Blake's awesome brother

Blake would probably kill me for posting this, but it's just so sweet, I can't resist. This is a writing assignment -- he had to write about someone who is important to him. He wrote about Nicky. He was madly typing his final draft this morning. Here it is:

My awesome brother

By Blake Dawson

There have been so many important people in the United States. There are other important people to you and me though right? For example my younger brother Nicky is one of those important people to me. He’s important to me because Nicky is always cheering me up, playing with me, and he loves me.

One reason my brother is important to me is that he cheers me up. Nicky brightens my day by making jokes and having laughs. Sometimes I’m sad and Nicky tries to fix the problem. Also when I get sick Nicky would always help me out. Nicky is very important to me because he cheers me up.

Another quality my brother has is he’s always willing to play.

When I am bored I’ll ask him if he wants to play soccer or football he always says yes. He is good at sports so it makes it more fun. When were inside he might offer me to play him in a game of monopoly. Playing with me is a reason Nicky is important to me.

The number one reason Nicky is important is that he loves me. He shows it by sharing things with me. He’s also never forgetting me in a game like a football game. He also forgives me when I start a fight with him or make a mistake. That’s the most important reason my brother is important to me.

There have been and still are important people in the United States like George Washington. My brother is even more important to me than any president because he cheers me up, plays with me, and he loves me. That’s one of the many important people in my life. I also couldn’t wish for a better brother,

American Idol results

Well I was only 1 for 4 last night. The only one I had right was Jason Yeager, the guy who sang the Doobie Brothers.

My other pick, Luke Menard, was in the final bottom two, but wanna-be rocker boy Robbie was sent home instead. It's gotta be next week for Luke unless he unleashes a new voice.

And the girls ... my top pick was rocker girl/raspy-voiced Amanda. This was also the pick for VoteForTheWorst.com, the popular anti-Idol website that tries to hang onto the bad contestants for as long as possible. The same website that contributed to Sanjaya hanging on for so long last season. So Amanda was spared.

Instead, Alexandrea Lushington was sent packing. OK. Maybe not one of the next two in line to go, but she probably would have only lasted another week or so.

Then it was down to my pick Cady and Alaina Whitaker, who was awesome last week and really, I thought, pretty good last night with Hopelessly Devoted, but then again, I love Grease.

Remember when she asked Simon what was wrong with her pretty blue dress when it seemed like her grandmother prepared here?

This 16-year-old seems like such a nice, sweet girl, so it was so sad to see her crushed, breaking down in tears, when it was announced she was the lower vote-getter. I know I'm getting old when, instead of sympathizing with this girl, I'm feeling for her mother. I hate to see any of my baby's hearts broken and I know there will be plenty of that in the days ahead.

Until then I guess we have '80s songs next week. Any recommendations for these singers? I think Amanda should sing Melissa Etheridge or maybe "Total Eclipse of the Heart." Definitely something slower. Brooke White might do a good "Betty Davis Eyes." David Archuleta ... hmmm ... maybe Journey's "Open Arms" or "Every Breath YOu Take." Ramiele would probably do a good "The Rose" by Bette Midler. I can totally envision Michael Johns singing an INXS song.

We shall see ...

Nicky loses his tooth

Finally! This tooth has been dangling by less than a thread, hanging on for dear life for weeks now. It finally came out today while Nicky was at school. Isn't he cute? So adorable I could squish his face off and hang it from my rearview mirror (stay away, Paula!) ;)

