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Okay, I have a minute to myself. I am currently sitting the KOA laundry room all by myself. I hate doing laundry but right now, I relish this peaceful moment to myself. It is 9:30pm. I will be here for a while.
Our vacation so far has been terrific. I will give you a brief rundown and my very own “Angela’s Recommendations.” We stayed in a pseudo KOA just outside of Mesa Verde. We stayed in a rented cabin (20x20 . . . too close for any family). It has your basics--beds and a fan. That’s about it. Now, this pseudo KOA had a heated swimming pool, recreation cabin with a pool table and foosball (forgive my spelling), and mini golf. All the kids wanted to do was play with their cousins and do these things. Going to Mesa Verde to see Indian ruins—not too much fun for a kid. But let me tell you something, my Callie is so very brave. We went to the Balcony House tour at Mesa Verde. It is a climb down, and a 30ft climb up a ladder to get to the Indian cliff dwellings. Also, you have to crawl on hands and knees through a tunnel and then climb up another 15ft ladder and really steep steps (that scared the bejeebies out of me) to get out of there. I was nervous. Other adults were nervous—some even sang Old McDonald to keep their minds off the process. But not my Callie, she climbed those ladders like it was nobody’s business. I couldn’t believe it. We also saw Spruce Tree House and from there we went on a hike from hell. No kidding. It was supposed to be a 3.0 mile looped trail to see some Indian petroglyphs. We hiked and we hiked and we hiked somemore—3 adults and 5 kids (four under the age of 8). The kids thought it was great . . . up to a point. We crawled over boulders, climbed rock steps, squeezed through narrow openings, and sat to take a break under a cliff ledge. They were troopers. But it was dang hot!! We brought 4 bottles of water for our family and they were completely gone and we still hadn’t reached the end. It went on and on and on. I kept looking and thinking, my van is parked on that plateau across the valley . . . WAY OVER THERE. This didn’t seem right. The kids started whining and begging to go back to camp to swim. Some even sat down and vowed they would go no further. We actually saw a couple of really worn out cliff dwellings and I thought to myself, “I wonder if we could just live here.” It was that bad. Eventually, we did make it back, but everyone we talked to who did the same hike said there was no way that was only 3 miles. I told my husband, I earned myself some free, no complaining computer time. So Mesa Verde pseudo KOA I would rate 3 stars ***(I give it 3 because it has the basics and it had WiFi) Mesa Verde National Park I would have to give it 4 stars (minus a star for the hike I hated) **** Now for Durango. Holy Cow! It is beautiful here. The mountains and greenery are fantastic. We are staying in a real KOA just outside of Durango, again in cabins and I’m telling you, this place rocks!! They have so much entertainment here and it’s beautiful and brand new. Our cabin has air conditioning and a heating unit—WOW. That’s going above the normal there. They offer pizza delivered to your camp site, pie and ice cream in the evenings (all for a price of course) and a free family movie in the park at dusk. Incredible. Besides living in the 20x20 cabin with my whole family, I could live here forever J And WiFi is a must. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Today, we rode the Durango/Silverton train. It was a 3 hour train drive to Silverton and it was fantastic. It is long. We took naps, but the view is fantastic. The kids loved it. We spent 2 hours in Silverton, a small tourist community, ate lunch at a café in town and went shopping. Then it was another 3 hour train ride back home. I think the only thing the kids will remember is on the trip back was that we were mooned 4 times as we waved to people from the train and that we also received “the bird” from a woman driving a white truck. The kids were rolling with laughter. We threatened them—never, ever are you allowed to moon anyone or flip anyone off. That is rude. Durango KOA I will give 5 stars ***** (It’s about the closest thing to heaven there is as far as camping goes) Durango/Silverton Train ride I would give 4 stars **** (long train ride and we sat on the wrong side of the train and had the sun blaring down at us in the morning and then again in the afternoon. We were in an open car.) Overall, it was fun and the kids enjoyed it. Tomorrow we will start our trek to Frisco, TX. Hopefully, we will stop and stay in a hotel to break up the drive. We have 3 adults and 5 kids in two vans plus a dog, so this will be interesting. *As I write this, I feel awful dizzy. Back and forth and back again sways my head—the motion of train jostling me around for 6 hours. Kind of strange. I feel like I am still on the train.
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  Got a glue gun? Got a pink marker? I can fix it.
