Running our Guts Out

Well, we did it! We, a bunch of misfits ran the Ragnar Wasatch Back in spectacular fashion. (Meaning, we finished without major injury, illness, or incident.) This is going to be a long post, so get comfy.

We definitely had some highs and lows along the way. My lows 1) almost throwing up after my first run; 2) making friends with Gold Bond

My highs: 1) Running under a billion stars at 2 in the morning with nothing but the sound of my own breath and feet hitting the road; 2) finally passing that chick in the red shirt (you know who you are); and 3) hearing "go, mom!" through the rain as I ran my final leg.

Before the race, we had alot of fun decorating our vans with the "Hot Runs" theme.

Support the Movement.
We'll wipe out the competition.

Note the toilet seat on the roof.

Don't forget the plunger!


Between the 12 of us we ran 188 miles through the beautiful Utah mountains. Here at the race start there were a few in costumes.



I wonder how long that costume lasted.
Our Van 2 group shot, a few minutes before our first set of runs. (Yes, literally and figuratively.)

Our friend Tom set up a trailer in a church parking lot and kept us fed and rested throughout the race. We were the envy of everyone. We had a few random people stop in and use the bathroom, which was just fine by us, considering the alternative venue:
Ahhh, honey buckets! Yes, the porta-pottys were called "Honey Buckets". Nice.

Our team shirts looked great!
We encountered some spectacular scenery.
We also encountered a few fun costumes.

Here is a shot of a few random things around the van.

You thought we were just kidding about the Hot Runs, didn't you? We're deadly serious.
Paul burned it up on his last get. Go Paul!
Matt had the "Ragnar" leg, and he kicked butt. It's four miles uphill with about 1600 feet elevation gain.
Here's Matt passing someone, which happened quite a bit. He ran that leg without walking once!

Here's Linda and David. They both did awesome. Plus, I just love hearing the words, "Go, Mom!" along the route. It warms my heart.
Here's Laura finishing a steep dirt hill run to hand off to Paul. Laura could crush rocks with those thighs.
Here's Josh handing off to Cynthia, our last minute replacement and purple heart recipient.
Josh did a great job and had us wishing we were all 15-years-old.
Father and son, running along together.
Here's Joe on a very steep climb. It doesn't look steep, but it was. He's running. Really.
Jessica shows some enthusiasm during her run.
Here's Jan handing off to Joe. Note the race official checking her out.
Random van scense. Jan was a good sleeper. Sorry, Jan :)
Ed and the girls came up to Heber to cheer me on for my final leg. This was one of my favorite parts of the run. Hearing "go, mom!" and running through the rain, knowing I'd be strong enought to finish. It felt great!
Random van shot #2: ice pack and race#.
Here's the sunrise over Rockport.

More beautiful scenery.
One of the exchanges was on this guys farm.
Cathy hands off to Jan. This was my worst run. It was so hot, I felt nauseous the whole time. Ug.
I learned a few things along the way. #1) People don't like to get passed. #2) People don't like to get passed by girls, and #3) People don't like to get passed by big girls in skirts. Ha!
Breakfast of champions.
Cynthia, our cheerful last-minute replacement. Next year, Emily!
Alex wins the good-spirit award. He ran with such a happy demeanor. I run like I'm going to kill someone.

Here we are at the finish line, soaked and stinky.

Here are a few of our favorite vans we saw along the route.

Van No More Mom Jeans. I love it!

Sweatin' to the Oldies

Running Off our Excess Baggage

Ain't that the truth!


Hooligans on the Run (I really think there were some ex-cons in there...)

I Think I Can I Think I Can...

Sin City Saints - a team from Vegas

Beauty and the Beasts

Runaholics Unanimous - Drunk with exhaustion

Kickin' Assphalt

As you can see, we weren't the only ones to utilize a little potty humor.

