Sunday, March 22, 2009


Some people think that loose hair, in any situation, is gross. I can sympathize with that, but in this case, I think it's cool.

Let me explain. I cut my hair a few days ago after 4.25 months (beating my previous record of 3.75 months), and hair that I had cut off was not small in quantity. I found out several years ago that if I just squish my hair together, I can make a pretty good, tight hair ball that just sticks together. And yes, I did wash my hair and didn't even use any gel or other hair products. It's just good, clean hair.

Although it looks like there are white or gray hairs, it's just the lighting...

Not only does the hair stay together in a ball, but I can toss it up or even throw it on the counter, and only a few hairs get detached.

Now it's your turn to tell me what you think. Is it gross, interesting, both, or just cool? (my brother Darren wanted to find out the difference in response between guys & girls, so please vote on the appropriate poll) Feel free to leave a comment too.

Do you or someone you know have hair like this? I'm curious to find out.

Saturday, March 21, 2009


Sorry to get your hopes up, but no, that that announcement. It is, however, something I might share during a good news minute if I still got to go to Relief Society.

The announcement is that on Thursday night, for the very first time in my entire life, I dove for a ball. That's right. Five years ago I would have looked at the ball going out of the court and decided it wasn't worth it. (I would have most likely been looking from my couch.) Heck, two years ago playing with my kids at recess I probably wouldn't have even run for it, but today I'm gloating over the beautiful bruise on my right knee. Now, before you have unrealistic beliefs about my basketball abilities, I was WAY off. I got the ball all right, but about 6 feet too late. I did, however crash into the chairs where spectators would have been sitting, had there been more than 6 spectators. It felt fabulous! I may miss passes and shots, but ain't nobody gonna accuse me of being lazy on the court. (It's fun that you can write "ain't nobody" on a blog, without worrying your grammar grade will suffer.)

There's the team

Despite my inability to get that ball before it went out, my team won the game. By the skin of our teeth, but a win nonetheless. That win put us into the championship game, held this morning. The game was against the team I've only ever heard called "Tracy's team." They've been together for, as far as I can tell, forever. They know the game, and they've got mad skills. We played them earlier this season and lost by quite a bit. But, man, are those girls fun to play with! And here comes the next announcement: I fouled a girl, and they called it, and it was a good foul. I stuck my hand out, and she crashed right into it with her neck. That was the very first time I have had a foul called against me in my whole entire life. It felt good! I never knew fouling somebody could feel good. It didn't feel good because I smacked a girl in the neck, it felt good because I was really playing. I was fully invested in the game. (Don't worry, she didn't even cry.)

There she is not crying.

I was so invested in the game that later, I dove for another loose ball . . . and got it! I ended up on the floor with the ball, and I safely passed it to . . . someone on my team! It almost made up for when the tip off went to me and I clumsily shoved it off the court. :) I'm not the star player yet, (haha, "yet" implies that someday I will be. I'll just leave that.) but I've made major improvements.

There's the tip off I shoved off the court.

Goodness, run a 5k last Saturday, play the championship basketball game today. Someone who didn't know better might accidentally confuse me for an athlete.

As proof that I really was fully invested: in this picture, my eyes are closed not just due to a blink, but because sweat actually dripped into my eyes.

Thursday, March 19, 2009

The mind body connection

The before. Paul, unlike me, wanted to warm up. I wanted to save every last step
for the actual race. Who do you think runs for real?

I think I'm on my way to a running addiction. I'm not there yet. I could quit cold turkey right now no problem, but here's the thing. I don't think I will.

One of my new year's resolutions this year was to run a 5k. I decided last year that I would do one, and started training, oh, about two months ago. Courtlin and I had planned to do it together since last year, and Kevin got in on it when he peeked at my New Years resolution list and copied me. Jordan, Paul, Jolene, and Elise decided to join us, and perhaps most importantly, Noelle, who has access to a treadmill and was willing to trade babysitting to train decided to join in on the fun 7 months pregnant. (She ended up not being able to run because she had to coach the YW basketball team that day, but she still trained with me.) I started training with this program but doing 4 runs a week rather than 3.

This is what Alena did while I tortured myself on the treadmill

I got to the part where I was supposed to run 2 miles without stopping to walk when I decided I HATED running slowly, which is the only way I could possible run 2 miles without stopping to walk, and discovered that I would arrive at the two miles faster if I ran fast, and then walked fast, and ran fast and walked fast. Plus also, I wouldn't despise it quite so much. That's when I switched to running faster rather than longer.

