Hope

Poppies have hope.  They're my favorite flower. 

Unbeknownst to the 2 people reading this blog, I have had 3 versions of this post before I wrote this one. Sometimes (okay, often) a little time is a good thing.  It gives me a better perspective.

I have developed a piriformis injury ('pain in the butt' is apropos) in my right hip that is not going away.  It really hurts when I run. Especially when I run sprints and hills.  And that's not such good news for training and, you know, running a little thing called a M A R A T H O N.

Originally I was thinking this post would be kind of Job-esque.  You can't always figure out suffering, blessing, and the ways of God.  (Shoot, I think I'm 0 for 1,000,000 for figuring out the ways of God.)  You plan and dream for a marathon, pray, and you still get injured.  Life is like that too. So what does that all mean?

This evening I was talking to my beautiful, awesome daughter and advising her to not give up hope about some things she's struggling with.  Never give up hope, I said.  Just don't do it (contrary to what Nike says).  Choose not to.  And as I was taking a shower this evening, it occurred to me that I needed to take my own advice.

I have hope for this marathon, I really do.  More hope than if I didn't have an injury.

Hope doesn't mean I'm assured my injury will miraculously disappear. Although, if that happens, I won't complain a bit.  It doesn't even mean, and it pains me (literally) to say this, that I'll be able to run the marathon this February.  It means that it will all be okay. In higher ways than I can know now -  it will be okay.  There may be more Februaries in my life to run marathons, or I may be running them on streets of gold sooner than I expected.  Either way I musn't give up hope.

From the American soldier held by the Japanese army in a WWII PoW camp to the 42 year-old mother of two who has a little marathon planned in February... hope is an important belief.  It's the life-giving, all-important assurance that it will be okay.

Hope is my lovely daughter's name.  Yeah, that's not a coincidence.

I have decided to stick with love. Hate is too great a burden to bear. ~ Martin Luther King, Jr.

The power of a question

Fortunately, Nutella needs no questions.  Bliss in a jar. :-)

I vividly recall sitting in church about a year ago. I was on a back row by myself (John was playing on the worship team), not in the mood to be around people, dealing with some sort of struggles (who isn't?); and I was feeling mightily annoyed that my husband felt obliged to be there every dadgum Sunday of the year.

Sunshine and light, I was not.

Suddenly a question was posed in my mind:  Are you not fortunate and privileged to worship where, when, and whom you please?

{contemplation, introspection, prayer}

You can imagine how the service ended.  It ended well.

I've been thinking about the power of questions lately and the life-altering usefulness they've served life. Just last night, I was walking dogs with my neighbor, Kris, and we talked about our kids getting older. She has a crazy schedule juggling a full-time job, a 6th grader, a high school senior, and a son in graduate school.  Not to mention trying to train for the Austin Distance Challenge.  She said she asked herself recently, "Will you prefer it when the kids are grown and out of the house?"

I've found questions to be so useful, I've made a conscious decision to try, T-R-Y to use them in circumstances where I find myself feeling burdened, superior, or finger-pointy (which is all too often).  Man, those questions have called me out.

"You think a few B I L L I O N people would like to trade places with you?"

"Under the same circumstances, how would you have behaved?"

"Fallen short much?"

Have questions cured my world-class ability to judge, compare, complain, or wallow? (See, that's a good question.) Um, no. I still fall short, but they help.

People talk about "finding the right answers", but I'd venture to say there's plenty of good to be gleaned from finding the right questions.  If you're like me, I often know the answer; it's the question that I need.

Can I bring this back to running?  I sure can.  Because as I've said before, a marathon is a lot like life. These are the things I have to ask myself on a weekly basis:

"Who's going to train for this race if not you?"

"What is your purpose in training for the marathon?"

"Your hip is hurt, and you're devoid of sleep.  Who wishes they could move their legs and have your problems?"

Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother's eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye? ~ Jesus

a mini rant (or is it a rave?)

Every now and then I'm privy to the conversations my 14 year old daughter has with her girlfriends.  I'm shocked I tell you, shocked, to hear how often beautiful young girls bemoan their weight and specific body parts. They want to lose 10 pounds, make their thighs thinner, grow taller (overheard:  "Did you know you can go through some sort of procedure where they break your shin bones and make you taller?").  Perhaps more boys will like them (ugh), and they'll be happier. It breaks my heart.

