The Girl At The Track

She caught the corner of my eye.  Her hair, tied in a loose ponytail, bobbed up and down as she ran around the track of a local high school.  She wore a cotton t-shirt and long grey sweatpants.  It  was over 90° on that black-ovaled track and I knew she had to have been hot.  Weight loss seemed to be her goal as she appeared 100 pounds overweight.

Breathing hard due to the pace I was running, she could hear me coming near her.  As I approached, she turned her head and body away from me.  I knew what that meant, there was no mistaking it.  She was hiding.  She wasn't a real runner.

I know, because I use to be that girl.

The Gift Of Strep Throat

It was April 2003 and I had come down with a nasty sore throat.  My husband suspected strep and urged me to go see the doctor.  I had never experienced strep throat before but I knew it was contagious.  My babies were 6 and 1½ years old and I didn't want them getting sick.

At the doctor's office, the nurse had me step onto the scale - the Dreaded Scale.  It had been a year and a half since the baby was born and I couldn't shed the baby weight.  I had made peace with my new mommy-size.

Hesitantly I stepped on the scale.  I did a double take at the numbers before me.  This can't be right.  The Dreaded Scale had budged.  I had lost 5 pounds.   The strep throat had made it difficult to eat helping me lose 5 pounds in the process.  The revelation the weight could come off gave me a grin so wide the nurse asked me if I was ok.

The big question I faced now became "What am I going to do to keep it off?".  With two young boys and my husband and I both working full time, where in the world would I find time to exercise?  What would I even do?  Thinking back to my high school days, I thought of PE class and track.  It had been 16 years since I had done either.  SIXTEEN. 

I had zero exercise equipment, but I think I had acceptable shoes somewhere in the house.  I dug into my closet and found an old tattered pair of tennis shoes.  This is a miracle in itself as there was no logical explanation as to why I even had the pair.  

Set My Alarm Clock for WHAT TIME?

Since I work outside of our home, my family time is crucially important to me.  I could not take time away from my young boys to exercise.  My only option was getting up before anyone else was awake. 

This is not natural.  I love sleep.

Making the decision to run around our block once, and having no idea how long it would take me, I set the alarm for 15 minutes earlier than normal.  I was now getting up at 6:00 am.  THIS IS INSANE.

One Block, Two Block, Three Block, Four

My first run in 16 years was around the block; a distance of less than 3/4 a mile and it took me 10 minutes.  I broke no speed records and had no fan fare.  No one saw me and I was relieved.  I had no idea what I was doing and I was not a real runner.    I was only an overweight mom whose single goal being to keep off that blasted 5 pounds. 

The next day I did it again.   And again.  And again.

A week later I decided to go a little bit further.  And then a little bit further.  The first day I ran an entire mile evoked strong feelings of accomplishment.  Never before in my adult life had I been as proud of myself as I was in that moment. 

Still, no one saw me running.  Fear gripped me knowing if anyone saw me running, they would surely laugh at me as I was not a real runner.    I didn't have real running clothes or real running shoes or even look like a real runner.  My sweats were old, my shoes older and I was overweight.

A Look In The Mirror

At the track, as I passed this overweight woman who refused to look at me, my heart twinged in memory.   It was as if I peeled back time and was looking at my former self.  I wanted to hug her and tell her I - yes, I, a complete stranger - was incredibly proud of her.  I wanted to tell her she was a real runner and to run tall and proud of all she was accomplishing.  Showing up at the track screamed loudly of her inner strength and determination; guts I never had in my beginning.

More than anything I wanted her to know the hard work is worth it.  The weight comes off.  The mornings become your favorite quiet time of the day.  The running brings tears of joy and tears of pain because it is the hardest thing you've physically ever done.  Running helps you deal with the death of your mom.  One day you'll realize how many years you wasted feeling bad because you had no idea how good the good feels.

Coming around the third bend of the track, she was in my sights again. I moved 3 lanes over to be in the lane next to her.  Her eyes were intently staring at the ground directly in front of her; looking neither ahead, left or right.  I came up next to her and quietly said, "You are doing great.  Keep up the good work."  My words startled her and she snapped her head in my direction.  Before pulling away from her,  I gave her a thumbs up. 

There was no mistaking the look on her face.  The corners of her mouth began to form the biggest of smiles.   

A Different Kind of Marathon

Years ago when I started this blog I did so to write about my experiences while running and to give you a glimpse of what it's like to run in my shoes.

