A Very Lucky Girl

I am an avid supporter of running. I don't necessarily always love it, nor am I as good at it as my dad or other fanatics, but I do think a jog is a wonderful thing. Add colors of the rainbow to a 5k and I am all in. I've participated in The Color Run in Tulsa twice so when I heard about the Run or Dye race in Oklahoma City on September 28th I signed up immediately. The long-awaited day arrived, and with it came rainstorms of downpour proportions. The 7 AM Run or Dye check-in quickly turned into a Swim or Dye with several drenched, white t-shirt contest participants. I held out hope for the "rain or shine" start that Run or Dye advertised and so Megan and I were there, laced and ready to run. As we eyed the other runners taking refuge in their car, we scrolled through the Facebook updates, desperate for some news, be it yay or nay. Oklahoma residents are not strangers to inclement weather. We are aware of the split-second changes and often have "a little rain ...

meggy credz I spent my Saturday morning running in the happiest 5k on the planet. And I don't mean that oxymoronicly. I ran in the Tulsa Color Run last year in June and nothing could stop me from this repeat event, not even a late night work shift and a mere hour of sleep. More on that later. Last summer Megan and I traversed the short miles between OKC and Tulsa to partake in this glorious event. The heat was intense and the colors melted together to produce a nice muddy tinge, but we thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. However, the extreme heat and my lack of hydration resulted in a slight hiccup on our way out of Tulsa. Dizzy and nauseous, I commanded Megan to stop at a street corner, vaulted out of her Jeep, and promptly puked in a car lot. Wary of last year's disaster, I prepped with sips on sips of water on Friday evening. I worked at Fuzzy's from 5 until about 3 AM and then instantly left for Tulsa with Tyler. I volunteered to drive since I was all amped up from de...

I crawled out of bed on a Tuesday morning over Christmas Break at 5 am to accompany Sharbear to her 5:30 am kickboxing class. I have never boxed in my life, kick or otherwise. I felt EXTRA uncoordinated. That's another plus to running: the clumsiest person can do it with little ill effects. Nevertheless, I persevered through the class, pausing to gulp water only 3 times.  Sharbear is member at a small gym, the class had maybe 9 participants (the time likely drives everyone away) and had your stereotypical bouncy, overly energetic blonde who no doubt was headed to pilates upon completion of the class, the front row mom who did the opposite of whichever side the instructor commanded, the lone middle-aged man who reminisced about his old boxing coach before class began, and the obnoxious girl to my left who sang along to every. single. song. Honey, you aren't kicking hard enough! I really enjoyed the group aspect and the coach dynamic of the gathering. It felt vaguely li...

Remember when I didn't suck at running? I know, it's been awhile. Seventh grade began my cross-country and track career. Paul and Sharbear required a sport of me, and this one didn't require any hand-eye coordination so I decided it was worth a try. I ran all summer in preparation for the cross-country season (it didn't hurt that my coach lived in the bedroom down the hall and would know if I dared to skip a single scheduled day) and the first race at Ravenscroft dawned on an autumn day. I ran the requisite 5K and crossed the finish line in a decent place, much to the dismay of my parents. Wait, Taylor can do sports?  Our St. David's School Varsity girls team finished out that season as State Champions in our division. Sharbear overheard some indignant runner-ups complain, "uh yeah, we could run that way if we hadn't hit puberty yet either." Irrelevant, since we had some talented high-schoolers on the team as well.  Eighth and ninth grade didn'...

“I am a princess. All girls are, even if they live in tiny, old attics. Even if they dress in rags, even if they aren’t pretty, or smart, or young. They’re still princesses. All of us. Didn’t your father ever tell you that? Didn’t he?”-The Little Princess Paul taught me that I am princess. When I was younger we would go on daddy-daughter dates every so often, maybe once or twice a month. They weren't anything big or fancy, but he would pay for my Sonic drink and still opens the car door for me when he comes to pick me up at school, subconsciously instilling expectations for future boyfriends (so far most have sucked in comparison). He even let me drive his midlife crisis car (a Mercedes convertible SLK? SRK? it's tiny and shiny) a few times in Beaumont; in fact, I think it's about time for another joyride soon... He and I are a lot alike, which has led to some volatile disagreements over the years. We both love to make people laugh, but hate to be wrong. We both used to...