Wolf Moon Weekend

werewolf

The glaring light pierced my eye through the crack in the window curtains at 3:00 in the morning. Incoherent and blinded, I peered out to see what or who was in my backyard with a spotlight. It was the moon. Comforted, my head hit the pillow for another hour.

At 4:30 am, I stepped out the front door, clicked on my Garmin, and began putting one foot in front of the other going west along toward the farms on the outskirts of the city. Once I was out among the fields of amber waiving grain, I turned to look at the purple mountains to see if the sun was lighting up the canyons yet. Not quiet.

In the west was the Great Salt Lake and Antelope Island. Above the island was the moon. It was huge hanging there in the early morning sky watching the world go to sleep on one side and come to life on the other.

After ten miles, I met up with my friend Jeff, and we went south beginning a twelve-mile loop of long steady hills. We strategized our next relay race. Jeff will be my co-captain at Epic Relay, and we’ve never run a relay with time cut offs. We discussed nutrition, the Spudman triathlon, and Pony Express 100.

We began our last long climb along highway 89. Highway 89 has a speed limit of 55 mph. It is four lanes across and has a center turning lane. We pulled in behind another runner plodding along in our direction. I paused in our conversation and then said, “Was that what I think it was?”

The runner in front of us continued along the road, head down, so the wind from the traffic didn’t grab ahold of the bill of her hat.

“What?” he asked.

I stopped, turned around, and pointed to something on the edge of the highway. Just off the pavement, in the weeds and scattered gravel, lay what appeared to be a body. Black shoes stuck out the bottom of a thin grey blanket. Jeff stared. I stared. We stared at each other.

“Should I call?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“Let’s see if the person is alive first.”

Jeff nodded.

We took a few steps, and then a few more.  Now we could see the person was rocking back and forth a little. About two feet from the body, Jeff said, “Are you alright? Do you need some help?”

No response.

“Excuse me. Hello. Are you alright?” I said.

No response.

I stepped back and dialed 911.

I gave the dispatcher our location and explained that there was a person lying on the side of the highway wrapped in a blanket.

The man stood up. He was six feet tall. He didn’t look that big while lying there, I thought. His grey stubble on his chin was in high contrast to his milk chocolate skin. His eyes were bloodshot. His jeans were coated in black. The light brown jacket was worn white at the elbows. He turned and looked at me.

“Hold on, he just got up,” I told the dispatcher.

“Does he look alright?” she asked. The cars and sixteen-wheel diesel’s continued whipping by us.

“He looks okay. He’s walking south along the highway.”

“Should we send someone?”

“I think someone ought to check on him,” I said. He bent down and picked up two plastic grocery store bags caught in the yellow weeds. He again turned and looked at me with dim eyes.

“Alright we’ll send someone.”

“Thank you.” I hung up the phone.

Jeff and I continued and turned down a neighborhood street to finish our loop.

Back at home, I told Jasper (17) what happened and he said, “Probably a werewolf mom. Did you see the moon?”

Flash Fiction Friday: Frostfire

frostfire

The ice gods had forsaken the Mirawraith people. They sent the burning sickness among them scorching their young from the inside. Their small blue hued bodies twisted with the flames that licked at their muscles and organs as it fed on their internal frost. It devoured whole generations. The Elder Mother of the tribe warned the people not to turn from the old ways, but Kipland’s father, the chief had grand new ideas.

The Mirawraith were people of the cold. Frost clung to their essence. Kip had survived the burning sickness as a child, but was forever marked with crimson eyes and hair. She was one of the few. Most of the others fell in battle due to her father’s continued arrogance. The people dropped to their knees begging the ice gods for forgiveness, but it was too late. Chief Amun had gone too far by declaring himself equal to the gods.

Enormous fireballs rained from the sky. Searing yellow bolts of lightning lashed at Amun’s people. Those not burned from within were burned from without. With blackened, cracked, and oozing flesh the Mirawraith fled to the foot of the mountains.

