Hi friends! It is good to be back after a week of meandering and thinking and enjoying and realizing how bad I am at “not-busy.” It was work not doing stuff and just watching my kids play and tumble and live. And honestly I failed 50% of the time. But I did try! Ever since my husband started running, we’ve joked back and forth about when he crosses that magic line and becomes a runner. Sure, you think we are strange. But we have been blessed with friends that are runners. Runners, as in doing multiple marathons a year. Runners, as in having run the Wasatch 100 three times. In case you are thinking, “What on earth is the Wasatch 100?” Here ya go:

The Wasatch Front 100 Mile Endurance Run is held in Utah the first Friday and Saturday after Labor Day each year. The run stretches from Layton, Utah to The Homestead in Midway, Utah and covers some of the most beautiful scenery the Wasatch Mountains have to offer. There is a cumulative elevation gain of approximately 26,882 feet, as well as a cumulative loss of approximately 26,131 feet throughout the course.

Yeah, insane. So naturally, my husband doubts he’ll ever really be a runner. And he is okay with that. But this morning I decided to go for a run. I am normally a group-fitness-gym-freak (yes, that is the technical name). I am NOT a runner. Sure I’ve done a 10k but I hate running. My body hates running. And any enthusiasm I have for the activity quickly dissipates the second I start actually doing it. But I had my running pants on, my shoes tied, and my inner monologue was something like this: “Is it cold out? Can I use that as an excuse?” My husband (a.k.a. my outer monologue) was more like our Golden Doodle…I came downstairs to them both staring at me with that goofy-dumb-excited smile that most people attribute to Golden Retrievers. “Love, I have my wireless headphones all ready for you. I am going to have you bring my cell phone so you can stream music. So…here is my waist belt, do you want water? Yes? No?” He was going a mile-a-minute. Which was good, cause it distracted me from my impending doom. I got ready. The dog, my husband, everyone was shaking with energy. Everyone but me. “Wife, I am just so excited for you to go for a run, you are going to have so much fun!” Well, I did go for that run. 3.5 miles. And the route my husband chose for me was beautiful. And Mumford and Son’s was great company…even though my inner dancer has trouble listening to music during activity cause I cannot move off-beat. I’ve tried it skiing too. Nope. Unless my mogul-line and the music tempo matched, I was a wreck. Literally. But I found that the fun and quick tempo matched the easy trot of my dog and so off we trotted. Without a hitch. And the sun rose over the Wasatch, waxing majestic. And the Jordan River didn’t smell gross in the cool autumn air. It was actually fun. I got home and my husband was waiting with the door open. In fact, I think he might have been watching through the window the whole time I was gone…”Did you have fun?! Wasn’t it great?!” And that is when I realized my husband is a runner now… He might not agree. But what is a runner? What is a climber? Or skier? Or mountaineer? We all have different definitions. I skied so much in my younger years, I didn’t really consider someone a skier (secretly) unless they skied 50+ days a year and could ski ANY terrain, any conditions. So… since having kids, I am no longer a skier by my old estimations. (Naturally, some definitions have to change over time.) But the second my husband went from enduring the runs to looking forward to them, from rejoicing in an off-day to mourning it, from running for only exercise (nothing wrong with this by the way) to running for the enjoyment of it - that was the day my husband became a runner in my book.