Vintonville

So our fears of death by the hands of cannibal mutants and homicidal hitchers went unfounded (thank goodness!). Still, our late night drive to Powell was, quite frankly, a little unnerving despite our friends best attempts to reassure us he wasn’t falling asleep at 4:30 am. Still, assurances don’t bring peace of mind when they’re punctuated by several adventures into the wrong lane. Ah, memories!

But never mind that! The fact is we got there and enjoyed every minute of canyon wandering, beaching the boat and exploring, wakeboarding, eating junk and wishing summer was year round.

Here’s a joint we stopped in to explore:

Here’s said joint after a hike up some sandstone cliffage:

And now… that ton of images I promised to post sometime soon. Needless to say, the Vintons need to rent a boat and get down there for a family adventure post haste. Behold the onslaught of of vacation pictures and cower at their vastness:

(As usual, the gallery are thumbnails. Click to enbiggen and see all.)

A few weeks back Liz and Luke won our admiration, respect and thumbs up when they were cool enough to drive us up to the cabin to visit Gramma and Grampa. We did the usual- ate food, chatted it up, threw rocks, pulled stuff out of the river, made boats and went for walks.

Luke’s got mad angling skills. The dude fishes with a spinner like Dad fishes with a fly. He’s a trout Rainmaker. He also showed supremem “championsmanship” when he hooked a little trout out of the river in front of the cabin and promptly let Joshua reel it in and hold the line. As you can see, Joshua was pretty stoked. About an hour later, Luke pulled a fatty 12″ + out from the river just behind rope swing 2.0. While I don’t have pics of that (sadly), I do have one of (surprise!) Joshua on the rope swing before the big smile turned to panic and distress (“Yaaaaaah!! I can’t hold on anymoooooore!”).

I’ll get all nostalgic and stuff, but it was pretty cool to let the little guy enjoy the cabin and some of the things we loved so much about it. While the frogs are scarce, he did catch a little snake. While the big cottonwood that held the original rope swing is gone, Joshua did get some time on the rope swing he’ll come to know.

Thumbs up to Gramma and Grampa for letting us visit and having such a cool place to get everyone together and build memories over generations.

Ok, enough of the sappy stuff. Next!

We’re headed to Lake Powell as an end of summer kickoff with 3 days of dreamy 88 degree weather and 80 degree water. Yay! Thing is, we’re most likely headed that direction at 9ish pm tonight.

And it’s a seven hour drive.

Seven hours puts us in Provo at 11ish PM, Middle Of Butt Nowheres at 2ish AM and Bullfrog at 4ish AM. Boo!

“What!?” you say. “Is this Dan wussing out?”

“Pffffffft,” says I.

You know I’m good for some late night/early morning shenanigans if I’m playing some video game or all hopped up on the Dark Master– but as is, it’s going to be us packed into the third seat of our neighbor’s (the Seeleys) Yukon, children strapped in and boat in tow. I’m usually giddy about a good road trip, but that’s when I’ve got a sunny, scenic road ahead, a big fat stash of road food beside and a good nights sleep behind me. As is, it’s going to be a dark and decidedly unscenic road ahead, a stash of No-Doze beside and probably a hooptie full of the Hills Have Eyes guys or The Hitcher chasing us.

Praise Zeus, Mari-Catherine rescued the blog lull with a pretty fantastic summary of her Top of Utah Marathon experience. The lack of pictures is 102.6% tragic, but you can lay all the blame at my size 10 1/2 feet. See, I was kinda preoccupied with keeping my lady-friend aspirating properly and I’ve never seen  “Runner’s World” give any recommendation on hoofing the last 4 miles of a marathon with a 35mm camera punching you in the chest via a strap around your neck as a “must do”.

