So far in 2012:

I’ve ran a half marathon race
Reunited with my birthson after nearly 22 years
My husband has traveled to the middle east
We have put our house on the market
We will be moving back to Los Angeles, soon.

To say that this year is off to a crazy intense start would be an understatement.

I hesitate and ask God, “Are we moving too fast?” Because it seems that all of the waiting has suddenly come to an end. Suddenly. In many areas.

My word for 2012 is “Conquer” but I’m thinking it should be “Suddenly” But perhaps they go hand in hand and I should have two words that call this year out.

California.

I have confessed that I love it. But I not only love it, I am passionate about it. I dream about it. I love the air, the idea, the freedom, the diversity, the weather, the terrain, the people, the dream. Many people know this about me. I am an adventurer. I always knew we would go back to California, it was always in the future somewhere when the kids were grown…and we were older. Too old perhaps to enjoy it fully. We’ve been confronted with the issue of moving back many many times and every time the frustration being a wall of resistance that prohibited us from making the move. It was either finances, or our kids and their school/friends, or the work..or the fear. Oh dear Lord, yes, the fear. I’ve written about this issue many many times–my fear.

When I lived in Los Angeles prior to moving to Ohio, I had an amazing job working with people I really really liked. It was an exciting job working for the American Cinematheque. I was in my element. Daily, I was confronted with the humanity of homelessness, global tourists, urban landscaping in the form of graffitied walls, earthquake crippled sidewalks, street musicians, costumed characters and Walk of Fame stars. My employment at the Egyptian Theater had me in Hollywood on the Blvd four to five nights a week. It was amazing and I miss it every day.

We explored various famed locals like Hearst Castle up the coast in San Simeon, the intensely steep hilled streets of San Francisco, and even visited Skywalker Ranch to hang out with Academy Award winner Gary Rydstrom who was mixing the sound recording for A Bug’s Life. And this was just the beginning. The company in which we found ourselves was exciting, to say the least.

Once we had our first child, I found myself part of a mommy group. We all had our babies within months of each other and would make dates to walk the canyons in the warm beautiful California sunshine pushing our babies in jogging strollers while talking about various creative ambitions. I loved my life.

I am looking forward to returning. I am looking forward to finding myself again in that place. In the city I love, Los Angeles. I will be writing more on this as the days go by and we find ourselves in one of the biggest moves of our life. We now have two children and that first one is in middle school. Things will be different. It won’t be what it was before…it will be challenging as we have already begun to make preparations for the life changes ahead. I keep dreaming of those earthquake crippled sidewalks, the smell of jasmine, the palm trees overhead, long runs on the beach, the connections we’ll make with insiders, the entertainment industry, the dreams of hopefuls coming to make it big–did you know that people still come to Hollywood to make it big? They do and I gotta tell you, it’s inspiring. Dreaming is good. What’s your dream?

The final image here courtesy of my sister, Joanna. Nice shot, sis!

I am a birthmother.

Can we talk? I mean really talk?
I’m scared to be so vulnerable. I’m scared to reveal what most people judge or have misconceptions about. Yes, I’m one of them. I’m one of THOSE girls. I mean most people praise the couple that adopts, while the birthmother is left to be misconstrued as someone to be pitied or labeled “Cold-hearted,” “Irresponsible,” “Impoverished.” Do you know how many times I’ve heard in random conversations, “How could anyone give their own flesh and blood away?” “I could never do something like that? How can they live with themselves?” Yes, it is unimaginable to think about. Especially if one has never been faced with that decision. But I’m not here to attack that attitude or break apart the misunderstanding. Maybe someday I will write a book about being a birthmother. But for now I would like to share the miracle of God’s faithfulness.

Faith is risk. I grew up in church. I knew right from wrong at an early age. I was someone who followed the rules–I color inside the lines. I am someone who is afraid of consequences. I think before I do. In my life I have led more by my head than I have with my heart. I am a logical thinker. I love facts. I have a very strong intuition and have a great ability to be objective about my own junk. But on some occasions…

Without going into details, the time that I found myself in what is known as a “crisis pregnancy” was a time of irrational behavior. I was not being very logical or fearful of consequences. I was running from pain. I was acting out. I had been struggling for some time with depression and anger. I had a lot of bitterness from wounds in my childhood and a relationship that was very controlling prior to the pregnancy. In other words I just wanted to do what I wanted to do to feel better. I didn’t know how to manage grief or express the anger I felt. So I tried to cover it up with a good time. I really think God was looking out for me in spite of myself. Suddenly, I found myself in a desperate situation. And my logical thinking took over. I took a good hard look at my life and knew that’s not how I wanted to continue living and intuitively I knew that I was not ready to parent based on that assessment. I knew that I had some healing that needed to take place. Thank God. So I made a very painful decision to place the baby for adoption.

