Dedicated to my favorite older sister whose name is not Sabrina, who was also cursed with crappy feet

So here's my story. I am actually not attempting to sway anyone to any particular opinion. I am just here to tell my story.

I am cursed with the feet of my father.

For a long time I have suffered with Plantar Fasciitis, which meant that my feet (arches) ached pretty much all the time, particularly in the morning. When I woke up in the morning, or after sitting for a long time, I would just hobble in terrible pain until after I had been up and moving for a while the pain would lessen.

I visited the podiatrist who recommended stretching, icing, orthotics, Aleve, shoes with good arch support, the whole 9 yards. I followed the suggestions and found some measure of relief, but not to the degree I had hoped. Sometimes it was better than other times, but I just figured that this was the Curse of My Father and something I would just have to endure.

Enter my (sad) attempts at running. From the beginning, the inital part of the run was just a killer on my arches. It would subside some as I ran, but then afterwards my feet would be as sore as my legs. Again, I figured this was just part of being a Walker and I would have to learn to ignore it.

So I went to a running class at Runner's Corner earlier this year. I took along my trusty Saucony shoes which I have loved because they offer as much arch support as any shoe I have found. The trainers at Runners Corner showed me how I've been running all wrong and what I needed to be doing instead. They also discussed shoes.

Their explanation of shoes was something I found to be quite interesting. Basically, their postion was that the thick heel of the traditional running shoe forces a runner to strike the pavement heel first, resulting in injury to the runner. Additionally, all of the high-tech arch supports in the modern shoe were actually making arches weaker, not stronger. This is based on the theory that the more you support a thing, making it do less to support itsself, the weaker the thing becomes. They suggested that the way to go was minimal. No giant,cushioned heel. No arch support. Basically the shoe should provide protection from the ground, and that's about it.

I wasn't quite ready to go the minimalist route, but I was intrigued by their logic enough to meet them half way - a 4 mm drop from heel to toe, with just a little arch support.

Or as I affectionately call them, my Mint Brownie Shoes.

I have had them for a while now, and I have found that while I don't love them for jogging, I like them at least as well as my cushion-y Sauconys, but I absolutely LOVE them for hiking. They are actually categorized as a trail shoe and they are perfect for that.

So after finding that I don't love them for jogging (my feet noticeably roll inwards when I jog in them), I decided to look in to the whole Zero Drop concept presented at the Running Class.

I did some research on the internet (because, of course, everything on the internet is true) and read the book they recommended, "Born to Run." It was a really good book, except for some unnecessarily colorful language, and I learned a lot about the evolution of the modern running shoe and the current trend back to minimalist shoes and even barefoot running.

So I decided tht $100 was worth the gamble based on what I had read and we went back again to Runners Corner and I tried both the five-fingered shoes (Jack calls them gorilla shoes) and the Altra brand zero-drops.

While both were surprisingly comfortable, the Altras didn't look so freaky as the five-fingered shoes and were way easier to put on. So I bought the Altras, and read the literature that came with them regarding transitioning to a zero drop shoe.

Once I recovered from the inital blisters that are my torment with any new shoes I get, I followed the transition rules (mostly) until now the Altras are my only jogging shoe.

I am not telling this story to brag about my prolific jogging abilities (1 mile - Whoohoo!!!), but rather to explain what has happened with my feet.

I try to be barefoot (or in socks only) whenever I can. When I come home from work, I immediately take my shoes off and keep them off unless I'm going outside.

When I can wear casual shoes, I wear my Altras.

RESULT: I have had no pain . . . NO PAIN . . . in my arches since I made the transition. No pain in the mornings, no pain when I'm jogging, no pain ever.

These are my Altras, they are called Delilah, and I love them.

Again, no attempt to preach. Just a testimonial of my experience. :)

Yep, Still Bitter

The preserving season is upon us. I had enough raspberries and blackberries this year to make up a batch of jam. Isn't it so pretty? Lane picked another 2 cups or so of raspberries this morning, not enough to make more jam, but enough for snacking on. And for it being the odd year for the apple tree, it sure has a lot of apples on it. I had Jack go out and thin them, so hopefully they won't be as small as last year. The peaches are coming along, but sadly our little peach tree in the front yard that had finally started to produce more than a few peaches died. We don't know why. It just up and died. We have lovely pepper plants - the ones I so carefully grew from seed - but they aren't producing any peppers. But they are nice and big and full and leafy. Sadly, I cannot preserve leafy. I tried growing tomatillos this year, and I'm not altogether sure what to do with them. I don't think there will end up being very many of them (1 plant) so I will probably just grind them up with the tomatoes for tomato sauce. The construction on the canal has uncovered some heretofore unknown grape vines. If the birds leave them alone, maybe I can do something with them. They are green, not Concord, so I'm not quite sure what to do with them. The juicer I bought a few years ago makes such easy work of the Concord grapes! I did juice last year, so I think I'll do some jelly this year.