Van Running Guts

5 Jocks 1 Bra

There were a few vans that took advantage of current events:

The leveraged sellouts

Don't pass on threat of swine flu

More swine flu humor

Team No Pants was a huge hit among the men

Some just wanted to have fun:

The Zena Road Warriors - a perennial favorite




Race Official Stay Behind Me

Van Water Gun

Some were a little more mean-spirited:

Thanks alot!

Another One Eats Our Dust

A lot of vans kept track of "kills" (the number of times you passed someone)

There's an "I" in "Teim"

Runnin' Down a Dream

It's T-5 days until the Wasatch Back. We are team Hot Runs. Yes, you heard me. Hot Runs. We're all twelve-year-old boys. Later on we might do a little blue-darting.

My awesome brother Clark helped out with the shirt design, my cool sister Laura is tracking down van decorations (toilet plungers, bathroom signs), and my great brother Paul's company, LACO Technologies, is our proud sponsor.
I've had some adversity leading up to this race. Running is still not fun, but by gum, I'm going to do this thing.

Meanwhile, the kids have been doing some running of their own. Yep, my kids are in the track club. I'm pleasantly surprised that they don't think this is the lamest thing ever.
Here's them reluctantly posing at the track meet. Everyone gets a ribbon. I love track.

Emma prefers the field evens like high jump and softball throw. I am not allowed to watch, but I take pictures incognito.

Nice throw, Emma! 36 feet!

Beth is getting ready to run the 100-yard-dash. She's getting the stare-down of intimidation from the boy the next lane over.

Get him, Beth!

Almost Golden

Today is my mom and dad's 49th wedding anniversary. I can imagine that beautiful June day in 1960, my dad's young face, my mother's tiny waist, walking the grounds of the Salt Lake Temple, with Arch and Ginny, Ellsworth and Dorothy, looking on. Who would have imagined, 49 years later, a brood of 7 children and 23 grandchildren, all who admire you and are becoming all that you are.

Thank you for staying together and providing a safe home. Thank you for that small kiss between you that we witnessed every day before you went to work. Thank you for all of your sacrifices, your late, worrisome nights, your prayers and your talks. 

Thank you for making us feel rich when we were poor and being modest when we were rich. Thank you camping, and homemade cookies, for fixing our bikes and buying our prom dresses. 

For dad, thank you for helping me with my garden and our home, for being our on-call handyman and advice-giver. Thank you for teaching me not to be afraid of work, and that a little sweat can be a good thing. Thank you for teaching us in the gospel, and for your good example.

For mom, thank you for somehow knowing when I've cried, for your tender hugs and prayers, for your passionate alliance with each one of us. Thank you for the thousands of loads of laundry, the cheers from the stands, and for defending us always. You are the ultimate mother bear: tender, nurturing, and fierce. 

I cannot imagine a time when you would not be with us. Here's to may more years together.

O Remember, Remember

In the immortal words of John Denver, some days are diamond, some 

days are stone. In the even more immortal words of God,  "...what man is there of you, whom if his son ask bread, will he give him a stone?". Meaning, perhaps, that what we get, good and bad, is all bread. 

This day was bitter bread.

This day was sweet bread. Yesterday, she said the word "yes". Yes!

Elder Eyring's message today reminds me to remember the hand of God in my life. It's all bread, and it's all good. Click it. Now!

O Remember, Remember

The Flag in the Blanket

I don't remember many church meetings from my youth, but this one I remember. It was one of the few times I've seen my dad cry.

Jim Patterson spoke. He was a World War 2 veteran, a POW, and a survivor of the Bataan Death March. He was a prisoner of war in the Phillipines. While he was taken prisoner, he and his fellow soldiers managed to hide amongst themselves an American flag. The Japanese soldiers were ruthless and killed the POWs for even the smallest infraction.
The risk was great. Knowing they could be killed for posessing the flag, they kept it hidden, rolled up in an old tattered Army blanket. On special occasions, such as Independence Day, the POWs would carefully, secretively, unroll the blanket and look at the flag. Months turned into years and still the flag remained undiscovered. Finally, Jim and the other POWs were released after 3 years of imprisonment.

