Bragging Rights...

Pre-reading caveat...

I AM NOT AN ATHLETE...

See, here's the thing, though, I have always wanted to be...and in particular, I have always wanted to be a runner. I don't know what it is about the sport of running that I find so compelling. Maybe it's that you can run anywhere, anytime...it is the quintessential individualist sport (as one who doesn't play nice with others...and by that I mean I'm not any good at anything...I don't like being subjected other people's ridicule and competitive nature...might I also add I blame a lot of jr. high scarring on this particular fact...), maybe it's that my grandfather ran the Boston Marathon, oh, you know, a couple of times, no big deal...maybe it's the fact that I look really great in spandex (okay, fine, maybe not so much that one) maybe it's the fact that runners (distance runners in particular) have copious amounts of self-control and discipline...of which I have none...could be any number of things.

But, the honest truth is I am just not genetically disposed to athletics...running in particular. I'm 5'4" I have a stride of approximately 6 inches and I have to buy running shoes with soles made of tempered steel to correct the pronation in my gate because my arches are so high you could drive a train through them...See, if Botticelli was convening a team of some sort I would have been his first round draft pick, but I'm pretty sure Bill Bowerman wouldn't have let me carry his team's towels for fear I might infect his runners with curvaceous slowness, or at least bad knees or something...by all accounts me and running are just not meant to be...

For the visual learners in the group...

This
Not ThisEverybody still with me? A seriously sad plight indeed. I never thought I would be able to run any sort of distance...and of course sprinting was just out. Some people have fast twitch muscles, some people have slow twitch muscles...I'm just lucky if I can get mine to twitch. Now, don't get me wrong, I take good care of myself (with the one unfortunate exception of a particularly depressing year of college fueled by a lot of Law & Order and toast)...I go to the gym, I lift weights, I do aerobics, kickboxing, yoga, and did dance and cheerleading in high school...I'm not a total lot cause, I just always believed running was not my calling because let's face it, I'm shaped like classic glassware, and I just always figured my joints couldn't handle it, because...well...I guess 'cause my mom told me they couldn't, and why question momma?

Anyway...the bottom line is, this weekend I did something to prove myself wrong. This weekend, on Saturday, the 15th of November, I RAN A HALF MARATHON. That's right folks...13.1 miles...and I ran the whole way.

Remember...

This
Not ThisNow, I know for some of you this is not a big deal...10 miles is like a leisure run for you. Again, a little more context...after we ran the mile for gym class I had to excuse myself, and went and laid down on the cold cement floor in the locker room (I know, you're asking me "isn't the floor in the locker room disgusting? to which I will answer you..."ummm, yeah") because I nearly blacked out. Again...running, not my calling.

Still With Me...?

ThisNot This

Since moving out to DC I've just decided that it's time I do a few things I always told myself I could never do. One of those things included running a road race of some significant length. Now, to this point the closest I've come was my office 5K...not that 3.1 miles is something to scoff at...but it just wasn't enough. Why I felt the compulsion to jump to a half-marathon rather than a 10K or even a 10 miler I have no idea...but I did...and the craziest part is...

I liked it.
(okay, fine...I liked most of it..miles 9-12 I could have done without...but you get the idea)

No kidding. I had a blast. The race was so fun, and I actually found myself smiling as I chugged along mile marker after mile marker. Maybe I was smiling because I knew I was about to accomplish something I thought was impossible...maybe it was because the inhabitants of Richmond had come out in full force and were camped out on their lawns waving flags and blowing noisemakers cheering on perfect strangers towards the finish line...maybe it was the satisfaction of passing that really fit looking African guy (don't worry, I'm pretty sure he was injured as there is no way I would have passed him otherwise..and yes, I know I'm profiling here...forgive me)...regardless of what it was...I thoroughly enjoyed myself. Particularly the finishing part...


