Riviera Maya

El Templo del Viento.

There are two things I love to see when we travel: the ocean and ancient ruins. The Riviera Maya in Mexico has them both. 

El Templo del Viento, or Temple of the Wind, is an iconic Mayan fortress that is part of a larger archeological complex in Tulum. It is perched on a clifftop above the turquoise-blue Caribbean Sea. After years of dreaming, it was finally our turn visit this surreal destination. 

The route to this pre-Columbian walled city can only be obtained by walking. After running a gauntlet of aggressive solicitors trying to sell us to use “their” parking lot, we eased into a stall and paid 100 pesos. 

The paved pedestrian path was lined with a handful of hawkers, but mostly beautiful palm trees. We chose to walk, but some rented bicycles and whizzed past us. 

A colony of coatis.

Near the entrance of the site we found a colony of coatis loitering about, rummaging for any food they could find. This is an animal I had never seen before. It seems to be a cross between a raccoon and a monkey, with a long black-ringed tail that points straight to the sky. I'm sure they were well-fed from all the tourists that gawk at them day after day. 

The ruins at Tulum are from the Mayan culture. It was one of the last cities built before the entrance of the Europeans, and it is surmised that it was inhabited for at least 70 years after the Spanish began occupying Mexico. 

Temple of the Frescoes.

An iguana hanging out on the ruins.

We entered the gate of the walled city and the first thing to catch our attention were all the iguanas. They were everywhere! They crawled on the ruins of the ancient buildings and in the grass that grew around them. Their gray-scaled skin camouflaged well with the crumbling walls. The giant lizards tended to steal the show from the 1,000-year old structures. 

Although the ancient city of Tulum isn't considered a major town by Mayan standards, it was still very impressive. The walled-village included several palaces, houses, towers, temples and platforms. One such building is the famed castle, a pyramid-like structure in typical Mayan fashion. 

The characteristic that sets Tulum apart, however, is its proximity to the sea. 

El Castillo, overlooking the Caribbean Sea.

We finally made it to the edge of the cliff where the light-blue sea shimmered below. A sandy beach sat inside a small cove and thin white waves rolled in. Above the cove, atop a precipice of gray rocks, sat the Temple of the Wind, enjoying a majestic view and inhaling the scent of the sea that blew across its sacred walls. 

I must mention here that one must not confuse Tulum, the archeological site, with Tulum the modern city, which is a ten-minute drive inland. I will blog about the city of Tulum later. 

Iguanas everywhere!

The Riviera Maya is a 70-mile stretch along the eastern coast of Mexico's Yucatan Peninsula, beginning at Puerto Morelos and extending all the way south to Punta Allen. I will admit that our experience of the Riviera Maya was limited to the area around Tulum. 

Just south of the archeological site was Santa Fe Beach, which was the first place we dipped our toes in the sea. For December, the water wasn't too bad, but not as warm as the Andaman Sea in Thailand. I spent time wading in the water and diving into the waves while Jenelle sat on the sand and soaked up the sun.

Las Palmas Beach.

Supposedly, the entire coast in this area is open to the public. The problem is access. If you're thinking of popular beaches in California that come with a parking lot for 200 cars . . . forget it. Here, parking comes alongside a narrow road wherever you can find it. And if you park with your tire touching the pavement, you might get a ticket—at least that's what we were told by the Mexicans on the street conducting traffic. Once we squeezed into a narrow spot, they said they would “keep an eye on our car” . . . for 100 pesos! 

Our next evening we went a little further south to Las Palmas Beach. We made it just before dusk and had fun watching people. We quickly learned that we were the oldest and whitest people on the entire beach! Jenelle wandered to a small cove away from the crowds and found two large conch shells. 

Entrance to Santa Fe Beach.

Our goal was to make it to the beach at least once a day, and that we did. Our next visit brought us back to Playa de Santa Fe where we paid $45 each for a snorkeling tour. We put on life jackets, boarded a fishing boat and rode out to a reef that was a couple thousand feet off shore. Then we spent the next hour swimming with turtles, stingrays and schools of small fish. That was about right for me since that last time I went snorkeling I got sea-sick and had to sit out the last hour. 

