The 2012 Torture Trail 10K wasn’t so tortous after all.

Yes, that’s what one gets. One who perseveres through 6.2 miles of June heat and humidity, up and down and around the hills of Eatonton, Georgia.

A Torture Trail t-shirt.

I ran this race two years ago. My entire family went and ran either 10K or Fun Run.

When I was signing up this year, NO ONE wanted to come with.

Okay. I was pretty hot in 2010. The race lived up to it’s name. But today…..

When I left Madtown to drive the 20 miles south, the car thermometer read 58.

Perfectly un-tortuous weather.

Saw a few Madison racehorses bolted for the Putnam County as well.

Not only are they good friends to have, Sitz and Pamela work in two great professions for any aging runner to surround herself with.

Looking at this photo, I realized Pamela and I are about the same height.

People confuse me with her constantly, and it certainly is not because of a shared IQ level.

In spite of the Chamber of Commerce weather, a few things still lived up to the name.

Wait for porta-potties.

And there still were lots of hills.

Right after I took this pic, a woman said, “There’s no way you can capture that hill in a photograph.”

But I did notice what purdy, gleaming white churches Eatonton has.

At the Start…

And the Finish…

A great race for me today surely because of the lower temps.

I wasn’t even tempted by the customary ice cream after the race.

He was though.

Don’t you wish you could eat ice cream without worry like when you were a kid?

Even after running 6.2 miles….

Maybe next year, when it’s 90 degrees.

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In Memory of Our Fallen Heroes. Fuzz Run Pictorial Muse.

On the eve of the 10th Anniversary of 9/11, I ran the Fuzz Run in Covington.  I saw lots of familiar faces. And lots of small town reverence for public servants who daily put their lives at risk.

And reverence for those who went to work one September morning and never returned home.

So I bumped this post ahead of my regular Saturday @MorganCoHs Friday Night Lights.

Because this was a spectacular day, in our spectacular country — for a lady with a bum right knee and a smart phone camera.

6:30 a.m.

I broke it to Tebow, “I’m going solo.”

Nothing warms my heart like a box of spankin’ new safety pins.

Saw Kim, Dennis, Kingsley and Clark Sitzmann. Got a terribly cute picture of them which I erased. Hate that!

The Sitzmanns ran  this morning in spite of travelling to Monticello last night watching the Bulldogs win.

Woo! <<Stomp feet. Clap hands.>>

I stretched my chronically tight legs….then meandered on.

Another heart-warmer for any runner, a porta potty with no line.

Tons of children showed up for the Fuzz Run Fun Run. Say that six times fast.

Finally, it was time for the 5K to start.

Heard a “Hey, Jamie.”

Beth Coody and Lindsay Peaster (also at the game last night).

In the interest of journalistic integrity over artistic integrity, thought I would share they wore the cutest pink tops.

I felt a tap on my shoulder. I looked around to see Rodney Whittaker darting through the crowd to the front of the pack where he should be. Not back in the Pokey Puppy Pack with me.

That first mile was pretty much uphill, then it was a gradual downhill for most of the race.

After Mile 2, I looked across the crowd and thought “that looks like Terry Massey.” But it couldn’t be the Honorable Terry Massey because this is a footrace.

Saints preserve us. It was he. We ran for a while.

I stopped to take this picture. And he ran by.

See evidence that it was Terry and that he passed me — darn him.

That’s okay. I had about half a mile to catch him.

That is… till I had to stop and take another picture.

Rodney and his son, Blake. Well-rested after finishing an hour and half before me.

Terry finished about 10 seconds ahead of me. (Not that I watched him run under the clock or anything.)

That’s okay, it’s best not to sprint past him and keep on his good side. You never know when I might get a speeding ticket on I-20 through Conyers.

It was great day to be grateful for family, friends and a bad knee that still lets me run on an early fall Saturday morning in September.

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Musing on Football Camp. Reliving My Glory Days.

You want your children to forge their own path in life.

Climb every mountain, follow every dream.

But it’s got to be their mountain.

My son is heading into his senior year. That means college this time next year. We’ve been looking at schools and checking out football programs to see if it is something he would like — and they would like him —  to do. These thing are two way street, I guess.

He went up to Presbyterian College a few weekends ago. Sitter malfunction resulted in my having to stay home with our two younger ones.

Some of the photos Dad took.

 

 

Saturday, Dad, our son and I were up at Davidson College.

 

 

Dad.

It was hot. 

Dad, who played college ball….sat under a tree.

But I, who played college ball….was drawn to the field like peanut butter becomes one with grape jelly folded into bread.

I watched every second ~ except the seconds I checked my phone.

 

Being in the weight room again…

Smelling the bars with their scent of dirty pennies….

