I never knew how mental racing was.

Running down the Provo Canyon river trail on Saturday, while competing in my first half marathon, every time another runner passed me I would think, "that's it, everyone is in front of me and I'm now in last place." My feet ached, my calves burned, and due to a technical mix up before the race I was running without my usual GPS watch that tracked my time, distance, and pace. Without my watch, and with no mile markers posted, I had no idea where I was on course, or how I was doing in regards to time. This stretch of the race was very discouraging. I didn't expect to feel so alone and so lost.

As is the case much of the time in my life, my music was my cocoon of comfort to keep my mind focused on the positive and distracted from the negative. Each time that I would take out my earbuds to adjust their position the comfortable tones would be replaced by the sounds of footsteps of the other runners approaching from behind.

I'm most entirely at fault for arriving in such a lonely situation. The race began high up the mountains above the Sundance resort. Waiting in the crowd of over 700 runners at the starting line I was accompanied by Amber and our friends Eric and Betsy Billman. We all followed Amber, the experienced racer, who jockeyed through the masses to get as close to the starting line as possible. When the clock started Amber got started quickly, weaving around anyone that kept her from keeping her desired pace.

Taking Amber's lead, I also started quickly. We stayed together for a few minutes until I felt cramped and split a couple of runners. I heard Amber yell, "see you later," and I was off - letting the momentum of the hill pull me down the coarse. Once I reached the more level area of Provo Canyon the jell-o feeling in my legs told me that I probably took the first five miles too fast.

Next came the drudgery of Provo Canyon and the river trail. There were a few times where I honestly felt like stopping because the pain in my calves was so bad. And, although I paused briefly a few times to stretch against a tree I continued on, trotting closer to the finish line.

My hopes brightened when I finally emerged from the canyon, although the pain in my legs was still ever present. As I began heading south towards the Riverwoods shopping center I noticed a person with a camera waving frantically at me. She even took a few pictures in my direction. I didn't think there was anyone behind me, so I first thought the friendly photographer had me confused for someone else. But, as I got closer I realized I was the mislead one. The happy person was Amber's sister Jen.

At this point, I figured the finish couldn't be that far off. We came to a stoplight and then cut into a commercial development. The spectators along the trail became more frequent as we made the last turn before the chute. While entering the final stretch I heard a, "yeah, Scott!" from my sister Julia who was positioned on a grassy knoll with a video camera.

My pace increased a bit with the thought of almost being done. But, it wasn't until I saw the clock that I threw all my energies into a last gasp sprint. Before the race, my goal was to complete the 13.1-mile course in one hour and 45 minutes. When I saw 1:44 on the clock - the seconds were obstructed from view - I knew I still had a chance to make it across the finish line in time. With 14 seconds to spare I finished my first endurance race.

In her second race in as many months, Amber improved upon Top Of Utah Half Marathon time by three minutes, coming in at 1:50:33.

Several weeks ago, after completing her first half-marathon, Amber convinced me that I wanted to train for a 13.1-mile race myself. Not to be completely outdone by my talented wife, who obliterated her target time by seven minutes in her first endurance competition, I committed to train for a race in St. George on the first Saturday in November.

This was back in August, and believe it or not, I have not missed a single training run. Amber and I take turns each morning running through the chilly Cache Valley air. Both of us have found that we enjoy the regular exercise, and especially having something to work toward.

My favorite part about training with another person is the motivation gained while challenging each other with times and increasingly more difficult routes. When the training schedule called for a six-mile run Amber introduced me to a horribly hellacious hill in Hyde Park that ascended nearly 500 feet in just about a mile-and-a-half. What made the Hyde Park hill the most daunted is the three false peeks that make you think you're almost there, but you're not.

The St. George race included a two-mile stretch of trail running. This thought made me want to include some similar trails during our preparation. The Bonneville Shoreline trail, a 1.8-mile roller coaster path spanning between the Green and Logan Canyons, seemed perfect.

My initial attempt worked me over like no other run had. And, for good cause as the route required climbing twice as much altitude as the Hyde Park run. Never backing down from a challenge herself, Amber had a go and agreed that adding the high-altitude trail in our regimen gave training a new challenge.