That was ages ago, now Kip, one of last of her kind, struggled to free her foot from the two feet of crystalline snow. Her foot broke through the frozen outer crust with the transfer of her weight and dropped to the ground beneath. She forced her cracking determination to continue putting one foot in front of another.

Her breath came in heavy huffs turning to ice just past her sapphire lips. Snowflakes formed on her eyelashes and brows. Icicles hung in her crimson dreadlocked hair. She pulled a gray course fur cloak tighter around her shoulders. The elements of ice and fire were at war within her. Her fingers contorted with a searing internal fire. She grimaced and bit her lip.

A blue and purple marbled glacier loomed above her. The black and gray clouds rolled overhead like thick suffocating smoke. She wrapped one hand protectively around her swollen belly. It’s nearly time for this little one to break free and join the Mirawraith people.

She could feel the fire of his essence warming her from within. Her heart skipped a beat, knowing that his fire would be her undoing if he did not come soon. Kip leaned into the pressing wind stinging her face, and took another step. The leather harness around her shoulder tightened preventing another step. She looked behind her. Her eyes followed the rope to a small sled piled with food and furs. A mound of shaved snow bared the path of the runners of the sled.

She gripped the rope with her hands. Clenching her teeth, she pulled hard and pressed her right shoulder against the leather harness. The sled was jostled free. A low growl emanated from the furs. A moist black nose and emerald eyes peered out from under the pile.

“We’re nearly there Hailstorm,” Kip called to the obsidian wolfhound nestled in the warmth and safety of the sled. She couldn’t leave her behind, and there was no way Hailstorm’s broken ribs had healed enough for her to make this journey on foot.

The orange and yellow light of the sun sliced through the storm above for a second. Kip turns her ruby eyes from its burning light. The child’s body within her own twisted and caused a ripple to course through her stretched muscles. She must hurry.

They had tried to come to the life-giving cave a week ago, before the descent of the arctic winds from the north. Hailstorm had pulled Kip out of the path of an avalanche only to be swept away by the cascading ice and rock. Their survival was a gift from the gods. Hailstorm was her only companion now, and nothing could make Kip go on without her.

Hailstorm would have to be the one to gather meat for the months they would spend within the cave after the baby came. The cold intensified the child’s strange unnatural warmth. Kip was at home in this frozen land. Her child would not be. She had not figured out how she would manage to reconcile their differences, but they had not killed one another during the time they have shared her body.

A crackling rumble pushed through the night air as she stepped through the unseen veil at the mouth of the cave. The warmth of the life within her made her own body rebel against its frozen nature. She had made it just in time.

Quartz crystal of every hue clung to the walls and ceiling of the cave. A deep green moss covered the ground. The fur cloak fell from her shoulders revealing her sapphire skin, which was bare other than the deerskin camisole and loincloth she wore. She stepped into the turquoise spring at the back of the grotto. Walking into it depths, the muscles in her legs relaxed in the cold clear waters. Pins and needles clawed at her skin as the blood began to bring the inner heat to her skin. The vigor of the child within her made her wonder how she would ever provide for him.

The center of her body contracted sending shards of pain through her back. She let out a low moan and pulled her knees toward her chest. Squeezing her eyes closed hard, she exhaled through pursed lips and then let her breath go in a gust.

Small eyes like molten gold peered up at Kip, and a high-pitched wail escaped the child’s throat. Swirls of golden hair were plastered against his pale sapphire skin. Kip’s cold blue lips curled into a crooked grin and she pressed them to his warm skin.

Frostfire’s birth was proof the gods had not abandoned the Mirawraith, at least not her. His birth wove the elements into one. He gave them a reason to reclaim their lives and become great once again.

Labor and Deliver don’t make you a Mommy

Birth

Getting pregnant and giving birth do not make you a mommy. Many mommies never go through these experiences, and many women who do go through these experiences repeatedly never become mommies.

July 10 is my oldest son’s birthday. In a sense, it is also my birthday. It was the day I was reborn. The day he gave me a reason to reclaim my life. His gift was much greater than mine.