Today I share with you a different kind of race.  

A marathon of 15 years run by a woman I am blessed to call Mom.  

She is in the final miles of her race and is beginning to feel that rush we all feel as we approach the finish line.  

A feeling of accomplishment with her hands raised in victory.

She continues to run toward her prize.

 I have fought the good fight, I have finished the course, I have kept the faith; in the future there is laid up for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day; and not only to me, but also to all who have loved His appearing. 2 Timothy 4:7-8

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It was a hot Friday morning in mid-July.  The chair she was sitting on just went cold.  She stared at the nurse crying before her and not certain on what to say.  This was not the reaction she had expected.  The laughter she and her sister were just enjoying now silent.  She glances at her sister; then back to the nurse.

Last week's CT scan told them why the stomach pains had gotten severe.  The cancer had metastasized to her liver.   She knew what that meant.  After 15 years of sitting in the Chemo Chair she had lost enough friends to know what lay ahead.

So this is what it came to.

August, September and October were filled with the harshest of chemo therapies.  None of which were working.  Just when she started feeling better, another round in the Chemo Chair would make her sick and brought no improvement against the cancer she fought.  

A rainy Tuesday in November she phoned the doctor's office.  She told the nurse she wanted to meet with the doctor before the Chemo Chair; her decision made.

The doctor told her what any good doctor would tell her - the truth.  She knew her options, after 15 years one knows.  Today she was choosing quality over quantity.  She rises out of the chair and tells the doctor goodbye.

The nurses - her friends - shed tears.  After 15 years they have shared a lot in each other's lives.  Oh she'll stop in to see them, but it will be different.   

She turns to walk out the door.  She walks away from 15 years of doctors and nurses and surgeries and needles and the Chemo Chair and the healing poison that ran through her body.  The door opens and she steps into a different life, a shorter life - yet one she is still grateful to live.

Although her days are fewer in front of her than lay behind her she knows God has only given each of us this day.  God has comforted her, held her and blessed her in ways she would never have known if cancer hadn't been in her life.  And in that she finds much joy.  Despite the hurt and sadness and fear, God has given her much joy.

With dignity she walks through that door.  With gratitude to God she embraces the life now before her.  A life always worth living.

Striving Forward

A few stolen moments of quiet and I contemplate the last year of racing.  Putting this year behind me, I look forward to the promise of a new year just a few days away. 

This past year has been a difficult running year for me.  Starting the year with a horrible ankle sprain, having my first A-game marathon crumble in the heat of summer sun, then my second fall to leg cramps and finally my last of the year consist of torrential rains, urban flooding, winds and hamstring issues - all of them contributing to the toughest racing year I've faced.  In open honesty, my mental fortitude is thread bare strong.

Not all of 2012 was disappointing.  I set a new PR in my 5k time by dropping 1 minute 18 seconds off my previous best; proving at 43 years old one can still get faster.  My time was a 22:58 and it snagged me 4th (out of 53) in my age group.  Trying something new that race, I refused to look at my watch and ran strictly on how I felt.  Needless to say I was shocked to see how well it worked for me.

July holds the annual Chuckanut Foot Race and my favorite of all local races.  A tough 7 mile trail race which climbs uphill for roughly 6 miles and finishes with a nice downhill (read : speedy) last mile.  Always aiming to do this race in under an hour, I had only done it once before.  Once again I didn't look at my watch and let my body dictate my speed.  It worked.  I succeeded in a new PR with a time of 59:18, beating my previous best by 22 seconds.

These are the nuggets I hold onto as I lay this year down and head into 2013.  The last 18 days I've spent healing my hamstring and salving my heartbreak over goals not met.  I've done a lot of quiet reflection; a lot of soul searching.  

As one to always have a plan - a goal to work towards - my calendar holds only two races next year.  The Tacoma City Marathon in May boasts the 10 year Marathon Maniac Anniversary.  With so many fellow Maniacs around it will be the fun I need to energize my running again.

The second race I hope to run will be the Chicago Marathon.  This will be my first world major marathon and I look forward to the entire experience as well as spending time with my running friends. 

Any marathoner will tell you the lessons learned with every race are invaluable.  26.2 miles is never easy but always worth it.  Even when the run, the race, the year does not turn out like you hoped for or trained for, you still lace up your shoes and run.  You run to forget and you run to remember.

