It's a slippery slope . . .

First, you buy the High School Musical 3 soundtrack . . .

. . . next thing you know, you've downloaded a Pussycat Dolls song to your iPod.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As you housesit for manically-destructive puppies, you diligently keep everything above their reach . . .

. . . until you get distracted reading a Vince Flynn novel in the bathtub only to find out that the scallawag dog is chewing on your FAVORITE DANSKOS not five feet away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You say yes to several housesitting jobs, responsibly checking that the dates don't conflict . . .

. . . and then each date shifts a little without you realizing, and you're stuck triple-housesitting for the weekend, thus dividing up the hours between midnight and 8 a.m. into equal increments of sleep, petting animals and driving from one house to the other to the other. (Thank goodness this weekend is Daylight Savings--one extra hour, maybe just for me!)

knock on wood

no snow fell today
chilled breath floats at twenty temp
whoops--day's not over

I am an embarrassment to my entire generation

-I confess to purchasing the soundtrack to High School Musical 3.
-I further confess to purchasing the soundtrack to High School Musical 3 FOR MYSELF.
-I further further confess to purchasing the soundtrack to High School Musical 3 for myself UNDER FALSE PRETENSES.

I told the smirking Costco employee that I took my nieces to the movie this past weekend (true) and that they were wishing they had the music (also true), but left out that I would be keeping the CD for my own pleasure. In fact, if I really just wanted to make sure they got it, I could have just suggested the purchase to their parents, or even challenged them to some character-building spending of their own money.

Sigh.

Good tunes, though.

P.S. What generation are we? Does anyone know?

Uncharitable Giving

I am ruled by greed.

Not always, but at times.

Times like this past Friday morning. Knowing this, the universe mocked me with an ill-timed, cruel--and yet effectively ironic--teaching moment. Let me explain . . .

Every year (apparently) the Anchorage School District has this big push for an employee Charitable Giving campaign. You can donate to tons of worthy causes--Food Bank of Alaska, Abused Women's Aid in Crisis, Covenant House (my primary association with this awesome organization for runaway teens is memories of every time we drove past the building when I was a kid, Amber would lean over and say, "Look, Rahni, there's your home!" Perhaps she longed to be the third of FOUR children, not five?), etc. I've never been surrounded by so many people whipping out checkbooks outside of Costco.

I've never felt an overwhelming urge to donate. Well, before Friday, I'd never felt the urge to donate. Tithing has always seemed to cover my bases on the charity spectrum. As I idly skimmed the form letter, the words "iPod shuffle" floated up and penetrated my indifferent perusal. Yep, that's the shallowness that caused me to set down my paperwork and rush on down to the Curriculum office. According to the announcement over the intercom, as well as the advertisement, if you donated just $50 to the Alaska School Foundation Fund, you would get a iPod shuffle as a thank you! It sounded to good to be true! Shockingly, I had a $50 bill in my pocket (a rare occasion--I hardly ever have cash on me, much to the dismay of the many panhandlers who peg me as an easy mark), an eager skip in my step, and a pining in my heart for a cute little mobile musical companion.

Well, we all know where this is going--Of course, it was too good to be true. It turns out--due to unclear language--that our building's Charity coordinator had misunderstood the way the incentives were to be distributed. If you donate $601+, then you can either get an iPod shuffle, or $50 will go to a special foundation in your name. $601 was about $551 more than I was willing to part with. In fact, when I heard that there would be no incentive (no TANGIBLE incentive--I'm not counting a feeling of general goodwill as a reward received. I've already told you that Friday was an extremely shallow day for me!) coming my way, I was halfway tempted to run and get my General Grant bill back. Never fear--I'm not that superficial. Or brave. ;o)

Lesson learned: when tempted to get rid of money one is toting around, stop and reconsider after a break--your impure motives will snap the situation back at you like a energetically vengeful rubber band. OR, become more charitable and learn that giving should be the ultimate incentive.

Yeah, that last one is probably the real lesson.

You know, I already have an iPod. In fact, it's a better iPod than the one offered. In no way did I NEED two iPods. What possessed me?

Running with the Clowns

If I had a camera that worked, this blog would be much more interesting, I'm sure. Use your imaginations?

Picture me in a medieval princess dress (ending about 8 inches above my ankles) . . .
. . . accompanied by 4' whatever" knight (a.k.a. Chelsea) frantically dashing around the Kincaid Chalet, trying to find a racing 'START' line. By the way, my dress was accessorized by running pants and shoes--quite a fashion statement. The Tuesday Night Race series was holding its last race of the season (never mind the snow on the ground, sunset before the race even started, and 20 degree temperature) and we were late. Not surprising, knowing me, but also NOT MY FAULT THIS TIME. They had advertised this race as taking place at Hilltop, but when we arrived (at 6:15 p.m. for the 6:30 p.m. race), we found out that they had rescheduled the race for all the way across town. Gamely, we sped through the night, trying to beat the starting gun.

