 Friday night, Scott and I went on a date. A real date. (Yeah, people who are married for lots and lots of years do that sometimes, not a lot, not often—like one or twice a year—but they do).
Anyway, when we go out for dinner, it’s a little different. Having a vegetarian husband (vegan to boot) makes our dining experience interesting. We try new places and try foods that maybe most people (normal people) wouldn’t. But I’ll tell ya, I love it. We found a little diner (dive) in Salt Lake City called Vertical Diner. http://verticaldiner.com/ 2280 south West Temple It’s not fancy. The place is a bit old and off in traditional décor (used to be an old house, I think, and they remodeled the inside). But the food is completely vegetarian, organic and fresh. We have been there twice now and it’s delicious. The staff might frighten you a bit (tattooed lesbians) but they are awful nice and provide good service (everyone should have a tattooed lesbian working for them. Their great). I had a peppered tempah, Ruben sandwich (peppered tempah... what the heck?) No it’s great. Very good. Not sure what it is myself, but it’s yummy. I promise. Also, with any meal, you have your choice of the tempah, boca burger or fake chicken. I chose the tempah. As a side, it comes with tortilla chips or carrot slices. For two dollars more, you can get their fries (the best fries ever!) I suggest paying the $2 and having some awesome fries. I also had a garden salad with lime cilantro dressing (yum, yum) with all the fixings—very good salad. A meal in itself. Scott had the American Diner meal which was fake chicken over fries with gravy. I tried a bite and it didn’t kill me. No, it was great. He could hardly finish the whole thing; he was stuffed. We had planned to buy a nondairy shake to share as desert, but by the time we finished our food, we couldn’t even think of adding more food to our bellies. They have food for kids as well, such as PB&J or fake chicken tenders and fries or grilled cheese. So I suggest if you are wanting to try a new experience, or your wanting to cut back on eating meat and would like to try organic, fresh, healthy food, give Vertical Diner a try. You will not be disappointed. Just go into it with an open mind and willingness for new things. Angela 4 out of 5 stars. Later we went to a play by a company called THE OBT, or The Off Broadway Theater located at 272 South Main Street in downtown Salt Lake City. Every Friday and Saturday night they have an improve show called the Laughing Stock which is clean humor, good for the whole family fun. We have done this often over the past several years—so funny I nearly pee my pants each time I go. But they also have spoof plays they do as well each Friday, Saturday and Monday nights (Mondays are cheaper). We went Friday and saw the play called STAR WARDS (a spoof of Star Wars with LDS underlining themes). It was sooo funny! It started out with the Darth Vader character, Princess Lamoni, and Luke Singlewarder having family home evening and then went into the whole Star Wars theme with a LDS twist. Like the characters names were Brigham One Kanobi , CTR3, and MTCPO, Yoga—that kind of thing. It was fun. Fun for the whole family. Nothing offensive at all. The humor was fantastic. Now, not all of their shows are LDS spoofs. There are some coming up that are just spoofs on the movie itself like Henry Botter (spoof of Henry Potter). The sets are cheaply made. The costumes are too, but the humor is genuinely funny. It is a nonprofit organization just out to have a great time, with great actors and great imaginations. (We have taking our kids twice to see TRANSMORMORS and FOREVER DEAD and they had a riot!) If you are tired of dinner and a movie, give this place a try. You will not be disappointed. Well worth the money. I promise. Angela stars 5 out of 5.
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A novel is like a newborn baby. You created it. You nurtured it. You watched it grow into something amazing and wonderful—something you can touch, something tangible. It’s real and it’s yours. You love it. It is a part of you—a big part.
