There is not one ounce of me wanting to get out of the car. Rain bounces off my windshield and I have 10 miles to run.
I open the door.
Deciding the 41° didn't warrant my gloves, I tossed them aside and step out of the haven of my car. I hit "start" on my Garmin and I am on my way to run the streets of the small town where I grew up.
My route begins on Front Street; the iconic street in town. Original homes boast well manicured lawns with massive oak trees flanking each side of the road. Their incredible branches canopy the road. The harshness of the winter has caused these trees to loose many pieces of themselves. I watch my step as I navigate through.
The rain is still strong.
The church my parents attended - as were my grandparents founding members - is on my left, my parents' lawyer in which closed out their estate is on the next block and the financial advisor I now use is kitty-corner from him. Only in a small town can so much of your life be wrapped up into 3 small blocks near each other.
Main Street is ahead and I run by the middle school which suffered a tremendous loss this week. This small town made the news and not the way you would hope for your community. The death of a student shattered people's lives and put an ultra-bright spotlight on difficult conversations. My heart breaks for all affected. #voiceforvylit
The corner farm and garden store where my youngest got his first pair of cowboy boots is open. I make note to be sure to stop and see what new gardening treasures are in for this year. The local transportation company is buzzing with activity. I wonder if my cousin is working.
On a whim, I turn into the city park. A handful of years ago now, the community decided to revamp the park. A massive play structure was designed and created. The company I work for donated not only materials but man hours and machinery. Community helping community. I love that.
I take the trail which loops me behind the YMCA and spits me out next to the creek. My siblings and I spent countless hours with our cousins playing in that creek. Today, the rains melting the record snowfall has caused the creek to spill it's banks. It swirls with activity.
Leaving the park I run by the first house my sister and her husband owned. The rose bushes still line the white picket fence.
Further down the road I am greeted with the sign of the first major housing development the town experienced. Financial shenanigans brought federal indictments and destroyed numerous peoples' bank accounts and retirements.
I turn toward the lush, green golf course. More trees grace this curvy road. A teenager driving a brand new SUV decides her need to turn into a parking lot outweighs my life in the cross walk. I screech to a halt and yell "THANKS" in my mama bear voice. She doesn't even tap the breaks.
The road curves toward empty soccer fields. The Rest Home is ahead. After daddy died, my siblings and I donated to them all of his medical supplies. Lord, there were so many. Before mom passed, she wanted to make sure Dad wouldn't have to worry about it and stocked the home full. FULL. Daddy would have wanted us to lessen the burden of another and so we gave them all away.
My girlfriend's green truck is parked in the driveway. Lori isn't home. She has left to take another group on a tour of Israel to walk where Jesus did and pray where Jesus prayed.
Our favorite ice cream store lies ahead. It's too early for them to be open now. When they do open, they will be busy. They are always busy. It happens when you make the best ice cream on the face of the planet.
Two SUVs pull up next to each other in front of the store. They are parallel with the store and both facing the same direction. I watch a man jump out of one vehicle and lean into the passenger side window of the other. He takes something and quickly puts it in his front pocket. A drug deal or someone handing him a stack of bible verses for the kids in his Sunday School class to memorize tomorrow? Both are entirely possible.
The road takes me by my high school. Despite being a Saturday morning, there are a few cars in the parking lot. I wind pass the elementary school and the original middle school. Long gone are the giant semi truck tires half submerged in the gravel that we would play on at recess.
Middle school; such tough and stretching years. I remember hiding in those big tires and crying more days than not my entire 5th grade year. One, because my mom gave me an "adorable" Dorthy Hamill haircut and everyone thought I was a boy. And two, because I lost my first grandparent that year. My grandfather was a tough old Dutchman who was not real affectionate. Loving in his own way I suppose. The next year I lost my Dad's mom who I most fondly remember giving us the biggest bowls of ice cream we'd ever laid eyes on.
As I have made my way through these streets I am struck by the sandy gravel covering the sidewalks every few feet. Where has this come from? It is all over town. My guess is the massive snow and ice storm that hammered the town was fought valiantly with plowing and sanding the streets. In the true fashion of the town, the streets are incredibly clean. Oddly, the sidewalks are not. This is remarkably unlike the town. Then again, we have yet to see any sunshine for people to get out and tend to their yards.
My route has taken me into the neighborhood my best friend from school once lived. The hours I spent there flood my mind. Amazing how different the place looks now - some due to changes and some due to seeing them through the eyes of an adult.
I stand at the intersection waiting for the only light I've encountered to change. Across from me I see the corner my friends stood and watched Dad's funeral procession. After working 25 years for the school district in the bus garage, they honored him by giving a bus procession to his final resting place.
The light turns and I run down the hill and behind the store my sister in law has worked for 20 years. A discarded vodka pint lays in the bushes. Local kids or trash blown from the last wind storm? Not really sure.
The clanking of a horse's tack gear spills from the open horse arena at the fair grounds. The roads are getting busier now.
I'm in my last mile. Still more gravel. I turn back onto Front Street. The rain has let up considerably. There is no wind. My car comes into sight. My run through my small town complete.
I peel off my soaking coat and throw it into my trunk. I put on a warm sweatshirt and head for home.
The weather man says tomorrow and the next day we can expect sunshine. What I do know for certain is that small town will be out with brooms sweeping off the sidewalks and freeing it of winter's gravel.
Showing posts with label Inspiration. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Inspiration. Show all posts
Saturday, March 18, 2017
Sunday, February 19, 2017
The Learning Tree
The sky a blanket of grey; the rain misty. The air is cool on my face. After sleeping in a bit and enjoying a morning with my boys, I left for my run a bit later than I typically do on a Saturday morning. Ankle recovery isn't all bad.
The neighborhood begins to hum. Saturday plans begin to unfold in each home. My pace is easy. I round a corner and The Learning Tree comes into view. A massive oak tree with branches straight up to heaven.
Years ago I nick named this oak The Learning Tree. Each year as spring begins to kiss winter away, parent eagles will use this tree to teach their young to hunt. A young eagle will be found in its branches while the parents swoop down on rabbits and squirrels and critters in the surrounding field. An impressive sight that never tires.
No eagles teaching this morning.
My hope is to run 7 miles, the longest since twisting my bad ankle (again). The weather is world's apart from last week and the excitement shows in my step. I am happy to be out running with no snow, no ice, no wind. I make my way to my favorite country road. A road with beautiful views and rolling hills. This will be a good test of my ankle.
I've gone a quarter of a mile and another runner pops out from a long driveway. She waves and turns away from me. A runner with beautiful form and impressive speed. I watch as she turns down a private road.
A mother-daughter duo emerge walking from their property and onto the road. It isn't long before I catch up to them. I do my best not to startle them and we wish each other a beautiful morning. The birds sing, we all smile. A beautiful morning indeed.
Looking ahead I see people gathered at a mailbox. Neighbors being neighborly. As I approach I hear "CHERIIIIII!!!" and the older gentlemen holds out his to give me a high five. I give him a high five.