This past Saturday we needed to find a route to accommodate 12 miles - the longest training run of the circuit. As I thought about it, one thing became clear. This not only had to be the longest run, but it should also be the hardest. Once that was decided, there was no choice but to combine the Hyde Park hill run with the Bonneville Shoreline trail.

We even got a babysitter to watch the kids so that Amber and I could go together. Our pace was consistent, the hills were challenging but conquerable, and we climbed 1,529 feet (but also descended 1,567) en route to the longest run I've ever taken in my life.

On a side note, we have decided to move our race date up a week and run in the Provo Halloween Half instead of St. George. If you're in the Provo area on October 31st the race ends at the Riverwoods Shopping Center. Come see us!

Before jumping into the details of the second day of our trip I should mention that Florence, aka Masma, was cremated, much like her husband Jim, aka Paspa, when he passed on nearly ten years ago. Seeing her remains as a mass of ashes really brought meaning to the scripture, "for dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return."

All of the events of this day include Masma being with us.

The second day of our road-trip of rememberance began with a trip out to picturesque Donner Lake, where our Truckee based group of McAllister men gathered to remember Florence. Nate led us to a quiet spot close to the eastern shore of the lake. Memories and laughs were shared. The feeling was very light and enjoyable.

Nate remembered Masma's lemonade, and I talked about Masma's dedication to keeping her mind sharp - always completing the daily crossword in the newspaper. Brent offered a prayer while uncle Peter led us all in a buddhist chant.

The chant that Peter taught us said, "Nam myoho renge kyo." I don't remember what each word meant, but I remember that he mentioned that it had something to do with devotion.

After snapping some pictures and exchanging farewells, we let Nate get back to his workday while the rest of us descended the western slopes of the Sierras, on our way to the coast. We didn't take the most direct route to our destination. While passing through Sacramento we stopped off to see the temple that was built since the days I served there as a missionary.

Once we crossed the Bay Bridge into San Francisco we exited the Interstate and drove along the Embarcadero to see the city and the piers along the bay. We made our way through the north side of the city, up by the Golden Gate Bridge, and latched onto scenic Highway 1. This is a stretch of road that hugs the Pacific coast, and is considered one of the most beautiful drives in the world.

We started in Pacifica, just outside of San Francisco, and made our way south toward Pigeon Point. The fog overtook the Golden Gate bridge and covered our drive down the coast. It wasn't until we came to Pigeon Point, where we could see our destination at Franklin Point, that the sun brooke through. The timing was perfect as the sun lit the beach where we were heading and little else.

Bill and Peter were waiting for us at the head of the trail that led out to the point. Bill's older son Joe pulled up moments after our arrival. We trekked through the sand and dune grass out to the point where we had laid Paspa's ashes nearly a decade earlier. We shared a similar moment as that morning in Truckee with prayer and chanting before Peter - the youngest, and probably most nimble of the three brothers - scampered out onto the farthest rock point and laid his mother's ashes to rest in the sea.

Everything happened so quickly. Just over a week ago, while spending the morning at home with a fever-laden baby, I received a call from my mother. She informed me that my paternal grandmother, known to us as Masma, was not doing well and was only expected to live another 24 hours at the most. That was a week ago Tuesday.

Looking at the big picture, this shouldn't have come with much surprise. Masma was 92, and she had lived a life that was full and memorable. She was moved from a facility near her home in the San Francisco Bay Area to a very comfortable place in Provo, Utah six months ago. Reasons for the move were two-fold: she had a large concentration of grandchildren in the area, and the cost of living was considerably lower.

We enjoyed having her more accessible in Utah, and I would like to think that she enjoyed the attention she received from the extended generations of posterity that came to visit her.

By Tuesday night I was driving south to Utah county to meet with my mom and sister Julia, who were sitting with a mostly unconscious Masma. We sat and reminisced late into the evening before my dad arrived from the airport at about 11pm.

I ended up sitting next to my dad, at Masma's bedside for the rest of the night. Dad and I talked quietly at times, but mostly sat in silent thought. We noticed her breaths grow increasingly farther apart, and at 2am I watched the life drain from her face as she passed peacefully into the next life.

Now, a week later, I find myself sitting in a motel in Truckee, California. My dad and I departed from my sister Jenna's place in Taylorsville this morning and picked up my brother Brent at the Reno Airport this afternoon. Our journey across Nevada was highlighted by an audio book by T. Boone Pickens and the occasional Cat equipment sighting. We met up with my dad's brothers Bill and Pete and connected with Bill's son Nate, who lives in Truckee, just before he left for work at the Drunken Monkey.

