Leg 1: This Won’t Last Forever

basic stats:

• Leg #: 11
• Route: Old Snow Basin Road
• Distance: 7.3 miles
• Time: 1:24
• Elevation gain: 1830 feet
• Elevation loss: 384 feet
• Starting elevation: 4965 feet
• Finishing elevation: 6411 feet
• Starting time: about 3:15 p.m.
• Kills: 10, plus one deer

The long story, with photos:

The day before Ragnar, I read a blog entry someone had written about running Ragnar. "I tried not to think about the process of running," he wrote, "but to enjoy the experience of it, no matter how tough it got." That is exactly how I wanted to experience this year’s Ragnar, because I knew it would be tough. Especially my first leg, which looked like this:


(That is a lot of uphill running.)

I wasn’t entirely confident that my training had been enough, so when our van finally arrived at my exchange (meaning I was the next runner to run) after lots of fun with my teammates, I was nervous. I felt, in fact, like I had never run a single step in my life. I think most runners have that moment when we think what the hell was I thinking? and the last ten minutes or so before I started running were that moment.

(Melanie, Sheila, I, and Becky show off our rub-on tattoos, strong biceps, and silver sparkly skirts; you can't tell by my face but my belly was full of butterflies)

I expected my nerves to calm down once I got the slap bracelet from Dave and headed up the hill. They did, but my lungs were an entirely different matter: all that time hanging out on the beach at sea level, even the running at sea level, zapped all of my altitude conditioning. 4965' felt painful, so what would it feel like as I pushed upward? I started to panic a little bit.

(I passed the girl in the pink shirt but I never could catch up with the other one.)

But then I thought about my goal: not to think about the running but just to experience it. "This won’t last forever" came into my head, and for the beginning twenty minutes or so it was my encouraging thought. The heat, the esophagus that felt skinny as a pencil, the tired legs: the scenery, which for the first while seemed discouraged by the heat as well, wasn’t inspiring enough to balance out my discomfort. But reminding myself that it was only seven miles, and seven miles aren’t eternity, and this run wouldn’t last forever: those things kept me running.

Then I passed a few people. I came to the first water station, where my teammate Sheila’s brilliant idea popped into my head. Before her first run, she’d soaked her headband in ice-cold water, so I decided to do the same. I grabbed two cups of water from the table; I drank one and I doused my headband in the other. Oh! The coolness of that fabric on the top of my forehead, and the droplets of water it send running down the nape of my neck—my discomfort started to fade.

Next, I re-passed a runner I’d passed before the water station (he hadn’t stopped to dunk his headband so he got back in front of me). "You can totally count me as two kills," he joked, and then he told me that his wife had passed a dead rabbit and counted that in her kill tally. ("Kill tally" = Ragnarese for "amount of runners you’ve passed.") I told him I’d only count him once, and we talked for a bit about the hill we were climbing. We were in the Enormous Castle-esque Houses section of Old Squaw Peak Road (which was blessedly short, as castle-esque houses leave me thinking of my own little hovel with discouragement) and we made a few ginormous-house jokes and then the caffeine from the Cliff Shot I had at the water table kicked in and I was off.

Just past the houses, I turned a little switchback and a deer darted across the road. Any vestiges of nerves or discomfort I had vanished as the deer made me think my dad was with me, or perhaps sprinting off down the mountain behind it. My "this won’t last forever" refrain turned from encouragement into a reminder: this magnificent and gorgeous and amazing and perfectly-Amy run could not last forever, so I’d better enjoy it. And I did.

I made it to the top of the first uphill stretch, and as I came around the final curve of it I could see down into the valley, with the road I would run on weaving its way around hills and ridges. It was so beautiful—the road changed directions, so the light changed, and it cooled off just a bit with a little breeze, and the downhill felt like flying with all those trees fluttering their leaves like applause.