Proof. I'm the one right in the center of the piture.

Well, I ran the darn thing last Saturday. I came in last of all those in our group (we didn't really stay in a group), but I ran the thing and it didn't even take me an hour. It only took me 34:48. That's only a little over 10 minutes longer than it took Kevin who ran twice to train. (I can only come to terms with this by reminding myself hundreds of times that his magically being fit without really trying is in the genes he gives to my children.)

This is what Kevin does after running a 5k without really training.

This is a child that will benefit from those genes.

Immediately following the race people started asking me if I liked it. The answer: Maybe you should ask me in a couple of hours. Truthfully, I only liked the last 1/10 of a mile, because I got to run as fast as I could, and I could see the place where I got to stop running. Forever. I had told myself that after I did the 5k, it was perfectly legitimate to decide to never run again. There are plenty of other exercises that I actually enjoy, so why continue running if I just continue hating it? In a couple of hours, I was rightfully busting with pride and feeling really good about having done it. I wasn't quite sure I was ever going to run again though.

This is how I look when I know I never have to run again if I don't want.
And how 3 Reasor girls feel that they did something so very un-Reasor-girl-like.

I started asking around after the race, talking to people who like running. Does it hurt the whole time? What do you think about when you run? I've come to the conclusion that people who enjoy running can only do so because somehow they have learned to disconnect their mind from their body. What do they think about? Pretty much nothing. Maybe their breathing, maybe they have passing thoughts about...sorry...who they're passing, but mostly nothing. It's almost like meditation, only you burn a heck of a lot more calories. My thought process, on the other hand, goes more like this:
"Run. Run. Run. Keep Running. But it hurts. My lungs hurt. My lungs hurt, My lungs hurt a whole lot. Oh. My legs hurt too. My legs are hurting and my lungs are hurting and I don't like this. I really don't like this. Why am I doing this? I don't like it at all. In fact, I think I hate this. I'm just going to stop and walk for a while. No, keep running for a little while. No way, I hate this. But you can go farther. Sure I can, but I don't want to. I don't have any desire to. This stinks. Try listening to the music. Distract yourself. Right. Like I can listen to music when my lungs hurt like this, and my throat has that disgusting stuff stuck in there. I'm walking."
But this running induced state of meditation intrigues me. If I could figure out how to do that, I could like running. And running could relieve stress. Wow, wouldn't that be nice? And maybe, just maybe, I could take Alena in a stroller and go for a run when I needed to get away, rather than turn on a bunch of Reuben videos so that Alena will give me 20 minutes of peace. So I started researching. (Husty should be expecting a phone call. Every time I remember to call you, you're asleep, because you had the good sense to adopt your good wife's sleeping schedule.)

I found this article, and tried it out this morning. I ran two complete miles without stopping to walk, and then continued to run/walk for another half mile. So, I finally passed my stopping point on my previous training regimen, and I was right , it did take longer than run/walking 2 miles. However, I looked up at myself in the mirror (I'm still running on a treadmill) at 1.75 miles, and *gasp* I was smiling. Smiling I tell you. And it wasn't that grimacy smile that pops up as I say to myself, "!" I was happy. In the process of running. And I wasn't even thinking about when I could quit. I doubt it was really "runner's high" as my sources tell me you have to go farther than 2 miles to get something like that, but I smiled. This is progress. I think I'll go do it again tomorrow.

Friday, March 13, 2009

Night Night

Alena has always been good at going to bed. Lately, it's been really fun to go through her bedtime routine. First comes the bath and the lotion, then we read a book (or two), read the scriptures, have a prayer, and sing a song. Often, Alena likes to play around a little too, and we can't resist.

And recently, she has started tucking in her dollies & stuffed animals. It's adorable:

Yesterday, I was playing with her after coming home from work, and I laid down on her carpet. She then patted my cheek, said "night night," and closed the door while saying "bye bye." Yup, that's exactly what we do when putting her to bed. She walked down the hall and then I pretended to cry like a baby. She came back with a huge smile on her face and just giggled with delight.

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Tuesday, March 10, 2009

Language Barrier

Alena thinks that turkeys speak Spanish. That or she thinks the Spanish language sounds like turkey gobbles. This fact is shown by the fact that she makes the very same tongue flapping fowl noises when she picks up a picture book in Spanish, or her board book The Turkey Ball. Just thought you'd like to know. :)