Yes, my husband is MacGyver/MacGruber. He is amazing—a genius. My lap top power adapter has been having issues for a while. I would have to wiggle it this way and wiggle it that way to get power. Then all of a sudden—nothing. My battery kept counting down 48% power. 32% power. 10% power and then my laptop died and I had no way to recharge it. I panicked. I freaked out a little (okay, a lot). What was I going to do? What was I going to do? WHY ME? I cried a tear or two. I called Staples. I called Best Buy. I called WalMart. Yes, they had a universal power adapter. It would cost me $100. I was willing to buy it. I was just about to do it too. I needed power. I would pay the electronics department man at WalMart anything he wanted—one hundred dollars? Two hundred dollars? I would find the money somehow. I would. Need a kidney? I have two. But I had a meeting. I had a meeting with my wonderful, wonderful critique group/friends. It would have to wait until I was through. I was anxious. I have important things on my laptop—my novels, my notes, my eBay store, my facebook friends. How would I ever be able to keep in touch and update my status? (I actually have 3 other computers in my house, but my pink laptop is my baby. Mine. My toy and no one else can touch it). My meeting ran long. I came home and my miracle worker husband said, “I believe I can fix that.” He got out the utility knife, a soldering iron, tweezers, the plastic pink casing off a marker, some black tape, my glue gun and a wad of gum (just kidding, no gum was used in this process. But a marker? Come on. That’s genius). He went to work. He soldered the completely broken connections, used the plastic marker to cover up the very dangerous open innards, hot glued it all together, used a bit of tape and Waa-la—I HAVE POWER!! I love that man. I love him a lot. He is a master of all things broken (I kid you not). I have seen him build a wooden shed from scratch; put in a pond and stream in our backyard; rebuild blown down fences; replaced our LCD screen on our video camera; upgrade the memory on our computers; and he has plans to repair our bent-in-half trampoline. What a guy! We are the perfect couple: I break a lot of stuff and he knows how to fix it. Oh, I forgot too . . . my other lovely injury—the bra-strap-dug-a-groove-into-the shoulders-injury.
I’m wearing Band-aids on my shoulders even as I write this. Oh, that bra was a killer—rubbing me raw!! I feel like I have a sunburn on my shoulders. But in defense of the bra, it had a tough job to do—supporting a rather large load while running down hill. There is no bra in the world that could have helped me there. I should have whipped it off and ran freely—that would have been a sight (a scary sight). So yes, I have many blisters and two matching grooves on my shoulders. My thighs are killing me and I walk down stairs like an 80 year old person. BUT, I did wear high heels to church today. I almost wore my medal to church too—I earned it baby. It’s my new bling. J  It all started at 3:30am. The night before, Scott’s 3 cousin’s spent the night at our place (the 4th cousin met us at 4:00am) and then we packed it up and drove to Logan. My stomach was full of butterflies. Was I really going to do this? Really? Even as we drove, I kept trying to think of a way out of this predicament.
I committed myself to the Ragnar race. It was too late. I mean, I could “run away,” but I am so gosh dang slow, anyone from my team could have out run me and dragged me back. I had to do it. Nuts! I kept my goals for myself quite simple. Goal #1: Survive. Goal #2: Complete all three of my legs (13.1 miles). Goal #3: Run more than I have ever run. Goal #4: No swearing or flipping the bird (this was going to be the hardest one to accomplish. I like to cuss some, only some, and that darn middle finger tends to have a mind of its own). But, I am proud to say (yes, in this circumstance I am prideful) I completed all 4 of my goals. My first run as around 9:00/9:30am time and was 5.1 miles. The funny thing, for some weird reason, I don’t remember much of this run. I guess it was okay. I remember the kindness of other runners as the ran past me, “You’re doing so good” or “Just a little more, you can do it.” I kept my finger down. I only swore in my mind. Just kidding. Other runners were very kind and very supportive. So many different types of runners out there too—speedy ones, slow ones, walkers. It was all good, all for fun. Even the different communities were awesome—passing out waters or squirting us down with hoses or misters. I did not meet one mean runner. That is all I can remember of that run—I did see a water fall and I do remember the road sloped to the left and my left foot took a beating. My second run was 4.2 miles and I ran that around 9:00pm. I was looking forward to this one—cool weather, flat terrain—I should be fine. I actually stood there at the transition going, “COME ON!! Hand me the baton. Let me get this done!” I was revving to go. (Can you believe that?) Well, I wasn’t fine. My feet took a beating in the first