I love that fall is coming.


Christmas projects are in the works . . . boxes of pectin are laying around on the counter tops . . . every trip to the grocery store has me buying canning lids . . .I look at the sweaters in my closet with a warm "I've missed you, old friend" sort of feeling . . . the rumblings of the beginnings of college football . . . It's all the sorts of things that make this old gal's heart swell with happiness. The next closest feeling is that nesting groove we ladies get into just before a new baby.


Of course, normally this time of year I also start my 30 day packing for my September cruise. Maybe I can talk Lane into wearing one of his Hawaiian shirts (which he hates with the white hot passion of a thousand suns) just to take the edge off my pain. The other option is for me to wander around in my swimming suit, which no one wants to see. Ever. So if you want to avoid such a terrifying sight, please come to my house and make my bed and dinner, and leave a little mint on my pillow and a towel animal on my bed. It's really not so much to ask.

Bitter? Who. . . Me?

I don't really have anything to say.

I just noticed that its been a pretty long time since my last post so I thought I should check in. Due to the Olympics I have accomplished almost nothing in the last 2 weeks, other than watch lots of swimming, lots of gymnastics, lots of racing, lots of diving, rowing, kayaking, cycling, power walking (who knew THAT was an Olympic event??), volleyball, and even some hammer throw, shot put, high jump, and sadly, equestrian and synchronized swimming. I love the Olympics. Ironically, it turns me into Queen of the Couch Potatoes. But now it's over and I have to mourn and move on. It's like when Friends ended and I didn't know what to do with myself.

And now it's time to go back to school. I have totally enjoyed this summer and for once I'm not anxious for school to start. Maybe it's because it's Taylor's last year. Maybe it's because it cost me a fortune to get Jack and Taylor enrolled and I'm slightly bitter. Maybe it's because I'm not cruising this year and I'm extremely bitter . . . nay, bitterly bitter. We'll just have to go on an extra good cruise when Lane's done with school. In January 2014. Sigh . . .

Didders and Sisterly Love

See - I told you it wasn't the last time I talked them into a 5k. We even got Lane's Grandma Wilson involved. Notice Taylor's charity smile. She was mad at us for making her get up so early. We all had a good race; Jack continuing to improve his time, and me falling back by about 45 seconds. I totally could have done better but I give up so darn easily. Lane told me he was going to walk the entire course, but his old high school track days got the better of him and as soon as the starting pistol sounded he was off and running. I caught up to him after about 1/2 mile and he was walking. So I figured, "Hey, he's a fast walker. I'll just walk the rest of the way with him and probably do just as well." So I started to slow down as I approached him, and he looked back and saw me and started to run again. The Jerk. He let me catch up to him, smiled at me, smacked my big ole butt, and said "Keep going." And then he walked again.


Crap. I had to keep going. I had figured out where the one mile mark would be and wanted to go that far before I stopped. But since I am me, I stopped too soon, even though I knew I could still go on. I keep telling myself if I can just get through that hellacious first mile, I'm good to go. So naturally I give up before the 1 mile is up. Truly, I am my own worst enemy.


I alternated walking and running the rest of the way, continually giving up while I still had more in the tank. And that's why I finished 45 seconds slower. And that's why I barely beat Lane.


Taylor arrived about 10 minutes later, and Grandma and Addie were about 5 minutes behind that. Grandma was thrilled to still have other people behind her.


As we waited for the time cards for Taylor, Addie and Grandma, our Fire Chief came over and congratulated Grandma on participating. The oldest age category was 70-99, and Grandma (age 81) was the only woman in that entire division. We were all both proud and amused that her card read "1st" in her division. We think she should frame it.

We set up at our spot in front of PG Printers on Main Street for the parade. We had a pretty large group this year, including my sister Sabrina and a few of her kids. (Sabrina and her son Dallas also ran in the 5k, and Sabrina and Jack were good cheerleaders for me for that final block.)

Busy, busy Jack had to get himself up to the high school immediately following the 5k to walk in the parade with his FCCLA group since he is the Vice President over Membership for the next school year. Needless to say, he was a little worn out afterwards.

I made these cupcakes for my neice Kassie's baby Hazel's blessing/2 year old son Emmett's birthday. They are lemon cake with fresh raspberry frosting. Seriously, the frosting is so easy - 1 cup butter (room temperature), 1 cup fresh raspberries, and powdered sugar. That's it. Really, that's it. Sooooo good.

