To Mia

My mom FINALLY said we could get a dog.  After being screened by big adoption agencies that made us feel like we weren't good enough for the dogs they were trying to place, we decided to go to the local shelter that sat off the highway.  It would be our luck that on the day we went, there was one lonely dog in the kennel - the rest, the guy behind the desk told us, had been taken to an adoption fair in the town over.  They'd be back, he assured us, but of course, only the ones that hadn't gotten adopted would be left.

One dog came back.  She was a puppy, with paws that definitely had room to grow in to.  Her kennel-given name was Megan and she looked like a Siberian husky who had been rolled in Moab-red dirt a few times over.  She was perfect. 

Thirteen years later and on a Wednesday, my mom called to tell me that our Mia had died in the backyard sun, just beyond the door to my parent's bedroom.  It was at this door that she had always waited in the morning darkness for my dad so they could go on their daily run.  Those two were true buddies.  It could be said that you never know someone until you run in winter mornings along frozen trails that line dead corn fields.  These two had. 

Mia was a runner from the beginning.  In the cool evening between summer and fall on the day we brought her home, we took her up to the high school track and let her loose.  Part Siberian husky, part red heeler, she moved in a manner that would make Shalane Flanagan jealous.  Her love of it was contagious - soon we were all running around the track.  Were we chasing her or was she chasing us?  In the fall, she traveled with us to my middle school cross country meets, lolling around in her hot pink collar and matching leash.  She was the cutest.

She grew, we grew.  We moved, made new friends and started new jobs.  The line is familiar and the next one will be too.  She was loyal as any dog is expected to be. 

But her love for running never, ever, ever decreased.  As my mom cried in the background that Wednesday night, my dad reminisced on the memory of 13-mile-Saturdays, with Mia by his side. She was running half-marathons before I ever finished a 10k.  Tears dripped down my face onto my comforter as we laughed about how dad always brought water for himself, but never thought to bring any for Mia; she never complained.

She never made a peep, either, when the vet found tumors in her.  Not just one tumor.  But the next one.  And the one after that.  And those that continued to grow, those that my parents decided not to go after because they had had enough.  Mia had had enough.

Lucky for me, I never saw her as a dog I wouldn't want to remember.  I didn't have to see her splayed legs when she tried to get up to greet you as you walked out the back door.  I didn't have to see the huge chunk of her hindquarter gone as the one last attempt to give her more time.  I get to remember the hot pink collar.  And the long walks.  The way her hair used to come out in chunks in the summer because she had so much of it to shed; we used to say we should knit all of her hair into a sweater.  I get to remember what an amazing runner she was - a true running partner.

Thoughts of Today

1. Between this blog, Facebook, Twitter and Pinterest, my journal has been sadly neglected lately.  I haven't written much of anything in it beyond my Christmas shopping list.  Although I like having a hard-copy documentation of my life, I am oddly ok with it being empty as of late.  It means that my life is good and busy and I'm not afraid to tell the world what is going on.  One of my earlier relationships ate up a lot of my journal space because I wasn't necessarily sure of where things were going (and didn't want to share my hesitations).  But this new, fantastic, heart-filling relationship has got me shouting lovelys from the rooftop (and this blog).

2. I've failed two three days in a row in getting up early to go run.  Two Three days!  I did a long 10-mile run on Saturday that was really, really satisfying.  Each mile after the first one were under 8 min. (and hovered right around 7:30), so I was really happy with that.  But since then, when that alarm goes off at 5 am, I have ignored it.  Why?  Shouldn't the fear of the looming half-marathon be enough to jolt me out of my sweet, warm hibernation?  Apparently not.

3. My mom sent me this photo earlier in the day.  Oh, how homesick it made me.  I want to feel the snow crunch gently under my boots and see the pawprints of little animals in the snow around the ditches.  I want my nose to turn red when I go outside because it is nippy.  I want to wear a jacket, scarf and hat because I have to, not because it is fashionable.

4. I didn't put up a Christmas tree this year for a few reasons.  First, Austin.  Enough said.  Secondly, it seemed kind of like a big hassle for only a few weeks.  But because of this, please see No. 3...that is how I feel when I get back to the apartment and there aren't any twinkling lights to greet me.

5. One day, I'll slowly dance around my dimly-lit living room with my sweethear to Nat King Cole's version of "The Christmas Song."  The tree will be twinkling, casting soft shadows on the walls.  And it will be perfect.

6. I can't believe that the half marathon is in one month + one day.  I am neither excited nor scared.  At this point, I am just focused on getting in a few more long runs between now and then.  Scheduling them in-between parties, heels, brunches, packing, wrapping, Christmas and New Years is a job unto itself. 

7. Our company is moving to Hermosa Beach two days after the half marathon.  I am so excited for this move because the new building is about 1.5 miles from my house.  I can ride my bike to work everyday!  You know how much money I am going to save on gas?!  Oh, yeah, and I guess save the environment, too.

The Beauty of Colorado

"I heard in my infancy only the siren song of the mountains. An alpine meadow was my front yard, across which scuttled, instead of chipmunks and squirrels, conies and marmots that pierced the thin air with their shrill whistles before they ducked into holes they had burrowed into the tundra. On July afternoons, I looled among the primrose and forget-me-nots, caressed by the sun whose thermonuculear secrets my father probed with his coronagraph.  Safe in my bed, I listened to the tormented howls of timber wolves at dawn, over on Ceresco Ridge.  In the morning, I would stare at the sharp summit of 14,142-foot Mount Democrat, impossibly far away, its north face still choked with winter snowfields and wonder. What is it like up there? What can you see?"

-- "On the Ridge Between Life and Death" by David Roberts

Wide Open Spaces

"Tear down some two-lane country
Who knows
Get lost and get right with my soul
Makes me wanna take
Makes me wanna take a back road."

These are the lyrics to Rodney Atkins' "Take a Back Road" song.  It speaks straight to my being, especially lately.

I've been super homesick.

Not only for my family and house, but for dirt roads and wide open spaces and amazing sunsets and chilly mornings and the coo of the mourning dove that always woke me up in high school.  I miss driving by rows and rows of corn and passing trucks piled high with potatoes.  I want to smell "the farm" smell and feel the backyard grass between my toes.  I want to be able to drive down main street and not get cut off.  I want time to slow down to a comfortable meander and not feel rushed by the person tailgating me.

What I really crave, though, is to run on something other than pavement.  I want to cut through the quaking Aspens on a trail that is barely wide enough for me to fit on.  I want to feel a slight breeze and hear it rustle the golden leaves.  I want to suddenly come upon a rabbit or a bird perched on a fallen tree.

I realized that I am constantly on man-made surfaces and in man-made buildings. Sure, getting from point A to point B without having to take side roads is great, but I'm pretty sure that 6-lane highways are in no way natural.  I want nature back.

"So sick and tired of this interstate system
I need a curve and wide-a-twistin'
Dusty path to nowhere
With the wind blowing through my baby's hair"