Right now I lace up my shoes to remember why I love this sport and that I am a much stronger runner, a much stronger woman, than I was before I ran my first step.  The difficulties and the hearbreak of this year will become the stepping blocks I build upon for next year.

2013, I'm ready.

How Much Can You Bench Press?

How much can YOU bench press?  (Does the question beg of a tone in which you can hear the antagonizing sneer?  Good.)

I don't belong to a gym or have a personal trainer.  I run.  What I do have is a 15 year old son with a weight set.  This is great for him as it keeps him interested in exercise and away from video games, well at least make it so he isn't always playing video games.

Earlier this year I sprained my ankle and started going crazy without my daily run.  Craziness makes one go insane.  It's true.  I googled it.  In my insanity I asked my 15 year old son to show me some exercises to do on the weight set.  He relished the moment of son-teaching-mom and showed me some exercises to do. 

They weren't my favorite, but I did them.  They didn't take much time and it made me feel like I was at least doing something which was far better than doing nothing.  It wasn't but a couple weeks (and to my complete surprise) I began to see definition.  One could actually see my arms had muscles and weren't just appendages hanging from my shoulders.

I am still trying to find out where my abs are hidden.

Running is my exercise of choice and after slaying the Ankle Dictator I resumed my 30 to 40 mile weeks. Every once in awhile I walk by the weight set and still pump out some of the lifts he showed me.  Today I realized how glad I am my son taught me what he did.

Having nothing particular to do on my lunch today, I filled my car up with gas and took a few minutes out of my day to stop by the house and surprise the boys.   I walked through the garage (past the weight set) and through the back door.  My oldest was sitting on the sofa watching something extremely educational on tv (I'm certain).

"What are you doing here?"

"Just stopping by to get a hug from you, can I have one?"

He smiled (!) and stood up from the couch.  All 6'1" of him bent down to give me one of his big bear hugs.  When the kids were little I did not think anything could trump a hug in which you feel tiny little fingers wrapped around your neck.  Now I know big boy hugs are just as special.

He breaks away and smiles before sitting back down.

"Where is your brother?"

"At the neighbor's."

Once out the sliding glass door, I call for my youngest.

"Mom?!?!?"

"Yep, it's me!  Can I get a hug?"

"MOM!!!!"  The lilt in his voice betrayed his excitement.  Leaving his friends behind he came running through the back yard.  I stood in the lawn waiting for him.

Without warning, my 5'1", 95 lb, ten year old linebacker of a son leapt up in the air and into my arms.  I caught him while standing my ground.  He wrapped his legs around my waist and gave me a body hug.

"What are you doing here Mom?"

"Stopping by to get a hug from you and your brother."

He lets go, smiles a big smile and says, "Ok, I'm going to go play now."  And off he went.

Driving back to work, I thanked God for my health and the strength I had to catch my leaping son.  I thanked Him for big boy hugs and the blessing of being a mother.

So I ask you, how much can you bench press?  You don't need a gym membership or even a weight bench.  Pick up a 2 pound sack of potatoes for $3 on your next trip to the grocery store and lift the bag ten times with each arm.  Arm curl a 32 ounce water bottle (that's 2 lbs!).  The possibilities are endless when using simple, every day items.

People often ask me why I run; more often they tell me I'm crazy.  Truth be told, there are lots of reasons why I run.  However, there is just one answer on the top of my list, and it is this - I feel better about life more now than I ever did before I got up and moved my overweight tush off the couch.  Being healthy and active brings a certain color to the world, a color you didn't know was missing.  Once you see The Color, you want everyone to see it.  That's when they start to call you crazy.  But it's ok.  You can see The Color and you know one day they will too if you lead by example.  Especially your children.

Get up and move.  I don't care if you walk, ride bike, swim, or chase squirrels in the back yard.  Doing one small thing a day is a stepping stone to seeing The Color.  And I promise you, you will see it.

Afterall, if life throws you a 5'1", 95 lb 10 year old little boy, don't you want to be able to catch him?

Believe in yourself.

Carol King's Story

Carol stood at the starting line of the St. Jude’s Memphis Marathon alone; this no different than how she lived most her life.  It took years before being alone no longer felt lonely.   Her nerves somersaulted inside her.  Self-doubt crept in; perching itself on her shoulder whispering it’s all too familiar haunts.  She shook it off.  Not today.   Today was her day.

