Ok, I realize that getting four responses out of my eight readers is, statistically, fantastic - even if one of them was late.

Since it seems cruel to pick three out of four people to win something, I will be making four cds and looking forward to seeing four friends cross the finish line.

But seriously people - only four!

Fine.

I can deal with that.

I’m going to keep pushing, except now there will be no musical incentives.

Alecia, Nick and Nichole (and the late, but not entirely lame, Jen) - you are officially not on The LAME List. Your cd’s are en route and I will see you on some upcoming race days!

The rest of you - and I know who you are, it’s one of the benefits of an unpopular blog - suit up! You’re about to be pushed.

As we drove through the snow, heading south on Wednesday, I concluded that my love affair with Oregon may contain one, fatal flaw: I end up wet and freezing every time I go there.

(To prove my point see Exhibit A: Saddle Mountain Death Hike and Exhibit B: Cyclocross Typhoon Insanity.)

I’m sure these instances have nothing to do with the fact that we tend to travel in the off-season.

Regardless, we headed down to Cannon Beach this weekend amid forecasts of hail, snow and high winds - and we got all those things. Spring in the Northwest being what it is, we also got some glorious sunshine, the occasional dry spell and enough crashing waves to keep me centered and sane for at least a few more months.

On Thursday we woke up to sunshine and decided to brave a short hike. I wanted to do Saddle Mountain again, but, thankfully, we decided that the weather didn’t look nearly that promising, so we ended up at Cape Falcon. It was the perfect hike for the day we had, under trees for most of the way (thus protecting us from the intermittent hail) and culminating in a beautiful view overlooking the ocean. We used to go on short day hikes all the time, but, like so many other things, life and a small child came and changed our plans. It was great to remember why we like hiking so much, and we are looking forward to taking Andrew with us on some of those day hikes this summer.

Friday brought even wilder weather, so we decided to drive south and see if we could get out of the storm. We ended up at Yaquina Head Lighthouse, one of our favorite places to walk around and look at things. The weather tried its best to cooperate and we got to stay outside for a while without getting soaked.

For better or worse, the fact remains that these little trips do more to forge our relationship than years of everyday life. We don’t communicate very well in everyday life. We pass entire weeks without talking, or listening. We bicker and argue and complain. But put us in a car with some good music and we start talking, and listening, and our complaining turns to problem-solving, and, as the miles pass, we start laughing at things that no one else would find funny, and we grow quiet, or sing together. Put us in a car and we remember why we signed up for this marriage in the first place.

Some people wonder why we always go to Oregon for our vacations.

We just know that those 200 miles south are exactly what we need.

Okay, so I haven’t been trying a new recipe every week - or every month for that matter.

A girl can only do so much, and cooking new things is not high on my list right now.

However, I did a little renovation to an old favorite recently. This recipe makes a ridiculous number of muffins and each one is guaranteed to make your taste buds smile.

Behold, Banana Bran Muffins.

Some friends have accused me of being a pusher.

I don’t deny it. In fact, I’m embracing the role and taking it to the next level.

I have been compiling a new Ultimate Running Mix. As of today, it has 144 awesomely random, eclectic songs on it.

I will make three cd’s with songs from this list.

To get your hands on one, you must do two things, first, leave a comment on this post before noon on Sunday, March 30, second, agree to run (and/or walk) a race with me before the end of 2008.

How’s that for pushing?

An impartial judge (Andrew) will draw the winners at random on Sunday night and I will announce them on Monday or Tuesday.

C’mon, you know you want to!

200.9

I really can’t think of anything more to say. My favorite jeans are falling off. Seriously. The authority structure is fatally compromised when a three-year-old can unintentionally pants his mother in the middle of Target.

We’re getting ready to go on vacation. I’m planning on bringing food for breakfast, lunch and snacks and eating out for dinner. I will be partaking of the World’s Best Clam Chowder and my favorite ice cream. I’m planning on running or hiking at least twice during the trip and, come next Monday, the scale will say what it will say.

I need to shop for a belt.

