Running with Color

Last winter Alex and I decided we would run a 5k together after she graduated college. It was something to keep us motivated to work out. Admittedly, it was a psychological goal for me. When I turned 40, I began to talk myself down from exercising so much. "I'm getting too old to run! It's probably too hard on my joints!" Now, that I've just recently turned 50, I think differently. "I'm not too old to run! I better keep running while I still can!" So, it was on.

I registered us for the Omaha Color Run to be held the last weekend in July. The timing seemed perfect. Alex would need to be moved out of her apartment by then and was hopefully home for a few weeks before she began her real life with a job and all. And as it turned out, everything was unfolding just as planned.

Ready?

I was off work this last weekend in July. We moved Al home on Wednesday. It gave us a few days to do a little training together before our big weekend! I was excited. While I've been running (on and off) for nearly my entire adult life, I've never run in a race before. It's not something I had the confidence to do. My running friends are probably giggling at this, thinking "how cute... a 5k is hardly a race." And my family is probably thinking "when has she ever lacked confidence?" Well, I have my insecurities just like the rest of us. Especially when it comes to anything halfway athletic. Luckily, running takes very little hand-eye coordination. I've only wiped out a few times in my life.

Back to my Color Run story.

We were all set to go. The night before the run, our family went out to eat with my parents.  It was the perfect way to spend the night before a race: eating carbs and getting home early with mealtime beginning promptly at 6:30 PM.

When we got home, I glanced at the dining room table with a smile. Our gear was laid out: t-shirts, headbands, runner badges, tattoos... We'd need to arise early to get to DT Omaha before the 8:00 AM starting time. But I didn't care! I was ready to run!

Then I get a text from my friend Amy asking what we were doing tonight. I told her we had decided to turn in early because of the race. She asked where we were running since the Omaha Color Run had been that morning.

Wha????

Here's the thing about being on vacation: calendar days don't really mean much. When I received an email about the Color Run festivities beginning on Friday night (without paying attention to the actual date), I thought, "Wow! Some people make this an event for the whole weekend!"

I re-read Amy's text. She screenshot the information.

We had missed it.

My heart sank to my calloused feet. I was so bummed. My family laughed. I detected a hint of relief from Alex who wasn't thrilled to arise at the break of dawn. But I couldn't laugh. I didn't even care that I had wasted our registration fee. I just wanted to run in it.

So, we watched a dumb movie, and I tried not to pout – coaching myself that it really wasn't a big deal at all. I knew that it wasn't. But I was still kind of sad.

This morning I woke up at 7:30. The day I thought Alex and I would be getting sprayed by paint and laughing it up. I put the vision out of my head. Then I told my husband I was going to run a 5k. Today. Of course, he thought I was nuts, but he supported me anyway.

I put on my Color Run t-shirt. I applied my happy tattoos. (HAPP, actually. My Y didn't stick.) I pulled back my short hair with the cute tie-dyed headband. Doug dropped me off on the flattest highway around. And off I went.

Ready!

There was no party nor paint. The only music blaring was my playlist of 10,000 Maniacs and One Republic. It was actually... nice.

• Clouds created a shroud over the sun to prevent me from having heat stroke.
• I saw my first goldfinch of the summer.
• The leaves on the trees breezed about, as if to wave me on.
• I was hardly attacked by red-winged black birds.
• I saw my favorite purple wildflower. The color is so brilliant and neon-ish, it looks like a cartoon sketch.
• Two geese glided around the sky without shitting on me, and their companionship reminded me how lucky I am to have my spouse.
• I met the eyes of a beautiful, young deer who crossed my path, encouraging me to keep up my pace.

Finally, I approached our town with its grand steeple. I received that all important notification from my watch: 3 miles. I ran a little farther. Then I looked again: 3.12 miles. Just a fuzz past a 5k.
                                       I had crossed the finish line! 

Right on cue, my hubby pulled on to the corner of the Highway 191 in my support vehicle – with a water for me in tow. (Isn't he the best?) We rode back on the mule with the wind drying off my sweat as I showed Doug the awful pics I took on my jog. He asked if I was still disappointed about missing the event. I really wasn't. Adrenaline erases negativity. And I'm certain my scenery was more beautiful than DT Omaha. 