Jim finished his remarks and stepped to the side of the pulpit. His old body bent over, and with the help of another man, he picked up an old rolled up Army blanket. The men held up the blanket at each end and slowly unrolled it to reveal his old, worn, American flag. A woman sang "God Bless America". Once the flag was completely in view, it was slowly rolled up again into the blanket and disappeared.

His incredible story remains imprinted on my memory and has taught me of the painful sacrifice that so many have made for me. It has also taught me that there can be a love of country and faith so great it is willing to face the threat of certain death, not in the heat of battle, but for posessing that old flag rolled up in a blanket.

Chasing Skirts

It's getting warmer. My long black running pants are getting hotter. Put on shorts, you say? Nay. You see, I was born with certian anatomical properties that produce atomic wedgies in shorts whilst running. My mom considers it an inherited badge of honor. She gushes, "I could always tell which one was you on the starting blocks (high school swim team), even from way up in the stands!". Cheers, mom!

So I take a trip to Salt Lake Running Company. Approached by a friendly employee, he asks how he can help. "Uh, do you have running shorts for, uh, "big girls"? He laughs, in a knowing way, and directs me to the running skirts. Skirts? Is this 1908?

"Trust me," he assures. "They're way cute."

Skeptical, I disappear into the dressing room with half dozen skirts. They are cute. But I haven't worn a skirt this short since 1984. I settle on the "Happy Hour" skirt by SkirtSports. Happy hour? Happy is not the word I'd use. Still nervous, I make the purchase. This running gig is getting pricey.

I run in the skirt and its strangely liberating. I run with that "I'm a Woman" song in my head ("I can bring home the bacon, na na na, fry it up in pan, na, na na...".)

Meanwhile, I'm still reaching for the day that running feels like running and not jogging through water. I look forward to the time where I reach that elusive "runner's high". Until then, if you see a 30-ish gal with alarmingly white legs huffing and puffing through the streets of SLC, do not slap her butt with a yardstick.* Just cheer for her - she's pulling a big load.

There's a rumor that a pack of crazy teenages roam the streets looking for joggers to slap with yardsticks. Really.

Hope and Jane

Developmentally delayed. I hate that word. Delayed. I suppose it implies hope, as in, "Mrs. Cheever, your train will be delayed, but not to worry, it shall arrive momentarily." Well, we can't see Jane's train, but we can hear its distant whisper.

We don't have all the answers, but we discovered a few things these past few weeks. A recent MRI showed the same damage initially seen on her first MRI. That is, scarring in the white matter of the brain that affects vision and vision processing. Initially not thought to be significant, they now think this is the primary source of Jane's issues. This scarring follows a pattern similar to premature babies, although Jane was full term. How the scarring happened is a bit of a mystery, although they think it occurred during pregnancy.

So, here we are with a little more knowledge and a little more hope. The damage is done, and she is moving forward and making great progress. No more seizures. Steps here and there. Small things, like how she quietly folds her arms for prayer, even though she doesn't say the words. A small, imperceptible wave goodbye.

What of her future? She'll set her own course, improving steadily and surely. It is a blessing I shouldn't forget. For my reality check, I sit in the neurology clinic at Primary's and watch the other parents. Some parents breeze in, navigating their wheelchair-bound child effortlessly, and check in with a smile. Whee! Other parents can barely hold it together. I watched parents of a teenage girl who was mentally disabled and they just looked so exhausted.

I don't know what kind of parent I am. I know I won't do therapeutic scarf-dancing. I know I feel guilty for sometimes wishing she were normal. I know I'm scared for her future. I know that I will hunt anyone down that is mean to her and run them over in my white minivan. Most of all, I just love her.

I love her gentleness, even when she "helps me file the papers".

I love her blonde curls and sweet smile.

I love her patient way of figuring things out.

I love her growing strength.

I love her curiosity.

I love her determination.

I love her.