leg—blisters a blooming. I used mole skin, I thought all was well. OH, NO!!! About 2 miles into the run and my left foot was on fire. It hurt so bad. New blisters formed and I could barely put my foot down (I had tears in my eyes, but I was determined to finish). There was actually one point I thought, “I’m going to take my shoe off. I’m taking it off. I am. I can’t wear this shoe. I'm going to chuck it as far as I can.” But that would have been counterproductive. I felt like I was wearing a heating pad on my foot--our team name was the "Burning Sensations" and I was having a burning sensation of my own. This leg I walked most of it. It hurt. It hurt bad. I got to the end, flopped myself in the cool grass, and whipped off that shoe so fast. The damage: blister on the heal; blister on the pad of my foot that snaked its way in between my big toe and the middle one; blister on my pinkie toe; and my fourth toe was no longer a toe at all—just a gigantic blister. I placed that foot in the cold grass and wondered how in the world I was going to complete my 3rd leg in the morning. Once done with this section, my 5 teammates in Van 1 went to Kamas, Utah to a high school to sleep while van 2 ran their legs of the race. We slept on the gym floor. There were so many other runners there, you would have thought the place would be crazy with talking and laughter and chit-chatting the night away. Nope. None of that was happening. Everyone was dead to the world. I didn’t think I would be able to sleep, but amazingly enough I did. I was exhausted. Third leg of the race, my run was 3.8 miles mostly downhill and started around 9:00am in the morning. So how did I do it with blisters, you ask? (This part is gross. You may want to skip down a little. Just as a warning.) Well, I popped every blister, squeezed them flat, and wrapped the heck out of them with tape and moleskin. (Picture above). My socks were loose. I had purchased new socks right before the race (a big no-no, because they didn’t fit right—too big) and so one of my teammates gave me one of her tighter socks to wear (yes, dirty, but at this point it didn’t matter). I was excited for this leg and determined to run most of it. What I remember most about this leg of the race was the fact that my support van (my team) was nowhere to be found. Usually, they hand you water every mile or so and check to see how you’re doing. I got to mile 2 and no van, no water. I had to bum water off another van for another team. I ran a lot of that downhill leg and my stupid team members never saw any of it. Nope. It wasn’t until I had made it down to the main highway when they finally came to check on me. At that point, I didn't need them. (In their defense, we had one team member who was very sick and they had to take her to find a honey bucket—that’s a crapper unless you didn’t know—and a honey bucket it is NOT). THEN, as a lovely, lovely surprise, the Ragnar people went and stuck a small dirt hill at the end of my run—I was NOT expecting that. I usually try to run the last mile or so, but not on that one. That little hill kicked my behind. Oh, and one thing I noticed too, it seemed like whenever I got the last mile marker of a leg, that mile seemed to take FOREVER. What’s with that? When I climbed up that hill and saw the Ragnar volunteer who called out the numbers so the next runners could get ready, I asked him, “Who the heck put this hill here?” (Notice I used the “Utah” cuss word here . . . wink, wink—keeping to my goals up above). Yes, I did it. I ran/walked my behind off—I told my team members that I was a walker, and should they happen to see me running, well, that was just a bonus). I felt stronger my 3rd leg. I really did—blisters and all. Once my foot went numb, it was great J Actually, the whole thing wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it was going to be. We were super stinky, but we laughed a ton and had a good time. Would I do it again . . . you know, I never thought I would say this, but maybe I would be willing to give it another go around—and maybe next time I would be even better at it J ** Van 1 of the "Mom’s in Motion"—there were actually times I did run. I did. You just never saw it. You caught me at the wrong times (the I-am-too-pooped-to-run-this-stupid-race-anymore-just-get–me-to-the-end-wrongtimes, except for leg 2 in which I walked most of it because my foot was on fire). And Holly, you rocked it my sister-friend. Thanks for the sweaty hug, you crazy runner you and you can drink my water anytime! You guys are awesome—just like I knew you would be. It was so cool to see you and cheer you on—Sam, Erica, Melissa, Holly, Melodie, Lisa. That was fun for me—even when Holly whizzed past me. (Notice I didn’t even once flip her the bird or curse her in my mind.) You just better not have marked me as a kill, because that would be wrong and pathetic—I’m easy prey. Yep, the big day is tomorrow (with a follow-up day on Saturday). The “R” word . . . RAGNAR. Okay, how do I keep my stomach from doing flip-flops everything I say “Ragnar.” Oops, there it goes again.