The years go by. Life goes on. I could go into all the details of therapy and the psychological/emotional issues of working through post adoption issues…but that is for the book. J

In my adoption plan with the couple, we agreed on a semi-open adoption. Closed adoption was a thing of the past at this time as new choices opened up for not only the adopting parents and birthparents but also for the child. Of course, closed adoption is and will always be an option. But we, the couple and I, found that life would be better living it in a semi-open fashion. This meant that once a year I would receive a letter and pictures. And that is how we did it. This takes a tremendous amount of faith. I had to trust that they would honor our agreement, and yet I would have to be okay if they chose not to. They had the power. But my birthson’s mother was faithful to me…year after year, without fail. For 18 years, she stood by her promise to me. Words cannot express, and to her I am deeply grateful. Thank you, Robin. We did it!

My birthson’s 18th birthday came and went. And life went on for me. But always in the back of my mind, I was waiting. I knew that it could be any day. But 18 turned to 19. And 19 turned to 20. And 20 turned to 21. And life goes on. Now, two decades later, email and Facebook are a daily part of life for millions of people. Back then, in my wildest dreams, I never imagined that there would be such technology. And that it would play a part in the phone call that came to me on January 4th at 4:17 pm…a time as precise as his birth…I heard my birthson’s voice for the very first time. And he called me “mom.” His name is Jon.

As I struggled with finding the right words to speak, the years melted away and I found myself in a “suddenly” situation. Suddenly. Finally, after years of waiting and wondering and dreaming and imagining and praying…suddenly. We both choked on our emotions and planned to meet as soon as possible. Jon was living in Tulsa. My hometown. He grew up in Nebraska and had recently moved to Tulsa to live with his adopted dad. His adopted parents had divorced when he was two. But he was living in Tulsa. I was beside myself.

I planned to go home to Tulsa that following week. The days of anticipation nearly drove me insane, I did not sleep much as past and present collided. I got reflective and quiet. And for the first time, I was experiencing a real tangible reality of God’s faithfulness. I felt the inexpressible mind-blowing reality that I, in my choice to bear life…had not robbed God to show Himself faithful. All things work together for good. God remembered me. I have been deeply humbled. For before I was a girl taking a risk and trusting God, with no idea of how it would all turn out, it was a hard road. It was a road that not many take and it cost me a lot. But look, God in due season, returned it back to me. It has been a very profound and sacred time for me in my relationship with God these past two weeks. I’m still processing His amazing love for me in all this.

I rushed to Tulsa, arriving Wednesday evening. Jon and I had planned to meet on Saturday. I was struggling with how to do all of this appropriately. I set a meeting Friday evening with my counselor and mentor who walked me through this decision and post adoption grief counseling all those years ago. I needed to get some idea of how to do this. I had always imagined that there would be a facilitator or a middle-man putting it all together. But there wasn’t. It was just Jon and myself. Thursday, I called him in the evening. I had been lying around all day recovering from the long drive and catching my sister and niece up to date on what was about to happen. Our phone conversation was open but still felt strained, what DO you talk about?? I asked him if his dad was home and Jon told me he was gone for the night. Then Jon said, “Do you want to come over now?”

See, the thing is, it wasn’t formal. I kept thinking it needed to be formal or structured, you know…color inside the lines!! But Jon isn’t like that. He is free spirited and artistic and smart and expressive and he took the lead. And it’s all about communication. My heart raced as I asked, “Do you want me to come over now?” “YES.” Within 30 minutes I was knocking at his front door, trembling and nervous. He greeted me with a strong hug and a smile that lit up the room, he told me I looked just like the woman in his dream three days ago when he dreamed of this, he told me I was beautiful. I was overwhelmed. He was tall. He is tall. And his hair is brown and he speaks with a surfer hippy type drawl to his voice…and he’s showing me around the house but all I can do is watch him and study his movements and his gestures, all the way down to his hazel eyes and long eyelashes and I’m literally overcome with the inability to speak. And when he realizes I haven’t said a word, he stops and looks at me and says, “Aww, I’m just trying to impress you.” I am struck with how absolutely special and vulnerable and beautiful he is. I tell him with a great exhale that he does not need to impress me.

We spent every day together for the entire time I was in Tulsa. He met my sister and my niece. We went to lunch, we took pictures, we talked, we made dinner at my mother’s house, we laid around watching television with my niece, we listened to music…we laughed. We went out and watched a live band, we also went to a movie. We did normal things. Together. We did life. Like a family. The time together was inflected with moments of raw emotion and awestruck, and other times with comforting peace. And the missing piece to the puzzle of my life-story has been put back in place. Having to leave and come back to Ohio has been difficult. Integrating all of the parts will be a great work. I miss him.

There is no doubt that I am still in shock. I’m still processing the reality of this amazing season. I’m searching my heart in response to God’s faithfulness. I spent an amazing evening with my counselor, Chene’, who always has a good word and sound advice that I take to heart as gold. Chene’, it took almost 22 years…but we did it. I thank God for your faithfulness to all the women you walked this road with. Thank you.