The downhill lasted for a little less than a mile, but it was just enough to revive everything for the last 3.5 uphill miles. I refreshed my wet headband at the next water station and hit the uphill with joy in my stride. I know this sounds corny. But I was blissful. People always say that runners frown while they run, but I wasn’t. I was smiling. I was tired and pushing myself but nothing hurt because the world seemed ravishing. This won’t last forever, this won’t last forever and I promise: I was there. I wasn’t running through the run, I was running it, breathing and aching and striding and looking, and it really was the perfect route for me. The road was closed to cars and the runners had spread out enough that sometimes I’d go for eight or ten minutes without seeing anyone else. It felt like pure solitude and all the training miles I’d run were worth the sweat and the quivering muscles because they got me there.

I smiled all the way up Old Basin Road.

When the road ended, I still had about a half-mile left before I got to the exchange. This was run on a tiny sliver of road next to an endless line of Ragnar vans. My this won’t last forever turned back to encouragement because that was the worst stretch of all the 7.3 miles. It felt like it lasted forever and I was sucking in car exhaust and nervous that someone would open their car door and hit me, and I knew the end was close but I couldn’t see it. Once I could, though, I picked up the speed and started smiling again because there was Becky waiting for me. I slapped the bracelet on her wrist and started walking to cool off.

But I didn’t stop smiling. I was so happy, the happy that comes when your muscles are tired and your lungs are throbbing and your pelvis has that deep ache of exhaustion but all of it is joyful because it was hard and you did it anyway. This was one of my favorite non-running Ragnar moments: sitting on the grass at Snow Basin, stretching with Melanie and Sheila while we waited for Becky to run her leg, talking about our runs. Lying on the grass and looking at the circle of blue sky with its peripheral crescent of mountain and pine trees, breathing and talking and smiling.

(read about leg 2 HERE and leg 3 HERE)

• On Friday I took the kids to see Brave. We went mostly because Jake kept kidding Haley during our trip, when she wore her (red) hair wavy, that she was so Brave; I really didn't know anything about it other than it was another Disney princess movie. And despite the fact that we had to sit on the third-to-the-front row of the theater (poor planning on my part), we all loved it. It was refreshing to watch a princess movie without a prince and to see the mother-daughter relationship explored instead. I confess: when the mom's transformation happened I started crying, that ugly cry that no one, least of all a theater full of strangers and my very own daughter, wants to hear, so I stifled my ugly sobs. It just hit a little too close for me, knowing that mothering a teenage girl always seems to mean I'm not quite the right person for the job. All of which is a fairly dismal way to say: I loved Brave!
• After way too much drama over Jake's cell phone, Kendell and I went on a date—another movie and then we picked up nachos from this little place we love. I hate it when dates start out with grumpiness but we got a delicious chocolatey beverage and that helped smooth things over.
• On Saturday morning I ran my fastest 5k ever, 27:54. (I know...PR or not, that's still pretty slow.) This was for the scout fund raiser that our troop does every summer. I didn't manage to defend my title, but I did come in fifth overall, third female, and first in my age group. As this can only happen at a race run by about 50 people, I think I will always love this particular 5k! Haley and Nathan also ran it, and Jake—who was assigned to walk the route behind the runners and to pick up stray garbage (possibly the worst boy scouts assignment ever) walked it with the last competitor. When they came into the track at the end he was talking to her politely and I thought...I sure do love you Jakey. (Shshsh. No one tell him I said that in public!)
• At work on Saturday a patron left a note on one of the tables that said "one does not just walk into the library during the summer" and attributed it to "that dude from Lord of the Rings." Totally made my day!
• We grilled burgers, brats, and hot dogs for dinner Saturday night, and I made angel hair pasta with white sauce as a side. Shall I tell you the secret to delicious grilled hamburgers? It is this: work in a packet of dry ranch dressing into the meat before you shape the patties. Mmmmmm. It adds just the right amount of flavor and tenderness to the meat. An assortment of cheese to melt onto the patties doesn't hurt, either!
• After dinner on Saturday I spent two hours outside with my clippers and loppers, trimming out dead stuff from my flower beds and pruning the rose bushes. It was so peaceful to garden as the sun went down and the heat slipped away.
• I made it through my Primary sharing time on Sunday! I have been dreading this lesson, as it was about modesty, and I just didn't feel like it is my role or responsibility to show children examples of "good" and "bad" clothes. I went with a symbolic and vague sort of lesson that ended with everyone putting flowers into a vase. I'm not sure they learned anything but at least I achieved my goal which was to discourage the judging of others based on their clothing choices. Written out like that my goal sounds a little bit self-serving. Ask me to tell you about the funny thing that happened!
• Sunday night dinner: sweet & sour chicken with coconut rice, broccoli salad (which was only a highlight for me) and perhaps the most delicious watermelon in the history of watermelon. And a chocolate cake. 

