Maybe it was because I didn’t train enough. Not enough uphills, not enough down. Not enough two-a-days. Not enough long runs.

Or maybe it is simply that I showered between my second and my third runs, something I’ve never done before. Maybe the salty crust of sweat made by two runs twelve hours apart is something sacred, a protection against exhaustion during the third.

Maybe I am just getting old.

But when I started my third Ragnar leg, I felt something I rarely do: very nearly completely spent.

This is the fourth time I’ve run the beginning of this route (the first two years it was the same, but the end part changed both last year and this), so I know what it feels like: a rough mile of steep rolling hills, just enough on tired legs to make the long downhill (sometimes six miles, sometimes seven, sometimes nine) feel like relief. Like flying.

I managed the first mile, even though I was tired, because I knew what was coming, the way it feels when you get to the crest of a hill, and then start down: still tired, but then invigorated.

Except this time, the invigoration didn’t come.

There was no flying.

But it’s just downhill, I kept telling my legs. Let’s go!

“Just” downhill or not—my legs just didn’t have anything left. I started to get an image in my mind of my muscles being like honeycomb, and nearly every ounce of golden honey I had left was drained in the first uphill mile. Now the empty cells started filling up with pain, which is the color of vodka in a clear glass.

I have never, ever felt this. My muscles were getting sore while I was running. I know some of the chemistry behind it, the glycogen depletion and the burning of fat instead of sugars and the conversion of glucose to lactic acid. But to actually feel it happening? I can’t explain how it felt. My quads and hamstrings quivered with every step I took, my iliotibial bands were a chemical fire, my soleus burned. But it was more than just the depleted muscles; down to my innermost self I was awash in exhaustion.

I wish I could say I pushed through it and stayed strong.

I did everything in my power to keep running. I got water from the water stations and ate a Blok at each one. I sang out loud. I talked to the very few other runners I could find (although for most of the leg there was almost no one around me). I didn’t let any negative self-talk enter my mind; I encouraged myself gently, and then firmly, and then maybe it slid into cajoling.

I didn’t want to stop running. But when I hit the steep uphill at nearly four miles, my body overrode my mind. Much as I encouraged my legs to keep running, they refused. There was no more amber energy left and I, I confess: walked the hill. I started running again at the top, but there was something in that walk that broke me, and the last five miles? They are their own story.

Today I am sore. I was already sore yesterday so I knew today would be bad. But what is bothering me the most isn’t my twingy thighs and achy shoulders (I still haven’t figured out why my shoulders hurt from running). It is that thing in me that broke when I stopped running, which is like a note I can’t read because it was written by bees. I don’t know how to answer when people have asked me, “Oh! How did Ragnar go?” Because there isn’t a word for those last ten miles, for the way I discovered that “hitting the wall” isn’t like an impact. It is a shove, and then a slide, into a place that isn’t benign but is still deeply, painfully human. I don’t want that feeling to be my strongest memory of Ragnar (which I’m not certain I’ll run again); I also don’t want to forget. Because while I didn’t run my entire last 9.8 miles, I did move through them, sometimes singing, sometimes cursing, sometimes nearly weeping, and while I didn’t do it with grace, I still did it: traversed the interior landscape without honey.

I finished.

Ragnar Wasatch Back is this week! I’m feeling alternatively ready and not ready. Between the cold that knocked me out for ten days at the end of May, various kid- and husband-related things that messed with my schedule, and my vacation, I haven’t put in as many miles as I perhaps should have. I did run every day on my trip, but all but one of the runs was on sand. I’ve been really sore after the runs I’ve done at home, readjusting to hitting the actual pavement.

You should bring your sister with you!

Plus I need new shoes, and I’ve decided that the blister-risk from my old ones is less than the blister-and-these-aren’t-quite-right risk of new ones.

And I haven’t found anything cute to wear.

That last one is weighing on me. It’s probably silly. But I like to wear something new at a race. And I’ve looked everywhere, at all my usual shopping spots, but I’ve got nothing. Probably this is the universe telling me to buck up and wear something I already own. It just feels a little bit sad.

Anyway.

I’ve been meaning to put together a list of things that are good to bring to a relay race like Ragnar. A checklist of stuff you won’t find in the race bible, but things I’ve been glad I had. Or wished I had!