We never stood a chance. According to Amber, the gun went off a few minutes early, due to compassion for some daring gentlemen who had dressed up in bikini tops. By the time we arrived, parked, and raced up to the chalet, some kids were already finishing the "Munchkin" race. We gave ourselves points for just showing up, and ran back to the car to race off to embarrass Madison at her choir concert (we didn't have time to change). See, there was some running involved in the evening!

October 5th

a.k.a. "the day I realized that there is life beyond the St. George Marathon"

But first, let's take a generous step back . . .

OCT 1st: 8PM--found myself moseying around the house with extra time, having already packed my paltry carry-on. Packed with time to spare to reach the airport? Unheard of. Collected my niece. Bought celebratory Cinnabun at airport. Got rejected by Delta. Stupid powerless buddy pass (which I totally appreciate, Chandra!). Had impromptu slumber party with niece. Hit the pillow around 2AM.

OCT 2nd: Despite repeated threats, niece woke up bright and early after a mere 6 hours sleep. Spent the day trying to find alternate routes down to SLC. Swallowed pride, accepted a buddy pass from pilot acquaintance (after having wimped out of actually asking him for it--made brave sister, Chandra, do it), abandoned faithful, loving niece, busted it to the airport. Flew to Seattle on AK Airlines. Fellow church member was my flight attendant. Took good care of me. Landed a bit late. RAAAAAN from literally one end of SEA-TAC to the other to make the connecting flight. "We're full." Delta rejected me again. Roamed the Seattle airport after securing a blanket for the night. Mourned decision not to bring portable DVD player. Bored. Went against instinct and bought a paperback from Borders--no discount! Plus tax! Evil. Settled down for a long winter's nap (key word: nap) on a comfy bench. Hmmm . . . no pajamas. Race clothes suffice. Diligent vacuumers and drafty/oft-opened-by-employees-outside-door next to my head yielded fitful sleep. Cursed (in a "darn it" sort of way) my reluctance to seek haven at Rod's brother's house north of the airport.

OCT 3rd: Woke early. Did I sleep? Boarded 6:10 AM plane to SLC. Brother-in-law drove me home. Lovely weather. Last time I see lovely weather. Collect Chandra and company. Hog front seat while Greg drives and Chandra entertains the children in the back. Contemplate items I forgot--DVD player, pajamas, knee brace . . .. Arrive at Expo. Find Rod and other Hutchings. Get totally suckered (but in such a way that I'm still not bitter about it) into buying all sorts of souvenir stuff: necklace pendant (immediately lost), two shirts for me, various bumper stickers, fake tattoo for arm (26.2), a pace bracelet to inspire me and keep track of my time, etc., etc. Indulged in spaghetti dinner with Hutchings--fabulous people to hype up your racing anticipation, lots of racing experience amongst them. Head swelled with pride when Rod's RUNNER nephew complimented my shoes. :o) Floated back to car on super-terrific shoes. Hooked back up with Chandra and Greg. Drove to his parents' house in Hurricane. Went to bed late. Idiot move. Found spider next to pillow. Chased spider around the room. Conceded the fight, pulled bed away from wall.