One question I had before I came to Mexico was if the Caribbean Sea was always so blue? The answer (during our short week) was mostly yes. Especially if the sun was shining brightly. As it became close to sunset, the turquoise-blue transformed into a dark blue, with hints of green. 

Just another day's work.

We returned to the beach on our final night in Mexico, but this time to a different location further south called Playa Mirador. We found a thin strip of sand with a domed rock outcropping on the south side.

By the time we got there the sun was already low, but the air still very warm. A gentle breeze blew from the sea, sending a salty aroma overhead. 

The mood was very relaxing. A group of foreigners sat lazily on the sand and talked while one softly strummed a guitar. Others climbed the rock dome and then sat and watched the waves come in. Herons perched on a nearby rock. 

Two young brown-skinned brothers played in the shallow water, pushing each other and teasing. A mother washed her bare-naked toddler in the waves while the little girl cried and screamed. It brought a smile to my face. 

The sea was no longer turquoise-blue. It was too late in the day. Now it was a deep sapphire. 

Jenelle and I found a spot on the soft sand to lay down our towels. I was so tired that it felt good to rest on the towel and listen to waves come in and snippets of Spanish conversation. The breeze felt good.

Sunset over the Riviera Maya.

As the sun inched closer to the horizon behind us and the sparse clouds in the sky began to change color, the evening air continued to be comfortably warm. I opened my eyes and watched terns play on the water. 

Now that their deity had disappeared, many sun-worshipers picked up their towels and packed up, now walking to their cars. Not us. We were enjoying the evening too much to pack up just yet.

Jenelle and I sat on towels, watching the people and waves while making short conversation to each other. This would be our last time on the beach for a while. You see, we are desert-dwellers and an escapade like this doesn't come often. And . . . it just happened to be our 25th wedding anniversary, which only comes once! ♥

 

Crossroads of Tuba City

During the winter of 1776, the fatigued and famished Dominguez-Escalante Expedition passed nearby the present site of Tuba City, Arizona. Of course, the Navajo hadn't settled there yet. This was Hopi territory. 

On November 14, they recorded the following: “[We] arrived at a small farm and camp of the Cosinas [Hopi], all of it pretty and well arranged—the farmland is irrigated by means of the four springs mentioned and by two other copious ones which rise next to it; here this year the Cosinas planted maize, squash, watermelon, and muskmelon. By the time we arrived they had gathered their harvest and, judging from the refuse or scraps of everything we found, it had been an abundant one, and especially that of beans. For if we had made camp here, we could have gleaned half a bushel of it. The farmland is surrounded by peach trees. Besides the several huts made of boughs, there was a very well constructed little house of stone and mud. In it were the baskets, jars, and other utensils of these Indians.” 

At the time the Hopi used this area during the summer to grow crops, using water from several nearby springs. After the harvest they returned to their villages on the mesa, which included the village of Oraibi. 

This is one of the earliest surviving accounts of Hopi civilization by European explorers. No doubt that these Native peoples came in contact with the Spanish prior to this, including Coronado in 1540 and Spanish missionaries in 1629. But other records are difficult to come by. 

Tuba City, Arizona.

The first time I came to Tuba City I had no idea of the rich history that existed here. I came as part of a Junior High wrestling team. We spent the night at Tuba City Boarding School, sleeping in dorms and eating breakfast in the cafeteria. Most of the teams at the tournament were from the surrounding reservations, schools like Shonto, Chinle, and Rocky Ridge. We were the only white guys. We wrestled all day long and didn't leave the school until after dark. 

Thirty years later I decided to revisit the area with two of my kids. I learned that there was much more to Tuba City than I had known. 

Highway 160 is the dividing line that separates the Navajo Reservation on the north from an enclave of the Hopi Reservation on the south. On the Hopi side we drove through Moenkopi, a continuation of the same settlement visited by Father Escalante over two hundred years ago. I was blown away by the adobe houses, dirt roads, roaming dogs, and terraced fields that made me feel as if I had traveled back in time. 