1. A blanket. I’m putting this on the top because it might just be the most important thing. The first time I ran Ragnar I thought, I have my sleeping bag, that’s all I’ll need. And I did use it when we slept for a few hours at one of the exchanges. But during the random times I wanted to get some sleep in the van, it was harder to fall asleep without a blanket. Plus, when you are getting in and out of the van for the night legs, it’s nice to have to throw around yourself.
2. Three different sets of running clothes. Even sports bra and undies. Nay—especially running bra. To me, there’s nothing more miserable than sitting around in a sweat-damp sports bra. It invariably gives me the shivers, even if I’m standing outside in the sun. Plus it just starts to feel…icky. It is amazing how much cleaner you feel just putting on clean, dry clothes.
3. Something salty to snack on. I’m sort of picky about what I eat at Ragnar (also, when I eat…I stop putting anything but water into my body three hours before my next run, and then I stop drinking two hours before; this helps me to avoid honey bucket stops when I’m running, as well as an unhappy belly) because I don’t want to get an upset stomach. I bring nuts, protein bars and shakes, and something chocolate. The first year, that was all I brought. But I’ve learned you need some salt. So: cheese slices. Cheezit crackers. Deli meat.
4. The closest thing you can get to your usual post-run meal. When I finish running, I make myself a protein shake with frozen fruit, milk, protein powder, and a dash of orange juice. (The OJ is essential! It cuts in the sweetness of the fruit and balances the flavor of the protein powder, which to me is sometimes overwhelming.) As I can’t pack my Blendtek in the Ragnar van, instead I just buy some Muscle Milk protein shakes. My body expects that boost of protein after working hard, and especially knowing that I’m going to make it work hard again really, really soon, I make sure it gets it.
5. A finish-line snack. This is especially important if you are runner 11, because you’ll finish your last leg and then go to the finish line. Where you’ll wait for your last runner. Where you’ll be pretty exhausted. Despite whatever fuel I take in during that last run, my blood sugar is always low, and I’ve always felt like crap at the finish line. This year I’m going to make sure I have something to keep snacking on while we are waiting, in the hope that I don’t feel shaky and nauseous and dizzy.
6. Running fuel. I like Cliff Bloks. You will get some sort of running fuel in your goodie bag; the past two Ragnars, they’ve included some Double Expresso Clif Shots. Those happen to be the only Shots I can stomach (because they taste and feel more like caramel, whereas the others feel like fruit-flavored snot to me), so I felt lucky! But don’t count on the goodie bag. Bring what you usually use, and then use them. You’ll be asking a lot of your body. Give it something back. Eat early in your run and eat often.
7. Flip flops or some other non-running-shoe shoes. Between each leg, I like to give my sweaty shoes a chance to dry out and my feet to breathe. Plus, if you have flip flops on, you can be barefoot in the van and then just slip them on when you go out to swap runners.
8. A headband. Or two. Or even three. You’ll likely be running in the heat, and the best thing I’ve found to cool myself off is the wet headband. At every water table, I grab two waters, one for me to drink, the other to douse my headband in. Ahhh!
9. Comfy clothes. Especially after your night run, it is so nice to slip into something comfortable and loose. Bring a jacket and sweats—or a long, stretchy skirt. I know, a skirt at a race? But it gives you a surprising lift to feel a little bit pretty, even when you’re stinky and have that crusty residue of sweat everywhere.
10. First aid stuff. Take it from me: do not rely on the first aid tent. (I’m still annoyed at how rude, condescending, and careless the medic was at the first aid tent I went to after my fall last year. Aside from the fact that he pushed my no-one-calls-me-a-wimp buttons, he did not clean out my wounds like he should have, and by the time I got to a different tent with actual kind people in it, they couldn’t get all of the dirt out, so my scars are extra-ugly.) Bring bandages, neo, gauze, medical tape, and athletic tape. An entire roll of athletic tape, just in case. The first aid tents sometimes run out of stuff.

Have you run a relay race before? What do you bring that you couldn’t live without?

feeling a complicated swirl of emotions: the old feeling that I missed a choice somewhere and there is something I'm not doing that I was supposed to; a sort of embarrassment about the average-ness of my life; anxiety over teenagers (which continues to manifest itself in terrifying dreams, none of which has involved the sheer terror of missing fingers); pride over teenagers; frustrated that changes I want to happen just simply aren't happening but I don't know how to make them happen.

thinking quite a bit about my faith. I have a sudden flurry of doubts and questions and uncertainties and annoyances. I haven't felt this way about being a Mormon since I was a teenager.

planning for our upcoming hike in Yosemite (I won a spot in the lottery to hike Half Dome!) by doing a lot of hiking. Not hikes that have a goal—not to a peak or a waterfall or an overlook—but just for time. I feel like I'm getting stronger in different ways.

