One Year

On August 12, 2017, I scrambled out of the giant king bed I was sharing with my little sisters. I rushed to window, drew the curtains back quickly and my eyes darted to the sky. It was sparkling blue and there was not a cloud in sight. I exhaled a sigh of relief. Our rehearsal dinner had been the night prior and we were showered with rain, we walked in puddles and mud, and the clouds obscured the bright ball of fire that reigns in the sky. For the rehearsal dinner, I tried to shake off the implications that rain showers would have for our outdoor wedding. So on that beautiful and bright August morning, I no longer had to worry those worries. The sun would shine bright on mine and Aaron's nuptials, the warmth would fill our hearts and the rains would have to pour another day.

Our wedding was honestly perfect. In fact, the only difficult part of the day was waiting until 5pm. If I had to change anything, I would make it an earlier wedding, because I spent the entire day yearning to see my future husband. A delayed start time only made this worse. Delayed because it takes a ridiculously long time to filter 350 guests into a single entrance. I was so eager. I couldn't wait to hold my groom, to kiss him and to finally become husband and wife. I wanted to enjoy our mushroom-themed decorations. I wanted to adore the fresh smells of our hundreds of arrangements. I wanted to see our guests in their Sunday best. I wanted to dance to Cuarenta Y Cinco, watch the Butterfly dance performed by local tribal members, listen to the Mariachis, pose for our incredibly talented photographers, eat our aunt's creations, and indulge in our decadent cake. It was the culmination of months of planning, our savings spent, and the teamwork of two families who would soon unite.

We chose our venue wisely. Delancey Street Foundation is a drug treatment facility. Professionally, I have chosen a field in which I can work with pregnant women through their addiction. It was incredibly special to be able to do something personally in this realm as well. I felt honored that my wedding day expenses could go towards such an important cause as opposed to someone's pocket of profit. It was also the most beautiful venue a bride could hope for with a pond for a centerpiece, ivy and willows serving as a green backdrop, and the unique touches of southwestern adobe walls nestled in the land of Aaron's upbringing.

Our food was prepared in a familiar kitchen. It was made wholesome with the love of family who literally worked day and night to create a meal that would fill both bellies and hearts. The bread was baked in the hornos that dot the back of Aunt Norma's Ohkay Owingeh home. Every slice of meat was cut by the hand of Uncle Hutch, who also blessed us with a prayer of well wishes in Tewa.

The decorations were Jessica and Deidra's masterpiece. I am so blessed to have two older sisters who make dreams come true. Cousins by relationship, sisters by circumstance, that is. For the weeks leading up to our special day, we shared pinterest posts, we spent way too many hours in craft stores, we sent texts back and forth until we all agreed that each piece flowed with the next. I'm not gonna lie, these two were far more picky than the bride and for that I am eternally grateful. I let them take the reigns and run wild, since there is no one else in the world I would rather trust with my special day decor than my big sisters. I knew they would treat my wedding as if it was their own.

In the end, it was the little things that won the hearts of the crowd. It was the handmade wooden mushroom piece that won the prize for uniqueness. It perched atop our forest fairyland cake after I redecorated it to match our theme. It was the frog that hopped up to me as I posed for my bridal portraits. It longed to be kissed and so together we gave our bridesmaids a show and filled their lungs with laughter. It was Nolan, my ring bearer and favorite little man, who nearly dropped our rings in the pond and our flower girls, who surprisingly all made it down the aisle without a single tear, that evoked the oohs and awes of the crowd. It was the blue velvet heart that the Baca's had sewn and embroidered into my dress to sit close to my heart. It was a heart cut from the skirt of my dear grandma Flora who would have danced the night away had she been alive. It was my jewelry made by an old friend, the bridesmaids earrings made by the late-mother of my mentor, and the very last minute hairstyle idea that provided fashionable statements. It was the vows we exchanged, Aaron's short and sweet and mine longwinded as I am known to be, that provoked the tears and cheers of the crowd. The vows were filled with heartfelt emotion as Aaron promised to cheer on my Broncos and travel the world searching for mushrooms. It was my vows to be his rock as he followed his dreams in return for the steadfast support he has given to me as I follow my own. It was the words of Dr. Joel Charles as he remarked on our journey that he has become intimately familiar with during our three year journey in California. And as a cherry on top it was pure happiness that floated through the air, vibrating and invigorating not only the particles of our atmosphere, but the hearts of our guests.

