What would happen if you combined your nightly workout, some over-the-top iridescent illumination and a dance party? The Glo Run, that’s what.
This crowd was glowing and ready to get going.
Jason and I, ever the ready participants of anything, signed up for The Glo Run, a 5K night race with bopping lasers and hopping DJs, a couple of months ago. This dash is all about the energy of the night, which is pretty fitting for the likes of me because when the sun goes down the Rachel comes up. You other night owls out there would dig it.
Jason wound as many glow sticks as he could around every appendage.
Jason and I donned at least a couple dozen glow sticks as we prepared to rock this run in brilliant style; we weren’t the only ones with that bright idea. The hundreds of other participants dressed to the nines in blinking, shimmering, flashing garb. When the race started they all moved like a gaudy fluorescent stream into Sugar House Park, which the course looped twice. That repeat circling meant we got to experience each of the run’s groove spots two times. Excellent!
This tunnel of lighted arches thumped to the music.
I think the majority of participants envisioned this run as a party with a little exercise involved rather than exercise with a little party involved because there were practically more walkers than runners and some of the partakers were so tired near the end that when the DJ said “jump” they just sunk. But Jason and I were not among the tuckered out, thankfully. We boogied to the music and shimmied with the lights all along the route. We kept up our liveliness throughout and had all the energy of the night and then some.
This was my favorite hangout along the route. Between the black lights and the bubble makers it was pretty trippy.
I slowed down my shutter speed to reduce myself to a blur of light crossing the finish line.
It was a dazzling take on a summer standard. Let’s run and roll!
Frankly speaking, I believe I have the best husband in the world. As cheesy as that assertion may sound, I mean it with total sincerity. No one who has had the privilege of having Jason as a spouse would disagree, which is a good thing because, otherwise, I’d just be arguing with myself. Only the most fabulous of birthday celebrations could satisfactorily commemorate such a fabulous man. With that in mind, this year I decided to take his birthday to the max!
Max Zipline carts groups up to their zip point in a Polaris Ranger. Ours was crammed and crazy.
Our group was loud and probably more than a little obnoxious but we were also exuberant.
Jacob wore flip-flops forgetting that closed-toe shoes were required for this activity. Luckily, he had an emergency pair of Jedi boots in his trunk.
I’ve zipped a few times but it never gets old.
In lieu of a birthday party, I invited about a dozen friends to tarzan with Jason and me on a zipline tour of Provo Canyon’s leafy canopies. The gods of temperate temperatures magnanimously blessed our whooshful expedition; the day of our zipping was uncharacteristically cool with precipitation in the forecast but the threat of rain never materialized into more than a short-lived sprinkle making the weather ideal. Glory be!
Aimee had no problems zipping like a pro.
Jason is an exemplary human being and husband so, as such, he deserves an ideal birthday shindig.
Kenny had a broken bone in his foot but naughtily removed his boot to zip with us.
The fine guides at Max Zipline put up with a lot from our raucous group in way of teasing, harassing, ill-conceived maneuvering, blasting and even singing. Evidentially, our enthusiasm was as unparalleled as our volumes though; we were told that we were the most excited crowd they’d had all week. Thanks to our eagerness, those guides consented to show us how to hang upside-down and cast off with flips. Even I, with my lack of admiration for high places, tried a little inverted zipping. With all that topsy-turvy reversed riding, surprisingly, only one of us got our pants in a twist. That lucky individual was Adam and luckily Jason caught it all on film. Click here to see Adam’s pant mishap.
Though not quite as foolish as some members of our gang, Jason was certainly not timid.
Lee gave his best faux frightened face as he prepared to whoosh down the longest line, a 1450-foot cable.
Adam’s jean incident didn’t frighten him out of trying other stunts.
Although not everyone in our group was equally comfortable with heights, I’d say that the vast majority of us had a spectacular time. And, more importantly, I believe that fantastic man of mine enjoyed himself, which was the whole point of this little adventure. Soaring through lofty aspens and pines with nothing but fresh mountain air tickling your feet is quite the experience. Soaring through lofty aspens and pines with happy birthday choruses ringing out below your wind-tickled feet is probably an even better one but you’d have to ask Jason; he received just such an aerial birthday serenade as he whizzed down his last cable. I won’t lie, the singing didn’t sound so good but how often do you get to hear the hills alive with the sound of off-key music? Happy birthday to my best and favorite bubba!
Jason and I have done the dirty several times but we’d never transformed ourselves into speeding human rainbows…until now. We thought we could use a few more shades of awesome in our lives so we signed up for Color Me Rad along with my brother Drew, his wife Simone and our friend Abigail. Color Me Rad, a 5K with color bombing stations, is one part athleticism and two parts nonsensical dye dumping. As it turns out, plastering yourself with pigment under the guise of exercise is pretty rad.
Jason didn’t keep up his usual quick race pace but slowed down to blitz all of us frequently with his many bags of colored powder.
Our group, Refraction Action, didn’t hurry too fast to the finish line but relished cavorting in the clouds of color.
By the end, Drew looked like what would happen if Crayola started making crayons in a TNT factory.
Color Me Rad, for the most part, proceeds like any other race except periodically a giant cloud of purple or orange appears in front of you and you quickly find yourself in a swirling monochromatic haze. Although most of the participants run through these dye mists without covering their noses or mouths, our group decided to wear bandanas through the fog so we could breathe a little easier. Gulping fluorescent dust just isn’t as refreshing as gulping fluorescent Gatorade even if they contain the same FD&C. Despite our precautions, I still woke up a few times the following night coughing like crazy but I’m sure I spared myself some extra wheezing by donning that unstylish handkerchief.
Yes, I wore a shower cap. My hairdresser informed me that dyes like these + blonde hair = not blonde hair so I wasn’t taking any chances.
Just one of Jason’s many naughty acts during the race.
After our scamper for color and follow-up attempt to pound ourselves back into pallidness, we stopped at our favorite waffle spot, Bruges, for some waffles and frites. Although the strange looks we got from some of the other patrons may have suggested otherwise, frites do taste just as good when eaten with neon fingers.
The colors flying around at the stations made the whole world seem bizarrely tinted.
We stuck around after the race for a color toss ensuring that our multihues multiplied.
Although Color Me Rad wasn’t an energy sucker like The Dirty Dash, it definitely left its mark.
Color Me Rad was a lot of fun and a lot of messy. But dye, oddly enough, is considerably easier to clean off than dirt. (Apparently, I have a lot of experience coating myself in all sorts of tenacious goo.) Sure, we had purple sweat circles covering our inner elbows that were none too eager to be removed and we were the proud owners of vibrant boogers for a few days but, all things considered, we tidied up pretty nicely. Yes, we colored it rad and rad wasn’t half bad.
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