Me, My Feet and the Road

Kind of like I don't know why the old lady swallowed the fly, I don't know why I decided to do a marathon. It just kind of fell into my lap, so I went with it. A few months ago, my friend Cami needed a running partner for an early-morning ten mile run. I told her I would give it my best shot for five miles. I was so nervous the night before. I hadn't run in a long time and I had no idea if I would be able to keep up or finish the whole five miles. However, the next morning I felt great. When our friend Jen met us at mile 5, I decided to keep going. I have rarely run with other people and I was having so much fun it hardly felt like I was running at all. I surprised myself by finishing the ten miles and wanting to run more. Cami was training for the Utah Valley Marathon and I went with her on several morning runs before she said, "Look, you are already on pace to train for this marathon. Why don't you just do it?" The race was sold out, but my good friend Alicia was registered for it and was injured, so in a crazy moment, I bought her entry. And the rest is history!!!

Three weeks before the marathon we did our 20-miler. I felt really good, but my knees were bothering me. I must have been running differently to compensate, because later the top of my right foot began to hurt. My knees were fine, but my foot got worse and worse. I finally got it x-rayed and it didn't show a stress fracture, but the doctor told me not to run until the marathon unless it felt completely better. So I didn't. I ran a few miles here and there, but as soon as it started bothering me I would stop (doctor's orders!). It's funny how up to this point I had been so nervous and panicked about running the marathon, but as soon as I thought I might actually not be able to do it, I was determined to run it and not let anything stop me. My biggest fear was that after all the training and work I wouldn't be able to run the race. And I wanted to run it more than anything.

On Friday night at 10 pm I found myself setting my alarm clock for 2:30 am and it hit me that I really am crazy. But there was no turning back. At 3 am, I hopped in the car with Cami and we headed to Provo. It was so strange to be getting on a bus in the middle of the night and heading up the canyon. It didn't seem real. The hardest part was huddling over a fire, waiting for over an hour for the race to begin. Finally, finally at 6 am, just as the sun began to rise over the mountain, the horn sounded and we were off! 

It was a beautiful morning, windy but not too cold. The race course is mostly downhill, which is great... unless you have knee problems. At about mile 6, I realized I was in trouble. My knees started hurting, and then my foot joined in. I started going slower and slower, and finally told Cami to please go ahead of me. I know she had a really hard time leaving me behind, but I knew I had to take this one mile at a time and go at my own pace. There was never a question in my mind if I would finish or not, it was just a matter of enduring through the pain. Some people said the race had more uphill than they expected and it was harder than they thought it would be. To me, uphill was relief. It felt so good to be using different muscles and I felt great passing all those walkers. Then the downhill would hit. 

It was a really interesting experience running the race by myself. I hadn't expected it at all, and I thought it would be hard. I love running with Cami and we have so much fun together. I didn't think it was possible for me to get through it without her. But once I was there, and it was just me, my feet and the road, I kind of felt like it was meant to be that way. She got me that far, and then I did it on my own. I loved every minute of it. 

That sounds strange. I was in so much pain, but I never once thought of quitting, or even wanted to quit in the slightest. A few times ambulances went by with their sirens on. Other runners around me would joke about wishing they would stop and get them. I couldn't believe my ears. I wanted to say, "How dare you want to end this! This is our race! We are doing this!" Every step, every breath felt like a gift. As each mile passed, I would think, "Oh, no, only thirteen miles now. Only ten miles now. Only five..." and so on. 

At each water station I would walk for a few steps and take a cup of Powerade and then water, then take a deep breath and keep running. It was slow going, but I never gave in and walked. At mile 23 I had the best pick-me-up I could ask for. My friend Karla, her little boy Anthony, and Alicia were standing at the sideline, holding balloons, cheering and waving. I was so happy to see them! I kissed Anthony on the top of his head. He's probably still in shock. 

Alicia hopped right out on the road and ran with me for the next three, the hardest three miles. It was amazing to realize how much I needed her right then! For the first time in the race, exhaustion hit. My knees and feet seemed to go numb and I was so tired. My legs were heavy. I didn't know if I could pick up my feet one more time. But she talked me through it. She ran beside me, encouraged me, told me how proud she was, and I know she meant it. It was like she carried me to the end of the course. With just .2 miles left, she hopped back to the sideline and let me finish.

