The Turkey Trot

Not to toot my own horn or anything, but (honk! honk!) I participated in my first 5K race today.

It was also the Angry White Parents' and the Angry White Sister's first 5K. We did it together, and it turned out to be more fun and more worthwhile than I had imagined it would be. Kudos to my sister for convincing me to do it, 'cause I can be a tough nut to crack sometimes.

Our 3.1-mile race, the Family 5K (there was also a 1K race for kids and a 10K race for masochists/actual athletes), was really a race only in name, as together we walked the entire length. It was never about competition, just finishing. Soon after crossing the starting line, AWS and I realized that we were prepared to walk much faster than the parental units, so instead we slowed down to walk alongside them.

In the end, the Family 5K was more about the "family" part than about the "5K." After 66 minutes on the road, which included the Angry White Loner getting in "Biggest Loser" trainer mode on his mom and encouraging her to press forward during what was for her a grueling final mile, the four of us crossed the finish line together. For their age bracket, the parents did a great job.

Something else I really appreciated about this race was the sense of community involved in the whole process. Not only did we get to walk through the streets of our beloved hometown Bountiful, but all other race participants were nothing but polite and friendly to us, as many of them ended up passing us. In addition, complete strangers standing at mile markers or handing out water or just standing on street corners to watch cheered us on and offered encouragement along the way.

It was really a great way to spend a Thanksgiving morning, and I look forward to taking part again the future. The turkey, yams, pumpkin pie, etc. that followed were not too shabby, either.

The Darndest Things

A couple of days ago, I got to spend the bulk of the evening tending my five-year-old nephew Jackson. Spending time with any of my nieces and nephews is always an educational experience, and this was no exception to that rule. Sometimes, they teach me how to take a different look at life from their innocent and unique points-of-view. Many times, they teach me patience and understanding. Almost always, I learn a great appreciation for the great people they are, as well as the people they are becoming.

On this particular Thursday night, I took Jackson to the local McDonald's for dinner, during which he proceeded to burn about 20,000 calories per hour by running and climbing up, down, inside, outside, and around the rocket ship playground. At times, I got exhausted just by watching him.

One of his favorite things to do, and something I had to ask him not to do more than once, was to climb up on the outside of the rocket - the part with no safety net attached to it. I asked him to come down and then talked to him about the dangers of climbing up there.

Five minutes later, I looked back up at the rocket to see he had climbed on the outside yet again.

Me: "Jackson, what did we just talk about?"
Jackson (without missing a beat): "Zombies?"

The funniest part about that response is that is was completely in earnest. You see, Jackson is lately a bit more obsessed with zombies than most five-year-olds. It is a topic that often comes up in his conversations; he's both fascinated and frightened by them.

There's also Uncle Crack.

Uncle Crack is Jackson's imaginary friend. According to Jackson, Uncle Crack is my brother - but also not, somehow, his Dad's (Mike's) brother, as well. He is much like the "Not Me" of the Family Circus comic strips and is usually the one to blame for things that go wrong wherever Jackson goes.

At another point, Jackson approached a little girl playing games on her iTouch and asked if he could have a turn if, he added, "your grandma will let me."

"I'm not her grandmother; I'm her mother," the lady replied defensively.

I also watched with admiration as Jackson instantly made friends with the other kids on the playground - and became the sort of leader of the group. Every few minutes, he could be heard to tell his playmates, "That's my Uncle Paco," and he'd point out where I was sitting to them.

You can learn a lot from a kid. Most of the time, they just want someone to listen to them.

They will want to talk about zombies.