Sprint Triathlon

This story begins back in November, maybe before that, depending on your perspective. My dad died in November. Shortly after that, my mom said one of the organizations he belonged to was considering sponsoring a 5K run in his honor. She also suggested that as members of his family, we might consider participating. What she didn’t say, didn’t need to say, is only half of us were born with any type of athleticism. (Sorry for bus-chucking the other half of us)

I hate running. I’m not good at running. In high school, when I was on the swim team, as soon as I was out of my coach’s sight, I walked. Only cheating myself, right? I joined the track team my senior year and threw the javelin, not well mind you, but that was what I was enlisted to do; poor track team. One night we had a run-a-thon. I hate to get too graphic, but it did unnatural and unhealthy things to my body.

What then, would motivate one such as me to run? From the time my dad was diagnosed with cancer to his death, I put on 20 lbs. From his death to January I added another 10. The only thing that distracted me from grieving was that rush of sugar found in a spoonful of chocolate frosting or the comfort of a stack of thick pancakes smothered in butter and syrup.**Spoiler alert** This isn’t one of those stories where I hit rock bottom and made a choice to never look back. The point of despair I reached is one I had been to many times before; I hated my body, hated how I felt, decided to do something about it, was motivated for awhile and eventually gave in and gave up to my natural tendencies. I think there were three variables that made a difference.

The first is my eating issues are not necessary limited to a being a physical issue. Someone close to me struggled with an eating disorder. I watched her as she worked/struggled through it. She had a strong support network, the chief support being her reliance on a higher power. I learned from that and as I knelt each morning and night, I begged for help.

He sent me a friend, a devoted friend, a friend who texted me each morning at 6:30 to remind me to get up and get moving, that the chill of winter and the darkness of that time of day was not an excuse to stay in a warm, comfortable bed, that there would not be a change unless I made changes. It didn’t make it an easier, but the accountability factor turns out to be highly motivating.

The other motivation is my work was initiating a health challenge that began the end of February and ended on Memorial Day in May. In order to earn the premium, participants had to eat 5 servings of fruits and vegetables, sleep 6-8 hours a night, exercise 30 minutes a day or a weekly equivalent of it, and avoid foods with high amounts of sugar; muffins, cookies, cake, ice cream, candy, etc. (So long comfort food! When I’m stressed or sad or anxious or bored, I’ll just find comfort in the arms of some celery; there is no comfort in celery.) The premium was $200, which some might say isn’t worth it, but it was $200 and one more factor in moving forward.

So, 71 pounds overweight, I ran my first 1/8 mile. I was sick the rest of the day. I won’t bore you with all the details and ins and outs, just a few milestones. In May, I finally ran the required distance for a 5K. It was on a treadmill, with no incline and I had to consistently apply cool cloths to my face because I kept overheating, but I ran the distance, possibly for the first time ever. The 5K my mom had heard about never came to fruition, so I instead signed up for a sprint triathlon where the order of events was a 5K run, 10 mile bike, and 400 yard swim, the exact opposite of the traditional order.

Then I tried running 3.1 miles outside. Outside, the terrain isn’t flat, the ground doesn’t move for you, there is nothing to absorb impact, and the temperature is inconsistent. Shin splints became a huge obstacle. Aside from stretching, compression socks leftover from my first bout of blood clots seemed to help. The unfortunate aspect of the stockings is that I used them in a Raggedy Ann Halloween costume for my sister when I decided I’d never have another use for them. The finished pair was white, with spray painted red stripes. Finally, by the beginning of June, I ran the distance - once. The race was June 29.

After two weeks of vacation, I had a week to rein it all back in. I tried to work out while vacationing, but missed several consecutive days of exercise. Terror was the strongest emotion I felt two days before the race; not because of what I had signed up to do, but the logistics. How did I get my bike down to the race zone on time? Who would watch my children? Should I eat breakfast or not? Gatorade or water? What if I had to pee? What if someone stole my bike? When people gawked at my “fashionable” leg wear, would I shut down?

The night before I had a nightmare; there I was, at the start line. My number was pinned on and I was stretching out. Suddenly I realized my bike was back home in my garage and I wasn’t wearing my bathing suit. I began to panic, realizing the race began in 15 minutes. Acting quickly, I entered my former high school to look for my English class. I ran up to the second story, opened the door, and saw a room full of my current students. Running back down the stairs, the shin splints started to kick in, and I was no closer to finding my English class. I awoke with my heart racing, terrified of not getting back to the race on time. When I awoke fully, I realized it was Friday, not Saturday. I had 24 hours to get everything ready.

That night I went to the preregistration, where they showed me the transition area and re-identified the course map. Only then did I realize I had been training on the route going backwards so that all the uphills were now down and all the downhills were now up. On paper, it doesn’t seem a big deal; on a bike . . . a lot bigger deal. Stowing my bike at my cousin’s house, I went home.

Morning came and I woke two hours before the race. I dropped to my knees and prayed to finish. After consuming a small breakfast and washing it down with diluted Gatorade, I got into the shower and dressed; bathing suit, sports bra, t-shirt, striped compression stockings, shorts, sports socks and cross trainer shoes. I filled a backpack with more water, goggles, and my tracking chip. Then, suddenly I was there, the last minute details were spoken by the officials, and I was at the starting line, looking more like the human mutation of an okapi with candy cane legs than a triathlete.