I know it was so hard for Alicia to not be running the race herself. She is an amazing runner and has been an inspiration to me ever since I met her. I'm so humbled that she would make the effort to be there for me and help me through it. When I bought her entry she was so excited for me. She told me, "Your first marathon is a life-changing experience." I didn't really understand what she meant until yesterday. 

Just being there, just doing something that I never thought was possible, was powerful in a way I can't describe. I thought about life, about the obstacles I face and the people who support me. I thought about how when it comes right down to it, it is just me. Me, my feet and the road. Me, my determination and my path in life. Life is what I make of it. No matter what comes my way, I decide what I will do with it. What if I really can do anything? What do I really want in life? It is a very humbling thought.

As I approached the finisher's chute, I saw my family standing by the side of the road. They were cheering, taking pictures and going crazy. It was one of the best sights I have ever seen. My mom and dad, my brother Aaron, my brother Ryan and his kids, my sister Alison and her kids, and of course, Jason, Dallin, Luke, Abby and Jake. I don't know if I've ever felt so much love in my life. I know they had waited out there for a very long time and made great sacrifices to be there for me. For me. Me and my crazy idea to run a marathon. 

I was very emotional as I entered the runner's chute and crossed the finish line. Cami was waiting for me and  gave me a huge hug and held me up as I tried to process the fact that I had actually done it. I had finished a marathon and made one of the biggest accomplishments of my entire life. I never would have done it without her.

I wish I had more pictures of the people who were there to support me. I didn't get any pictures with Cami, Alicia or Karla, but I am so thankful for their support. I am also very grateful to my sister Kristen who ran the Boston Marathon this year and encouraged me through texts for much of the race. I would send her the mile number I was running past and I know she was living the race right along with me. I received so many good luck calls and messages before the race. My mother-in-law brought me a huge basket of pre-race goodies and pampering items a few nights before the race and it meant so much to me. Jason and my kids supported me from the first minute to the last. I know there were many prayers on my behalf as well. I am humbled by all the wonderful people in my life. I truly have the best friends and family anyone could ever ask for.

A few of my little spectators.

Final stretch!

My cheering section. Oh, how I love them all!

I did it, I did it, I really did it!!!

My Epic Post-Marathon Meal

I guess it says something about me that I get almost as excited about the food I get to eat after the marathon as I am about the marathon itself. Yesterday I finished the race at around 11 am, and try as I might, I could not stomach any food until 8 pm. This is a big disappointment, people! I grabbed a Creamie Popsicle and a carton of chocolate milk in the finisher's box (or whatever they call it), and immediately regretted it. Way too sick. Too sick to eat at Rumbi with my family on the way home. Too sick to even enjoy the famous Perfect Chocolate Chip Cookies my friend Sierra brought over after the race. Then at about 7:30 pm, I was lying in my bed, writhing around, and I realized I didn't need to writhe anymore. In fact, I actually felt... hungry! Yes!!! All my hard work had finally paid off. But then a strange thing happened. I realized that for perhaps the first time in my entire life, I wasn't in the mood for anything sweet. Huh? Who is this person, I wondered, who finishes marathons and suddenly doesn't have the urge to bury her hand in a bag of chocolate chips? I went into the kitchen to find out. All my favorite healthy foods beckoned to me and I had to snap a picture before I dove into what was one of the best-tasting meals of my life. I decided to share this meal with you in case you ever find yourself in a similar situation.

I realize this isn't the most attractive picture, but trust me, it was astounding.

Item #1: My Famous Quinoa
If you are not familiar with quinoa (pronounced keen-wa), you should be. It is one of the healthiest foods of all time, and is delicious. It is actually a seed, not a grain, and is a complete protein, rich in fiber, calcium, magnesium and iron. I just learned that on Wikipedia. I buy it at Costco in a beautiful green bag, near its inferior cousin, rice.