My American Idol predictions

I admit -- I'm still an American Idol fan. I've lost interest with all the other "reality" shows, but for some reason I can't kick the Idol habit.
And while I don't think this year's top 24 are "the best ever," as Ryan Seacrest reads from his cue cards, there are four or five that, in my book, are destined for greatness.
On the guys' side:
David Archuleta: I have to agree with Simon. He's the one to beat. This kid can SING, he's sweet as can be and those young teen girls who already spend many of their waking hours with their fingers flying texting messages to their friends will surely be a huge voting base. I loved his performance of Imagine. Let's just hope the show's producers can keep Paula's claws off him. I had to rewind the Tivo to make sure I heard her right. Something like "I want to squish you, squeeze your head off and hang it from my rear view mirror." What?? This woman is crazy. What was that poor boy thinking? He's not a troll doll, he's a 17-year-old kid, Paula!
Michael Johns: I loved his "Light My Fire" last week. He wasn't as good this week with his Fleetwood Mac song, but he'll go far. He has the "it" factor going for him. And he plays tennis.
David Hernandez: I know the judges loved him, but I didn't. For some reason he just gives me the creeps.
David Cook: Good voice, but looks sedated on stage. And I have to take issue with Simon -- who says crossword puzzles and a love of words are boring?! I bet he's a good songwriter.
Chikezie: A great performance. Fun guy. He'll last a couple more rounds.
Robbie: The blond wanna-be rocker. I just read that his golden locks are a wig. He might last one more round. Doesn't come close to past rockers like Bo Bice and Daughtry.
Danny: Pretty hair but ish -- what's up with that?
Who will/should go:
Jason Yeager: This is the guy who sang the Doobie Brothers with a big smile glued on his face and the "horrid" ending, as Simon called it. I read on the Idol website that this guy's lucky charm is a certain pair or kind of underwear. I guess they got left in the dryer this time. My 7-year-old thought that final "horrid" movement was just hilarious -- we had to rewind and watch it about three times.
Luke Menard: This is the guy who sings like he's on Broadway. A nice-looking guy and a fairly good voice, but very bland and boring. Forgetable.
And the girls:
Brooke White: My favorite this week out of all of them. A natural. And I love that she's so down-to-earth. I hope she continues to wow the judges.
Carly Smithson: She was pretty good but I have to admit I think she's kind of boring on stage. It seems like the judges are really trying to promote her, but she doesn't do much for me.
And, really, most of the other girls were bad or boring.
Who will/should go:
Amanda: This is the rocker girl with the horrible skunk/Cruella DeVille hair. The first time I saw her I thought she was kind of cool. Different with that intense voice. But after a couple times she just seems over the top. And last night she just sounded awful.
Kady Malloy: This is the Britney Spears impersonator who apparently leaves all her personality off stage. Too unsure of herself.
Let's see if I go 4 for 4.

The NFL Experience

A little football game was in town earlier this month ... Brett and the boys at the NFL Experience earlier this month during Super Bowl weekend. They had a blast.

Allie loves singing her ABC's.

Puggy and Spot

We have two new members in our household -- Puggy and Spot. No, we haven't yet succumbed to the kids' repeated requests for a real live dog. But Blake and Nick think we have the next-best thing -- Webkinz.

Puggy and Spot came into our lives last Sunday after Blake's soccer tournament. Grandma and Grandpa were here for a short visit. Blake's team was playing in the fourth and final game for the championship.

There was an incredibly inexperienced, insensitive and possibly visually impaired referee officiating. I'm usually one to forgive a referee's occasional bad call - after all, we're all human.

But this time was different. Poor Blake had three fouls called on him in a matter of minutes. Bad call after bad call. Missed calls. And then toward the end of the game, this referee said our team "plays dirty."

Blake, who is always so even-tempered on the playing field, was in tears at the end of the game.
We told Grandma and Grandpa we should stop for "a treat" on the way home. I was thinking ice cream. We lost them (the boys were riding with them) on the way home and instead of Rocky Road or Mint Chip, they came home with two Webkinz -- Puggy and Spot, a Pugg and a Dalmatian.

For those of you who haven't heard of Webkinz, they're stuffed animals that have an online code that allows your child to take care of the animal online and play games.

Lately the boys, now 11 and 7, have been into their video games, rollerblading, skateboarding and football cards. So now they're also online at the Webkinz web site.

But what surprises me, and warms my heart, is the attachment they have to these little stuffed animals. Especially Nicky. He carries him around wherever he goes, takes him to bed and was frantic when he couldn't find him yesterday morning.

Even Blake insists on bringing Spot to bed with him.
I'm learning to hang onto these little random acts of tenderness that I witness in my boys. While I know this love and sweetness will always remain within them, I know as they grow older devotion to a stuffed animal might lose out to other, more big-boy pursuits.

So for now, I'll join them in embracing Puggy and Spot ... and any other little creatures that come along.

A flood of trouble (from September 2007)

I remember in high school and college, writing and English teachers were always big on foreshadowing. Every now and then, I realize, I experience it in real life -- I look back on something, usually just a trivial event or random conversation, and recognize that it was a little hint of something bigger to come …

Early yesterday morning I went to the coffee maker to get my morning cup of coffee. Brett makes the coffee each morning (or night before), which is always very nice, I’m always reminded. But for about the third time in two weeks he hasn’t set the water holder on tight enough, so water has leaked all behind the coffee maker and along the counter. It wasn’t the full pot of water, but I was still irritated.