The horn blew and the sea of people ebbed forward.  Carol began running her first marathon.  The nerves she felt moments before lost their potency in the familiar and rhythmic steps of her running.  Comfort surrounded her as she found her pace.

Becoming a runner was something Carol never thought she would do.  Running was for athletic people – fit people – not women in their 40s, with weight to lose and had spent a life far away from sports.  The image of her beloved grandmother comes to mind as she recalls a private moment between them.  Carol, the youngest of three children, was a young child when she learned the truth about her birth.  Life was not easy and a third child to feed was not ideal.  Carol’s mother was not happy about the third pregnancy and tried to conceal it.   Carol felt the harshness in the reality of her grandmother’s words and vowed to never be a burden to anyone, never to ask for anything including the playing of sports in school.  An innocent conversation between a grandmother and granddaughter solidified walls Carol spent decades living behind.  Bricks of “don’t ask for anything”, “take care of yourself”, and “be self-sufficient at all costs” were mortared into the walls around her heart with a thick layer of doubt and low self-esteem.

“Walking In Memphis” plays on Carol’s iPod and pushes the memory from her mind.     She is running the streets, not walking them.  She loves the irony.  The route is peppered with bands all feeding her energy as she passes by.   Mile 10 a woman runs next to her, struggling to finish the half marathon.  Carol encourages her, telling her “You got this.  You can do it.”

These are not empty words of encouragement.  This is truth spoken from lessons learned after hard earned victories.   One of Carol’s first victories came at the end of a training run.  Brand new to running, she had just run 20 minutes without walking for the first time in her life.   The realization of what she just accomplished overwhelmed her, Carol is amazed at what she just learned she is capable of.  In the middle of the park’s path she breaks down and cries; each tear stripping away deep seeded self doubt.  

The woman listens to Carol’s encouragement and forges forward.  Two miles later they part ways as the half marathon route turns and the full marathon runners continue forward.  Here the runners greatly thin out.    With less people around, Carol realizes how few people run 26.2 miles.    Something happens within her.  Instead of feeling out of place with this realization, it strengthens her determination.  A lonely road did not scare her, it empowered her.

Miles were clicking by and an old injury began to flare up.  Exhaustion coupled with pain can weaken the strongest of resolve.  Carol does not want to quit.  She looks up at the apartment building she passes.  Above the street on a private balcony a young girl waves at her.  The girl’s smile gives Carol motivation.  There would be no giving up.  Carol pushes herself forward to show that little girl on the balcony and to prove to the little girl sitting across from her grandmother so many years ago, that there is no limit to the greatness within each of us. 

A sign reads ‘Mile 20’.  Carol is now running the final miles of the marathon.  These are the toughest miles and her injury adds to the difficulty.    Seeing Carol’s pain, a stranger runs alongside her and offers her some Advil.  In desperation she accepts.    This injury would not be what stops her.  She had come too far, she had too much to prove.

Standing in their kitchen, full of excitement after walking in a local race with a friend, Carol told her husband of her plans to run the half marathon the following year.  A terrifying goal for someone who had never run before, yet she could not deny the spark of desire she felt.  He looked at her and sneered, “Yeah.  Right.”  The spark had now became a flame.

To run the marathon had been her decision, her goal and it gave her tremendous purpose.  He tried to feed her self-doubt. Years of haircuts and hair colors, diets and exercise plans all failed to make him love her more than each of his passing girlfriends.  He knew how to make her feel worthless.  Yet, she continued to train.   Running was giving something back to her.    It was chipping away at the walls she hid behind.

Mile 21, 22…the bricks kept coming down.  Her whole life she believed in the fallacy of the smile she wore.  The marathon stripped her of that smile and showed her it was ok to struggle.  The marathon was showing her the struggle is what makes you stronger; it lays a foundation of greater strength than the bricks of self-doubt she’d always known.

Mile 23, 24…Carol reflected on the changes running has given her.  She remembers those first months of running.  Afraid of anyone seeing her, Carol’s running took place well into the night.  If anyone saw her, she felt surely they would laugh at her.  After all she wasn’t a real runner; she was an overweight housewife completely dead on the inside.  Real runners are fast and svelte and athletic and happy.  Carol is no longer the woman hiding in the cover of night.   She runs in the daylight through the park she loves.  Bags of clothes - now several sizes too big - were donated to charity and at 40 years old her training has made her an athlete.  She no longer needs the anti-depressants that sustained her.  Carol knows, even now at mile 24 with a body tired and wanting to quit, she is happier than she has ever been.  Running has given Carol herself.