These are my 4th of July cupcakes. My 4th of July sprinkles are all used up, so I used some metallic colored ones that my sister Mie sent me. Hopefully Mie also took the hint regarding my lack of patriotic sprinkles. She could just send them out with Amanda when she comes next summer, since I wouldn't need them before that. And hopefully she will also know how much I appreciate the metallic ones shown here as well as the snowflake ones, and the pearl ones, and the gold flake ones, and all the other ones that she's sent out. That's sisterly love, is what that is. Sprinkles, AKA "didders." Don't ask. My sisters will understand. :)

Memorial Day

For the very first (and surprisingly not last) time I convinced Taylor and Lane to do a 5k. This was the Run for Remembrance in American Fork. It was a freebie, and you all know how I do love me a freebie. We had to pay for the shirts, and of course the organization welcomed donations of any amount, but if you didn't want a shirt it was totally free. Lots of people were there, lots of families which made it fun. Several members of my ward were there, but they are REAL runners, including the long-mocked in this blog Stephanie and Molly. We had a good time and I hope we can make it an annual event. Jack had a really good run and finished in about 30 minutes. Since I already had one 5k under my belt for this season, it went smoothly, despite a large hill over by the cemetery. I beat my Running with Angels time by about 30 seconds or so.

Because my Grandma Walker tortured all of us grandkids on Memorial day when I was a kid by dragging us all over PG cemetery, I have decided my own kids can benefit from the same torture. We go down with my parents and my dad is pretty good at pointing out all the relatives graves (and in this town, there are MANY) and really submitting my kids to a torture that Grandma Walker would be proud of. To make is extra painful for them this year, we were met by some Henson Walker relatives at the Henson Walker gravemarker whom we did not know, so my dad had to go down through all the lineage to identify where exactly we met in with these strangers (different Henson Walker wives, it turns out). Oh my, the eye rolling that ensued. I think we were only seconds away from a full blown tantrum. It would be fun to see Jack throw himself on the ground, kicking and screaming at his age.

While we were at the cemetery my nerdy . . . no, my smart son Jack found himself a stick in the shape of pi. Totally made up for everything else.

Nostalgia

Once upon a time in a land far away (not really far away - in fact, the land is right here where I'm sitting) there lived a little girl named Lari who had some really great besties. There was Laura, Jennifer, Nichole and Heather. They were really good little friends, particularly me with Laura and Jennifer, and we had all kinds of little girl fun playing and riding our bikes up and down Luck Drive back in the day when only one or two cars came down the road during the daytime hours. We walked all over the town - downtown to Norton's grocery store for a soda or down to the old Sno Shak that used to be by Purple Turtle, or down to Purple Turtle for some gems. We always walked when we went that far, I think because it was just too much work to ride the bikes uphill back home. We walked to the pool and stayed for hours. When we were older we would go down to University Mall, where we somehow managed so waste an entire Saturday on only $5 in cash.



In high school, we skipped far too many classes and ran out of gas enough times on long lunches off campus that you would think we would learn our lesson (in our defense, the gas gauge in Jennifer's old Mercury didn't work).



During those idyllic years of growing up, we all agreed that we would all get married and have kids at the same times so our kids could grow up together, and we would all live on the same street so we could have Sunday afternoon BBQs together. You know, literal BFFs and all that.



But we didn't get married close to the same time. And we didn't live by each other. And I'm pretty sure we don't have kids the same ages. We don't even talk all that often. It is the sad part of growing up . . . and growing apart.



But life has a funny way about it. Who knew 20 years ago when I married Lane that I would end up right back on Luck Drive? And yet here I am. And while Jennifer doesn't live in her house at the other end of Luck Drive, she does live about 2 blocks away. And Nichole doesn't live very close by either, but she is in my ward and I see her nearly every Sunday.



There have been no Sunday BBQs, but we went on a cruise with Jennifer and her husband 2 years ago, and we go out to dinner once in a while. I text Heather every now and then and we usually get together for lunch every year - although this year hasn't happened yet. Totally my fault. I'm being difficult.



Anyway, all this has been on my mind as I head out every day for my evening walk. My return route brings me past Jennifer's new house (and her old house) and some other houses that weren't there back in the day. And I think of all the people who maybe didn't grow up on Luck Drive specifically, but in the old Pleasant Grove 13th Ward, and how many of them have returned to the old neighborhood. Not only are Jennifer and I here, but so are several of the Weights, among others.



And if I close my eyes for just a minute (which I can do and still safely arrive at home, having walked these streets so much over the last 42 years), I can still see 3 little girls on bikes, going up and down Luck Drive. Crashing sometimes. Happy always.