As it turned out, it was the best color run I ever missed.

Now that's color.

Look closely. A deer. A steeple.

For Pet's Sake: A Story of Percy and Quinn

This weekend we took off for the Iowa Games to catch our boy play just a little more soccer. No, we really don't get tired of it. You might hear my husband sigh and complain about going, but don't believe it for one second. That's all pretend. We both love it. Watching talented youth with all of their energy is uplifting as heck. And, there's beer to be had after those games.

Whenever we leave for a short weekend away, we need to decide what to do with our pets. I'm usually all for boarding. Doug, the true-blue farm kid, doesn't believe in this philosophy. He's of the camp that animals can stay at home and be checked by the neighbor. I usually fret over this decision. On one hand, the animals like staying at home. On the other hand, what if a storm comes up? On one hand, there's less hair in the car when we don't transport them. On the other hand, Quinn might get eaten by a coyote. It usually comes down to whether there's rain in the forecast and how long we decide to stay away. Since we were only going to be gone one night and the weather appeared amenable, we decided to let them stay home and sleep under the stars... on their honor. We made implicit instructions: no parties while we're gone. Grandpa Ron will be checking on you!

Well. As usual, we left in a flurry – running in and out of the house seventeen times to ensure we had everything. Sunscreen. Allergy pills. Beer. Water. Snacks. Beer. And, oh yes, soccer gear. Finally, we were off to Ames. I always have this bit of anxiety when we leave for trips. I'm certain we've forgotten something. And that something is so unique that it could never, ever be purchased at a Target store. #irrational #neurotic_mom

Waiting for an ear-scratching.

By the time evening came, we had our first pet report:

Percy is good. Can't find cat. 

A good report! Our cat only appears when its hungry or needs its belly scratched. It's the dog I mostly worry about. On top of his over-domestication (guilty!), you see, our dog was just recently diagnosed with diabetes. It seemed overnight, our chubby terrier gained new nicknames: Slimdawg and Skeletor. The poor thing receives insulin shots twice a day and can no longer partake in ice cream. Thus, the worry over our dog rivals the worry over our kids. Just kidding. Sort of.

The next day as we were getting ready for the games, we received a call from Grandpa Ron. No Percy. No Quinn. He called out to them and looked everywhere. We told him not to worry. He was probably under the deck. His hearing was failing too, after all. But after I hung up with my father, I had a pit in my stomach. Maybe his time had come. And I hadn't really said a proper good-bye to him... all those stupid trips in and out of the house!

But we had some games to watch. I said a prayer that our animals were not suffering and flipped to soccer mom mode. But it wasn't far from my mind.When the weather switched and the clouds grew dark during the last game, I began to internally berate myself. Even if our pets were safe and sound, now they'd be caught in a storm. I should've boarded them.

The last game was finally called due to lightning. Our boys got second place. (They should've gotten first, but that's a story for another time.) I was ready to get on the road. We took off in the rain. I buried my head in a book and tried to push back the dread that perhaps we had lost our beloved little barker.

Two and a half hours later, we pulled into our driveway. The rain had stopped by then. But there was no one to greet us. My heart was sinking just as Cole said, "There he is!"

Our little Percy came prancing out, bright-eyed and muddy as hell. Hallelujah! The pang zipped out of my heart. I hopped out of the truck to hug the rain-soaked dog, not caring about the stink he was gifting my hands. I glanced around for the cat whose usual ploy was to lurk on the ledge. But there was no Quinn. I began a futile call for the cat who doesn't like to be commanded to come. And then the most amazing thing happened. Doug opened the door to the house. And the cat rushed outside. Quinn had decided to stay at the Hotel Kramer for the night. I had to laugh. I couldn't even be upset. Our cat and dog were alive! That's all that mattered... for the next couple of minutes, at least. Then I realized something. The cat most certainly had a party in our house. We'd have mess. Kitty mess.

Messes. Schmesses. My joy over our pets made up for any poop or pee left to clean. Besides, we have Cole for that duty. Good boy, Cole.

It's always naptime for these ole dogs.