Completing Mile 25 brings comfort knowing she is now in the final mile of the marathon.    Her determination to finish pushes away her pain.  Carol puts one foot in front of the other.  Each footstep taking her farther away from the woman she once was.  She runs from 20 years of infidelity and pain, 20 years of not being good enough.   She runs from the divorce he told her of.  She runs from the sad and scared child sitting across from her grandmother.

The final 385 yards lay ahead of her. Carol runs toward the finish line.  Each step drawing her closer to the woman she has become; a woman who proved to herself she owns a strength she hadn't dreamt capable.  Carol became a woman who came out from behind the walls confining her and began living in the world of possibility.  She had given herself a goal and she was achieving it.  In doing so, Carol has given herself one of life's greatest gifts, the gift of confidence.

The end is in sight.  Her friend Debby is waiting.  Carol runs across the finish line and collapses into the arms of her friend. Carol weeps.  She cries because the person she once was is gone forever.  She cries for the new woman born out on the marathon course that day.  Carol cries for her birth into a new life.  A life she was meant to live. 

Scattering Smile Seeds

Her wisdom showed in her aged blue eyes.  Laugh lines erased the smoothness of youth from her face.

"When my husband told me he was coming here, I told him I just had to come along so I could visit with you.  I hope that's ok."  Her face lit up with a smile. 

I glanced down at the stack of papers needing my attention, waved her in and said, "Of course!" 

She sat down in the chair across from my desk while her husband disappeared into the office of a designer to discuss the new home they were building.

A few weeks previous they stopped by the office to start the preliminary workings on their new home.  Our conversation kept light; musings about the weather, children and the such.  Not much stood out from the conversation except one thing - her parting comment to me.  Hugs are free and she asked for one; when I obliged she thanked me for my smile as it made her day.

A smile made her day?  A simple gesture made that much of a difference?

Does she know about my daily struggles, my concerns or the focus of my daily prayers?  No.  Does she know about the worries I carry as a wife and mother or the stresses of my full time job?  No.  What she did know is I smiled at her.  In a world where people walk with their faces down staring into their smart phones, I looked at her and smiled.

And it made all the difference. 

The thought blew a cobweb off a memory created in high school.  The entire school met in the chapel for a more-than-standard assembly.  Time has erased the purpose of the meeting, but engraved in my memory was a real life story told by a teacher.  Standing in front of the school, the teacher relayed to us the enthusiasm a student had one day when running into her classroom after the dismissal bell.  With excitement, the student told her someone had smiled at them that day.  One person smiled and the single and simple gesture had given them something they never receive.  I was dumbstruck and my mind raced to think who could this possibly be?  Who walked these halls daily and not ever see a smile from anyone?  To this day, 25 years later, I still don't know the answer to the question and it haunts me. 

A smile makes a difference.  A smile is easy to do and is powerful beyond measure.  One may never know the impact this small act can make on the life of another. 

How about tonight when you come home from work, you put a big smile on your face when you greet those you live with?  Or smile at the checker and say 'thank you' as she hands you your receipt?  Or turn and smile at the person standing in line behind you?

When we smile we give much more than a curved line on our face; often, a smile is returned.  It is when the person smiles back, you know they can not smile and carry worry in the same expression.  Those are the seconds when you take their burden from them and give them a brief moment of rest.  And you realize it feels good.

Before leaving my office today, she hugs me and says, "Thank you for scattering smile seeds."

Scatter seeds my friends.
     

Diary of A Mad Woman : Part 2

The Ankle Dictator and I are in a stare down; each waiting to call the other's bluff.  Unfortunately, I am not bluffing and he isn't joking so we continue to stare at each other.  It's a waiting game and I wait impatiently for him to flinch.  Maybe I should flirt with him.

Oh the Ankle Dictator thinks he can trick me.  He brought me a gift that he thought I'd love; wrapping it up in fancy little paper with a great big bow thinking I'd be impressed.  Cleverly gifted was the promise of sleeping in.  One would think the gift of extra sleep would be welcomed and I won't lie, the first day or two the Ankle Dictator snagged me hook, line, and sinker.  Not anymore.  While in training and after 4 days of hard running, I'd earned a day off of running therefore allowing me to sleep in.  Oh how sweet that day was.  Now that I have them every day, they aren't so sweet - more like the sweetness of a sour patch kid.