missing the days on my trip when I got to be with Haley. And my mom. And my sister. Undoubtedly the trip has left me with a slight ache, because things were so calm and gentle. Sometimes my life feels exactly the opposite of that.

peeling, but just on my shoulders.

realizing that while I always feel like I don't gain weight on my face, I do—because when I start running longer distances, the (very tiny bit of) weight I am able to lose comes off of my face (the other part? my chest. Where I never gain anything. Sweetness.) I was putting in my contacts this morning and saw that I have my summer face on. A little bit sharper angles.

dealing with my new contact routine. I've worn the same kind of contacts for so long I can't even remember when I started: the kind that you put in for an entire month without ever taking them out (even for sleeping). I never had any problems with them until this spring, when I started developing Zombie Eye all the time. Finally the eye doctor figured out that I've developed a sensitivity to regular saline. So now I have to used this special stuff that requires six hours to neutralize. Which means I can't sleep in my contacts anymore. This is nearly untenable...but I'm really trying to deal. And/or saving money so I can finally just get my eyes fixed.

sleeping poorly. This always happens to me after a trip; my sleeping psyche gets all confused, so I wake up at night thinking, in my head, that I am in my hotel room but seeing, with my eyes, my real bedroom. The first night I was home, I got out of bed because I was stressed about the "hotel" door being open, and then I freaked out because I thought the carpet in our bedroom was sandy water, and the ocean had gotten in. (Freaked out like...I woke Kendell up and he had to talk me down.) Last night I just thought my mom was in the bed with me, instead of Kendell, and I couldn't figure out when she started snoring! This will taper off in a few more days.

reading nothing. I just (today!) finished Dreams of Gods and Monsters. I haven't decided what to read next.

hoping my legs will be strong enough for Ragnar this weekend. That I've trained enough and that I just don't fall.

trying to know what the best advice for my mom is. She needs to decide whether or not to have a surgery to repair her scoliosis. 33% of people who have this surgery (which requires about two months of hospital/rehab stay) receive no pain relief. I know the pain from her back is sapping her spirit, because it forces her to not do much, and what is life if you can't go outside for a walk or to water your flowers? But I'm also, I confess, terrified because I know the chances of surgery complications increase with her age. I wish I could fix it for her somehow. Or help her to know for sure what she should do.

needing to get my hair colored and cut, a pedicure, and an eyebrow wax. I will definitely do the eyebrow wax this week!

What's happening in your world this lovely summer Sunday?

I put this list together for a class I taught in church a few months ago. It's a list of hikes that would be good for families. There is a wide variety of hikes, some longer, some shorter, some steep, some flat. They are all trails I've hiked. (I didn't realize just how much hiking I've done until I put this together!) If I've missed any trails that you know of, let me know! I am definitely not an expert, just sharing what I know.

Some friends have asked me for it, so I'm sharing it on my blog.

You can download a PDF here: Download Hiking trails north utah county short

Or, here's just the text of the list (after the picture, which is from the Squaw Peak Summit trail). Happy hiking!

Rock Canyon Campground. This is the longest hike on this list: round trip of 5.6 miles. But it isn’t too steep, it is shady almost all the way, and there are plenty of places to stop and rest.

Get there: Rock Canyon Trailhead, just above the Provo Temple.

Y Trail. Everyone who’s hiked this knows: it’s steep! But not impossible, even for small children. Just stop to rest often. There are eleven switchbacks.

Get there: Start out heading east on 820 North in Provo. You will pass Kiwanis Park on the left. After about 3 blocks, you will pass Locust Lane. The road (820 N) will then curve to the north and become Oakmont Lane. Take the first right (it's at the top of a small rise). This road will immediately fork into 1450 East on the left and Oak Cliff Drive on the right. Turn right onto Oak Cliff Drive, and follow the road up the mountain. It will dead end on Terrace Drive; turn right. Just before you get to the end of Terrace Drive, there will be a road on the left heading up the mountain. It will take you to the parking lot at the base of the trail.

Dry Canyon Meadow. This is just what we call it; the meadow doesn’t have a real name that I know of. This is a steep hike but not unrelentingly so. Take a lunch and eat at the meadow.

Get there: Drive east up 2000 North until, just before it curves south, take the last left. Stay on this road until you get to the parking lot. This trail will take you to the top of Baldy if you continue on; in the meadow, there is a right-hand split that will take you to the top of Little Baldy.

Provo River Trail. This is one of the best features of Utah County! Runs from Vivian Park all the way to Utah Lake. It gets a lot of traffic. Watch for animals!

Get there: the parking lot at the mouth of the canyon is closing in April for about one year. Parking at all of the parks between the mouth of the canyon to Vivian Park.

