Preparing For Ragnar....

Tonight we gathered at Bob's house. Of the 12 people in our group supposedly running tomorrow's race, we were seven. One van we know will have six runners, the other one...we're not sure yet. After we had some great food, we sat around the table and went over some of the details that both teams needed to know to make the Ragnar Wasatch Back Race more successful. There were two of us who had never run the race before. I don't know about the other one, but a lot of what they were saying sounded Greek to me.

Our start time is 5:45 a.m. which means we're going to be meeting at Bob's house tomorrow morning at 3:45 a.m. which means, I'll be waking up a little after 3 a.m. Some of the more experienced runners wondered how we ever got such an early time. Just lucky, I guess...

Tomorrow morning, while most people will be sleeping (that's an inaccurate statement...there are billions of Chinese and Indian citizens who will be awake...), I'll be in a Suburban with five other runners making our way toward the race. I have no idea how it's going to be. The other runners seemed relaxed and excited. I was nervous. Tomorrow, hopefully, I'll be too tired to be nervous. I guess there's nothing to do now but pack and get ready for tomorrow. Wish me luck!

Messages, A Little Story...

Wednesday Weekly Writing Prompt!

It's Wednesday and so I'm writing another little tidbit of a story. Here's the link to Nicole Pyle's site: HERE.

This week's story must include the following words: 

Jet

Chuckle

Hour

Grandmother

Missed

Again, less than 500 words, the finished story must be linked to Nicole's site and there's a week to complete it. If you're thinking about giving it a try, do it! It's really fun.

Messages

    The moment Tom opened the door to his cramped apartment he knew she was gone. The realization of his loneliness descended upon him like a bomb. This time, he thought. She would not be coming back.
    The door closed, the familiar squeak of the aging hinges mixed with the sounds of humanity under stress came from the city street seven floors below. Tom looked around expecting to see her, but knowing the futility of his gaze would yield nothing. The apartment looked pretty much the same, Sarah never had a lot of physical possessions—only memories of her remained in the humid air.
     It was late. Tom had waited, even volunteered to close the coffee shop. He purposely missed the last bus and took a taxi, all in an effort to come home an hour later than normal. He did this because he was afraid to face the very reality that now engulfed the solitary man.
    Tom walked into the kitchen and spotted the answering machine that sat on the counter. One message, as proclaimed by a red blinking number "1" on the small device. Tom hoped it was Sarah that had called, but the pain of hearing her voice would prove worse than if he didn’t. Tom ran his fingers through his jet-black hair and dropped his keys on the counter as he listened to the voice-mail message. He let out a chuckle as the voice from the small white box came not from Sarah, the woman he once loved, but from his grandmother. He’d call her later.
    The easy chair in the apartment’s only room called to him and Tom answered its siren song. The faux leather offered as much comfort as any inanimate object could and Tom expelled spent air from his lungs as he welcomed and thanked the object for assuming the weight of, not only his body, but his soul.
    Tom wasn’t sure how long he slept. An ambulance at least 70 feet below woke him and he saw the pale light of morning filter through the window. He rose and saw something on the coffee table. On the table rested a postcard. Had it been there when he came in last night? Tom’s hazy mind didn’t know. He picked up the postcard and his eyes focused on the picture of a bright orange building. He knew all about that building and where it was. Sarah’s family used to vacation there when she was a child. He turned the card over. It was blank.

The Clamshell Mac...Still Cool!

A couple of years ago one of the neighbor kids said he had an old Mac laptop for sale and he wondered if we were interested in buying it. "How much?" we asked. "$35." He brought it over and we bought it. It was a Clamshell Mac.

If you're wondering how old this particular computer is, rent Legally Blond. In the show the main character, Elle, buys a colorful computer--something matching her personality--to spice up the dull world of Harvard Law. I have a suspicion that there were probably a couple these Macs at Harvard Law back in the day. 

The computer has problems. The battery is all but shot so if you unplug the computer while it's operating, it shuts down and everything you were working on disappears. If you properly shut down the computer, it's good. I don't even dare guess the memory, ram and other specifications of this thing.

The Clamshell is lovingly claimed by our youngest. He's writing his own story on it. It's called, The Legend Of The Lost Gun. We finished reading Chapter 7 tonight. There's a lot of fighting, repetitive monsters, and magical teleportation. It's quite a tale. I don't know if we'll ever get rid of the Clamshell. It's like an old pet, and it's still pretty cool.

A Day In The Life...

I don't know if I've ever written a post like this one. I do this all the time when I write in my daily journal, but not for the blog. However, it was such a crazy day, I think I'll make an exception.