Ay, yi, yi . . . Am I really going to do this? 13.1 miles stretched out into 3 legs of the race over a two day period . . . Really? Back in October when they asked me, I really should have thought about it a little more before I said “Sure.” Really, I should have. The other day, Scott asked if I wanted to do the 2011 race (teams that signup to do so, this weekend, are guaranteed to run the race next year). Umm . . . I haven’t run this year’s yet, why would I commit to doing next years when just the idea of this year’s scares me? I need to run one first to see if I have it within me to cheat death. No, I don’t think I will say yes to next year’s race. I’m good. I think I am still at the 5K level. My hopes and dreams do not include running marathons, or even half marathons ,or even a half of a half a marathon. There are people who truly enjoy that kind of thing—pushing their bodies to the limit. Me? Well, my body really hates the idea of being pushed. My body is like, “Hey, what’s the hurry? Why must we do this? Let’s finger paint.” I don’t need to climb a mountain. I don’t need to run from one ocean to another (sounds delightful though) or throw myself off a cliff to find enjoyment within my life. I’m good. My sense of success comes from other things. I am not a thrill seeker or a finder of bodily pain. No, I’m not (I’m a finder of comfort and relaxation—a finder of massages and pedicures). Tomorrow is it. The big “R” word. I take a deep breath. I will walk/run my buns off. Everyone says it’s going to be fun, but I’m not sure how that is possible. At this point, I will have to take their word for it. Please pray for me. Actually, I am open to all religious dominations and beliefs at this point. If you have an in by chanting or performing a running dance or such, I’m all for it. No black magic. I must draw the line at the dark Lord . . . though, I was slightly temped to include him as well. (Just kidding. I was going for the joke. Satan sucks.) Remember me. Just know that I could use all the help I can get. It was around 9:00 in the evening and I decided I had better get some running/walking in because the Ragnar is in (gasp) 3 days. Just 3 days until the big “run/walk-my-butt-off-until-I –am-near-collapse-day.” Yeah, I am excited (not).
Anyway, Scott told me there was only about a half hour of sunlight left, but not to worry, even running in the dark wasn’t too bad. Well, I did something rather foolish. I started running toward Centerville. I ran. I felt okay. I ran a bit more. My sides started killing me (never had that happen before—it’s usually the lung thing that stops my momentum). So I stopped running and walked and walked and walked. I got 2.5 miles into Centerville (not too shabby). Then I realized I had to run/walk the 2.5 miles back to my van. It started out not too bad and then boy oh boy it got DARK. I was dumb. I admit it. I didn’t have a head lamp or a butt lamp or a reflective vest. Nope, just me alone in the pitch black dark. I wasn’t afraid of getting kidnapped. I wasn’t afraid of getting hit by a car (I was extra careful and stayed on the sidewalk). What I was afraid of, was tripping over tree branches that fell from that crazy wind we had a few days before, falling in a hole, or tripping over uneven sidewalks. AND, when a car approached with its headlights, I was blinded—completely blinded to everything. Branches hung out over the sidewalk as well and threatened to take off my head. It was stupid and dangerous. But I did it. I did 5.1 miles. That is my first and longest leg in the Ragnar race. I did it. I got home around 10:30pm. My garage was open. Scott’s car was gone. He went out looking for me. I find that very sweet. He cares. He loves me. I thought he would have been at home, in bed, sleeping and not even noticing I wasn’t there. He gave me the what for though when he came home. “Never, ever, EVER again,” he said. I agreed. The he massaged my very sore feet for me. What a guy. I know I dog on him every once in awhile (he would say every day, but that’s just not true) but I sure do love that man. It’s been 16 years now and we still like each other a whole lot—it’s awesome. Okay, so don’t run in the dark. It’s scary. It’s dangerous. Trees start looking like evil things and you swear you see shapes moving and changing—like in Lord of the Rings or something. So don’t do it. Actually, running in the middle of the day sucks too. The morning isn’t too bad, but it’s early and you can’t sleep in. So, it’s becoming quite apparent that there’s just no good time of the day to go running :P  You read that correctly. There is a live spider in my stainless steel fridge. I came home from church, opened the fridge and saw a cup with an envelope over the opening and a small dish on top of it. This looked weird and I asked, “Does anyone know why there is a covered cup in the fridge?”