To prepare, combine the following ingredients in a medium saucepan:
* 2 cups water
* 1 cup rinsed quinoa (just throw it in a fine-meshed strainer and run some water over it)
* 1-2 tsp. chicken bouillon granules (you can also substitute a can of chicken broth for some of the water)
* Some chopped onion. I use frozen.
* 1 can of beans, rinsed. I usually use black beans, but today I used kidney beans and they were fabulous.

Bring to a boil. Reduce heat to a simmer and cover for 15 minutes or so. The liquid will be absorbed when it is done.

Item #2: Salmon Patty
If you are turned off by the term "salmon patty", I don't blame you. What is appealing about a fish patty? Well, obviously you have never tried the salmon burgers from Costco. Tsk, tsk. They are breath-taking. Every member of my family, from Jason down to Jake, can devour these in a matter of seconds. When I was eating my Perfect Meal, I had to defend my precious salmon patty from the legion of vultures, also known as my children, who suddenly appeared despite the fact that Jason had fixed each of them their own salmon patty merely an hour before.

To prepare the precious patty, just heat a non-stick skillet over medium-high heat. Throw on a frozen patty and sprinkle with dried dill and garlic salt. Flip over after a few minutes. You want each side nice and blackened, but not too blackened. You will know in your heart when it is done.


Item #3: Green Salad with BYU Ranch

Let me be clear: I am not a huge fan of Ranch dressing. I AM a huge fan of Ranch dressing from the BYU creamery. It is smooth and creamy and not bitter in the least. It is also light, clocking in at only 50 calories per two tablespoon serving, which is a large enough serving to swim in, which you might want to do, and all my kids love salad because of it. The next time you are in Provo, swing by ye ole Creamery and grab a few gallons. You will thank me, I promise. My salad this night consisted of a handful of greens from my trusty Costco, some sunflower seeds, feta cheese, and a few croutons because I can't be afraid of carbs on a day I run a marathon. Also some dried cranberries for color, but they still didn't improve the picture. But I don't care. It was perfect. I also used the Ranch as a dip for the salmon, and let's be honest, the quinoa.

Item #4: Dessert
By the time I had polished off my meal and licked the platter clean, I was feeling more like myself and was finally in the mood for a little something sweet, so of course I reached for... The Perfect Chocolate Chip Cookie. It is called the Perfect Chocolate Chip Cookie for a reason. Not gonna lie.

I had to make the decision of which to take first: a picture or a bite. Need I say more? I like how the cookie seems to be yawning, or perhaps singing. Probably to me, saying, "Good job on your marathon, Anne Marie! You deserve me and my five brothers whenever your little heart desires." Amen, brother, amen.

A Mother's Day to Remember. Or not.

I had to laugh this morning at all the forces of the universe conspiring against me as I tried to accomplish a huge goal in my life - to play the piano in sacrament meeting. Yes, I was just accompanying the Primary kids singing Teach Me to Walk in the Light, but it was a BIG deal for me and I wasn't going to let anything get in my way. However, it almost didn't happen.

I took the kids on a quick trip to Burley this weekend to see my brother Aaron perform his Senior Recital. I can't go to his graduation, so I was determined to go and be a part of this, even if I had to take the kids myself and be there less than 24 hours. We had a great time, and of course got a late start on the journey home Saturday night. But I had to be back to play the piano in our 9 am sacrament meeting, so staying wasn't an option.

I packed up the kids and pulled out of my parents' driveway at about 7 pm. Luke had been complaining that he didn't feel good, but I was hoping he was just making it up. My mom sent him with a barf bag just to be sure. As we drove past the rest area near, well, nowhere, on I-84, Dallin yelled, "Mom, Luke is barfing all over everything and it's not in the bag!" It was true. Luke had barfed all over himself and the entire backseat and not a speck of it had gone in the bag. I pondered that mystery during the unpleasant 15 minutes to the gas station in Snowville, where I got him out and started to brush the contents of his stomach off his clothes. At this point I got a whiff of something else. Something worse.