The Richmond Half Marathon winds its way through downtown Richmond, VA as well as through some of the surrounding neighborhoods. The bulk of the course is quite flat with some barely intelligible changes in incline as you go along. My personal opinion on hills is that while they are a beast to get up, the pay off of getting to run with gravity on the other side is totally worth it...and by about mile 11 I was really ready to see some downhill. As I came around the final bend in the course and I could actually see the finish line and realized I was standing atop a fairly decent sized hill (possibly the only one in Richmond) but wasn't quite sure how I got there because you don't remember running up anything that significant...at that point, however, I didn't much care because I'd just run 12.6 miles and could see the goal at the bottom of that hill. It felt like I was flying.


I was only conscious enough of my feet to try and keep myself from completely eating it on the downhill (does it still count as a "strong finish" if you roll across the finish line?) but I ran as fast as I could (yes, I think I even managed what would qualify as a sprint). When I crossed the finish line I was completely out of breath, but so overjoyed to have finished strong that I was nearly in tears. As I gasped for breath one of the men handing out medals asked "Are you okay?" and all I could get out between gasps was "No, I'm great!"

Cheezy? Totally. But it's true. I don't know what felt better...knowing that I didn't have to run anymore or knowing that I had just proved myself wrong. In the end all the training, all the blisters, and all the sweat, tears, and pain that went into preparation were worth it. I didn't set any records, that's for sure (as in, the guy who won the marathon ran it 22 minutes faster than I ran the half) but I did something I had always told myself I could never do. I ran 13.1 miles. On top of that, I enjoyed running 13.1 miles. I'm really not too worried about what all the pounding is doing to my knees...my brain on the other hand is a completely different story...

Many kudos to all those who pushed me through, encouraged me, and expressed their admiration at my apparent insanity. I couldn't have done it without you. Big time props to Josh M for signing up for the dang thing with me and training despite some serious aches, pains, and scheduling issues...you were a champ and our weekend in Richmond will forever live in infamy...So, the bottom line is, never write yourself off. You may find you actually enjoy doing something you never thought you were capable of, and that it teaches you a lot about yourself while you're doing it. You may even cultivate a little self control and discipline along the way (not saying I did...I definitely had a milkshake to celebrate...I'm just saying some people might...)

So, as it turns out I'm kind of hooked and am looking forward to the next one. Should be ready to go as soon as all the scabs heal over...

Oh, and by the way...

ThisNot ThisThere's crazy, and then there's suicidal...I'll stick with just plain crazy, thanks very much.

It's A Paradigm Thing...

A few months ago I got the chance to meet my friend Josh's niece, Elise. Aside from being a ridiculously beautiful child, she is also deliciously precocious and a handful...in a way that intrigues you so much that you can't possibly be frustrated with her, while at the same time fearing for her parents sanity when she hits teenager-dom. I adore her.


Since meeting Elise, her darling little sister Chloe, and their fantastic parents and spending a great day with them in Baltimore (my first time in the Charm City) I have started reading their blog occasionally on my routine web perusals and I am endlessly entertained by the shenanigans of these kids. The other day, however, I saw something that made me think a little bit about differing paradigms and how my upbringing differed significantly from this little girl that I identitify with in a lot of ways...

What intrigued me were some video clips of the family's recent trip to Costa Rica. In the first clip Elise is holding a small lizard, which she proceeds to give very tender and repeated kisses (in spite of being nipped on the lip by the mini-dino...maybe he's already got a lady-lizard friend). What can I say, the girl loves reptiles...her dad's got to be so proud. In the second clip, Elise is holding a small garden snake while her dad looks on. Mom, manning the camera asks what she is doing and Elise responds repeatedly "I hold the snake...I hold the snake..." (You really should see this for yourself...you can see the video here...many thanks to Juli and Ben for letting me post the link).

On seeing this I was so shocked at the fearlessness of this little girl, particularly given my own experience at her age with snakes...time for another flash from the farm...

See here's the thing...I grew up in south central Montana on a cattle ranch closer to the middle of nowhere than anything else. For those of you who haven't had the opportunity to visit the illustrious locale of Toston, Montana, you should know that the sagebrush hills enclosing the Missouri River valley where I lived are FULL of Diamondback Rattlesnakes. As a 3 year old, I knew no difference between a harmless garden snake and a 6 foot rattler capable of dispatching small mammals of various sizes and ferocities...that may or may not be a real word...just go with it.