For those whom I meant to contact while I was home but did not, I hope you understand.

Jon will meet my mom soon as she is working in Houston at this time. I hope to introduce him to my other sister who lives in Kansas. And this summer I will be bringing my little family to Tulsa to meet him. And we are going to do life. What an incredible blessing. God is faithful.

“For the vision is yet for an appointed time, but at the end it shall speak, and not lie: though it tarry, wait for it; because it will surely come, it will not tarry. “~Habakukk 2:3

Thank you, Father God. You walked this with me, you heard me in the night hour. You caught every single tear that fell. You taught me patience and longsuffering in this journey. You saw it all. And You answered my prayer. And I humbly bow before You in gratitude.

I know that I have left out numerous details, by choice. If you have questions, please send me a message and I’ll do my best to answer them. I’m sure I’ll be sharing much more as we integrate the parts. Thank you to all my friends who have seen this journey from beginning to end and loved me all the way through. Awesome, huh?

Then.

Now.

Last year I took part in a writing prompt challenge called Reverb’10 (you can search those posts by going to the footnote section of this blog and typing in Reverb ’10), which I found to be very thought provoking and creative. I enjoyed that process so much that I have been waiting all year for Reverb ’11. Except, the creator of the challenge has decided she needed to move on and allow others to lead their own Reverb. Hmmmm… oh well. One of the prompts last year was to choose a word for 2011. My word for 2011 was “accomplished.” And as I sit here in the middle of December I whole heartedly concur that this is the perfect word that describes my year.

I set some goals for this year not knowing the how, but only believing the yes. There were three key things I wanted to accomplish…

1. Continue with challenging my physical fitness. I finished my first half marathon last year and wanted to continue to pursue that endeavor with passion and commitment to growth. I completed two half marathons this year, one of which was a personal record for time. My training certainly lead me through peaks and valleys of emotion and the truth of physical limitations set by age (boooo). The biggest part of this has been consistency and the decision to gut it out until I achieved that which I envisioned. I am satisfied with my outcome in this area for 2011. I gave it all I had. Accomplished.

2. One of my big desires this year, and I know this may seem silly to some, was to get my passport stamped. I could go into all the reasons this has deep personal value to me, but I will spare you the drama. Suffice it to say, that although my husband has had an incredibly satisfying year with all his adventurous globe-trotting, I have been the one to hold down the fort in his absence. This hasn’t left me with many opportunities to explore beyond my own front yard (perspective –he was gone 20 days out of every month this past year). While his passport filled up, mine sat empty in the desk drawer, shiny, stiff, and mint. This was a “how” I just had to believe would happen for me. And it did. Mexico, a surprise gift from my husband…which saved me a trip to the Canadian border. Accomplished.

3. To meet and create new relationships with three people I did not know previously. Scary. But so worth it. I took advantage of every little trip I was able to make this year to connect with a Facebook acquaintance. Not only connect but to begin to nurture that relationship until a real bond was made. This has been a game changer for me in so many ways that I plan to continue down this path in the future. A very gratifying endeavor and I hope it was the same for my three victims.

So now what. I’m definitely feeling the letdown of a crazy insanely wonderful year. Highlights include: Four weeks spent in LA with my family (LA, California: One, California: 2). Mexico. My trip home to Tulsa (for more reasons than I can count), The Cincinnati Half Marathon. And finally, Las Vegas Rock n Roll Marathon. My only regret is that I posted way too much of these experiences on Facebook instead of blogging them here.

So where did that leave photography? And writing? This is where I’ve had the biggest perplexity. All along the way the blog is sprinkled with images and descriptions. But have I tackled these two art forms with all I had as I’ve done with the goals above? No. They’ve been a by-product but not THE product. I’ve only used them as a means to communicate that which I’m accomplishing. So what does this mean for 2012? I don’t know. I’m still sorting through the mosh pit of life experiences I long to have as I continue to create a life worth living. And that is my biggest goal for the future–continue to move to enlightenment, explore, challenge the status quo, laugh, let go, hold on, build, fight, and to become the very essence of the word Fortitude.

Not all of us have running stories that include Olympic trials and world championship races. Most of us fight our running battles in community 10k runs, in marathons, or just in our daily workouts. But the lessons are the same. The Olympian does not necessarily possess greater determination than the weekend road warrior who fights back from injury, burnout, or other setbacks. It is not the level of achievement or the numbers attached to a PR that are important. It is the size of our hearts. It is what we do in those moments when all hope seems lost and we are confronted with a choice to give up or keep trying. It is what we learn about ourselves through those dire circumstances that gives us the courage and strength to conquer the other challenges and hills in our lives. ~Running The Edge, Adam Goucher and Tim Catalano. (pp 114-115)

I’m sitting here at my desk looking out my office window, on a cold, rainy and dreary morning in Ohio. And once again, I find myself trying to find the words to begin. Six weeks ago I came off an incredible experience at the Cincinnati Half Marathon. I gained a PR there with a finish time of 2:09:18. Mentally this set a tone for what I had hoped Vegas to be. I did the Las Vegas Rock n Roll last year, and it was also an incredible experience. I thought it to be a very well organized race. I won’t go into it, you can read about that experience here. This year? An utter nightmare that has me re-thinking ever doing this race again.

