Missing: Updated

Update: After watching the news coverage of the devastating tornado in Oklahoma and the massive search for missing survivors, I hope that the posting of my frivolous missing items doesn't seem insensitive. My thoughts and prayers are with Oklahoma. 

One of my greatest aggravations in life is when I lose something. It's far more than just the actual loss of the item; it's also a reflection of the state of affairs in my life. And that, at times, can be downright embarrassing. 

This is the running list that we keep inside of our pantry door:  

Steve loses things left and right, without ever giving them a second thought. Not me. I dwell upon lost items until I become somewhat deranged. I guess the silver lining is that most items are eventually located. (Please note that monetary rewards were recently added to the remaining items on the list.) 

Steve's yellow Patagonia jacket was missing for a very long time. We repeatedly searched the house, the garage, and even called around to see if it had been left at family members' houses. We finally decided it must have been lost somewhere in Alaska. And then it was eventually returned, after being in the trunk of someone's car for eight months. If I would have posted it on my blog (like I planned to, but just never got around to it), we would have found it much sooner. 

So here is my desperate attempt to locate some missing items that are making me lose my mind. 

My white Specialized bike helmet has been gone so long that Steve thinks I made it up in my head and that I never actually had one. But I did. And I'd really love to find it. 

Adam's red zippered hoodie from Old Navy is not at all valuable. But it's one of his very favorite jackets, and I really want to find it before we go to South Africa. Have you seen it?

I am thinking my green CamelBak water bottle probably got lost somewhere along our road trip to Alaska. And we do have a number of other CamelBak water bottles in our kitchen cupboard. But if you happen to know where it is, I really just want to be able to cross this one off my list. 

This book is usually kept on my nightstand and I can't find it anywhere, so I'm thinking I must have lent it out to someone. But after my not-so-patient display of mothering tonight, I clearly need it back.

Thanks for playing. And an even bigger thanks if you actually know where any of these items are.

P.S. Monetary rewards will be honored. And possibly doubled.

Plane Etiquette 101

We survived the Week of Insanity. One more day of craziness at work, and then Steve can be fully devoted to getting ready for South Africa.

In the meantime, he has been sending me links to articles like this one. We are a very capable road tripping family, but Steve is so nervous for our flight. He actually despises flying and thinks the whole process is dehumanizing. (Airplanes are not designed for tall people.)

I'm a relatively naive flyer and need someone to tell me the rules. (I think Steve just needs some Xanax.) It was only two flights ago that I learned that it's not proper etiquette to recline your seat. . . just think of all the people I have irritated over the last thirteen years! (Can you believe that I didn't fly on a plane until I was eighteen?!)

Plane Etiquette 101

Posted by Christopher Elliott of National Geographic Traveler on April 29, 2013

Flying can feel like torture.

The bone-dry cabin air is recycled. Spaces are ridiculously cramped. Passengers don’t always have ready access to food, water, and restrooms. It’s a fight waiting to happen—and happen it does.

Flash points include seat territory disputes, scuffles over luggage space, and arguments about unruly kids. The reluctant referees are flight attendants who are part waiters, part playground monitors, part sentinels against potential terrorism.

Here’s how to short-circuit five common midair melees:

Right-to-recliners: The average economy-class seat offers little legroom — the “pitch” between seats is around 28 to 34 inches — but when the guy in front of you reclines his seat as far as it goes, you’re wedged in. Airlines created this problem by squeezing an extra row or two of seats on a plane, but it’s up to passengers to solve it. Not the easiest thing, it turns out.

On one side, you have those who think because they paid for the seat, they should be able to use it any way they want. On the other are folks who believe the seat should never be reclined, but simmer in resentment when the person in front does. You could jam the seat in front with a device like the controversial Knee Defender (frowned on by the FAA, though no airline I know of has banned it), which is all but guaranteed to start a rumble.

The real solution is understanding that the space must be shared. Ask before leaning into it. Or, spend extra for a premium economy seat, which comes with a little more legroom. Another option: Ask to be seated in an exit row.

Armrest wars: The tight squeeze in economy class comes from all sides. With only 17 inches of space per seat, plus whatever you can negotiate on the armrests, many passengers find themselves packed in like wheat in a shock.

I recall the case of Arthur Berkowitz, who on a flight from Anchorage to Philadelphia was seated next to a passenger “of size,” whose girth “required both armrests to be raised up and allowed for his body to cover half of my seat.” Berkowitz stood for most of the trip, instead. But even when there’s room, who owns the armrests? If you’re seated next to a window or aisle, one of the armrests is yours to do with as you wish. But in the middle seat it’s not so simple.