On the other side of the highway was the Tuba City side. Of course, we had to drive by the boarding school. But what caught my attention were all the abandoned houses that seemed out of place with your typical reservation project homes. They almost looked like pioneer homes. Considering that Tuba City was settled by Mormon pioneers, I wondered if these abandoned homes were built by them. 

That last visit piqued my curiosity even more. 

Sign at the Tuba City Boarding School.

The first contact between Hopis and members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, or Mormons, came in 1858 when Apostle Jacob Hamblin led a group of missionaries to the village of Oraibi, with the purpose to learn their language and culture. During that visit an unidentified Hopi told of a prophecy that prophets would come to the Hopis from the west and bring them back to the blessings they had lost. They believed the Mormons were the fulfillment of that prophecy. 

During the winter of 1859, two Mormon missionaries stayed to live with the Hopis. One of them was Thales Haskell, a rugged young man who had a gift of learning languages. He also kept a diary during his visit. 

On December 16 he provides the first account of Teuve, the Hopi man after whom Tuba City would be named. “Tewbi,” as he called him, heroically chased down a Navajo who had stolen a piece of cloth from a squaw. He quickly mounted a horse and “soon overtook the thief, and twisted the cloth from his hands.” Haskell describes Tewbi as “a tall and noble looking Oriba.” 

Nearly three months later Haskell again mentions his Hopi compadre: “My friend Tuby traded a robe and Buckskin for a pony with one of them and made me a present of it. I prevailed on him to accept my gun, rather against his will however. He said when he made his friend a present he did not wish anything in return.” 

Three days later on March 5, 1860, he records an important entry: “Traveled 18 miles and arrived at the Movincapy. This is a small stream where the Oribes raise cotton and they recommended it to us as a good place to build a mill and for the Mormons to make a small settlement.” 

Thales Haskell.

Moenkopi is located about 35 miles northwest of Oraibi Village. It is roughly the same location where Father Escalante had passed by 84 years earlier. This “gift,” which would be the seedling of a future Mormon settlement, would also create additional conflict between the two peoples. Apparently not all the Hopis were in agreement that the Mormons should settle there. Also, there is almost always conflict when sharing a limited supply of water. 

Settlement did not happen immediately. It wasn't until over a decade later that a few Mormon settlers began trickling in. Once again, Teuve invited the Mormons to live next to them at Moenkopi. According to local tradition, this was to help protect against raids from the Navajo and Paiute. 

The first colonizers arrived in 1873. While some chose to leave because of the arid conditions, a few hearty souls stayed and began planting orchards and building stone homes. Some lived near Moenkopi while others chose to plant their farms at Moenave, about six miles to the west. 

Typical home in Tuba City, Arizona.

In 1875 the Mormons began to settle at Musher Springs, just west of Moenkopi. It served as a way station for those traveling from Salt Lake to Arizona. In 1878, Apostle Erastus Snow announced that Musher Springs would become an official Mormon Colony. A town was laid out and named “Tuba City” after their friend, Teuve. 

Several families came to live and build their home in this harsh area. One of those families was that of Alfred B. Randall and his wife, Susan Temperance Allen. According to records they had two adobe homes, both covered with pine and earth for a roof. They had a ditch dug for irrigation, grew six acres of alfalfa, and had 112 apple trees, 16 plum trees, 1 pear tree, 2 cherry trees, 1 apricot tree, and 16 peach trees. 

Alfred and Temperance were married in 1891 and spent twelve years in Tuba City, where they gave birth to three girls and two boys. All three girls died and were buried at Tuba City. 

Alfred and Temperance Randall.

During this time there was also considerable Navajo expansion. Conflict between Navajos and Mormons erupted from time to time, which included the killing of Lot Smith, who was gunned down by the Navajo Headman, Atsidí in 1892. 

In 1902 the U.S. Government decided to expand the Navajo Reservation to include the town of Tuba City. By 1903, the government bought out the Mormon settlers and Tuba City was abandoned. 