Never the less, here’s some pics I was able to scrounge up. Enjoy Mari-Catherine’s agony and triumph at a safe distance:

Well, for those of you who don’t know, I ran the Top of Utah Marathon this past Saturday. Here is a formula that describes it: 26.2 Miles + Brutal – 14 miles downhill + leg brutality = Shameful Performance. I’ve told many of you it will be the first and last marathon I run.

I wasn’t kidding.

Most people say I will want to improve my time or I will enjoy beating my body into complete oblivion, so I will want to keep doing it again and again. As far as improving my time? Hmmm, I’m not joking when I say an 80 year old couple beat me and they jogged/walked and hugged people all along the way. So, instead of being in the top 10, I was in the bottom 10… and as much fun as beating my body to oblivion was, I think I will pass next time the marathon comes by my house. I am better suited on the sidelines cheering the fools who like running marathons again and again. And again. And again.

Here was the problem: The week before the marathon, everyone in my house (including me) decided it would be a great week to become best friends with the porcelain bus– in more ways then one. Then, 2 days before the marathon, I decided I was sick enough not to eat anything but I could spend my days gagging down Gatorade to keep hydrated. The little voice in my head said, “Don’t run it!! You’re totally depleted and have an injury that hurts enough to make you want to die!” (IT band syndrome in not just one leg, but BOTH …I go hard or go home). Then the insane voice said, “But I’ve trained hard for this! There is no better time than now to get this goal over with!” Of course, insane voice won.

Cut to Saturday, September 20. First mile….my legs feel fine and I know the giant rock in my stomach will go away once I hit the runners high– I.E. total and complete insanity.

Mile 4,5,7…you know, that rock is still there and my legs aren’t feeling so hot. Maybe it’s the constant down hill or the totally uneven road (IT band nightmare). I’m pretty sure those endorphins will kick in ANY TIME and my legs will just go numb. I’ll stop at mile 8 and stretch.  Stretching always helps, right?

Mile 8… Stopping, stretching = the worst thing I could’ve done…both legs freeze up and are in sheer pain. Here I am, standing in the middle of the road– a grown 29 year old crying. Crying…huh? I’ve never cried on a run. Never.  “Come on Mare buck it up! You’ve got this! Only 18.2 more miles to go and 6 more of it down hill on slanted ground….awesome! This is crazy I run everyday….I ran 23 miles and was fine….I’ve totally got this race I will finish under 4 hours (ha, only in my dreams). Come on, this is silly!”  Suddenly I realize I’m speaking all of this out loud in “angry crying voice” as person after person passes me. No wonder they stopped to ask if I was ok…or slightly off my rocker.

8.1 Miles….So here I am at the crossroads…any reasonable or logical person would say, “This isn’t my day and I should probably call it quits.” Where are those sweet biking medics to give me a pump (and yes, I let Granny borrow my floral pants for this picture) down the canyon so I can rest and relax and just focus on healing my legs enough to take steps without crying. That would be the logical and smart thing to do which is why I posed the question: Are runners really tough or just insane?

Mile 11… at this point I am pretty sure I am running a 14 minute mile down hill which, I am embarrassed to say, is possible. I stop at the first medic station (crying) as the medic informs me I shouldn’t go on and that I should have someone come up to take me down. I’m fine, right? Just spread some of that Bio-Freeze sweet sauce on my leg, wrap both my knees and I’m golden…the rest of the race I’ll be kickin’ booty and takin’ names, People!

Mile 11.012…Oh baby, I’ve got this! Both knees are wrapped…in different colors…how ghetto..totally clashes with my skirt/tank top combo but who cares, right? I’m back in…15.988 more miles to go! I walk a little and feel that sweet sauce soakin’ in. Oh baby, this is it! My first stride feels like someone is stabbing me with a sharp wooden stake in both knees, which inevitably shoots pain all the way to my hips. Since it’s all connected, if one thing hurts everything hurts.