"Luke, did you....?" "No, Mom, I swear I didn't!" I checked his pants, and yes, he did. Poor little fellow didn't even realize that when he was throwing up, he was also... throwing down, as we like to put it delicately. Now that presents a problem when you are at a gas station with no other adult and three other kids. I've already given you more detail than perhaps I should have, so I will stop there and just say that I took him in to the bathroom with a pack of wet wipes and prayed that the other kids would not be victimized in any way by the rif raf in the parking lot of the greasiest Flying J in the nation. I considered taking them all in with me, but the bathroom is small and what would I do with Jake while I performed the necessary but horrific actions that would be required of me? We would end up with even more germs than we already had. It worked out in the end, and we continued on our journey without further incident, arriving home just after 11:30 pm. I unpacked the barf-filled vehicle and prayed that no one else would get sick.

This morning I was up early, freshly showered and ready to practice the piano and conquer my fear of playing in sacrament meeting. Abby came in to my bathroom and sat on the potty. A moment later I could hear the choking and gagging noise that mothers know all too well. I grabbed her off the toilet and spun her around. She successfully barfed into the toilet and I congratulated myself on a job well done and further cleanup avoided. It was at this moment that I was aware of a warm sensation on my feet. You will remember that her pajamas were around her ankles at the time. I looked down and had a realization that would ruin any Mother's Day, I don't care who you are. While she was throwing up, she was also... throwing down. All over the floor and my bare feet. Shall I say it again? All over my bare feet. Less than an hour before I was to conquer my fears and become a new person, all on Mother's Day.

I did the only thing I could do. I looked heavenward and called for help. My cry was answered by Jason, who came in, surveyed the scene, and asked in a horrified voice, "What do you want me to do?" I could only croak out a small, "I don't know." Then he left.

I cleaned up the crime scene, disinfected my feet and went to church, unpracticed and unabashed. When the time came for the Primary children to sing I marched to the front, hid at the piano behind all the standing kids, and played the song. I didn't make any mistakes until the third verse when I started thinking, "Hey, this is fun! I'm really good at this! Why was I so scared?" and lost my place and played three wrong notes. I don't think anybody noticed because the kids and moms were all singing together and apparently getting emotional from the wonderfulness of it all. I'm proud to say I was a part of it and I didn't let nerves, barf or shiz get in my way.

"I let my 6 year old be lowered into a bear den by someone I met on the Internet."

Now how many people can say that? I know of exactly one - my husband. Incidentally, there was a bear IN the den at the time. A mad bear, cornered by seven hound dogs. What a fun thing for a little boy to see. Let's lower him by his feet and hang him upside down five feet from a mad bear! Here, random friend I met on MonsterMuleys.com, you take one leg, I'll take the other...

That wasn't the only confession Jason made after returning from his bear hunt in southern Utah this weekend.

"I also put the boys out on several ledges that were very dangerous."

Maybe some things that you might not want to share with your wife if you ever want to spend unsupervised time with your children. Ever. Again.

Just a thought.

Don't get me wrong, I'm glad Jason wants to spend time with the boys and take them hunting. I just sleep a lot better once they are home and safe. And I kind of wish they would keep all the details to themselves. Sheesh!

Perspective

The other night was a typical, crazy evening going from one thing to the next. I was tired, frazzled and grouchy, but trying hard to get everything done and still stay a sane mama, one deep breath at at time. We had just arrived at Dallin's first baseball game of the season. I parked the van on the side of the busy street and proceeded to unload the kids. I noticed that Jake's diaper was about one ounce away from a major soak-through, so I instructed the other three to stay by the driver's door so I could hurry and change him. I specifically remember saying, "Abby, stand there and don't move." Then I turned my back.

A minute later I was aware of a car going by way too fast. I glanced up to make sure Abby was still standing by my side. She was gone.

I looked across the street and saw Jason carrying her, walking toward me, shaking his head. He was meeting us there and Abby had run to meet him as soon as she had seen him approaching.

"She ran right out in front of that car! It's a miracle she wasn't hit! Why weren't you watching her?" Jason was upset with me, and he had every right to be. I tried to explain to him that I don't have enough hands, that I was trying my hardest, that I told her to stand there, all the reasons that were completely true, but could never justify the life of our child.

"You need to watch her better!"

"I know. I know."