Navajo Mother and Child at Tuba City Trading Post, 1928. (Marjorie Stiles Collection)

In 2019 I returned to Tuba City again, this time knowing a little more of the history. One fascinating place I wanted to visit was the old Mormon cemetery at Moenkopi. I wasn't sure if I would be able to find it, or if I would even be allowed to go there. In addition, I didn't know if I was allowed to take photos since technically you're not supposed to take any pictures on the Hopi Reservation. 

Like I stated earlier, Moenkopi is located on the south side of highway 160 and is an enclave of the Hopi Reservation. For twenty minutes we drove around the upper village, past the earth-colored brick houses, looking for a small fenced area. We had no luck. Determined to find it I knocked on someone's door. No answer. I asked a guy on the street and he directed me to a nearby trailer. The first trailer I tried had no answer, but there were two dogs and a cat outside. The dog was friendly and let me pet him. I then found the next trailer and a nice lady was outside who showed me how to get in. The cemetery was right behind her trailer and access was through her back yard. I asked if I could take pictures and she said it would be no problem. 

The cemetery has very few original headstones. Most of the graves are unmarked and a handful have modern headstones. A tall monument made of black stone gives a short history. On the north side are a few modern burials that appear to be Natives. 

One of the headstones in the cemetery belongs to two-year old Della Randall, infant daughter of Alfred and Temperance. The young girl was buried here five years before her family was forced to leave, at which time they relocated nearly 100 miles southeast in St. Joseph, Arizona. 

Grave of Della Randall at Old Mormon Cemetery, Moenkopi.

After visiting the cemetery we drove through the lower half of Moenkopi Village. I will say that it is a fascinating place that will give you the impression you have traveled back in time a few centuries. But like the photography, I believe it is not allowed to write physical descriptions of the area, so I will not elaborate any more on our drive through the village. 

By this time we were getting hungry so we drove back to the Diné side of the highway to Tuba City and arrived at the Hogan Family Restaurant. This was a recommendation from a Navajo neighbor of mine. We already knew what we wanted to eat when we walked in: Navajo burgers! 

If you've never experienced a Navajo burger, you should try one. They are the same as a normal hamburger, except much bigger. And they use fry bread instead of buns. I will admit that when we got our order I was a little disappointed because the beef patties were a little charred. But it was still very tasty and well worth the visit. 

Navajo burger at Hogan Family Restaurant.

Next to the restaurant is the Tuba Trading Post, a historic building built in 1891. Part of the building is octagonal in shape, being built with limestone rocks from Moenkopi Wash. Outside is a traditional Navajo hogan. The trading post is on the National Register of Historic Places. 

Inside they sell all sorts of Pendleton blankets, Navajo jewelry and other hand-crafted items. Most of the items were out of my price-range, but I still admired the beauty of them. I did, however, buy a few issues of a monthly publication called “The Leading Way.” It is described as “The wisdom of the Navajo People.” I've bought several issues in the past and can only find it on the Rez. It is very informative on a variety of cultural subjects from the perspective of the Navajo people. 

Historic Trading Post at Tuba City, with hogan at left.

Inside Tuba City Trading Post.

We moved on and drove the streets of Tuba City. I was completely amazed at how many abandoned homes there were. Other than the section with the businesses, it looked like a ghost town. Many of the windows were boarded up and a couple of the homes had been burned. I've seen this a lot on the reservation and have often wondered what was the exact cause of it. I usually conclude that it has to do with the socialistic nature of the reservation, where many of these homes are owned by the tribe, without true ownership, giving no incentive to take care of the property. 

Some of the abandoned homes were very old, almost looking like pioneer houses, but I didn't quite think they were 130 years old. They were large brick structures that I felt were unlikely to have belonged to the Navajoes. I went back to the restaurant and asked for their insight and they said the homes belonged to teachers and doctors during the 1950's. 

We didn't have as much time as I had hoped for, but we drove around as much as we could and surveyed the town. I took note of an insurance company in a trailer, and also a radio station in a trailer. We also passed by the old boarding school where I wrestled and it appeared to be closed up. 

Old "pioneer-looking" homes in Tuba City.

Our final stop was the cemetery. I had never been to a Navajo cemetery. It lied on the outskirts of town on a sandy road off the pavement. There was no organization to the graves except for a few fenced family plots. Burials were spread far through the brush, with Mother Nature having her way with most of the grounds. Fences and headstones had blown down, weeds grew everywhere, and dozens of varmint holes had been dug in the sand. 