Some people believe that being a mom is instinctual. Maybe it is for some animals, but not for humans. For human’s, it is a choice. A choice one must make every morning upon waking.

Today I will love you more than I love myself.

Today I will put your needs before my own.

Today I will sacrifice my desires for yours.

Today I will work my fingers to the bone to see you smile and hear your laughter.

Today all that I do, I do for you with no expectation that you will provide something for me.

All birth parents love their children, but it is not always enough to overcome their own demons of addiction and violence. I have come to understand that love does not conquer all the dark and challenging things. In my corner of the universe, birth parents choose partners, drugs, gangs, fetishes, crime, and violence over their children.

Some will argue that it is out of love that a birth parent makes the choice to not be a mommy because they know that they are unable to do so for such and such a reason. I am not saying that relinquishing one’s parental rights to a child for adoption is not a noble and loving act because under many circumstances it can be. I have the utmost respect for a person who recognizes they are not in a good place to be a mommy or daddy and chooses to provide a better life for their child.

Through their choices, some parents cause irreparable harm to their children, who are drug along for the ride. As parents, all of our choices affect our kids, even the small decisions have a ripple effect. But most especially the big ones such as who to allow into our lives and the lives of our children.

Mommies are the gatekeepers for their children, twenty-four hours a day. We filter the world, its people and ideas, that come in contact with our children.  As our children grow, we stand guard alongside them and then we hand over keys to the gate. Our children learn who and what to allow in and to deny based upon our prior decisions.

So guard the gate well.

Relay on the Brain

What does it take to run an ultrarelay? Five of your closest friends, liquid awesome, and determination.

Most relays are about 200 miles total or thirty-tree miles a piece for six runners. Well, that would be the case if the legs were evenly divided between each runner, but they’re not. The total distance is broken up into 36 legs anywhere from 2 miles to 11 miles. Some positions may have a total mileage as low as ten miles, and others may be as high as twenty miles. While this is excellent for a twelve-person team (because you can have runners of all levels on your team), it could pose a problem for an ultrateam.

Running a relay is hard. In ways, it is more challenging than running a marathon. A marathon requires continuous effort for three to four hours for most people. A relay requires sporadic effort for 24-36 hours.

There are no rules on how you split the legs between your six runners. Option A: The easiest and most obvious would be that each runner would take two back-to-back positions. This maintains the three legs for each runner typical of a relay event. This makes each of the legs longer.

As an example, let’s look at how this would look for Ragnar Wasatch Back total distance 193 miles:

Runner one on an ultrateam would run both position one and two totaling 36.6 miles

Runner two on an ultrateam would run both position three and four totaling 33.9 miles

Runner three on an ultrateam would run both position five and six totaling 32.6 miles

Runner four on an ultrateam would run both position seven and eight totaling 26.4 miles

Runner five would run both nine and ten totaling 33.4 miles

Runner six would run both eleven and twelve totaling 33.5 miles

Option B: You could also split it up, so each runner runs shorter distances, but runs six times:

Runner one would run both position one and seven 33.2 miles

Runner two would run both position two and eight 29.5 miles

Runner three would run position three and nine 38.2 miles

Runner four would run position four and ten 29.2 miles

Runner five would run position five and eleven 38.1 miles

Runner six would run position six and twelve 28.2 miles

Option WTF: Things get more complicated if you have both ultrarunners and non-ultrarunners on the team. There are an infinite number of ways you can split it. This is just an example from the Red Rock Relay total 186 miles

Run one runs legs 1, 13, and total miles 10.8

Runner two: first run legs 2 and 3, second run legs 19-24, third run legs 31-32 total miles 54.5

Runner three first run leg 4, second run legs 14-17, third run leg 35  total miles 33.6

Runner Four first run leg 5, second run legs 10-12, third run legs 33-34 total miles 33.5

Runner Five first run legs 7-9, second run legs 26-29, third run leg 36 total miles 39.6

Runner six runs legs 6, 18, and 30 total miles 13.4

 

Option A is the most rational choice. Runners have the longest time to recover, sleep, and eat. It maintains the classic three legs per runner. Frankly, I think it is easier to run longer three times in a twenty-four hour period than running shorter six times during a twenty-four hour period.