I'll do almost anything for ice cream

Jack is always willing to do a 5k with me. Always. I don't know what's wrong with that boy, but he is always my best exercise buddy. When I say, "Who wants to go out for a walk?" I hear 3 grumbling voices full of random and implausible excuses, and 1 lone, strangely deep voice which replies, "I'll go!" This is good for me because not only do I have someone to go with, I also have a bug-killer, someone to make me laugh, and a source for all the goings-on at the junior high. This, of course, provides tremendous entertainment. Let's face facts: Junior High age kids are funny. Not so much funny-haha, but funny in more of a "What the crap?!?" sort of a way. Since I don't know some of the kids who have come in from different feeder elementary schools, we have assigned nicknames to them so I can keep them straight. One of them is called The Whiner. Sadly, Jack didn't have any classes with The Whiner in the second half of the school year, but for the first 4 and a half months, much of our dinner entertainment came to us courtesy of The Whiner. And we thank him. And we hope for another class with The Whiner in 8th grade.


But I digress.


So when I called out for volunteers for the Running with Angels 5k at Thanksgiving Point on May 19, I was met with stony silence except for again, the lone, strangely deep voice, which responded "I'll go!" Thank goodness. I hate doing things alone.


I didn't know before we got to the race that morning that it raised funds for the Angel Watch program. For a small extra fee, you could purchase an "In Loving Memory" bib. I have a friend who sadly had need for the Angel Watch program recently, and I would have loved to wear a bib in memory of her loved one. I guess I'll save that for next year. Yes, I said next year.


At the starting line, while we were waiting to begin, Jack alternated back and forth like this: "Mom, I'll stay with you for the race. I like to talk to you. . . No, I'll run ahead. I want to see how fast I can finish. . . No, I'll stay with you. I don't want you to be alone . . . No, I really want to see how fast I can go . . . No I'll stay . . . No, I'll go ahead . . . No, I'll stay . . ." Then the starting pistol sounded, and that's the last I saw of him until I passed him on a loop going the other way.



Despite what the picture looks like, I was running. Sadly, my run is so slow it is barely distinguishable from my walk. I made it through the first mile running, then alternated walking and running the rest. I promised myself I would run all the uphills, which I am proud to say I did. I also ran all the downhills, which somehow there were less of than the uphills. Shouldn't they balance out? I saved my walking for the level parts.


From the brochure: "There is a good sized slope in the upward direction that we have strategically placed just before the finish line. Atually, it's rise of about 40 feet over a distance of about 75 yards located 100 yards before the finish line. . . .I am hoping you will view it as a life lesson. Just when you think you have gone far enough, and want to cross that line and be finished, there it is -- another hill to climb. And there is really no other way around it but simply to face it head on and conquer."


Awww . . . so inspiring. I kept that passage in my head as I ran/walked along. I knew the hill was coming. I tried to picture the angle of that hill on a graph - 40 feet over 75 yards. Well, yards are 3 times longer than feet . . . and 40 is about half of 75 . . . so how bad can it be?


Oh. My. Goodness. It was worse than I thought.


Finally, the gorgeous run through the Thanksgiving Poing Gardens winds around enough times, and you can see where the runners ahead of you are going, and you can see the hill they are running up. And that hill didn't look ANYTHING like the graph I had drawn in my head.


I wasn't running when I saw It. And I wasn't sure I wanted to. But somehow I dug down deep enough and found the strength to run up that hill. Not only did I run up the hill, but I also smiled doing it. Because spray painted on the ground were the words: YOU CAN DO THIS. I remembered what was written in the brochure and I knew I could do it. I made it up the hill. And at the top of the hill waiting for me was Jack.


"Come on Mom! You can do it Mom!"


No, son. I cannot do it. Just leave me here. Bring the car around. Let's go to McDonalds.


Ok, I didn't really say that, but I thought it.



"Come on Mom! You don't want to walk across the finish line! Come on Mom!" (He's my best cheerleader)


I walked at least half of that final 100 yards. But then again, somthing down deep in my soul rose up and I did cross the finish line running (or as it is more aptly called, shuffling).

Jack's time was just over 31 minutes

Here I come . . . the home stretch.
(Disregard the time on the clock - it was chip timed and I was at the back of the pack)

Finishing time - 44:04

That's under 45 minutes

I'm so ready to do this one again next year. It was a beautiful morning, the gardens were . . . well, it's Thanksgiving Point. 'Nuf said.

And did I mention they had ice cream bars at the finish line? I mean really. Let's focus on what's really important.