I was impressed with the high number American flags. It was the most I had ever seen in a single cemetery of that size except on Memorial Day. You could tell that family members of veterans were proud. Sadly, some flags flew in tatters while others sat on the ground. 

Most of the mounds were piled several feet high. Some were covered in a type of flag-stone. Most were decorated with trinkets belonging to the deceased. Some of the headstones were homemade, perhaps just a painting on a rock. 

Cemetery at Tuba City.

Across the road was the old cemetery. I looked at it, but didn't dare walk through. It looked like it was rarely visited. No paths and a lot of sage brush. I wondered if any of the graves were visited by family members, or if they had long since been forgotten. I know that with many of the Native tribes there is a taboo about being near the dead. I am sure that their customs and ours are very different. 

We left Tuba City much too soon that day. I still had many questions left unanswered. But I am learning. I certainly have a bigger picture of this area that Navajo, Hopi and Mormon have all called home. ♠

This is the "old" cemetery at Tuba City.

 

Sources 

Escalante, Silvestre Velez, and Ted J. Warner. “The Dominguez-Escalante Journal.” University of Utah Press, 1995. 

Haskell, Thales. “Journal of Thales H. Haskell.” Utah Historical Quarterly, Vol. 12, Nos. 1-2 (January-April, 1944) : 68-102. 

Reilly, P.T. “A Brief History of the Tuba City Area.” Northern Arizona University, Chinle Library.

Smallcanyon, Corey, "Contested Space: Mormons, Navajos, and Hopis in the Colonization of Tuba City" (2010). All Theses and Dissertations. 2557.

Snake & Slot

We began our hike down the creek just an hour after sunrise. A small stream flowed down the middle and fall colors were reaching their apex. The walls of the canyon slowly began to rise and we found ourselves in an idyllic autumn location. 

Near the confluence of another creek we found two different ancient glyphs. One of them was etched on a high rock wall behind a growth of trees. The other was a snake, painted with a blue pigment. It is the first blue petroglyph I have ever seen. 

 

The walls of the canyon became sheer and wide, giving few opportunities for exit. The little stream that once flowed along the bottom had now dried up. We hiked for two hours along a meandering route. Although we walked alone today, there was no doubt that in days past, many a cowboy rode this same corridor.

 

At noon we arrived at the confluence of the creek and the gorge. The entrance to the gorge was narrow and inconspicuous. One would never guess how long and impressive it was. 

The gorge was a beautiful canyon. It was narrower than the creek and the colors of the trees were more vibrant. The walls of the canyon now became a white slickrock. We walked along the bottom of a dry stream bed, stopping occasionally to snack. The canyon sat silent. The only noise being that of our feet crunching over sticks and leaves, and a small rustling of wind through the trees along the bed.

 

The canyon eventually narrows into a slot. Some places are so close you can touch both sides. Some sections are much darker, while in others the light reflects softly on the sandstone. Fallen logs have washed over the cliffs, getting lodged across the span of the slot. Sometimes the canyon floor steps up a level, forcing us to pull our way over the fall. At the narrowest part of the canyon, one can barely see the sky. The tall cliffs seem to curve inward at the top. 

 

It is in one of these narrow sections that include the wreckage of an old truck that rolled off the edge in the 1950's. The wreckage is best seen from the bottom. The truck is wedged in the narrow walls of the slot canyon. It creates a solemn feeling. Three men lost their lives here. 

 

We finally climbed out of the canyon at 3:45, arriving at the parking area. We had a 4-mile walk back to our vehicle, but luckily we were quickly offered a ride in the back of a truck. I sat on a small pile of split logs. The ride was dusty and bumpy, but all the more adventuresome! ♠

 

 

Bushwhacking Through a Draw

Our intended goal was to drop into R— Canyon and hike a mile and a half to a unique white-colored ruin. When we walked to the rim of the canyon we looked to the north and then to the south. Nothing but sheer drop-offs for as far as we could see. I now had no other option but to act on Plan B.