For an ultrateam, there are increased risks of dehydration and heat stroke.

  Dehydration Heat stroke Heat exhaustion Hypoatremia
Symptoms Thirst

Dry mouth

No sweat (clammy)

Lightheaded

Weakness

Less urine

Temp 105

Throbbing head

No sweat

Red hot dry skin

Muscle weakness

Cramps

Nausea/vomiting

Rapid/shallow breathing

Rapid heartbeat

Confusion

Disorientation staggering

Seizures

unconsciousness

Confusion

Apple juice urine

Dizziness

Fainting

Fatigue

Headache

Muscle cramps

Nausea

Pale skin

Profuse sweating

Rapid heartbeat

Craving salt

Confusion

Convulsions

Fatigue

Headache

Irritability

Loss of appetite

Muscle spasms or cramps

Muscle weakness

Nausea

Restlessness

vomiting

treatment Get out of the sun

Walk or stop

Drink water

Get out of the sun

Place ice on neck and groin

Get in cold water

Take to hospital if no improvement

Get out of the sun

Place ice on neck and groin

Get in cold water

Walk or stop

Electrolytes

Salty food or S-caps

No water

Take to hospital if no improvement

 

Good advice whenever you are running an ultra is be prepared for anything and take care of problems as early as possible. If your stomach starts to act up or you have a hot spot, it’s probably not going to get better in 20 more miles. It’s going to get worse, so you need to do something about it as early as you can.

My team keeps a cooler in the van full of ice and giant sponges. We use them to cool off runners during the heat. Other teams use spray bottles, squirt guns, and fertilizer spray jugs. I have found that the sponge seems to work the best and keeps the runner cool the longest. They do end up soaking wet by the end of their run. For runners who get blisters with wet feet this can be an issue so a lubricant like hydropel, which is waterproof, would be a good idea as well as lots of extra socks. The ice-cold water squeezed above the runner’s head can be shockingly refreshing, as noted by the sharp inhale of breath and the “oh my god!” reactions.

 

Training for a relay race requires you to run three times in one 24-hour period. Your body responds differently under these conditions. It is just smart to know how exactly your body responds so you can be ready for it, and you know if what you are experiencing is due to the multiple runs or some other issue or injury. Many people think, “Oh, I can run three miles,” the length of one leg.  Rather than “Oh I can run 10 miles,” the total of all three legs.  The final leg for each runner is more like the last six miles of a marathon than just another three miler because you haven’t eaten well, you haven’t slept well, you may be dehydrated, and you are probably sore and tight. Keep in mind that your first run affects your second run and runs one and two will affect run three. They are too close together to not affect each other.   There is not quite enough time in between each leg to recover. Recovery takes eight hours or more of good down time. Think in total miles, not single legs. If you do, you will be prepared for this run.

 

Locating your runner in the dark is a bit of a challenge because everyone is required to wear a headlamp, reflective vest, and tail light. I add glow sticks to my runners, usually through their shoelaces

Stomach issues are common among ultrarunners. Keeping various options on hand to address stomach problems is essential for any ultra. Pepto-Bismol, ginger chews, tums, and ginger ale are all good options.

A relay is great for first time ultra because you have your crew right there to provide aid, encouragement, and anything else you may need along the way.

Combining ingredients changes their individual flavor

stirring the pot

Confession number one, I skipped the hike I had planned for Sunday morning. Sunday morning I realized there was no way I was going to be able to fit it into my day before Jasper’s birthday party because I still had some shopping to do.

Confession number two, I only ended up riding 20 miles on Saturday evening. The friends I went out with were not up to doing the 40-mile distance I had planned. I’ll try for that again this weekend.