After a week of snow, ice and finally rain, we were blessed with a day of the most incredible sunshine and blue skies.  I'd look out my window and every thought was consumed with how it was incredibly perfect running weather.  I cursed the Ankle Dictator.  As my sprained left foot is needed for the clutch in the car,  I couldn't even drive my convertible.  Sigh.  I bought a latte instead.  It made sense at the time.

Saturday morning I wouldn't have to get up early to meet my friends for a high mileage run, leaving me with the freedom to make plans for Friday night.  We invited our friends Suzanne, Jim, Karen & Tim over for a friendly (?) game of Pit.  Not one of us could remember the last time we had laughed that hard, each declaring our abs were getting the best workout they'd ever had.  We rediscovered cheek muscles and the next morning they were still sore. 

The Ankle Dictator and I continue our stare down; but I will take my laughter-induced sore abs and cheeks and begin a new workout.   And I will workout hard in hopes to gain some of the endorphins running gives me.  When the sore muscles come, I will sharpen my stare at the Ankle Dictator and when he least expects it, I will wink at him.  Hopefully it'll fluster him enough to forget about my ankle.

Strangers, Friends and Angels

The weatherman predicted the weekend to be the hottest of the year.  Murphy's Law laughed and said "But of course it is" as this is the weekend in which my friends were to run a marathon.

Karen, Kathy and I, with a truck loaded with ice, water and Gatorade, headed out of town.  Armed with a GPS and course maps we made our way to our first stop on the marathon route; approximately mile 8.  Spirits were high, jokes were plenty and smiles were seen on all.  As soon as our friends had run by, we were back in the truck heading off to our next point.

Mile 12 was also mile 14 as the course was an out-and-back route.  Parking the truck on the side of the country road, Kathy found a good radio station and cranked up the stereo.  Here is where we first noticed runners were getting hot.  We shouted encouragement and clapped loudly.  One by one our three friends ran by and each time we had ice cold water ready as well as sponges for them to wring out over their heads.

Karen made signs for us to hold to give greater encouragement.  One of our favorites, "Way to go complete stranger!" had been a great motivation to us while running the Eugene marathon in the spring and proved to be just as motivational on this day.  Runners smiled and laughed and said, "Thank you" when running by the sign.  As we had now seen many of these runners three times they were no longer strangers, we recognized them coming down the road and also knew where our friends should be in relation to them.   We got several of their names and did our best to seer them into our memory.  Inevitably, as our running family got bigger and bigger, we couldn't remember them all and eventually they earned names like "Cool Shoe Guy" and "50 Stater Guy".

Once our friends had gone by, at paces strong enough to qualify for Boston, we jumped in the truck and navigated our way to the 18 mile mark.  The sun was hot; the farmer's fields dusty.  Parked in a raspberry field, we swung the truck doors open letting the music fill the country roads. 

The runners were hot, the suffering etched on faces.  We offered bottles of ice cold water to any who ran by.  Many runners, upon recognizing us, had dubbed us "The Stranger Ladies" because of our sign, proving that even in pain a sense of humor can prevail.

The eyes told their stories.  The heat pounding on them as they ran on shadeless country roads had taken its toll.  The I-Can't-Do-This Dragon had leeched itself on many of their backs.   Staring straight into their eyes, we shouted "You got this, it's yours".  Heat is nothing to make light of and we paid close attention as each ran by.  All three of us could feel their suffering.

As each of our three friends ran by, their pain became our pain and we did our best to hide our concern.  We gave them ice for their necks and sponges for their heads.  They no longer got the option of "if" they wanted something cold to drink but "which" cold drink they preferred.  Our hearts felt their anguish and exchanging glances between us uttered what our words would not.  The heat was concerning.

Winding our way through the back roads, we came to mile 21 and this is the first time where we felt completely unprepared.  Volunteers directed runners to our truck who were searching for ice.  Would we have enough?  Kathy ran alongside some handing them chunks of ice.  Tears could be seen in others as we offered them water from our ice chest.  And without hesitation runners were offering - and taking - the water bottles from other runners; showing us that the pain of a marathon brings people together in a way that can not be described, only felt.  With unselfish consideration, each runner shared the gift of water with all those around them; all complete strangers just a few hours earlier.