Next to us was a short, but deep side-canyon that led into R—. It is known as L— Draw. I had studied it before and knew it would be thick with vegetation. But how thick I wasn't sure. I calculated that L— Draw was our best entrance into the canyon. 

Along the west side of the draw is a corral and beyond that an old road that leads to the bottom. I don't know what purpose the road served because it ended at the bottom.  But we were glad to follow it down. 

Immediately as we came to the corral, Jenna spotted a large ruin on the other side of the draw. It was built inside a narrow alcove, being rectangular in shape with perfectly squared corners. One side was adorned with intact windows, while on the other the walls had collapsed. Already we were happy we chose this new approach. 

As we descended into the side-canyon we spotted several other ruins, including a nice grainery with a window. The sun now disappeared behind the canyon walls and the November air became brisk. 

Jenna noticed a cave that begged to be explored. To get there we walked over a fence that laid flat on the ground, stepping atop sticks and reeds that grew along the bottom. By the time we got there we had cockleburs all over our clothing. 

Inside the cave it was high enough we could stand up; but it was devoid of anything. No ruins at all. Just a fence post near the front. I wonder if at one time it served as a holding pin for cattle? It's the type of cave that would have been fun to camp in as a kid. Judging from the sudden growth of vegetation just outside the cave, I'm sure there is water springing from the ground during wetter years. 

Now we began making our way to the mouth of this little-known side canyon. If we were to have no obstacles, our journey would be no more than a third of a mile. But to have no obstacles would be a luxury we would not enjoy on this day. 

There was no path, no wild game trail, no easy way to go down-canyon. Nothing but a wall of willows and thorns. I took off my jacket so it wouldn't snag. This was the kind of jungle where you needed a machete. 

We began to push through. Sometimes it was a matter of forcing yourself through the tangle of brambles. But at times the tangle was so thick and so woven together that passage was impossible. 

Sometimes it was a forest of thickets with hundreds of needle-like spines all up and down the slender branches. The tiny stickers pierced into our clothing and dug into our flesh, leaving several smears of blood on my hands. 

Sometimes I would step onto the supple vegetation, bending it to a horizontal position, then walk on top of it, a foot above the ground. Occasionally we found a short path free from obstruction, but without fail, it quickly became choked off. 

Jordan scrambled to the canyon wall where he discovered a somewhat unobstructed path. We followed suit and found it much easier than our previous route. Now all we had to do was duck under branches, crawl under a couple boulders, and push through occasional, but less frequent webs of branches. At last we were making progress! 

Jordan noted that a clearer path led to the bottom of the draw, but then I spotted an alcove above us that I wanted to explore. We climbed up the slope and over a boulder. Behind a huge cluster of thickets, completely obstructed from view, stood several well-protected Anasazi ruins. 

I admired the stone masons that built these structures over 800 years ago. The walls curved to fit the contour of the ledge with a wood-framed window. 

Past the graneries, in a low, but deep alcove was another chamber. Here sat another structure, not as well preserved as the first, but still mostly intact. The little cave felt dark and damp. The growth of thickets blocked the few rays of sunlight that had a chance of shining in. The entire ceiling of the alcove was black, possibly from ancient fires.  On the other side of the alcove sat the fallen bricks of a structure that had collapsed. 

We were quickly running out of our allotted time. We exited the alcove, back into the sunlight and trampled through the snarl of branches to the bottom of the draw. Knowing that we still had an arduous journey ahead, I quickly contrived a Plan C. 

I noticed the opposite side of the draw was now showing less vegetation, and was also less steep. I decided it was time for us to climb up the other side of the draw and exit the canyon. 

Unfortunately for us, we had time restrictions this day. My goal of hiking to the white-colored ruins would have to come at another time. 

We hiked over the hill where we finally arrived at the rim of R— Canyon. It was wide and long, with a few ruins dotting the opposite cliff . . . if you were keen enough to spot them. 

Jordan and Jenna took turns throwing rocks into the canyon, aiming for a pond at the bottom. I spend my time glassing the canyon for more ruins and picking out stickers from my clothing. ♠

 

 

Running With An Angel

I've always enjoyed sharing my passions with my kids. Deep down I secretly hope that they also will gain an interest in them so that perhaps we could spend a lifetime doing them together. 

