Luckiest Girl

Our doubts are traitors 

and make us lose the good we oft might win

by fearing to attempt. -William Shakespeare

For updates from Connecticut, please follow my horsemanship blog. I will try to update it regularly, but I am working on a research paper and have a couple hundred hours of practicum and teaching to do in order to get my certification and get home before Thanksgiving. As for this entry, it might be my last until I return home. 

I have been feeling the need to express something. I feel like the luckiest girl.

When you can golf like him, you can wear pink bling!

They say absence makes the heart grow fonder. Ok...I am fond.

I wouldn't be in Connecticut if it wasn't for the support and encouragement of Travis. When I say I could have spent the rest of my life content with just being content, I mean it. But Travis could not let me be just content anymore. He wanted more for me and made me believe that I should want more for me. A few years ago, I would not have even attempted to be here.

It starts with a jolt of awakening in April of 2011, where I returned from a trip in Arizona to confess to Travis through confused, blubbering tears that my life had changed. I made assumptions of his reaction and feared his rejection would cast doubt on what I had experienced. He listened silently as I explained. His first response was, "I believe you."

Looking back at the reason for my job at the now-defunct Service Merchandise in the mid-1990s, it was that I was meant to meet Travis. Only, at the time, I was disappointed that he had a girlfriend. I (unintentionally) returned a vending machine dollar to him at an inopportune moment for his girlfriend and shortly thereafter we were seeing each other.

Initially, he didn't understand my love of horses. I had to tell him that if he was going to have a problem with me having a horse, then I wasn't the right girl for him. I intended to always have a horse in my life. Always. I couldn't play tennis, wasn't very athletic, and was more the bookish type. So a few months later, he proposed to me on my Arab. It must have been his way of telling me that he was prepared to spend his life with a horsechick.

Anyone who knows Travis knows he has an unabashed sense of humor, relentless sarcasm, and "ludicrous speed" wit. His soft side is revealed when you hear him talk to the cat. He has an unbreakable bond with his mother and brother, likes to stay up late with his nephew playing Call of Duty, and lets his niece play rrrrough with him before bedtime. He has broken more bones than I have, but, thankfully, fewer than Evel Knievel. It's amazing that he survived a broken neck with a partial dislocation. In anatomy class this week, I was reminded that 9 years ago (almost to the day), he lived. If the dislocation at C5 would have been complete, he would have suffocated. Instead, he got back on his dirt bike and met us on the road where we were looking for him. He changed his clothes so the doctors wouldn't cut his gear and walked into Bozeman Deaconess Hospital. Two days later, Dr. Stephen Speth fitted Travis with two titanium rods, 5 screws, some wire, and relocated some hip bone fragments for the fusion. To me, this is a miracle. To him, he is immortal.

After another half decade or so, and another half dozen broken bones, he has taken up golf and has immersed himself in the game, shocking everyone (including those who have been playing since he was in diapers) with his "half swing" that can drive a ball over 300 yards down a fairway. He has won an amateur golf tournament. He has made some connections that have allowed him to play some of the best golf courses in California and Nevada, including exclusive private courses.

Travis has opened my eyes to a living, dynamic love that has grown over the past 18 years. He loves me and believes in me more than I can comprehend. I have reveled in our Yahtzee tournaments, where he has challenged me to find my inner-competitor and even roots for me when I am on a roll. He has surprised me with a horse trailer, a 30th birthday party, origami, a helicopter ride, and affection for our animals. He does the laundry. He maintains my trailer before I leave for a trip, even though he asks me to check it weeks before I leave. He changes the oil and rotates tires, changes air filters on my friends' vehicles, repairs busted pipes, and has led the way in remodeling homes in order to provide me with my dream of having a ranch house. Horse property wasn't his dream, so he lives in my dream instead. He tolerates my clutter, annual horsemanship clinic visitors, and lets me dress him for Halloween. He entertains my interest in the enneagram (he's an 8, I'm a 9) and eats my vegetarian dinners without complaining. Usually when he's upset with me, it's because of the problems I inflict on myself.

Over the years, what Travis didn't seem to understand is that no matter how much he tried to push me to look at myself in the mirror, I just couldn't see the same person he saw. I have always seen the flawed human that I am, focusing on those flaws, and vicious self-criticism told me that I was nobody special. I believed the silent voice of an inner demon over the audible voice of my husband who loved me. But this year, Travis has found a way to finally bring to my attention—in a way that I could finally hear—that I have a propensity to succumb to my doubts by failing to try something for fear of failure. I still do it, but he is supporting me so I can try to break that cycle. This, of course, scares me. I don't want to let him down.

He has waited for me: down the aisle at our wedding over 16 years ago, at marathon finish lines, and hospital waiting rooms. He is waiting for me at home, while paying the bills, feeding the dogs and Pichu, watering the braided Pachira "money tree", and letting my little blonde horse out of his muddy stall.