The bell, buzzer, or horn sounded - I don’t recall which it was - and I set off at a steady pace. The temperature was forecast to rise to 100 degrees, so even at 7:00, it was uncomfortably warm. For awhile, there were many people around me, I even passed a few. At a mile and a half, I got my bottle of water, drank half of it and poured the rest over my head in an attempt to stave off the heatstroke. By the second mile, my limbs were not getting adequate oxygen to keep moving and my lungs struggled to inhale. I slowed to a walk. My brother-in-law, who had signed on to encourage my sister, kept me going. I kind of wanted to punch him, but without him, I might have settled for sauntering across the finish line. We set small goals and I finished the race running and with a little less than 9 minutes to spare for what I had set as my personal goal. In the transition area, he encouraged me by saying, “You use different muscles to bike than to run. You can do it.”

I thought, different muscles, same lungs, but didn’t say so because I was still working on breathing. Straddling my bike, I set off. As mentioned, the course was opposite of what I had anticipated and began with an uphill stretch followed by an even more uphill stretch. I forced my legs to pedal, turned the corner, and kept going. As I reached the seemingly insurmountable hill, I shifted to the lowest gear possible; it was all I could do to keep the tires going around; momentum was out of the question.

My consolation lay at the peak of the hill; it was all downhill from there until I began the second lap. Just keep peddling, keep peddling, I urged myself on. Occasionally another biker would pass me and say something like “You’re doing great! Keep it up.” And while he or she could have meant, “You’re doing great! Keep it up. Its people like you that make me look good,” I prefer to believe that each biker saw someone genuinely struggling and knew that his or her encouragement would carry me a few feet further up the hill.

As I reached the starting point to begin my second lap, I was getting tired and worried that the officials and officers controlling traffic might get bored and go home. Even so, I pressed forward. Nearing the hill once more, I rode through someone’s vomit; never a good omen. No one passed me now; they’d all finished or were finishing the second lap. At the base of the hill, I shifted down. Though I was exerting with everything I had in me, I barely had enough speed to keep the bike from tipping. Part way up the hill, I knew it was time to call out the big guns. In my head, I uttered a prayer. I don’t remember the exact wording, but the plea was something like this:

I cannot do any more than I am now doing. For the past six months of my life, I have worked toward this. I have eaten well. I have gotten up early to exercise. I have forced this body of mine to do that which it was not created to do. This is all I have . . . and it is not enough. Please, Heavenly Father. You have got to help me. And then, a gentle cooling breeze and a few more feet forward. A sip of water; a few more inches. Maybe my dad was watching from the other side; another foot. Slowly, I crept up the hill.

As I reached the summit, I was grateful that no one was around because what came out of me was as hideous a sound as can be imagined. I think we’ve all made it, but it’s not something we want witnessed. It’s that sound as you laugh at the same time you sob. A roadside marquis read “slow down, athletes on the road.”

There it was in print; electronic, orange flashing print, but print none-the-less. I WAS AN ATHLETE!!! From the top of the hill to the starting line it was nearly all downhill. Speeding forward I felt the wind rushing past me as I flew down the street. I was going to finish. Divine intervention was going to make up the difference for what I had been unable to do on my own.

Rounding the corner, I took the last stretch and barely noticed the incline. In the transition area, I stripped off my clothing, donned my goggles, and jumped into the pool. Surprisingly, my arms were tired even though I hadn’t really been using them. In nearly half the time I had allowed for myself as my personal goal, I finished my laps, climbed out of the pool, and crossed the finish line.

Looking behind me, I noticed the lane lines were being taken out of the pool and that there were only a handful of individuals finishing the last laps. One was a girl whose bike had broken, another a girl who had stopped to wait for someone who had also entered the race and fallen behind. Perhaps I should have felt discouraged by the fact that I nearly came in dead last. Maybe it’s humiliating to know that almost everyone who entered the race is better than you. But I didn’t feel any of that (okay, maybe a tiny bit). Mostly I felt a sense of accomplishment. Remember six months ago when I couldn’t finish the ¼ mile? Remember 30 lbs. ago when I hated to move?

I’m not saying my entire world has changed and that I’m suddenly a star athlete. I won’t be appearing on the next season of America’s Next Top Model (is that even on anymore?). What I’m saying is I see progress. What I’m saying is something that is seemingly so physical has turned very much spiritual. What I’m saying is this weakness that I have had and will continue to fight my entire life is slowly, with the Lord’s help, becoming stronger.

Will I do it again? I have a year to decide, a year to train, and a year to perhaps persuade the city to redo Main Street so that the grade near 400 South is a little less dramatic.

Ashley and Phillip

I know some of you who follow this blog have read this story, so you may want to skip this particular post. I only put it here for my Young Women because they wanted a copy of last year's story so they could better understand this years story. Make sense? It doesn't have to.

CHAPTER 1

Once upon a time there was a beautiful caterpillar named Ashley.  As she crawled through the garden, munching on leaves and making her way, she came upon a toadstool.  On the toadstool, she saw a garden gnome.   His name was Phillip.  Phillip looked down and saw Ashley and she looked up and saw him.  Immediately, the two fell in love, but unfortunately Ashley, with her short stubby legs, couldn’t climb the toadstool to see Phillip and Phillip, like most garden gnomes, was glued to the mushroom and unable to move. So their love could amount to nothing.  Devastated, Ashley crawled away.

Many days passed and Ashley became increasingly larger and more lethargic until one day she curled up and fell into a deep sleep.  For weeks she remained in a comatose state, not moving, barely breathing.  At last, one spring day her eyes opened. She stretched her legs, bursting from the crust that had formed around her.  Blinking in the bright sunlight, she stood, turned and twisted and realized in her slumber she had sprouted wings.  Elated, she allowed her wings to dry and then flew directly to the side of her beloved Phillip. 

He sat, waiting for her on his toadstool.  In the moments their eyes met again, their hearts beat as one and Ashley knew there was gnome one else for her and Phillip knew that she was for him.  They bonded immediately and lived happily ever after…until winter came and Ashley froze. 