Barbie blown up to lifesize. Yay for modern women. :-(

I was 14 once, and I understand how a negative body image can become a silent, desperate plight to be 'perfect'. They say men are visual, but good grief, women are too; they just turn it inwards. With the advantage of some a lot of age and hindsight, I believe all of that body image angst is the work of Satan (and yes, I mean what I just wrote). Whether a or woman is 5' 7" and 110 lbs. or 5' 1" and 350 lbs., I want them to know, really know that they're valuable, beautiful, and loved.  (Psalm 139:14)

But I'm frustrated because I don't know how to help this epidemic of female body dysmorphism. I see it all around me and I, of course, am not immune.  Images are everywhere. There's Barbie, mainstream pornography, photoshop, magazine covers at grocery store check-out stands, etc. I don't measure up figuratively or literally. My hunch is you don't either.   

I remember reading a Little House on the Prairie book with my children a few years ago.  I was struck by the thought that Caroline Ingalls was out on a desolate prairie, with her husband, and did not have to be concerned about comparing her body with a female ideal.  There was no 'ideal'.  As desolate as her situation was, it also seemed liberating.  Now THAT'S women's lib, I thought.  Partnering, caring, and comfortable in your own skin.   Because there's nothing to tempt you to think otherwise. Ah, take me to the frontier in Kansas.  

Do I think eating well is good?  Of course.  Do I think exercise gives me more energy, keeps me feeling young(er), clears out my mind?  Yep.  There's a certain value to those things that I don't wish to minimize  -- because they don't have to be mutually exclusive. But do you have to be  crazy "skinny" to be valuable?  Absolutely not.  I really. Truly. Don't give a flip. 

Women, let's not strive to be perfect renditions of the female 'ideal' (who set that up anyway?).  I'd venture to say it's not a healthy focus for weight loss or an exercise regimen either. With confidence I say:  All of my friends and family are BEA-U-TIFUL.  Be healthy! But I don't even know or care what your body looks like. :-)


P.S. My sister-in-law, Sheila, is experiencing excruciating pain right now. Doctors think it's probably cancer in her bones.  I don't know.  I know her heart and it's one of the most beautiful, most honest things I do know.  If you're reading this, please pray for her. 

I had an epiphany a few years ago when I was out at a celebrity party and it suddenly dawned on me that I had yet to meet a celebrity who is as smart and interesting as any of my friends. ~ Moby

Of Hills and Children

Random musings from the week:

1.) Ran the "Road to Hell" course with Rogue last Saturday. It did not go well, and it was not because of the hills.  Only got 5 miles in because of a lovely disorder affectionately called:  IBS. 

2.) I continue to run early Tuesday and Thursday with Cedar Park Road Runners.  Early means 5:15 a.m.  And did I mention it was 5:15 A. M.?  The good news is: Ain't nothin' gonna interfere with 5:15, and it's only 85 degrees at that time of night/day.  Let's focus on the good news. 

3.) I officially signed up for a marathon training program (yay!).  Tough Cookies it shall be.  I'm excited and somewhat scared. 

4.) Hills are one of a million things that keep me humble.  I have never gotten to the point where I say, "Wow.  Hills are easy."  Nope, they're rough, and I never love them.  I ran a 1/2 mile major hill behind my house two times Tuesday (at 5:15 A. M.  This homeschool, stay-at-home-mom can't emphasize that enough.  I need laurels and accolades. Bold and italics won't work.). It nearly killed me.  But I must train for them, and (as my husband would profoundly say) there it is. 

5.) My kids started school last Wednesday.  Blood, tears, and dollars go to their school, and I wouldn't have it any other way. This slightly obsessive mother has searched high and low, and no other school has been been a better fit for us than Veritas Academy.  It's worth its weight in gold, and I am grateful.  Seriously.

6.) My most permanent address is: Mazda CX-9.

7.) I'm also grateful to not parent alone.  This week alone would have done me in had I not had the support and help of my husband. Hats off to those of you who do. You have my highest respect.

8.) Parenting my children is the most humbling, most honest endeavor I engage in. My faults are thrown back at me, love is refined, and God shows up in the most ironic places possible.  Just when I thought I had a handle, God says, "Nope. I'll show you." Which leads me to...

9.) God has shown me two things this week, for sure.  Running keeps me humble. Keep doing it.  Parenting keeps me humble. Keep doing it.  Neither are especially easy. Keep doing it. 

