The 2013 Great Food Blogger Cookie Swap

Cookies, I have decided, are NOT my forte.  While I love me a good chocolate chip with milk, my cookie baking karma isn't quite up to snuff.  I'm not sure if my oven isn't properly calibrated (it's possible) or it's just too warm/dry here in Arizona (also possible), but my cookie-making prowess isn't even a tenth of what I'd like it to be.
Even in the face of my cookineptitude (I also love me a good portmanteau), I boldly signed up for this year's Great Food Blogger Cookie Swap (this is its third year).  Why did I do it?  Because I'm crazy each year, the cookie swap raises and donates money to Cookies for Kids Cancer, an amazing organization that raises money for research and new treatments for pediatric cancer.  You may know that different cancers require different treatments, but what you may not know is that many oncology treatments are not considered appropriate or safe for children.  Testing is "iffy" (I think that's the technical term), since medical testing on children is, well, horrifying to some and considered unethical by just about everyone.  As such, developing appropriate treatments is difficult and often more expensive.  And while I rage against the colon cancer that took my dad, I'm often brought to my knees at how pediatric cancer has affected my life, even if not as dramatically.  My dear friend Kirsten lost her sister to cancer; Lily, my friend Alicia's daughter, lost her battle last December, and my husband's baby brother fought (and has won, so far) two rounds of non-Hodgkins lymphoma.  Losing a parent to cancer is awful, heinous, and vile.  Losing a child to cancer, well, I haven't found any words that could bring justice to it.
And being armed as such, with no words to comfort those who have lost their children and siblings and friends to pediatric cancers, I happily tied my apron and failed gloriously at my first attempt at the cookies I was to send out for this year's cookie swap.
So I went to the store, bought more butter, and failed again at a completely. different. recipe.
Good cause or not, at that point, I was ready to break things.  And yes, I cried.  I was actually this close:  | |  to running back to the store for some pre-made, preservative-filled slice and bake... things.
But instead, I took a deep breath, double checked the recipe, made some modifications, and managed a cookie that was tasty and (sort of) pretty.
And then I shipped them off, swearing I'd never make cookies ever again.

So here's the deal.  The Great Food Blogger Cookie Swap is kind of a round robin, pay it forward, secret Santa situation.  Each participant is given the names and addresses of three other participants, but everyone is sworn to secrecy as to who sends to whom (while this wasn't a big deal for me, since I have never known the people to whom I send my cookies, it's possible in food blogging circles that the participants know each other).  But the three people to whom I sent my cookies were not the same people from whom I received cookies.
Am I making sense?
I didn't think so.
Really, the only thing you need to know is that you reap what you sow - send three packages of cookies out (a dozen each), and you shall receive three packages in return.

We won't discuss the first recipe I attempted.  But that's OK.  The cookie I finally ended up with was, I think, a much better idea at the end of the day anyway.
Now that I've made mustard, ice cream, and pie with beer, it was time to move on to the cookie.  Beer is great with cookies.  In fact, the brewery whose beer I used for this recipe serves its seasonal Winter Warmer with gingersnaps.  So what better ingredient to add to a cookie recipe?  Using a winter seasonal offers a taste of the holiday season without being smacked in the face with it (I'm looking at you, craft stores selling cinnamon-scented pine cones).  For the flavor to really come through, don't worry about adding any additional spices.  You'll still be able to taste them all.  Trust me.
But just in case, you'd better pour yourself a beer.

Winter Spiced Ale and Brown Sugar Cookies
Adapted from The Beeroness

• 12 Tbsp unsalted butter, softened (but not too soft)
• 1 1/2 c dark brown sugar (you can use light, but I prefer the darker, mostly for color)
• 1 large egg yolk, room temperature
• 1/2 tsp vanilla
• 1/3 c winter seasonal spiced ale (I used San Tan Brewing Company's Rail Slide Imperial Spiced Ale; if you can't get Rail Slide near you, I'm really sorry, but I'm sure your local craft beer place has a great winter seasonal as well)
• 1 1/4 c all purpose flour
• 1 c bread flour
• 1 1/4 tsp baking soda
• 1/2 tsp salt
• 1 tsp corn starch

**The original recipe calls for baking powder as well.  I tried with and without the baking powder, and it made a huge difference in my cookies not spreading and turning into one super-cookie during the baking process, so if you have an unpredictable oven or, like me, bad baking karma, I recommend that you also omit it.

In a large, non-reactive bowl, combine flours, baking soda, salt, and cornstarch.  Set aside.
In the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, cream the butter and brown sugar on low speed until just combined. Add the egg yolk and vanilla.  Add the beer and beat until just combined.
Add the flour mixture to the beer mixture and combine, scraping down the sides of the bowl as necessary.  Do not over-mix.
Using a cookie scoop, a melon baller, or a spoon, scoop out balls of dough (smaller than a golf ball but larger than a marble) and place onto parchment paper-covered cookies sheets (or, if you're all fancy, use Sil-Pat; I am not fancy).
Chill at least a half hour.
Preheat the oven to 325°.  Take cookies from the refrigerator directly to the oven and back for 7-8 minutes, or until the edges just start to brown.
Place the cookies on a cooling rack immediately to cool.

And off they, went, to their new homes!

Just kidding - I did actually pack them in pretty tins.

These ale cookies went to:

• Jenny at Honey and Birch
• Kristin at Kristin Pot Pie
• Melissa at Persnickety Plates

Guten Appetit, ladies - I hope you enjoyed them, with or without a pint!  Check out their blogs, too, to see where their goodies ended up going!

Of course, while I do subscribe to the "it's better to give than to receive" policy, it was exciting to check the mailbox this month, knowing that I'd be having a snack shortly thereafter (HRH was pretty excited about that, too, and she was crushed when I told her that it would happen a mere three times).

Thanks to Melissa at Treats with a Twist for her white chocolate-dipped cranberry walnut macaroons, Zainab at Blahnik Baker for her soft and chewy butterscotch gingersnaps (or as Husband says, buttah-scotch), and Monique at Ambitious Kitchen for her white chocolate, cherry, and macadamia nut oatmeal cookies.  All three Philistines devoured them, and HRH even found a new love for coconut (in cookie form, at least), while Husband was thrilled to have a chewy gingersnap ("I just don't like crunchy cookies").  And even though HRH is sad that the cookies in the mail have come to an end, it's probably a good thing for my waistline that they did, for who can resist freshly baked cookies, delivered to your door (not me, that's certain)???

A big shout out goes to all of the participants (and even some who couldn't participate but who donated anyway) in this year's Great Food Blogger Cookies Swap; together, we have raised $13,778.40 for Cookies for Kids Cancer.  My heart is full that so many people wanted to not only share their delicious cookies but also make a difference for those who are engaged in a battle that they, unlike me, do not have the luxury of failing.  If you have ever doubted that people are truly kind in nature, just take this into consideration.
Thank you, too, to this year's sponsors, OXO, Dixie Crystals, Gold Medal Flour, and Grandma's Molasses, and to Lyndsay of Love and Olive Oil and Julie of The Little Kitchen for once again planning this incredible event.
If you'd like the chance to sign up for the next cookie swap, you can add you name to the list here.
A link that gives a list of all the participants and their recipes will be added soon.