Now, as you present your baby to the world you hope for acceptance. Give me ooo’s and ahh’s. The one thing you hope never to hear is, “Wow, that is the ugliest baby I have ever seen.” No one wants to hear that—not a parent—not an author. Validation is the key. I’m a very insecure author. I admit that. I write and I worry. Is it good? Is it a big piece of bologna between two slices of crap? Will people like it? Will people hate it? Will people look at me and wonder, “I can’t believe she would write something like that. What is wrong with her?” And the biggest question of all—am I any good at this or am I wasting my time? (Please, oh please, don’t tell me that). Well today, I received validation—only a small piece of a really big pie of validation—but enough to make me smile ear to ear. I entered the Absolutely Write, Premier First Page Writing Contest. AND . . . drum roll, please . . . I won! I received 100 out of 100 points and 9 out of 10 (in the tiebreaker round) to come in FIRST PLACE for the Young Adult General Fiction category for my novel in progress called Desert Rice (title recently changed to Momma’s Little Girl). Is this a big deal? In the overall scheme of things, probably not, but for an insecure writer like me . . . it’s a HUGE DEAL. To see my name posted online as the First Place winner in my division—WOW! And not just second or third place either—I TOOK FIRST PLACE. I beat them all. Wahahahaha. I am thrilled. I am ecstatic. My heart is full of joy. I’m a teenier, tinnier step closer to realizing that maybe, just maybe I am on to something here. I’m not wasting my time. I am creating something that someone deemed worthy enough to give a first place title to. I love to write. I can’t imagine not doing it. Someone out there thinks I'm doing an okay job of it. My baby isn’t ugly and there is no better feeling than that. I have decided I am going to have to change my website name to Whimsy, Writing and WALKING. I’m a walker. I embrace this fact. I accept my limitations. Give me a sticker name tag that reads: HELLO I’m a Walker.
Running sucks. I do not believe it is going to get much better than it is—not in one month’s worth of time (maybe in a year or two from now, but not one month). There is something wrong with me; something about my body, my person that does not agree with running. I figured I needed to let my Ragnar Team know this fact. I was willing to step aside and allow another runner to take my place. I was fine with that. I just wanted them to be aware of what to expect from me. This is what I got back from one team member (I love her): Well, the longer it takes your van to do their runs, the more time I get to relax and even sleep, so I am all for a walker or two in the mix. But my guess is Scott wants you around because its fun and its even more fun with your spouse to snuggle w/ at night and cheer on in the day. I want you along for the memories, the general bonding that takes place, the friendship, and so much more than the speed of your feet. Your have a spirited wit, cleverness and willingness to be silly, I love that! That is what makes this soooo fun. Don't even think twice about speed. However, its your choice and if you just don't want to come, then we won't pressure you. I may ask you to babysit my kids though (our babysitter got invited to DC and how can you blame her for cancelling??) So think about it. IF its not fun, then we aren't doing it right. Love you jen Don’t you just love that line “I want you along for the memories . . . as so much more than the speed of your feet.” Wow, the amount of pressure that lifted from my shoulders. I love Jen. I love her cute family . . . but when she asked if I would watch her three LOVELY boys (they are lovely) plus my three kids, then I started thinking that 13.1 miles doesn’t sound all as bad . So my Ragnar Team, I make you a couple of promises: Promise #1) I will complete my legs of the race. Promise #2) I will keep my cursing to a minimum. Promise #3) I will not to flip any one off. Promise #4) I will provide comedic relief, which will hopefully make up for my lack of athleticism. I promise to make you laugh While I walk my legs of the race (I might mix it up a little and run a tiny bit), my other 11 Ragnar team members better be resting up and preparing to make up my time. I figure, if the rest of you can do a 6 minute mile or less to make up for my 15 minute mile, then all will work out. We won’t come in last place. So run your little hearts out. Train, train, train . . . cause I’m a walking.  I have not blogged for awhile for a couple of reasons. Reason #1: I’ve been writing a lot on my novel and I enjoy it tremendously. Reason #2 I hate running. My last couple of running trips ended poorly and so now it’s hard to convince myself that I want to keep doing it at all. Reason #3 The Ragnar is just a little over a month away and I am struggling to figure out how in the world I am going to accomplish this impossible task and Reason #4 I just got back from a trip with my family to New York City.
