so called trail, and lots of nasty bugs. When I was a teenager I called it a Rambo Run, NOT a hike.)
This is where the picture would have to be a new one. The rock pile no longer stands. It seems as if nature has finally triumphed over Gramp's monument. We found the fallen tree that it was built next to, we even found some of the rocks, but it was clear that the rock pile had slid down the mountain.
In the immediate years following my Father's and Grandad's deaths I was worried that I would be crushed if nature took my "bottle". But I am glad to report no such thing. It was an amazing time with amazing memories. And luckily I have the bottle and all the year's messages (except for maybe a 1 or 2 of the most recent years) tucked away safe and sound at home.
Life changes.
We have added to the fun up St. Charles Canyon. We have an all day beach day and go like crazy on the wave-runners. We hike to the "mossy place". We play hide and seek when it gets dark (and scary). We eat chili and scones and make bad jokes about eating beans. We play Hearts. We have added new people to the family (I hope Tim had fun!). We eat smores, and more smores, and more smores.
We left a new bottle this year--a plastic water bottle. Maybe next year we will add our names.
I (and now we) have been camping in the same little canyon for 30 years with little variation to the original camping trip.
After my little brother died (Cody, 2 years old), and we had dealt with all the tangible things you have to deal with, my Dad packed us up and took us camping. He took us to St. Charles Canyon where we would return year after year. (We would be camping on the anniversary of Cody's Birthday/day he died/my Birthday--but as a child I never put this together, I think this was a good way for my parents to deal with this day).
And now we return year after year. We still take rice krispie treats, graham cracker cookies and homemade strawberry jam. We still play hours and hours of card games. We still make a daily voyage down to the lake with blow up toys. We still wash our hair in the freezing cold mountain water. We still use the same red table cloths (that my Mom made to fit the picnic tables at the campground). We still sit around the campfire and talk for hours into the night while watching the stars. We still hike.
My Granddad would often take me for a hike. I loved hiking with him, he would sing some crazy songs and tell me some even crazier stories and we would just enjoy each others company and our surroundings. In 1981 we reached the top of the mountain that we spent so much time hiking. I don't know what Gramps reasoning was, but he gathered a bunch of rocks and started to make a big solid rock pile. Gramps had picked up an old plastic soda bottle (Coke to be exact) off the trail on our way up. He tore the wrapper off of it and on the backside wrote:
July 9-1981
Leslie Austin
Les Austin
Then he rolled it up, tied a piece of grass around it and put it in the bottle. He buried this bottle in the rock pile. Then we started down the mountain. I don't remember if I told anyone of that at the time, but the next year we returned to the same spot and dug out the bottle, as we would do year after year.
Of course the hikers would change, in 1982 Brian's (brother) and Eric's (cousin) names appeared next to mine and Gramp's. My Dad's first trek up there was in 1983. Sometime we used scraps of paper found on the trail or out of someone's pocket, once we used a comic strip, another year is a wedding invitation (Eric and Stephanie's), my favorite is a piece of paper out of the notebook that we were keeping score of a Rook game on (yes, Gramps and I won!).
A few years ago, instead of leaving the names in the bottle on top of the mountain, I carried them back. I have them in my drawer now, with the intent to return them to the bottle once I had photo copied them.
This year we took the hike up the mountain. (By the way, this is an awful hike, straight up--never a break, fallen trees over the so called trail, and lots of nasty bugs. When I was a teenager I called it a Rambo Run, NOT a hike.)
This is where the picture would have to be a new one. The rock pile no longer stands. It seems as if nature has finally triumphed over Gramp's monument. We found the fallen tree that it was built next to, we even found some of the rocks, but it was clear that the rock pile had slid down the mountain.
In the immediate years following my Father's and Grandad's deaths I was worried that I would be crushed if nature took my "bottle". But I am glad to report no such thing. It was an amazing time with amazing memories. And luckily I have the bottle and all the year's messages (except for maybe a 1 or 2 of the most recent years) tucked away safe and sound at home.
Life changes.
We have added to the fun up St. Charles Canyon. We have an all day beach day and go like crazy on the wave-runners. We hike to the "mossy place". We play hide and seek when it gets dark (and scary). We eat chili and scones and make bad jokes about eating beans. We play Hearts. We have added new people to the family (I hope Tim had fun!). We eat smores, and more smores, and more smores.
We left a new bottle this year--a plastic water bottle. Maybe next year we will add our names.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
My bro THINKS he is funny
It was my birthday yesterday. And like usual this kind of event inspires my brother.
He is a bit like my mother with his dramatic writing flare and then mixed in with that is the same sense of humor that my Dad and his Dad (my gramps)had--he just doesn't have the years experience they had to fine tune it--but he is getting there--he is OLD for his age! NICE TRY BRIAN.
http://briansmisadventures.blogspot.com/
He is a bit like my mother with his dramatic writing flare and then mixed in with that is the same sense of humor that my Dad and his Dad (my gramps)had--he just doesn't have the years experience they had to fine tune it--but he is getting there--he is OLD for his age! NICE TRY BRIAN.
http://briansmisadventures.blogspot.com/
Saturday, July 11, 2009
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