Also yesterday morning, Brett has his Old Navy bag full of clothes to take to the dry cleaner. “When will you be going to the Laundromat … I mean dry cleaners?” he asks me.

Which brings me to later that morning …

Aside from the coffee maker leak, it began as any other day: getting the boys off to school and Zach and Allie playing, watching movies, being 3-year-olds. By about 10:00. I threw in my second load of laundry of the day. Zach, Allie and I then went to the couch to read some books. About 10 minutes later I got up to get some water. I noticed a puddle in front of the refrigerator and initially thought a) Zach and Allie, who had been drinking water earlier, had spilled b) Zach and Allie had been playing with the water dispenser (poor Zach and Allie – they’re always the first suspects) or c) the little hose on the refrigerator was leaking again (that’s another story).

I soon noticed there was more water on the floor than Zach and Allie could have been responsible for. It crawled all the way around the corner and down the hallway that leads to the laundry room. The rug down the hallway is drenched. I hesitantly peek in the laundry room – standing water. My heart is starting to race. I immediately shut off the washer, which apparently has been feeling the Arizona heat as much as I have – it didn’t know to say no to the water. It just kept on coming with the machine totally full and spilling forth.

As I carefully tiptoe across the slippery tile, I look into our room (which has wood floors) – water is all the way past the bed and almost to the far window. I then venture back down the hallway and see that water has also crept into one corner of the dining room (more hardwood) and is almost reaching the twins’ room. The little lip on the wood floor in the family room seems to be keeping any water from going onto the wood floor in there, although a bit has managed to cross the small hump. The wet tile in the hallways and laundry room is so slick and a couple times I do the little thing where you start to slide and feel like you slightly pull an inner thigh muscle trying to keep from falling. I decide it’s time to put on some flip flops with good tread.

Next I do what any panicked woman does – I call my husband. And as any good husband does, he immediately calls our insurance company, leaves work, picks up a wet vac, rushes home, and proceeds to suck up the water without even changing his pants and leather shoes. All the while I’m trying to keep Zach and Allie in the playroom – the front room in the house that is dry. Thankfully all the rooms on the other side of the house – the kids’ rooms, their bathroom and the guest room – are also water-free. But I’m secretly wishing the carpeted bedrooms could have been waterlogged. The carpet isn’t that great and the twins’ room has the blue paint stain (another story, but I’ll give you a hint … she’s the only girl child in the family and she likes to sneak away with interesting objects while mommy’s busy doing the dishes and cleaning the kitchen).

Anywho, the wet vac only holds 5 gallons, so Brett is dumping it out frequently – easily 20 times. He does a good job and by the time the “water restoration specialists” arrive 90 minutes later, it really looks like things are about cleaned up and life can go back to normal.

But as soon as I think that, this 3-person crew brings out their special little radar stick – a baton-shaped device with two little teeth on the end that they poke in the wood floor seams. If there’s moisture underneath, you hear an unmerciful, squeaky “beep.” They start poking and in the beginning things are pretty quiet. But they’re poking in the dry areas. As soon as that stick moves to the areas that were under water, the screech of continuous “beeps” fills the air. They finish their testing and I really think they’re just going to bring in their fans and dry the floors out.

Nope … all three areas of the wood flooring have to be ripped out and replaced. Ugh!! As they investigate further, they discover they won’t be able to rip out the wood themselves. They say they’ve never seen it glued down like this before. Double Ugh!! So a special floor demolition company has to be brought in. By the time they get started, I (thankfully) have to leave to take Blake to soccer and then go to the school for a back-to-school type function.

When I get home I see a guy riding a machine – it looks like a ride-on lawn-mower. It’s unbearably loud, puts out a bunch of heat, and smells funny. It brings Zach to tears so Brett has taken the kids outside. It looks like a circus outside our house – neighborhood kids riding bikes and skateboards while a handful of workers are carrying out torn-up pieces of wood, and one guy is riding the funny little floor-eating machine in and out of the house. The smoke alarms inside the house keep going off, fans are blasting and a general sense of chaos has reared its ugly head.

The neighbors are curious. Brett’s out chatting with a guy who lives down the street – Joey from Long Island, he’s been here two years and is ready to go back. He’s out on a walk with his baby girl and 2-year-old boy and is still digging his heels into fatherhood. The boy is starting to rummage through the wood floor and nail remnants. While I practically leap to get him out of there, Joey laments, “This drives me crazy, he never listens to me … Look at that. Is this normal?”

