It was getting closer to 3pm. I had told myself that I was going to get back out on the trails by 4 and so I started to gather my things. I finished my lunch, got my backpack, and was ready to head out when Chad told me about the forecast.

Last week, or in my time-line 30 seconds ago, when I wrote about following the trail, I couldn't help but think about the people that laid down the rock towers. Before I ever set foot here, who was the person to see a giant rock that looked like a whale and decided to try and climb up? And not only did they climb up, but they laid down a path so that they could climb up again.

A few days ago, I had taken a wrong turn after work and found myself at Cabela's. On a whim, I went inside to see if I would be inspired to buy any last minute supplies for my trip. Medium story short, I bought a map of Moab. I didn't actually think I would need it, because phones and GPS and Trail Apps and all that, but it was there and I was there, so I bought it. I figured it would be a good souvenir. Fast forward to a very large national park, no cell service, and my souvenir map becoming my best friend.

Every year, one of my friends sends out a letter for Christmas. She types it out and spends lots of thoughtful time updating her friends and family on everything that is going on in their lives. As a family that lives in a different state without internet or cell service, these letters and our occasional land line phone calls are the only time I get to catch up. I cherish getting the letters and reading them. It’s like I’m taken back to a time and place where…

I was driving down a local highway, switching through radio stations, when I landed on a song I have heard a million times. This time, though, it took me back to a different place…. Some will win… some will lose… some were born to sing the blues… Oh the movie never ends it goes on… and on… and on… Suddenly I'm standing there with Kyle and Morgan.

Something I love about marathoners, and perhaps runners in general, is that we aren't afraid to celebrate. When you cross that finish line, a special thing happens. You are handed your medal, you put it over your neck like everyone else, and you celebrate the big thing you just did. At the finish line, it doesn’t matter how fast you ran the race. It doesn't matter…

It was about mile 7. Or maybe it was 8, when I first saw him coming up next to me. He hung there for a while, matching my stride, then falling a little behind when I would get some bursts of energy. Then, nearing mile 10, when I started to hit the wall, he edged far enough in front of me that I could see the back of his shirt. It read: Iron Sharpens Iron.

A few weeks ago, I took the road less traveled. Instead of running the same road to the bridge and back, I decided to go left. I ran and chose a new road that I had never gone down before. When I got to a cross-road I chose a direction and kept going. About halfway through, I looked at a map and realized that if I kept going in the same direction my total mileage back home would probably be over 10 miles. I could turn back at that point, and run a total of 7. Or I could keep going.

I came to the café today to work on my book, but when I sat down I felt so heavy with thought. Thoughts that weren't about my book. Thoughts about life and the more I tried to push them aside, the less focused I was. So instead of trying to push them away, I opened up a blank page, called it Untitled, and just started writing.

There is a quintessential moment in nearly every romantic movie. It's that dramatic kiss when the couple finally gets together. Imagine that moment right now. Now tell me - what's the weather like? Is it raining? Yeah.. It's probably raining because it always is. Sweet Home Alabama… The Notebook… Singing in the Rain… although I guess we saw that one coming. But heck, even Spiderman and Daredevil make the list. I don't know why a kiss isn't as romantic when the sun is shining, but it's true and that's what I was thinking about as I was sitting on my kayak watching the storm clouds roll in.

When I was a kid, my favorite part of the water park was the lazy river. Sitting in a tube and just letting the current take you was the most simple and yet satisfying experience. Just sitting in the tube, of course, was never enough. I would need to hang beside it, one hand attached to keep me a float, with the rest of my body kicking and going with the flow to see how fast I could get.

The other day, after driving 6 hours, I went to open the driver side car door only to realize I was trapped inside. I pulled on the handle several times but somehow it got caught mid-way through opening. I pulled and shook it but the door wouldn't budge. I then had to…

Last night I met Dale. He's an older man, retired, with horn rimmed glasses and a very healthy appetite for life. He was in town to cheer on a friend in a three day fishing competition where he hoped his friend would make it to day three. Don't worry though, because if he didn't he was going to visit the longest zipline in the US which, according to him, was somewhere between NY and Boston (I looked it up - it's at Hunter Mountain, in case you want to go). Toward the end of the night, as we talked over the empty chairs beside us at the bar, he told me a story that I hope I never forget.

A few hours ago I was sitting on a plane, staring at the closed cockpit. It was a small jet, and so in seat 2A I was just about 10 feet back from where the Captain was flying the plane. Despite being so close, I couldn't see anything. The cockpit was closed and the door never opened for the duration of the two hour flight. The reason for that, is what is called the Sterile Cockpit.

It’s 11am on Sunday and I am still in bed. Late last night, I flew back from a week away in Cancun, Mexico. I spent just about the entire time drinking piña coladas, relaxing by the pool, and not having a care in the world. For that reason I’m sure it’s easy for you to understand then why I am nursing my coffee, snuggled in the sheets and not wanting to get back to “real” life.

I can’t remember the last time I was the first to wake up in this house. This year we have 8 adults, 3 young kids, and two dogs, so I’m not really sure how the only one without kids managed to get up first. But here I am, sitting outside on a cool summer morning, coffee in hand, listening to nothing but the sound of the birds.

This week I have been working some extra-long hours. Our team has a deadline and I want us to reach it. Fortunately, for myself, I am not being told I have to do this. There are no expectations and my manager has even checked in on me several times to make sure I'm not getting burnt out. When I work at a place like that…

In an effort to avoid going for my run this morning, I decided I would procrastinate by checking my work messages. The day that I am writing this is a Wednesday and I had taken just 2 days off around the fourth of July holiday. With so many out, I didn't expect to come back to much. To my surprise…

When I was 3 years old, I took a dance class.

I believe there’s a ridiculous picture of me somewhere at my parents' house that can serve as proof. I was dressed in a fake grass skirt and had more make up on than I’ve ever worn as an adult. Looking at that picture you might think I would have pursued a career in dance. Yet, surprisingly, the following year when my mother asked me if I wanted to go back to dance class, I apparently said…

Just this year I started taking vitamins every day. I know, I know, it's probably something I should have already been doing for years. But better late than never, right? When my doctor gently scolded me for not taking them, my need to please had me going out to the store that day to get a bottle. Which of course made me feel like a real adult (until I bought them in gummy form).