Murdock Canal Trail. The newest trail in Utah County. Runs along the foothills from the old WordPerfect buildings all the way to Timpanogos Highway. Paved, with quarter-mile markers the entire length (17 miles). This intersects the Lindon Heritage Trail.

Get there: The trail starts at 1200 N 800 East. Access also from: 300 N. 780 East Lindon; 600 E. 1100 North Pleasant Grove; 3595 West Canyon Heights Drive, Cedar Hills; 9800 N. 5200 West, Highland.

Indian Hills Trail. This is a trail that winds around and along the foothills of Cascade Mountain. Not many people know about it, so if you’re looking for solitude you’ll find it here. It doesn’t really go anywhere—although eventually it meets up with the Bonneville Shoreline Trail. It’s a trail you’d take just to hike. It’s fairly steep but has some unique views of the valley.

Get there: go east on 800 North until it splits at University Avenue. Go south. Then you’ll nearly immediately turn left, to the start of Canyon Road. Take the first left and head up the (steep) hill. The parking lot is on the left.

Buffalo Mountain Trail. Buffalo Mountain is the peak just to the north of Squaw Peak. This takes some driving along the (mostly unpaved) Squaw Peak Road; I’d only go in late summer and not in a car! But the cool thing is it’s a super-short hike with the plus of getting you to a 8000+ foot peak. It’s fun to look up at the peak from your house, after hiking it, and know you’ve been there!

Get there: the shortest hike: drive up Provo Canyon to the Squaw Peak Road turn off. Drive up SPR; at the T in the road, turn left (like you’re going to Hope Campground). Keep driving about 2.5 miles on the (dirt) road. Keep watching on the right side; you’ll see a fence, and the break in the fence is where you access the trail. It’s less than a mile to get to the summit.

The longest hike, but with no driving on dirt: drive up Provo Canyon to the Squaw Peak Road turn off. Drive up SPR; at the T in the road, turn right to go to the overlook. Park there, and take the trail that runs south along the mountain. This eventually intersects with SPR; watch for the trail to curve south, or walk along the road until you get to the split in the fence mentioned above.

Lindon Marina Trail. A short, paved trail right next to the lake. There are lots of birds there (and bugs) and sometimes you’ll find wildflowers in the spring. Some picnic tables along the way. Go, hike, then eat a picnic and go wading in the lake!

Get there: West on 2000 North; you’ll cross the freeway. Turn left at the T, then follow the road around. It costs a little to park at the marina, but there are some gravel parking lots further south on Vineyard Road (which runs right alongside the trail).

Orem Bench Trails. This is a set of four trails that all start in the same spot. From the parking lot, the trail on the farthest left is pretty flat; eventually it hooks up to the Dry Springs trailhead. This would be a great hike for kids. The one of the farthest right is steep for about ¾ of a mile, and then it levels out. Eventually it takes you to Mount Timpanogos Park (with a lot of different trails intersecting the main one). I haven’t hiked the two middle trails.

Getting there: Drive north on 800 East past the cemetery. Just before the road curves onto 1600 North (by the old WordPerfect buildings), there is a little right hand turn. Take that and follow it all the way up to the paved parking lot.

Lindon Heritage Trail.A paved trail that runs through Lindon.

Get there: The easiest place to park is at the Lindon City Park. Go north on State Street; turn right just after you get to the bottom of the hill—if you get to the light on the corner where Los Hermanos is, you’ve gone too far.

Bonneville Shoreline Trail. This runs along the old shoreline of Bonneville Lake. You can get on it at many different spots. The steepness varies depending upon where you start, but for the most part it isn’t too hard. It rolls up and down following the contours of the mountains.

Get there: the easiest spot to access it is from the parking lot below Bridal Veil Falls. Go north up the PRT for a little bit—about ¼ of a mile; you’ll see the turn off for the trail on the right.

Big Springs Trail. A lovely, only-a-little-bit-steep trail to a meadow spring. If you keep going past the springs (for a long, long time!) you’ll work your way up to the Cascade saddle.

Get there: go up Provo Canyon. Take the right hand turn at Vivian Park (just before the tunnel). Turn right at the Big Springs Park, which is about 2.5 miles past Vivian.

Scout Falls. This is the first section of the Timpanookee trail to the Timpanogos summit. Start at the trailhead; at the first major switchback, go straight instead of turning right. (There are signs.) 3.4 miles, not too much elevation gain.

Get there: Alpine Loop from the north entrance; watch for signs for the Timpanooke trailhead. You’ll turn right off of the main loop road, drive past a campground, and come to the parking lot.