OCT 4th: Woke EARLY early. 4:15AM. Groaned about sleeping stupidity. Less than 4 hours of sleep = not ideal race. Drove down to St. George. Forgot clothes for after the race. Texted Chandra. Met up with Rod and family. Drove in absolute darkness and rain to start. Squinted, tried to see the race path. Gave up, chatted with Rod. Arrived at start. Donned trash bag to keep rain away, waited with the other 7200 racers for an outhouse opportunity. Missed the starting gun. Wandered past the Start line. Didn't realize why Rod wanted to get going. Panicked, took off running in trash bag.
MILES 1-3: First three miles were NOT downhill, as so indicated by course map. Spent most of the time dodging around other runners, avoiding discarded trash bags and foot-soaking puddles in the dark. All lost causes. Feet wet from mile 1 through mile 26.2. Sun never rises, but path lightens by mile 3.
MILES 4-7: Rain lightens up. Separated from Rod by hasty decision to shed some clothing on side of road. Still decent--wearing watermelon colors of pink shirt, green shorts. Not a fast "stripper". Fall behind.
MILES 7-8: Still raining. Entering town of Veyo=screaming supportive fans on side of road. Leaving Veyo=1.25 miles of the "Veyo Hill". Hills that are named are not good signs. Catch up to Rod.
MILES 9-11: Minding my own business. Listening to iPod. Surprised by sudden, "Hello, Rahni!" from behind. Joseph and Ryan! And friend Ben. Don't know why they didn't pass me earlier--they certainly finished ahead of me! Turned iPod way way down. Ran up hill with guys. Felt pathetic--breathing not optimal. Couldn't hear many of Ryan's questions due to wind blowing in ears against headphones. Found out I missed Patrick in the crowd at mile 7. Bummer. Was horrible company to the cheery runners. (Ryan: "Is it mile 10 already? This is going too fast!" Psycho. Friendly Psycho.) Heavier rain. Start to wring out shorts at every mile marker. Water streams down.
MILES 12-14: Worry about rain short-circuiting my earbuds and leaving me prone on the ground.
MILES 15-20: Still raining steadily. All a blur. Stomach feels weird. Would it be better to empty my stomach and start over? Decide not to--could get worse. Throwing up is gross. Two memorable points. Run down a hill. Contemplate walking. Hear cheering on the sideline. "Rahni! Wahoo!" Look in surprise to see Patrick doing jumping jacks and yelling. Respond to cheering with something inane about the wet conditions. Discard walking idea and try to look spry. Spry-ish. Other memory not so hot. Mean hill at mile 18. False summit. Bitter.
MILES 21-22: Still raining. Woman on side of the road yells, "Pick it up!" Force down impulse to stop running, approach woman, berate woman for her uninspiring words. Seriously? Pick it up? What, like we're slackers? Continue running. Increase my 20/30/whatever-second walk breaks to every 1/2 mile. Because I'm an undisciplined dork with no driving perspective.
MILES 23-25: Rain sprinkles, then starts again. Arrive in town. Try to look carefree when I think I hear my name. Turns out they're screaming, "Go, runners!", not "Go, Rahni!" Slow down again. Spot Rod ahead of me at Mile 25. Think about trying to speed up and run with him. Realize the improbablity/impossibility of that. Spectator yells false information, "Only 1.1 miles left!" Not possible because I haven't passed mile marker 25. Can't even SEE mile marker 25. Well-intentioned but cruel.
MILES 25-26.2: Finish line! Woman ahead of me collapses. I feel pounded, but not that bad. Whew. Chandra and Brin are waiting at the chute in the rain. Nice family. :o) Wander over to the tent that checks your chip time versus gun time. Takes off 8 minutes--yea! Better time. 4:47. Not what I was aiming for, but a better time. Next race at least under 4:30, if not 4:20. Definitely.

OCT 5th: Life feels empty. And sore. When's the next race?

Upon reflection, I've determined (somewhat belatedly in my life) that I'm somewhat prone to tunnel vision. Who knew that life existed after October 4th? But life indeed did go on . . . it included Les Miserables in an outdoor amphitheatre in the torrential rain, dinner with friends (Hey, Lanette!), 4.5 hours delay at the airport, friendly airplane companions, Tuesday Night Races through muddy Kincaid park with Bailey and Chelsea . . . good times.

So as not to leave you all hanging . . .

. . . in what I'm sure is EXTREME suspense, I ended up with my first inclination: my new(-ish) running shoe. To be more specific, the right running shoe. For the following, extremely logical reasons:

I'm vain--this shoe probably reflects my better qualities, rather than my beat up Danskos, which reflect more my reluctance to pony up for new shoes, or valuing comfort over appearance. Also, it matches my top I'll be wearing on Saturday--nice coincidence!

I'm gadgety--the right shoe had my Nike+iPod sensor on it (yes, I don't run for the sheer love of it, but more to hear the countdown of miles and congratulations that the anonymous man offers to me when completing a run).

I'm learning--I'm getting over the fact that I believe that running shoes are pricey at $30 (I think that's what a pair I bought in junior high cost). Trying to go now for quality over quantity. It's a struggle to fight against my inherently unadaptable-to-change personality! :o)

I like to turn anything into an object lesson--I waxed poetic about the fact that even though my last pair of shoes looked great on the outside, they had lost their bounce and effectiveness as a cushion between me and asphalt. I used to wear tennis shoes until the soles fell off, so it was an adjustment to me to realize that a pair may be toast but still look pretty and functional. Don't judge by appearances! Shoes only last about 300 miles or so, I've found out--much to my wallet's dismay.

And now my thoughts turn away from shoes and to this weekend's upcoming marathon!