After completing last years race, my friends and I decided to do it again for 2011, makeing it a tradition by way of getting together and re-connecting with something that is challenging but yet fun. So ALL year, I’ve been looking forward to this race. When it was announced that Competitor would be doing the race at night, down the strip, we were excited by the prospect to say the least. How cool to run under the lights of the Las Vegas strip..lights lights lights!! And I do have to say, that was pretty cool!!

But…

There are many things that are beyond our personal control when it comes to running. I had personally been fighting illness of some sort for three weeks prior to this race. First a head cold, then the flu, then immediately following a personal best and obtaining a personal record 5k race Thanksgiving morning I promptly came down with bronchitis. I ended up going to urgent care that Saturday morning and was put on an antibiotic. I made the very difficult decision to stop training and put myself on bed rest. I just had to be better for this race. I had planned and worked so hard for it all year long…I was in a panic, only 10 days out.

By the time I got to Vegas I felt much better, but still had a nagging cough. Mentally, I felt very strong about this race in spite of the pricking thought that I had not ran in 10 days. I really had no idea how my lungs would fare for the effort I was about to put them through. As can be imagined, I continued to pray for healing.

Upon first arriving in Las Vegas the climate change is the most obvious. Extraordinarily dry. I knew I would need to up my water intake significantly in order to be hydrated properly for the race. By the end of the first day, even my lips were starting to feel chapped. This aggravated the bronchitis a bit but it managed to level out after 24 hours.

The day of the race, I took it easy. I ate a huge breakfast and took a nice nap. I stayed at the MGM Grand which was a mile from the start line at Mandalay Bay. It had been cold in Vegas and a gnarly biting wind had been blowing through the city all weekend. I chose to wear my cold weather running tights and a cold weather long sleeved running shirt. I assumed I would be warm enough with that based on the past two races that started at a brisk 38 degree temperature. I had worn shorts for those races and was fine. But those races were in the morning and heated up as the sun came up. This was a completely different animal in that we were starting at dusk..and the sun was going to go down leaving us all in the dark.

Cheap Trick was headlining the pre-race show at 3:45 so at around 3:30 I headed down to Mandalay Bay. I checked the temperature which told me it was 50 degrees, I stupidly decided to leave my extra layer in the hotel room, as I thought I would be warm enough with what I had on, especially after I got running I knew my body would heat up and I didn’t want to be over heated and no where to put my extra layer. This was dumb. Spectators were already filling up the tiny space of sidewalks as the full marathoners were set to start at 4 pm. This made my 15 minute one mile walk turn into a 30 minute fight to get to the stage area. This was the beginning of the fight that didn’t end until I sat my frozen ass in a tub of HOT water around 9pm that night.

I joined my friends, Kyle, Rich, and Nancy at the stage where Cheap Trick was already playing..and I have to say this was the absolute best part of the whole experience. The band sounded fantastic and looked equally amazing. Mike McCready of Pearl Jam, who was going to be running in the race, joined the band onstage and played through with them on The Dream Police. It was very exciting and super fun! Robin Zander’s wife was also running in the race. I don’t know, it just made us all feel good. Like we were all in this together. They continued to play more jam music while we left for our corrals about 4:45. Our race time was starting at 5:30. The sun was setting and it was getting cold. Really cold. With a slight wind. And I was regretting that I didn’t bring that extra layer. We all huddled in close together trying to keep warm with body heat. Waiting…

Finally about 25 minutes after the first corral started, my corral hit the start line. We were finally off which was exhilarating. I checked to see how my body felt after having not ran for 10 days and I felt strong. This was a good sign. I knew that by mile 3 we would all be in our pace as the initial racers would be moving out…half a mile into the race I came upon walkers. A line of them, like a wall, with thousands of people surrounding me all running at different speeds I was amazed that there were walkers this close to the start. This was a very very frustrating thing to be faced with as it forced many of us to walk searching for a hole to escape through. This was the race for the next 13 miles. It never ended. The zig zagging around walkers was not only annoying, but dangerous. I know for certain that I personally ran close to 14 miles with all the extra steps to avoid tripping or bumping into those who were walking. There is no good way to describe this issue. I know others whose Garmin prove this to be true in the mileage. I am not against someone who walks in a race, Yes people run/jog races. I’m not talking about that. But this is a running event. And NOBODY should be walking a half a mile from the start..if you are, then you are not qualified to be taking part in a Marathon race or you are injured. GET OFF THE COURSE AND OUT OF THE WAY. If people wanted to walk the distance, Competitor should have had them sign up under a different race. Sorry if that offends some people but it’s how I feel.