Pushy passengers simply claim the space as if it’s a landgrab, defending it against your elbow incursions with occasional “ahems” and glares. Don’t become that person. Introduce yourself and smile. If you’ve done that early on, an armrest discussion later won’t be a tinderbox.

Overhead bins: The space above your seat does not belong to you exclusively. Overhead bins are a source of endless conflict, especially now, when passengers max out their carryons in order to avoid paying checked-luggage fees.

The answer is to carry a soft-sided bag, smaller than the maximum size allowed, that will fit, if necessary, in the space under your seat.

What about the rest of your stuff? Check it or ship it ahead.

Scofflaws: It’s true — failure to comply with a crew member’s instructions is a federal crime. Offenses range from minor infractions, like unbuckling a seat belt before the plane has come to a complete stop, to more serious violations such as making a call on your smartphone while the plane is on final approach.

It’s hard to know which rules are there for your safety and which ones are just silly. For example, the rules prohibiting the use of in-flight electronics, which are being reconsidered as I write this, seem oddly inconsistent. Why am I not allowed to use my iPad, but the pilots can use theirs?

More germane to this article, what’s a passenger to do when someone breaks the rules? Tattle? Look the other way? As someone who has been both witness and perpetrator (I’m pretty addicted to my devices), my advice is to let go of the little stuff.

The teen playing Samurai, a graphic video game, next to my five-year-old daughter? Beheading the enemy in front of a kindergartner is uncouth. But instead of making a fuss, I switched seats with my daughter.

OPKs: There’s nothing that sets off the fireworks as much as Other People’s Kids. On a recent flight from Honolulu to Los Angeles, I watched an elderly passenger who had the bad luck of being surrounded by screaming kids, one of them, unfortunately, my daughter, who, he remarked, “acted as if the plane was her personal playground.”

I did not argue. She was behaving that way, and try as I did, couldn’t be persuaded to just sit down and watch the romantic comedy playing on the flickering TV screens five rows away. Next to this hapless man, a newborn wailed. Behind him, a three-year-old with extreme aerophobia clung to her mother, weeping. It was the flight from hell for this poor gentleman. And yeah, for me, too.

OPKs are unfixable. All the responsible parenting in the world can’t make up for boredom or pressure in the ears or a really bad in-flight movie. May I recommend a nice pair of earplugs?

But while we need to give kids a pass, adults need to stop the childish behavior. Everything you need to know about surviving a flight, you probably learned in kindergarten. Use common sense. Think about others. Share. Flying isn’t going to get any easier. I know what my mom would say: “Now, Chris, be nice.”

Christopher Elliott serves as resident consumer advocate and ombudsman for National Geographic Traveler, and writes the “Insider” column for the magazine.

Freaky Friday

The Activity Day girls and their mothers were invited to night of "freaky fun and food" with our stake. The theme of the activity was based on the 2003 Disney movie, "Freaky Friday". Mothers were supposed to come dressed as their daughters, and daughters were supposed to come dressed as their mothers. 

Rachel and Lucy dressed up as different versions of me: 

It shouldn't be hard to figure out which daughter I dressed up as: 

Yes, that's Lucy's sweater that I am wearing. And her shoes. (She wears one size smaller than me, so my feet were a little scrunched.)

I think this picture of Rachel and Eliza is great. Saren and I should put on those same clothes and pose for the same picture someday:

I told Rachel she needed to wear my Junior League name tag. If she would have had that on and my red Junior League bag, we might have won the "costume contest". Lucy texted Steve while we were being judged. "This is really fun. I am just texting to make me look like mom."

 Eliza and Saren won 2nd place! Eliza's new bangs were perfect.

They looked great!

We took photos, made a craft, had Chinese food for dinner, and played a game. They asked ten questions, and we had to answer them in one column for ourselves and in another column for our daughters. Then we compared answers to see how well we knew each other. Lucy is pretty vocal about the things she likes, so I got almost all of the questions about her correct. But Rachel was really the only one who played the game with me; Lucy was buy running laps around the gym.

1. What if your favorite color?
2. What is your favorite food?
3. What is your favorite place to go out to dinner?
4. What is your favorite movie?
5. What is your favorite season?
6. Are you more afraid of spiders or snakes?
7. Would you rather do laundry or clean the bathroom?
8. What is your biggest pet peeve?
9. What is your greatest strength?
10. What is your favorite book?