"Steve! I wondered if I'd see you today!"
"CHERI!!!" a familiar voice calls.
I turn to see the people Steve talking with and discover my cousin Ted and his daughter Olivia. They live up the road and were out talking a walk. We laugh at the realization we all know each other.
Steve, being retired, has more free time now to do things he likes to do and that includes running. The first time I ran with Steve was on that country road. Two runners sharing the same road and a bond cements. We chat for a bit before he says he needs to go so his wife doesn't worry. Ted, Olivia and I carry on and it isn't long and we all part ways.
Unexpected encounters interject fun into my run. I am smiling. The highest hill of the road is fast approaching. The house half way up the hill is still not finished. How long has it been? 2 years? 3 years? There is always progress, yet it remains incomplete. I've decided the owner is building it and doing it with his own funds. What I do know for certain is the house will be a stunning work of art. The new wrap around porch makes me long for summer days. The views they will have will be amazing.
3 1/2 miles in I turn around and head back toward home. As I crest the hill again, I look toward my favorite vista to see the low hanging grey clouds have concealed it's beauty. It's ok, I'm out here. And running. I am happy.
The fields are a yellow-green brought on by winter. Soon it will give way to the lush green of spring. Water is running in the ditches and through the culverts. It's melody of a creek. I see where the land gave way sliding into the ditch; another reminder of the harshness of last week.
Branches are strewn everywhere. The Great Silver Thaw, Snowmageddon and wind storms snapped branches off the grandest of trees. Tall evergreens stand like wounded warriors. Their massive branches broken and lying on the ground. The sight makes me awestruck with the power of last week's storm.
The Learning Tree comes back into view and with it the unmistaken sound of eagle chatter. A young eagle is perched atop of the mighty oak. Although I can not find them, the parent eagles are close by watching from a row of evergreen trees. Their instruction was clear and the eagle dives toward the field. Breakfast is served.
My run complete, I open the door to the smell of eggs and toast. I smile.
The neighborhood begins to hum. Saturday plans begin to unfold in each home. My pace is easy. I round a corner and The Learning Tree comes into view. A massive oak tree with branches straight up to heaven.
Years ago I nick named this oak The Learning Tree. Each year as spring begins to kiss winter away, parent eagles will use this tree to teach their young to hunt. A young eagle will be found in its branches while the parents swoop down on rabbits and squirrels and critters in the surrounding field. An impressive sight that never tires.
No eagles teaching this morning.
My hope is to run 7 miles, the longest since twisting my bad ankle (again). The weather is world's apart from last week and the excitement shows in my step. I am happy to be out running with no snow, no ice, no wind. I make my way to my favorite country road. A road with beautiful views and rolling hills. This will be a good test of my ankle.
I've gone a quarter of a mile and another runner pops out from a long driveway. She waves and turns away from me. A runner with beautiful form and impressive speed. I watch as she turns down a private road.
A mother-daughter duo emerge walking from their property and onto the road. It isn't long before I catch up to them. I do my best not to startle them and we wish each other a beautiful morning. The birds sing, we all smile. A beautiful morning indeed.
Looking ahead I see people gathered at a mailbox. Neighbors being neighborly. As I approach I hear "CHERIIIIII!!!" and the older gentlemen holds out his to give me a high five. I give him a high five.
"Steve! I wondered if I'd see you today!"
"CHERI!!!" a familiar voice calls.
I turn to see the people Steve talking with and discover my cousin Ted and his daughter Olivia. They live up the road and were out talking a walk. We laugh at the realization we all know each other.
Steve, being retired, has more free time now to do things he likes to do and that includes running. The first time I ran with Steve was on that country road. Two runners sharing the same road and a bond cements. We chat for a bit before he says he needs to go so his wife doesn't worry. Ted, Olivia and I carry on and it isn't long and we all part ways.
Unexpected encounters interject fun into my run. I am smiling. The highest hill of the road is fast approaching. The house half way up the hill is still not finished. How long has it been? 2 years? 3 years? There is always progress, yet it remains incomplete. I've decided the owner is building it and doing it with his own funds. What I do know for certain is the house will be a stunning work of art. The new wrap around porch makes me long for summer days. The views they will have will be amazing.
3 1/2 miles in I turn around and head back toward home. As I crest the hill again, I look toward my favorite vista to see the low hanging grey clouds have concealed it's beauty. It's ok, I'm out here. And running. I am happy.
The fields are a yellow-green brought on by winter. Soon it will give way to the lush green of spring. Water is running in the ditches and through the culverts. It's melody of a creek. I see where the land gave way sliding into the ditch; another reminder of the harshness of last week.
Branches are strewn everywhere. The Great Silver Thaw, Snowmageddon and wind storms snapped branches off the grandest of trees. Tall evergreens stand like wounded warriors. Their massive branches broken and lying on the ground. The sight makes me awestruck with the power of last week's storm.
The Learning Tree comes back into view and with it the unmistaken sound of eagle chatter. A young eagle is perched atop of the mighty oak. Although I can not find them, the parent eagles are close by watching from a row of evergreen trees. Their instruction was clear and the eagle dives toward the field. Breakfast is served.
My run complete, I open the door to the smell of eggs and toast. I smile.
Thursday, December 31, 2015
Running Steps of 2015
As soon as my watch hit 9.77 miles, I stop my run and give myself a high five. It's possible - just ask the 2 sheriffs sitting in their parked cars watching this anomaly happen. Normally I would not stop a run this short of a gloriously round number like 10 (I may have OCD tendencies) yet I do today. 9.77 miles pushed me to 1,420 miles for the year.
1,420 healing and life giving miles. This number I celebrate. Today's run - the last one in 2015 - was a reflective one. Each one of those miles taught me about myself.
Today the sun shines bright in the cold December sky. The northerly wind puts the air at a brisk 28°; all reminiscent of the start of the year. Those were some incredibly difficult miles. Losing both my parents within a year of each other and both at Christmas brought a darkness and a sadness I have never known. January and February's running steps held many, many tears, brokenness, peace and comfort.
Running steps didn't happen much in those first months. Some days it was a good day by getting out of bed. Some days it was a really good day by getting out of bed and getting pants on. The rest of the world appreciated that too.
March came ushering in spring. Sunnier days with birds singing and warmer temps made running steps easier. My running friends always making it a point to push me forward. We got a summer marathon on the calendar and with it came a training plan. On the days when I felt I had no energy to tie my shoes, I did. After all, my friends were waiting.
Those running steps brought me strength.
The trees around me clear and I am passing a farmer's field. Mount Baker stands regal in it's beauty. Psalm 46 comes to mind, "God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore I will not fear, though the earth should change and the mountains slip into the heart of the sea." I wonder what it would take to make something as strong and sturdy as Mount Baker slip into the heart of the sea.
I think about God as my strength. I think about who He surrounded me with during this difficult year. Many people come to mind, and I am overwhelmed when I think of each of them. One of those strengths He gave me is a fabulous woman who is the most outgoing introvert you will ever meet. And she gets me. Oh, does she get me.