Confession number three, I tipped over on my bike in front of all my friends. This was karma for me laughing at one of my friends who rode in circles because he didn’t want to unclip from his pedals to stop. At the end of our ride, we rode into the parking lot and rolled toward the cars. I unclipped my left foot and was distracted by a Ragnar emblem stuck to the back of a Mercedes. My weight shifted toward the right since I was staring amazed at what I saw to my left. I hadn’t unclipped my right foot and “Timber” down I went. Epic Failure.

I learned a bunch about triathlons out on the ride, things I had never considered before, such as needing to wash your feet off after the swim before you shove them into your socks and shoes and get on your bike. Bits of information like this from more experienced athletes are priceless. Can you imagine getting out of the water, running through the sand along the beach and then putting your wet sandy feet into shoes? Sure you can try to wipe the sand off, but you are not going to get it all. Sandpaper between your toes while you ride and then run could destroy a race.

Other nifty bits of information I picked up: turn your wetsuit inside out to put it on, put glide on your heels to get your feet into your wetsuit easier, and put a big black marker in your transition bag in case your number comes off (so you don’t have to wait in line to have it put back on!).

I looked at the maps and read all the rules on the Spudman website today.

  • No snorkels/fins
  • No drafting
  • No headphones/music players
  • T1 closes at 7:00AM. No bikes will be allowed in after 7:00AM
  • No tandem bikes

Whenever you combine things together, whether it is ingredients, people, or sports they change the flavor of each other in small ways. Running is about the only part of the tri that isn’t flavored by swimming and cycling in a triathlon.

I’ve completed five or so 100-mile cycling events and know that in a tri you cannot draft (ride inches off the back tire of the rider in front of you). Tri bikes are constructed differently so that you don’t fatigue your running muscles as much. The seat is closer to the handlebars and higher. You can use aero bars in a tri, but not in a cycling event. I know these don’t seem like huge differences, but they are.

Triathlon swimming technique is different from competitive swimming because you rotate your body more and use your legs less. Your forward motion comes from your arms and the rotational force of your core. This technique is called the TI or Total Immersion method. I’ve had the bug to break into triathlons for about a year. Last October, I bought the book and videos to teach myself the TI method. My swimming has improved immensely. Today I swam 32 laps (1600 yards or about a mile) in 40 minutes. Prior to using TI, it took me 30 minutes to swim just over twenty laps.

I was able to purchase a two-piece tri-suit, extra goggles, and a wetsuit (with the help of a friend) today.

There are three pieces in my triathlon puzzle left a block workout (swim and bike back to back or bike and run back to back), swimming with a wetsuit on, and an open water swim.

I start my on-call week on Thursday so it is going to be tricky getting these in before the race.

 

 

 

Build Confidence and Competence in Racing

This weekend is super busy for us. I am grateful for the extra day off work for the Fourth of July. I am thankful for all of our soldiers who have served and are serving. Not to belittle our Independence, but I wish fireworks were not so loud. I have to get up at 4:00 in the morning to run people!

Yesterday, I swam 32 laps (not lengths) in the pool. It felt great, and it is good to know I can swim the distance of my first triathlon, which is only three weeks away. 7.4.14 liberty run

Jasper ran the Liberty days 5k finishing in 23:56. He looks thrilled doesn’t he?  Not his best time for a 5k, but excellent for not training at all. We followed the 5k with the gym for strength training. After the gym, I went grocery shopping, cleaned the house, and baked a low carb chocolate cake with almond butter frosting.

The cake is for Jasper’s birthday party, which is tomorrow. I ordered a “normal” cake for all the guests who are not low carb. He will be seventeen years old. I am so proud of the man he is becoming. I was so very different from him when I was 17 years old (high school dropout and pregnant). He is on the honor rolls, working, and has a strong sense of who he is and where he wants to go in life.

