As I watch my baby daughter, now 9 years old and in 4th grade, disappear into the doors of her elementary school for the first day, I tear up and am on my way to the hills for a high altitude trail run. Back to school marks those new beginnings like birthdays and New Year’s where we re-evaluate life and progress and what is important. I love watching them grow and become their own little people. But, what I wouldn’t give to go back for one day. Just one. To hold her two year old soft baby hand, to watch her babble “mama” as she pushes her baby stroller around the living room. Sigh.
So, Sam (who starts school tomorrow) and I are off to Breckenridge. My stud friend Julie who just set a new course record at a duathlon in Leadville, is taking me on a ten mile jaunt at 9,500 feet. This will be my final attempt to convince myself that I can and will complete all 20.4 miles with Dean on Sunday. My mom who is as good of a Greek cook as any Greek mama (she’s not Greek, but we used to live there and she can make a mean moussaka and tzatziki), has agreed to make Dean a huge pan of baklava for the finish line festivities. You’ve never tasted baklava like hers.
I had my ass worked on yesterday. My massage therapist gets in there and digs like an excavator. She found the trigger points and dug deep. At one point when I was laying butt naked face down on the table she said, “Whatever you do, do not fart right now.” Laughing I told her her I wasn't planning on it but asked her why. She answered, “Because my face is right by your crack.” With respect, I held it in. I was sore post massage, but knock on wood the ass feels pretty great today. We’ll see how the mountains treat it.