It was far easier to guess Lucy's answers than my own. And sometimes when you're put right on the spot, you don't think very clearly. I said that my biggest pet peeve was booger eaters. But I think most people are disgusted by that, so I definitely should have answered untrimmed fingernails.

Rachel's pet peeve was pretty easy for me to answer. She has recently diagnosed herself with misophonia, a neurological disorder where people are irrationally bothered by the sounds other people make while eating, breathing, etc. (The irony is that Rachel is a loud eater, a loud breather, and she almost constantly hums to herself.) It has recently come to my attention that Rachel lines the toilet seat with toilet paper. . . at HOME! And then I heard her asking Steve if it's possible to breathe in the same air that has been exhaled by someone else. She clearly has some issues with germs.

For the question on "What is your greatest strength?" I answered patience. When we were comparing answers, Rachel laughs, "What? You are not actually very patient. But you are a good trip planner!" Hmmmm.

I couldn't come up with an answer for my favorite movie, so later that night I was trying to think of what my favorite movie really is. I'm not much of a movie person anyway, but to me, your favorite movie is one that you would want to watch over and over again. During my high school and college years, I would have answered Strictly Ballroom, Knotting Hill, Best in Show, Superstar, (or maybe even Galaxy Quest.) I guess I like mockumentaries? Steve says that I actually have a social obligation to watch some of the modern classics. So please, tell me. . . what's YOUR favorite movie???

Anyhow, it was such a fun idea for an activity. And I was happy to meet some of the girls in our new ward.

Instagram for Dummies (And Me)

On Sunday, I persuaded my sister-in-law to sign up for Instagram. She wanted to know why she needed Instagram if she was already on Facebook. Aren't they the same thing? Well no, at least they shouldn't be. There seems to be a lot of overlap, and that's partly Instagram's fault. They should consider removing the option to share on Facebook because it's threatening their proprietary. . . but I will address that issue a little later. 

Instragram is different than Facebook. And my husband isn't on it. So I can post pictures that he doesn't see and talk about things, like the toilet that was in our backyard, without him knowing. Just kidding. Well, I'm actually not kidding. . . 

Instagram was launched in October 2010 through the Apple App Store as a social networking site based on photo sharing. I downloaded the app because I was interested in the photo filters. But once I saw that it was another social network site, I didn't bother setting up an account. (The filters are absolutely amazing. They can make mediocre iPhone pictures look almost professional.)

Last year, after some encouragement from a few friends, I decided to give Instagram a try. My first Instagram picture was of the treadmill. It was the first time I had run five miles since high school. 

At that point, I didn't know a thing about hashtags. Instagram added hashtags in January 2011 to help users classify pictures. When hashtags are specific and relevant to the picture, they are a great way for other people to discover your photos. They can even connect like-minded Instagramers. I came across a bunch of pictures of beautiful homes and buildings in downtown Ogden posted by therealjenfo. And then I realized I knew her from church. 

When most people think of Instagram hashtags, they think of the longer hashtags that are used ironically. (#longhashtagscanbeobnoxioustoread #butsometimestheyarefunny #sosometimespeopleuselotsofthem #thereisalimitofthirtyhashtagsperphoto)

I posted this picture with the comment: Baptism Earmuffs- purchased for the girl in our ward who has a phobia of getting her ears wet.

It sat there for a year, without any likes or comments. The other day, I added the hashtags #baptism #lds #steveisagoodhometeacher. And then it got three likes from strangers who found it through the tags. I could have also added #phobia #scaredofwater #earmuffs. 

This picture of the cupcakes Angela made for Adam's birthday party was the third photo I posted on Instagram. I posted it without any hashtags or even a comment. That's fine if you are using Instagram as a personal photo journal, but that's not what its function was intended to be. And the cupcake shot wasn't even a current picture. . . it was taken three weeks earlier. 

The idea behind Instagram is to be able to share (and experience) moments through pictures, taken with your phone, right as they happen, instantly. Get it. . . Insta-gram? Be aware that there's an alarming number of tweens and teens who participate in things like Transformation Tuesday and Throwback Thursday. I guess that's okay. But only if you are a tween or a teen. 

After about a month, I gave up on Instagram. I wasn't impressed. But that was my fault; I wasn't using it correctly, and I didn't know the rules. 