Circle of life, right?

                                     CHAPTER 2

           Unbeknownst to her true love, Ashley, prior to her death, had consumed a portion of Anna’s Incredible Edible Eggs, which gave her life, extended vitality and brought her to a nearly immortal state.  Though all other butterflies met their demise with the onset of winter, Ashley found a hollow in a slab of granite and, as the last of the autumn leaves fell,  forced herself into a deep hibernation.  Days passed, seasons changed, until Ashley, somewhat weakened, emerged again into the open.  Immediately she flew to her beloved Phillip, vowing to renew and rekindle the romance that had been seemingly snuffed out.

            Unfortunately, Phillip was not to be found.  “PHILLIP!” she cried, her heart breaking slowly.  “Phillip, my one, my only true love, where have you gone?”  But Phillip did not answer, because he was gone.  Ashley nestled herself into a hollowed out stump and wept bitterly.  “To what end have I preserved myself only to find the one creature, for whom my heart beat, has been taken from me?”

            Little did Ashley know that Phillip, unable to defend himself and weakened by the devastating blow of Ashley’s presumed death, had been carried away by the evil beings of Friendship Meadows, perhaps the Badditudes.  “I shall never love again,” he vowed.  “Never again will I allow the compassion and caring and concern of another to enter into my soul.  Never again will I open my heart to feeling.  It mattereth not that I am stolen away, for what difference does it make if I am to spend the remainder of my days basking in the mountain meadows or here, caged away like an animal, if Ashley is not by my side?”

            Ashley, rallying the last of her strength, used her wings to wipe away the last of her tears.  “I shall have no peace until I have discovered the source that carried away my Phillip.”

            Immediately Ashley flew to the lair of the pterodactyl ninja.  “I need you to train me,” she announced. 

“To what end?” asked the pterodactyl ninja.

“That I may defend myself against whatever force I encounter that has stolen my love!”

“Very well.  I advise you to get some rest.  We begin at dawn.”

“No!” commanded Ashley, “we begin immediately!”

“Very well,” said the pterodactyl ninja.  “Your first task is agility.”

From out of nowhere, bubbles appeared.  “Each bubble must be popped in turn.  Only when you have met with success can you advance to the next task.”

CHAPTER 3

For days on end, Ashley practiced her skills.  Thrusting her arms forward as quickly as possible, she popped bubbles in turn.  Over and over she practiced, working toward perfection, but without success.  Finally, forcing herself to stay within her mind, she deprived herself of food, and sleep forcing all her energy into the task of not allowing even a single bubble to escape her notice.  The very act that honed her skills also depleted her strength.

As her weakness spread, her mind began to wander and flashed back to her time as a caterpillar. Most difficult of all the memories was the first time she had seen Phillip and did nothing to try to reach him, allowing her stubby legs to hold her back.  “Phillip,” she gasped, “I can’t fail you again.”  Drawing upon the last of her strength, a thought reached her mind.  With much effort, she climbed hand over hand finally reaching the source of the bubbles, the mythical pink duck.  “I shall destroy youuuuu!” she decreed.

            With six of her bare limbs, Ashley wrapped herself around the duck, squeezing and holding it until the duck drew its last breath and the bubbles belched forth no more.  Slowly she relaxed her stiffened appendages only to realize one of her arms had  been torn from its socket in the struggle against the duck. She paused only a moment to lament the loss of her limb and then, lacking extreme nourishment, she quickly consumed the duck, drawing on its energy.  With renewed thoughts of Phillip she found the strength to move forward.

Returning to the main chamber of his lair, the pterodactyl ninja said, “At last you are ready.  The only other aid I can offer you in your quest for Phillip is this weapon.”  Pausing he held out a pink handled mace topped with the acid pink poisoned quills of the venomous porcupine.  “Use it wisely, warrior,” he said.

            Ashley grasped the weapon and stowed it in the sheath she carried on her belt.  She looked around the lair that had, in the past months, become her home.  “I’ll miss you pterodactyl ninja,” she whispered.  “I don’t even know where to begin.”

            “The only advice I can give you child, is follow the pink rabbit.  He will take many detours and try many tricks to get you off his tail, but follow the pink rabbit.”

“But where shall I find him?”

“You must first locate the Barnabas Magic Caravan.  Ask to take a job as one of the carnies.  When you have been accepted, get close to the Bearded Lady and the Third Eye Blind.  They alone can help you in your quest for the pink rabbit, Bishop Cottontail.”

“But what about Phillip?”

The ninja looked down. “Let us hope you can reach him in time!”

CHAPTER 4 

Ashley bid farewell to the pterodactyl ninja, accidentally catching him on the spines of her weapon as she hugged him goodbye.  He dropped dead, almost immediately with the shriek of his call resonating against the stone walls as the last sound to fill her ears.  There was no time for tears; each moment wasted could mean an unimaginable torture to Phillip’s tiny pink body.

            Ashley left the lair and forced a huge boulder in front of the entrance, turning the lair into a mausoleum, the final resting place of her ninja master.  Neither horses nor bicycles were to be had in the region, so Ashley mounted an over-sized flamingo and took to the air.  The flamingo, well trained in the art of travel, flew quickly to the glen beneath the arctic glacier, the known winter home of the Barnabas Magic Caravan.  Just as the graceful flamingo circled the basin in its final descent, the bird killer perched just outside the protected dell, cast a boulder which broke the long neck of the tropical pink bird.

            Grasping and extending the wings of the lifeless bird, Ashley glided steadily toward the rapidly approaching ground. Landing forcefully, she tumbled head over heels scraping all five knees and elbows.