The most prevalent example is hiking. All my kids have spent quality time with me on high mountain peaks, in rugged canyons, or just out poking around looking for petroglyphs. And yes, they've all been on runs with me. 

With that in mind, I convinced Brittany to run a 5k race with me when she was eleven years old. 

With her lanky legs and pent-up energy, I always felt Brittany had the potential to be a great runner. I did well at half-marathons and her mother came from a family of successful cross-country runners. It made sense in my mind that Brittany had all the genes to succeed. 

She was a little hesitant, but I knew she could do it. I envisioned us training several times a week, gradually improving our speed each time. It would be a piece of cake! 

But reality hit on our first run. 

We started from our house for a jog around the neighborhood. Like any inexperienced runner, she didn't know how to pace herself. I struggled to keep up with her as she sprinted ahead, but after one block she couldn't go any further. Not only was she tired, but she was wheezing and gasping for air. 

We walked for the next five minutes while I explained that she needed to pace herself. I let her catch her breath and we tried it again. 

This time she didn't sprint, but once again she ran out of steam after one block. I remember being genuinely concerned because of her labored breathing, wondering if she had asthma. Perhaps my daughter didn't have the lung capacity I thought she had. 

That first day we ran only one mile. 

From that point forward she steadily improved, albeit rather slowly. She frequently complained of side-aches, nausea, not being able to breath, sore ankles etc. Little by little we increased the distance. It wasn't until the week before the race that she was able to run the full three miles without stopping, which she repeated one more time. We had come a long way from that first run!  

 

I was stoked when race day came. It was the 5k for the Enoch City Fourth of July celebration. We woke up early and drove to the city park where we would gather at the starting line. I remember Brittany with that nervous look on her face. (Who isn't a little tense before beginning a race?)

The last time Brittany did a race was a kid's run at Blanding's Fourth of July. Within seconds after starting she somehow tripped and got trampled. She finished the 1-mile sprint, but with a scraped knee and lots of tears. 

But I wouldn't let that happen here. I told her to watch her step and give herself plenty of room. And beside that, I would be at her side the entire race. 

 

The starting gun fired and we were off! 

It was pure adrenaline. She didn't look back and didn't stop. For three miles she kept a steady pace, passing several adults in the process. I was surprised at how well she was doing. 

Although the super fast runners had left us in the dust, we kept up with the crowd and Brittany seemed to be ahead of most kids her age. “You're doing great, Brittany,” I would encourage her. “Keep it up!” 

The final stretch turned slightly uphill toward the park along Jones Lane. “You're almost there, Britt. Pick it up! Push it!” 

The crowd was there to cheer her on. They were yelling and clapping. The fighter in her clicked on and a determined demeanor fell over her face. She sprinted to the end with all the strength she could muster. Together we crossed the finish line. Jenelle was there to greet us. Brittany had done it! 

She was so tired and tuckered out, but excited to be done. And I was one proud Daddy! 

That race is one of the most cherished memories I have of Brittany. Now that she is gone, I am so grateful that I decided to run with her. 

 

Brittany passed away two and a half years later in 2012. The following summer we decided to make some shirts to honor her for the Cedar City Half Marathon. Some of my family came over and they, with several of our friends, wore the shirt during the race. Jenelle designed the back of the shirt, a drawing of an angel with wings, which said: “Running in Memory of Brittany Lacy.” 

Although it is difficult to think about anything during a half-marathon, I was mindful of her during much of the race, and it gave me an extra boost. 

Over the years I have worn that same shirt to several races. During a marathon in Moab, a shirtless man passed me and said, “You're running with wings!” As he flew by I noticed his own angel tattooed on his back. 

I've thought about Brittany a lot in the last six months. Due to a new health condition, I have been unable to run. Fatigue has plagued me and there is no doubt that if I were to run, I wouldn't make it a block before I would have to stop and gasp for air. Of course, every time I envision that scenario, I can't help but to fondly recall that first run with Brittany. ♥