Honeybird

The punk and I saw a baby robin hanging out on the railroad ties in our backyard, waiting for its mama to deliver the delicious worm that was dangling from her beak. When she flew into some long vines and he hopped over and joined her, we walked outside to see them. Mama Bird had chosen her hiding place wisely, however, and we couldn't find them. But as we were investigating, another creature took notice and started humming over our heads. A tiny, whirring hummingbird hovered directly over us, then sped off at various angles to check us out. When she figured we weren't dangerous (I guess), she zoomed to a branch directly overhead and landed in her tiny nest. I had never seen a hummingbird nest before! Have you?

The punk calls it a "honeybird."

Sunsets and Palm Trees and Sand. Oh My!

My man, our punk, and I recently vacationed on the beautiful island of Maui with his parents and brother. It was a week of fun, relaxation, sun, food, luxury, and missing our basher boy, but being very relieved we didn't have to attempt those flights with an energetic one year-old. My man golfed, snorkled, and sunned. My punk played all day in the pool and on the beach. I enjoyed the flower-scented air, running on the beach, and an 80-minute beach-side massage. We all spent almost every minute in our swim suits. I even enjoyed Mother's Day at Cheeseburger in Paradise, and my 9th wedding anniversary at Pineapple Grill. Can life get any better? I submit that it can not!

Here are some of my favorite shots of the week. Backwards. (If you demand chronological order, you may begin at the bottom of the page.)

We celebrated our 9th anniversary in paradise.

Punk's first rainbow! Ever since his primary class talked about rainbows, he has hoped to see one. Maui makes dreams come true.

My man joined his little bro for a scuba refresher course and a short dive.

That's his mom and brother in his right eye and his dream babe in his left.

My man and his dad enjoyed two days of golf at Kapalua.

The punk partied hard every day, then crashed hard every night.

Exploring the streets of Lahaina

Kapalua Bay

Crackers for the punk and Grandma Lynn

Gearing up at Snorkel Bob's

I'm pretty sure I ate onion rings every day in Hawaii.

Mother's Day brunch at Cheeseburger in Paradise.

Mother's Day: ready for church!

12of12: May (Saturday)

Every month on the 12th, I take 12 photos to document my day. It is now one week later and we are all recuperating from last night's red-eye flight home from Maui. Last week, our vacation was just beginning:

1. We said goodbye to the basher. He spent the week with Grandma Caryn, Papa Andy, Aunt Rachel, Uncle Jacob, and various friends. 2. Checking in. 3. Cafe Rio at the SLC airport. 4. The punk was a great sport on the plane. He played games, watched movies, and spelled words with his new alphabet cards from Grandma Lynn. 5. Honolulu Airport. So close, but so far away. 6. Aloha! 7. Landing! 8. Our first glimpse of Maui 9. Hello palm trees! 10. Punk, meet the ocean. Ocean, Punk. 11. Frivolity at sunset 12. Goodnight, paradise.

Trying

I'm trying to accept the fact that I didn't lose one pound in my 186 miles of recent training + 13.1 miles of racing. My body performed well and I set a new personal record. Isn't that enough? It will have to be.

I refuse to diet. I don't believe in diets in the long run. I know many people who have had great success on diets, temporary or enduring. But I would rather eat my own arm than count calories or fat grams or food points. So, with the guidance of a book called Intuitive Eating, I am trying to eat healthy foods when I'm hungry, stop when I'm not. Simple. (But still not easy.)

I took a week off after running the Hollywood Half, and that week turned into two. So I decided that, since I'm not particularly interested in registering for another race anytime soon, and I can't see a way to make regular gym visits work with my schedule, I am going to start and complete the P90X program. Two days down, eighty-eight to go, and I can't move my arms. Laughing hurts. The basher sat on my face today and it took me much, much longer than it should have to escape. I am trying to be happy and enthusiastic about getting up early every morning to complete my workout before my man goes to work.

My great-grandmother's 98th birthday is on Sunday. I'm trying to prepare my house for her party.

Little Sis is about to complete her first year of college at Southern Virginia University. I am trying to contain my excitement. She will spend the summer at home. I see a Downton Abbey marathon, frequent giggle fests, and a few family vacations in our immediate future, along with our favorite holiday: Sister Day.

I am trying to be more patient, more productive, and more positive.

And how about you? What are you trying to do?

12of12: April (Thursday)

1. Making garlic parmesan breadsticks at 8 am. 2. Hot chocolate in my new mug. The boys had bagels and bananas in addition to sips of my beverage. 3. The punk tried to steal a breadstick while I was wrapping them up to take to our play date. 4. Friends! 5. I love rainy days. 6. I took a break from folding laundry to read a few books with my little buddy after his quiet time. 7. Smiley after nap. 8. The rain turned to snow this afternoon. 9. Four piano students. 10. Leftovers. 11. We danced while I sang I've Been Workin' On The Railroad... over and over again. 12. Bedtime routine with Dad, who flew home today.

Hollywood Half: The Vacation

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

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

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

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

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

[He speaks animatedly and tells great stories.]

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

Hollywood Half: The Race

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mile 13: Me.

The last 0.1 mile: God.

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

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

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

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

The Hill.

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

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

I did.

2:04:50.2