So now our wood floors are gone. Our furniture and other stuff is in the garage, the master bathroom, and the guest room. We’ve moved the couch to the playroom, so the 6 of us have been spending most of our time there (all the other TV’s are disconnected). In our bedroom the only thing that is on the concrete floor is the bed, sitting on four pieces of foam and pushed up against the window. Creepy.

Today there are about 10 loud fans blowing throughout the house and hopefully by early next week we can get the actual replacement of the floors under way.

Until then, we’re all basically living in the playroom. Our new washer comes Wednesday, so I hope to make it until then without going to the Laundromat. And the next time the coffee maker leaks, I’ll quietly clean it up and be thankful my husband makes me coffee every morning.

Seeing Double (from February 2004)

It's been a week now since we found out we're having twins and I still haven't quite come to grips with it — two newborns, double feedings, twice the diapers, double strollers, double baths, not to mention the extra weight I'm supposed to gain.

The pregnancy itself was a surprise but Brett and I quickly adjusted to the news and started planning and anticipating our third little one, due to arrive in September. Blake and Nicholas were ecstatic, all the grandparents were thrilled — they thought the possibility of another child from us was slim to none, much closer to none — and I quickly went from feeling overwhelmed to experiencing mounting excitement at the thought of having one more little one.

In those early weeks I anxiously awaited Feb. 10, the day of my first prenatal appointment, so I could see the first ultrasound and be assured when I saw or heard that tiny heart beating. The day finally arrived. It was a Tuesday, which meant Nicholas was to go to preschool. But he wasn't feeling well. So Brett would have to miss my appointment to watch him, and would meet me at the doctor's office afterward so he could hand Nicky over and go straight to work...

I was mildly disappointed that he wouldn't be there with me, but we were old pros, we'd done this twice before. I'd share the grainy, sometimes-difficult-to-decipher black and white ultrasound photo with him afterward, proudly showing him our inch-long child and (hopefully) report that everything was going great.

My appointment starts with the usual mounds of paperwork, the nurse taking my blood pressure, going over medical questionnaires, and reviewing major pregnancy do's and don'ts. At one point she asks if we had been trying to get a pregnant for a long time, perhaps based on the ages of the boys, now 7 and 3. "No, it was kind of a surprise," I meekly reply, quickly adding that we're excited about our future arrival. So then we proceed with the physical examine; everything looks "normal."

Finally I'm taken into the ultrasound room. We'll just do a quick one, she assures me. I lie back and a garbled black and white blob appears on the monitor, which faces both of us. Things are moving around so fast, but I definitely see a baby. There's its ear, she says. It's kind of a back/side shot of the baby. She then shows what I thought then was a different view — the baby is facing us. I'm still oblivious at this point.

"Well," she says, with a cautious smile on her face, "there's that one." Wait a minute, what does she mean by "that" one. With my mind racing, she then announces "and there's that one," simultaneously showing me a screen shot that shows both the babies.

Fear, shock, exhilaration, amazement — did I say fear? — run through me. "Oh no," I shriek. "I can't believe it. My husband is going to freak," I tell her, wishing so much Brett was there to share the mind-boggling news firsthand.

She starts talking but I just hear bits and pieces of what she says — they're both in their own sac, don't know if they're fraternal or identical but fraternal is more common, they're both good-sized for their age, you definitely won't be delivering in September, you won't make it until then; twins come early, she tells me, we'll be monitoring you more closely, more appointments, more ultrasounds.

Any questions, she asks. My mind is numb, incapable of remembering where my purse is, let alone form any intelligent questions. Um, no, I mumble … at least not right now...

I then somehow end up with the medical assistant again, finishing some paperwork and ordered to immediately go to the lab to get some bloodwork done.

I slowly get up, everything's a blur. I get dressed, grab my purse and try to find my way out of the maze-like medical suite. "Other way," one of the medical assistants tells me as I clumsily head out in the wrong direction.

I finally find the elevator and head back down to the lab on the first floor. My feet feel weightless; my head feels heavy. I feel like I'm holding a $1 million secret. I find my way to the lab and a packed waiting room. I glance at my watch. I have about 15 minutes before Brett will be in the parking lot to meet me.

Part of me wants to call him. The other part wants to wait, wants to see the look on his face, see how far his jaw will drop. 15 minutes go by, then 25, still in the waiting room. I need to call Brett to tell him I'm running late, but I don't want to give anything away on the phone. I call him up and casually tell him I'm still waiting to get some bloodwork done, shouldn't be much longer. I feel like I'm about to burst.