I truly expected Callie to come running. She is my creative child, my interesting child. In her room, she has a drawer full of rocks—her collection and she refused to part with any (even though they all look the same). I told her one time, that she needed to get rid of some of the rocks. “We have no room for rocks in the house,” I said. She came and handed me two that I could put outside—two. She has probably fifty. And some of them are rather big and heavy. If the cup wasn’t Callie’s then I thought maybe one of the boys was doing something odd. The imagination of children amazes me—the things they can come up with. OH,BUT NO!! No child came running. It was my husband. He ran to the top of the stairs and yelled down to me, “Don’t uncover that cup!” Oh, boy. “Why?” I asked. “Because there is a spider in there that I want to take a picture of.” Huh? “Ooo-kay. Why is it in my fridge?” “I heard it slows them down and that way I can take a really cool picture.” My husband, if you cannot tell is into photography. My husband, if you cannot tell, is crazy. “What kind of spider?” I HATE spiders. I hate spiders in the yard. I hate spiders in the house. I especially hate spiders in my fridge. I’m trying to make dinner. I am creeped out. “Just don’t look,” he said. OH, GREAT!! It must be a really, really big, ugly, scary looking spider—in my fridge. I take a deep breath. I take another. My husband is worse than the kids. That spider better be gone by evening time or I'm leaving him.  Yep, this is my critique group at work—me, Diana and Elisa. Scott thought it was so funny that we sat at the table with each of our laptops open. He said that usually when you see three people, with three laptops, all in the same room—their computer gamer nerds (he would know).
Well, I prefer the term “Writer Enthusiasts.” That is what we are. Actually, we normal don’t have our lap tops up and running, but this day was special. We were working on formatting our manuscripts, plot synopsis, and excerpts for a League of Utah Writers writing competition. We were helping one another. Do we plan on winning? No, we are realistic, but the intriguing aspect of this contest is feedback. As a writer, feedback is the pot of gold under the rainbow—desired and searched for. Any feedback is good feedback. Positive feedback is fantastic and keeps the writer moving forward, but it’s the negative feedback that improves a writer’s work. Is negative feedback fun? Oh, heck no. To be told, your writing right here in this spot is, well, “cheesy” or “I don’t get what you’re going for here” is not fun. I have dished out a few of these terms to members of my critique group, and I have had my fair share in return, but it’s honest feedback. You take it and use it to improve your writing—if you can’t handle it, then you shouldn’t be a writer. Writers have to be tough, because a writer’s world is full of rejections, edits and suggestions. It’s the way it is. Why write then? For me, it’s because I have too. I’m slowly getting tougher in handling the negative. I hardly cry anymore :) These two ladies in my critique group have been amazing for me. They push me to write. They push me to enter contests. They push me to write query letters. They push me to get out of my comfortable little box. These are two of the greatest ladies and writers I know. I can’t wait to own a signed copy of their books.  Garlic Basil Walnut Pasta—so easy and quick to make. The majority of my 5 member family likes it too. I use thin wheat pasta. While the water and pasta boil, heat up olive oil in a pan—approx. ¼ of a cup (I eye ball it. You need enough to coat the pasta). Cut up fresh basil into tiny pieces, and use a garlic press to add garlic (per taste. I use at least 3 cloves). Heat garlic, basil and chopped walnuts to the heated pan, stir until basil and garlic are barely cooked. Add the drained pasta, stir and coat. Salt and pepper to taste and serve hot. Yummy.
(Notice how I add a recipe right after my blog about my blisters? That is SO wrong.)   Okay, running gives me blisters—sister blisters, one for each foot. They have been my constant companion for three weeks now. I wear thicker socks. I wear moleskin. Nothing—they keep appearing.
I have a gift certificate for a pedicure that I can’t use—my feet are yucky. I bought insoles for my shoes to see if that will help. Otherwise, 13.1 miles will leave me a blistered, bloody mess. Ugg, this race is in two weeks—two weeks. My heart and stomach do flip-flops when I think of it. It’s gonna hurt. It’s gonna suck. But I hang in there because everyone says it’s gonna be fun. Hmm . . . do I trust them? So, what do I do for blisters? How do I make them go away and keep them from coming back? I don’t know. I’ve got to figure it out though or I’m in a heap of trouble. |
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