At about mile one or two the full marathoners merged with us. This was not a big deal, except that race organizers had placed small orange cones along one of the lanes in the street to give them their own area of the road. So let’s think about this. It’s night. It’s dark. There are 44,000 of us. And there are little orange cones on the street. What do you think happens? You are exactly right. Not to mention the random orange cone in the middle of the road where all you can see is the person in front of you and the person to the left or right of you that you’ve been rubbing shoulders with for miles and suddenly, you see the person in front of you hop or move suddenly to the left or right at the last minute..to avoid tripping over the mysterious orange cone. I almost bit it, a few times. Very very very dangerous. I’m sure there were many who were not so fortunate.

I knew by mile 3 that there would be no gaps. No clearing out for pace or form, there would be no PR (personal record) or PB (personal best). This was going to be a grind. It was highly stressful and so I acquired a sharp pinch behind my left shoulder blade due to lack of good form, this became so agonizingly painful it was all I thought about..outside of not tripping over anybody, or those damn orange cones. Regularly I would come upon a group standing in the middle of the road, with a sea of racers trying to manage a way to get around them, while they stood for a cell phone picture…VIVA LAS VEGAS! Right? Another absolutely dangerous thing to do. If I could describe to you what this was like it would be like you were driving in a fog where you had limited visibility when suddenly there before you is a huge Buck standing in the middle of the road, you want to swerve to miss it but there are cars all around you. THIS WAS THE ENTIRE RACE.

At about mile 3, a female marathoner, this would be mile 16 for her, absolutely bit it and went down on to the concrete full body. I think she was trying to jump up on the curb to get around the walkers that were in front of her, and misstepped. At mile 16, you are flipping tired…I can’t imagine. I stopped and got out of the street to help her along with a couple of other people…nobody else stopped to help her. She was clearly hurt and her hands were bloodied. We asked if she was okay, she was stunned. She checked herself over very briefly, wrung her hands a couple of times AND THEN STARTED RUNNING. I got back on the course and was amazed at her strength. I started getting emotional about it and wanted so desperately to thank her for that. I wanted to thank her for letting me witness her courage. Damn inspiring. I thought about her for the next three miles.

At mile 6 we were in Old Las Vegas. A very seedy area. I usually run on the side of the street, but for some reason, I thought this made me vulnerable in case anyone decided to start shooting a weapon into the crowd…didn’t see many cops down there, so I squeezed into the middle of the herd and continued on. I passed two water stations that were deserted. Had they run out of water? There was no water for at least three miles. DANGER DANGER. Hello, we are running in the desert. Water and plenty of it, might be a good idea. I was thankful I had drank at the previous station..felt sorry for those who passed it thinking they would get it at the next one to find..it wasn’t there. Finally, we made the loop back onto Las Vegas Blvd. I started chasing the 2:15 pacer. I was amazed that I was even at that pace considering all the zig zagging and stopping to help that girl, so I started getting a little excited. By mile 9 though, something changed for me. I didn’t feel good. The muscle spasm or pinched nerve, whatever it was, was wreaking havoc on my ability to run so I stepped off the course onto the sidewalk and began to stretch my shoulder out. This is when the coughing started. I thought I was done. I stood having a coughing fit and watched the sea of runners pushing onward. I heard the words in my head, “It’s over for you.” The bronchitis was going to have its way. I started crying thinking about how hard I had worked and how disappointed I was in the whole thing. I was in a fight. I was thirsty and needed a drink. And all I could think about was having to come home with a DNF label (Did Not Finish). I texted Brad, my husband, and told him the bronchitis had me. That I was standing on the side of the road in the dark, by myself with thousands of runners passing me and I couldn’t breathe. He had signed up to receive my splits by a tracking system the race had and he texted me back, “Oh no! what mile you on?” I didn’t know. I was completely disoriented. Then he texted me back, “You are on mile 10, only three miles left, come on baby YOU CAN DO THIS.” And on that note, I pulled my ass out of self pity and started running. Somehow I caught back up with the 2:15 pacer who was clearly NOT running a 2:15 pace..I had to walk a couple of more times ON THE SIDEWALK OUT OF THE WAY and finally finished behind the 2:15 pacer… She was 2:24. My official time was 2:24:13.