So what to write about? I guess I will hit on all four reasons above. Reason #1: This little story of mine is taking off. My passion is writing, and this particular novel has pushed me to the brinks of every possible emotion a writer can feel—unsure, thrilled, excited, fanatical, depressed. It’s endless actually. These fictional characters, a boy of 15 and a girl of 12, tug at my mothering heartstrings, so that when I have to write an unpleasant scene, it literally hurts my heart and pains me. I have poured my all into this story. Writing is what I want to do. I think I am good at it. That is my hope. Reason #2: Running is not what I want to do. It is not something I am good at doing. Maybe someday I will be “okay” at it, but I fear that goal is far reaching—years down the road perhaps. Running is not easy. I have tried. I have tried a lot, and I have come to the point that running is not my thing. Some people enjoy it; get a runners high and a feeling of a sense of accomplishment by doing it. Not me. Am I not allowed to admit this? Am I not allowed to say, I tried it and it just didn’t work for me? So, yeah, in the past two weeks I have only went running twice. Running depresses me. Why in the world would I want to keep doing it. Reason #3: The Ragnar. This is the reason I must keeping trying to run. This is why I do it. It is coming. It is coming up quickly. Just thinking about it makes me want to pee my pants. It scares me to death. 13.1 miles of running. Why, oh why in the world did I commit myself to something as insane as this? I wish I could go back in time (anyone have a time machine out there I could borrow?) It’s too late now. I can only do what I can do and pray that somehow I live through it. (In case something should happen to me, I have a green journal with my final requests written down. Thumb through it, it’s somewhere in the middle, and do EXACTLY as I have requested. I will be watching and swear I will haunt you if you don’t). Reason #4: New York. New York how I love thee! A whirlwind trip for sure. I love New York. It is a remarkable place—more people crammed into the tiny space of Manhattan than I think could ever possibly fit (that’s why there are so many tall buildings there—no room for people to walk around on the ground, they had to put some of them up in the sky). I hope my kids enjoyed it and will look back and say, remember that time we flew to New York for the day? It was totally wicked! That’s what I want, great experiences for my children. Did a day trip to New York wipe me out? Oh, yeah. Completely. Was it worth it? Definitely. So, those are my reasons for not blogging. I will do better. I will try harder. I will write today. I will run today. This way I will have something to blog about tomorrow. You know that commercial in which people yell, “Red one!” or “Blue one!” and punch the person next to them in the shoulder? Well, me and my kids have our own version. Called: “Fast runner!” “Slow runner!” or “Runner with dog!”
It’s my own fault really. I live in Farmington. People in Farmington, Centerville, and even as far as Bountiful, like to run. They’re everywhere. There are many days in which we can easily count a half dozen or more. One day we counted up to ten. Rarely, if ever, is there a day we don’t see at least one runner. This game happened to start with me. It didn’t originally start off as a game, but more as an observation. I’d point and say, “Look! There’s a runner. They look happy.” I always look. I want to see beads of sweat and faces puffed out in an attempt to catch their breath. I have yet to see this. Every one of them, even the slow ones, look as though running is no big deal, like their pleased as punch to be doing it. My kids love this game, “Look mom, there’s one!” Then they slug me in the shoulder. I look as these runners with wide eyes, like a child at the zoo watching an exotic animal. I’m intrigued. I don’t get it. It is a strange wonder, a different species. The Ragnar is quickly approaching. I am terrified (13.1 miles . . . are you kidding me?). I am learning some things: my calf muscles are getting stronger, while my lungs are not (my new asthma inhaler does not appear to be making much difference). I have learned that if I do not use my inhaler at least 15 minutes prior to running, and then walk a little bit to warm up my lungs to get them prepared , I will only get a mile into it and throw up. If I don’t carry my inhaler on my person, then the measly one mile back to my car is horrendous. This happened yesterday. My worst running experience to date. But now I know exactly what I did wrong. I will not repeat it. Have I mentioned that I am a slow learner as well as a slow runner? I will run tomorrow. I will put into practice what I know works for me. I need to stop comparing myself to other runners, which is a hard thing to do (even as I write this I have tears in my eyes). I want to be better. I want to do well at this, or at least be average. Maybe even a little below average would be nice—I would be quite content with that. You know how your kids are graded from 0-3? I would love to be a 1. Being a 0 sucks. I don’t like the idea of “losing” at anything. If I put my mind to something, then shouldn’t I be able to accomplish it? Why then does this have to be so gosh darn difficult? Am I a runner? Heck no. Should I quit? Probably. Will I? We’ll see. For now, I will keep trying.  So after a week of not running at all, I put on those stretchy pants early in the morning with the idea that if I put on the running attire, then at some point in the day I will actually go running.