BST Adams canyon 7.5.14

This morning I extracted myself from my bed around four. I ran twenty miles half road and half trail lots and lots of hills on both. I love to trail run. My next relay race (Epic Relay) contains massive hills. The best way to build confidence and competence is to incorporate race conditions into your training. That way, both your body and mind know it can accomplish what you have set out to do. So for Epic, I am learning to love hills and trying to run in the heat of the day once a week. I hate running in the heat. It leaches off all my energy. My hope is that my body will adjust over the next six weeks, even just a little bit, to allow me to maintain a decent pace in the heat.

This evening, I’m going cycling for 40 miles with some of my relay team on Antelope Island. In the morning, I will hit the trails again for ten miles and then head out for a nine-mile hike with a friend and my thirteen-year-old son. I should be thoroughly and joyfully exhausted once my family arrives for Jasper’s birthday party at 4:00 pm tomorrow. Bring on the cake!

 

 

Flash Fiction Friday “Bad Parents”

Bad Parents

“Get out of my face you little bastard!” she screeched inches from Andy’s cherub cheeks, sprinkling them with her spit. With narrowed eyes, she pushed on his chest, and he plopped onto his behind. Tears spilled from his eyes and his bottom lip quivered. I glared at her and pulled him into the bathroom.

“Hurry up in there you little whore. He needs to be in bed before Steve and Dereck get here.” She slapped the door.

Letting out a held breath, I leaned against the door pressing it closed. I hated her. Yes, she was my mom, but I hated her. I felt bad about hating her, I mean, I should love her, right? What could I do at seven years old? I couldn’t leave or tell anyone. She said we would be in foster care, separated, and god knows what else. I wasn’t going to lose Andy. He needed me, and I needed him.

The running water drowned out mom’s continued raving about how worthless we were, and how she wouldn’t have to get high all the time if she didn’t have us. She told me she needed to escape her awful life. I lifted Andy into the warm water. A brown ring circled the tub. I scratched at it with my fingernail lost in my thoughts of how I could make mom’s life better.

“Sit down, so you don’t fall,” I told him. We pushed his rubber ducks around in the bubbles I had made with dish soap. Mom cries a lot, ever since we found dad hanging in the closet by a belt. I wish he were here. She didn’t get high so much then.

I pulled Andy out of the tub, dried him, and put a diaper on him.

Through the door, I heard Steven and Derek come into our one bedroom apartment. I opened the door just an inch. She snatched my shirt and yanked me toward her. My cheeks and forehead cracked against edge of the door and the doorframe.

“I don’t want to see your ugly face tonight,” she said through clenched teeth, pushing me back into the bathroom.

Mom and her friends were laughing and coughing out there while I read The Giving Tree to Andy in the corner of the bathroom. Heavy footsteps passed the door. Two more sets of steps followed a minute later. I stroked Andy’s hair and waited. No light came under the door. Their muffled voices came to my ears. I turned the doorknob and peeked out. Her door was closed.

Andy and I tiptoed down the hall to our mattress on the floor behind the couch. I cleared the old pizza box and McDonald’s wrappers off. A cloud of pee wafted through the air as Andy flopped onto our mattress splotched with yellow and black stains.

“You sing?” Andy asked.

“If you’re quiet, I’ll sing,” I told him. Twinkle Twinkle Little Star was the only song that came to my mind.

Once Andy was asleep, I tiptoed down the hall. What are they doing in there? Their voices were getting louder. Mom was talking real fast. It was dark in the room, other than an occasional flicker of dancing light.

There was rustling on the other side of the door. I shuffled back down the hall tripping over a pile of clothes. Mom grabbed my arm and pressed her nails into my skin. I squeezed my eyes closed.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing? Trying to catch a peek of my man? You little slut,” Mom said, shaking my eyes open.

The fire in her eyes scared the heck out of me. That fire had burned me more than once.

“No mommy, I was going to the potty.” I looked at the floor. Her backhand caught me on the left side of my face and sent me crashing into the wall. I pulled my legs to my chest and tucked my chin into my knees. She kicked me in the ribs and slammed the door.