Finally my name is called. I have to tell someone, so I tell the friendly woman drawing my blood that I just found out I'm expecting twins. "Oh my goodness. Congratulations," she says. I finish and leave the medical office. My head continues to spin. My hands are sweaty. My legs are shaking.

Brett was probably expecting me to get my car from the parking garage and then pull up to where he was parked across the street. Instead, I dash over on foot to our two-week-old minivan (good thing we made that purchase) and jump in the passenger seat.

"Hi," I say, nonchalantly handing him the ultrasound photo that shows what the nurse practitioner has dubbed — and labeled on the image — "Twin A" and "Twin B."

Brett looks at the photo long and hard, a good five seconds, his eyes grow wide. "Are you kidding me? Is this a joke — someone else's ultrasound?"

"No," I tell him, not sure whether to laugh hysterically or burst into tears. "We're having twins."

I think it was surreal for both of us, not knowing what to do or say. Nicky's in the back seat getting antsy and Brett needs to head to work. We just look at each other in disbelief.

He gives me a kiss, ultrasound picture still in hand, and says he has to take it to work with him.

We call each other several times that afternoon, checking on each other's emotional state.

Neither one of us slept much that night.

A half marathon -- what am I thinking?

So it’s less than two weeks away from my first half marathon. I’ve been faithfully following my training plan since September (minus the three weeks in December when my knee was on the mend). Before yesterday I had two 9-mile runs under my belt – the most I’d ever run. I’ve felt strong and confident in my running. Even enjoying it. A lot.

And then in a day, my focus and self-assurance seemed to melt away as quickly as the Wicked Witch in the Wizard of Oz after the Scarecrow doused her with water.

The downhill spiral actually started Saturday afternoon on our way home from Blake’s soccer tournament in Gilbert. About 10 miles out of Gilbert (and another 50 minutest to home) Zach starts crying for water. “I need water … I need ice.” I hand him a bottled water, he takes a swig, and he continues to scream for ice. “I feel sick.” And that look. Uh-oh. Too late.

After pulling over and cleaning things up the best we could with baby wipes and extra sweatshirts, we continued home with the windows open. By the time we got home my stomach was feeling a little queasy – not sure if it was real or imagined.

Brett’s parents were in town visiting and Brett took Monday off. We had been planning on running 10-11 miles on Monday. It’s rare that we get to run together. But ever since I decided I wanted to do a half marathon, he pledged his support by following my training program so he could be right there alongside me. With his work schedule and the kids, we never get to run together.

I’m a creature of habit and I really wanted to run a longer variation of one of my longer routes. But Brett thought he was being helpful by coming up with a route on this cool running web site we found. I looked at the route and saw it had us going up a street that I don’t like – not once but twice. I don’t say anything.

We start and because we rarely run together, I find it hard to get a good pace. I can tell he’d prefer to go a little faster, but I know myself and know I have to start slow the first couple miles. All I can think about is whether to go a little faster.

We both run with our Ipods, but he wants to talk – we need to get an exterminator out, curiosity about Barack Obama’s religion, the horrible officiating in Blake’s game.

I’m getting frustrated. I know we don’t have much alone time, but over the past months running has become the time that I don’t have to think about these things. For an hour or however long I’m running, I can wipe these things from my mind. It’s almost a spiritual experience for me.

As we’re heading up the street I didn’t want to run, my stomach is feeling queasy. I’m getting frustrated and lash out at poor Brett for taking me on this route. For some reason this run, although only 5 miles into it, is so much harder than it usually is. My legs feel heavy, jabs of pain strike the bottom of my right heel every time I touch the asphalt. Despite carbing up with lots of pasta the past couple days, I feel depleted of energy. This run is burdensome, taxing and annoying. I can’t focus. I seriously consider just returning home, cutting the run short.

But I finally get a grip and tell Brett I’m ready to continue on. He’s being so patient with me, ready to keep running or return home, whichever I need to do.

So we continue on, but revise our route. I’m feeling just awful, trying to muster up every fiber of strength I have. I have to stop and walk a couple times, which I hate and somehow equate with a sign of weakness.

I’m getting really worried about the half marathon. How in the world am I going to do 13 miles? I’ve become so fixated on being able to run the whole thing. For some reason I feel like I will have failed if I have to walk part of it.

I get teary, telling this to Brett. He looks at me like I’m crazy.

He says, “It doesn’t matter if we have to walk part of it. This is your first one. Look how far you’ve come. We’re going to do this. Together.”

Yep.