“When does a jogger become a runner? Here’s a hint: It has little to do with going faster. There is no cutoff speed per mile, no magic number of miles per week, no firm starting point at which the moniker is bestowed.

The difference between the two exists primarily as a mind-set. While some women are content with jogging as a fitness activity, others find that running gets under their skin and becomes a part of their fiber. Much like playing an instrument or keeping a journal, what you get out of running isn’t determined by how good you are at it. The joy of participation is not an exclusive commodity reserved for the elite runner any more than it is for the concert pianist.

Once a woman becomes a runner, she finds that the sport is woven into the fabric of her life. Whereas running might have been only a vehicle before - to fitness, or weight loss, for example - it now becomes the rarest of things: a means and an end. To a runner, running is still a means of strength and health, of exploration and socialization. But unlike the jogger, who might take up the sport primarily out of a sense of duty or for the extrinsic benefits, such as weight loss, the runner finds that the very act itself is enough. Running is the things she craves. Within it is a new sense of wonder at the power of movement - whether labored or light - over ground, the rise and fall of breath in her chest. When a woman knows this feeling, she knows that she cannot do without running. And thus is born a runner.” Dagny Scott Barrios Runner’s World: Complete Book of Women’s Running

I ran 10.94 miles today.

I thought I had run eleven, inaccurately picturing the map in my head as I struggled to get enough air in my lungs, but I hadn’t.

I ran 10.94 miles today. On a cold, frosty morning when it seemed that winter had missed its cue to exit stage right. On a cold, sunny morning when my shadow stretched, long and lean with ponytail flying, over the pavement, and I watched it and nurtured the growing crush I have on myself.

I ran 10.94 miles today. Because running is cheaper than Prozac. Because my training plan told me that was what I needed to do. Because I am more than a little bit obsessed. I ran.

10.94 miles.

Up and down the rolling hills of my city. Through the park. Dangerously close to my house. Away again, in to Northeast Tacoma. Different bus stops, different library, new city, same sidewalk.

The crowds were missing today. I only saw two other runners and a handful of walkers. I wondered where the regulars were, but the solitude suited me just fine.

I ran 10.94 miles today. And it was good.

With three girl cousins Andrew often ends up playing games like Fairyland. Contrary to the face in the picture, he usually manages to enjoy himself.

They have big plans for him, as Bree said when she found out he was a boy, “Oh good! Now Sarah doesn’t have to be the prince anymore.”

As stated previously, the game is back on.

204.6

Total loss, in eleven months, 20.6 lbs.

First long-term goal, the under 200 range, in sight.

This is the week I expected to gain. The week that my ring and my pants don’t fit right. I’m giving it another couple of rounds to prove itself, but I suspect I just exposed another excuse that can be tossed out like yesterday’s coffee grounds (composted, naturally).

Shedding excuses is a lot like shedding pounds. I think I need them to protect me. I think I won’t know what to do with myself if I can’t hide behind them. I think that they are such a part of who I am that I could never let them go.

And then I do. And the world keeps on spinning. And I’m still me. And I think it will get easier. And maybe it does.

I slept horribly on Saturday night, alternating dreams of record times with dreams of utter failure. I couldn’t fall asleep. I woke up because I was too cold. I woke up because I thought it was raining. I woke up at 4:30 because I am nothing if not a creature of habit. Finally, I woke up 10 minutes before my alarm went off, sure that I had overslept and missed the race.

After taking two days off to find my legs I felt good. Sleepy, but ready to run. My carefully rationed Stumptown coffee helped.

We showed up early, slightly obsessive about having enough time. The crowds were tremendous, over 15,500, they say.

Alicia’s virus got the better of her (this time) and she had to bow out. Nick, Nichole and I were ready to go though, and I’m pushing for Alicia to join us at the Tulip Fields in April.

We took off, fighting our way through the slowest start imaginable. I couldn’t believe it when Nick’s watch showed 10 minutes at the first mile marker, I had written the race off, but we were still in sight of our goal. I put my head down and passed another runner.