Whereas Elise was happy to "hold the snake" all I knew at her age was "kill the snake." I got it from all sides...my only real understanding about snakes was that my dad smashed their heads with shovels, my grandma accelerated and braked over them until they were nothing but slimy skid marks on the road, my mom lobbed stones as big as her head onto their bodies until they stopped slithering, and my grandfather blasted them to scaly bits with his shotgun...and all the while they told me "snakes are dangerous, you will die if they bite you, WE KILL SNAKES." * You can see where my biases against said serpents come from...and why I always seemed to relate to Indiana Jones...

So it occurred to me that at that age if you had asked me to hold a snake, I probably would have screamed bloody murder and reached for the nearest blunt instrument (probably a damn hammer...but that's another story in and of itself). This is not to say that I was a scared little kid...after all, I was taking on hundreds of pounds of charging 'Grade A' American Angus at the age of six...much to my father's chagrin...please ref the Cat Story...It's just a matter of growing up with a different mindset.

I think one reason I like Elise is because we are a lot alike; independent, a little serious, each fearless in our own way, and, no doubt, making our parents very worried for what lies ahead (still probably more true for me than not...). I also realized how much a person's environment influences their worldview...Where I will always shiver a little at the thought of actually letting my skin come in contact with snake scales that are actually still on a living breathing snake, Elise will be Dr. Doolittle-ing it up with all sorts of slithery critters.

As for me and my Stanfills, however, we will probably continue teaching our posterity the virtues of the business end of a shovel in human-snake encounters**...sorry PETA, it's nothing personal...just a matter of paradigm.

*My family is not violent by nature, quite the opposite actually...it's possible that snakes just don't really bring out the Stanfill's best side

**To illustrate how the anti-snake biase has pervaded Stanfill Family culture, I will refer you to my cousin Emily and her husband Michael's blog where you can request a copy of Emily's entrance essay to BYU...specifically about her first experience with grandma's preferred snake killing tool...grandpa's gold Buick...it's classic, and may have been the original inspiration for writing about the snake paradigm.

Something Funny Happened on the Way to the Mall...

Today Jane and I were on our way to the National Mall to take in a free jazz concert at the Sculpture Garden next to the National Museum of Art...well...that is not exactly true. We were on our way home from a failed attempt (got to love summer thunderstorms in DC) to take in a free jazz concert at the Sculpture Garden next to the National Museum of Art...but I was having a devil of a time trying to come up with a catchy title to that effect. Anyway...I digress...

So, Jane and I had gotten on the metro and take a seat amongst the other passengers, not thinking much about it. Jane was telling me about her day at work and how her crabby and rude co-worker had said something that really upset her. She was telling me how it had been really hard with this particular co-worker lately, as she was always saying really rude or mean things to Jane. I, of course, was advocating some sort of confrontation to tell the crabby co-worker to take a long walk off a short pier, out the window, to the bottomless depths of he...okay, you get the idea. Anyway, we were talking about constructive ways (come on, give me a little credit) that Jane could approach the crabby co-worker.

Just as Jane was giving yet another explanation of some of the angsty antics of this particularly nasty employee, the train was stopping at one of stations. The man behind us (who from the brief glance I managed to sneak of him as he exited, appeared to be a decently dressed white haired man in his late 40's or early 50's) leaned forward as he was getting up to leave and said (not in his temple voice)

"She's just jealous because you're gorgeous."

And then he walked away. That's it. Just walked out. Jane and I just stared at each other and then burst into fits of laughter. Had that really just happened? Amazing. This guy didn't even look like a nutjob.

Now don't get me wrong, there is no reason this sort of thing shouldn't be happening to Jane on a regular basis. Any guy would be so lucky to get close enough to give my gorgeous six foot tall red-headed friend such a complement. If guys knew what was good for them, they would be throwing themselves at her feet. Anyway...I digress...Again.

The point is, people just don't do things like that. I'm not saying they shouldn't...I think it just took us both by surprise. But as Jane and I were walking home discussing the event, we decided maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing.