At this mile marker Karen's phone rang.  One of our friends had to make the heartbreaking and extremely difficult decision to drop out of the race.  The heat had stolen every bit of energy he had.  Our hearts broke.   Knowing he was off the course, we got back into the truck to make our way to mile marker 25 to bring our other two friends support.

Here we could see the relief written on many faces.  Armed with the knowledge that the race was only 1.2 miles longer, the faintest smiles could be seen.  Strangers driving by stopped and brought us more water to hand out.  It wasn't long before we could see our friend coming down the road.  With a sponge and water in hand, I ran to meet her.  She asked how our other friend was doing.  The knot in my stomach made me sick, but I had to lie to her and tell her he was doing just fine.  Knowing the truth would have been painful making the last mile that much more difficult.  I'd apologize to her in 1.2 miles.

The finishline was filled with people, runners completely spent as well as family and friends sharing in the joy of it all.  There were tears of joy in some and tears of sadness in others.  We found our one friend sitting on the curb in quiet reflection thinking on the hard decision he'd made to pull himself off the course.  Words not needed, we all felt his pain.

Stopping us were runners who searched us out to thank us for what we did out there.   These strangers thanked us repeatedly, calling us life-savers and angels.  Everywhere we turned, another runner thanked us.  It was here where I became aware of just how many people we touched that day.  We had not set out to do this, it simply happened.  One small gesture had left an impact they would not forget.  What none of them realized, was it was them who gave back to us.  Their smiles paid us back in ways they could never imagine and gratitude could be seen in their eyes.

Long after the day was over, my mind wandered to all that happened out there on that race course, each emotion flooding back.  Sometime after the race, Karen emailed me a piece of a conversation relayed to her that had taken place out there during that 26.2 mile journey; a conversation that brought tears to my eyes.  Shortly after the 18 mile mark, a fellow runner turned to our friend and stated how wonderful it was for him to have friends who would come out and support him like that on the course.  He turned to her and said, "Not friends.  FAMILY."

The marathon.  It gives you the most incredible window inside of yourself and it takes complete strangers and turns them into angels and family.  What a gift.

Contagious

As of late, everywhere I look I see inspiration.  And I need it.  Just as my motivation wanes, God places these little sparks of inspiration to get me moving.

Yesterday morning my run had not gone particularly well, it wasn't bad mind you, it was just a struggle.  A few hours later, as I was driving to work, I saw a woman large in stature running down the road I was travelling.  This was not a long and flat road, rather it was extremely hilly.  Determination was etched on her face as she successfully tackled each hill.  I wondered what her story was.  What motivated her to change her lifestyle?  What brought her to the point to lace up a pair of running shoes?  How much weight had she lost already?

Clearly, the run was not easy.  But it didn't stop her.  At some point in her life she realized the pain of regret hurts more than the physical pain of a tough run.  Her strength inspired me and she has no idea.  She was simply running.

Standing in line at Starbucks today, indulging in my standard double tall non-fat latte, a woman with 3 active girls placed her order after me.  Obviously a regular to the baristas at the counter as they greeted her by name.  I was stepping to the side when she exclaimed, "It's been 18 days since my last cigarette!", her smile exploding on her face.  Turning to face her I said, "Congratulations!".

"Thanks!  I feel really good about it!  Really, really good."

"That's a big accomplishment, you should feel good about it."

She then explained to me, a complete stranger, about her struggle and how she has managed to quit the addiction on her own.  I look at the children, acting as children do, around her.  She easily could have used their high energy as an excuse to give herself a break and light up a cigarette.  But she didn't.  She had reached a point that said 'I want better'.

Walking back to my car, I thought of her smile.  There was so much joy in that smile, a joy that can not be called up on demand.  It is a joy that only comes from pride found through personal strength.  Not until she wanted better and started the tough journey of quitting her addiction could she find a strength she didn't know she had.  No one could quit for her; she had to do it.  And with each passing day she got stronger and learned that what she is capable of is greater than what she had known.  She rediscovered herself.

And that, my friends, is contagious.

Sky, Stars and Motivation

At times we all need a little motivation, and I for one, have been lacking in it lately.  It is times like this that I am reminded that I am the one who holds me back.  I set my own limits, hit my own ceilings.