We lost Nichole shortly after mile one. She hadn’t run in a while and wasn’t sure if she was going to run the whole 3.5 mile course. We went through the Battery Street tunnel and on to the Viaduct and I felt fast. We were keeping pace with some pretty serious runners and passing a lot of joggers. I heard someone say we were two-thirds of the way through and Nick said we were at 20 minutes. The goal of a 10-minute mile pace was becoming a reality.

As we came down off the Viaduct and around the last corner I spotted the finish line. I picked up the pace again and heard Nick ask if I was going to speed up. I said yes and, suddenly, he was off. I guess that long stride really does make a difference because I had no chance of keeping up with him. I yelled some snarky comment and he seemed to slow down a bit, so I yelled louder, “Go! Run! Run!” I kept my eye on him - tall boys with orange hats are easy to spot - and finished strong. The unofficial time was 33 minutes and change - well under my 10-minute mile goal.

The official time was 32.42 - a 9:26/mile pace.

Hell yeah!

We tried to find Nichole in the crowd and there she was, beaming. She had run the whole thing! Slightly hungover (!), out of practice, not expecting to do it - she ran the whole thing.

I almost cried.

Sitting at brunch, talking over omelettes and more coffee, it occurred to me. I’ve been friends with these two for a long time. Twenty-four years with Nichole and over ten with Nick. And here we were, exceeding expectations. Pushing ourselves. Getting better.

I freakin’ love this.

Andrew is peeing in the potty like a pro…

…but he is, and I quote, “too afraid of the poop.”

Any suggestions, O wise ones who have gone before.

Here’s to Nichole, who bowed to peer pressure and agreed that I could sign her up for the St Pats Dash on Sunday! May she (and the rest of us) be rewarded with a sunny day.

Perhaps I offended some capricious deity by channeling my favorite arrogant bastard, “Watch your step kids…”, was, perhaps, not the best leading line.

Perhaps my proclivity to self-destruct is stronger than I thought.

Perhaps Justin Timberlake is right and what goes around does, in fact, come back around.

Perhaps there is something to be said for not ignoring the warning found in last week’s memory verse: “Can a man scoop fire into his lap without his clothes being burned? Can a man walk on hot coals without his feet being scorched?” Proverbs 6:27-28

Whatever the reason, I did not have a great week last week. Plans were changed. Much food was eaten. Snacks were had.

My weight was only up .2, to 206.5. But I should have lost this week. I know that there is one week per month that I will probably gain (or at least I’m assuming I will gain because my ring - which normally fits only on my middle finger - doesn’t even fit on my ring finger during that week. Damn you water retention!) but this was not that week. No, the gain this week came because I thought that I could scoop fire into my lap without my clothes being burned.

I stand by what I said last week, even if the tone offended the Universe, if you don’t start with a plan, you will never accomplish your goals.

And, apparently, if you don’t stick to you plan, you will also not accomplish your goals.

Point taken.

Game (back) on.

I got this picture from my friend Alicia last week.

She was training for this, her first race, and not sure if she would be able to compete due to an injury. Nick and I went and got our gear on Saturday, so the three of us are ready to go! As an added bonus, Alicia is making ‘car bomb’ ice cream for us to eat after the race. NICE!

I’m revising my goal for this run. Originally, I said under 30 minutes. Then I learned that it was a slightly more than 3.5 mile race instead of a 3.1 mile race. Those extra steps make a difference, especially since I am still hard-pressed to run 3.1 miles in under 30 minutes. So, my new goal is under 35 minutes, which is actually the same goal (10-minute mile) adjusted for the increased distance.

Just thought I would get that in writing before I start freaking out about my race time.

Now I just have to find my fast legs … I know they are around here somewhere.

even when he spends most of the day acting like a little, three-foot-high terrorist.

I’ve taught him well. He’s singing to the columbines.

The Thirteenth Tale by Diane Setterfield is up on the Book List, read my comments and then read the book. Oh, who am I kidding, just go read the book! Check out the website too, it’s worth it.

Not every three-year-old can claim to be a two-fisted drinker.

Watch your step, kids, because I’m about to drop some knowledge.

If you don’t start with a plan, you will never accomplish your goals.

