The Hunger Games

Okay. If you are out there anywhere you've probably heard of it.


The Hunger Games.

A wildly popular young adult novel by Suzanne Collins, about to be released in film around the world. If you know nothing more than this one thing, know that the premise of the book is a televised fight to the death between 24 youth aged 12-18. And only one can survive.

Disturbing. On every level.

I absolutely hate this idea. Kind of like The Titanic. I don't even know why I saw that movie. I mean, honestly. Everybody knew there was no good way for it to end. Including me. And it was not happy. This is not okay with me.

So two years ago it was with great reluctance and much prodding from very Hunger Games enthusiastic friends that I reserved a copy of the book at my local library. I knew reading this was going to be painful for me. In many ways. I have a very soft heart. I hate kids in danger. And I hate to cry. (I realize this part about me is not so evident in my most recent posts.) But after about fourteen weeks of waiting, and just in time to be on a trip where no one would know me, I put on all my emotional protective gear, and opened it up.

And thus began my experience with The Hunger Games.

To say it was a difficult read would be downplaying it. More than a little. And to say that I cried about it would be an understatement. A lot. But this was not at all for the reasons I expected. It was not because of the battles; it was not because of the conflicts; it was not because of the cruelties or the injustices. Nope. It was because of...

Compassion.

And this is how it went.

Me.
And the book.
By the pool.
In full protective gear.
Reading along trying NOT to be disturbed by all the disturbing things I listed above.
And then BAM! Out of nowhere.
An act of compassion.

Then Me.
And the book.
By the pool.
Protective gear completely disarmed.
Tears streaming down my face.
Pathetic.

Gladly, I was wearing sunglasses when the poolside server came to ask if I was doing alright.

And a few minutes later I went back to my room where it was quiet and I could be alone.
I cried.
The Ugly Cry. Which is really a Visceral Sob.
Until I was all cried out.

This cycle happened again and again as I worked my way through the book. It was compelling.  It was stunning. And it completely unraveled me.

I honestly don't remember much more about this book, besides how it felt. And I am pretty sure there are plenty of Hunger Games fanatics reading this and wondering, "What the fudgesicle is she talking about?!?!"

But this is what the book brought to me.
Learning. About compassion.
How I need it. How you need it. And how we all get too little of it.

This weekend I will go see the movie. As will millions of others. Screen adaptations rarely, if ever, offer the full story or character development that a book brings to the table. Especially when it comes to important underlying nuances.

But I will be watching carefully. For compassion.

After all, isn't that what each of us are really hungry for, anyway?

For the Boys - Muscle Cars

The other night, while away on my brief-hiatus-from-life-as-I-know-it, I was invited to tour a private collection of classic cars. I thought this would be fun. I like cars and I like fun. So I went. With absolutely no expectations whatsoever. You should know that this is the best way to do something fun. Because then there are no disappointments from having unreasonably high expectations. If you've ever been really excited to see a movie that you thought would be so good and it wasn't, you know what I'm saying here.

But I am pretty sure that there is not any high expectation that could have left me disappointed from this tour! Because this was not just your average collection of cars. Nope. This was more than 200 of the most incredible classic cars I have ever beheld spread out into 3 separate warehouses. And by spread out I mean squished in, because there was barely room to walk between them.

I took a few pics. A few hundred pics. Today I will share some. On another day I will share more. And maybe on another day some more. As long as you photographers out there don't judge. Really.

So here is a shot looking down the aisle of one of the storage warehouses. It was shaped like an "L". So this is only part of it.

I know. Cars. Lots of cars. And since that lovely Shelby GT is right there in front, I just can't help myself.
I have to share my story. It's short.

I don't know why, but since the time I was old enough to say, "car", I have loved Muscle Cars.

That's all.

Except for this guy had an impressive collection.

First there was this one.

Then this one.

And this one.

And this one, and this one, and this one!

There were even more.

But of all them this was my favorite.

Seriously. I broke out in a sweat when I saw it. And drooled just a little bit. There is no logical explanation for this. It just happened. But apparently I have good taste. Because this car has won awards all over the place.

Dear Most Spectacular 1969 Mustang Super Muscle Car,
Please come home with me.
The End.

There were a lot more classic cars. Of all kinds. And I will definitely have to share more. But for today only one. Because just carrying my camera around and looking like I knew what I was doing (I didn't) landed me a spot in this:

The 1998 Indy 500 Number 9 Official Pace Car.

Now, to figure out a way to test drive these babies.

 : )

The U-Turn

A year and a little bit ago I began feverishly training for an April half marathon. Following a very strict schedule that outlined times and distances with exactness, I spent the icy winter on the treadmill, painstakingly logging and recording every mile to the second. I worked hard, sweat hard, and pushed hard. And with every single run I exceeded my training goal.