It was our family. Those who share our New Mexico born blood and those with whom we have built familial bonds through unwavering friendships. It was the presence of long lost brothers, tenderly aged uncles, friends with whom we've shared journeys abroad and journeys in our own backyards that made for a distinctive gathering of strangers all connected by their relation to us. It was the group of rambunctious men who sang "Wagon Wheel" to the tune of their guitars and the women who encircled us with their dance moves that symbolized the camaraderie we have fostered throughout our lives. It was the moms and dads who blessed us with toasts filled with stories of their most cherished childhood memories of each of us, and the sharing of first dances, that added a historical perspective about the children we once were. It was our best man, Aaron's brother, and our maid of honor, my sister Jelly, who made sure everything went perfectly, they were the structure behind the scenes. It was the residency family who flew and drove in from across the US to experience a New Mexico wedding filled with la marcha, the dollar dance, and the rancheras of a local band. It was all these people that surrounded us and poured their love into our success as one.

And none of it would have been possible without the perfect man to marry. Aaron, my main squeeze, my critter bug, my soulmate, you made our August 12th wedding undeniably the most beautiful wedding I could have ever imagined. You filled it with emotion and sincerity. Your tears as my dad walked me down the aisle, the creak in your voice as you professed the vows you committed to memory, the smile slash smirk you rocked in our photos, the way you held me as we danced, the joy you embodied as we made memories with our loved ones, it was all of this that made our day an engraved memory in my mind and heart. It was sharing a gift hours before the wedding separated by ivy covered walls that made the wait unfathomable. It was the perfectly fitted blue suit that flashed in my daydreams of my husband-to-be as I sat in my bridal suite waiting to be reunited with you. It was the start of a lifetime together, the first scene of a love story, and the fairytale New Mexico wedding we had dreamed of that sparked an intense sensation of feeling whole. Today, one year later, I long for the perfection of that day. Oh how I would go back and dance with you to every song, how I would walk alongside you by the swan filled lake surrounded by the cool shade of weeping willow trees, hand-in-hand and heart-in-heart. But then I am reminded of how beautiful our everyday life is, how waking up to your snuggly warmth and your unending dedication to our story keeps me livened with everyday perfection. We share so much joy in our day to day life that while our wedding day was a high that we rode for months to follow, life with you is the real and unfiltered journey that people dream of, the true and unmistakeable warmth of trust and safety, the late night talks and the good morning giggles that will birth our future and our happily ever after. You are my rock, my love, my peace.

Race Day

Race Day.

It is the climax of all that you’ve been training for. It is the consolation for your sore muscles, deranged toe nails, and overworked bronchioles. It is a culmination of all your mileage, of every run you aimed for a certain distance or a specific pace. It is a celebration of every extra effort to peel yourself from a cozy couch. It’s RACE DAY and with that you have transformed into a different being. 

You wake up hopefully feeling hydrated, because the day prior you downed liters of water despite your bladder telling you that it had had enough. You’re more awake than you should be at this godforsaken hour, surely more awake than if your destination was work. The race day nerves manifest in poor appetite, belly butterflies, ten bathroom trips for only one ounce of urine, and if you’re lucky a nice big poop! You get a little snack in and if you’re anything like me, a caffeine zealot, you obsess about drinking enough coffee but not too much, because your body doesn’t do well without it’s good morning juice but you know overdoing anything on race day can lead to that unwanted heaviness, an extra grumble in your tummy, or the cramp that cramps your pace. And then in the coolness of the morning, you join fellow runners crazy enough to be underdressed for the weather. You bounce and huddle. Your eyes admire everyone’s crazy cool running styles- some people wear tutus which would be overly complicated for you, some have knee-high socks and barely-cover-the-booty shorts. There’s neon colors galore, from the headbands that cuddle ears to the packs around wastes to the mud splattered shoes. 