Last night I had one of those nights when I kept waking up. No big deal, the alarm clock ran and I was up...showered, changed for work and out the door. I worked only half a day. I took the rest of the day off to get a physical. If I'm running Ragnar in just a few days, I'd like a professional opinion for a little back-up. I came home, changed, then went to the doctor's office.

After the appointment I came home and changed. I had to meet a friend at the Farmington City Municipal Pool. After that, I ran a 5K--wasn't my quickest, but it wasn't as slow as I thought it would be. I ran under a cool tree tunnel (almost as good as Salzburg's...).

I came home, showered and changed because at 6pm I needed to be in Kaysville for an audition. I sang MLK, the King's Singer's version. For a tenor it leaves the singer exposed. We'll see what happens.

At 7pm my wife and I needed to be at my daughter's gymnastic "End-Of-The-Season" dinner so after the audition I came home, changed, then we headed off to Bountiful. It was a fun night, and my daughter even received a "Most Improved" award (proud parent saying, yeah!).

 

On the way home, we saw a ring of fire. The hills above Centerville was ablaze. Tis the season, I guess. We came home, I changed and got ready for bed. So, let's see...six changes of clothes, two showers, a physical, a 5K, an audition, and a hillside fire for excitement. Just a typical day (sometimes...).

The Danes! The Little Team That Could...

*

I am an unapologetic soccer fan. I'll even watch college games (when there are no other games on...). My home state has it's own championship team, RéAL SALT LAKE and I watch them whenever I can. But nothing, and I mean, nothing compares to watching the national teams play. It's like no other sporting event on earth. Think of it as a cross between the Olympics and the NCAA Men's Basketball Tournament--but without all that pesky scoring.

Yesterday morning (our time...) I watched one of my favorite national teams, the Danish National team, play. Their opponent, the Dutch National Team. The tournament? Eurocup, 2012. In their group (a group dubbed, "The Group of Death"), the Danes are considered the weakest team. How tough is this group? The Danes are currently ranked 9th in the world. Which means, as the underdog, they have three teams ranked higher than them in their group.

In the game against the Dutch, the Danes did me proud. They scored in the 24th minute and prevented the Dutch--the World Cup runners up--from scoring. Many who watched the game commented on how many chances the Dutch blew (and they blew many...), and how lucky the Danes were in their first round win. But I don't care. It was a fantastic game. Let's see how the do against the Portuguese!

*Photo used without permission from: http://www.sporten.dk/fodbold/udenlandske-medier-hylder-dansk-chok-sejr

The Last 100 Yards...

I turned around and saw the road, the road I had just sprinted across to end my workout. Each year the small town where I live celebrates its existence by holding a celebration. Back in the day, we called the week-long event Farmington Fiesta Days. Due to the threat of being offensive, the name of the event was changed to, and remains to this day, Farmington Festival Days. Each year for Festival Days, the city holds a race. Back in the 1990's when I last ran the 5K, the race ended right where this picture was taken, at the end of this road.

Tonight I ran the 5K course twice. The first time, I ran/jogged the course. The second time, I jogged/walked the course. Each time I sprinted the last 100 yards as I turned the corner just before the elementary school, the school I used to attend. I sprinted passed my car, then passed the red car and stopped, exhausted both times.

It was a perfect night for a run. The wind kissed my back and the sun danced behind the clouds as I pushed my out-of-shape body up and down the sleepy roads of my hometown. The memories of my childhood returned to me as I jogged passed the city cemetery where a headstone with the names of my parents etched into the granite resides among hundreds of others. I ran passed the city park and saw little league baseball games where players and their parents dream of future glory, and I remember the days I wore a baseball uniform and tried to help my team win. Finally I reached the road where the race ends. I sprinted the last 100 yards then stopped to allow my body to recover from the workout. I looked back on the road, a road I've run many times before, and I snapped a picture before I got into my car and drove home.

How Great Is A Petting Zoo?

This morning I spotted a Facebook post from a friend, April Kimball letting everyone know that today was a free day where she works. She works at "This Is The Place Monument" in the hills above Salt Lake City. Free--we like free.

We loaded up the kids and spend an almost perfect spring day at the park. For my youngest, the best part of the trip was the petting zoo.

My son was in awe of all the animals. As we went from animal to animal one word escaped my son's mouth over and over again...the word adorable. Every animal at the petting zoo was adorable.

We left the zoo and meandered the amazing streets of the park for about an hour, but for my 7-year old, the best place was the petting zoo, a place where there were adorable ducks, adorable sheep, adorable goats, adorable cows, and especially, the adorable pig.