I just wanted to let everyone know how much I love and appreciate you, Travis. Thank you.

Yep. I am pretty sure I am the luckiest girl.

What happened in Arizona

Arizona had no idea what would hit it Friday night. Nell, Peggy and I wanted to make it to the Buffalo Chip Saloon in Cave Creek, AZ, to catch the bull riding before it ended at 11pm. Yes. Bull riding. At a bar. And not the mechanical kind. They've got living, fire-breathing bulls that want to get drunk and semi-pro people off their backs pronto (wouldn't you?). This place is so cool.

So we bailed out of Big Bear as quickly as possible, barreling down I-10 at Nell's regular rate of ludicrous speed. Somewhere outside of Blythe, the CHP lit us up. Damn. We all had shirts up to our collarbones. No cleavage was to be found anywhere in the truck. When Officer Moore went back to the cruiser with Nell's info, we started looking for bribes.

Everyone, especially CHP needs a cow watch.

He came back with the citation and Nell presented (a la Vanna White) the cow watch. Officer Moore said he might have considered it had we offered it before he wrote the citation. Too late. Ticket signed. Burnout throws dust onto cruiser. Heading east again...

And then it hit me.

We won't make it to Buffalo Chip in time for bull riding. Arizona is an hour ahead. Oh, the humanity!

I pouted and we tried to get Nell's buddy, Cindy, to turn in for the night and we'd see her on Saturday, but she was heartbroken that the girls' night out might be canceled.

So girls' night out was back on. We would be making a fashionably late entrance somewhere around midnight. Picked up Cindy, picked up Paul, and moseyed into the backlot of Buffalo Chip where staff was picking up from what was clearly a kickass good time merely an hour ago. Nell and I were going to be good. One beer will be fine. Paul had his usual Crown & Coke.

Paul took us next door to Harrold's where we decided one more beer would be OK. But somewhere mid-beer, I noticed Nell at the bar. A quick drink count revealed a couple of beers and a couple of C&Cs. No hard liquor for me, but Nell was having a great time and even got ahold of Paul's hat. (This isn't good....)

Never take a cowboy's hat from him...

We shut down the bar at 2 and headed back to Paul's where we met his and Christine's lovely new baby, who was up with mom for a feeding. Later, Peggy marveled at how well Christine handled Paul coming in from a late night at the bars with four girls. It was so late that Paul and Christine offered to let us all stay, rather than running Cindy back home to Phoenix, so it was out on the porch for us, where Paul comes out with more beer and C&C. (Oh no...)

Somewhere in the 4:00 hour, Nell and I retired to the living-quarters horse trailer, Cindy to the "cat house" and Peggy to the guest room.

I was awakened momentarily in the 5:00 hour to Nell saying something like:
"Guh-guh-gah-guy-have-gnever-been-s-s-s-so-fguh-ging-g-g-gcold-in-my-l-l-life... G-g-guy-gotta-go."

At 9:45am, I woke up...realized I didn't have my phone...or Nell.

So I stumbled out of the trailer, through the bright Arizona sun and into the house. Flung Peggy's door open: "Where's Nell!!?" Peggy flew into an upright position. "I don't know! You had her last!" It was like a scene out of the movie The Hangover, except there wasn't a tiger in the bathroom.

"We gotta go get my phone at Harrold's." I told Peggy. "Get dressed. You drive..."

I found Nell snuggled up to Cindy in the cat house. So Peg and I headed out to recover my phone in Cave Creek.

One entire Venti skinny Latte spilled in Tundra cupholders and my Uggs later...

Pretty much the rest of the day, Nell and I were beginning to realize that we should have stuck to the one beer rule. I wasn't feeling so hot, but Nell was pretty much wrecked.

We somehow managed to make it to the Expo before they closed to get our race packets...

Checking each others' breath for alcohol...?

And then we checked into the Phoenix Hilton to recover before Sunday morning's start line.

Great hotel, BTW.

Smorgasbord dinner at the Hilton. Showers. Gatorade, water, more Gatorade and water. And we slept...


Did anyone know it's dark at 7am in Arizona?

I called Travis while in a 30-minute line for a porta-potty.

"I'm going to do the full marathon. But I am going to take it easy."

"That's a good idea, kiddo. Your health is more important than a medal." He said in his crackly morning voice. He has a way of making me smile and cry at the same time....

I piled into corral 5...

And Nell was in corral 5 for the half marathon

Due to the light rail train, there was a delay in our start. My heart was pounding. I was anxious. 

Gratuitous self portrait of nervous me...

It's kinda like skydiving. You are pushed forward toward the inevitable. Except this time, instead of a gaping hole in a plane, you are pushed toward the start line with 4,000 other runners who all want to chase a Kenyan. I wondered at what point in this marathon will I think I should have joined Nell at the half.