It’s race day. Your eyes are wide awake soaking up the first bits of sunshine, while your muscles, on the other hand, have only begun to yawn. So you do a little runner’s dance bouncing from one foot to the next while you wait for a porta potty to open up. Hundreds of people wait to occupy that snug and stinky box (only half of whom need to go, the other half just wanna try because there’s nothing good that comes with a full bladder or bowel while racing). You hope the potty will be stocked, but inevitably you’ll get the last sheet of TP and a drop of hand sanitizer if you’re lucky. You touch your toes here and there, you skip some high knees while you make your way to the start line, your shoulders move up and down, and your trunk twists right and left. “Warm up, you got this,” you give your body a pep talk. “I promise, this is the last time I make you wake up and run 13 miles for fun,” you lie. 

Part of being a runner is preserving a little crazy, embracing a little race day mania, and surrounding yourself with people just as mad as you, so that you can joke about how much fun running 13 miles is gonna be... yes, joke about how excited you are to finish off that toe nail that hangs to only half of the nail bed, how excited you are to borderline freeze for the first mile so that you’re not overheating the next dozen, excited to stress your muscles to a uniquely euphoric exhaustion. Us runners, we’re a crazy bunch, but a bunch of crazies together makes for one heck of a time. It makes for words of encouragement from the stranger who huffs and puffs alongside you at mile 11 with a hill ahead, it’s makes for sincere joy as you cheer on the fellow runners crossing the finish line using up their last bit of glycogen stores to appear much faster than the previous 12 miles, it makes for an ecstasy inducing denouement to walk around standing tall with your shiny finisher’s medal posing for pics with your reindeer-red noses and dried sweat streaks decorating your face. Its huddling with your friends to stretch and snack and revisit each mile play-by-play with joy in each word. It’s all worth it. I’ve done it four times and I’ll do it another four for that natural high that only race day can bring, that sense of accomplishment by physically pushing yourself to its limits, that inner competitive ego that aims for personal bests and promises next time to shave off that extra minute here or there. Race day is intoxicating, so much so that you plan your next race before you’ve even finished this one. 

The Glacier Half Marathon was no different, just a bit more exhilarating than usual. I mean except for the five mile incline right out the chute and the weatherman’s prediction of 100% chance of rain and <50 degree weather threatening hypothermic conditions for half naked runners, it was an unforgettable race day, my favorite race day yet. The Blackfeet Nation sent us off to the beat of their drums, and Mother Nature only sprinkled us at miles 6 and 8, and atop that 5 mile climb was breathtaking landscapes of a treasured National Park. It was the sound of eager feet on the paved road with nature playing harmony in the background. It was the smell of rain in the surrounding forest and fresh air permeating into the depths of your alveoli. The kind of air that you can’t find behind hospital doors. It was the feel of flying faster than you prepared to fly with the reserves that only race day can offer. It was the taste of a well deserved post race cappuccino juxtaposed with a crisp cup of water and electrolytes as you sit in the historic lodge with a century old railroad stop nearby. It was the sight of flourishing forests and crystal clear waters, the sight of runners of all shapes and ages prioritizing health, the sight of each mile marker zooming by becoming not only a memory but a conquered feat. 

Race day is one of the biggest reasons I run. I mean I love the health implications and the stress reducing benefits, but when all is said and done it’s one of my favorite jubilation inducing methods. Race day is truly a celebration for your body and your mind, an appreciation for your health and endurance, and a procurement of a great sense of pride.

Thank you to all my running buddies who made training happen despite a hectic work schedule, especially Laura R. Thank you to Aaron who reminds me that I am indeed a good runner and celebrates my 76th place finish among 1,279 women as fervently as if I had won the olympics. Thank you Gary, (Laura K’s dad) for being our biggest fan at the finish line, keeping our bellies fed, and courageously wielding bear spray on our post-race hikes. Thank you, Glacier and Blackfeet Nation for bringing so much beauty and tranquility to race day. Thank you Laura K and Tami for being the brightest, most energized faces to wake up to at 3am, and for being lovers of nature and movement. Until next time...