The finish line was absolute hell. Run run run, then complete stop. The horde of people flooding into the gate area– indescribable. The pain in my body to suddenly stop after all that effort is a hell I don’t want to experience again. I had to push my way through the mob to grab the mylar race blanket offered in order to keep warm from the knife stabbing cold wind that was now blowing across our sweaty bodies, I heard the temperature was in the 30′s. There was what seemed to be no organization. No signs to lead you out or to food or ANYWHERE. It was teeny teeny steps shoulder to shoulder moving for what felt like an hour, the whole time trying not to pass out from exhaustion and lack of nourishment. It truly was a nightmare. I was finally able to grab a protein bar and a banana. Thank God. The spectators had filled the pathway blocking our ability to move out of the “secure” zone so maneuvering through that mess was stressful and difficult. It was a total mob scene. I had friends who were still running but I was feeling sick, and chilled to the bone. So I started heading back to the MGM a mile away. It was the most brutal mile I’ve ever walked with the cold wind blowing straight through me and my lungs burning. All I could think about was the hottest bath ever, food, and how I EARNED THAT EFFING GLOW IN THE DARK MEDAL I was now wearing around my neck. It was over.

I’ve heard from other racers that they never received their medal because the volunteers were stealing them. Or that they had been left on a table abandoned and then were being grabbed up by the handfuls. This is unacceptable to me. Some of these moments of suffering is on me. All me. But the organization..the cones in the street, the deserted water stations, the lack of direction at the finish, violation of health and safety codes, the lack of ability to SOMEWHAT accommodate 44,000 racers and an untold number of spectators with adequate medical stations..is unacceptable to me. And I’ve heard how racers who where told there would be shuttle service back to their hotels, found there weren’t any–forcing them to walk upwards of 2-3 miles back to their hotel. Or catch a cab..if they were lucky.

I learned a lot about myself in the middle of that craziness. I’m still getting perspective on it. I’m still settling in with the personal fight I fought at mile 10. We runners are not special or need to be coddled, we expect to suffer in our mad attempt to overcome whatever we are trying to overcome..but we do want to feel safe. And I didn’t necessarily feel safe in this race. But this is my story. I’m only one of a huge mass of people who attempted something challenging. And that, in the end, is what it’s all about. Moving on.

If you really want to hear the horror of it..go here. And here Jill Will Run.

Our charity made it into the top 100 and received a $25,000 gift from Chase. I know the direct recipients, the children at The House of Love in Thailand, will benefit greatly from this gift. So to all my Facebook friends who voted, thank you!! We are personally invested in this charity as my husband has visited every year for the past three years and created a mini-documentary about the House of Love. We are strong financial supporters to their education and well-being. Our home contains images of the children with my husband, as we consider them part of our family. You can view the mini-doc on the Hope For Hill Tribes link above where you will meet some of these children and hear their story. Thank you so much for your support!

I’ve got a slew of images I just haven’t posted yet. Of course, as usual I am behind. I’ve been running still. I will be doing the Uptown Pumpkin Dash 5k in the morning, Thanksgiving morning, my first Thanksgiving Day race. The temps have been mild for this time of year so I expect a great race. On December 2, I head back to Las Vegas to race the Rock n Roll Las Vegas Marathon and Half Marathon. This is the end of the year big bang for me, I did it last year and will be meeting up with my old buddies once again to race the strip. This year they are doing it at night so it should be loads of fun with costumes, extravagance, flair, and spectacular crowd support. Last year, the race had 34,000 runners. This year it’s 47,000 and sold out. Now that’s going to be a whole lot of maneuvering through the streets. I can’t wait!! Afterwards, I’m going to settle in for the winter. I’m looking forward to taking a break from the long distance running I’ve done this year..but I’ll be back at it come January. I’ve got goals for next year.

While in Tulsa last month, I had the joy of photographing some dear friends of mine with their adopted son, Ilya. He was adopted from Russia a year ago, and they wanted to get some casual photos taken with him. He’s a heart-breaker of a boy and I couldn’t be more thrilled for my friends, who waited a long long long time for him to come.

The next morning, I awoke feeling a little shaky, but on the whole, much better. We listened to the waves rolling outside our window as we dressed for breakfast. Scrambled eggs formed neatly in a square coupled with salty ham, and a tray of fresh fruits with yogurt helped my energy level and filled my empty stomach.

We planned on visiting the Mayan Ruins at Coba. Coba is a 45 minute drive from our hotel. Along the way, we passed through teeny tiny villages that seemed more like outposts than true living communities. The highways, very well maintained, were smooth and virtually traffic free. The difference between the Tulum ruins and the Coba ruins is that at Coba you can actually climb the ruins. In Tulum, you cannot. The Tulum ruins are on the coast line, the Coba ruins are in a forest and seemed to be a little more worn or perhaps not as sophisticated as Tulum. There was a lot of space in between the sites too. I think over all the area covered about 3 miles. And because I was still a little weak, I decided to not use the, “We don’t ride, we’re runners.” statement..and rented a bicycle taxi to take us around. The ruins are situated around four lakes, which gives it the name “Waters stirred by wind.” There is a lot of jungle overgrowth with these ruins. My husband and I joked that this must be where they filmed the scenes on Endor from Return of The Jedi. We half expected ewoks to appear, or at the very least, hobbits.