Dad, Brent, Bill, Pete, and I drove down to Lake Tahoe from Truckee and explored the area surrounding the lake before skipping rocks off of its banks. We finished the night by enjoying some decadent sushi rolls at the Drunken Monkey with Nate as our server.

Among the major highlights of the last quarter is Ashley's third birthday. We celebrated by taking her to a local establishment called the Cache Valley Fun Park. This facility has an enormous play-land area. Large enough for myself to climb around the tubes and shoot down the slides. I didn't even get stuck once. Although, my knees were grateful when it was time to grab some chicken stars and head home for cake.

In the days leading up to Ashley's birthday Andrew embarked on the whole new world of solid foods. As you would expect from our posterity, Andrew likes food. He embraced the solid stuff from the first slurp, and is still eating like a horse.

I feel fortunate to still be employed as the economy is taking it's toll at Utah State University. Work started getting weird when the university issued a mandatory week-long furlough for all employees during spring break. After getting over the idea that I was getting a cut in my salary for the year, I was grateful that USU gave us the time off for the missing compensation. We decided to take full advantage of the week together as a family.

Our main activity was a day trip to the exotic land of Ogden, Utah. We descending from Cache Valley to visit the Treehouse Children's Museum on tip from a friend at work. Ashley loved the place. We arrived early in the day and stayed to well into the afternoon. Ashley was on the young end of many of the activities and exhibits, but she still enjoyed herself. And, I see us going back for many years to come.

A price we pay for living in the paradise that is Logan is the occasional spring snow storm, of which we've had a few this year. Spring break, the first week of March, actually opened with a hefty snowfall. There was enough fresh powder to build a snow princess in the backyard. Today was actually the first time that our entire yard was vacant of snow this year. It was a nice day.

Another nice day was a few Saturdays back when we met the rest of the McAllister cousins in Salt Lake for a free Real Salt Lake soccer game. The team opened up the stadium and invited the public to watch the final preseason match between RSL and a second division side. The weather cooperated perfectly, so that our three families - mine, Jenna's and Julia's - combined to nearly take over a section of the soccer stadium.

On a somber note, we enjoyed gathering relatives on Amber's side of the family as we honored the life of her aunt Mary who passed away this last month. Mary always liked to have fun, and thoroughly enjoyed life. She will be missed, but we know she is much more comfortable without having to deal with the pains of mortality any longer.

That's about it from us. Pictures of the described events will follow soon in shutterfly. As always, if you don't receive our shutterfly emails and you would like to please let us know and we'll get you on the list.

Amber and I learned a valuable lesson this year. Christmas morning we were so excited to watch Ashley as she opened her presents. So excited, in fact, that we were the ones waiting for her to wake up before we could start!

We started with the stockings, where Ashley would say, "ooooh! I'm gonna share that one," to every present that she saw - no matter if it came from her stocking or not.

When we moved to the tree we were still getting situated while Ashley was already diving under the tree ready to pull all the paper she could see. In the rush she opened two presents before we could really get started. The only problem with that was the second present was a DVD with Ashley's favorite character in all of existence, Sleeping Beauty, on the cover.

After looking in awe at the glossy packaging for a few seconds, Ashley stood and requests to put on a dress (preparation for nearly all activities) and watch the movie. We asked if she wanted to open any of her other presents, to which she repeatedly answered, "No!"

It took a lot of coaxing, but Ashley finally sat and enduring unwrapping all of her other less important presents - hardly ever taking her eye off of Sleeping Beauty. We now know which present we should have let her open last.

Somewhere between between opening presents, and learning the valuable lesson of present precedence (more on that later), and kicking back for a lazy Christmas day I decided I needed a haircut. Eager to facilitate this wish, in fact a little too eager, Amber offered to pull out the clippers and recreate the short-haired look of last summer. For the most part I enjoyed the look, but especially the feel, so I agreed to such a style.

In our haste to remove the fro we got our fractions a little mixed up. We knew that in August we used a guard that had an 8 on it. Amber was almost certain that it was the 1/8" guard. I wasn't positive, but I also didn't object.