Stewart Falls. Aside from a steep initial climb, this is a mostly-flat trail, right on the side of the mountain. Just under four miles round trip. For a shorter route, park at Sundance, take the ski lift to Ray’s Summit (you have to pay to ride the lift), and then follow the trail.

Get there: Drive just past the entrance gate (you have to pay) to the Alpine Loop on the Sundance side; parking lot is on the left. The trail is on the left hand side of the meadow.

First Falls on Aspen Grove Trail. A partly-paved trail. This is the other trail that leads to the Timpanogos summit, but hiking to the first waterfall on the trail is a kid-friendly distance. Watch for moose!

Get there: Drive just past the entrance gate (you have to pay) to the Alpine Loop on the Sundance side; parking lot is on the left. The trail cuts through the middle of the meadow.

Cascade Springs. Wooden pathways through, across, and around a natural springs. A beautiful spot for everyone!

Get there: Alpine Loop; very close to the summit, there is a (paved) road that turns off from the main loop road. Watch for the signs!

Battle Creek Falls. This trail goes through the canyon that is on the left side of Big Baldy. It’s manageably steep, but a consistent up. It is about 1.2 miles to the waterfall. You can keep going up the trail to some lovely meadows.

Get there: go east on 200 South in Pleasant Grove until it ends at a park. That’s the trailhead.

Whenever I am traveling, I look at lovely, winding roads, or hilly, curvy ones, or even long, straight stretches through the desert, and I think I want to run here. (Actually, I tend to say it out loud, which eventually starts to really bother my travelling companions.) I can’t help it—the urge to run somewhere new, somewhere pretty, somewhere unknown just rises up.

Of course, I’ll never get to run on all the roads I long to.

Take my trip to Cabo. “Los Cabos”—the capes—are two separate towns, Cabo San Lucas on the west tip of the Baja peninsula, and Cabo San Jose on the east tip. There is a freeway that connects them, the Transpeninsular Highway. It curves, it dips and rises, it hides the coast and then bam! it brings you to startling coastal vistas.

You know I want to run there.

But it’s a tiny road, with cars buzzing on and off the returnos (which are sort of like exits), and almost no sidewalks or shoulder. So, even though it would’ve been a spectacular place for my ten-mile run I needed to do today, I restrained myself.

Well, mostly.

My life is rarely touched by convenience, but conveniently, the sidewalk on the transpeninsular highway stars at the Mini Trader Dick’s, which is just above the resort where we’re staying. I’d tried to discover this with a google search before I left—where does the sidewalk start?—but I didn’t have much luck finding running routes in Cabo. I could’ve used Map my Run to plot a route, but again: it doesn’t show sidewalks. So I headed out our door and headed east on the T.H. (I’m guessing no one calls it that, but I’m going to here).

I turned right at the Mega, which is the grocery store, and then just stayed on that road. Mostly it goes past the big resorts, but now and then there is a break in the properties and you get a glimpse of palm trees, sand, and ocean. Keep going on this road and it brings you to the old downtown part of Cabo San Jose, which is full of little shops and jewelry stores that are really fun to shop at. (I bought nearly all of my souvenirs there.) I took a couple of detours—where this road curves sharply to  the left, you can veer down a hill that takes you to a place that does beachside horseback riding, and on the way out of the shops, I turned right and ran up (yay! hills!) past some newly-built condos. Then I ran back the same way to the Mega. I needed ten more minutes of running, so I crossed the street and went east again on the T.H., down a winding sidewalk between palm trees, and then back to the Mega.

I’m not sure if this was exactly ten miles…I’m guessing closer to 9 point something. It’s a vacation run so I’m not going to stress about it. I just ran for 95 minutes and then stopped. I ended at the Mega because I wanted to surprise Haley with some of their excellent churros. Alas, they hadn’t made them yet, but I did buy myself a bottle of cold water.

Because here’s the thing about running in Cabo: it is hot. Even the day I chose, when I was running by 6:30 and the sky was actually cloudy, it was hot. When I finished I was as wet with sweat as if I had been swimming in it (oooooh, that’s gross). I was glad I brought water with me for the long, hot, damp miles!

But early in the morning, with clouds and a little fog, the scent of tropical flowers is concentrated in the air, so even though it's nearly like running in a sauna, at least it's a fragrant sauna.