As a fellow introvert she wasn't afraid when I would retreat away from the world. She let me be in the scary lonely places in my heart, but would always be there with a nudge when she thought it best for me to come back out into the world.
"Let's meet for dinner after church."
"It's time to plan a date night, what night works best?"
"How 'bout we eat some Russian perogies Saturday night?"
She prayed with me in the ICU when my dad was given a 10% chance to live. She prayed for me more times than I will ever know. She also makes me laugh until I snort. Countless times while I ran I thanked God for putting her in my life.
Those running steps taught me gratitude.
The summer marathon came. So did the hot summer sun. I do not run well in the heat. This marathon crumbled beneath me and I let it. At times I was dizzy on the course, and I knew full well what that meant, but knowing the fight both my parents showed in their last days I would not quit. With 2 friends at my side, we walked and ran and talked about many things. The emotional highs and lows of the previous months had taken it's toll on me physically. Everyone (but me) could recognize that; I finally accepted it.
Those running steps taught me the importance of health.
A runner passes me on a quiet country road. Where did he come from? He startled me and I karate chopped him. Or maybe I screamed and said, "You scared me!"
The months of 2015 began peeling away. Focusing on my emotional and physical health, I gave myself permission to "just run". I signed up for a fall marathon and the entire goal was to enjoy every single step. My BRSs (Best Running Sisters) signed up with me and each week's long run we worked on falling in love with running again. No speed work, no tempo runs, no "have-to-do-this". We simply ran.
It worked. This marathon we laughed and took our time. If we felt like walking we did, if we wanted to run, we did. We enjoyed every single step. We ran by multi-million dollar homes in Seattle and made up stories about the people who owned them.
The finisher medals double as beer bottle openers (score!) and the race director made sure there was plenty of hot soup waiting as it was a cold 32° when we finished.
Those running steps taught me that to love running is a choice.
I'm closing in on the 9.77 miles. Once again Mount Baker comes into view and this time faint oranges and yellows kiss the snow. The sun will set soon on this last day of 2015.
1,420 miles and I close out my running year. There have been higher mileage years, faster mileage years but none near as important. I'm hard pressed to recount a running year that has meant more to me than this one.
This running year showed me that my running friends are not people I'm just sharing Saturday morning runs with; they are family. They uphold me, cry with me, laugh with me, and push me out the door to run. They make me a better me.
I look forward to sharing many miles with them in 2016.
Happiest of New Years my friends.
1,420 healing and life giving miles. This number I celebrate. Today's run - the last one in 2015 - was a reflective one. Each one of those miles taught me about myself.
Today the sun shines bright in the cold December sky. The northerly wind puts the air at a brisk 28°; all reminiscent of the start of the year. Those were some incredibly difficult miles. Losing both my parents within a year of each other and both at Christmas brought a darkness and a sadness I have never known. January and February's running steps held many, many tears, brokenness, peace and comfort.
Running steps didn't happen much in those first months. Some days it was a good day by getting out of bed. Some days it was a really good day by getting out of bed and getting pants on. The rest of the world appreciated that too.
March came ushering in spring. Sunnier days with birds singing and warmer temps made running steps easier. My running friends always making it a point to push me forward. We got a summer marathon on the calendar and with it came a training plan. On the days when I felt I had no energy to tie my shoes, I did. After all, my friends were waiting.
Those running steps brought me strength.
The trees around me clear and I am passing a farmer's field. Mount Baker stands regal in it's beauty. Psalm 46 comes to mind, "God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore I will not fear, though the earth should change and the mountains slip into the heart of the sea." I wonder what it would take to make something as strong and sturdy as Mount Baker slip into the heart of the sea. I think about God as my strength. I think about who He surrounded me with during this difficult year. Many people come to mind, and I am overwhelmed when I think of each of them. One of those strengths He gave me is a fabulous woman who is the most outgoing introvert you will ever meet. And she gets me. Oh, does she get me.
As a fellow introvert she wasn't afraid when I would retreat away from the world. She let me be in the scary lonely places in my heart, but would always be there with a nudge when she thought it best for me to come back out into the world.
"Let's meet for dinner after church."
"It's time to plan a date night, what night works best?"
"How 'bout we eat some Russian perogies Saturday night?"
She prayed with me in the ICU when my dad was given a 10% chance to live. She prayed for me more times than I will ever know. She also makes me laugh until I snort. Countless times while I ran I thanked God for putting her in my life.
Those running steps taught me gratitude.
The summer marathon came. So did the hot summer sun. I do not run well in the heat. This marathon crumbled beneath me and I let it. At times I was dizzy on the course, and I knew full well what that meant, but knowing the fight both my parents showed in their last days I would not quit. With 2 friends at my side, we walked and ran and talked about many things. The emotional highs and lows of the previous months had taken it's toll on me physically. Everyone (but me) could recognize that; I finally accepted it.
Those running steps taught me the importance of health.
A runner passes me on a quiet country road. Where did he come from? He startled me and I karate chopped him. Or maybe I screamed and said, "You scared me!"
The months of 2015 began peeling away. Focusing on my emotional and physical health, I gave myself permission to "just run". I signed up for a fall marathon and the entire goal was to enjoy every single step. My BRSs (Best Running Sisters) signed up with me and each week's long run we worked on falling in love with running again. No speed work, no tempo runs, no "have-to-do-this". We simply ran.
It worked. This marathon we laughed and took our time. If we felt like walking we did, if we wanted to run, we did. We enjoyed every single step. We ran by multi-million dollar homes in Seattle and made up stories about the people who owned them.
The finisher medals double as beer bottle openers (score!) and the race director made sure there was plenty of hot soup waiting as it was a cold 32° when we finished.
Those running steps taught me that to love running is a choice.
I'm closing in on the 9.77 miles. Once again Mount Baker comes into view and this time faint oranges and yellows kiss the snow. The sun will set soon on this last day of 2015.
1,420 miles and I close out my running year. There have been higher mileage years, faster mileage years but none near as important. I'm hard pressed to recount a running year that has meant more to me than this one.
This running year showed me that my running friends are not people I'm just sharing Saturday morning runs with; they are family. They uphold me, cry with me, laugh with me, and push me out the door to run. They make me a better me.
I look forward to sharing many miles with them in 2016.
Happiest of New Years my friends.
Friday, August 22, 2014
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.
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.
Saturday, November 16, 2013
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
******************************
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.
Thursday, December 13, 2012
They Call Her Jackie
"Excuse me, do you happen to have a pencil? I forgot one and I would love to do this crossword." She asked while leaning over the seat between us.
"I have a pen, will that work?" I reach into my purse and hand it to her.
"Thank you very much," she said, "although I am not certain I trust my answers to be written in pen." Her smile magnifying the laugh lines on her face. Her white hair flowed naturally around her face.
