I'd like to thank my agent....

I cringe a little when I think of December 29, 2012. It was six months ago today. It was also the day I was lifting a Christmas tree and poof! My back collapsed.

I'd like to think that 6 months dealing and healing has changed me for the better. I have more compassion when I hear about others who have back pain. I understand my dad and his never-ending back saga (2 back surgeries, with shaved discs and multiple fused vertebrae) in a way I never did before. I remember him laying on the floor, reading the newspaper next to a tall icy glass of water, calling out to my mom (or whoever else would listen), "My legs, Sue, my legs. I can't stand the pain in my legs!" Now, when my mom talks about her back I can relate.

I know it has made me more grateful. I feel gratitude for days when I don't have to take ibuprophen (which happens more and more lately.) It is a relief to bend over to brush my teeth or stand up from a chair without pain radiating down the back of my leg (most of the time.) Sitting in an uncomfortable both at a restaurant is no longer a lesson in torture. The day I was able to do a yoga sun salutation (however glacially slow!) was a success - I could touch the floor with my legs straight! I could hold downward dog! I could roll up slowly with only a twinge of pain at the very end! It's true that long car rides make me nervous, and I still think of the possibility of it collapsing again when I'm running down a long hill. But for the most part, I'm feeling hopeful. And mostly normal. Which is such a wonderful thing!

I feel like I'm giving an Academy Award acceptance speech. So, without further ado, I'd like to thank the Academy for giving me this day, June 29, 2013, a mostly back-pain-free day. I couldn't have completed this amazing journey without the 125+ ibuprophen 800 mg I've taken. My inspiration came from the months of meditation - Oprah and Deepak - you have my gratitude. Let's see, who have I forgot? My physical therapist - I was too cheap to visit you more than twice, but your exercises made all the difference. Black foam roller - you know what you've done for me. I love ya, Blackie. My husband, for listening to me whine and complain for 6 weeks before I went to the doctor, and the team at TOSH for refilling prescriptions and fielding my confusing and slightly-panicked follow-up phone calls. Also...oh wait, there's the music. Thank you June 29, 2013. If for nothing else, for not being December 29, 2012.

It's the most wonderful time of the year...A Ragnar Eve tribute

It's here! Ragnar Eve! Which technically, I like Ragnar Eve-Eve better, but I didn't have time to blog. But yay, it's today! And tomorrow right now I should be done with my first leg - a 2.5ish mile straight-as-a-pin jaunt in Odgen Valley. There isn't a single hill or turn. Boring! But maybe that will make me fast.

Ragnar is a half-hearted event this year. Shane keeps claiming it is a Farewell Tour - we'll see about that. I'm kind of tired of being the team captain. I did delegate - I didn't rent the van this year, a first. That means I don't have to drive the whole time! I'm also doing a new leg - 8 - instead of 12, w which I've done for the past 2 years. I keep wondering - how long do I keep running the same race? But at the same time, I can't imagine having a June without Ragnar. It wouldn't feel like summer. A possible replacement race: Top of Zion Relay. Amy - you interested?

But for today, I'm enjoying what the day before Ragnar always entails. It's getting all the running clothes in the house clean. It's buying sports drinks, chocolate milk, and athletic tape at Walmart. It's doing my Friday chores a day early so they are done. I've got spaghetti with salad and french bread for dinner. My ziplock baggies are ready for packing all 3 of my running "outfits" and I rememberd to buy batteries for the headlamps. I bought three new Imagine Dragons songs, one Lumineers, and one Mumford & Sons. I think I'm ready.

Ragnar 2013 here we come! Go team Chafing Tail.

Is anyone you know running Ragnar? Do you think they are crazy for doing it?

Mowing my dad's lawn

I can only remember mowing my parent's lawn one time. I was 22. I wore a black tank top and a black pair of terry cloth shorts. My dad was out of town while he tried to find a job in Las Vegas, where he could live with my uncle and aunt. It was a hot Saturday morning and mid-way through my two oldest nieces showed up and we drove to Brookside gas station for cokes. It wasn't fun and I remember it being hot, and the particular way that the mid-morning sun dappled the backyard lawn through the trees.

I thought about this singular experience on Friday when I mowed it for the second time. I thought about how personal the grass seemed, like it was a reflection of my dad somehow. A reflection of his service and vision and hard work. If there was one thing my dad was good at, it was yardwork and yard design. I thought about my mom, who was planting flowers in the east flower bed, the one with the rocks that had just the perfect surface area for my feet to walk on in incessant circles on hot summer days.

The side yard on the west was a mess of overgrown trees, both intentional trees and many volunteers. I took the shears and cut and cut away at the burgundy-leafed branches that hung over their allotted space. The best moment was when the branch would spring just a little higher after my cut, free of the weight of so many leaves. My dad would have done the same trimming with more intention, I'm sure, but I have no doubt he would have approved of the reemergence of grass and curbing.

I was happy to see the rose bush I butchered on the day my dad died blooming. There are no reminders of the volunteer tree I cut down. I can't remember now why I escaped to the yard and indulged in therapeutic trimming, but it's still a fond memory of that day.

Father's Day was never a big focus. It should have been, but in a family of 6 where 5 are female, the man tends to lose most of the battles. I know we often combined my dad's early June birthday with Father's Day. He didn't mind. He was happy to receive the new book Amy would find for him, the shirts my mom would offer, the kisses and hugs from the grandkids and the German chocolate cake (his favorite.) I can't remember the last Father's Day gift I gave him. But, on Friday, I knew I was giving him a gift. Of my time. Of my memories. Of my kids pulling weeds and blowing tree pollen from the patio and driveway. I wish I had more time to do these tasks, or that I lived closer. The lawn has to be mowed every week, after all. I'm not the only one of his progeny who have or will mow it.  But for at least one week, it was done my me. Which I hope counts for something.