The sun rose casting a soft yellow glow through the front windows.

“Mommy, wake up,” Andy said, shaking mom’s bare shoulder. She didn’t stir. Her eyes didn’t flutter open sparkling with love. She didn’t even breathe anymore. I stood at the door of her bedroom. I knew before Andy touched her. Her lips were blue, and white powder dusted her nose. The oozing pus nodules ringed in red on her arms stared back at me like her red-rimmed eyes. Andy looked back at me, his diaper sagging between his knees.

“Come on Andy, she’s real tired. Let’s change you and go for a walk,” I said, waving him out of her room with my hand. He kissed her pale cold cheek. I pulled the door closed hoping the residual chemical smell wouldn’t follow us like the specter of my mother.

“Why won’t she wake?”

“She was up late last night little man.”

“With her friends?”

“Yeah,” I whispered wiping the tears from my face. I chipped dried oatmeal out of a bowl and set it on the table for Andy. I poured the last of the frosted flakes in the bowl.

As I turned the blue lid of the milk, a rotten stench ran into my face. I gagged and set it in the sink overflowing with dishes caked in week old rotting food.

“There’s no milk.” I handed him a blackened spoon. Mom used it to smoke a rock last night, but it was the cleanest spoon in the house.

Pulling out clothes from a knee-high pile of dirty laundry in the corner of the living room, I brought each piece to my nose. It’s all sour. All the socks are yellow and stiff. I tug one of mom’s t-shirts over Andy’s head and roll some socks over his toes.

“I need to call someone,” I said.  “Let’s go.”

Taking his hand in mine, we walked in the morning sun dragging his dingy blanket behind us.

 

Fighting for a Chance to Dream: Blog

“Fighting for a Chance to Dream,” is my life’s premise or theme. Every aspect of who I am flows from these six words.

People get so wrapped up in their daily stresses that they forget why they do things, what motivates them. We all strive to achieve. We all work to finance the things we want to do. Sometimes this doing and striving block our vision of the dream that is fueling it. This is what happens to those that have their basic needs met. A hidden or concealed dream is better than no dream at all.

There are many people who don’t have a chance to dream because they are too busy thinking about having their basic needs met of safety, food, shelter, medical care, education, and love.

Every person deserves the opportunity to dream. We all lose when someone never has this chance because that person never reaches their potential and in this world we are becoming more dependent upon one another not less.

Running for me does many things. It gives me a way to process all the other things that I deal with on a day to day basis such as child abuse and neglect cases and being a single mother of a child with a neurological disorder. It also provides me with a way to help others. Bringing others into running not only helps them physically, but emotionally as well. It builds confidence. Provides a sense of achievement and stabilizes mood better than just about any psychotropic medication.

I’ve begun a new blog you can find it at fightingforachancetodream.wordpress.com.  It will contain all facets of me. You will find posts containing my writing journey, writing tips, thoughts on children, mental health issues, parenting children with mental health issues, advocacy issues, and frustrations of mine with the world as a whole. You will also find inspiration and hope.

My running advice, experience, and musings will continue to be posted on this blog. I’m sure there will be some crossover. I plan to continue to post my Flash Fiction on this blog as some of you have expressed an interest in continuing to read it.

This way people who have no interest in all the other things that I do can happily read about running and those that want to know all my deep dark secrets can subscribe to both blogs.

 

 

It rubs the lotion on it’s skin

Utah is dry in the winter and the summer. Swimming amplifies my dryness of both my hair and skin. Daily lotion smearing is necessary if you don’t want flaky white skin. I bought some Dove lotion at the grocery store and have been religiously applying for the last week. It was a little difficult to rub in all the way, which I assumed was a good thing. It took a few days to get used to the smell, but it has grown on me, and I enjoy the pistachio flower scent now. This morning, as I was diligently applying the lotion I glanced at the bottle. I stopped rubbing and picked the bottle up bringing it closer to my face as if this was going to help me understand the words that were now completely baffling me. Continue reading