She turns to her puzzle while I push my purse back into my carry on bag. I sit back in my seat and relax. My friends are in seats close by, but not close enough to hold a conversation. We had run the California International Marathon the previous day and were on a 90 minute return flight to Seattle before catching our short flight home to Bellingham. My body is tired and I am grateful this difficult marathon year is now behind me.
My sudoku puzzle book stares at me. I pick it up and do a few puzzles before closing it again.
"I never could get the hang of those things." she says to me. She waves her crossword puzzle in the air, "Give me one of these any day."
Turning to her I smile and say, "My grandmother did a crossword puzzle every day. She always told me it kept her mind sharp."
"Well I don't know if my mind is so sharp, but I always did them to help pass the time. I was a private investigator."
She had my full attention. "Really? I have always wanted to be a private investigator!"
"Why don't you?" she inquires, her eyes quizzical.
"The requirements of my state aren't too conducive to a mother. Well, not this mother anyway. The only place that offers an internship is 90 minutes from my home. I can't afford 3 hours travel time each day. My family is too important."
"You have your priorities in order."
"My kids are home for only a short time, it won't be long before they are on their own and I'll have plenty of free time."
She waves a wrinkled hand in front of her as if shoo-ing something away, "I am no Bible Thumper but I do not think it is an accident I am sitting next to you today."
I smile at her. "Neither do I. I wonder what God is trying to tell me?"
We spend the flight talking of her career, how she got started, cases she's worked on and for whom she has worked. I tell her how I work my investigative skills into my job and the backgrounds of people I have discovered. We laugh wildly at the craziest of our stories. My friend Karen, sitting a row behind me, is jealous over the laughter she hears.
She reaches out to shake my hand, "My name is Lynn Hall*, but my friends call me Jackie. Lynn Hall is my investigator name." A devilish grin sneaks across her face.
"My name is Cheri Fiorucci. My friends call me Cheri." We laugh at the lack of creativity.
"I'm on my way to visit my son for a couple months. While I'm there my old boss wants me to come back to work. Can you believe that? I told him I'm retired, but he doesn't listen."
"You should go back to work," I encourage, "Do it and go out and have some fun on the job for me."
"I never did have to work. My husband was a rancher and took very good care of me. He was the light of my life," she pauses. "His heart was real bad. He died in 2010."
I offer her my condolences.
She continues, "It's been a difficult couple of years. My son died shortly after Walt. And you know what?" Emotion cracks her voice. "It took me 3 months before I could wake up and not cry in my bed." Her pain softly rolls down her cheek. Tears fill my eyes.
"No Momma should ever have to bury her son," I whisper; my voice has been swallowed by empathy.
Offering silent words in prayer for her, I now know God has placed me next to her for a reason.
Quietly I sit and listen to her. She offers no explanation of her son's death, nor do I ask. Her pain still raw, as I imagine it will always be. My mind wanders to my two boys as she tells me of her journey through grief. My words feel so inadequate; I ask God to make them the comfort she needs.
Jackie looks me in the eye. "A good friend checked in on me every day. I never would have made it through had it not been for her."
I think of my friends; the ones I know if grief that strong would happen to strike me, you would find them curled up next to me crying their own tears. There can be found great blessings amidst such deep pain.
The Captain is landing the plane, Jackie and I are still talking. The plane taxis down the runway; Seattle is outside my window.
"Jackie, it has been an immeasurable pleasure to meet you today. Have a wonderful time staying with your son and his family. And go catch some bad guys for me will you?"
Her smile returns, "The pleasure was all mine. Go chase that dream. You've got a knack for it." While rolling her carry-on behind her, she walks away.
My friends are standing near me; friends who would curl up next to me and cry. "Who was that?" they ask.
"Her name is Lynn Hall, but her friends call her Jackie, " I pause and smile, "She told me to call her Jackie."
*In respect to her profession names have been changed.
"I have a pen, will that work?" I reach into my purse and hand it to her.
"Thank you very much," she said, "although I am not certain I trust my answers to be written in pen." Her smile magnifying the laugh lines on her face. Her white hair flowed naturally around her face.
She turns to her puzzle while I push my purse back into my carry on bag. I sit back in my seat and relax. My friends are in seats close by, but not close enough to hold a conversation. We had run the California International Marathon the previous day and were on a 90 minute return flight to Seattle before catching our short flight home to Bellingham. My body is tired and I am grateful this difficult marathon year is now behind me.
My sudoku puzzle book stares at me. I pick it up and do a few puzzles before closing it again.
"I never could get the hang of those things." she says to me. She waves her crossword puzzle in the air, "Give me one of these any day."
Turning to her I smile and say, "My grandmother did a crossword puzzle every day. She always told me it kept her mind sharp."
"Well I don't know if my mind is so sharp, but I always did them to help pass the time. I was a private investigator."
She had my full attention. "Really? I have always wanted to be a private investigator!"
"Why don't you?" she inquires, her eyes quizzical.
"The requirements of my state aren't too conducive to a mother. Well, not this mother anyway. The only place that offers an internship is 90 minutes from my home. I can't afford 3 hours travel time each day. My family is too important."
"You have your priorities in order."
"My kids are home for only a short time, it won't be long before they are on their own and I'll have plenty of free time."
She waves a wrinkled hand in front of her as if shoo-ing something away, "I am no Bible Thumper but I do not think it is an accident I am sitting next to you today."
I smile at her. "Neither do I. I wonder what God is trying to tell me?"
We spend the flight talking of her career, how she got started, cases she's worked on and for whom she has worked. I tell her how I work my investigative skills into my job and the backgrounds of people I have discovered. We laugh wildly at the craziest of our stories. My friend Karen, sitting a row behind me, is jealous over the laughter she hears.
She reaches out to shake my hand, "My name is Lynn Hall*, but my friends call me Jackie. Lynn Hall is my investigator name." A devilish grin sneaks across her face.
"My name is Cheri Fiorucci. My friends call me Cheri." We laugh at the lack of creativity.
"I'm on my way to visit my son for a couple months. While I'm there my old boss wants me to come back to work. Can you believe that? I told him I'm retired, but he doesn't listen."
"You should go back to work," I encourage, "Do it and go out and have some fun on the job for me."
"I never did have to work. My husband was a rancher and took very good care of me. He was the light of my life," she pauses. "His heart was real bad. He died in 2010."
I offer her my condolences.
She continues, "It's been a difficult couple of years. My son died shortly after Walt. And you know what?" Emotion cracks her voice. "It took me 3 months before I could wake up and not cry in my bed." Her pain softly rolls down her cheek. Tears fill my eyes.
"No Momma should ever have to bury her son," I whisper; my voice has been swallowed by empathy.
Offering silent words in prayer for her, I now know God has placed me next to her for a reason.
Quietly I sit and listen to her. She offers no explanation of her son's death, nor do I ask. Her pain still raw, as I imagine it will always be. My mind wanders to my two boys as she tells me of her journey through grief. My words feel so inadequate; I ask God to make them the comfort she needs.
Jackie looks me in the eye. "A good friend checked in on me every day. I never would have made it through had it not been for her."