We continued on and made it. 10 miles in 2 hours. A 12-minute-mile. A far cry from my 10-minute-mile goal.

We trudged inside the house. I was so glad Brett was off work and his parents were there … I was able to go lay down for a couple hours. All I could think about is how I’m going to build up my confidence.

After the run I was so exhausted, still feeling queasy. Had no appetite whatsoever. I managed to choke down a handful of almonds and later Brett got me a smoothie, watched the kids and made dinner. Loved me.

Reminded me of what matters most.

Soccer Talk

One of my favorite things to do is watch Blake play soccer. I know ... every parent thinks their child is wonderful at their sport and brags to family and friends. While I'm no different, Blake is.

He's phenomenal. Ever since he stepped foot on the field as a 5-year-old, it was clear he's a natural. Each year is more intense and more exciting than the year prior.

Have you ever seen a bicycle kick? It's where the ball is coming toward you (well not me obviously, but the soccer player) and the player throws his body up into the air, making a shearing movement with his legs to get one leg high overhead to reach the ball which gets kicked backward over the player's head.

Blake has this mastered. He's amazing.

On the Run

Feb. 22, 2008

So I'm about to utter a sentence -- the essence of which I never thought would enter my conscience, let alone pass my lips or form words on my keyboard, but here it is:

In 16 days I plan on running my first half marathon. 13.1 miles. More than 2 hours of running straight. My goal is to finish -- or at least that's what I'm telling everybody.

Until about six months ago, I had never been a runner. In fact, I hated, despised, loathed running altogether. I enjoyed exercising, but 30 minutes on the elliptical machine at the gym a few times a week was good for me. I had come to accept that the 10-15 pounds of baby weight accumulated over the past decade would in all likelihood stay put. Every once in a while I would try a short little jaunt, but after just a few minutes would become so winded and feeling so out of shape that I had not even a shred of desire to ever try it again.

I've had many friends who are/were runners. My best friend in high school runs and loves doing 5Ks. Another friend I grew up with was a great, fast runner. A few years back a friend in Sacramento ran a full marathon after battling cancer. A cousin of Brett's ran two marathons; we watched her cross the finish line of the California International Marathon in front of the state capitol. Admittedly, it was inspiring to watch her and all the runners achieve their goals.

But even then -- while I was so impressed with their feats -- I still didn't "get" running.

Somehow that changed last April when we moved to Phoenix. It started innocently enough with the purchase of a treadmill. My husband didn't think I'd really use it. By June and July it was just too miserably hot to exercise outside or even pack up the kids in the car and go to the gym. So the treadmill became my escape, my "me" time. The boys were out of school, the twins were home every day -- not in preschool yet -- and I had only met a few people. So I'd throw on my Ipod and hop on the treadmill.

For months I was stuck at two miles (remember, I said I wasn't a runner!). I'd be huffing and puffing and feeling like 20 minutes would never end. Finally I bumped it to 2.5 miles and not long after that I was doing 3 miles.

At about this time the weather started cooling off (when it actually got below 90) and I started running outside. That's when it happened. Just as I had read from runners forums and articles, I was no longer running as a means to an end (like to lose weight, get some exercise, etc.). I was just running to run. Putting on my iPod and running ... clearing my head ... leaving the stress on the road. Feeling energized.

By September I started thinking about the people I know who have run marathons and half marathons. Maybe I could do it. Then I'd run on one of those warm mornings with the Arizona sun blasting down my back. Legs feeling heavy and clumsy. Maybe not.

After some intensive Googling, I found various training plans. Within days the Hal Higdon 12-week novice half marathon plan was stuck to my refrigerator. With my yellow highlighter always nearby, I proudly marked off each training session. Brett even started training, too, and was enthusiastic about running the half marathon with me. Like me, he's never been a runner, and after a rough first couple weeks, he is embracing it, too -- almost as much as I am.

We decided we'd try the P.F. Chang's Rock n Roll Marathon in early January. To try to keep this short, I started having major knee pain. Tried to ignore it, but it got to the point I was just dreading running. So I took 3, almost 4 weeks off. Enjoyed the holidays, got sick, took care of sick kids. Then on the day of the Rock n Roll marathon, I ran 5 miles and decided during that run that I would try the next one to come along -- the Valley of the Sun Marathon. March 9th in Mesa.

So here we are. A few "shorter" runs during the week. These are up to 5 miles now. And then the long run on the weekend. We did 9 miles the past two weekends. The first time was awful, the second was much better. This Monday we're going to try 11.

Ugh ...