If you are like I was, you are tired of hearing that. Unfortunately for you, it is TRUE, so until you start acting on it things will not change.

If you don’t start with a plan, you will never accomplish your goals.

Yeah, I said it again.

The control-freak in me loves this. I distort the truth and tell myself that all I need is a plan, and then - magically - things will happen. I forget that I have to make, and then follow, the plan in order to ensure success.

The single most important reason the numbers have been going down on my scale is because I make a plan at the beginning of the week and then, for the most part, I stuck to it.

This week my weight was 206.3, down one pound.

In case you are interested in starting a plan for yourself, here is what mine looked like for last week. Notice that the goal calories and the actual calories are slightly different. This allows me to eat a little something that is not planned almost every day, and gives me the illusion of still having choices. I crank out one of these lists every Sunday afternoon and I print it out, then as the days progress I cross off the things I have already eaten and I check the list when I am hungry to see what I have left to eat that day. When everything is crossed off, I am done eating.

It is quick and easy, at least on paper. I round all the calories to the nearest five to make the math easier and I keep a page in my excel workbook with a list of the foods I normally eat and their nutrition information so I don’t have to look them up every time. Restaurant websites and ones like www.nutritiondata.com are indispensable. Once you have a knowledge base established, the planning itself takes about 30-40 minutes and it makes grocery shopping a breeze.

For a long time I set my stubborn heart against this sort of submission. I believed that I could make a good decision on the spur of the moment and that I was smart enough to keep track of all the things I was eating in my head. These beliefs are lies. I look forward to the day when there is a little bit more breathing room on my list, for instance, writing dinner out with Justin and knowing that I could face any restaurant we chose without ruining my week. But, for now, this is working for me.

So you’re going to have to get used to hearing me preach about it.

Sheesh, getting all that Crazy out really cleared the air around here. I’m back to the right perspective of appreciating progress for its own sake and cutting myself just a bit of slack.

And, this week, I’m getting inspired.

My fridge is covered with words that other people said, some inspiring, some entertaining, some downright corny. Literature, politics, song lyrics, poems, greeting cards - I love them all. The immortal timeliness of words written down is fascinating to me.

As I stand on the edge of lasting change, I am increasingly drawn to quotes that, at one point in my life, would have seemed too dangerous.

“This is what you shall do: love the earth and sun and the animals, despise riches, give alms to every one that asks, stand up for the stupid and crazy, devote your income and labor to others, hate tyrants, argue not concerning God, have patience and indulgence toward the people, take off your hat to nothing known or unknown or to any man or number of men, go freely with powerful uneducated persons and with the young and with the mothers of families, read these leaves in the open air every season of every year of your life, re-examine all you have been told at school or church or in any book, dismiss whatever insults your own soul, and your very flesh shall be a great poem…” - Walt Whitman

Rise by Eddie Vedder - Such is the way of the world / You can never know / Just where to put all your faith / And how will it grow? / Gonna rise up / Burning black holes in dark memories / Gonna rise up / Turning mistakes in to gold / Such is the passage of time / Too fast to fold / Suddenly swallowed by signs / Lo and behold / Gonna rise up / Find my direction magnetically / Gonna rise up / Throw down my Ace in the Hole

There is danger in such thinking, I still see that. Danger that the status quo will no longer be acceptable. Danger that you might have to actually do something in order to get from where you are to where you want to be. But the danger I used to be afraid of? No, it is not there. God is either big enough to handle close examination or too small to matter. My heart is capable of big dreams, and those big dreams are not to be dismissed out of hand. I can examine my soul with the same critical thinking skills that I apply to everything else and find that there is truth hidden among The Crazy.

I can sift the gold from the dross and trust the truth a little bit more.

One of my dear friends gave me this advice on motivating (read: bribing) children: There is not one way to motivate a child. You just have to figure out what is so important to them that they will do anything to get it.

I took that advice to heart, which explains how I ended up articulating the following sentence this morning:

“Andrew, you MAY NOT empty the food scraps bucket in to the compost until after you sit on the potty.”

Presto! Clean pants and an empty food scrap bucket. It’s a win-win.