In February, Rachel became fascinated with Instagram and asked if she could join. After looking into the privacy settings, I decided that Instagram is a actually a good induction into the world of social networking. Of course, if rachelskisutah was going to be on Instagram, so was I. Rachel and Lucy both set up private accounts. That means they have to approve all follow requests before their pictures can be seen. Yes, that limits the function of the hashtag and part of the purpose of Instagram. But it's all they are ready for right now. 

Three months and 68 photos later, I feel like I have Instagram mostly figured out. I still break some of the rules. . . some on accident, others on purpose. But at least I feel like I know what I'm doing. 

In April 2012, Facebook purchased Instragram (with its 13 employees) for $1 billon. That's billion with a b. By February 27, 2013, Instagram reported an astonishing 100 million active users. Instagram is big. Even if you aren't an Instagramer and have no intention of ever setting up an account, you will still benefit from learning some of the unwritten rules of Instagram. And if you are an Instagramer, you should definitely read these rules of etiquette because you are most likely breaking some of them. 

Instagram Etiquette

1. Instagram is for photos. Not quotes. Unfortunately, millions of Instagram users break this rule. If you search #quote, you can pull up 2.8 million posts. And #quotes yields another 1.7 million. Even more disturbing, there are 1.4 million photos with #quoteoftheday. You certainly shouldn't be posting a quote everyday. 

2. Save your MySpace-angle pics for. . . MySpace. Which brings up an interesting question. Does MySpace still exist? 

3. And if you do post a self portrait, also known as a "selfie", don't tell me to double tap and like it. You actually shouldn't ever post requests because it makes you look desperate. Instagram has different friending or "following" rules than Facebook. A person can "follow" me on Instagram without me following them back. And unless you are part of the high school crowd, that's perfectly acceptable. Instagram was intended to be more about photos than relationships. You can follow people you don't like, and you don't have to like the people you follow. You can even follow people you don't know without being creepy. No obligations, no fuss. See why I like Instagram? 

4. Limit the kid pictures. Or go for it, whatever. But if you post ten consecutive photos of your newborn baby in the same pose, I might quit following you. I have kids, I love kids, but mix it up a little and make sure they are doing something cool. Like wearing dog and cat costumes. 

5. Avoid rapid fire. I have a hard time following this rule. I take pictures of different things during the day and then post later, when I have a second to actually look at them. Sometimes I tag them #latergram, but I ought to do a better job of posting instantly. Sometimes multiple pictures just need to be combined. I posted these four pictures within minutes of each other last year on Mother's Day. I was just trying to document all of the awesome food that Steve prepared for me. But I probably should have created a photo collage out of them and posted one picture. And used a hashtag.

6. Don't repost to every social site. If these rules were listed in order of importance, this would be at the top of my list. And yes, I break it ever once in a while. . . as recently as this week. But every single picture you post on Instagram should not be shared to Facebook. Let me tell you why. First of all, it gets really repetitive. If everything from Instagram is on Facebook, then why do I need to be on Instagram? This is where Instagram needs to rethink their strategy of sharing pictures. Instragram users with other social media accounts should treat it like a marketing campaign: different content goes to different audiences. Because if it's all the same, there's no reason to have both accounts. (And by the way, I really like that my circle of friends is smaller on Instagram.) Secondly, what if I like your picture on Instagram and then see it on Facebook too. Do I need to like it again? I like the picture, so it would be weird if I didn't, right? But then, what if I comment on your picture on one site and then see it on the other site and want to reply to someone else's comment. Then it gets a little crazy because you can't keep the two conversations straight. And finally, what if I scroll through my newsfeed on Facebook and am trying to figure out how far I need to read to get caught up, but I keep getting confused because I'm seeing pictures that I've already seen. . . not on Facebook, but on Instagram. These are real problems, people. 

7. If you reply to a comment left on one of your pictures you must @ the person you are replying to. It took me a while to figure this one out. And sometimes, I still forget to do it correctly. Instagram comments are different than Facebook comments. Instagram doesn't, by default, notify a user when comments have posted to a friend's photo. And nobody is going to stalk your pages looking to see if you replied to them. So if someone comments on your picture and you want to respond to them, use the @(username) before posting your comment. Then a notification will show up in the recipient's News tab. 

8. Don't say that you don't have time for social networking and then complain that you don't have friends. Connecting with friends can greatly enhance your life. Connecting with friends also takes time. Social networking actually makes it a lot easier to connect with friends. Period. 

9. Don't worry too much about the rules. . . I have broken all of them!

And as long as I'm making rules for social networking sites, here's a bonus: Please post your recipes on Pinterest, not Facebook! 