After I bought my water, I sat at some tables that look over the ocean, just outside the Mega. I thought it would be a peaceful place to cool down. Except: my hands were so wet, and every piece of clothing I wore so sopping, that I literally could not open my bottle of water. It just slipped around in my wet hands. A kind Mexican woman took pity on me; she was sweeping, but she stopped, and came over to me, and said “Senorita” and then some other Spanish I almost understood, but it included “abierto” and “agua,” so I handed over my bottle and she opened it for me. Which is a little embarrassing now that I think about it, but then I didn’t care. I just needed cold liquid.

So! If you ever find yourself needing to run ten-ish miles in Cabo San Jose, and you don’t want to risk your life on the open highway (even though it would be such a run!), now you know there is sidewalk. It’s bumpy and unpredictable sidewalk, and there are high curbs about every ten inches or so, and cobblestones and some marble stretches. But you can get your running done!

(All of my other runs I did either on the treadmill at the resort or on the beach. I know not everyone loves beach running, but oh my: I love beach running. You just have to get started early or it really is too hot.)

Holy cow. If I thought writing a post about the second book in a series, I had no idea how hard it would be to write one about the third book in a trilogy. I’ve written and erased a total of twelve first paragraphs! I don’t want to give away any secrets…but I also want to convey just how thrilling Shattered was. (The conclusion to the Slated trilogy; read my review of the first book here and the second one here.)

So this will probably be fairly short!

The third book picks up almost right where the second book ended. Kyla is having a genetic procedure done that will change the color, texture, and length of her hair, making it easier for her to run, and then she is going to Keswick, where she thinks her birth mother lives.

The story starts out with the tension set fairly high: will she be able to travel with her new documents and name—Riley Kain? Or will the Lorders catch her, even though they (seem to) think she is dead? And then it ratchets up higher and higher.

Without giving away any more of the story, I will say this. I am a sucker for a good mother+long-lost-daughter reunion story, and I think it plays out true in this book. It isn’t as simple as it might seem; some things go smoothly but there are strange moments and uncomfortable situations. Which is exactly what I think real-life reunion experiences are like, so I appreciated that.

There was one small detail that was hinted at in Slated and mentioned in Fractured that I hoped wouldn’t be left dangling, and it wasn’t—it was, in fact, the key to Kyla finding out the answers to who she is really is. In fact, I don’t think any of the little details were left hanging. With breathtaking speed, the story wrapped up and came to a satisfying end but, nicely, not too satisfying or easy.

And that’s what I will tell you about Shattered: It was an excellent ending to an entertaining and thought-provoking trilogy.

Lately, with all of the furor over those edited yearbook photos, I’ve been thinking quite a bit about modesty. Then I spotted this post on several different friends’ Facebook statuses. I’ve found myself having a fairly intense imaginary conversation in my head about modesty, and it’s not ending any time soon. 

So I’m writing it down. (Plus, Kendell is getting sick of listening to me rant about it!)

In the (prevailing) LDS culture, a lot of energy is spent on teaching a concept we call “modesty.” We teach lessons about it to our teenagers and children. We make sure that all youth activities have dress codes. We hear talks on it from the pulpit and from conferences. We take it upon ourselves to point out when someone isn’t being modest, even going so far as thinking it’s OK for children to point out to adults “you shouldn’t go running in that tank top.” (That isn’t cute, or precious, or preternaturally wise. It’s rude.) 

We pat ourselves on the back for our modesty, which we interpret as: covered shoulders, covered thighs, covered bellies, covered backs.

We forget something, though: dress is only part of what modesty is. Look it up: modesty is the quality of not being proud and flamboyant about yourself, your abilities and possessions and appearance. I know plenty of Mormons who won’t let their daughters wear tank tops and so consider themselves to have taught their children about modesty, while living in a gobsmackingly large house and driving a giant SUV. Girls in their cap-sleeve Ts and modest shorts who backstab and gossip and get all Mean Girl with their friends? That, to me, is not modest either, because it sends the message “I am so awesomely wonderful and important that being mean is TOTALLY OK behavior.”

“Not dressing in a way that draws sexual attention” is only one part of modesty, yet we seem to have forgotten that.

And listen: I get it. There is a lot of skin in the world. So I’m going to focus on that part of modesty now.

Two weeks ago I went to my niece’s wedding. When we were leaving, Nathan spotted one of the bridesmaids, who had changed out of her fluffy bridesmaid’s gown into a very tight and very short dress. Her bum was barely covered and she wasn’t wearing a bra. “Look, Jake!” he said. “That girl is so hot.”

(I had the strangest reaction to that moment, which doesn’t really related to this post but which I’m sharing anyway: part of me was horrified that despite my lofty goals, my 14-year-old son still saw a girl in a tiny, tight, sexy dress as a sex object. Part of me was embarrassed to realize I never looked that good and I never will.)