All I could think was, "She could have been killed. It would have been my fault. She could have been killed."  All the emotions of the crazy day and the reality of what almost just happened overwhelmed me. I loaded Jake back into his car seat and told Jason to take Luke and Abby to watch the game. I felt bad missing Dallin's game, but I was too shaken to try to put on a happy face and sit/wrestle Jake for the next hour and a half.

As I drove home through my tears, I prayed. I'm trying my hardest to be a good mom, to meet everyone's needs and be in every place I need to be, but sometimes it's just not enough. I can't do it all. It's too much. Four kids, four hundred places to be, I'm constantly being pulled in so many different directions. If I work hard at one thing, everything else suffers. There just isn't enough of me to go around. I can't do it all. What am I supposed to do?

Later, I opened the April issue of the Ensign to Elder Bednar's article, The Atonement and the Journey of Mortality. It focuses on the power of grace and how Christ literally gives us his enabling power to do and to be more than we could ever be on our own. I could practically hear the answers to my prayers as I read.

"Because He paid the ultimate price and bore that burden, He has perfect empathy and can extend to us His arm of mercy in so many phases of our life. He can reach out, touch, succor—literally run to us—and strengthen us to be more than we could ever be and help us to do that which we could never do through relying upon only our own power."

She might have been killed. But she wasn't.

I can't do it all. You don't have to.

What am I supposed to do? Just what you can.

I'm so grateful for the knowledge I have that I only have to do my best. It may not be perfect, or anywhere near, but as long as I am doing my best I can rely on the Savior to make up the difference. I know bad things will still happen. I know life will be hard. I'm just grateful that this time, my daughter was protected and I have the opportunity to start fresh and focus on what matters most.

Happy B-Day to Me

I turned 35 a few weeks ago. To be honest, I have dreaded this birthday for 35 years. But now that it has come and gone, I have to wonder, what was I so worried about? 35 is great! I feel like a spring chicken. Young, full of life and possibility... not nearly as geriatric as I had imagined. So I've decided not to hide my age. Who really cares if younger people think I'm old? They are always going to be younger than me, just sitting in the background, getting older themselves at the same time they are judging me for being old. There are just as many people who are older and recognize my youth and vitality for what it is (almost gone, but not quite). I've still got a few good years left in me. I'll take what I can get. 

I had a great birthday, minus the fact that our trampoline blew away at 8 am on my birthday morn. I just have to count it as a birthday present because now I don't have to move the thing every time I mow the lawn. Truly, I'm sad it's gone, but I listed it for free on ksl.com and had about 20 phone calls in 30 minutes from people who wanted a free, ruined trampoline. I think that is as popular as I have ever been in my life, so happy birthday to me. I kept taking phone calls long after it was committed to a happy individual because I was having so much fun answering the phone. Okay, so maybe being 35 is a little depressing if that's my idea of a good time these days.

You may remember that my brother Ryan and I are the same age for one day. Every year we pose proudly with a sign that tells our age on my birthday. Now we include our posterity, so here we are with my four and his three. I think they are about as nutty as a group of kids can be. 

All I really wanted for my birthday was a break from cooking dinner for one night, so we went to one of my favorite places, Blue Lemon.

The traditional family birthday picture. I think we were a little more energetic than the old Blue Lemon was used to. Oh well, we had fun.

I always tell myself I am going to try something new but I change my mind at the last second and order my favorite, the Pear and Gorgonzola Spinach Salad. When it arrives at the table, I think, wow, this could feed a family of five. I'm definitely taking some home this time. Ten minutes later, as I finish the last bite and scrape the dressing off the plate with my fork, I think, wow, that was good.

Jason hooked me up with some fabulous presents this year, as always. He took me out to lunch and then to Runner's Corner in Orem and waited patiently for me to get fitted with new running shoes by my new favorite person, Hawk. I knew Hawk would be my new favorite person just by his name, and I was not disappointed. I felt like I got a personal training session along with the perfect pair of shoes. I also got some new running clothes, a few dance games for the Wii, and the immersion blender I have wanted since the beginning of time. Yes!