Here are some examples of how I have used Instagram: 

One of my favorites Instagram pictures. Posted to Instagram and Facebook. It's okay to share your favorite photo to multiple sites, just don't do it every single time.

It wasn't until I posted this picture of Adam and Layla looking at the ant farm that I started using hashtags. (Not the long silly ones.) It really opens up a whole new world of Instagram. 

I used Instagram to denounce the canned pears used in this "Harvest Salad" at Doolittle's Deli. I figured I was being nice by sharing my complaint with Instagram's smaller audience, rather than on Facebook.

Instagram is a good place to post a picture of something that might not be as appropriate for Facebook:

Limit the kid pictures doesn't mean you can't post any pictures of your kids. It's actually way more acceptable to post multiple picture of your kids on Instagram than it is on Facebook. 

Instagram was definitely the correct social networking site to post this photo:

This picture was probably the one that opened up my eyes to the power of hashtags. I tagged it with #conferencecenter, #youngwomens, and a quote from Elaine Dalton with #elainedalton. Her daughter saw it and tagged it @elainedalton, which sent it to her mother. Crazy. 

This picture, of Rachel and Lucy scaring Ally Milligan at work, was liked by Sam's Club in Brasil:

Instagram is a great place for food pictures:

And it's a great place to post pictures of other kids so their parents can see the super cool things they do at your house: 

I love this picture: 

And this one too. Adam might be my favorite?

Instagram is about cool things, like these share bikes in Salt Lake City: 

Instagram is about pretty pictures:

Which are made prettier with the filters: 

Instagram is for cute babies: 

And their silly parents who were trying to make them smile: 

Instagram is about finding beauty in every day moments:

Instagram is about creating moments:

The End

For My Mother

And anyone else who isn't on Facebook.

But mostly for my mother, who needs to see how Adam eradicates our Boxelder bugs.

Seven Weeks Late

Seven weeks ago, I ran the Canyonlands Half Marathon. 

Maybe there's someone else out there who wants to post about being seven weeks late for something else. . . ???

In addition to our wonderful afternoon at Arches National Park and just an all-around fun trip, there are some lessons I learned from running this race that I want to remember for the future. (And possibly share with others.) 

For the full story, I need to back up a few weeks earlier. I had just started training for the Ogden Marathon, when my friend, Sherry, checked in on me while I was on the treadmill at the gym. She wanted to know what distance I was up to and how regularly I was running. (I had just hit five miles and I was running three days per week.) I guess that was good enough because then she invited me to join her running group on a trip to Moab for the Canyonlands Half Marathon. (Someone else got injured and couldn't use their entry.) Well, those ladies all teach classes at Gold's Gym and they are way (way, way, way) out of my league. It was actually kind of reminiscent of when Molly invited me to play in that Park City lacrosse tournament. But I'm not one to turn down a trip, especially when it's with a good friend, like Sherry, so of course I said yes. 

I didn't have time to properly train for a half marathon, but Sherry was convinced that since I pulled off running 20 miles at the Ogden Marathon after only training for 7, I could do it again. I wasn't so sure. . . 

I worked up to 7 miles and felt somewhat prepared: 

Well, I wasn't. But I didn't know that yet. . . 

As usual, I was positioned on the lowest part of the rock to lessen the height difference for the pre-race group picture:

I sent this picture to Sherry to post on Facebook, but she told me I looked like I had just woken up :) Oh well, the pictures of me later in the day didn't get any better. 

One of the things I really liked about this race was that it didn't start until 10:00 am. I wish more races had reasonable start times like that. (Don't be fooled that a later start time means we got to sleep in . . . we still had to wake up at 6:30 am.)

The smells from the porta-potties were unusually foul. I really don't understand why they don't designate some lines for liquid waste and others for solid waste. It would be so simple and so much more efficient for people (like me) only needing to go number one. I was glad I took Sherry's advice on this one. Lesson: Take some Imodium A-D the morning of the race. 

Bonus Lesson: Skip the long lines (and smells) from the porta-potties and find a tree or a rock.  

The morning of the race, I realized that my iPhone 5 didn't fit into the armband I bought when I had an iPhone 4. So I figured I would just put my phone in my waistband (which actually works quite well). I only had my short (2 feet long) cord for my headphones, and it was just barely long enough to reach my waist. Well, I forgot to try it out while I was running. Ten yards into the race, I discovered that it wasn't actually long enough. SO I ended up with my phone under my bra strap. . . which meant it was constantly falling down. I did most of my training on a treadmill, where I didn't have to deal with the issue of where to put my phone or the length of my headphone cord. Lesson: Train (at least once) in an environment as similar as possible to the race, so you can be better prepared for issues that you will encounter during the race.  