I confess that I only could sputter. Part of me (and I’m not very proud of this part) was judgy: wow. Could that skirt be any shorter? And part of me was thinking Nathan! Just cover your eyes! And another part was all you are too young to notice her. And there was even a small part that thought I wish she wouldn’t dress like that because look what she’s done to my kid. So I sputtered and didn’t really say anything (then…we talked about it later) because there were so many things I wanted to say, but in my heart, even in all of those warring responses, what I know is this: he’s fourteen, he’s going to notice a hot girl in a tight dress.

 And really, that is the foundation of my philosophy on modesty. We notice each other’s bodies. Instead of prescriptive rules about skirt length and sleeve style, why aren't we teaching our teenagers how to deal with the thoughts and emotions and ideas that come into our minds when we see each other?

I refused to teach my daughter that she needs to dress a certain way in order to help a boy control his thoughts. When she was five and six and seven, I let her wear sundresses that showed her shoulders. When she was eighteen we were still seeing her shoulders. She wore a two piece bathing suit. She wore tank tops and shorts that didn’t cover all of her thigh. And I talked to her. I talked to her about picking clothes that made her feel pretty and self-confident. I talked to her about modesty in dressing. I talked to her about her body—that she should love it and take good care of it and be proud of it. I talked to her about dressing in ways that please her, rather than pleasing boys, or trying to draw a boy’s attention.

Mostly I wanted her to know the same thing about her clothes that I did with nearly everything in her life: it isn’t about getting a boy to like you. It’s about doing the things that make you happy. Because she doesn’t exist just to catch a boy. Her life doesn’t only have to be about romance. She is made for so many different experiences, love being one of them, but not the only one. I don’t want her to make any choices that are based on “what would make a boy like me.”

Which in a way sounds like I am saying the same thing that the church does: your clothes don’t exist to draw a boy’s attention.

But really it’s not the same thing at all.

Take this recent very popular video. In theory, I get it. It’s about letting girls know that there are boys who will like them even if they don’t wear short skirts or tank tops. That is an encouraging thought. As I listen to it, though, I get madder and madder. You’ll like the girls who dress modestly? Awesome. What about you like a girl because she is smart, kind, funny, athletic, energetic, whatever. You know…like her for who she is, not what she wears.

And these lyrics that make me insane:

“Being the way that you are is enough”

“If only you saw what I can see, you’d understand why I need your modesty”

“Virtue makes you beautiful.”

“We don’t know why you’d want a guy that only cares what he sees with his eyes.”

It’s that last one that gets me the most. It makes me want to punch all those smug faces right in the sunglasses. Because no one is seeing the logical flaw: those boys are singing about caring what they see with their eyes. If they didn’t only care about what they see, they would be able to see the person underneath immodest clothes. This is a song written in praise of modesty in dressing, which is just as much about what someone sees with their eyes as immodesty in dressing. If a boy looks at a girl, and sees she’s modestly dressed, and thinks, hmmmm, that’s a girl I think I should ask out because of how she’s dressed it’s the same as him seeing a girl in a tank top and thinking, hmmmmmmm, now that’s a girl I should ask out because of how she’s dressed.

It’s a false dichotomy and it all based on the exactly wrong things we should build a relationship on. That we should build our characters on.

I don’t want my daughter to think she has to make choices to please other people. I want her to choose what works for her. I want her to date boys who see her for who she is, not for how she dresses, no matter how appropriate or modest it is.

And who is teaching boys that? How much time do we spend on teaching girls the “right” way to dress modestly? And how much time do we spend teaching boys how to treat girls? How much time was spent by those rich white boys to make that video that inversely does the same thing as the bridesmaid at the wedding: teaches that how you look is what matters most? Teaches, in essence, that a girl only is what she looks like. By connecting integrity and virtue with clothing, we (again) turn women into objects.

So this is what I try to teach my sons: girls don’t exist just so you can look at them. They are people, just like you. Sure, they have boobs. They also have thoughts, ambitions, dreams, and goals. They have a long life history and many stories to tell. They are more, much more, than their sexual possibilities.

And I also teach them this: you are responsible for your own thoughts.

I know. That’s a hard thing to control. I know it is natural for boys to see girls in a sexual light. And maybe I’m being naïve, but I also think it’s entirely possible. I think Nathan can learn that the hot girl in the tight dress is a person, and the way she dresses is her choice. (Hopefully her mother also taught her to dress to help herself feel pretty, not to catch someone’s attention.) Most likely, her choice doesn’t have a single thing to do with him. He doesn’t have to jump into bed with her in his mind just because she’s there in her dress.