So, I've decided. It's time to start giving people more compliments. I know that nothing makes my day like when someone gives me an unexpected and wholly unsolicited compliment. I've decided maybe it's time that I tried harder to maybe make someone else' day.

Because there is no doubt that this guy definitely made our night...

Jersey Girls...

Last weekend Jane and I ventured away from Northern Virginia to go see one of my very best friends from college, Melanie Brough. Melanie and her husband Dave and their beautiful new daughter Lillia live with Melanie's parents in Pleasantville, New Jersey, just outside of Atlantic City.

We had a wonderful weekend and Melanie and her family were too kind to show us all of the sights, including Atlantic City and their favorite family beach. Here are some of the photos of the weekend.

We went Over the River...

Through the Woods....





We were well stocked

Jane is the BEST travel buddy...not to mention she takes great travel picsWe met Melanie and went...of course...to THE BEACH
We touched the Ocean...well...the Ocean touched us...You will notice it creeping up behind us here...You can probably guess what happened next...We saw the sights...including this rather famous (?) giant elephant. It used to be a hotel.
We spent some more time at the beach...

We Saw Some Strange Things Along The Way...
In case you were wondering where it is...it's in New Jersey...I can give you directions if you need them...This, apparently, is the preferred method of moving in New Jersey...You can also play "I Spy" with all the items stuffed into the trunk...it's like a double challenge...Challenge 1) Find selected item...Challenge 2) See how long you can follow the car in order to find the maximum amount of items...Instant Fun

All in all we had a great trip. Many thanks to Melanie and her wonderful family for their incredible hospitality! Stay tuned for the next road trip adventure! HAPPY TRAILS!

Springtime in DC

The Cherry Blossom festival is the official start of spring in Washington DC. Two weekends ago Jane and I rounded up a group of friends to go see the opening day of the festival, as well as check out the kite festival that was going on simultaneously. The day was a lot of fun, and not without moments of adventure...including but not limited too...crowd surfing in the metro amongst the THOUSANDS of people who turned out for the festival's first day...Jane's unfortunate run in with a small fence, and subsequently, the pavement surrounding said fence...nearly being killed by a kamikaze Barbie kite...and repeated uncomfortably close encounters with my friend (and ninja?) Kevin. All in all, it was a great day, and no one ended up falling into the Tidal Basin...so we'll call it a success. Below are some of the photos that I took while we were out. Not being a photographer, I am particulalry proud of the way several of them turned out.

The Smithsonian Castle building over the mall.










Cherry blossoms surrounding the tidal basin with the Jefferson Memorial in the background











Yet another photo for Jane and I's album...aren't we so pretty? Too bad I was being lazy and have my hair in pigtails AND it was cold so i was wearing my nubuck colored Columbia sweater...so I look a little like Pocohontas...Just around the river bend, anyone?




One of my favorite photos that I took. I love the Jefferson Memorial, and the branches in the foreground are really pretty. It was a great day for it, and the water in the Tidal Basin--despite being part of the Potomac (which you couldn't pay me enough to ever swim in)-- had a really pretty color.




A close-up of one of the blossom branches. I need to get a photo editing program because my iPhoto workshop just isn't cutting it at this point, and the blossoms look a little washed out.







Anne, myself, and Deanne. Remind me to not ever stand between those two beautiful girls ever again!







Anne and I. Love Love LOVE this girl!

Jane and I...again...like I said, we already have a killer "wedding album" :P

This is probably my favorite shot of the day...HAPPY SPRING!

Armchairs, Kidnapper Vans, and Other Misadventures…

It’s a good thing to love your car. In a day and age where our society focuses a lot on the material, it’s great to be not only satisfied with one of the cheifest of our material positions, but to love it all encompassingly; this is how I feel about my car. My 2005 Honda Accord has never failed me and I do not get car envy. However, two weeks ago, I learned that an all encompassing love for ones car can lead to an overestimation of its capabilities, and, in turn, certain…misadventures.