Fall had entered the atmosphere, soon to be followed by winter. Within weeks the tiny troupe would be locked in to the enclosed valley. The delay gave Ashley time to hone her fighting skills and to formulate a plan.

            Within the month, from the shelter she and her new found friend, the cast iron chef, had built on the hillside, Ashley saw the caravan enter the narrow valley.  The mountain range surrounding provided much needed protection from the icy blizzards of the season.  Shortly after the last stake was driven into the solid earth and the final tent had been erected in the winter camp, night covered the valley. Ashley, followed by the chef, stealthily crept down from the mountainside.  The only way to get close to them was to become one of them and the weeks of preparation had primed her well.  Slipping through the pass, she went outside the valley to retrieve her secret weapon.

CHAPTER 5

            Ashley had, like any good predator, studied her prey.  Though her intended target was a snarky creature, Ashley knew several things.  First, the creature always grew weaker in the days just before hibernating in her underground den.  Secondly, she relied heavily on her minions.  And lastly, the BEAST was anything but nocturnal.  For many, the face of the Beast alone was enough to petrify a would-be-attacker, but Ashley had trained with the pterodactyl ninja and was well skilled in the martial arts.  By capturing the Beast’s minions first, Ashley would be able to disable the defenses of the Beast and thereby begin the process of taming her.  Only by attempting the entrapment at night, days before the snowfall would she, with her limited prowess, be able to overpower the Beast. 

Heaving herself into the heavy cast-iron kettle of the cast iron chef, she signaled to him to lower her down to the entrance of the den. It was he who had provided the necessities of life; water, food, and warmth. It was he who had helped to shape her Phillip into a gnome like gnome other, a gnome worth searching for and a gnome worth fighting for.

Slowly, hand over hand the chef lowered the oven. It’s thick, even metal walls would protect Ashley until the Beast drifted into a deep sleep. With an almost undetectable clank, the three short legs settled on the ground outside of the lair.

Ashley adjusted her position and waited.  At last, she heard the slow, even breathing of the Beast, signifying to Ashley that the Beast had at last fallen asleep.  Moving noiselessly through the undergrowth, she first captured and silenced the minions in burlap bags.  Then she crept into the den.  It was with much difficulty that Ashley secured thick chains to the surrounding walls, for the least amount of noise would wake the only animal wild enough that to tame her would earn Ashley a spot as a carnie. 

            Grasping the first of the iron restraints, Ashley crept toward the Beast.  Suddenly there was the ear splitting scream.  “Help me!” screeched the night-talker. “Ahhhhhh!.”

The eyes of the Beast flew open and with no time to react, the Beast pounced on Ashley pinning her to the ground.  Caught in its powerful entrapment, Ashley’s mind was drawn to the only one who had ever defied the Beast; the Telepathic 25-Letter Alphabet Bow Hunter.

“Help me,” thought Ashley.

“I’m sowwy. “I’m twapped in the tent with a tewwible illness.  It is a plague the likes of which this univewse has nevew seen.”

            Ashley could feel the breath of the Beast, hot on her throat.  In one gulp, Ashley could be devoured.  With the Telepathic 25-Letter Alphabet Bow Hunter indisposed, Ashley was on her own.  The nostrils of the beast oozed mucus as they passed over Ashley, the Beast sniffing her prey.  Saliva dropped from an enormous pink tongue.  Jaws opened wide and swept nearer.  Ashley could see the uvula dangling at the back of the Beast’s throat.  “Phillip. Oh my dear sweet Phillip.  I’m so sorry.  I tried.  Please, oh please forgive me!”

Just as the jaws were about to close, the Telepathic 25-Letter Alphabet Bow Hunter appeared.

“Ashley, whewe awe you?”

“Follow the sound of my thoughts,” thought Ashley.

“I took some Pepto-Bismol and I feel bettew.  I’m sowwy I was so dewayed.”

“I’m here.  Hurry, before it’s too late.”

            The Telepathic 25-Letter Alphabet Bow Hunter closed his eyes.  Concentrating deeply, he loaded his bow with a dart laced with a sleeping agent.  Drawing back the string, he took aim. Just as he was about to release the taught bowstring, a misguided spell from Harry Potter’s biggest fan struck him upside the head and he fell to the earth, overtaken by the cursed hex.

Once again, Ashley was on her own. Closing her eyes, she concentrated deeply. The reedy voice of the pterodactyl ninja came as though from the grave.  “Only you have the power to defeat the beast.”

            Immediately, Ashley knew what she had to do.

CHAPTER 6

            “Hey beast,” Ashley called out, “have you heard?”

“Kakaah,” answered the beast, which Ashley interpreted to mean, “heard what?”

“I thought everyone had heard.”

“Kakaah,” answered the beast again.

“B, B, B, bird, bird, bird is the word.  B, B, B bird, bird, bird is the word.”

The Beast began to sing along, her lilting voice carrying beyond the den and into the world beyond.  In her distracted state, Ashley was able to tether the beast and capture her once and for all. With the success of this feat, she would be able to join the caravan as a carnie; the butterfly who tamed the Beast.

            With creature in tow, Ashley returned, dawn breaking, to the glen, just as the first snows of the season began to fall.  Within moments, the pass became an impasse. 

“I need to speak to Barnabas about a job,” Ashley said.

“No one speaks to Barnabas,” answered Third Eye Blind somewhat snarkily. 

“Then who makes the decisions about the jobs?”

“I do. What do you have?”

“I will tame the Beast.”

“Let me see.”

“I’m not ready,” Ashley replied.