The half marathon had cool PF Chang's dragon balloons...

I started my Garmin and leapt across the full marathon start line. The timing chip on my shoe activated and I was off.

My first mile was an easy 10:13 pace. That felt good (faster than San Francisco, slower than Vegas). Mile 2 was a 10:14. I was surrounded by runners in matching outfits...couples...a guy with a hiking pack and tap shoes (I almost took out my camera for him because I figured no one would believe me). And I saw a dead bird, almost skeletal, with wings spread smashed into the road.

Running up 7th Avenue, I checked in with myself. How do I feel about this? What's my breathing like? I haven't coughed (yet). Will I regret this? I've been sick a long time and I'm just barely better, this might be a bad idea. Jimmy Eat World came on my iPod. Never really listened to the lyrics but they worked for me around Mile 4.

Hey, don't write yourself off yet

It's only in your head you feel left out or looked down on.

Just try your best, try everything you can.

And don't you worry what they tell themselves when you're away.

It just takes some time, little girl you're in the middle of the ride.

Everything (everything) will be just fine, everything (everything) will be alright (alright)

What a great song for that moment. Another dead bird in the road. Pressing on past bands, bellydancers, cheerleaders and the great state of Arizona's spectators and their signs:

Never Never Never Give Up

Pain is temporary, but the glory of the finish lasts a lifetime

That's not sweat, it's your fat cells crying

I slowed at Mile 9, after seeing three more dead birds in the road. I pulled out my phone to check in with Nell and found these text messages in my inbox:

De'anna: use strategy today....5 miles at a time...go slower than you did in vegas. on purpose hold back and preserve energy. let all the yahoos run past you at the start line. you got this, suzanne. even if you feel like sh*t from friday, running is in your soul. you got this!

Peggy: u r amazing! you go girl!

Nell: i almost pooped my pants - lol

I love my friends...it's those moments when you need a push and they are there.

Camelback mountain near Scottsdale in the background

I pushed on. At around mile 15, the 4:45 pace group passed me. I had seen two more dead birds by this point. I began to wonder if it was an omen...
If I keep pushing this pace, will I end up a dead bird?

My legs began to tighten. I applied Perform pain relieving gel onto my legs which worked almost immediately to soothe the tightness. I could feel a blister, but as with marathons past, I don't break for blisters.

I slowed to a walk and called Travis. His sleepy voice answered.

"Hey baby, I am walking. I need to slow down. I had a decent first half, but I need to walk."

"That's OK, kiddo. Do what you need to do."

"It's pretty here. The weather's perfect." I watched as the 5:00 pace group trudged past me. My heart sank. Tears welled when I vocalized "I am going to come in after 5 hours."

"You will be OK. You've been sick and haven't trained. I love you." He said. I love him too.

I walk/jogged the next four miles, grabbed some painkillers at the medic station at mile 18, pulled out my phone to ask how Nell did (slower than she wanted but had fun) and to let them know I could be another 2 hours since I had slowed down so much.

I pushed on until I hit a fantastic downhill at mile 19-22 along 48th street. I rallied. This is a training run for my future marathons.

The next time I checked my phone, Moo asked how I was feeling. "Mile 21" I wrote back.
De'anna texted: Approaching 20? I smiled. I was past it.

I let Nell and Peggy know I was at mile 24. They were waiting for me at 26. Embrace the journey, Nell texted. There is no wall, wrote Peg.

A girl in all black was crying ahead of me. Earlier, I had heard her exclaim "Yay! Mile 25!" and took off when she saw the mile-marker sign, but only made it about a quarter mile. As I passed her, I managed: "You got this, girl. You're almost there." She gasped. I didn't see her again, but I hope she finished her last mile.

I turned the corner and headed toward Sun Devil Stadium. I was more exhausted than my previous two marathons, but I was happy (unlike Vegas). I saw Peg, Nell, Cindy and her husband Jason ahead. They were screaming as I passed them. 385 yards to go...no time to stop now!

I gotta finish this booger...

As I ran toward the finish, I heard flip flops closing in behind me. I looked to my right as Nell approached. "Run Bitches!" I yelled over my iPod. "Run bitch, run!" She yelled back.

I put every last bit of energy into that last 200 yards. I pushed. I crossed the finish line at 5:25:18.

The medal was placed around my neck. A space blanket around my shoulders. I grabbed a banana, a frozen yogurt from MoJo (yum), and a Jamba Juice smoothie. Then I saw the best booth ever...

So this stubborn little German did what I thought she would do. She ran a marathon with only one short run in six weeks (and told whatever infected her body in December and January to go bug someone else).

Third marathon finish in three states. Who's next?

I'm kind of thinking about the Steve Miller Band song: "I went from Phoenix Arizona all the way to Tacoma..."