This is an image of a tlachco, or court. The Mayans used this for a game called Pok-a-tok. That ring in the center you see is the target for a ball. But one could only use the wrist, elbow, or chest. This game usually ended with the loser being beheaded. You can read more about this here: The Mayan Ballgame.

These are roads that one can walk, bike, or be driven by bike taxi to each site…some being a mile apart. For $100 pesos, About $12 American dollars, we took the bike taxi.

One of the reasons for visiting the ruins at Coba, was that my husband and I wanted to CLIMB the temple (Nohoc Mul pyramid). This was the most scary and amazing thing. I have to be honest, it’s intimidating. This particular temple, tallest of all the ruins, stands 138 feet nearly straight up. There are no rails to grab onto. Only a rope which can be pulled only a few inches from the stone. To hold onto the rope one must “skooch” down the steps. I have to tell you, as I watched the individuals climbing this thing, I was overcome with anxiety and concern. If one sudden movement or trip or stumble were to happen, there is nothing to stop the full on tumble downward. And it was hot. And sweaty. And people, all shapes and sizes were climbing this thing. My husband and I stood and watched for a long while, in deep contemplation as to whether we wanted to risk being taken out by someone up above. And I was still not feeling great. But my dream had been to climb it. And damn, if I wasn’t going to. I made it half way up. Then had a panic attack. I sat down for a good while as people came up and down, my feet were sweating and I feared falling forward, slipping, throwing up…I decided it was enough and that there would be another day. So I gingerly stepped each step down back to the safe ground. My husband on the other hand…went to the top, and took the camera with him.

Satisfied with our exploration we headed back to the little town of Tulum for lunch. We stopped in at a little restaurant filled to the brim with Spanish Europeans. We assumed that this might be a good sign as I didn’t want anymore “sick”. We walked in to a sweltering humid room where the owner took us immediately to the kitchen where the dishes that were being served sat out on an open counter. Five dishes that consisted of chicken and/or steak, as well as Pozole soup. No air conditioning. Just fans and flies. And women sweating over the hot oven, stove, and prep area– where a woman was chopping raw chicken next to a mess of raw vegetables. A woman also nearby was washing dishes by hand. I was in deep fear. My husband always up for an adventure and having been very well traveled all over the world, was totally down with this. I on the other hand, began to pray. I ordered the pozole soup. And I have to tell you, it was the best pozole I’ve ever had and to this day, I crave it. It arrived at our table piping hot, wicked delicious.

We decided to walk around Tulum and immerse ourselves in the culture which is something I had been wanting to do. Of course, when I saw this, I thought of the chicken in my soup…and I began to pray, again. A Carniceria, or butcher. The meat was hanging so close to the dirty elements of the room, no air conditioning, all open air..it was 90 degrees and I could hear the chopping of bones from the street. I walked in, pointed to my camera and said, “photo?” to which the man nodded his head then began to put on a show for me, chop chop chop. So glad I asked.

Moving on from the butcher, we explored the streets…

To be cont’d…

When I first married, I had in mind that we would travel. A lot. One of my goals in life is to explore and have great adventures. Not long after we married I planned a trip to Tulum, Mexico. My goal was to stay for two weeks, stumble around, sleep on the beach and visit the Mayan Ruins. I had everything planned…even the Spanish classes at the local community college. We began to take our seats every Tuesday and Thursday learning Spanish from a woman with a thick accent who hailed from Spain. She loved Flamenco dancing and spoke of it quite often during our lessons. We began to learn, a lot. At a fast pace. But as our trip drew closer, work began to interfere with our plans and we made the decision to move to California. Plans for our trip ended abruptly.

Over the years as we began having children my dream of traveling began to fade into the vault of “Someday.” And while my husband travels around the world producing various programs and shooting documentaries, I have been home with our children. Patiently waiting my turn. Someday, I tell myself, someday. It has been a long conversation with myself for many years now, but a week ago last Wednesday for our 15th wedding anniversary, my husband surprised me with a trip to Mexico. And yes, that in itself is wonderful beyond words, but the real kicker here is that he had taken care of everything ahead of time. I didn’t have to figure out childcare or coordinate time or where we were going or for how long. I only had to get in the car, get on the plane, and hit the beach. That was the true blessing to me. An absolute dream come true. And I thanked him generously for it.

We stayed at an amazing beachside “hotel” which is more like a bed and breakfast on the beach, with only four rooms, Al Cielo, an oasis to our hectic lives. The hotel resides at the end of a long dirt road right on the water between Playa Del Carmen and Tulum. It is very private and secluded. No traffic. No television. No late night revelers and no touristy riff raff. Just ocean, delicious food, and all the sunshine a girl could want. It was paradise.