“Very well.  Obviously you cannot cross the pass, so you have a job; cleaning up after the other carnies.  If you can be ready by spring with your act, you may stay on as part of the show.  If not, the Beast will have a fine meal of you; after all, we are an elite group.”

            For the next months, Ashley spent her days working with the Beast and cleaning up after the other members of the troupe.  Evenings were spent getting to know the other carnies.  And at night, eyes closed, she spent her hours with Phillip, dreaming of happier times gone by and yet to come.

            As the temperatures turned warmer and the accumulated snows began to melt, Ashley made a discovery.  One night as she was cleaning up the shaving station of the Bearded Lady, she noticed the rug that sat in the center of the wagon was slightly ajar.  Going to straighten it, she heard a hollow sound beneath.

            Looking around to make certain that she was alone, Ashley lifted the lid to a trap door.  Stepping inside, she lowered herself down the ladder and into a deep pit.  Pausing to allow her eyes to adjust to the darkness, she saw a large pink rabbit.

            Startled, he began hopping away.  This was the cottontail the pterodactyl ninja had told her of.  Quickly she gave chase as the rabbit scurried down a tunnel which branched off in multiple directions.  At times she fell scraping herself on the jagged rocks over which she stumbled. Other times sharp formations gouged at her scalp as she rushed past them.  Twice the rabbit nearly escaped, but finally he hopped into an opening where the darkness faded into light.

“Phillip!” she gasped, for there he was, sitting, staring skyward from his toadstool.

“Ashley?”

She smiled, “Of course.”

“I thought you were dead.”

Ashley stepped toward him.  “No, my love.  I ate some of Anna’s Incredible Edible Eggs.”  She took another step.

“Stop it!”

“Phillip?”

“Please don’t come any closer.  I have been inflicted with the plague of the Telepathic 25-Letter Alphabet Bowman.  I fear you advancing would jeopardize your life.”

“But Phillip, I’ve come to be with you.”

Phillip cast his eyes downward.  “I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

“Not as sorry as I” raged Ashley.  “Have you any idea what I’ve gone through for you?  I trained with a pterodactyl ninja, who met with his demise.  I wrestled a bubble duck and lost a limb.  I was nearly eaten by a Beast and for months I’ve lived with carnies.  Who are you to me that I would suffer so much for so long and be met with only an ‘I’m sorry.’  You are not the gnome I fell in love with.”

            Phillip tore off his head, “No,” he said, “I’m not.”  From within the shell of Phillip emerged the Badditudes.  “Your time has been wasted.  You shall not see Phillip again.”

            Ashley collapsed and sank to the floor, despair overwhelming her.  Her body shook with sobs that seemed would never be exhausted.  “Oh Phillip, I was too late.  If only I had been faster to tame the Beast.  If only I had been quicker to master my agility.  If only…if only.”

            At long last the room fell silent and then the light that had come from overhead, slowly faded and at last vanished. 

“You have failed,” said the first Badditude. 

Ashley drew her knees toward her chest.

“Did it never occur to you that if Phillip had truly loved you he would have sought you out?  That he wouldn’t have believed your death came with the first frost?”

Scalding tears slipped from her eyes, but Ashley cried silently, unwilling to let the Badditudes see her emotion. 

“What a tragedy that it should end this way; him banished and you, the great hero, cowering here in the darkness.”

            A spark ignited within Ashley’s soul.  Banished?  Banished?  Banished was not dead.  Banished meant that despite those that now surrounded and taunted her, Phillip was still alive.  Banished meant that hope had a chance to prevail. 

            Slowly, Ashley drew herself to her feet.  In the darkness she felt for her pink quilled mace.  “How dare you!” Her steady voice filled the dark space.  “How dare you fiends stand in the way of true love. How dare you nourish despair.  How dare you hide my Phillip from me.  Nothing, including you, can stand in the way of destiny, of true love, of a lifetime with my soul mate!”

            The Badditudes had no chance to respond.  In a flash, Ashley swung her mace and dealt the final death blows, one on either side, slaying the Badditudes.  With their casualty, the light slowly began to illuminate the cavernous space.

“Phhhhhhillllllllippppppp!” she bellowed.  “Where are you?”  Her voice echoed in the large space. 

“Ashley?” it was barely above a whisper.

She turned and looked behind her.  There, duct taped to the wall in various shades of white, pink, and gray duct tape was Phillip.  “Oh, Phillip, what have they done to you?”

“My sweet. The life I have lived is now complete for I have at last again seen you with my own eyes.  Even when the snow fell and the frost came and I could see you no more, I never lost hope that I would once again see your short pink tresses and taste of your rose colored lips.”

“Phillip, you musn’t speak this way.  I’ve come for you because there is gnome one else for me.

“I understand my darling, but we will never escape with our lives.  You saw what they did to Bishop Cottontail; they cut his eyes out.  They changed my name to Barnabas in an attempt to hide me from you and they spared my life, but now that we are reunited, they will hunt us relentlessly.”

“No sweetheart.  You musn’t lose hope.  We’ve come this far.  We must face the Bearded Lady and the Third Eye Blind, as well as, numerous wand wielding wizards, but all is not lost.  I have tamed the Beast who listens to me alone and we have each other; we have it all.”

“For your courage I love you all the more, Ashley.  Now help me down from this wall and together, hand in hand we will venture forth.  Should we live or should we die, it matterth not, for we are together.”

“I love you Phillip.”

“My darling, what happened to your arm?”

“We have the rest of our lives for me to explain.  Let’s get out of here so we can get the rest of our lives started.”

            As Ashley helped Phillip from the wall, hope was restored and though the journey would be difficult, they knew that together they were un-defeat-able!

