Half Marathon Race Report

March 29, 2010

This past weekend, my friend Kim and I decided to run a half. No, not a half-mile, a half-marathon.

For all you non-runners out there, that equals 13.1 miles--not a bowdownandworshipme distance, but nothing to sneeze at either. It's kind of like being the student council treasurer instead of the student council president....or the school mascot instead of the school cheerleader....or a chiropractor instead of a medical doctor.

Kidding. Kidding! Jared, sweet husband, I swear I was only kidding. I'd rather have an endless supply of back cracks than an endless supply of prescription narcotics any day of the week. (And just like that I've moved from innocent joking to blatant lying...funny how that happens.)

Anyhoo, Kim is married to our Branch President--the equivalent of a pastor for all my Protestant and Catholic friends out there--and for some reason, the fact that the Branch President's wife skipped church to run a race made the entire experience that much better.

Kim and I met in a grocery store parking lot at 6am, we loaded into my station wagon (because we're hot), and headed south. I spent the greater part of the two-hour drive hydrating, and after coming perilously close to whizzing in m'britches two times, we arrived at the starting area.

And that was the moment when we put two and two together--it was March, in New England, thirty degrees outside, winds of twenty-something miles per hour, and we were paying forty bucks a pop to run thirteen miles right next to the open ocean.

What. The. Hell.

I was like, "Hey Kim? Never repeat this, but I think I'd rather be at church."

She was speechless.

Here we are, hiding from the wind, waiting for the race to start:
You know what I love about that picture? I love that fact that Kim's iPod is bigger than my vest. Clearly I purchased that vest in 2003--two years before I came to realize the joy (and abdominal disfiguration) that comes along with motherhood.

Now, I will recap the race in four brief statements:

1) Five feet into the race I tripped over a florescent orange traffic cone.

2) Four miles into the race I had no idea how I was doing since there were no mile markers along the course. Ten miles into the race I still had no idea how I was doing because, right-o, still no mile markers.

And the volunteers (bless their generous, supportive hearts) weren't much of a help. I'd be like, "Where are we?" And they were all, "Hampton Beach!!!! Isn't it beautiful?!?! Yay!!!! Run!!!!!"

Enthusiastic? Absolutely. Helpful? In their own way, I suppose they were.

3) I would describe this race as very windy, super windy, oh-so-windy, and unbefreakinglievably windy. A phrase like "really stinking windy" might also be suitable.

4) I went into the race with the goal of running 1:50 or under. I ran 1:49.59. If that isn't trophy worthy, then what the heck is?

Here I am after the race:

I'm quite obviously thinking about the Wendy's Baconator and Coca Cola Classic. After all, bacon, cheese, and sugar are the top three reasons I run.

Heart health is number four.

A Teaser

March 29, 2010

For all you running types: I ran a half marathon this past weekend--pretty happy with my time. I celebrated with a Baconator from Wendy's.

Details are coming.

I hope you all found a bag of money over the weekend!

This is the Lake

March 24, 2010

We're lucky enough to live one tenth of a mile from a really pretty lake. When the leaves are off the trees, and it's not too dark but not too bright, you can kind of see the water from the top corner of our upstairs bathroom window.

If you live out West, or down South, or anywhere other than the North, I know what you're thinking. You're all, "Eeeeewwww! Gross!!!!! Lake water!!!! Gag!!!!" Well guess what? You're wrong. In fact, you've never been wronger.

But honestly, I do know where you're coming from--I used to live in Texas. I still remember the first time we took James swimming at Joe Pool Lake, I was like, "Jared, do not drop the baby...if you do, we'll never see him again. And he's just starting to grow on me."

It was like swimming around in a clogged toilet that you flush and pray, flush and pray, flush and pray, until you finally give up, walk away, and let your unsuspecting co-workers worry about the turd soup.

And those fountains? In the middle of the unswimmable lakes? I still don't understand.

Up here in the North, where lakes are made by the hands of God--you know, as opposed to large crews of illegal workers--these bodies of water are pretty stinking beautiful. They're clean, they're clear, and if you have a thing for trashy people wearing tiny bathing suits, then heaven itself can't beat a morning at the public beach.

It's cold and snowy and completely craptastic in Maine this afternoon, so I found these pictures in my web album.

Click on this picture to get a look at a littler version of James:


These are the benches I like to stand on when I make my proclamations about life, liberty, and the fact that I'm seriously overworked:

Even the houses around the lake are pretty:

The lake is about nine miles long, and this summer I plan to swim from end to end. Either that, or I plan to eat maple donuts on the bow of my in-laws' boat. I haven't decided yet.

