Life is full of milestones, whether they be goals accomplished, changes initiated, or years reached.
Jason’s dad, Keith, realized one such achievement recently, his 60th birthday. As with most noteworthy occasions, this called for embarrassment and gluttony.
Sabins are not known for their decorum.
Jason and I, along with various other Sabins, planned a surprise party for Keith. For my part, I commissioned a fancy cake depicting some of the highlights of his life and compiled a scrapbook with memories contributed by various family members. No one could ever accuse me of doing things halfway.
My friend Robyn made this amazing cake.
The majority of Keith’s siblings attended and they were in top teasing form.
Lots of relatives and friends showed up for this celebration, an indisputable sign of 60 years well lived.
Until about a month or so ago, I had lived my whole life without ever firing a gun. (Unless you count a BB, which I’m guessing most of you would only count a nuisance.) Shooting a firearm has never been on my list of things to do, much as you weaponologists may find that unacceptable. Evidentially, it has always been on Jason’s list of things for me to do though. Fortunately for him, plans for my dad’s birthday celebration this year included a multigenerational shooting-range experience.
The idea of shooting an AR-15 made me a little skittish. My dad talked me through it.
Several of my siblings and I decided that we’d rather do something with my dad for his birthday than give him something for his birthday. A few ideas were tossed around but, ultimately, we chose to take him to a shooting range. We had a mixed group of family members join us, including some nieces and nephews.
I was surprised by how smooth and easy the AR-15 was to operate.
I’ll admit, I was a little daunted by the prospect of handling a deadly weapon; I prefer not to finger anything more lethal than a herring. So I started out with a wee gun with petite bullets, a little 22 that made a feeble sound when fired. Next, my hubby and brother convinced me to try a 9mm. I got fed up with its backtalk rather quickly. Yes, I am a weapons wimp, as if that wasn’t already apparent. After my brief 9mm lashing, I was content sticking with the 22 but, again, the males intervened. They talked me into taking some rounds with an AR-15. This AR-15 did not look friendly. It was a large gun and, as I already stated, I am a wimp. However, I gave it a crack and discovered that it was easier to handle than the 9mm. It fit comfortably against my shoulder and didn’t have too much recoil. I guess size really doesn’t matter.
Our group of shooters spanned three generations.
Although I am in no danger of becoming a gun enthusiast, I had a good time with my family at the range. And I no longer think that guns are terrifying just incredibly loud, difficult to handle, and potentially fatal.
Despite what they tell you, slow and steady doesn’t usually win the race. With that in mind, I present to you the strange case of my rise from the dregs of race mediocrity. I will share last summer’s asphalt battles, their outcomes, and the perplexing questions that they leave unanswered. Then, perhaps, you will fare better than I at unraveling the mysteries of this counterintuitive tale.
The first race of the 2014 season, for Jason and me, was the Thanksgiving Point Tulip Festival 5K. This event took place at the end of April but the weather felt more like February. Unusual chilliness combined with relentless moisture to create a vortex of sopping unpleasantness along its entire path. I dripped through the finish line at 29:39, coming 6th in my category, an unimpressively run-of the-mill conclusion to be sure. Jason placed 5th in his group at 23:14.
Although it was almost May, the Thanksgiving Point 5K was quite cold and wet.
Color Me Rad was our next 5K but it wasn’t timed so we’ll never know if we sprinted or sauntered through it, though I suspect the later. Then, we ran the Lehi Roundup 5-Mile in June. We both somehow managed to rank 2nd in our respective Roundup divisions with a time of 48:41 for me and 37:59 for Jason. Sadly, they only gave out medals to the 1st-place winners so I got no bling for what I thought might be my only victory forevermore.
In August, we did the Midnight Moon 5K in Sandy. I sped it up to 29:18 for this race and Jason slowed it down to 23:32. These times were good enough for 2nd place in my division and 1st in Jason’s. Another 2nd place for me? How was that possible?
The crowning achievement of our 2014 racing careers transpired in October. I guess I dash better deceased because I booked it during the Night of the Running Dead 5K, dressed as a zombie, and finished in 26:33. Jason crossed the line at 21:32, 5 minutes before me. In full disclosure, our reanimated muscles weren’t the only reason for these curiously-quick outcomes, the course was slightly shorter than a true 5K. Undersized route or not, our paces secured us both 1st place in our categories.
Our nephew, Jadon, participated in the kids run at Thanksgiving Point, despite the rain.
Why all the wins? What’s in my secret sauce? (Jason’s sauce is no trade secret.) I’m certainly not a fast runner, as my race times verify, so I’m a little perplexed over my fresh success. I didn’t enter a new age category this year so I can’t blame the other old farts. Is the world slowing, making me seem swifter by comparison? Alas, I’m afraid my sauce will forever be spiced with enigmas.
While I’d love to be a running superstar with the trophies and medals to prove that I’m the non-rodent equivalent of Speedy Gonzales, my legs aren’t really onboard with that. Consequently, I’m not sure how to make my recent triumphs fit into my philosophy of the universe. Can slow and steady truly win the race more times than can be accounted for by flukes? Maybe when the 2015 racing starts I’ll find out.
Recent Comments