Full disclosure: I did receive some awesome OXO spatulas as a gift for my participation in the cookie swap, but as this little blog is a mere hobby of mine, I wasn't asked to give my opinion on any of the aforementioned brands or of the spatulas.  I didn't specifically use the brands (I've actually NEVER used molasses), and aside from OXO, I can't personally vouch for their quality (I have several OXO products, and so I was pretty stoked to receive the spatulas; also, I love the word spatula and wanted to see how many times I could use it in a blog post).  However, I thank them all of my own accord for not shirking their corporate and civic responsibilities and for using their brands to make a positive difference in the lives of children.

One more thing - if you also love the word spatula, this is for you:

66*

Today, my dad celebrates his 66th birthday.  I'm sure that he will spend it being harassed by various friends and family calling to razz him about his age, enjoying a good burger and cocktail, and getting a special birthday wish from his favorite (ok, FINE - only) granddaughter.

Except (and if you are familiar with this blog, you already knew this) none of this is true.

My absolute favorite snap of my dad

October, as you probably know, is Breast Cancer Awareness Month, but I will never think of it as anything but the month that my dad both entered and left this world.  He died 15 days shy of his 52nd birthday, on October 1, 1999, from complications stemming from his five year battle with colon cancer.

There is not a day that goes by that my heart doesn't continue to ache, and days like today are still, 14 years later, often difficult to bear.  While nothing I will ever do can bring my dad back, I continue to do my best to prevent other fathers from being diagnosed with colon cancer in order that other daughters don't have to tell this same story.

For the fourth year, then, I am participating in the Colon Cancer Alliance's annual Undy 5000 next month in downtown Phoenix. Our race (5K and 1-mile fun run) is the last of the series each year, and each year since I have become a part of the local CCA chapter, I have been overwhelmed with the number of people under the age of 50 who have been diagnosed.  Many have beaten the disease, but we have also lost wonderful people like Arijit, the force behind Poop Strong (I was fortunate enough to be a part of Arijit's team last fall before he lost his battle this March).

The money raised by the Undy 5000 goes directly to local colon cancer treatment.  Those in the Phoenix area who are battling colon cancer can find assistance, both for payment of treatments not covered by insurance (although with the advent of the Affordable Care Act, fewer people WILL be turned away from getting the treatment they need, regardless of their stage of cancer or their status of having a "pre-existing condition") and for other necessities like counseling for patients and family members.  Cancer affects all family members, and the CCA is there to step in and be a support system for patient AND family.

I'm so proud that my daughter, who is nearly 5, has asked to be in this year's race with me, so she and Husband will be running (yes, running) the 1-mile fun run while I take on the 5K again.  I'm hoping to coordinate our finishes so that I can cross the finish line with her.

If you are so inclined, please consider making a donation to this incredible cause.  Colon cancer doesn't discriminate, but when appropriate measures are set into place, it is nearly 100% preventable and beatable.  You can check out my personal page here.  And please check back after November 16 for a full recap of race day.  This was my first race I ever ran four years ago, and its significance continues to overwhelm me.  This race is not about time for me, unless we count the time that I hope my efforts will add to someone else's life.

Happy birthday, Dad.  I love you.

Take My Blood - PLEASE!

I've mentioned a few times on this blog that blood donation is important to me.  Before I really get into this post (it's probably going to be long), I want to rewind for a moment and explain why.

I was never a blood donor when I was younger, although my mom went (and still do go) regularly.  My high school held an annual blood drive, but I always managed to get out of it, since the drive was always during track season and always right before a meet.  Even after my dad was diagnosed with colon cancer during the spring of my junior year, my dread of needles superseded the "do a good thing" aspect of blood donation.
I started to get the picture when I came to ASU.  My dad had to fly out to the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota for a new radiation treatment in the fall of my freshman year, and it began to dawn on me that he had needed blood during all of his previous surgeries (that I didn't realize that this is what a great deal of the blood supply before this point goes to shows my naiveté and perhaps even how much my parents sheltered me from the reality of my dad's illness).  At one point, I remember talking with my dorm neighbor, and in the course of our discussion, he told me that his parents had donated blood before their own surgeries, in essence pre-donating to themselves.  At the time, this neighbor, who had admitted to me that his parents had their share of health problems, was one of the few people on my floor who knew how sick my dad had been.  Later that semester, we attempted to go give blood at the annual ASU-UofA blood drive competition, which I believe is now part of the Duel in the Desert series, but by the time we got there, the drive had ended (it took me a week to get up the courage to even go).
After that, I kind of brushed it off until the summer before my final semester.  The radiation that my dad had gone through had necessitated stents be placed from his kidneys to... I'm not sure.  Wherever the kidneys drain to or something.  These stents were temporary and had to be replaced fairly often.  But then one of them caused a hemorrhage.  And the doctors couldn't stanch the bleeding for a really long time.  In fact, because of the intensity of the hemorrhage, it took them some time to be able to locate the source of the bleeding.  Later in the summer, he was transferred to the University of Washington Medical Center because his condition, caused by his bleeding, continued to worsen.  I had recently come back from a summer abroad program in Germany, and I flew up to be with my parents.
While he was in the ICU at UW, I finally managed to give my first pint of blood.  It was not easy.  Spending the majority of my days in the dry hospital meant that I was fairly dehydrated, so it took me a looooooong time to get that pint out.  But I did, finally.  And the nurses who were working the blood drive expressed such amazing gratitude over a substance I had truly taken for granted.

In the last weeks of his life, my dad needed over 100 units (pints) of blood.  This was enough to replace his entire body's store of blood more than ten times.  Because of 100 anonymous O+ donors, I was able to spend some more time with him, and most importantly, I was able, one week before he left this world, to tell him that I loved him.  And he was able, even in his heavily sedated state, to tell me the same.
And then he was gone.

Donating blood will never bring my dad back to me.  No matter how many pints I give, he is gone.  But those pints can perhaps help someone else express their feelings to a loved one, may afford a person see a parent one last time, or they can even save someone's life so that it isn't that one last time.
Since my dad died, I have realized that donating blood is something so simple but that can also do so much good, and I have made donating part of who I am.  One of my proudest accomplishments is establishing a blood drive at one of the schools where I used to work, which continues to be successful and collect much-needed blood each year.
As such, I've educated myself on my blood type, how many times a year I'm eligible to donate, and through which type of donation my blood will be best utilized.
So when I was asked earlier this year if I could donate platelets rather than whole blood, I agreed.  It's a longer process, but my blood type, A+, best served that need, so I willingly sat down for the ninety-minutes, knowing that I was doing the most good at that time.
You can imagine my disappointment, then, when I received a letter not too long after my donation informing me that my platelets could not be used due to the presence of an antibody to Human Leukocyte Antigen (HLA) that was found during the testing that is done to blood after the donation.  According to the letter, pregnancy can cause the antibody, which isn't harmful to me, but it can cause reactions in transplant patients.  However, the letter assured me that I was still able to donate whole blood, so while I was disappointed, I wasn't overly distraught knowing that I could still do something good every few months.
I'm not going to go into how frustrating it was to make an appointment after that letter; since I now have a "block" on one or more donation types, I can no longer make an appointment to donate blood online, which is honestly the most convenient method for me.  I'd hope that someone could figure out a simple filter so that I could continue to make my online appointments.
Instead, I'm going to go into how frustrating the wording of the most recent letter I received after finally managing to make an appointment to go in and donate whole blood.
If you've never donated blood before, you need to know that there are a series of interview questions and then a handful of tests before you're even allowed on the donation floor.  The interview asks about health, family history, and lifestyle, all of which could affect the viability of one's blood.  That's how they knew to run my blood through an extra test - women are always asked if they have been pregnant before (or if they are now pregnant).  People with family history of certain known diseases (such as Creutzfeld-Jakob disease) or those who have traveled to different parts of the world for a certain amount of time or more are rendered ineligible.  I was also once deferred because the tech working with me determined that I had an irregular heartbeat, something my actual doctor wasn't able to also determine.  It was my only non-iron related deferment.
One of the other tests that are conducted is the "finger prick" test to ensure that potential donors have enough iron in their blood to donate without risking anemia.  There is a range of acceptable iron levels. I've always fallen in the lower end of the range; there have been occasions when my count was too low and was deferred.  This is not uncommon for many women; due to menstruation and lower testosterone levels, women tend to have lower iron levels than men and sometimes have markedly lower levels if they try to donate during specific parts of their cycles.  When I've been deferred, I've always managed to bring it back up by the next attempt, usually through diet if not also careful timing of my appointments.
At my most recent appointment, my iron levels were once again in the lower range, but they were still within the margin of "normal" or "acceptable."  My pulse, blood pressure, and temperature were also normal, and I still have not spent enough time in Europe or the United Kingdom to be refused.  I was good to go, and a short time later, I was snacking on popcorn and cookies during the mandatory 15-minute post-donation waiting period, during which they fill you up with water and tasty (and often salty) snacks.
Not a week later, I received another letter.
Another f***ing letter.
Here is what the letter stated (in part):

"Thank you for your recent donation.  At that time your hemoglobin level was at the low end of the normal range, so we did an additional test on your blood for ferritin (a protein that stores iron).  The result of this test for iron deficiency show a low value; we're notifying you because this may be important to your health."
The letter went on to tell me exactly what my ferritin level was.
"What does this test result mean?  A ferritin level less than 12 is significant and may mean that you are at high risk for developing iron deficiency anemia.
If you are a whole blood or red cell donor, you must wait 24 weeks...before your next donation to rebuild your iron stores."

And then I was given a toll-free number to call if I had any questions.
I'm not sure I can express how truly upset I was to receive this letter.
I need to clarify that I fully comprehend the need to test blood for viability.  There is no substitute for human blood, but that which is donated must be free of illness because it is always given to someone whose immune system is in some way compromised, be it shock (accident victims), chemotherapy, or even surgery.  The risk for contamination is ridiculously high, which is why every time a disease like sickle cell anemia, AIDS, and bovine spongiform encephalopathy (commonly called mad cow disease) becomes a true danger, people whose risk is considered higher for being exposed to them are taken off the eligible list (for basically forever).
Likewise, I understand that donors need to keep themselves healthy.  Because only about 10% of the donor-eligible population (which makes up less than 40% of the actual populace of the US) actually do donate blood at some point in their lives, the need for blood is always great, and the health community wants to keep donors on the donating end rather than on the receiving end.  I take care to consume foods that are rich in iron and also those which help my body absorb that iron as much as possible.  I also try to take a multi-vitamin, but I really kind of suck at doing that every day.

Here is why I was so upset and what I don't understand.  My hemoglobin levels were lower, yes, but as the letter indicated, they were still within the "normal range."  So.... my hemoglobin was still within the acceptable range, but it still necessitated an additional test, which resulted in benching me for the next six months.
Here is how I heard this: you are earning a D in the class.  This is still passing, but you're going to be placed on an individualized education plan (IEP) and given special education services because you're not performing at an acceptable level.   Oh, and you're also going to be held back a semester.
Anyone who is in education knows that sometimes, students earn Ds.  Sometimes, it's for lack of effort.  Sometimes, students do need IEPs because their performance in some areas is held back due to many possible learning disabilities.  Sometimes, it's for extenuating circumstances that children just shouldn't have to deal with.
But sometimes, it's just a weak area.
That doesn't mean a student is "stupid" or "incapable," and it certainly doesn't mean that every child who is performing below "average" needs an IEP or needs to take a class over.  It just means that sometimes, someone might bust his butt every day and earn that D with as much pride as the person who earned the A with ease.
Sometimes, my hemoglobin levels are a little lower.  But they're still in the normal range.  And I'm feeling like the kid who was called stupid and got held back because I didn't have an A.

What further frustrates me is that this test is only one isolated piece of data.  Now, I am not asking United Blood Services (UBS) to consider every single one-off situation that might arise with hemoglobin, ferritin, and whatever else levels in every single person's blood stream.  But certainly, if there is a test that can ascertain that I have the HLA antibody and then another test that can look for ferritin, there must be one to measure other hormones that ebb and flow for women.  And, based on my own cycle, I know that both my hemoglobin and ferritin were likely low because my hormone levels dropped like a sack of potatoes that weekend.  If I had been paying better attention to where I was in my cycle, I probably would have made my appointment for a different date

Testing is expensive; I know this.  Putting blood samples through an extra litany of tests, multiplied by the number of blood samples that must be tested means that more money is spent on tests than on other areas that might help the blood banks like UBS.
But I am part of that 10% of that 38% of the population who wants to give blood.  Repeatedly.  For no pay save the Corn Nuts and popcorn that are available at the donation center.  I do it because I don't want to be the pint of blood that creates an "if only" situation for a family.  I am right here, United Blood Services, willing to endure extreme "discomfort" as the anticoagulant on the needle hits my skin, in order that someone else doesn't have to extreme endure pain elsewhere.  I walk through those doors ready to donate a pint.  And now I am turned away for half a year.  In that time I could donate three times.  I could help save nine lives.

While I am going to call that toll free number I was given and try to fight this as I choke down an extra helping of kale, I have a request for my readers who are also eligible donors.  Even if you have never donated before, even if you wince at the thought of asking to be poked with a needle, please consider making an appointment in the next 24 weeks.  Please go donate in my stead so that the blood supply does not go without even a single pint for that time.  Every day, 44,000 blood donations are needed.  Every two seconds, someone needs a transfusion.  That's 1800 people in the last hour.  What did you do in that hour?   If you're scared, know that many people in there are scared.  I can't even look at the needle.  EVER.  But imagine how much scarier it is for that child who is watching a parent slip away.  It tends to put everything into perspective.
Please, if you can, won't you step up and donate while I can't?
And then, maybe, you'll want to donate again once you realize how much good sitting still can do.

Workout Wednesday - Back in Training

For a while, I've been toying with the idea of finding a full marathon to complete.  I never thought I'd actually WANT to do one.  But then again, I never thought I'd want to do a 10K, either, so there's that.
But with the 15-year marker of my dad's passing coming up in 2014, I kind of wanted to honor him in a way that I hadn't before, and I thought that running a marathon, by which I could also raise money for the Colon Cancer Alliance in my efforts to eradicate this cancer that took my dad from me, would be a perfect gesture.
There are just two things wrong with my plan.
The first one is that I don't really like the idea of marking how long it's been since he died.  I began running to honor the memory of his wonderful, albeit too short, life, so it would be almost hypocritical of me to make the jump to the full marathon in memory of when that beautiful life ceased.  And even my dad both joined this world and left it during the same month - October - I think that I'd be better off focusing my efforts elsewhere.  I'm thinking about something in 2017, which would mark his 70th birthday, instead.
The second issue is that I'm starting my masters, and I don't want to commit to any marathon until I'm done with that.  Being a full time parent, wife, teacher, and student will take up enough of my time, I'm sure.
But I haven't had anything on my calendar since Pat's Run in April except the CCA's Undy 5000, which is always on my schedule, and I wanted to push myself further again.  I've already decided to do the Lost Dutchman half marathon in February, even though my masters start date is (hopefully) January.  But that left my fall literally empty.
When I was looking for a 26.2 for next year, I was steered to the Peoria Halloween Marathon, which takes place the weekend right before Halloween.  It's really the only full marathon I was able to find in Arizona in the month of October, so it would have been perfect for my original plan.  But it also works extremely well THIS year for a half marathon, so I'm signing up for it, and training has begun.
I loved using the Marathoning for Mortals book (by John "The Penguin Bingham and Jenny Hadfield) for my first half marathon.   It made the distance completely obtainable, mentally, and I felt extremely well prepared to run the distance on the morning of the race.  But this time, I've opted to use Hal Higdon's Novice 2 plan.  This one was created for the runner who has run a race (or two, maybe) but isn't quite ready to make the jump to the super serious training expected in his Intermediate plan.  Basically, it's perfect for me.  I'd like to do better than my first time, but I also just want to finish and have fun while I train, too.
Of course, being able to follow a calendar is a skill that, apparently, is completely beyond my comprehension.  I thought, ALL of last week, that I was ready to start training this week with Week 1.
Then, all of a sudden, I looked at the calendar and realized I was thinking a week behind.  Technically, I should have started the week of the 4th.
Last week.  Not this week.
So, oops.
I jumped in to the plan on Saturday, running the 4 miles that were on the calendar, and it was fine.  Even though I took a week off running, those miles felt really great.  Since it's still ridiculously hot, I ran two miles with Zooey, and then dropped her off at home before doing two more.  I'll likely be doing something of that nature until it either cools down or forever, depending on her energy levels (I hate to admit that she's almost middle aged).  I was crazy tired that night, but I felt better Sunday, and I'm looking forward to seeing how this plan, which has me running three days in a row during the week, will be on my legs and body.
Even with these two races added in, I'm pretty sure I won't meet my mileage goal for this year, but I'm OK with that.  Considering that the first four months of this year, which are prime running weather months here in Arizona, I was sidelined by plenty of injury and illness, I'm going to plan on calling 2013 a win in the mileage column anyway.
I'm really looking forward to hitting longer runs soon, even if I have to leave Zooey at home for them (she didn't like being left home, by the way - she was barking at me as I left as if to say, "Hey! You forgot me!"), and now that I know what I'm capable of for the half marathon, I'm excited at the prospect of working on my pacing, etc., so help me become a better runner.  Hopefully I'll see everything come to fruition at the finish line.

So Easy a Caveman Can Do It - But I Can't

Over the last few months, I've realized that I've kind of plateaued in my attempt to get rid of some of that "stubborn belly fat" that all those commercials for wonder supplements and crazy workout DVDs love to talk about.  It's not stubborn.  It's an unwelcome guest, and I'm kind of tired of it having way overstayed its welcome.  

So I've been looking at how I can step it up.  Not just so I can more easily slip into a pair of pants, but also so that I know I'm healthier.

For a long while, I've really reduced my meat consumption.  I really really really don't care for chicken. When I was pregnant with HRH, it was a huge aversion to me, so much that when I tried to buy some of those pre-cooked strips for the Husband at the store one day, my knees buckled and I thought I was going to pass out.  Ever since, I can only handle it if it's REALLY well made, and I have to REALLY want it.  I also have tried to cut down on red meat, especially because of the many links between red meat consumption and a greater risk of colon cancer (among others).  

And I like most vegetarian protein sources.  I love beans.  I really like tofu.  Quinoa is great.  Tempeh - meh (see what I did there?); that's really the one thing that I've had that I didn't really care for.

But nothing seemed to be working.

I decided, then, to take a week and try a modified paleo plan.  I say modified because I did use a "paleo for runners" approved foods list, which includes more starchy veggies like sweet potatoes and squash.  Apparently a non-runners paleo diet doesn't allow for them.

Basically, the paleo diet is, from what I understand, supposed to mimic the ingredients that our very ancient, probably much hairier forefathers would have eaten.  Of course, this means no processed foods, but it also nixes all grains, dairy, and sugars (although some sites allowed maple syrup and honey because those were natural sugars, and I can totally imagine an early Homo sapiens risking life and limb for a handful of honey like he were some Ice Age Winnie the Pooh).  Probably the most restrictive aspect for me, though was that it didn't allow for legumes or beans.  Even though I love me some rice and white breads, rarely a week goes by that I don't have beans with at least two meals.  But I was determined to try this to rev up my body's vacationing fat burning abilities.

I created a meal plan for the week and headed to the grocery store.

First of all, holy sticker shock, Batman!  I haven't actually bought meat that wasn't turkey necks for Zooey or bacon in a really long time, apparently, because when I picked up a small package of ground beef, I thought I was going to have to take a second mortgage out on the house.  Yikes.

I admit that on top of my mandate that I would still be enjoying my morning coffee with half-and-half and cinnamon sugar, I did "cheat" during one meal.  One of my friends and I had lunch, and I had a beer.  Beer, as you know, is made from grains - gluten-y grains - so it's waaaaaaaay up on the Verboten Items List.  But I also don't want to be that person who puts the kibosh on every restaurant suggestion because it doesn't work for my super restrictive diet plan.  "Oh, no, that place doesn't work for me.  I can't eat anything that casts a shadow past 1:00 in the afternoon on Tuesdays."  

Interestingly enough, that evening, I felt TERRIBLE.  Like you might right before you get sick.  Achy, tired, tempting fate by trying to NOT get a headache.  Just...blah.  And then I got cranky because I didn't feel well, so it wasn't the most pleasant evening.

I can't say with absolute certainty that this was all caused by the grains.  But it was interesting nonetheless.  

At the end of the week, I knew that this plan isn't for me.  That isn't to say it's a terrible idea.  I really like certain aspects of it.  But I think that it's more of a diet than a lifestyle for me at this point in my life, and restrictive diets never work.

What I DO think I can take out of this experience is that I don't necessarily need to embrace the red meat again, but I can bid a fond farewell to grains more easily than I thought.  And that's where I think I can improve my eating habits.  While I'll be welcoming beans back to my diet very soon (hello, Cuban dinner plans), I'm not sure that I'll be so quick to nab a loaf of bread to go along with them.  I'd love to experiment with gluten-free grains and work to reduce the amount of corn-based products I consume.  While I didn't weigh myself at all this week, I do feel less full around the middle, even though I've felt like I've eaten a lot more than I usually did.

One big success is that I was able to stick to my meal plan.  I made it a lot more simple and relied a great deal more on leftovers for lunch and dinner repeats, and I think that's where I've gone off the rails before.  I'm hoping to be more consistent with that as well.

Where have you been successful in modifying your food lifestyle to make healthy changes?  What are you willing to "give up"?  What are non-negotiables for you?

Running on Empty (A Book Review)

In my attempt to read more books intended for grown ups (instead of those directed at 4-year-olds), I recently signed up for the online book club hosted by Jamie over at Couch to Ironwoman.  I'm not sure I'll be able to get in a book every month, but I'll do my best.
This is my first month participating, the book that Jamie assigned us (yes, I look at it like a school assignment, which, truly, I revel in) was Running on Empty, by ultramarathoner Marshall Ulrich.
I am not an ultramarathoner, as you know.  Heck, I'm not even a marathoner (yet?).  So at the outset, I was a little intimidated.  After all, this book is about Ulrich's 3063-mile trek across the country, from California to New York.
Today I ran 3.06 miles, so... there's the connection?

First, a bit of vital information.

From Ulrich's website, the book is described as:

• Filled with mind-blowing stories from the road and Marshall Ulrich's sensational athletic career, this is an incredible read with a universal message for athletes and non-athletes alike: face the toughest challenges, overcome debilitating setbacks, and find deep fulfillment in something greater than achievement.

Book ISBN: 978-1-58333-490-4 (paperback - $16.00)
Available on e-reader as well (I downloaded a copy for my iPad)

All right, now, what did I gain from reading a book about a man who runs distances I'm not sure I even want to think about?

The aspect of this book that jumped off the page to me was how Ulrich began running.  In the wake of the battle and subsequent passing of his first wife, Jean, to breast cancer, he took up running.  He ran to cope with the pain, and he ran away from that pain, too.  This first chapter, which details their marriage and Jean's decline, tore my heart apart.  I wasn't sure that I was going to get through the rest of the book, to be honest with you.

Because I started running in memory of my dad, who died from complications related to colon cancer.  Running - any distance that I've gone, from one mile to 13.1 - helps me cope with the sadness that I still have, over 13 years later.  Running gives me an outlet, helps offer me time to put things into perspective, and offers me a way to channel that grief into something positive (I try to focus on participating in race events that are charity-related).

Of course, Ulrich's admission that he allowed himself to use running to run away from pain and grief more than a way to balance that pain tore me up, too.  I grieved for the time he didn't spend with his (now adult) children and the marriages that ended in divorce.  While the candid nature of these descriptions was honorable, and hopefully, for Ulrich, cathartic, it frustrated me, too, that he allowed himself to follow that path for so many years.  The main reason I haven't pursued a full marathon is because of the time commitment.  My daughter is still young, and she still depends on me for so much.  And yes, I have a husband who loves his child more than anything, but his job often requires late nights at meetings, so I am often the parent who gets her up in the morning and who puts her to bed at night, with a full time job (two, if we're counting the parenting that I do while I work) in between.  I am not willing to sacrifice the time I have with her at this young age.  God (and joints) willing, there will be time.  Now is not the time.

Now, we English teachers love looking for metaphors in everything.  See that billboard?  It's a metaphor.  See that roadkill?  Metaphor.  Cat puke on your kid's favorite shoes?  Yep, metaphor.  It's like a sickness.  So it was in that vein that I read Ulrich's tale of running across the country.  For me, it really did give a small sampling as to the metaphor that is the human spirit.  Ulrich literally was able to run down Memory Lane.  His family and friends who were able ran parts of the way with him, and he was able to spend other times contemplating his relationships with others (at times coming closer and at others diverging paths).  While I can't imagine running that far in such a short amount of time (I admit that I have ruminated on an Arizona to Washington trek, though), I can see the draw.  The run changed Ulrich, and it's apparent that he had many epiphanies and "a-ha!" moments along the way that allowed him to come out of the trans-con a better parent, husband, and man (not that he was truly horrible before, I need to note; there is just always room for us to improve ourselves, even without running across the country).

That this amelioration was the end result, to me, makes the blisters, the injuries, the fallouts, and everything else worth it.

And the metaphor I can apply to my life?  If Marshall Ulrich can run across the length of the United States (he has actually criss-crossed the country, going west-east and north-south) and come out the other side having made himself better, then any of us can make similar improvements upon ourselves and our souls by dragging ourselves out of bed in the mornings and giving thanks that we can lace up while we do.  And we can do it in spite of injuries, small or large, as long as we are able to deal with them properly, just like we need to deal with the pain that is part of the human experience (we can't know joy if we can't know pain).

Thanks for the read, Jamie!  Next month's book is Chrissie Wellington's A Life Without Limits.  I'm hoping to be able to catch this one, and I'm looking forward to what April and May have in store as well.  In the meantime, I'm hoping to be able to find and watch the documentary Running America, which details Ulrich's transcontinental run.
If you are a reader and a runner and would like to hop aboard this online book club train, click here for all the details and to see what books the group has already read.

• What books have you read about running that have inspired you (and maybe scared you a little, too)?
• What have you learned from reading about running?
• Would you run an ultra-marathon or participate in another feat of athleticism?

For Unto Us a Child Is Born

Today, December 13, Lily would have been 13 years old.
She breathed her last early Monday morning, after nearly two years of emotional (and health) highs and lows, leaving this world peacefully.
There are just no words to describe how my heart hurts for Alicia, Phillip, and Jacob.  If I could do something - anything - to help ease their pain and grief away, I would.
But I can't.
I can only celebrate the amazing person who Lily was - bright, thoughtful, generous, brave, creative, witty - and pray that I can raise my child to emulate the Goodness that just radiated from Lily.

There is, of course, no "best" time to lose a child.  Regardless of the moment that a life passes to the other side, there is always the first event without her - that first year is filled with "the first without."  Christmas is no different.  But still, this week my thoughts wandered down that path.  I don't know why; it just seems like right now is somehow worse.  Worse than what... I don't know.
I guess it's just this: during this time of year, millions of people throughout the world prepare to celebrate one of the most important events in the history of humankind.  Whether we believe that Jesus was the son of God, the Wonderful Counselor, the Prince of Peace (Isaiah 9:6), or simply a teacher of extraordinary historical influence, the story of Jesus is, too, the story of a mother's child, from the jubilation of his birth to the heartbreak of his crucifixion.  But he has become everyone's child - the baby who lay in a manger, borne of the hope of the world.
I can't help but think that Lily has, in her own way, become everyone's child, too.  Every person who has met her or even just learned of her story accidentally can't help but love her and hope, desperately, to defeat this cancer that has taken her from her mother's arms.

And so I am reminded that I can do something else for Lily.  It's something we can all do.  We can - we must - press on in this crusade against cancer.  All cancer.  Colon cancer, which took my dad.  Ovarian cancer, which took my grandmother.  Leukemia, which took Kirsten's little sister.  Lymphoma, which threatens my brother-in-law.  Alveolar rhabdomyosarcoma (ARMS), which took Lily.  Until cancer is no longer a feared word in a doctor's office and is no longer taking loved ones, I will do what I can to help others prevent, treat, and beat it.  I will run for a cure.  I will donate to a cause.  I will bake to fund research.

So, I honor Lily today, in at least a small way, by participating in this year's Cookie Week, a now-annual event with some of my food blogger girlfriends.  All the cookies shared this week are part of the Glad® to Give program, which donates a dollar to Cookies for Kids' Cancer for each cookie shared/swapped during this holiday season, up to $100,000 - that's up from ten cents per cookie during the same time frame last year.  In addition, OXO has pledged to match all donations from registered bake sales (through the Cookies for Kids' Cancer website) up to $100,000 as well.  These donations will help fund research and new treatments for children's cancers, both well-known, like leukemia, as well as those that desperately need more research and treatment options, like ARMS.
Last year, my friends and I exchanged nearly 4500 cookies among our various office events, holiday parties, and more.  This year, I hope that you may also be inspired to offer even a dozen cookies; if we all work together, we will see fewer parents say goodbye to their children.

My recipe is a twist on the ever-popular jam thumbprint cookies.  I've always loved squishing down the dough to make a little nesting spot for the jam, of which there is never enough for my liking.
Some thumbprint recipes are a basic sugar cookie recipe, but I'm rather partial to the peanut butter ones.  After all, peanut butter and jelly go together like... peanut butter and jelly.
But peanut butter has been done, and sometimes it's nice to have a little change.  This variation has a bit of an Asian taste to it, with sesame and plum coming together in sweet harmony.

Sesame Plum Thumbprints
(adapted from this recipe by Cooking Light magazine)
makes about 36 cookies

• 2 cups all-purpose flour
• 1/4 tsp salt
• 3/4 cup light brown sugar, packed
• 2/3 cup granulated sugar
• 1/2 cup tahini
• 1/4 cup butter, softened
• 2 large eggs, room temperature
• 1 tsp vanilla
• 1/3 cup sesame seeds, toasted*
• cooking spray or olive oil
• plum jam

Whisk together flour and salt in a bowl; set aside.
Cream together butter, sugars, and tahini in mixer on medium speed until smooth  Add eggs, one at a time, mixing well after each.  Add in vanilla.  Mix in flour mixture, a little at a time, until just combined.  Add in sesame seeds.
Lightly coat hands with cooking spray or olive oil.  Shape dough into balls of about 2 Tbsp, and place onto cookie sheet lined with parchment paper.  Press thumb (or a round 1/2 tsp) into center of each ball to make an indentation.  Cover and chill for at least one hour.
Preheat oven to 350°.
Uncover dough and bake cookies at 350° for 10-14 minutes or until cookies are lightly browned.  Remove and cool on cookie rack.  If you want the indentations to be bigger in order to hold more jam, use the 1/2 tsp to push down a little more while cookies are still warm.
Once cookies have cooled, spoon plum jam (at least 1/2 tsp) into indentation of each cookie.

*Make sure that when you toast your seeds, you keep a close eye on them to keep them from going to nicely toasty to horribly burned.  My recommendation is to use a toaster over and to not multi-task during this process.

Thank you, Lily, for being an inspiration to more people than you could possibly know.  I promise you that I will not stop working to help find a cure for cancer.  You may have left our world, but you will remain in the hearts of many forever, and we are all the more blessed for it.

One of the fairies that Lily drew using the computer,
one of her many creative hobbies.
She was an amazing artist.

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night*

Coming on the heels of two fairly self-centered blog posts in a row, you may take pause at my sincerity, but various events of this week have served to re-focus me on what actually is important.
Hopefully, in your perusings of this little blog, you've read the Life for Lily Virtual Run page, and, even more hopefully, perhaps you'd decided to participate and make a donation to help Lily.  And I have to tell you that if Lily's story tore your heart out like it does mine, you need to read on.  If Lily's story didn't tear your heart out, that's OK, but you need to read on, too.
As I noted in my posting on that page, this is Lily's second battle with alveolar rhabdomyosarcoma (ARMS), and the family has chosen not to pursue traditional chemotherapy and radiation treatments this time.
The thing is, there aren't other treatments out there.
And in fact, there aren't that many chemotherapy treatments for Lily, either, seeing as during her first round of it, she reached the lifetime limits on many of the drugs that are used to combat ARMS.
So what IS out there is "experimental," at best.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Alicia told me today that there are few, if any, alternative treatments for pediatric cancers.  Why, I don't really know; she told me something about how most of the medical community told her they didn't want to risk using kids as guinea pigs, but considering there are plenty of "clinical trials" for various chemotherapy drugs, I am tempted to scream "BS" in all its letters at the top of my lungs at anyone who  made that argument.
What's worse is that because of lifetime limits, etc., recurrence of more rare pediatric cancers such as ARMS, the prognosis overall is not good (I can't even tell you how mildly that's putting it - I have no words to actually articulate the negativity surrounding these prognoses).
Basically, during our conversation, Alicia said that there are members of the medical community who have told the family that they can try to treat Lily, but they should not expect any miracles.

And a miracle is what it's going to take.

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Well, I'm sorry.  I am not really one to resign myself to the impossible, so here I am, looking for that miracle.
This is the part of the conversation in which we talk about accepting The Plan meant for us.  Knowing that Our Plan is often different from The Plan.  Which is rather a departure, as this realm isn't really something I have ever discussed here.
Here's the thing.  I KNOW that sometimes the answer to a prayer isn't the one that I'm looking for.  I can sit here and tell you with every ounce of rationality and logic that I have that despite my grief at losing my own dad, his death made me a better person and served to point me in the direction of fundraising for colon cancer and advocacy of blood donation.
But when Logos Allison comes up against Pathos Allison, there's nothing that can be done to satisfy Pathos Allison.  She's pissed off, and you're going to hear about it.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

I can accept The Plan at some point, but that doesn't mean I accept it now.  If I accept The Plan right now, that means that I stop.
I just... stop.
What would be the point of continuing to ask, urge, beg, petition, entreat, and beseech you to sign up for and make a donation for the Life for Lily Virtual Run if I accepted The Plan right now?
I GET IT that there is a finality for all of us.  And that finality can might come suddenly, and it might be stretched out over time.  We might know it's coming, and we might never know until it happens.
But those final hours aren't here yet, and I will not stop seeking that miracle.  Giving in to The Plan doesn't mean giving up, and so HERE I AM, looking for a miracle

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Will you signing up for the Life for Lily Virtual Run make a difference?
Yes.
Will it cure her cancer?
Probably not.
But it can help bring relief to the pain she is feeling.  It can allow the family to make better use of their time together.  And can ensure that the plans the family is making and will be making are able to be seen through.
And that's a big difference.
We never really do know what or when a miracle will occur.  We just have to keep working for one, looking for one, praying for one.  I will accept The Plan, but right now My Plan is to fight it.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Yes, I suppose you can tell me that I'm just in denial.  Maybe you might wonder if I'm not unintentionally hurting Alicia and her family in some way in refusing to accept Things As They Will Be.
Dear God, I pray that I'm not.
I pray that my actions may help reduce the suffering of others.  Somehow.
And of course, that miracle I've been mentioning would be good right about now, too.

Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Photo: Dream Lenz Photography

*"Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night," Dylan Thomas (originally published 1951)

A Father's Day Letter

Dad, I just want you to know that even though I am still so pissed at how you didn't take care of yourself, resulting in you not being there to see me graduate, marry, and have your granddaughter, I love you and miss you so much every day.  You would have loved HRH and probably spoiled her beyond measure, and you and The Husband would probably have had a lot of fun ganging up on me to make fun of me for for something... anything (like the compression sleeves I am still currently wearing after having slept in them last night).

I hope that I can be as monumental a parent as you were.  You taught me to give of oneself not for any glorification but because it's the right thing to do.  You taught me that sometimes it's OK to have some "slow" food and that the house doesn't have to be spotless to have a great time as a family (hence the state of our front room right now).  You taught me that some days need to be reserved for lounging and lazing.  You taught me to love to experiment in the kitchen and to enjoy every second of life.  You taught me that learning is vital and for everyone, no matter what some stupid high school counselor might have told YOU.
My only wish is that you had taken better care of yourself so that you didn't miss all those milestones in my life.  A piece of iceberg lettuce and slice of tomato on a burger does NOT count as a salad, and not all clear liquids adequately hydrate the body (I'm talking to you, vodka on the rocks).  Cigarettes... do I eve need to start?  And of course, there is more to physical activity than watching golf on TV.
I know you felt that since your dad died too soon that you, too, were going to have too short a life.  You kind of wrote your own book there, didn't you?
As much as I want to follow in your footsteps as a parent and kind, loving individual, I have to write my own ending.  I want to be there for HRH's milestones.  I'm kind of selfish like that.
So I am eating better, I am watching my own body move, and I am doing my best to give of myself to those who need someone to be compassionate.
I miss you, Dad.  And I hope that all of the lessons you taught me help make me a role model for my own daughter.
Happy Father's Day, Dad.  I love you.

Ask My Why I'm Blue

If you read this blog with any regularity, you probably know my devotion to the fight against colon cancer, the insidious malignancy that took my father from me in 1999.  In the past two years, I have raised approximately $2000 in this crusade, and I would not have been able to do it without the help of my close friends and family.  It is my hope that treatments and preventive measures will continue to improve as we search for a cure for all cancers.  Colon cancer is extremely treatable - and even preventable - when proper precautions, such as proper diet and exercise as well as regular screenings, are taken.
I had hoped that during this National Colon Cancer Awareness Month, I might feel that there needs to be less awareness and more action.  But the other day, I caught an episode of The Dr. Oz Show, and a woman who was participating in the show told America's favorite cardiac surgeon that she didn't worry about colon cancer because it was a man's disease.
I honest to goodness started crying at her words.  I'm not sure if it was disbelief or what, but my heart ached that this woman probably represents more Americans than I would like to think.
For the record, anyone who has a colon can get colon cancer; it isn't gender biased.

Another misconception about colon cancer is that it's an "old person" cancer.  Regular screenings aren't recommended until a person hits 50 (unless in the case of family history, like I have), which may help propagate that notion.
But just like it doesn't discriminate on the basis of gender, cancer doesn't really care how old a person is. I've already talked about Dylan Reboer, the high school football player who passed away just hours before his team took to the field in the state championship game.  Cases like Dylan's are certainly rare, but more and more I am reading stories about people in their 30s and 40s being diagnosed as well.
One of those diagnosed in his 30s is my second cousin, Greg.  In 2002, he was diagnosed with hereditary nonpolyposis colon cancer (HNPCC), a cancer that is derived from a genetic mutation.  His mom, Vicki, is my dad's first cousin.  She battles non-Hodgkin's lymphoma.  This week, she sent me a package that not only contained some wonderful family pictures but also some important family health information:

• My paternal grandmother had both breast and ovarian cancer (I already knew this; the information I was sent verified it)
• Her sister, Vicki's mom - my great-aunt, died of a bone cancer that spread to her brain.
• Their mother, my great-grandmother, had stomach cancer that cut her life short at age 68.
• Her husband, my great-grandfather, had gallbladder cancer in his 80's.

Clearly, we're pretty sure from which part of the family our cancer history comes.
The most vital information that Vicki sent me, however, is the fact that Greg had the HNPCC (which is also known as Lynch Syndrome).  This type of colon cancer is derived from a genetic mutation for which there is a test, and hopefully I can now have insurance cover that test for me.  I actually tried to get it last year, but my insurance at the time denied the claim, stating that I needed to show that another relative already had the gene.  Hard to do when the two people who might have qualified me - my father and my grandmother - had both passed away.  While a second cousin once removed having a positive test result is something of a longshot, I am hoping that my new insurance company is more willing to cover the test so that I can be even more proactive about preventing cancer in the first place.
It's important to note that if a person does test positive for the genetic mutation behind HNPCC, he or she isn't guaranteed to get cancer.  But there is an increased risk, especially for colon cancer (the risk is actually up to 80% greater than people without the risk by the time a person hits age 70).
I am so grateful to have received this information.  It helps put more pieces of the family medical history puzzle into place, and I can go forward with more preventive actions because of my knowledge.  Today, March 2, 2012, is National Dress in Blue Day.  It is part of this month's campaign to raise awareness about colon cancer and how preventable and treatable it can be.  It is my hope that everyone and anyone who reads this post will take some time to collect his or her own family medical history and to start looking into routine screening in order to prevent becoming another colon cancer statistic.

In the spirit of colon cancer awareness, which is signified by the blue ribbon, I wanted to embed this video.  My dad was a huge fan of Patsy Cline, and the song "Blue" was originally written for her before her own untimely passing.  When my dad heard LeAnn Rimes sing it, he was enthralled.

On Your Mark... Get Set... Save the World

Thank you, Solomon family.
It has been a GREAT run.

I realized this week that I am one of those Superstitious Athletes.  I don't really know how it happened, but on Friday night, I was taking my freshly laundered running tights, new top, et al out of the dryer, and I painstakingly rummaged around to make sure I had both socks that had the BLUE Champion® logo.  "I need to wear the blue socks," I thought to myself.
Why?  I have no idea.  I have a pair with a pink logo and many pairs with the gray logo.  They are all the same socks.  I could even wear one sock with the blue logo and one with the pink, and I would not be able to tell you the difference.
But as I set out my race day attire, I HAD to have the blue sock.
Earlier in the day, I got mad at myself for not getting to the ribbon store before it closed.  I have to wear a bow in my hair (usually just a plain ol' grosgrain ribbon), the color of which is representative of the race somehow.  How I came to add this to the wardrobe is a long story, and since this is going to be a long post anyway, we'll have to wait for another time on that.  I thought about going to one of the craft stores that are open until 9 or 10PM, but I decided to wear a ribbon that I already knew I had at home, the one I had worn to the ovarian cancer 5K I ran back in September.
"Gosh, I hope that it's OK to wear the same ribbon."
Yeah, like anyone was going to notice.  But I still thought that, multiple times, as I resisted the temptation to make just one more stop to get myself the "perfect" ribbon.
So, there we have it.  I'm a Superstitious Athlete.  I can no longer make fun of the baseball players who polish their fingernails or football players who must eat the same meal before each game.  I am one of them.  Just not extremely famous and well-paid for my amazing athletic talent.
Even though The Husband set his alarm to go off a half hour earlier than I did (he usually takes about an hour's worth of hitting the snooze button to rouse himself into his pre-coffee, almost-humanlike state - he actually left the race to go get coffee, although races ARE pretty boring, so I am not holding that against him; that he didn't bring me back a doughnut is what I hold against him), when my alarm went off, Zooey naturally thought it was Time to Run.  Sorry, girl.  She begrudgingly went on an early walk with The Husband while I brushed my teeth, put on mascara (a race is no reason not to look your best), and choked down my pre-race breakfast of a Naked® Green Machine smoothie and a sesame bagel smeared with peanut butter.  The other day I had played with the idea of making my own pre-race smoothie.  Then I remembered how early I had to be up.
Last year, I was terrified that I wouldn't get to Schnepf Farms (the amazing local peach farm that has hosted London's Run for the past several years) on time to start the 10K.  The farm is out in Queen Creek, and the road narrows to one lane each way.  Of course, because of the event, traffic was extremely backed up last year, and while I made it in time, I didn't want to risk it for the half marathon, which started before the 10K.
We were out the door by 6:30, and we got there with enough time to spare so that we were able to sit in the car for a bit, enjoying the heated seats (that was just me) before it was time to head out into the pre-dawn chill and hit the Porta-Potty line (seriously the best half marathon advice I've gotten).

Be a Good Cookie Week - My Letter to Santa

Dear Santa,

I'm sure you already know those things that I want for Christmas - an iPhone 4S, a heart rate monitor for my workouts, stuff for the house, a pair of Christian Louboutins, but I've been remiss in sending you the wish list of what I really need.

So here it is.

Santa, I need you to find a cure for cancer.  It's more than just a terrible disease; it's a malevolent fiend who purports to be altruistic and without bias, never discriminating.  What a bastard.  Cancer took my dad from me, and there isn't a day that goes by that I don't wish desperately that he had lived to see his granddaughter.  There are days that the pain and grief and anger I feel because my daughter will never get to meet her grandfather is so raw I can hardly breathe.

Then I look at that little girl, who is my entire world.  I would move Heaven and Earth for her.

And I can't help but remember that there are some moms who can't look at their daughters and sons without a constant worry, fear, and pain that an uninvited guest will be more powerful than their children.

Moms like my friend Alicia, whose daughter Lily is, thankfully, in remission after battling alveolar rhabdomysarcoma for nearly a year.

And then I remember those moms who can only look at pictures of their children because cancer crept in, unseen and unwanted, and stole those beautiful lives away.

Moms like Heather Solomon, who said goodbye to her 7-year-old daughter London, her baby girl, after London's 7-month battle with acute myeloid leukemia.

Moms like Heather Rebeor, whose 16-year-old song Dylan lost his fight with colon cancer hours before his football team won the state championship.

Santa, it isn't right.

Moms should draw countless pumpkin patches with their children.  They should pretend to eat pizza fresh from their children's play kitchen (and imagination).  They should help their children learn how to brush all their teeth, not just the front ones.  They should roll their eyes at the umpteenth viewing of Dora the Explorer.  They should snuggle with and read a story to their children before kissing them goodnight, every night.

Moms like Gretchen Holt-Witt should never have to bake 96,000 cookies to help raise money for their child's cancer treatment instead of doing all those other things that I take for granted.

Oh, but Santa, I'm so grateful that Gretchen did.  And I'm grateful that people have taken up her battle cry to fund the fight against childhood cancer, to stop it in its tracks and force it to beat a hasty retreat like so many other cowardly menaces who threaten those we love.

And, Santa, I am also grateful that I have been given the wonderful opportunity to make friends like Kirsten at Comfortably Domestic, Jeanne at Inside NanaBread's Head, Megan at Wanna Be a Country Cleaver, Kat at Tenaciously Yours, and Mads at La Petite Pancake - these ladies who have a similar desire to do good and so have come together for a second time in as many months for Be a Good Cookie Week, just so we can help lay the groundwork for you.  Kirsten, who stands at the front lines of this battle in memory of her sister, and Jeanne are both offering giveaways during this week to help spread the message that pediatric cancer isn't something to be feared; it's something to be quashed.  Make sure you, the missus, and all the elves take a few minutes out of your busy schedules to enter - and help fuel the fire against pediatric cancer.

So, Santa, I've left these cookies out for you, on my grandmother's china - my grandmother whom ovarian cancer took before I was born - along with this message, in the hope that you can help deliver this gift that is so needed this year - and each year until cancer, that elusive phantom who robs people of their joy and light, throws up his hands in ultimate surrender.  I know it's a tall order, but my dear friends and I are ready to help you meet it, head on.

In case you were curious, the recipe for these cranberry-walnut-white-&-dark-chocolate cookies is from the Best Bake Sale Cookbook, a cookbook that raises money for Gretchen's organization, Cookies for Kids' Cancer.  The book would make a great Christmas gift for the person who loves baking.  It's chock-full of fantastic recipes and wonderful stories of how people are making a difference in the fight against pediatric cancer.

I hope you like the cookies, Santa, and I hope you can at least put a few elves to work to help deliver this Christmas wish.

Sincerely,

Allison