Two weeks ago Jane (see photo of greatest friend ever) and I went to Ikea in Woodbridge, Virginia (a 22 miles trek) so I could purchase a big comfy armchair and ottoman. In classic Ikea style, both the chair and ottoman were advertised as requiring some home assembly and being packaged in 2 boxes each. I assumed that because the boxes would contain only PARTS of the chair/ottoman, the size would be manageable, and the whole purchase would fit nicely into my unconquerable little car. We picked up the required slips for the furniture and headed to pick up the boxes at the designated spot in the warehouse. When the employee brought out the dolly with my furniture, I instantly realized that we had a serious problem. Unlike most Ikea furniture, the chair was fully assembled; the “box” was the entire chair with big fatty cushions wrapped in plastic. The second “box” contained only the white canvas slipcover for the chair. I took one look at the chair, and knew we were in trouble. (See photo of troublemaker chair)
Being the optimist (read delusioned, depth perception challenged hard head) that I am I decided we might as well give it a shot, so I bought a length of rope, and figured if nothing else we could stuff the chair in the trunk, tie down the roof as far as it would go and drive home in the slow lane. We tried it frontways, we tried it sideways, we tried it diagonalways, upsidedownways, and every other way we could think of. It was clear that there was no way we were going to get that chair in the trunk of that car in a way that could possibly survive the 22 mile trip home. I realized that I had severly overestimated the capabilities of my little car…It was a sad moment.

That moment, however, lasted about 5 seconds because the bottom line was I had to get the chair, Jane, and myself home, somehow. Luckily, Ikea maintains its own Enterprise Rental Car desk for just such occasions. So, we headed back upstairs to the desk and I arranged to rent…wait for it…a 17 foot long white cargo van (see van).


Now, anyone who has watched CSI, Without a Trace, Law & Order, or any other TV series involving kidnappings or death will be familiar with just such a van (usually maintained by the perpatrator); 17 feet long, white, no windows. The lady at the desk hooked me up and promised this was the “latest” model. Awesome. It was tricked out with multiple cigarette lighters, nondescript white paint job, manual windows and door locks, and dual sliding doors for easy on/off loading of cargo/victims. So, Jane and I loaded the chair into the back and took off for home.

With wheels like these, who wouldn't consider a life of crime?

We spent the half hour ride making repeated jokes and references to how we were preparing for future events that would make it necessary for us to begin a life of crime (See photo of me as criminal). We played all kinds of games, like “Count the Kidnapper Vans” and sang much beloved road songs like “100 Duct-Taped Jr. High Kids.” Anyway, you get the picture. We made it home without any major incident, except being checked out by two forty year old men in their very own kidnapper van. I dropped off Jane and the chair, and headed back to Woodbridge.

Turns out, I learned a few things from this experience. First, Jane is great. Not many friends would find as much humor in having to drive home in a kidnapper van because her best friend thought her car had magic powers equivalent to Mary Poppins’ bottomless bag of tricks. Second, a kidnapper van WILL do 70 mph if you treat it right. It may or may not stop. Third and final, while those kidnappers do have dibs on sweet wheels, I think I will keep my cushy government job, and appropriately modest 4-door sedan.

It Was Bound to Happen...

Well, after some deep introspection and a little prodding from a few friends and relatives, I am dipping a trepidatious toe into the pool that is the blogosphere.

To provide a bit of context for my decision to enter the wide world of blogging, you have to know that I have a special place in my heart for the art of prose, and hope to be able to share a little of my own style with anyone who might care to read. Also, I figure if I'm ever going to publish that book my dad's been after me to write for the last...oh say... 15 years I should probably start practicing and collecting those stories that make life worthwhile.

I make no promises that this blog will be comprehensive, deep, authoritative, or even interesting. There is also a very good chance it will occasionally be sarcastic, overly pragmatic, and, on the off occasion, a little ridiculous. I will promise, however, that it will be an attempt to stay in better touch with those who are dear to me, and hopefully provide an insight into the little things that make every day laughable, agonizing, and/or fabulous (in no particular order of importance or frequency).

With that, I will say that you have been forewarned, but I hope that you will find a few things in this small niche of cyberspace that are amusing, inspiring, or, at the very least, worth a good solid Jr. High-style eye roll. Happy Reading!