Thunder Thighs

Today, I'm grateful for my Thunder Thighs.
They help me run.
I couldn't do it without them.
This quote is on the wall in my closet,
(to remind me why I like my
Thunder Thighs,
when they won't fit in my pants).

"I have Thunder Thighs.
And that's a compliment,
Because they are strong,
and toned,
and muscular.
And though they are unwelcomed
in the petite section,
they are cheered on in marathons.
Fifty years from now
I'll bounce a grandchild on my thunder thighs,
and then I'll go out for a run." - Nike

So, from my Thunder Thighs down to my Cankels
thanks for helping me run today.

Friday

On Friday I was grateful for my privileged life.
Let me explain.

I often read this blog.
I bet a lot of you do or have heard of it.
The writer has been getting a lot
of mean comments lately.
Many of them are about how spoiled she is,
because she comes from a "privileged" life.

Two thoughts:
1. If you are sitting in front of a computer,
with access to the internet,
and most likely a roof over your head,
and I'm guessing a full tummy...
aren't YOU coming from a life of privilege?
Especially in comparison to those who have
none of the above? Come on.

2. Why is it a bad thing to come from a life
of privilege? Isn't the true tragedy to come
from a life of privilege, and not acknowledge
that blessing? If you don't recognize that you
have been blessed, how can you give back to
others? If you think you aren't living a life
of privilege, you have a problem...in my
opinion. And, you all know I have one.
You might have a DIFFERENT life of privilege
than me, but that doesn't make it any better
or worse than the next person's.

So...Friday (and everyday) I am grateful
to come from a life of privilege. I'm grateful
for the parents who worked HARD to provide
a shelter for my head, food for my body, and
clothing to cover it. I'm grateful that I feel
of their love and support every day. I'm grateful
to have a husband who does the same for me
and our own children. I am not ashamed
that I live where I live and have what I have.
I recognize that I am blessed to have these
things, and that tomorrow, I could have none
of them. I do not feel entitled to have these
things, I only know that I've been blessed to
have them. And, I hope to give to others as much
as I can to show my gratitude.

The Copying of The Gratitude Project

In honor of my sister, and her fabulous ideas...
and the fact that we have both been talking together
about the rut we seem to be in...
I am going to attempt to follow in her footsteps,
and write about something I am grateful for every day.

Today I am grateful for my mellow girls.
I have been watching the always energetic, and entertaining,
Momo...you can see read more about him here...
and he has had me on my toes!
It has been fun,
and made me stand back and realize how easy my girls are!
They may be full of crying and drama,
but they stay in their crib during nap time!
Thanks for letting me watch Momo today Anj!
He made me smile all day!

Dear Mom

(My favorite picture of Grandma Janet with a brand new Lauren Lou)

Someone I was talking to recently
described my relationship with my mother perfectly:
She's a rock.
I can always count on her to be there, steady, and strong.
She'll always support my decisions,
even if she doesn't agree with them.
If I take a problem to her,
I usually know what she's going to say before she says it,
I just need her to tell me I'm right,
(or wrong).
She loves me no matter what.
Even when I'm a silly little girl,
(or at least when I act like one
when I'm supposed to be grown up).
And that's all that matters.
I love my mom.
I only hope to be the kind of mother she is,
when I grow up.


December 2007


Shortly after having Lauren 2007


Grandma Janet in a fabulous Southern Belle Hat

April Showers brings May Snow

I thought the old saying went,
"April Showers bring May Flowers."
But, as I glared out the window this morning at the falling snow,
I decided Mother Nature has a funny sense of humor,
and she uses that humor in Utah every spring.

You see...I love to run. A lot.
And, as of this morning I had been rained
out of 2 of my morning runs this week.
And, I only go 4 mornings a week.
Seriously?
Mother Nature didn't win today. I donned my running shoes
semi-weatherproof jacket and ran out the door.

A lot of people don't understand the running thing.
I've tried to explain it, but really,
I'm not very good at explaining why I like to run.
The passion started almost 12 years ago,
and it's so ingrained in me now,
that if I don't run,
I'm ornery...or so Adam says.
He can tell.
"Did you run today?"
is the most popular question in our house,
on an evening when I'm short tempered with the kids.
"No," is usually the answer on those days.
I don't know why? I think it's the endorphins,
or it could be the fat that I imagine piling up on my buns
because I missed one run.
I know it's all in my head,
but I can still feel those fat cells taking up residence!

A few weeks ago I was reading a copy of Runner's World
(courtesy of Christa, who also loves to run, as does Jess,
it must be a family thing) and I found this article.
It explained my running obsession to a "T",
except for the swearing thing.
Because I'm pretty sure the girls I run with would fall over
if they heard a swear word come out of my mouth. Love them!
Maybe you can relate to the story?
P.S. I love the picture.
Enjoy!

Hell Week
by Kristina Pinto
Illustration by Katy Lemay

A cold rain is pelting the road, but I'm desperate to head out for a run. I gingerly test my ankle with a jog down to the base of the driveway, and everything's a go. At a cautious pace that doesn't quite match my zeal, I run away from home for an hour, hoping my injury is behind me. When a running mom gets injured, the whole family pays. After falling a week ago in such a spectacular fashion that I later found gravel in my hair, I sat on my son's playroom floor with my foot elevated. Instead of wondering how I'd manage to fulfill my mom-duties on one foot, I fretted over how I'd find the will to fulfill them because I couldn't run with a sprained ankle. With a look of fear on his face, my husband quipped to our 4-year-old, "What will happen to us now that Mommy can't run?" He knows running keeps me sane, and his expression suggested he was sizing me up for a straight jacket. I just hoped it was made of wicking fabric so I'd at least feel like a runner.

If you're a runner and a mother—or if you live with one—maybe you get what I mean. We were taught that we could have a career and a family and a life outside both. But to make it all work, sometimes we need to run away. Out on the road, there are neither babies nor bosses tugging at our pant legs. The playlist on my iPod may blend Shrek incongruously with Eminem, but otherwise, my runs amount to sweaty, exhausting interludes of peace and quiet.

As a runner-mother, I train and race to be distinctly different from the woman struggling to maneuver the grocery cart shaped like a race car. "Sorry, sorry," I repeat like a mantra in the produce section, as I bump my way around the vegetables. Give me four safety pins and a piece of paper with a number on it, and there are no apologies. I have somewhere I need to go, as fast as possible, and no one gets in my way. The woman on the playground who uses phrases like "Oopsy daisy" spits and swears while running with friends. Pink running skirts are deceiving; there is nothing pretty about the conversations held by running moms on long runs.

As if anticipating the frazzled, potentially unhinged woman I might become, my son asked me one day how my foot felt. He suggested a Band-Aid to help. "Thank you," I said. "A Spider-Man Band-Aid is exactly what I need." As if superhero powers really were at work, my recovery time was quick. No X-rays or psychiatric care required.

Seven long days after my wipe out, I hold my breath as I slip into my Asics. Although my joints creak and my form lacks grace, I find the tough, ruthless athlete I fancy myself to be. I feel particularly hard-core slogging it out in the rain. I come home drenched, with strands of hair plastered to my cheeks. But I must have a look of satisfaction, because my husband and son cheer as if I have just crossed a finish line. Their runner-mother is back.