Four Top

I was informed the other day that when I write, I predictably essay on the same four subjects repetitively: running, cooking, Cooper and moose. So for the sake of habit, today I have a little on each.
“Running reminds me that there is more to me than what is readily apparent most of the time.”   (–Kristen Armstrong) When I read this quote in a recent article in Runner’s World, it struck so close to my heart that I had to repost it. Running is, more than anything, my alter-ego. It is my confident self, it is the dreamer of my life’s dreams, it is the motivator to pursue them, it is the disciplinarian and the teacher of the rewards of hard work. When I run, that is me as a superhero, even if every other part of my life is mundane and routine.
It’s nice to have a passion that is always rewarding, versatile and endlessly repeatable. Running has become such a powerful part of who I am that when I miss a run, I miss a part of my day. This need drives me outside in the worst of weather, at ungodly hours, and in ridiculous looking tights and neon colored jackets. Runners have been called psychologically unstable endorphin junkies. Tis’ true. It’s a comfort to know I’m not the only one.
In one way, Wasilla is awesome: there are sidewalks everywhere. Theoretically, I could run anywhere I want to go. But, it's a war zone out there. It takes a little more than driver's Ed to be able to read the traffic patterns; you need to able to read people. What a person drives can tell you a lot about their style of driving; what a person wears and their habits can tell you a lot more.
There are the Iphone clutching, Subaru rallying, organic underwear wearing yuppies. They speed around like it's okay to run over pedestrians as long as they raise enough awareness over animal cruelty.
There are the Chevy truck driving, Carhart wearing, Dierks Bentele blaring species who, by some weird phenomenon, have created a genre of hillbilly similar to a gangsta. Thankfully you can hear these guys coming before they actually reach you. This is handy because, ladies, I assure you that these cowboy brothas ain’t watching the road.
Okay, enough on running. Last night was the opening night for Last Frontier Brewing Company; Wasilla’s newest restaurant venue of all things manly. Gourmet burgers, pizza, wings, thick cut fries and in-house brewed beer has never been so classy. Officially, we can only seat 74 guests at a time, and last night we were only to seat a specific list of specially invited patrons including Wasilla City Council and the Chamber of Commerce, as well as close to 100 other prominent business owners from the area. Did you catch that? 100+ guests in a venue with a max of 74; and we had a line out the door of people offering cash to get a seat.
This, of course, threw the kitchen into a cosmic array of panic, adrenaline, frustration, elation and hilarity, all in turn. You don’t have time to think; until the storm passes you are a salesman, a mediator, a cook, a dessert connoisseur, an expediter, a superhero, a burn victim, a close comrade, a worst enemy, a preacher and a pirate.
As for Cooper, he is still in boot camp; I spend most of my days trying to refrain from the checking the mail every five minutes..and the neighbor’s mail. Just in case the postman got confused. And yes, I know exactly how many days it is until he graduates.
Thus far there is nothing to report on the moose, they are no doubt planning a major onslaught of terror. I just wanted you to read to the end of the page. I win.