THE END

Bliss

Sometimes, on days like today, I think life can't get better than this. By tomorrow, that feeling will probably fade, not because I'm filled with despair, but because today was one of the best days of my life. What was it that made it an extraordinary day???

Nothing. I didn't say it was extraordinary, I said it was one of the best days. Today was memorial day. Some of my favorite parts of the day were as follows.

1. I watered my garden. My garden reminds me of my dad, both the one I had on earth and the one who has always been in heaven. I'm grateful for an earth that was created by my Heavenly Father for me. I'm grateful for the rain and snow that falls that brings me the water to water my garden and to watch seeds turn into seedlings that form in to plants that bloom and bear fruit. That's a lot to think about from one watering of a garden.

2. I took my family to the cemetery. I'm not saying it's the most amazing destination for a Monday morning, but many of the people I love most have their final resting place in that cemetery. It's bitter-sweet to walk by their headstones and remember and think about the memories we made while they resided in their mortal forms. I am very grateful for the relationships we shared on earth and even more grateful that those relationships can continue forever.

3. I saw my grandma. Sometimes she forgets who I am or thinks I'm someone else, but she holds my hands with hers. Her skin is soft and her touch is gentle. I miss having her close.

4. Many of my siblings came by for lunch and a visit.

5. We ate my uncle's Dutch oven dinner. It's amazing food and the company, (many of my cousins and their families) can't be beat.

6. The four month health challenge sponsored by my work ended today and I was successful in completing it. I'm exercising more and overall feeling better. My psychological and physical still aren't in complete harmony, but their relationship is better.

7. This evening I drove home with my whole little family in the same vehicle. My life didn't turn out exactly as I had planned and is constantly changing, but as I looked at the sunset over the mountain range, I had this feeling of contentment. What a great day.

Band-aids Save Lives

Multiple years ago, my husband bought me a truck. (You know how it is; 50 years is silver, 75 years is golden, years 1, 2, and 3 are like rock, paper, and scissors, no one really knows what year four is and then year five hits you and BAM!!! rusty old truck year). The truck was a 1966 Ford F100, which he actually bought for the truck bed. He inherited a 1966 Ford F100 from his grandpa and his unfulfilled dream is to restore it. A neighbor smashed into it, so naturally he had to buy a second truck with a bed that was in better shape to replace the damaged bed on the first vehicle.

Fast forward to the second child, which we all know is one too many to fit in a car seat in a cab of the truck. For that reason, it became necessary to buy a third 1966 Ford F100, but this one a king cab/dump truck. For several years it sat as a yard ornament until one day, child number three was born and it was no longer possible to fit in the cab, even illegally.

So as it currently stands, Mater, as we've nicknamed the truck, runs smoothly, has a flatbed with wood sides, and as any dump truck should, has a working hydraulic system to dump the load it carries. The dumping feature is a recent innovation as far as the truck goes, so while I've heard the theory many times, I have yet to put it into practice; until today.

I helped my mom prune the hedges and ended up with a full load of branches and green waste. We loaded it into the truck, tied it down, and I made my way, with the three children, out to the landfill. All went well during transport and even as we arrived in the designated dumping area. Then I realized we had piled the branches over the back and I couldn't lift the wooden panel to open the back end.

I pulled out a few branches, but the day was warm and the children restless. Impatience won out and, completely ignoring the laws of physics, I went to the cab to hit the switch to raise the bed. As I said, I've never actually done it, just heard about it. By connecting a couple of wires, the bed began to rise up, just as it should. When it peaked, it stopped. The branches, secured by the back panel, remained stationary. I reversed the switch and nothing happened. I tried again; again nothing happened. Amazingly, despite my over-sized body weight, the hydraulics were stronger and my hanging on the sides did nothing to cause the bed to lower.

At this point, I called my husband at work. He was unreachable. I tried the switch again making different connections, all resulting in differing sounds, but no lowered bed. I called his cell phone, which went to voice mail. The children were now hungry and seemed to have no insight as to how to remedy our mechanical situation. I called again and finally he answered.

From a distance of over 30 miles, he tried to talk me through it. It seems that the wires I connected in the cab were not the only loose wires. There were also some beneath the bed on the actual hydraulic system. He explained he had not connected the wires because he didn't want the children messing with the bed and raising and lowering it. (Does that make me one of the children?)

He asked first if I had moved back the hitch. I glanced at it. Looked fine, so I made a nondescript grunt. The second task was to engage the switch and then get under and find another wire, which I did. I was told to ground it to the frame. I did so. There was a minor spark (a lot like many of my first dates) and then nothing happened. I repeated the steps, but had only one hand available to me as the other was holding the phone to my ear. Again, nothing happened. He told me again to engage the toggle switch and to ground the other wire beneath the bed. I tried to argue that it didn't seem safe, but he insisted that was what needed to be done, so I again repeated the entire process. I searched through the truck finally finding some stickers that had once been attached to my apples. Using them, I secured the wire to the frame and backed up. Nothing happened. Checking my line, I discovered that the stickers hadn't held. I looked through my purse and found a band-aid. This I used to secure the wire to the frame, where the bed made all sorts of whirring noises, but didn't go down much at first.

I flipped the toggle switch in the cab. Somehow the planets aligned and for but a moment, the bed began to lower. I jumped out of the way an saw my entire life flash before my eyes. I tried to explain this to my spouse, who said the bed would only lower part of the way, and that I had to jump on it while holding the wire to the frame to drop it fully. Uh. . . what?

By this time, one  of the children had to go to the bathroom. He's young and can't hold it. Although it was nearing closing time and I was certain being watched, I got him out and had him drop his pants to take care of business. This seemed the ticket for escape and the other two children suddenly had to go as well. I told them to wait. They were still hungry, so I told them to eat the remainder of the loaf of bread not consumed at lunch time.