I think of my friends; the ones I know if grief that strong would happen to strike me, you would find them curled up next to me crying their own tears. There can be found great blessings amidst such deep pain.
The Captain is landing the plane, Jackie and I are still talking. The plane taxis down the runway; Seattle is outside my window.
"Jackie, it has been an immeasurable pleasure to meet you today. Have a wonderful time staying with your son and his family. And go catch some bad guys for me will you?"
Her smile returns, "The pleasure was all mine. Go chase that dream. You've got a knack for it." While rolling her carry-on behind her, she walks away.
My friends are standing near me; friends who would curl up next to me and cry. "Who was that?" they ask.
"Her name is Lynn Hall, but her friends call her Jackie, " I pause and smile, "She told me to call her Jackie."
*In respect to her profession names have been changed.
Sunday, November 11, 2012
First Call Marathon
"...and that is the course of the race. We'll start in 5 minutes," is all we heard as we made it to the start area of the marathon.
With so many friendly faces milling about we had no problem asking someone the route of the course. Those around us assured us it truly is an out and back, twice. Knowing none of us would win the thing, we rested in the fact we knew we could just follow the crowd.
Our fingers were frozen and we tried to melt the cubes of ice we had for toes. The temperature read 28*; I was grateful for the hand warmers in my gloves. As the race director counted down and yelled "GO", about 50 of us began running. My Garmin still hasn't located, thankfully Karen's has.
We made our way out of the Blythe Park and onto a paved trail. The trees protected us from the slight wind that blew. We ran over a footbridge crossing over the river we'd be running along. The water lazily flowed underneath us. My Garmin finally locates and I start my watch a mile into the marathon.
Melissa pulled ahead and we knew she was ready to race this marathon. Fresh off the New-York-Marathon-That-Wasn't, she listened to our encouragement to join us and shake the experience. She was strong and ready to have a great race.
Kathy, Karen, Kellan and I (hmmm, I just realized mine is the only name that doesn't start with a "K") fall into an easy pace. We are running this as our last long training run before California International Marathon in a couple weeks. Our conversation is easy and the pace light.
With so many friendly faces milling about we had no problem asking someone the route of the course. Those around us assured us it truly is an out and back, twice. Knowing none of us would win the thing, we rested in the fact we knew we could just follow the crowd.
Our fingers were frozen and we tried to melt the cubes of ice we had for toes. The temperature read 28*; I was grateful for the hand warmers in my gloves. As the race director counted down and yelled "GO", about 50 of us began running. My Garmin still hasn't located, thankfully Karen's has.
We made our way out of the Blythe Park and onto a paved trail. The trees protected us from the slight wind that blew. We ran over a footbridge crossing over the river we'd be running along. The water lazily flowed underneath us. My Garmin finally locates and I start my watch a mile into the marathon.
Melissa pulled ahead and we knew she was ready to race this marathon. Fresh off the New-York-Marathon-That-Wasn't, she listened to our encouragement to join us and shake the experience. She was strong and ready to have a great race.
Kathy, Karen, Kellan and I (hmmm, I just realized mine is the only name that doesn't start with a "K") fall into an easy pace. We are running this as our last long training run before California International Marathon in a couple weeks. Our conversation is easy and the pace light.
The Sammamish River Trail weaves alongside the river for miles. Despite at times running along side the freeway, one could not see the road and rarely heard it. The beauty of fall exploded on the trees. The coming of winter had not yet robbed the trees of it's leaves, or the green from the grass; providing often breathtaking views. Several times we stopped our conversation to say, "Look." Recognizing the gait of a runner up ahead, I point out to Kathy and Karen that Bob Dolphin is up ahead. A remarkable man, who at the age of 80 celebrated running his 500th marathon. I had heard rumors that he hadn't been running since his milestone in March and I was delighted to see him up ahead. When passing him, I tell Bob how wonderful it is to see him out there. He is such an incredible inspiration, I felt tears well up in my eyes as he smiled his big smile.
We reached the turn around and began our way back to complete the first loop. The fog kept the sun hidden and the temperature chilly. We were grateful for our coats. After running 8 miles at an easy pace, we pick up the pace to our marathon pace and plan on holding it for the next 12 miles.
My hamstring does well until 4 miles into our marathon paced miles. It spasms intensely at one of the small rolling hills, I feel my leg give way and I stop myself from dropping. I confess to Kathy and Karen I need to make a decision - do I drop out at the half marathon or continue on at a slower pace. They counsel, I listen. My stubbornness wins. We begin the second loop. They are gracious and slow down to an easy pace once again.
This is the battle of the marathon. One little deviation from plan and the race becomes mental. The mental part of the game is the hardest part of the game. Your training helps you push forward, putting your emotions aside. We press on. I decide I will see how my hamstring is at 18 miles and if it is too inflamed, I will turn around.
Mile 17 I hear a familiar voice. My friend Tom cruises up behind us telling us he's been trying to catch up to us since starting the second loop. I share two miles with Tom, before I listen to my hamstring and slow to a walk. Karen and Kathy pull forward with Tom.
A 19 mile training run, instead of the 22 I planned, is the best I will get. Instead of run/walking the last 4 miles of the marathon, I will run/walk the last 7. Destroying my hamstring on a training run, even though it was a marathon, would not be the smartest decision I could make. California is three weeks away.
With Tom, Karen and Kathy a short distance ahead, I see Kathy has stopped and waited for me. We run / walk the rest of the distance together. My hamstring is ok with this, which gives me hope. It gets harder and harder to stop and start, our muscles tightening each time. We just want to be done.
Leaving the trail, we turn once again into Blythe Park. We cross the finish line, thank the volunteer who hands us our medal. The hot chicken noodle soup we talked about for the last 4 miles awaited us. Soup has never tasted so good.
Melissa has run a very strong race; Kathy, Karen, Kellan and I all satisfied with our training runs. We eat, we share, we shiver. Deciding some Starbucks is in order, we head back to the car and the heated seats. My 15th marathon is in the books and I look ahead to my next. But now, I am enjoying the company of my friends and enjoying the accomplishment of the day. And the wonderfully delicious latte in my hand.
Friday, August 10, 2012
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.
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.
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
6 Months To Live
The morning, crazy; my patience, shortened. Since opening the office door the phone had not stopped ringing. A Monday morning in which one longs for the weekend just passed.
My phone rings, I answer it and a man on the other end is asking me for directions to our office. I relay the simple instructions and find myself annoyed as he repeats every single word. My impatient self wonders if his Google Maps is broken.
A short time later he walks in the office. He hands me a set of blueprints. I take them from him, scan them into our system and hand them back to him. About to send him on his way, he sits down in the chair across from my desk. I glance at the lunch sitting on my desk knowing it will now have to wait.
The man leans back into the chair and tells me about the difficulty of his customer who is building the project from the blueprints I just scanned.
"Every day is a gift you know. It's just that some gifts are better than others," he says with a smile.
Laughing, I answer him, "One never knows what God has planned for us each day."
