Never stop cheering.

Five miles at 6AM this morning.  9:49 pace, which is starting to become the norm for morning runs after lifting.  I'm feeling strong, but I'm also definitely feeling the effects of the first month of training.  Little twinges here and there.  A whiny right knee.  A cranky right foot.  The perennially tight left quad and glute.  Nothing too serious, at least.

These beauties are from my Stupice tomato plant.  

Tomatoes!

This is the first time since moving to Utah that I've managed to grow tomatoes in July.  Utah is very dry, and in previous years, my tomatoes ended up starved for water, going dormant for most of the summer, and then producing fruit in September or even November.  So, this is an accomplishment.  

Whenever my toddler accomplishes something, he cheers and claps his hands for himself.  Beads moved on the bead maze?  YAY!  Drinking milk out of a sippy cup?  YAY!  First time climbing the stairs?  YAY!  His face glows with pure delight.

A friend observed yesterday, "When is it that we stop cheering for ourselves?"  We, especially women, learn somewhere along the way that our accomplishments are to be downplayed.  Got a promotion?  Oh, that was nice of them.  Running a race?  Oh, it's just the half.  Ran a race?  Oh, I'm slow.

What would it be like, if for just one day, we recaptured the exuberance of a toddler?