The Last Days at the Lodge

Work. Dog races. Work. Arizona snow skiing. Work. Revolutionary Road. Work. Scottsdale Club Hopping. Work. Downtown Phoenix Gay Bars. Work. Work. Work. Promotion. Yeah!

I have a dream - to run 13.1 miles

The past two weeks have only continued in their hastiness. I’m fully aware that that’s the way I start each post, but it’s positively true. MY LIFE IS A TORNADO.

The most important element of this insanity occurred yesterday – the PF Chang’s Rock ‘n’ Roll Arizona Marathon and ½ Marathon. It’s the world’s largest combined marathon and half marathon, located here in the Valley of the Sun. Stress fracture and all, Kate and I managed to finish the half marathon in two hours and six minutes. WHAT WHAT! As we crossed the finish line, both of us (like the synchronized swimmers that we are) gave three or four celebratory fist punches into the air and then reached for each other for a sweaty embrace. 13.1 isn’t the totality for all existing things, but it’s damn remarkable for someone like me, who over a year ago, hadn’t exercised nor lifted a muscle in five years. The experience as a whole was as rewarding as it was difficult. I’m afraid to say... I’m hooked.

I’ll speak of the half marathon alone, as it’s the only thing I can recount personally on. The race itself started in Southwest Phoenix, taking us through the up-and-coming downtown Phoenix, across into Scottsdale and all its beauty, wealth and fame, and finishing near the ASU Sundevil stadium in Tempe. At every mile was a rock band (stage and all), local cheer squads and water and cytomax stations.

And like every marathon and half marathon, the race was split into corrals. Depending on the time you estimate you’ll finish, you’re placed into a group. Kate and I raced in corral 12, of a total of 25 corrals. However, we ended up crossing the finish with corral 8.

The race was indescribable. Think Vanilla Sky, when Tom Cruise wakes up at the beginning of the movie to a city completely abandoned and vacant. We ran all throughout the Valley – the streets were closed down and we were running, literally, through the downtown, next to skyscrapers and restaurants I can’t find parking to normally, and streets I drive 50 and 60 down. It was like our city, all 40,000 of us, which was random in itself. Our determined mob weaved through the good and bad areas, passing the homeless who cheered us along with cigarettes and torn clothing, the elderly who planned their day around the event and various friends and family on every main intersection, geared with glittery signs, noise-makers and children…lots and lots of children. Kate took a liking to this last addition and every chance she had to give the line of toddlers a high-five, she took it. Both parties involved (the kids and Kate) left each interaction with the same level of content and satisfaction, knowing they had just made one another’s day. They each had.

When I had initially decided to enter the race, I was promised beer upon completion. Most everyone knows I’ll do most anything with the promise of beer. And yet randomly, it’s the one thing I did not want. It just felt wonderful to not be running, drinking the water, eating the popsicle and reveling in the fact that I not only did I run 13.1 miles, but I did it well.

So today, the day after, is Martin Luther King Jr. Day. It’s a day I have off from work, thankfully, as my old bones and muscles would shutter at the thought of running around and working a full day of tourism silliness. I’m enjoying today. It represents several things other than the day after my first accomplishment as a runner: it represents my friend Danielle’s (SIR) birthday, it represents the day after my childhood home burned to the ground 12 years back, it represents the second January I’ve spent away from home, and simultaneously, it represents the first January I’ve felt secure, independent and pointed in the right direction on my own.

Thus, in true MLK Jr. Day form, and as cliché as it most certainly is, I plan to do some dreaming of my own. Mostly about what the future may bring, but partially about things in my life currently being readdressed - maybe crazy, or stupid, but personally worth some thought. In my 77-degree perfect weather, I plan to sort it out.

Pffffffffffffffffffshhhhhhhhhhh.

"We're supposed to help each other, supposed to love each other; And to me, that's more important than [sigh] having a perfectly clean house"

For a person like Suzie Bell, there's no compliment more vast or of higher regard, than one she will, on national television, admit is "more important than having a clean house. "

And yet, what has been started by these two phenominal leaders, my parents, is nothing short of amazing.

http://abcnews.go.com/WN/story?id=6593866&page=1

It's an odd feeling, almost role reversal, when the child is proud of the parent. And maybe it's not that odd. It could be, just that it's less familiar, because it's more rare.

Nonetheless, last night as I watched on national television, my parents - two people who already serve as distinguished role models and inspirations in my life - I was extraordinarily proud. Like, pleasantly deeply, and unfamiliar-type proud.

And through one of the busier weeks I've had in a while, that pride has carried through. From meeting to meeting, and deadline to deadline, and a rather large ambush - I feel a calm and happiness. I'm a proud daughter. So there.