Immediately I am convicted. God had given me this day and I was thanking Him with a short temper, little patience and with anything but a servant's heart. Hadn't Pastor Dave just encouraged us to be a servant in the weekend's message? Where was my servant's heart?
"When I have difficult customers like this I wonder why I don't retire." He shakes his head and rubs his left brow. "But I know the Lord's not done with me yet."
I smile and reply, "When I have difficult days, I ask Jesus if now would be a good time for Him to come back." We both laugh.
The laughter fades from his eyes and he says, "May I share a poem with you?"
Taken aback as I had not expected this, I nod giving him permission.
He softly speaks the verse of a child asking his father to mend a broken toy. The father carefully, slowly and diligently works on the brokenness. The child grows impatient; snatching the toy from the father's hands. When the child questions the father as to why it took him so long to fix his toy, the father lovingly replies, "My child you never truly let it go."
With intent focus the man looks me in the eye, "I feel strongly compelled to share that poem with you. I do not know what is broken in your life, but lay it at the feet of Jesus and let Him fix it for you."
Words escape me as I hold his gaze. That very morning I asked God to reveal to me any hindrances I have in my faith. What is broken that God is working on mending in my life? I am shaken as I feel God is talking to me directly through this man.
He leans forward in the chair, "I was given 6 months to a year to live."
He pauses. In that brief moment of pause I am stunned. Had I not but a few minutes ago been annoyed at his interruption of my busy morning? His words humble me and I feel ashamed.
He draws a breath and finishes, "That was 16 years ago. Every day is a gift."
In silence I sit as he tells me of his fight. He tells of his treatment and the toll it took. He speaks of God's faithfulness. Emotion rolls down his cheek as he recalls marrying his wife 8 weeks after his diagnosis.
Dropping her off on her doorstep after a date in town, he kissed her goodnight. It had been 2 weeks since hearing the doctor's prognosis and his entire future seems uncertain. He pulls away from her and begins to walk away.
"Damn you Terry." He stops cold; never before had he heard such language come from her mouth. He turns to face her, unable to hide the shock he feels.
"Do you not realize I would rather spend 6 months as your wife, than a lifetime as your friend?" He bent down on his knee and proposed that very moment. They were married 6 weeks later.
He pauses to gain composure. Terry smiles and says, "She has been my wife and my friend for 16 years now. What blessings God does give."
The office door opens as two men walk in. Terry stands to leave. "Well I should get going now."
I stand; Terry turns back to face me. "Every day I start my day with devotions and when I pray I ask God to make me a blessing to someone." Tears flow, he does not wipe them away. "Today, you have been a blessing to me. Thank you."
Walking around my desk, I give Terry a hug. "No Terry, today you were a blessing to me." He walks out the door.
Wiping the tears from my eyes, I sit at my desk in silence as I watch him drive away. There are words that move you and there are words that can stir your very soul. My soul stirs within me making me aware it is God who spoke today.
I approach the throne with fear and trembling steeped in tremendous peace. I am sitting in a seat of uneasiness as it is a seat of correction. What is God trying to tell me? Of this I am uncertain, yet I know it is loving. Most certainly I am convinced that God spoke to me today and He did so through a man named Terry.
My phone rings, I answer it and a man on the other end is asking me for directions to our office. I relay the simple instructions and find myself annoyed as he repeats every single word. My impatient self wonders if his Google Maps is broken.
A short time later he walks in the office. He hands me a set of blueprints. I take them from him, scan them into our system and hand them back to him. About to send him on his way, he sits down in the chair across from my desk. I glance at the lunch sitting on my desk knowing it will now have to wait.
The man leans back into the chair and tells me about the difficulty of his customer who is building the project from the blueprints I just scanned.
"Every day is a gift you know. It's just that some gifts are better than others," he says with a smile.
Laughing, I answer him, "One never knows what God has planned for us each day."
Immediately I am convicted. God had given me this day and I was thanking Him with a short temper, little patience and with anything but a servant's heart. Hadn't Pastor Dave just encouraged us to be a servant in the weekend's message? Where was my servant's heart?
"When I have difficult customers like this I wonder why I don't retire." He shakes his head and rubs his left brow. "But I know the Lord's not done with me yet."
I smile and reply, "When I have difficult days, I ask Jesus if now would be a good time for Him to come back." We both laugh.
The laughter fades from his eyes and he says, "May I share a poem with you?"
Taken aback as I had not expected this, I nod giving him permission.
He softly speaks the verse of a child asking his father to mend a broken toy. The father carefully, slowly and diligently works on the brokenness. The child grows impatient; snatching the toy from the father's hands. When the child questions the father as to why it took him so long to fix his toy, the father lovingly replies, "My child you never truly let it go."
With intent focus the man looks me in the eye, "I feel strongly compelled to share that poem with you. I do not know what is broken in your life, but lay it at the feet of Jesus and let Him fix it for you."
Words escape me as I hold his gaze. That very morning I asked God to reveal to me any hindrances I have in my faith. What is broken that God is working on mending in my life? I am shaken as I feel God is talking to me directly through this man.
He leans forward in the chair, "I was given 6 months to a year to live."
He pauses. In that brief moment of pause I am stunned. Had I not but a few minutes ago been annoyed at his interruption of my busy morning? His words humble me and I feel ashamed.
He draws a breath and finishes, "That was 16 years ago. Every day is a gift."
In silence I sit as he tells me of his fight. He tells of his treatment and the toll it took. He speaks of God's faithfulness. Emotion rolls down his cheek as he recalls marrying his wife 8 weeks after his diagnosis.
Dropping her off on her doorstep after a date in town, he kissed her goodnight. It had been 2 weeks since hearing the doctor's prognosis and his entire future seems uncertain. He pulls away from her and begins to walk away.
"Damn you Terry." He stops cold; never before had he heard such language come from her mouth. He turns to face her, unable to hide the shock he feels.
"Do you not realize I would rather spend 6 months as your wife, than a lifetime as your friend?" He bent down on his knee and proposed that very moment. They were married 6 weeks later.
He pauses to gain composure. Terry smiles and says, "She has been my wife and my friend for 16 years now. What blessings God does give."
The office door opens as two men walk in. Terry stands to leave. "Well I should get going now."
I stand; Terry turns back to face me. "Every day I start my day with devotions and when I pray I ask God to make me a blessing to someone." Tears flow, he does not wipe them away. "Today, you have been a blessing to me. Thank you."
Walking around my desk, I give Terry a hug. "No Terry, today you were a blessing to me." He walks out the door.
Wiping the tears from my eyes, I sit at my desk in silence as I watch him drive away. There are words that move you and there are words that can stir your very soul. My soul stirs within me making me aware it is God who spoke today.
I approach the throne with fear and trembling steeped in tremendous peace. I am sitting in a seat of uneasiness as it is a seat of correction. What is God trying to tell me? Of this I am uncertain, yet I know it is loving. Most certainly I am convinced that God spoke to me today and He did so through a man named Terry.