Yet I reflect on this great big world and I realize something.  In daylight I look up and see the sky above me, nothing more.  If I wait until darkness falls, I look up and I see endless stars that go on forever. It's the same space above me but my persepctive changed.

I need to stop seeing the sky and start living in the endless possibilities of reaching for the stars above.

The following reminders will help me: 

"Impossible is just a big word thrown around by SMALL men who find it easier to live in the world they've been given than to explore the power they have to change it.
Impossible is not a fact. It's an opinion.
Impossible is not a declaration. It's a dare.
Impossible is potential.
Impossible is temporary.
Impossible is nothing."

It's Almost Here

Race Day.  It's almost here.  My nerves are playing their own version of WWE Smackdown contained underneath this layer of skin.  One never gets use to the pre-race jitters.

While winter did it's best to thwart my training, the focus of this coming weekend pushed me through.  Knowing that all the hard work would pay off has a way of sharpening one's determination.  For months I ran through bitter northeastern winds, torrential downpours and the snow and ice that winter delivered.  I logged hundreds of miles on trails and roads to bring me strongly prepared to the starting line.  And now it's so close I can almost see it.

My body is feeling good and strong and more than ready to take the beating of 26.2 miles.  In a moment of complete personal honesty, where I fight my biggest battle lies in my mental game.  With the help of my running friends, I will not fight this fight alone this time.  On the course, I will slay the dragon that leeches onto my back and weighs me down.

Race day demons die this weekend.

If others believe in the potentional they see in me, why can't I?  The hardest part of my training has not been the miles, but the driving out of self-doubt.  For the first time I will toe the start line believing in the potential I hold.   And in many ways that makes me feel like I've already won.

On Sunday as I finish my 8th marathon on the track of the history-rich Hayward Field, following the echoing footsteps of some of this country's greatest runners, look up.  On the jumbo-tron you will see this mom throw her hands up in victory.  And weep for joy.

The Curb

I'm sitting on the curb near the fork in the road mustering the courage to pick a path.  Do I stay on the path I know?  Where the journey, as of late, has been met with frustration and exhaustion?  Or do I chose the path I've never traveled before?  

This parenting thing is hard.

Every parent can attest to the feeling of perfection you feel when you first gaze at your beautiful new baby.  So much hope and so much promise bundled in your new breath of life.  You vow to make the possibilities endless and the encouragement grand so they can chase their dreams with passion unbridled.  Almost 14 years ago I looked into the eyes of my son and promised him the best of what I could give.

I look at him now and still see all the potential he holds, but I wonder, why can’t he?

Our house has always been one filled with encouragement balanced with discipline when needed.  We’ve always demanded the best of our children’s abilities and it was always good enough, no matter what the outcome, as long as the best is given. If our children came in dead last in a race, we celebrated with high fives, hugs and whoops and hollers when we could see them trying with all their might. Their best is always good enough.  Always.

Recently we’ve noticed our teenager not giving his best, and it is frustrating.  At first we questioned and coaxed.  As improvements didn’t come, we set guidelines.  When guidelines were ignored, we set up restrictions all the while encouraging him to show the world how great he is.  But he won’t.

This raises many questions in our minds, but we reduce them down to two.  Do we continue doing what we are doing or do we step back?  In 4 short years the world, by its standards, will view him as a man, a view as his mother I find cold with the sting of reality.  Continuing down the same path we are on, will lead to more frustration and more defiance.  Choosing to step back will allow him to make the decisions, with negative life-long impact, on his own.  I’ll be brutally honest here, the hardest part about stepping back is shaking the feeling that I’m giving up.  This, I suppose, is right where God wants me - giving my son and his future for God to direct, not me.  I was not prepared for letting go in such small steps to be so heart wrenching.

It’s exhausting to encourage someone who does not believe in the potential you can clearly see in them.  As a parent, exhaustion isn’t a reason we can use to stop.  It’s an excuse.  There is no room for excuses, especially when it comes to giving confidence-instilling encouragement to your child.  Exhaustion has a way of bringing me to the Edge of Hopelessness, a place I try at all costs to avoid.  I do no one any good there.

Which brings me back to the curb.  In my exhaustion, I sit down on this curb and look intrepidly down both paths. Knowing each path will bring its own trials and its own joys, it does not make the decision easier. I know I must choose.  With parental determination, I find the strength to get up and stand.  

In complete uncertainty and in hesitation, I take a step...