Upon arrival, we pull up to the back of a small building that looks like a wooden hut sporting a thatched roof and wooden beams. The landscape surrounding the building was very clean and exceptionally manicured, we did not, at this point, see the ocean. We followed a sidewalk around through a very slight breezeway when suddenly we stepped up into an open air dining area with a full view of the most spectacular turquoise water the Caribbean had to offer. I stood completely mesmerized by the beauty of it all, warm breeze and the smell of salty air washed over me like a kiss from a lover I had been longing to see. We were heartily greeted by name from the bartender, Santos, who immediately asked us what we would like to drink. We dropped our luggage right there and sat at the bar for some great beer and a light lunch. So far, we were the only patrons present. This was uncomfortable at first, not being used to getting so much attention and feeling like we were putting THEM (the staff) out. It took some time to adjust to the fact that it wasn’t a busy bar/restaurant catering to a mass crowd, but only for those staying at the hotel. And so far, there were only two couples filling two of the four rooms..including us.

We had four days to relax by the water…but there was something on my mind, a bucket list item–The Mayan Ruins. And I wasn’t about to dismiss the fact that just 30 minutes up the road, in Tulum, they were silently standing still on the cliffs of the beautiful Yucatan Peninsula. So the very next morning that we arrived, after a lovely jog on the beach, we set a course to explore.

This particular site is called Zama, which means City at Dawn, because it faces the sunrise. And it is spectacular! For 40 Pesos, about three American dollars, we were allowed to walk the excellently well cared for grounds of the ruins. At the Tulum ruins, visitors are not allowed to climb or walk around on the stone structures themselves. But later, when we visit the ruins in Koba..well, you’ll see. For now, in Tulum, iguanas run freely and the landscape is impeccable. This is Zama…

This particular structure, Temple of the Frescos, was being brushed and cleaned by archeology students at a local University. Still, they were uncovering the many carvings and artwork left by the Mayan people of that time.

This image taken on the cliff, by a kind Japanese tourist, overlooks the Temple Dios Del Viento, or God of Winds, which guarded the city entrance from the sea. Beautiful!

We followed the conclusion of our trip to the Tulum ruins with a delicious Ceviche de Camorones lunch at a local restaurant..

It was after this that I began to feel, well, not so good…to be continued…

I am an American girl. When I was little I was taught to cover my heart during the National Anthem. I still do so to this day. From the time I was very little, I have been patriotic. I love my country. She has been a blessing to the world. She has been a friend…to many. This grand old land evokes a sense of pride and honor. I am proud to be an American.
Today, I ran in honor of 9/11. And when I was running, I was remembering. I remembered how fragile life is. I remembered how courageous and bold we are as a people and how we would gladly give our lives for those in need of saving. I imagined the panic. I imagined the fear. I imagined hearts pounding, running to escape. I felt the weight of gear on my back as I imagined climbing and climbing…and climbing. I imagined stumbling down the thousands of stairs with the terrifying, screaming thought, “What if I don’t make it out.” I imagined the shock and awe. I will never forget watching news correspondent Aaron Brown, on his first day, broadcasting live while the North Tower began to crumble behind him. He stopped in mid sentence, turned to look over his shoulder, paused, turned back to the camera with such disbelief and pain in his eyes…”Good Lord … there are no words.” No, I will never forget that. Not as long as I live.

And, I imagined our warrior President standing at ground zero…

“…I can hear you, the rest of the world hears you, and the people who knocked these buildings down will hear all of us soon.” Followed by cheers, “U.S.A. U.S.A. U.S.A.”

I wish it were still like that. Oh, I can hear it at the Olympics. I can hear it at World Championships. I can hear it when our military sounds off…trying desperately to hold on to the pride of being an American soldier in the face of government cuts. Indispensable. I imagined that God might be curious about our current situation, where every man is out for himself. And the lack of integrity and leadership is like a virus in our government. I wonder…and for the first time in a long long time, I feel unsafe. It wasn’t 9/11 that made me feel vulnerable. It’s what has happened since. It’s what that day and all the days that have followed have done to my sense of security in this country. It’s the attitude of the people crying about not getting theirs, cheating people, stealing from each other, money money money. It’s about lack of true leadership and love for country and the servitude to those people. It’s the pointing fingers and the fault finding that has rattled my sense of security. It’s where I stand back and I look at my children and I think, “Dear God…what is left for them?”

I prayed tonight. And I raised our flag before God and I asked Him to bring a revolution to the hearts and minds of men and women in this country. To bring us back to one. I pray that America will be that city on a hill once again. I pray the people will grow to love her once more. I pray that we will all be the change that we want to see. And that in God’s infinite mercy we would continue to be a blessing to the world. I pray that our season of blessing is not over. For our sake. For our children’s sake. Let us burn bright. God bless America.

photo ©Brad Knull. All rights reserved.