I was motivated. 

I was determined. 

I was strong.

This year I am training for the same April half marathon. And today I completed a run. A Completely Awful run.

This has not been my first Completely Awful run of the training season. In fact, Not-Awful runs have become the exception rather than the rule. My strong and determined runs of a year ago have given way to tearful runs, angry runs, frustrated runs, shouting runs (I swore once...out loud), and walking more than running runs. And although I am lighter than I was when I began running five years ago, most of this year's runs have felt heavier than ever.

With the race just a little more than four weeks out I have had to accept the reality that my finish times will not be what they have been. No matter what I do. 

So I'm left with no choice but to recalculate.

(Recalculating...Recalculating... Recalculating...)

I've thought about this a lot. Mostly about how it often seems that the annoying GPS lady is really sending a message about my life. But more importantly, what it means if she is.

I have come to this conclusion: It's all about the U-Turn.

For the run this means changing my direction, not just to the perpendicular right or left, but all the way around. Back to where I began. 

It means starting slow if I have to.

It means listening to how I feel. 

It means pushing, but not too hard.

It means fighting through the pain.

It means slowly gathering strength.

It means running when I can, and walking when I have to.

It does not mean stopping.

Above all, it means getting back to the core of why I run.

Freedom. Clarity. Balance. Strength. Power. Joy. 

All things that have less to do with the body, and more to do with the soul.

All things I can gain without a time goal.

It's pretty much the same for living. Sometimes you have to recalculate. You have to suspend the goal, make the U-Turn, and go back to where you began.

The place where you...

Start slow if you have to.
Listen to how you feel.
Push, but not too hard.
Fight through the pain.
Slowly gather strength.
Run when you can, and walk when you have to.
But do not stop.
Above all, get back to the core of why you live.

And here you can fill in your own answers.

For the next few weeks I will be taking a brief hiatus from life as I know it. And I will train in the altitude. 

This will be hard.

This will be slow.

This will be painful.

But it needn't be discouraging if I can just remember...

Freedom. Clarity. Balance. Strength. Power. Joy. 

And not just for my run. For my life.

Friday Photos - Puppy Love

I love my dog. I do, I do. 

But what I really love is a little tiny fluffy puppy. So when Kid Two called to see if I would drive with her and her Kid One to pick up a new furry friend I was all over it. Not to mention Kid Middle was in town. Can you see the bonuses here? Car time with Kid Two, her Kid One, Kid Middle, and New Puppy all in one day. It doesn't get much sweeter than that! Unless you're on a cruise that day. Like Little Man was. 

Anyway, this happened to be one of the two February days that my camera worked its way out of its case.

And so I will share. 

This is Kid Two's first meeting with this sweet little pup. 

The pup is black. The sky is white. Not the best mix for good photos. But look how tiny she is!!!

This is New Puppy and Kid Two's Kid One. 

I will now call Kid Two's Kid One, Grandkid One. It's just easier that way. 

This is just Grandkid One. 

And I might even like him better than New Puppy. I'm just sayin'. 

He's introducing New Puppy to the instinctive obvious. 

Fire Hydrant.

This is "The Miracle Picture: Boy and Dog". 

I have no idea how this even happened. 

Have you ever seen a 14-month old boy and an 8-week old pup stay in one place that long? Me either. 

Like I said. Miracle.

And this is New Puppy all by herself. 

She can fit in my sleeve. 

She is friendly, and fluffy and everything you could ever want in a puppy. 

And she has a name. 

It is Kaiya. 

The best part? I don't have to potty train her!

Happy Friday!

High Expectations

It's March. This is good.

I did not write even one post during February. This is bad.

I only picked up my camera twice between January 17 and February 23. This is also bad.

But I am going to do better. This is good again.

The End.

Not really the end. But honestly, that's about all I've had to say. For days. Maybe even months. Is your life ever like that? I mean, I've wanted to blog really, really bad, but I've had a hard time coming up with stuff worth blogging about.

And it's been exactly one year and three days since I wrote my first blog post. I remember the expectation I set for myself to blog every day. For 13 days. Which reminds a little of the time decided I was going to teach my kids to tell me 'thank you' when I changed their diapers. It didn't work. In either case. But after a completely dry February I am ready to try again.

So here is my Blog Proclamation to The World.
Well, to My World. Of six.

This March I will blog more than twice.
I will try to include one clever post and one thoughtful post.
I will also post at least one picture.

That's all.

And how's that for high expectations?
I think I have finally figured out the key to my blogging success.
Lower my standards.