Ragnar Las Vegas 2016

Hard to believe that I just ran my 4th Ragnar in one year.  Hard to believe for anyone else except me, because I did it, and it was hard.  It all started with Las Vegas November of 2015.  Our Mother Runner group was kind of a baby in terms of teams.  We ran Las Vegas, then Zion, UT trail run in May 2016 (which wasn't technically mother runners because we brought our husbands and there were only 4 couples), Wasatch Back, UT in June 2016, and rounding it out again with Las Vegas last weekend.

After running several races with these ladies, I feel a tremendous amount of gratitude to my Father in Heaven for blessing me with their friendship.  Each woman has a set of gifts unique to her, that plays the role of a blessing in each of our lives.  As we have trained, run, and a whole heck of a lot of lunch dates in between- we have woven the threads of friendship into a tight knit canvas that we each love and treasure dearly.

Each race was a very different experience.  Our first Ragnar was scary, new, and filled with determination and laughter at every single turn.  We cried with tears of admiration and pride as we watched our friends end a particularly difficult run, coming in with the last ounce of energy they had, and collapsing into her teammates arms.  We laughed often and freely, sometimes so much it physically hurt.  Those moments were usually in the late hours of the day, with feelings of complete exhaustion, and sleep deprivation.  Women do wacky things when they are without their mothering duties for an extended period of time... they slip back into younger habits, and live a little lot more freely.  Voices get louder, more colorful, guards are let down.

Running Zion with my husband was not the kind of experience I expected.  I should have known better.  One of my favorite quotes "All frustration is a result of unmet expectation" applies here.  The race was hard.  And Jason, bless him for all his wonderful qualities, but he makes a terrible cheerleader.  And cheerleading is exactly what I need and want while I'm running.  Someone to tell me to push harder even when I think I have hit my limits.  Someone to yell and scream and jump up and down when I push through and come around that corner sweaty and covered in dirt because I fell. (yes, I did.)  And that course... became my nemesis.  I won't be running it again.

Wasatch Back, UT.  This one was tricky.  I ran over 19 miles total.  And it was rough.  Not awful, but rough.  The van carrying the other half of our team was not holding aces.  It was pretty awful.  They ran in the heat of the day twice and it was unusually hot for that time of year. Their legs assignments were hard, with a significant number of them uphill.  Several of our runners barely made it.  But they MADE it.  If you ask any of that van, they will tell you absolutely no, not interested in going through that again.  It was by far one of the most beautiful stretches of country I have ever seen. I would consider doing it again...

Last weekend.  I struggled.  I whined. I complained. I even cried a little. But I ran the heck out of that race.  I prepared for the hills, I raced faster than I did training, I got lost once, but I made it.  My team lifted me.  They took my bellyaching and lifted me anyway.  I didn't deserve it, but they loved me enough to look past my weaknesses and lift. me. up.  And I love them for it.

They are beautiful, kind, hilarious, sassy, inappropriate, flawed, tough, resilient, loud, unwavering, and they are MY Mother Runners.  Every. Last. One of them.

I love my Mother Runners.

Not so little littles

In 14 years of parenting I have been told that children grow up way too fast.  I had moments when I could relate.  The first day of school, or watching one of them sleep after a particularly tough day, celebrating each birthday, they were fleeting moments.  I felt and acknowledged them, but then I moved forward.  This time the fleeting has lingered.  It's heavier.  It's harder.  Jayce is 14 and his life, his body, his emotions, and his mind have changed dramatically in a matter of months.  I love the young man he has become and I love the age and continue to love each stage he begins.  But I am most certainly in mourning.  I miss his little hands, his little kissable lips, his little boy messiness, I miss his need for his mama.  Jayce was an especially difficult child.  His temper was fierce and fiery.  He was small and freckle faced.  Now i hear him talk and I sometimes forget to listen to what he is saying because I am distracted by the depth in his vocal chords.  His freckles are still there, but softened.  Conversations are more complex.  His humor more timely but still a bit awry.  I felt all of this creeping in as summer came to a close, knowing that as he started high school his life would change.  Today he held a girls hand for the first time.  I watched carefully the emotions crawl across his grinning face as he realized I knew.  We talked.  He shared.  The level of communication between Jayce and I is what every mother hopes for.  He tells me his heart.  He shares with me his sadness, and concerns.  We have built a trusting relationship.  I am so grateful, but I am so very sad.  He grew up too fast.  So fast.