10.) Okay, God, let's do it. 

Be kind to everyone you meet, for every person is fighting a great battle. ~ St. Ephraim

Part 4: Why I Run

Because it's there.

Less is more. ~ Ludwig Mies van der Rohe

Part 3: Why I Run

As I was running my long run last week, I was delighted to see a herd of deer sprint across the road in front of me.  No matter how many times I've seen deer, they never cease to be a source of interest to me.  Several deer, maybe 10, shot across the road ahead of me.  To my surprise, a doe and her fawn stopped and remained stock-still  -- never crossing the road.  A mother held her baby back, knowing it was not time to join the group.

Now, crying and running don't mix well for me.  It messes with my breathing, my pace gets all off, and I look like a complete fool.  But I cried some because I understood that doe, and I knew this post was coming.  She could not cross with the herd because she felt it was unsafe for her child.  She made a split second decision and opted not to cross the intersection because her fawn was in jeopardy.  I was approaching (with lightning speed, I must tell you ;)), and although she could probably make it, her fawn was in question.  There was no real option; she stayed back.

I'm a 41-year-old woman training for my first marathon.  I'll be 42 when I (attempt to) run it.  Could I have crossed the road earlier? Not by much.  My season had not yet come. But I wouldn't trade it for all the Darjeeling in India.  I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that the right season is now.  My fawn (2) only now cross the road safely.

I run for my children because they mean the proverbial, yet profound, everything.  Since they've been born it's as simple as this:  I run if I can and I don't if I can't.  If they have a volleyball game, I don't run.  If their soccer practice is canceled (woo-hoo!), I do. I asked them recently if they minded if I trained for a marathon (no small time-sucking undertaking) and they said, "No.  We'd be really proud of you."  To have their blessing warms my heart and gives me peace in training.  Sometimes I even get the ultimate compliment, "It's cool."  That's teenage language for, "You're the most wonderful mother a child could possibly have!"  Or so I'd love to believe.

Can I tell you the mistakes in parenting I've made?  Oh, how I wish I could start over. Major, significant mistakes.  But what I want my daughter to see is a not-so-young woman setting a goal, fighting for it, and reaching it.  I don't want her to accomplish any less.  Ever.  I want my son to see that women are not 'just' housewives.  They're people with minds, lives, goals, aspirations.

And they can wait. Wait until their fawn are ready because they love them.  Because life is not about me.  But "me" is a person too.

Me thinks that the moment my legs begin to move, my thoughts begin to flow.  ~Henry David Thoreau

Commitment

In all my running wisdom, with a half-marthon in November and a (first, Lord willing!) marathon in February, I've decided it was time to "up" my running routine.  So, this morning I met with a group of runners to run intervals on a local track.  Intervals are the (relatively) easy part.  The time of day?  Not so much.  What was difficult was the meeting time: 5:15 a.m. Now, 5:15 a.m. is usually closer to when I go to bed than when I wake up.  To say I'm not a morning person is an understatement.  But I did it. This morning I woke up at 4:50, picked up my neighbor at 5:05, and was huffing and puffing on the track by 5:20.  Whew, that even hurts to write. I wish there was an award for that kind of dedication. I'm all for accolades. :-)

As I was making my zombie rounds on the track this morning, I reflected on the past days' thoughts about my upcoming anniversary.  In about a week I'll be married 22 years.  More than half of my life.  (That does not hurt to write, thanks be to God.) In reflecting about my marriage, the idea that keeps coming up in my mind is:  commitment. Commitment to keep my vows.  Commitment to see it through.  Commitment to guard my heart.  Commitment to forgive.  Commitment to love.

Lest ye be decieved -- my marriage is not the stuff of Hollywood.  It's the real deal. Roses and warts. Feelings are fleeting, but commitment in marriage has produced an abiding joy that I treasure more than I could have imagined in August 1989. C.S. Lewis has a book titled Surprised by Joy.  I loved that book, and I understand that.  My life's title would be Surprised by Commitment. 

To bring it full circle (oh, how I love colons): marathons are like life.  No one bakes a cake for waking up at unholy hours to train.  And there are no laurel wreaths for years of commitment to a spouse.  My reward is to know it's right and best, and that's the best sort of peace.  I've committed and I'm going to see it through, to the best of my ability. Both marathon (short-term) and marriage (life-time).