Mile 12 and 13… Time to desperately play the mind over matter game. It’s proven, right?  They have done studies. The mind is a powerful thing. I am pretty sure that’s what they teach in birthing classes… relax your body and breathe through the pain and your mind will do its business and you will be pain free! Until, of course, you actually feel the pain of labor and all that mind shiz goes to pot. Call me weak minded, but that silly “mind over matter”? Doesn’t work. I tried it people…this marathon was going to be my bits and I’m crying like a baby in sheer pain.

Miles 13 +… Walk, cry, medics, sweet sauce (IE- Bio-Freeze, my marathon hero), knee wraps (and yes, the rest of the wrappings were the same color), “jogging” (I could have walked faster), watch Granny and Gramps pass me (again), dry heave, more crying.

Finish Line… I hobble across the finish line, pass out twice and have two girls 1/2 my size carry me to sit down. Everyone says, “Wow, you are amazing! I can’t believe you finished in so much pain.” I start to feel pretty good until I look over and see a dude, head totally wrapped, blood all over his face with stitches and a medal around his neck.

Okay he wins.

Cut to Now. Everyone keeps saying I will forget the horror and try it again, saying it’s like going through labor.

Actually, it’s not.

At the end of the labor you get something pretty amazing out of it. After a marathon you get a cheap medal, a cry after every step, and more soreness than you’ve had in a lifetime. I guess I do get to say, “Yes, I have done a marathon”, but I also get to say “No, I won’t be doing one again”.

So the question remains….Are runners really tough or just insane? Thoughts?

Today, Joshua is sick and throwing up, which is very sad. He just cries these big sad cries and says, “That is not funny.” and “I never, never, never, like throwing up.” I feel your pain, little guy. Personally, I’d rather take a colonoscopy or a punch to the privates. At least you know they’re one and out.

Joshua was looking at his scripture readers the other day and began singing, “I am a Child of God”. Of course, I’m busting with parental pride, “That’s my boy! He’s learning it!”

“I am a child of God. And He has sent me…To blast off!”

Oh.

We were grocery shopping last week and took a trip to the dairy aisle to get a gallon of milk. As I walked to the end of the aisle to get Skim, I hear Joshua call out, “No worries! I got it!” as he hefts the nearest 2% off the shelf, straining, “I got it, Papa. I got it…”

We made Chinese Chicken Salad the other night and were having a hard time getting Joshua to eat it. “I don’t like crunchy noodles!”

And, suddenly realizing how much like Mom we sound, we’re pleading, “It has chicken and carrots…” (naturally, as it always did with us, it fails)

“I don’t like them!”

So then it’s stern time. “Fine. Then you don’t get cookies.”

And just as quickly….“Oh! I LOVE carrots!”

Trying to get Joshua to go pee before his little bladder does an impression of an overfilled water balloon meeting with Mr. Concrete can be a chore. But the other day he was trying so hard to get something going as he stood over the toilet, hips pushed out and commanding, “Go! Goooooo! Squirt! Gooooo!”

[Ed: Story and Illustration by Matt. Posted by Dan]

Last night for our FHE we decided to head over to the Provo Disc Golf course near our house for a quick game.

On our approach to the last hole of the night, maybe a 75 foot throw, Emily throws a signature “EmHook” (a throw where holding on to the disc too long results in a crazy trajectory) and the disc goes 90 degrees to the right and into the nastiest water hazard west of the Mississippi.

Does she write it off?

NO.

Does she ask me to get it for her?

Nope.

As you all know, she is wicked hardcore. So Em decides to wade on in with little thought of life or limb for an 8 dollar putter she found on a course in Napa CA. That’s right; she didn’t even pay for it. About 15 minutes, the rankest stagnant water you have ever smelled and plenty of mosquitoes later, she pulls it out in high spirits.

When I suggested we go home so that she can clean off instead of heading over to Yummies for the FHE treat, she says, “Oh no, Baby. We are GOING to Yummies.”

Since we didn’t have a camera I took all afternoon to draw out this fantastic graphical representation of what I beheld: