Run DMZ

As the sound of cars combusting and trees crackling grew louder, I weighed what to pack and what to let perish. I'd already instructed my two teenaged daughters to load up our car trunk with their important belongings while my husband handled priceless artwork and photo albums. Hours later at an oceanfront hotel (for $1 per night!), we opened the trunk in the parking garage to see what survived the Cedar Fire. I expected to find dance trophies, school awards, and yearbooks among unwrapped birthday gifts and a melted cake (it was my daughter's 15th birthday). Instead there were plastic grocery bags filled with Funyons, Pringles, and Diet Coke. I protested until one of them pointed to a white bag wedged near a wheel well. "Ah, is that your wedding dress ?" It was true. Instead of holding on to cherished race shirts and trophies and medals, I'd tossed in a piece of clothing I wore only once and would never wear again. No 'Yes to the Dress' Moment I'd been...

  A pile of plates revealed partially eaten Mickey waffles, two test-bit pancakes, runny scrambled eggs, and rejected berries mistakenly mixed with plain -- not "vernella" -- yogurt. We continued with two eggs benedict, surprisingly good PB&J pizza, and soft-serve ice cream cones that tiny tongues could not outlick. All because Mickey and Minnie were running late. We waited ... and waited ... until none of us could hold in all that food and frustration. Heading back into the sweltering heat, we consoled ourselves. At least Chip and Dale stopped by; otherwise, this expensive character brunch would have been an even bigger bust. I have been a Disney guest on and off for more than 50 years. I went to Disney World  with my grandparents and sister the summer it opened. I returned to run a marathon 32 years later. More consistent has been Disneyland . That first time, I flew with my two young daughters from Alaska. It took three flights and 20 hours, but we arrived in Orange Co...

"Seven miles ahead to something truly amazing," the entrance station ranger said as we grabbed our map and fell into a caravan of cars, RVs, and trucks twisting their way toward the main attraction. After watching one rec van careen into the oncoming lane on a sharp turn and another continually crawl to accommodate cyclists without a bike lane, we opted to go the opposite way in search of better conditions to view one glorious hole filled with calm, clear, centuries-old snowmelt. This was our third attempt to visit the southern Oregon national park. The past two trips were thwarted by wildfires, now common during summer travel in the West. The first time, the park was open but smoke was so thick from nearby blazes that it made no sense to drive that far out of our way with limited visibility. The second time, two years later, it was a wildfire itself that closed roads to park entrances. Third time's a charm We decided at literally the last minute to turn off highway 97 to...

Every time we stop in Redding on our way to somewhere else, all of the restaurants off the 5 freeway are packed with CalFire crews battling one blaze or another. It's easy to see why: Redding experiences sunny days 88% of the year, so it stays hot and dry. And Redding is a great home base for flame fighters because it's the biggest city beyond Sacramento and situated within wilderness prone to wildfires. On our summer roadtrip, we decided to drive a little deeper in this Northern California city two hours (give or take) north of our state capitol to see what it might offer besides long wait times for a table. After checking into our hotel, we drove to Turtle Bay Exploration Park to take in the famous Sundial Bridge over the Sacramento River. The free attraction is both pedestrian bridge and public art that actually marks the passage of time. The bridge spans a complex of museums (and electric car charging stations) on one side and an arboretum and botanical garden on the othe...

Screen actors, on the whole, tend to be boring in public. They are never as attractive, charismatic, or tall in real life. They can be witty during live interviews, but you get the impression that wasn't the first time they delivered that line. Even when trying to appear authentic, they somehow remind us this is work. That's not to say I don't love seeing celebrities. I mean, I've ben riding my chance encounter with an A-lister during a run in Del Mar for years now. I am the most annoying kind of name-dropper. I'll casually mention how BD Wong asked for sushi recommendations the other night when actually he threw the question to the La Jolla Playhouse stagehands standing next to me. (To be fair, the late Roger Rees really did look me in the eye and ask my opinion on a play he wrote and directed. I told him it was fascinating, even though it was still rough around the edges. No matter, it made it to Broadway.) That should mean I'm the type of attendee to be dis...

At 3:06 a.m. today I posted the above photo (of a photo) on my Instagram feed with this caption: You know you've officially grown old together when even your photos are middle-aged. Happy anniversary, boo. #circa1981 #vpi [as Virginia Tech was better known back then]. Didn't see it? That may be because at 3:18 a.m. I took it down. In those 12 minutes listening to someone's deep snores, I considered who might see the post, including friends who've failed at marriage a time or two.  I then spent the remainder of those dark hours trying to recall the details of this day 37 years ago. I remember feeling queasy -- in part because I'd spent an entire night unable to find a sister who'd gone AWOL and then shifted to worry what too much liquor at our afterparty might bode. I also was pregnant, but didn't know it.  Since then, I've wondered why we've succeeded where so many other relationships have not. Some of our friends had no choice; their spouses checked...

  My favorite holiday is 4th of July, where the vibe’s low-key, family is optional, primary colors rule, and day drinking is encouraged. Independence Day is especially big in our former neighborhood, which hosts a run, a ride, a party in the park, and a parade. We return every year, making the 4th as much a reunion as anything. It is surreal to see the kid from three doors down now showing off his pregnant wife and my daughter’s flower girls turning into teenagers. I show off my young grandsons too. Me, the former neighbor with egg-cracking calves that ran for hours every weekend, now unrecognizable with lighter hair and a lumpy midsection.  Everyone asks if I ran the shorter or longer race and, for the second year in a row, I explain I don’t run anymore. This explains a lot, I sense them thinking as they politely drift to the next person with a red cup. Next year, I’m doing the ride – the longer one -- I vow after the seventh sip of my mango mimosa.  The parade is pur...