Not a highlight:

• On Saturday night, Kendell and I finished watching the TBS miniseries The Hatfields and the McCoys. Holy-six-hours-worth-of-country-folk-shooting-each-other. It was not my favorite.
• The movie Kendell chose for our date: Snow White and the Huntsman. The characters were so underdeveloped and the storyline this weird outline of unexplained landscapes. We were both hoping for more and left sorely disappointed. The only bright spot was Charlize Theron. She does an excellent evil woman!

Tomorrow is Ragnar.

And there was so much I wanted to write before I ran it. About how I needed to have a bad run in my training and I did, but it was also a good run for different reasons. About the amazing morning of running the road to Cascade Springs with my sister and how I felt myself running straight away from my anxieties even when I was running uphill. I'm afraid I will forget how those two last hard runs felt and I don't want to.

It's 11:58 on the night before a long and exhausting race.  I wish I could run, right now, away from these anxieties. Last night I slept for perhaps four hours and the night before I got about six.  I'm worried that I'm already running on empty. I'm worried that the running I did on my trip won't have been enough to keep me fit enough. I'm worried about that long uphill distance in the heat of the day. Have I prepared enough? Did I choose the right clothes to run in? Should I bring back ups? Am I forgetting something?

I hate that I'm anxious. I don't want to be. I love running. I love running in races. Some part of me knows the argument against each of my anxieties. Some part knows I will be OK and it is that part that will, strangely enough, make me be OK. OK tomorrow, that is. When I'm really facing that long hill I've been both dreading and anticipating.

Tonight, though, there's not much to do for the pre-race jitters except try to sleep through them. That and say a quiet prayer of thanks for my friend, who just sent me a text wishing me a good race. And oddly enough, those were just the words I needed to raise my confidence.

Hush up, anxiety. Nerves go to sleep. Tomorrow is a day for running!

I live in Utah, so it nearly goes without saying that people assume I'm also a Mormon. The assumption is correct: I am LDS. But what is harder to explain is what that really means, being a Mormon who lives in Utah. And not just Utah, but Utah County, which is perhaps the Mormoniest places in Utah. I don't really think about what it means, in fact, until I travel, and then I am reminded of just how different we Mormons are to the world.

Namely what I mean is this: we don't drink alcohol.

Being in Mexico for the past seven days has showed me that the non-drinking thing really is fairly strange. Everywhere we went seemed to be soaked in booze. A large amount of people at the pool and the beach were drunk. When we took our horseback ride on the beach (an amazing day I will blog about later once I can download my pictures), Nathan's horse was named Borracho (the Spanish word for drunk). And when we ordered our margaritas and daiquiris sin alcohol the bartenders and waiters looked at us like we were insane.

This is not me passing judgement. I'm on the liberal side of my Mormon beliefs, and part of that is the knowledge that the world in general isn't going to bend around my opinions. Plus I there's that long adolescent rebellious streak I had, and I could tell you some stories.

But I also couldn't help that my thoughts were influenced by all the drinking around me. I thought of my own wild days and I couldn't connect that part of myself with the groups of adults slurring words and tripping into the pool. I understand drinking as a form of breaking limits and pushing boundaries; I confess that I don't get it when it's just for fun. And I definitely couldn't parse the bunches of happy drunks with my sister, who is an alcoholic and has emptied her life because of it. When does the line get crossed? Why doesn't everyone cross it? Is life happier or easier with alcohol in it?

I don't know.

Because honestly, the drinking doesn't shock me. It doesn't bother me if someone else chooses to do it. This is just my very own confession to the world: I don't understand it. Probably just like the waiter at the little taco shop who asked what kind of beer I wanted and then was perplexed by my answer: no beer, solo agua. We are all of us strange, I suppose, in our own little ways, but is it odd that I'm grateful my strangeness includes not drinking?