Good bye, my fair friend. Next time, we won't take the weights off your legs one week before a large wind storm. We promise.

Dallin Gets His Woof/The Family Bat Who Wasn't Really a Bat

I hate to admit it, but I've never been too excited about Scouts. When Dallin turned eight I think it was the thing I dreaded most. It was fun to go down to the Scout office and get his little outfit and book, but I don't think he or I touched it for months. He went to activities and we all went to Pack Meeting (occasionally), but my heart just wasn't in it. Man that year went fast! Suddenly, it was almost time for him to graduate to Bears and he wasn't even close to being an official Wolf (or "Woof" as his Scout leader called it, and I am 100% not joking about that). So we busted our little behinds and got his dang Woof requirements completed right before his birthday. Maybe a few days after. Anyway, he was due to get his award, but because of a vacation and the Blue & Gold banquet, he was finally going to get it during the March episode of Pack Meeting.

Enter one of the biggest moral dilemmas of my mothering career. Pack Meeting is normally on a Tuesday. Or a Wednesday. I can never really remember which one, it is just definitely never on a Thursday. Especially not Thursday, March 22, the opening night of Hunger Games, for which my friends and I have had tickets for months and planned an epic Girls' Night Out. I realized the conflict the night before, and it was a huge conflict in my heart as well. Dallin was looking so forward to getting his award. I was looking so forward to my GNO. Dallin could get his award in April. I could see the Hunger Games later, by myself, lonely, cold and afraid. But my son... my little son must be my priority. So I forfeited my ticket and went to Pack Meeting. I was weeping in my heart on the way over, when Dallin said, "Mom, I woke up this morning and thought this was going to be a bad day. But then I remembered I was getting my award tonight, and I knew it would be a good day." So, that made it all worth it right there. That, and the joyful fellow who is peeking over my shoulder in the pictures. Seriously, how can Scouts not be fun with leaders like that?  

See him back there?

He's still there!

Ah, my little Woof. Maybe we will get started on the Bear now so we can choose a night to get the award that does not correspond with the opening of a major must-see teenage movie. Sheesh.

Now on to the Family Bat. If you know me very well, you know I love bats. It all started in the second grade when I found a bat hanging under the window of my second grade class. My teacher captured the bat in a jar and turned it into the Class Pet. I was kind of a nobody back then, if you can imagine that (ha), and I was suddenly catapulted to second grade stardom, all thanks to a furry little flying creature. For this I have always been grateful to bats and felt somewhat indebted to them.

Not to make this the Longest Post Ever or anything, but I decided years ago that if I was ever faced with the decision of which animal to be, I would definitely be a bat. Specifically, a fruit bat. Think of the benefits. A mammal, who can fly. They mate for life. Care for their young. Eat fruit, for crying out loud. How great would that life be? Okay, so it's basically my life right now, except for the flying part, but I really think being able to fly would enhance my life in so many ways. Anyway.

You can imagine my joy last week when Jason and Luke reported that we had a bat living under our deck! Our very own bat, or Family Bat, as it came to be known. They had seen the Family Bat a few times when they suddenly turned on the light and opened the door. I didn't really believe it because it was just too good to be true, but then one night I snuck down with Luke and flung the door open and turned on the light and there he was! The Family Bat! Flapping around, darting this way and that, a definite bat of our own!

I tried to get a few pictures, but he was too fast, or maybe I was too slow. It didn't matter. We all knew the Family Bat was there.

Until tonight. Luke and I performed our nightly ritual of sneaking down to see the Family Bat, me with camera in hand and hope in my heart. Except something was amiss. We flung open the door, but instead of flying, he was sitting (hey... bats don't sit! they hang...). And he didn't move. He let me capture the following shot on my camera, before taking off and floating and flitting this way and that, just like a bat. The bat that he was not.

I mean, if I wanted a Family Bird I would go buy one! You can't buy bats. They are not for sale, or believe me, I would be raising a little batch of them right now. Bats are meant to be free, living under porches and making people's dreams come true. Not just sitting there and impersonating more worthy and inspiring creatures. So it is with a heavy heart that I admit I don't really have a Family Bat, even though he will always live on in my soul.