After taking this photo, I lay on the bench and blew out a few quick reps for old time sake.

I missed those days of intramural ball with the Thetas.

My husband thinks our son’s athletic coordination comes from him.

I know better. I remember the roar of the crowd, the feel of leather against the palm of my hand. The intoxicating smell only found wearing a helmet and sweating in 100 degree heat index.

I miss it so.

How about you?

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Musing on the Gridiron Trail Rush 5K. A down and dirty, football-themed footrace.

Where can you run, roll in the mud and  leave rivals wallowing in the dust?

Sign on for the The Gridiron Trail Rush Saturday, August 13 at the Georgia International Horse Park in Conyers.

This 5K trail run powers you through football-themed obstacles such an entry tunnel, creek, hills, mud pit, tires and an end-zone at the finish. Only thing that’s missing is a stadium full of 80,000 fans screaming your name.

Want to run through mud and a creek — to an awesome after-race party? Is this a trick question?

Race participants are encouraged to wear their team’s colors.

At this moment seems Georgia and Auburn are duking it out for top dawg.  Here’s a call for all runners who bleed orange and blue.

Eric Snell with the Gridiron Trail Rush was kind enough to provide a coupon code for $10 off race entry. Coupon code: TRYGTR2011 

Thanks Eric, Woo!

Come on Gators we can’t get beat by “Other.”

Looks like a great way to spend a Saturday.

What are we going to do with ourselves until Murray State kicks off the NCAA season at Louisville, 6 p.m. on September 1st anyway?

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Musing on peaches. And the dump cobbler.

On the way up to Athens yesterday, my young son wanted to stop for some peaches sold at a road side stand.

I agreed to do it on the return trip.

We went all over that town.

We ate outside at Dairy Queen. Yes. Outside.  (You know the one…with no inside seating right next to the Varsity.)  I lobbied for the Varsity but he wanted DQ chicken tenders. Honestly, I think his motive was to garner a Blizzard.

It was hot. Later he said, “It feels like I pee-ed in my pants I’m sweating so much.”

We went on a mission and delivered some squash to a friend. It took a little doing to find her office but we perserved with her squash. It was the perfect amount for a casserole. I have yet to make a squash casserole this year.

Very sad for me.

Then we hit Target looking for white clothing — maybe save that for a later blog.

Then we headed home.

We stopped for peaches.
They are on the verge of being soo ripe. You can tell they are going to be awesome.
 
We’re making a dump cobbler.
 
Here’s a recipe from the New Perry Hotel. So easy and so good.
 
* 3 to 4 cups pre-sweetened fruit. (in our case, peeled and cut peaches with sugar.)
* 1 cup self-rising flour
* 1 cup milk
* 1 stick margarine. (I use butter. Because I’m bad.)
* 1 cup sugar
Melt margarine (butter) in 2 quart casserole. Pour fruit over margarine (butter). Combine remaining ingredients. Add to dish and stir slightly. Bake at 350 degrees until crust rises to top and is browned.
Yay.

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Musing about driving to Georgia Boys State — and Starbucks.

I’m tired.

I got up at 4:15 yesterday morning to drive with my husband down to Georgia Southern in Statesboro to pick up my son from a week at GA Boys State —  a nationwide network of camps sponsored by the American Legion.

They were having graduation at 8:15. So we set out at 5 a.m.

He slept and I drove to Augusta,  then down through Waynesboro. When we sped through Millen, I needed coffee. The only thing I needed more than coffee at this point was to find a bathroom to relieve myself of earlier coffee.

I put Statesboro and Starbucks in the GPS. My husband hates when I do this but he had to go to the bathroom, so he was in favor of a stop — this time.

We got coffee and headed to Georgia Southern. The graduation was in the Performing Arts Center. We had to leave our brand new, hot coffee in the car.

Darned if it wasn’t cold when we got back in the car.

I wanted more Starbucks. My husband and son grumbled.

I persisted in my desire for more java through the rolling eyes, the GPS that refused to give us a map, the son’s and husband’s barbs.

After about 15 minutes of picking our way through Statesboro not knowing where we were (and me enduring lots of hate talk),  we made it back to the same Starbucks. 

Picking him up at his dorm. He's happy because he's going to sleep all the way home and he hasn't heard about me wanted to stop by Starbucks.

My husband obviously didn’t think about personal space bounderies when he took this picture. I enjoyed hearing about my son’s week as a representive of Smith City, Jefferson County — along with my coffee on the way back.

You have to pick your battles.

I stood my grounds and came through VICTORIOUS.

Yay me.

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Musing on a tree in our bathroom. Madison, Georgia tornado damage.

This is a sign hanging in the kitchen of a good friend.