Welcome to my Closet

March 20, 2010

This is a picture of my closet. Actually, it's our closet--two doors, one shared space. I'm sure you Westerners will gasp in horror when you get a look at its size. You see, up here in New England, we don't do the whole my-closet-is-larger-than-my-two-car-garage thing. But we also don't do the whole oh-crap-this-house-is-worth-half-as-much-as-we-paid-for-it-four-years-ago-thing, so I guess it all equals out in the end.

Looking straight on, Jared uses the right side of the closet. See?
Yes, that really is the extent of his wardrobe--three work shirts, a Hawaiian print Red Sox shirt, and a giant red and black plaid flannel (for date nights).

And I use the left side.
I don't have a lot of clothes either. Clearly, I can't handle the responsibility.

There's no questioning the fact that I'm this man's worst nightmare--he hangs his pajamas. I think it's glaringly obvious that he only married me for the money.

Welcome to my Refrigerator

March 19, 2010

In the past week I've gotten three random emails asking for more pictures of my everyday, hum-drum, kind of boring life--and two of them said, "Like the stuff that's in your refrigerator." Now I don't keep up with blog trends so well, but I'm guessing this might be one of them. If not, the creep factor just increased by at least fifty degrees.

I know as well as the next guy that voyeurism is a heck of a lot of fun, but to be completely honest, I'm pretty stinking average. Plus, I might be the worst photographer ever.

But I'll do it. Every day for the next week I'll post some pictures or a short video of my day-to-day goings on. If there's anything in particular that you'd like to see--around my house, around my town, in Jared's car, definitely not at my work--post a comment and I'll do my best to satisfy your nosiness.

For today, without further ado, I bring you the inside of my refrigerator. Fascinating, right?

A) Orange Juice from Concentrate--I'm cheap.

B) Homemade Applesauce--As in my mother-in-law made it while I yapped her ear off.

C) Iced Tea--I drink four gallons of the stuff every single day. I also use whiskey instead of mouthwash. And when my cows are sick I let them inhale my second-hand smoke. (that was a joke for Mormons)

D) Green Milk and Green Jello--It was delivered to James by a leprechaun named Jimmy O'Mally (or Sh!tty O'Mommy--either way) at 6pm on St. Patrick's Day.

E) Almond Milk--I swear it's only a little bit gross.

F) Ground Flax Seed--Apparently it's good for the brain.

G) Coca Cola Classic--Definitely good for the brain.

H) Yeast and Pasta--Whole wheat pasta. You know, in case CPS ever stops by without an invitation.

I) Eggs--I own two and they're both broken.

J) Prunes--Sometimes my poop gets stuck.

K) Cheese--There's approximately one tablespoon of shredded cheddar in there.

L) Purple Cabbage--Jared likse to throw little pieces of it in our bed when he's cranky and over-tired. I'm not kidding, he did it last night.

M) Spinach--Ups the sexy factor.

N) Salad--It's no longer in the bowl, it's now in our bed. And no, I'M STILL NOT KIDDING.

O) Kale--I don't know what the hell to do with it either.

P) Fresh Air

This is the front of my fridge. It's just as craptastic and messy as everything else in my life--like a screwed up game of Eye Spy every time you pass through the kitchen. Can you find a Chinese fortune? Jim Cantore from The Weather Channel? A fish with a wiggly tail?

Here's a close-up of James's school picture. It features his signature smile, of course:


This is our latest family portrait. I'm the one holding the baby:


And this...this, my friends is the official Lawson Family Declaration:

Jared carries a copy in his wallet, James carries a copy in his backpack, and I carry a copy in my heart. The paper copy is probably in the same place as my driver's license, my Discover card, and my debit card--a very mysterious place.

I got the idea to write a family declaration from an article I read in Real Simple Magazine while I was pooping at the Wal-Mart. It's supposed to be a mission statement for your family, and so far it's really helped us along.

See how some of the words are underlined in thick, black marker? That because sometimes, when Jared's being extra horrible, I drag him to the refrigerator by the ear, underline a phrase like HELP EACH OTHER OUT or BE KIND or WE TRY NOT TO BE DOUCHE BAGS with a sharpie, and decrease his self-esteem with an evil gaze. No words required.

So there. My fridge. I feel very close to you right now.