This put me with a partially lowered bed, three hungry children who had to go to the bathroom (at least two of them) and a full load of green waste. I again began pulling at the branches and removed enough of them to lift the back panel. Logic, reason, and rational though should have led me to pull the remaining branches from the load and drive home. But what point is there in owning a dump truck if one is unable to cause it to dump?

I again engaged the switch in the cab, that lifted the bed. I pulled forward and the entire load was deposited. Now I had only the issue of lowering the bed. Fortunately, I paused at this moment to think. I had to put the wire beneath the bed onto the frame while the toggle was engaged without getting smashed by the bed. It didn't seem doable. It was at this point I realized I could access the necessary wire from beneath the truck rather than only between the frame and the bed. If the bed were to drop, I wouldn't be crushed, just startled; a better option all around.

Also, as the truck was facing downhill, by lying behind the back tires, I didn't run the risk of being run over. Granted a sudden lurch could send my three children careening down through a chain link fence, but they had all been buckled in at one point, they should be fine.

I climbed beneath the truck and slid the wire across the frame. Little by little the bed dropped about 3/4 of the way. At that point, I wedged the wire into a loose weld and climbed into the bed to jump on it to force it into the lowered position.

Round trip, the excursion only took an hour and a half. Not bad considering the landfill sits no more than seven minutes from my house.

My spouse came home later that night and inspected the truck. I helped him fix the hitch I'd bent, and then we discussed the intricacies of the afternoon. He seemed quite distressed by the fact that I'd been between the bed and the frame, even after I explained to him that I had done just as he'd said. Finally, seeing the discussion was getting us nowhere, I said, "I guess it's good I have a dead dad watching out for me then." He thought a moment and replied, "Yes, but your dead dad still owes you a pole to the head."*

*A couple of years ago, while helping my brother install a swingset constructed of steel, I didn't counter balance the "leg" when we went to move it. Consequently, my pole slipped lose and plummeted to the ground taking my dad with it. Other than in movies, I've never seen anyone drop like that. He was quite forgiving, but I can't help but think I may have knocked out at least two years of graduate school with that blow.

The Perfect Storm

You know what makes for a great day? Shopping with your children in a fabric store where one child has an "accident" and goes into hysterics in the bathroom where you are trying to take care of it and he is so loud that you are certain child protective services will arrive at any moment and then having him announce loudly to anyone who will listen that he's not wearing any underwear.

The Floppy White Hat

I used to love to fly. In 19-- I took my first plane ride and flew to Pennsylvania for a 4-H trip. Yep, I was that kid; the amazing 4-Her. I did learn to sew; the cooking didn't really take, but sewing has proved to be a useful and rewarding skill.

The flight there, my best friend and I dressed up in dresses to fly. We were so excited. I kept my beverage container to use as an oxygen mask for my stuffed animal (don't most late teen teenage girls fly with a stuffed animal?)

Somewhere between age 16 and now, that anticipation has turned to terror. I don't mind the actual flight; I love the feeling of taking off, the weightlessness, becoming air born, and the slight shake of the plane even the most skilled pilot can't seem to avoid, but that airport security now gives me anxiety so severe, I am about one pat-down away from a mental breakdown. I hate being stopped and having all my personal items searched through. I hate having someone in a very audible voice who refers to me only as ma'am and refuses to make eye contact tell me my computer, computer bag, phone and shoes all have to be in separate bins. Meanwhile, a crowd of irritable travelers stands behind me looking on, wondering who the moron causing the hold up is. I have seen shorter trains than the line created by my separate bins to house my items that have to be x-rayed.

My most recent trip was to Florida for my sister-in-law's 40th birthday.

That wasn't even the best sunset we saw, but I didn't have my camera for the others. We left home and waited in a considerably long line to get through security at which point my yogurt was confiscated. I asked if I could eat it and was told I'd have to exit the "secure" area and go back through security. As our flight was nearing departure time, I didn't want to risk it. Besides, wouldn't a reasonable individual realize that if I were willing to ingest the substance, it probably wasn't a risk to other passengers? My kidney beans, soaking in their juices made it through, but not my favorite yogurt. It wouldn't be a huge deal except apparently the flavor and brand I most love is not marketed in Florida.

Upon arrival we went to a circus garden where there is a large Banyan Tree. I don't like Banyan trees. I would be afraid to sleep near one in fear of being grown over by morning. There was a statue without a face. I didn't like her much either.

That night we got to the condo where we would be staying.

That isn't the condo, this is the pool at the base of the stairs. Every morning I awoke, headed down the stairs and swam laps in the pool. The bay is just beyond the pool. We saw jellyfish and regular fish.

The most significant aspect of the vacation was that it was so relaxing. I didn't realize how stressed I had been until suddenly. . .I wasn't. I woke up when my eyes opened. I ate meals when I was hungry or when I wanted to. I walked the beach at sunset every night. The only thing that would have made it better would be if my man friend were there with me, except I don't think he would be in to staying hydrated through osmosis. He's more of a go and do type. Nice, but sometimes it's nice to sit and sit.

Each time I go to the beach, I collect shells. I think they are so beautiful and perfect, and then I get home and never do anything with them. They sit for awhile, take a turn in the aquarium, and eventually, covered in moss, get thrown away. This time, I found a purple tinted shell. Purple is my daughters favorite color, so I dove down to the sand, pried open the oysters, and harvested some lilac shaded pearls to go with the shell. That was nothing compared to the underwater cavern, visible only at the lowest tide, where I mined the precious gems used to make this necklace for her.