Because there's also this: I think I'm too cheap to be a drinker anyway.

Giving notice on my regular life, that is, as for the next little while me and a few of my kids, my mom and one of my sisters and some of her kids will be here:

There will be lots of the stuff one does in Mexico on a beach vacation but the thing I am looking forward to the most? ROTB! (Which stands for running on the beach.) I can't wait to zip along in the sand with the surf at my shoulder. Remind me to tell you about my ghetto running shoes when I get back!

I might just blog when I'm there. I neeeeed to write about the other day, when I was called a bigot by a stranger on Facebook. And there's my May recap to do. And the absolutely amazing run I did with Becky this weekend that I am dying to write about.

On the other hand, I might just sit on the beach drinking fruity drinks and reading!

BUT! Before I leave, I need to announce the winner of my blog-hop give away. The random number is comment #27, which was Kary in Colorado who said:

Kary, will you email me your snail mail address?

And now...wish me luck. Because as excited as I am for this trip, I'm also anxious since beach trips do that to me. I can't really relax at the beach unless all of my kids are sitting with me, safely on their beach towels. Once the ocean is actually containing my babies I get nervous!

Hi! And welcome to the second stop of today's Write. Click. Scrapbook. blog hop! If you are one of my blog regulars, I hope you'll join in the hop for a chance to win some awesome prizes. Or if you're coming from the lovely Alexandra's blog, welcome to my little corner of the Internet! My blog is bringing you the letter


One of the things I love the most about the Write. Click. Scrapbook. team is the camaradarie of a group of amazing women. When I first started scrapbooking, nearly all of my girlfriends scrapped with me. At least once a month, we'd pack up our scrapping stuff (back when I could pack all my supplies in one Rubbermaid box) and go to someone's house to eat, talk, laugh, and scrapbook together. We'd give each other advice, share and swap supplies, and compliment particular bits of each other's layouts.

For one reason or another, though, all of those scrapbooking friends have stopped scrapbooking. We're still friends, we just don't scrap together anymore. (I try not to hold it against them!)  So one of my favorite things about being involved with Write. Click. Scrapbook. is hanging out with other women who scrapbook. And these aren't just any everyday, run-of-the-mill scrapbookers. They are seriously talented! And seriously kind. And funny. And smart. And did I mention talented?

I mean, really. If you're a WCS regular you know what I mean. The ideas in the gallery and the daily blog posts are always inspiring. There is layout advice there, and technique explanations, and even products to win. And it all comes from scrappers who offer their knowledge, skill, and creativity in the spirit of simplicity. We all really do mean what we say: the scrapbooking is about the stories and the photos and the remembering.

This month, the focus of the WCS gallery was Inspiration—more specifically, finding inspiration in the work of other scrapbookers. I was paired up with Erin and drew some inspiration from this layout of hers:

Erin is a genius at mixing patterned papers so that is where the spark for my layout came from. Here's a little peek:

(Click HERE to see the entire layout, as well as read about my inspiration process and how Erin's layout affected my design choices.)

Now for just a little bit more fun! I'm doing a give away today. Leave a comment letting me know something about your BSF (best scrapbooking friend) and I'll draw one winner. The prize? My current favorite alphabet stickers. (Come on...if you know me, you probably guessed it was likely to be about letters!) You can see them in the sneak peek of my layout—that orange alpha is one I just can't stop using. I'll also toss in a handful of some other surprise scrapbooking goodies.

To continue with the fun, hop on over to Celeste's blog for some inspiration, the next letter, and  a chance to win something else.

Make sure to visit all the blog-hop stops (there are some awesome prizes along the way!) and then stop by with all the letters you've collected at the WCS blog for another win-something opportunity.

And as always, happy scrapping!

PS: A big THANKS goes out to my friend Marnie, who revamped and revitalized the WCS blog for our third birthday. She's amazing & awesome & wonderful! (Plus we were once at the same Peter Murphy concert, 20+ years ago. We didn't know each other then, but that we are now friends is one of my favorite bits of scrapping serendipity!)