As far as days go, Saturday was a damn good one.
For like the 512th time in her short life, Emma, 9, was yanked prematurely from the warmth of her bed to go watch some combination of family members running a race. This ritual has become as much a part of our lives as playing “20 questions” at dinner or “fart in the round” (a fun game where each family member does their best to fart and you go in a circle. Often times this is a spontaneous game where one person starts, usually a child, and the rest join in. You should try it sometime. You know what they say about families who fart together. They smell?).
Sam, 13, and Ken were running the Turkey Trot 10K. Sam was aiming for a PR, which would be anything below 57:24. 57:23 would be fine. I did my best to park Ken’s big ass truck all crazy and sideways on the side of the road so we could catch them at the four mile mark.
The only thing I like more than watching races is running races. Being on on the sidelines ROCKS even when you are injured and wish you could be running. I get so caught up I find myself getting horse from cheering on strangers and loved ones. I fight back tears constantly. I love the spirit of the race, what can I say.
Mile four and here they come, looking strong, strong, strong. Jess from Mile High Jess left me a comment letting me know she was just behind the boys and recognized me. Hi Jess! She got a PR, so congrats!! (Oh, and whoever it was that said, “I read your blog!” when they ran by, leave me a comment and let me know who you are!)
Here’s Sam (664) and Ken (663). Okay, #450. If you even try to edge out my son or flirt with my husband, I’ll take you down with my crutch:
Here’s Ken handing something off to Emma (see her sweet little gloved pink hand?). Probably his giblet warmer: (Hey! Look! It’s Jess and her husband, right behind them, 895 and 896)
There they go. My two most favorite clumps of testosterone in the whole world, (well, and then there’s my dad, of course).
Emma and I hauled ass in Ken’s oversized manly truck to the finish, honking and yelling like maniacs. I had to pull a u-turn at one point and it involved driving off road into a ditch. I’m convinced that driving/parking to find love ones while their running races is completely life threatening. You have no idea how many close calls I’ve had.
But, dammit if we weren't at the finish when they crossed it in 55:25! Sam takes a full two minutes off for a new PR. He’s looking a bit ragged, but he’s doing it. Ken, like a good dad, let’s son take the lead. (Note to self: Sam needs new shoes):
7th grade posse. All kinds of middle school greatness:
Us. Playing “Fart in the Round” and you can’t even tell:
Post race, I grabbed my vodka and PJs and headed up to mountains with Erika for some girl time. Once we hit the Continental Divide the weather got crazy bad.
We got to the house, which is really shabby and should be condemned (note sarcasm):
And immediately started with the cocktails because nothing says happy hour like 2pm on a snowy Saturday (cue most overused phrase ever: It’s 5 o’clock somewhere).
I had decided that lemon drop martinis were in order (thanks, Kathy, for the recipe), and if you’re going to make them right, you need to use a shit ton of lemons (this was for three drinks, sorry lemon trees somewhere you are feeding girls’ weekends everywhere):
And, then obviously you need to make a video (me and Erika). Don’t look like I have no hurt hip:
What the hell was that?, is right. See, life after 40 can be fun! And insane. I probably need to be on some sort of downer medication to bring me back to earth. I swear, I hadn’t yet had even a sip of alcohol. Just lots of meth. Kidding.
We drank, ate and watched SATC2, which we thought sucked the big one. Like Aidan would really just happen to be in Abu Dabi.
Late night, once were were really dehydrated and tired, we got in the hot tub. It was about 5 degrees, snowing and windy. We farted out chicken enchiladas for awhile (but with the bubbles, it’s hard to tell, but the stench, good God). We stayed in until we saw a coyote walk by and then heard him start howling. We hauled ass inside because we are wimps like that. Camera got so cold it fogged up.
This morning, it was time to head back to reality (one eyed dog is probably hungry, dirty skid marked underwear to launder, etc.).
We bid farewell. Right here are two of the best girlfriends anyone could hope for:
Grateful for it all,