Oh wait. That was my plan, but I wore water shoes because I don't like knowing what else is in the ocean with me, so instead of taking from nature, I went to a craft store for everything but the shell. The necklace is nice though, right? I used a drill bit, the same type one would use on porcelin tile (diamond tipped, I believe) to bore the holes.

I might have also made a couple little somethings for myself. I don't love the pointed dangling earrings. They're alright, but not the vision of loveliness I had envisioned. The fan shaped earrings I quite like, however and I think they'll go well with my new hat as well as my most recent additions to the wardrobe; the curtain fabric sun dress and 1970's knit beach cover-up.

One of my favorite parts of the trip was the pier. It extends well into the ocean and is a place where many, many people fish. We watched a pelican, a pair of dolphins, and one man even caught a shark. The best moment, however, was when a tourist (one that wasn't me) asked a man what kind of a fish he had on his line.

"A Spanish Mackerel"

"And why is it Spanish?" asked the woman.

He paused only a second before responding, "Because the Puerto Ricans didn't want their name being used."

I laughed, probably louder than is strictly polite in such a public location. The woman followed up with, "Okay, I'll google it."

That night we walked back to the condo from the pier. I'm not certain of the distance, but darkness came upon us before we made it back. I hadn't really considered that possibility and had worn only my sun glasses. As daylight faded, wearing the tinted lenses was no longer an option, but whereas they are prescription sunglasses, I kept them on as long as possible. At last, I took them off, allowing the final rays of light to illuminate my pathway. The only problem is my vision is unclear. At one point I stepped on something indistinguishable that soon began skittering across the sand. It alarmed me greatly, to say the least, especially when it continued to zig-zag in front of me for several paces. My sister assured me that it was only a leaf, forced into movement by the light breeze, but it took quite a bit of convincing to assure my brain that it had been tricked by my eyes.

So how does the hat factor into this story? I should think it obvious, but I will go into detail so you don't have to infer. The first day there we swam in the morning, went to the beach in the mid-morning, came back and swam, had lunch, swam in the pool, and went back to the beach after dinner. It's been winter so long I didn't think about sun screen and may have gotten a little bit sunburned, or a lot sunburned. No blisters; quite pinkish-red and shades of fuchsia.

We went to another garden and would be spending a great deal of time outdoors. I hadn't brought a hat intending instead to slather myself in sunscreen. Then I remembered how much I hate sunscreen, especially on my face where it makes my skin feel cloistered. I tried on several in the gift shop and finally settled on a great big floppy white one. When I use terms such as "great-big" and "floppy" it might not give a true sense of the grandeur of the hat. Close your eyes. Wait. Open them, read this, then close them. Think of Saturn with its many, many rings. Now paint it white. That is my hat. Not descriptive enough? Okay, look below.

I'm the one in the striped skirt. The horizontal stripes make me look shorter than Henry Ford, but as you can see, it doesn't matter and he is quite into me. Enough about that though, focus on the hat. I got quite a few compliments. As I walked through the airport, flight attendants and captains alike complimented its beauty and versatility. As I awaited my mom, a man turned to his coworker and said, "Why don't you get a hat like that?"

She responded that he wouldn't let her wear hats.

He replied, "If you had a hat like that, I'd let you wear it."

My favorite comment (and I like to take it as a compliment) was from a gentleman inside the post office. He said, "A hat like that belongs at the Kentucky Derby." I'm pretty sure he was referencing Audrey Hepburn in My Fair Lady. "Come on Dover! Come on Dover! Come on Dover, move your bloomin' . . ." yeah, you remember the scene. At any rate, it is nice to know that if things don't work out with my current spouse, as long as I have my hat, I'll have options.

Its wide brim shades me from the sun and the best added benefit is, as you can see, it partially covers my eyes, a selling point good for sunshine, but irreplaceable for airport security. As I stood in line for the flight home and moved through the queue like a fine breed of cattle being sorted at the stock yard, I couldn't make eye contact with anyone. If people stared as I placed all of my items in their separate bins to be scanned, I couldn't see them and couldn't tell. I had to take it off to go through the metal detector, but up until that point it was just me, alone in my universe, sheltered beneath the wide brim of my big floppy hat.

We flew home on an "express" plane, which has carry-on slots where the opening is smaller than the actual space inside because it drops down inside. There I was, crowded plane, people waiting to stow their bags and find their seats, and me trying to place my carry-on in a too-small space (it's a lot like putting on control top pantyhose), but I couldn't see them and so I shoved and adjusted, and mashed and twisted and got it in, all without seeing the staring eyes that otherwise would have been burning into my skin. A kind flight attendant offered to stow my hat for me and was rather insistent, but sometimes one can't be without that type of security and so I respectfully and forcefully declined.

p.s. Thanks to all who made the trip possible. It was so rejuvinating.

Spring Chicks on a Nest

Nothing earth shattering, in fact it might not even taste that good, but look at it!

 

The "nest" is a rice crispie treat recipe where I used chow mien noodles instead of rice crispies; I might have mixed in some chocolate as well to give it that nesty dark brown color. Shape the nests to a muffin tin making sure the sides sit higher than the middle.

Fill the center with candy eggs. I prefer Cadbury eggs, but the Robin egg candies are a close second. Also, the candy coating doubles as a lipstick in a pinch (ask my aunts).

Top the egg filled nests with Peeps chicks (or others if you prefer). The thing I hate about Peeps is that five are stuck together, which looks fine in the package, but then the individual chicks look hen- pecked. Look at them!

The upside of using the Peeps chicks is that the boxes can be reused to give away individual birds on nests. Two fit per box. I think the one on the left has cataracts.