I had this conversation with a very close friend once, a friend who thinks differently than I do about this topic. She talked about wishing that girls would think about how their clothes affect the boys around them. That is what the song lyric “you’d understand why I need your modesty” refers to—the idea that a girl is doing the boys around her a courtesy by dressing modestly. And, I suppose that’s true: it is easier for a boy to not let his thoughts wander if he’s not surrounded by skin. But I reject the idea that he needs her to dress modestly in order to control his thoughts.

And that is the other truth: he needs to learn. Because certainly the world is filled with girls’ knees and shoulders and thighs and backs. He will see girls like the hot girl at the wedding every day of his life. And if all he ever learns is dressing like that is bad, then all he ever learns is judgment. Instead, what I am desperately trying to teach him—and wish, I confess, what the church would also teach him—is that he’s going to see chests. He’s going to see shoulders. But if all he sees are body parts instead of people, he is failing in part of his humanity. Because the chests and the shoulders belong to people, and as a grown up, functioning adult man, he will interact with people who are women. Who happen to have woman parts. But who also have ideas and creativity and input. I want him—want all my sons, and all of their friends, and my nephews, and the boys down the street—to know that women are people. And it is only by seeing a woman’s humanity (instead of just her woman parts, covered up or not) that you are truly treating them with respect.

Nathan told me the other day about a video he’d seen, where someone had taken the titles of Disney movies and censored them. So, instead of Finding Nemo, for example, it was ****ing Nemo. Isn’t it funny how, by covering something up, it changes your perspective? Just what is being done to poor Nemo?

All of the proclaiming of modesty does the same thing. It draws attention to something that doesn’t have to be the focus of our thoughts. Our actions should be the focus of our thoughts. How we treat people. That is what matters most. Not how long our shorts are, or how much shoulder we show. Not if we have visible cleavage. How we act.

I wish we’d put more focus on that. 

Yesterday I stood in my closet, fairly annoyed at my entire existence. I'd just pulled down my box of summer clothes (the fact that I waited until June to get my shorts out perhaps is the best illustration of how I feel about them) and tried on a couple of pair. I remembered that maybe it's not the heat—which makes me prickly—or the fact that my kids are lounging around doing nothing for nearly three entire months—which makes me feel powerless and all bad-motherish—or the idea that summer means putting on a swimsuit—which makes me feel deeply ashamed of my chubby thighs and flat chest.

Maybe the thing I hate the most about summer is the clothes.

Specifically, shorts. Because yeah: those chubby thighs. And the need for long-ish shorts (because A---Mormon and B---chubby thighs). And my general aversion of cotton (because ironing is just not my thing).

The fact is, I just don't look good in shorts. Or at least not any of the shorts I've owned since I was about 18.

That wasn't a happy start, and I grumped for the rest of the morning about hating summer. It is my least-favorite season.

But then, that afternoon, when I'd finished making a pasta salad, I went outside with Sunday's paper and a bowl full of watermelon. I sat on my back porch in the sunshine and I read the paper, until I put it down. Because I looked up and I saw this sky:

I stopped to think about what I was hearing, an intermittent rustling. It was the robins, who are building a new nest in my apple tree. I thought about what I was smelling, which was the delicate but persistent scent of my just-bloomed catalpa, which looks like this:

My favorite iris was blooming in the flower bed right next to me:

Kaleb was playing in the yard on the other side of the fence, and I could hear him laughing. 

Ahhhh. I love summer, I thought.

And then I laughed. Because hadn't I just been grumpy over hating summer? It made me realize that it is, like everything else, all in how you look at it. I need to spend more time appreciating and savoring what I do love about summer: flowers and gardening. The unfettered "schedule." Lazy, happy, sun-browned kids. Hiking—lots and lots of hiking. Sitting on my comfy chair outside, reading in the shade. Watermelon, raspberries, and fresh peaches. Just-barely-cool morning running, and running when it's so hot you come home with a beard of sweat. A family trip (we haven't planned this yet). Neighbors bringing me fresh tomatoes and cucumbers and squash. Eating outside. Summer meals: salad and fruit and something else easy. Slushies and corn on the cob and family barbeques. Sparklers and neighborhood fireworks. Walking out to my car after my light night at work, and the way the summer evening feels, perfectly warm and dark.

And sure, I'll probably have to do most of those things in shorts. Or even a swim suit. But I am really going to try this summer, to not grumble and get heat-grumpy. I'm going to try to focus on the good bits.

And maybe try to find a pair of shorts that actually fits!

What are you looking forward to this summer?