P.S. A couple of weeks ago, I purchased a SPIbelt, and it's way better than an armband. It's more inconspicuous than an armband, doesn't bounce or shift while running, and it can also fit chapstick, wipes, or whatever other small items you'd like on a run.

My new runner friends told me that you generally race 30 seconds faster than you train. I usually run 10-minute miles, so using that formula, I planned on a 9:30 pace. With that in mind, I figured I should be able to finish in 2 hours. I started near the 1:50 pace runner, but after three miles, I couldn't keep up. I was subsequently passed by the 2:00, 2:10, and 2:20 pace runners. That was really discouraging to me, and I think it would have been better to start a little further back with the goal of passing people. Totally mental. Lesson: To preserve your mental stability, position yourself to be able to pass people, rather than be passed by people. 

Speaking of mind games, there was this lady who was ahead of me for a few miles of the race. She would walk until I caught up to her, and then sprint ahead, walk until I caught up to her, and then sprint ahead again. Drove me crazy. Lesson: Run with a friend who can be your cheerleader. Or learn to completely ignore everyone around you.

This picture must have been taken before Mile 10 because I was still smiling: 

I stole this picture from someone else's blog. And I'm thinking it must be from a different year because there was no sunshine until the race was over (literally and figuratively). But look how pretty the course is: 

I did really well, mentally, for the first seven miles. But then to think I had to run six more? Not cool. Lesson: Thirteen miles is a lot harder than running seven miles. A lot harder. 

I stole this picture from someone else's blog too. I don't know what mile this was at, but it was right as we were coming down out of the canyon. I love things like this along the course because it keeps me motivated to keep going. Because seriously, it's not like anyone is going to stop and walk by these drummers while they are yelling and chanting at you.

The last three miles were the worst. That's when I started questioning what I was doing and why did I think I could possibly do this. Rachel started calling me, and I was perfectly happy with the excuse to stop and talk to her. But my phone was sweaty and wouldn't work. Stopping was bad. Because then I thought about how everyone was else was finished and I still had three more miles to go. I did quite a bit of walking. Then Sherry texted me and told me she was going to run back and meet up with me so she could help me finish my run. So then I did a little more walking to save up some energy because Sherry certainly wasn't going to let me get away with any walking. It was really hard to watch so many people pass me. I gave it everything I had and ran the last mile. . . although my pace was probably just as slow as if I would have walked. I think I asked three or four race volunteers how far I was from the finish line. I was dead tired. 

I finished with a chip time of 2:24:30. 

But the clock shows my final time as 2:26:20. That means I waited for two minutes after the gun shot before I crossed the start line. (When I ran the Ogden Marathon, I learned that I really don't like the shuffling and fighting for position that happens at the beginning of a crowded race.) Lesson: Placements are calculated based on final time, not chip time. So my overall rank was number 2396, but if I would have started right with the gun shot, I would have been number 2332. (Clearly not a priority to me, but good to know for the future.) 

I can't fully explain my emotions after I crossed the finish line. Everything hit me at once. Triumph, fulfillment, physical exhaustion, mental exhaustion, slight regret (and maybe even embarrassment) for not doing better. I felt like I might have an asthma attack, pass out, cry, and throw up all at the same time. And swear. I definitely felt like swearing. 

Marnie, Brie, and Carsen were standing on the sideline, "Yay! You did it!" they cheered. I'm afraid I might have glared at them. Because at that moment I could barely move my legs. It felt like I had pulled my groin muscles, but apparently, those were my hip flexors telling me we weren't friends.  

My loyal cheerleader was there right as I crossed the line, "You did it! Just keep walking, just keep moving." We posed for this picture about two minutes after I crossed the finish line. I still look like I'm about to cry. 

I was really disappointed with my time until I realized they averaged out to be 11-minute miles. With all of the walking I did, that didn't seem too bad. And given the circumstances, I really shouldn't have expected to do any better. 

Here is Sherry, showing off her well-deserved medal. She was disappointed with her time of 1:44, but she was being crazy because that's a great time! She placed 20th in her age group. Brie placed 8th, Marnie placed 9th.

And Carsen showed everyone up, placing first in her age division. That, right there, is some serious running: 

I'd say I'm lucky to have friends who think I'm a better athlete than I really am. Thanks, Sherry!