As the hair began to gather on the the bathroom floor we both thought it would be funny to leave a stripe of curly hair on the top of my head. So proud of our creation, we called up Ambers parents on Skype get their feedback on my new look.

They were less than impressed.

Ashley, on the other hand, thought my new due was a riot. She would look at me, point, and laugh while exclaiming, 'Daddy's got a funny haircut!'

Even after cleaning off the mohawk Ashley still looks at me and laughs, simply saying, 'Daddy's got a funny haircut.'

So, now we know to use the 3/8" guard when cutting my hair, not the 1/8". In the mean time I'm getting reacquainted with my collection of hats. Not necessarily because I'm ashamed of the look, but that Cache Valley wind on my scalp is COLD!

[DISCLAIMER: The general idea of the following story is true. However, the precise details may be slightly inaccurate as I received the bulk majority of the proceedings second-hand. Plus, this whole thing took place over three weeks ago. But, with so many of you who pledge your allegiance to the school with the Y, I figured this story must be told.]

In between Thanksgiving and Christmas we gathered up the family and headed down to Salt Lake for the USU-BYU basketball game held at the Energy Solutions Arena, where the Utah Jazz play their home games.

Rather than make the kids sit in a crowded arena for the entire night, after sitting in the car for much of the afternoon, and thanks to the kindness of Jenna and the Perego kids, Ashley and Andrew spent the evening with their cousins while Amber and I went to the intense game.

Since Jenna is twice a graduate from Brigham Young she also had interest in the game and had it playing on the radio during dinner. Her kids were already accustomed to cheering for the Cougars and they were trying to get Ashley to do the same.

But, our first born held strong. The closest she got to saying 'Go Cougars' was 'Go Coogies!' Then when she heard the radio announcer say Aggies Ashley threw both fists into the air and shouted 'Go Aggies!'

Jenna's oldest child, Joshua, was perplexed as to why anyone related to him would cheer for a school other than BYU. Jenna explained that Ashleys parents were Aggies from Utah State, and they didn't cheer for the Cougars. Apparently this touched Joshua and the other children as they all began to cheer for the Aggies. By the end of the night Josh was even disappointed when the Aggies lost the game.

Thanks to Ashley's influence we should be expecting Joshua in Logan when it's time for him to start college.

We took the whole family to the Utah State basketball game last week against Weber State. We had mixed results with Ashley and the boisterous atmosphere of the basketball games last season, so we weren't sure what to expect this time around.

To our surprise Ashley sat in her seat for most of the game, watched the action on the court intently, and even clapped with the crowd every time the Aggies scored. She eventually got bored, after all she is only two, and began to fidget around our seats. What brought her attention back to the court every time was the music over the loud speaker.

Of course, it wasn't so much the tunes or the beat, but the Aggie Dancers that got Ashley's attention. For most of the second half, when ever the dancers were out performing Ashley could be seen mimicking their actions from her seat. So cute.

After so many wonderful grilling experiences this summer, you'd figure that some bad outings were inevitable. This weekend was one of the biggest busts I've ever had with fire and meat.

In my confidence of such a successful grilling summer, I decided that I was ready to graduate from grilling parts of animals and move on to whole beasts. This time of year suggests an ideal creature: a turkey.

I read through a few recipes and felt that I could handle the challenge. Just before 3pm Saturday afternoon I lit the fire, separating the coals for indirect grilling, placed our bird on the grill, and shut the lid.

Now, I'll admit that I didn't follow all my instructions exactly, but my sources also conflicted on how I should go about accomplishing the task. After six hours of flip-flopping techniques, the meat thermometer read 180, and felt good about bringing the bird inside.

All accounts say that you are supposed to let your bird rest for several minutes before carving, this was no problem as it gave me time to prepare a quite yummy gravy. The gravy was the best creation on the night. The meat was another story.

Excited by the taste of the gravy I began slicing the turkey, eagerly awaiting what I would find inside. To my dismay, it was exactly the opposite of what I expected. The meat was stringy and dry, in the places that it was cooked, and it was even pink in some spots.

The pinkness was nothing a little time in the oven couldn't fix; and the dryness was cured by the gravy. There are a lot of things I need to think about before trying to grill a turkey again, possibly Thursday? (hi Bagbys). But, at least I got the gravy right.