My two youngest children and I were away when the tornadoes hit Madison last Wednesday night.

I heard a lot about the storms via texts and phone calls from friends who were here — but until you see it — it’s hard to believe.

Now thankfully, Madison was spared the horrific damage that other areas of the South experienced, and as hard as some areas in our town were hit, miraculously no one was seriously injured.

Not what you really want to see at the top of the landing going into your bedroom.

 

Meet George.

At least that is what my friend has named him. She is waiting outside her house right now for someone to escort George off her roof.

George ~ such the charmer dropping in unannounced.

 

This was across the street from her house.

 This big fellow is in her back yard right behind George’s root ball.

 

But the planter's she arranged right before the storm hit were untouched.

 They have been cleaning up hard since Thursday morning. Their entire street is like this.

One of  worst hit areas is a block away at the Pennington’s pecan grove.  This was the sight of our sunrise service a week ago.

Our service was at the lake right behind the house.

 They were told two tornados merged here.

These pine trees just snapped — dozens and dozens of them.

All a few blocks from our home.

This was across the street from our house.

No one was hurt.

Crazy stuff.

I’m starting to think anything can happen…Just be thankful for good health and blue skies.

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Musing on My Bracket’s Obliteration.

I hadn’t blogged about my bracket because things were going so well.

I started out in a group of 146. After hitting 33.3 percent the first day and landing at number 126 — I clawed my way  to one of three who sat at  number four.

I’m not number four anymore. I’m number 14. My position will surely plummit further since

Neither of my final two teams remain.

Hate it when that happens.

Florida lost.

I’d like to say I’m one of these people who cares passionately for their team — but can watch other games and enjoy the competition.

I’ll probably glance at the remaining tournament, but when something is so close…

I’m not mature enough to stand back and give it a “for the love of basketball” watch.

No matter what great stories the other teams are or how awesome the games.

It’s just not the same.

And neither is my bracket.

But that’s the silver lining to all this. I lay my 2011 bracket down — leaving it to swirl around the digital wasteland of obsolete data clogging up cyberspace.

I wish all remain teams, fans, people with brackets that shine —  the best.

In my little corner, this chapter closes with these parting words.

Next time feed Macklin. Of course there won’t be a next time because he’s a SENIOR.

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Musing on running after my daughter. The Atlanta Women’s 5k.

I woke my daughter today at 5:30. She doesn’t wake up well at 7 on a weekday. I drug her sleeping body to the car. And while swilling coffee, I drove that sleeping body to in-town Atlanta for our race

We arrived at the start. 

 

“My legs hurt.” 

Hmm.  She had complained a lot through our training. I use the term “training” loosely. We suffered through two miles about five times. 

But with the roar of the crowd, to my utter disbelief,  she took off… 

She's in the red sweatshirt...now around her wee waist.

When she would walk, all I needed to do was pick out another mother-daughter team ahead of us and she was off. 

Part of the charming urban scenery. She asked if I might push her. No.

We saw woman walking along in a woolen coat, graying curly hair a mess, dragging some bags. 

“Is she homeless?” 

“Yes.” 

“I want to take her home to live with us. You wouldn’t let her come would you.” 

I kept walking. 

“She can have my bedroom and I could sleep with you.” 

“Come on Hannah. Look at that girl way up there.” 

Alright...I did have to stop to take the picture. But she was determined to beat mum.

“You’re tardy.” That was the call from a little boy spectator. Yes, young man we were tardy compared to the gazelles out front but sounds like you have lots of familiarity with the term as well. 

Great shirts and a red carnation. What's more girly than that?

I might not be hell on wheels anymore, but I still can throw a killer post-race bash. 

We by-passed the piles of bananas. 

 

How else to refuel after a race?

 

 

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Musing on DEEP S*gar.

Help.

I can’t run.

Waaaa. (That’s supposed to be a baby cry.)

So hubby and I went walking while at the beach. We even talked about walking a marathon together.

I think this would be equivalent to a year’s worth of marital counseling. Walking a marathon together.

Any who.

We got to a point where the water looked too deep to cross. Now it wasn’t like a Western Movie where the horses were straining to keep their bulging eyes above  water — but it was close to getting your clothes wet kind of deep.

It’s March at the beach in Georgia. Cold water.

No sirree.

A runner came along side. We all took off our shoes…and I waded in.

No. I had to turn back.

We all were going to turn back when my husband said, “I think that looks more shallow up there.”

Runner guy jumped in and tip-toed across…

I followed…

 

I made it.

We all made it.

Sometimes you just have to follow the tip-toeing red-headed runner dude

when God places him as your guide

and everything works out.

Albeit now there’s a little more grit in your socks.

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