Monday, July 23, 2012
Trails, Snakes and Vacation
The sun is hot, the humidity bearable; even for a
moss-encrusted Washingtonian like me. I
could feel the wetness of our summer back home drying out as I ran the trail in
central Oregon. Sunshine feeling good
on my skin.
Standing at the top of the switchbacks, I pause to look at the vista before me. A few homes carve themselves into the cliff’s rock, which stand above the Deschutes River. I leave the top of the canyon and make my way down. The high desert sand and rock feel different under my feet. Several hundred feet later I am running alongside the river.
Squiggle lines in the dusty trail tell me snakes are part of the landscape. Grateful the early morning is too cool for the rattlers to be sun bathing, I thank God and ask Him to keep the snakes hidden. A quail stares at me as I run by. River water falls over large boulders changing the sound of peacefulness.
The trail no longer drops and the lazy current of the Deschutes returns. A deer nibbles on the leaves from a low laying branch of a tree. He doesn’t move as I run by despite me coming within 3 feet of it. Majestic.
3000 feet of elevation makes my body struggle to breathe. Leaving the river I must make my way out of the canyon. The trail’s steep climb, mixed with the elevation, burn my lungs as I try and run up the trail. The craziness of running this portion sinks in and I walk my way to the top. A startled jackrabbit takes off at a speed that makes me jealous.
A bike path waits for me once the trail meets the road. I follow it across the highway to the
backside of a golf resort nestled in a rather tall butte. Once I reach the top, I turn around to capture
the view. The rising sun glistens on the
city below. It’s beauty is
breath-taking.
Leaving the barrenness of the high desert landscape, the path leads me into a neighborhood of beautiful homes and well manicured lawns. Though the weather is warm, I see no one enjoying morning coffee on their patio. Such incredible outdoor living spaces and no one is enjoying them. How often I do this in my own life?
I find a main road and decide to turn toward my home for the week. My first run on vacation brought me views I would not have experienced inside a car. A tough 7 miles coupled with beautiful scenery has left me feeling rejuvenated.
Quietly I open the front door to find the household awake. The smell of freshly brewed coffee greets me; my mother in law hands me a cup. Taking a banana from the counter and with coffee cup in hand, I head out to the patio. My mother in law follows. We sit and enjoy the simplicity of the morning, taking nothing for granted but the pleasure of each other’s company.
Standing at the top of the switchbacks, I pause to look at the vista before me. A few homes carve themselves into the cliff’s rock, which stand above the Deschutes River. I leave the top of the canyon and make my way down. The high desert sand and rock feel different under my feet. Several hundred feet later I am running alongside the river.
Squiggle lines in the dusty trail tell me snakes are part of the landscape. Grateful the early morning is too cool for the rattlers to be sun bathing, I thank God and ask Him to keep the snakes hidden. A quail stares at me as I run by. River water falls over large boulders changing the sound of peacefulness.
The trail no longer drops and the lazy current of the Deschutes returns. A deer nibbles on the leaves from a low laying branch of a tree. He doesn’t move as I run by despite me coming within 3 feet of it. Majestic.
3000 feet of elevation makes my body struggle to breathe. Leaving the river I must make my way out of the canyon. The trail’s steep climb, mixed with the elevation, burn my lungs as I try and run up the trail. The craziness of running this portion sinks in and I walk my way to the top. A startled jackrabbit takes off at a speed that makes me jealous.
Leaving the barrenness of the high desert landscape, the path leads me into a neighborhood of beautiful homes and well manicured lawns. Though the weather is warm, I see no one enjoying morning coffee on their patio. Such incredible outdoor living spaces and no one is enjoying them. How often I do this in my own life?
I find a main road and decide to turn toward my home for the week. My first run on vacation brought me views I would not have experienced inside a car. A tough 7 miles coupled with beautiful scenery has left me feeling rejuvenated.
Quietly I open the front door to find the household awake. The smell of freshly brewed coffee greets me; my mother in law hands me a cup. Taking a banana from the counter and with coffee cup in hand, I head out to the patio. My mother in law follows. We sit and enjoy the simplicity of the morning, taking nothing for granted but the pleasure of each other’s company.
Saturday, July 7, 2012
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.
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.
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.
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
The Winthrop Marathon
Kathy and I roll into town close to noon. The town is small; built around a four way stop created when the state highway takes a turn east. It is a western town where cowboys are not a marketing ploy but rather a way of life. Working ranches pepper the landscape. Cowboy hats and boots differentiate the town folk from the visitors.
After an afternoon of driving the marathon course, checking into the hotel and shopping all three blocks of the western store fronts we settle into a large, carbo-loading dinner at The Barn located at the edge of town. As part of our $65 registration fee, we are fed a large meal in which no one walked away hungry. Kathy and I met Trevor (a pastor) and his wife Angie (a nurse) who came from Missouri. Angie's hope is to qualify for Boston with this race.
By 8 p.m. armed with our race numbers, we began to say our farewells and head to our hotels. My friend Trevin, who was running his first half marathon, received the bib number 666. We wondered if this was an omen.
Before retiring for the night, Kathy and I talk of the course, check the hourly weather forecast for the 100th time and layout our race day clothes. Pre-race jitters have taken over us both and we know we are headed for an anxious night's worth of sleep. Yet we do what we're suppose to ~ turn out the light and pretend to sleep.
At 5 a.m. I am peeking out the hotel window and praying the clouds have held over. I am greeted by a brilliant blue sky. Knowing my body does not do well with running in heat, I am immediately anxious. An hour later Kathy and I are driving to The Barn where we board buses taking the full marathon runners to the starting line.
Riding up the mountainside, Kathy and I talk with Cat and Janet, two fellow Marathon Maniacs hoping also for a sub-4 marathon. We talk of everything and nothing to pass the time and calm race day jitters.
Once at the start, Kathy and I break off from the others to do some light running to warm up our muscles. Coach would be so proud. We follow the trail up the hill and I notice my breathing seems to be labored. This confuses me and I wonder if it is due to the starting line being at 3100' elevation. I push it out of my mind.
We stand atop a forest road's steel bridge. Melted glacier water rushes below us bringing a sound of serenity to those of us standing there. Brief instructions are given and someone yells the command, "GO!". After months of preparation, the race has finally begun.
A downhill start quickens our pace. Kathy checks her watch to ensure we stay on our desired pace and stick to our plan. Mile two approaches and I tell Kathy I feel I'm breathing too hard. She assures me we are right on pace.
The forest road winds along the crystal clear Chewuch River. I am unsure if I have ever run in a place more beautiful. The large trees give us shade, yet the sun sparkles on the river. Split rail fencing border private property, old salt-box farm houses stand amidst bright green fields. The land gives the impression neighbors still have conversations with each other while leaning against their fences and sipping their coffee.
An hour after the start, we have lost 800' of elevation and I begin to feel my legs turning to jello. My breathing is still labored and I know oxygen is not getting to the muscles I need them to. Mile 9 comes and I can no longer hold onto the pace we are doing. I tell Kathy to go ahead. She stays on my shoulder. Knowing how important this time goal is to her, I tell her I can not go on and I stop to walk. Kathy pulls ahead. After a handful of walking steps, I continue to run knowing now I will not hold her back from her goal. It kills me to not be beside my friend, but I could not live with the fact I had held her back.
Mile 10 comes and my legs are playing havoc on my mental game. The day is warm and the shade is less. My average pace is slowing, yet I hang onto the goal time of making 3 more miles to where the half marathoners will start. Getting a high five from Trevin will give me a boost that I need.
The water stop gives me a break and I work on collecting my mental stamina. My watch confirms my goal is not going to happen, but a PR is still in the works. Hitting the half way point I see there are no runners and I have missed the half marathon start by three minutes. A part of me is crushed.
Trees no longer line the road to give us shade. A bright sun hangs in the sky robbing me of my energy. Mile 16 greets me with a hill and ushers in the next 10 miles of rolling hills. My watch confirms what I did not want to see; a personal best is not going to happen. Emotion floods over me ~ an odd mixture of sadness, determination and anger.
After an afternoon of driving the marathon course, checking into the hotel and shopping all three blocks of the western store fronts we settle into a large, carbo-loading dinner at The Barn located at the edge of town. As part of our $65 registration fee, we are fed a large meal in which no one walked away hungry. Kathy and I met Trevor (a pastor) and his wife Angie (a nurse) who came from Missouri. Angie's hope is to qualify for Boston with this race.
By 8 p.m. armed with our race numbers, we began to say our farewells and head to our hotels. My friend Trevin, who was running his first half marathon, received the bib number 666. We wondered if this was an omen.
Before retiring for the night, Kathy and I talk of the course, check the hourly weather forecast for the 100th time and layout our race day clothes. Pre-race jitters have taken over us both and we know we are headed for an anxious night's worth of sleep. Yet we do what we're suppose to ~ turn out the light and pretend to sleep.
At 5 a.m. I am peeking out the hotel window and praying the clouds have held over. I am greeted by a brilliant blue sky. Knowing my body does not do well with running in heat, I am immediately anxious. An hour later Kathy and I are driving to The Barn where we board buses taking the full marathon runners to the starting line.
Riding up the mountainside, Kathy and I talk with Cat and Janet, two fellow Marathon Maniacs hoping also for a sub-4 marathon. We talk of everything and nothing to pass the time and calm race day jitters.
Once at the start, Kathy and I break off from the others to do some light running to warm up our muscles. Coach would be so proud. We follow the trail up the hill and I notice my breathing seems to be labored. This confuses me and I wonder if it is due to the starting line being at 3100' elevation. I push it out of my mind.
We stand atop a forest road's steel bridge. Melted glacier water rushes below us bringing a sound of serenity to those of us standing there. Brief instructions are given and someone yells the command, "GO!". After months of preparation, the race has finally begun.A downhill start quickens our pace. Kathy checks her watch to ensure we stay on our desired pace and stick to our plan. Mile two approaches and I tell Kathy I feel I'm breathing too hard. She assures me we are right on pace.
The forest road winds along the crystal clear Chewuch River. I am unsure if I have ever run in a place more beautiful. The large trees give us shade, yet the sun sparkles on the river. Split rail fencing border private property, old salt-box farm houses stand amidst bright green fields. The land gives the impression neighbors still have conversations with each other while leaning against their fences and sipping their coffee.
An hour after the start, we have lost 800' of elevation and I begin to feel my legs turning to jello. My breathing is still labored and I know oxygen is not getting to the muscles I need them to. Mile 9 comes and I can no longer hold onto the pace we are doing. I tell Kathy to go ahead. She stays on my shoulder. Knowing how important this time goal is to her, I tell her I can not go on and I stop to walk. Kathy pulls ahead. After a handful of walking steps, I continue to run knowing now I will not hold her back from her goal. It kills me to not be beside my friend, but I could not live with the fact I had held her back.
Mile 10 comes and my legs are playing havoc on my mental game. The day is warm and the shade is less. My average pace is slowing, yet I hang onto the goal time of making 3 more miles to where the half marathoners will start. Getting a high five from Trevin will give me a boost that I need.
The water stop gives me a break and I work on collecting my mental stamina. My watch confirms my goal is not going to happen, but a PR is still in the works. Hitting the half way point I see there are no runners and I have missed the half marathon start by three minutes. A part of me is crushed.
Trees no longer line the road to give us shade. A bright sun hangs in the sky robbing me of my energy. Mile 16 greets me with a hill and ushers in the next 10 miles of rolling hills. My watch confirms what I did not want to see; a personal best is not going to happen. Emotion floods over me ~ an odd mixture of sadness, determination and anger.
My hopes and goals sizzled away on the hot pavement of the East Chewuch Road. Stretching on the side of the road is a young man to be in his late 20s to early 30s. I ask him if he's alright and if he needs some salt. He declines my offer and tells me the heat is killing him. He takes off at the fast pace I could tell he was capable of.
A water stop lays ahead and I see the young man walking. It doesn't take long and I catch up to him. "Come on, we walk the up hill and run the downhill." He says, "ok" and falls in line right behind me as we run the downhill. We both grab cups of water at the aid station and continue down the course. He no longer follows my lead.
A water stop lays ahead and I see the young man walking. It doesn't take long and I catch up to him. "Come on, we walk the up hill and run the downhill." He says, "ok" and falls in line right behind me as we run the downhill. We both grab cups of water at the aid station and continue down the course. He no longer follows my lead.
The course turns onto a road in town leading us to a 3 3/4 mile out and back section. I wonder if I will see Kathy and then hope I don't as I know if I do it meant she didn't meet her goal. In less than a mile I see her coming towards me. We meet in the middle of the road and give each other a hug. She leaves me and heads toward downtown and her finish line.
Not much longer I come to the turn around, high five the volunteer and head toward the finish. A 25 mph head wind greets me. First the sun, now the final two miles will battle the wind. I am spent. My mental fortitude crumbled. It is in these final two miles where my struggle wins. I think about the other races I have this year and wonder if I have the strength to do them.
I
n what seemed like an eternity I finally see the finisher's shoot. Trevin is cheering me in, while Perry is snapping pictures. Kathy stands next to James, the race director, waiting for me to cross the finish line. James gives me a double high five, Kathy gives me a hug. It is finally over. The clock reads 56 minutes later than my goal time. I am heartbroken.Neither Kathy or I thought the race would have turned out the way it did. In talking with runners at the finish line, not one had a good race. Not one. The sun became the clear winner.
A few days removed from the race, there is still some sadness (which I talk about here). The future holds more races and more opportunities. Although this race is by far the most difficult for me to get over, I am blessed to be surrounded by my family and friends who refuse to let me give up.
Sometimes in life you need to rely more on the belief loved ones have in you than you do in yourself; that belief gives way to hope and in turn births determination. Then you wake up one day and find yourself standing at the starting line of another marathon saying, "Yes I can."
Monday, May 21, 2012
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.
"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.
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