Four - Sixteen

Billy's Graham's wife was once asked if she'd ever considered divorce.
"Divorce?  No.  Murder?  Absolutely."

That answer has always cracked me up because as much as love this man, dear gawd but he can be infuriating.  He snores and can be grouchy in the morning.  He leaves his wet towels on the bed and doesn't replace the bag in the garbage can.  And he always "puts away" my stuff where I can't find it.  I have occasionally wondered how one would, hypothetically speaking of course, dispose of a body.  But he is the first one I want to talk to in the morning and the last one at night, and the only hand I'll hold in the movie theater (so as long as I picked the movie).

The Grahams were married over 60 years.  We're only 16 in but I can't wait for the next fifty.

Happy Anniversary, Matt!

Three - Principessa

Who need words with a smile like this?  

Two - Showing Up

Yes, more about the race.  Sort of.

Matt's been traveling a lot lately, and was gone for two full weeks before my race.  My training was haphazard at best.

My "long" weekend runs were 3 miles, five, another five (because I couldn't quite manage six), nine (back and forth on a perfectly flat levee), then nothing.  Then more nothing.  I ran three miles the day before out of remorse and was lucky I didn't pull anything.

Not exactly the ideal situation.  But I had paid good cash money to get up at oh-dark-thirty to sweat near 5000 people I didn't know.  Even if I had trained more it could have rained or been swelteringly hot.  I could have crashed my car on the drive over.  I could have tripped on a pothole and fractured my patella after parking, without even eyeing the starting line.  

As it happens, it was a beautiful fall day.  I walked a bit around mile 10 and developed an impressive 3" long blister on my foot but I finished hard and got my race shirt.  Not a single damn person cares that I finished 20 minutes slower this year than I did in 2013.

I showed up.

Life is messy.  You can end up a single parent.  You can bomb the basics.  But you show up and suck the marrow and embrace the ugly cow medal because this is all there ever will be.  Our existence here is precious and short, no matter how well planned, and it would be a great tragedy if perfection cudgeled the good.

I am, of course, just talking about running.  Far be it from me to postulate about other issues.

One - Inside Jokes

I ran a half marathon last weekend.   While dragging my children thru the vendor expo for my race number, I passed a local running club's table.  They were undeterred by my public scowl and, since I love a brave soul, I slowed.  They pounced.  They were warm and funny and we joked about my bad ankle and their off road routes.  

If I was looking for something to do in November, they said, they were hosting a half marathon to benefit the Special Olympics.   

Ah-HA!  

So you saw me as a soft target, eh? 

They tried to look innocent.  I nodded at my girl and raised my eyebrows.  

They grinned.  I signed up.  

I later bought flowers for my mother in law for watching my children during the race.  I picked up some tulips for myself.  Because schmaltz & cliches aside, I fucking love the Dutch.