Now keep in mind, the week I had off was great. No pain. My knees were happy. I walked like I was still in thirties and not somewhere in my eighties. All was well. Somehow, my knee caught wind of my plan and started acting up right after I put on the running shoes. I was like, “What is this all about? We haven’t even done anything yet?” I think it is my brains fault. My brain is smart (shut-up it is) and leaked this information to my knee. “Psst . . . Knee, you there?” “Uh-huh.” “Thought I’d let you in on a little secret.” Brain looks around to see if I’m paying attention. I’m not (which is typical) so my Brain continues. “She’s thinking of running today.” “What? No! I thought she gave that up? For the love of all that’s good in the world, WHYYYY?” “I just thought I’d give you a heads up in the matter.” (Notice my carefully placed play on words here. Hee, hee, hee) “Maybe she needs to be reminded a little. You know, she needs to be sent a message. Let her know this ain’t right.” (Why my brain sounds like the Godfather, I don’t know, but that’s how I picture this all going down.) “What’s the plan, Boss?” “Remind her of what it feels like. Put the squeeze on her. You’ll know what to do.” So before I had even put on the knee brace or anything, that darn knee started acting up. I had to take ibuprofen for the first time in days. Stupid knee. Well, I got the last laugh in on them . . . I went running. I did. I ran. I showed that brain of mine who was boss, alright. I ran/walked 2.5 miles (I didn’t push. I hadn’t done anything in a week remember.) I woke up today, my right AND left knee hurts and my right hip has joined the action too. There’s a mutiny going on here and my brain is the ring leader! Well, I’m going to go pop some more pills and NOT even think about going running tomorrow (hint, hint). I’s got’s to be tricky about this—my brain is clever (shut up, it is) and I got to mislead it into believing all is well. Last Friday I spent my entire day at the school performing my last and final PTA duties for the year—NO TV Week. This part of the job I enjoy. I bought lots and lots of toys, checked my list, and handed them out the good boys and girls just like a female version of Santa Clause (minus the gray hair, and red nose. I wish I could minus the belly that jiggles like a bowl full of jelly, but I’m slowly working on that).
The children loved me. They adored me. But I don’t want to do it again next year. It is time to forward that good feeling onto another PTA volunteer. I must spread the blessings. Anyway, while there I became hungry. I could smell the lunchroom and I had a good fifteen minutes before my next batch of kids came to collect their goodies. My daughter, who is in first grade, saw me and waved me over to sit with her brood of fellow first graders. I tell you, first graders are something else. To eat lunch with them, one must have a pretty strong stomach. (Disclaimer: The school lunch wasn’t great, but it was palatable until I sat down at that table with all those 6-year-olds.) First, one little girl ripped off her shoe and sock and slapped her foot up on the table. “See that mark,” she said so very proud of herself. “That was where I had my wart removed. I only had one. My sister had ten.” Yummy! It gets worse. One little boy dipped his purple grapes into ranch dressing, and plopped them into his mouth whole. I get shivers just thinking about it. “Why do you do that?” I asked. “Because it’s good.” He then offered to give me one. “No thanks,” I said. “That sure is kind of you though.” Last, but not least of my experience with the first graders, ended in them playing “Pass the chip.” A child on the far end of the table would pass a chip down the line to the child at the end. That child would plop it in his mouth and then proceed to send another chip up the row. Ten kids touching a chip? There’s a whole lot of cooties being shared right there. Now, I didn’t want to be a party pooper, so when the chip came my way, I refused to eat it, but went ahead and passed it along down the row. Eating with first graders is quite the experience. I don’t think I will ever be the same. This past week has been fantastic! I can’t impress upon you how great this week was and how good I feel. It’s all because . . . I didn’t run. Nope, not even once since the 5K last week.
I feel great—my knees bend and move like they should, no cracking and popping, no burning heat, I don’t smell like sweat, and best of all . . . NO PAINFUL SPORTS BRA!! Yippee!! What a week. I was so happy, happier than I have felt in a long time. But all good things must come to an end. I have to run. I hate it. But I have to do it. There is no getting around it “they say” (ya, well, I found one . . . should this running thing not improve by the end of May, my really cute doctor told me he would write me, exact quote here, “a really awesome note.” Plan A: learn to run and not die, and if that doesn’t happen, then Plan B, which from this point forward will be known as: “The Escape Plan,” I will carry around in the back of my mind as a possibility). Okay, my asthma medication has been increased—this should improve my lung capacity significantly—and the weather looks promising tomorrow. So, I will strap on my stretchy pants and hit the road. I don’t want to, but I need to. 13.1 miles beckons to me. Frightens me. And it is that fear that makes me do it. The Ragnar is approaching fast—too fast for my liking actually—I must train. Goodbye my lovely week of leisure. Hello week of . . . sorry, I can’t think of a kind word here and everything that comes to mind should best not be written. |
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