I love you, Mr. Husband!

Don't use words too big for the subject. Don't say "infinitely" when you mean "very"; otherwise you'll have no word left when you want to talk about something really infinite. ~ C. S. Lewis

The Million Dollar Question: Are You a "Runner"?

       

They have it right. 

Even though I like to run, I have the hardest time answering that question. Every now and then I'm asked, "Are you a runner?" For the life of me, I can't manage to answer in the affirmative. Now, I know that for those who run only when chased, anybody who runs seems like a "runner". But the answer, for me at least, is not so easy.

Technically, the suffix "er" means "one who". Therefore, runner means "one who runs". Well, okay, I do run some. But I always want to add, "I'm not so fast.  In my entire life I've never participated in any sport, much less track or cross country.  I only started running in my late 30's.  I have no formal training whatsoever."  Ah, how I can go on and on with my (perceived) running inadequacies.  There are a bajillion people faster and better trained than I. Really there are.

Guess what?!  (For what it's worth, this is NOT where I originally thought the post would go.) I'm going to name it and claim it anyway.  I. Am. A. Runner.  There, I said it, if only in writing.  It brings me joy (especially in cooler weather).  I'm the better for it.  I try my best every time.  I want to run, and I want to get better. If that's not a runner, then I don't know what is.

So, the next time someone asks me, "Are you a runner," I'm going to look them straight in the eye and reply with an emphatic, "Yes!"

Try me.

What's your name it and claim it?  Do it.

Don't bother just to be better than your contemporaries or predecessors. Try to be better than yourself.  ~ William Faulkner

Know Thy Exercise Self

This has nothing to do with running.  It's just funny. :)

At the tender age of 41, I believe I've finally settled into an exercise routine that suits me.  At least for the time being. But it's taken me a long time to get here.

I've had to determine the elements that motivate me to exercise and what keeps me going.  I only wish I had realized what I needed earlier. In no particular order, they are:

1.)  Groups - I like to train with groups.  As long as I don't feel too intimidated, I enjoy exercise camaraderie.

2.)  Goals - Give me an attainable goal, and I'm set.  I don't do well when I feel like a hamster in a wheel going nowhere.  (For what it's worth, the goal of a marathon has been a long time in the making.  It didn't happen overnight.)

3.)  Routine - I generally go to CrossFit two times a week at noon and again on Saturday mornings.  I've just started running two mornings a week, with my (not-yet-so) long run early Saturday morning.  Tuesday evenings I've started running hills with my neighbor (hey, Kris!).  Life, kids, dinner, a husband...  all can complicate the routine.  I do my best to ignore work around them. ;-)

4.)  Enjoyment - Step aerobics is the devil's spawn, and I'd rather listen to 1,000 screaming toddlers for a week than use an elliptical machine.  I may get a knot in my stomach when I hear we're doing the Air Force WOD at CrossFit, and I may complain about having to do a long run in freezing weather, but ultimately it's what I enjoy.  I'm a masochist, but it works for me.

5.)  Mood - I can't count the number of times I've entered a workout anxious, troubled or down-right burdened by life.  Without exception, life is better after I've gotten my heart pumping. Not that exercise solves every problem, but I know from experience that it helps.  We're amazing designs. (Psalm 139:14)

I raise my water bottle to all you hard-working people trying to manage life and exercise. In this race called life, may your serotonin levels be high and your exercise routine a perfect fit.

P.S.  Please pray for Sheila (my sister-in-law).  She's having tubes taken out tomorrow and a possible procedure done on her left lung that will be quite painful. Thank you so much.

Whatever you are, be a good one.  ~ Abraham Lincoln

Part 2: Why I Run

A second reason I run is to honor and remember those who can't.  When I started training for a half-marathon last fall, I learned that my sister-in-law's cancer had returned.  It was stage 4. She had so much trouble with the cancer in her lungs that it was a struggle just for her to breathe.  Large amounts of fluid had to be drained from her lungs, and she spent many agonizing nights in the hospital.  Every time I would start running, I'd think about her family.  I became very conscious of my breath, that constant yet essential function, and I remembered to pray for Sheila to be healed.

It is for her, my dear sweet sister-in-law Sheila, who bravely continues her struggle against cancer, that I dedicate this marathon.  Your faith and courage are such an inspiration, and I love you.  For the other two family members that have been lost to cancer, my step-brother Chris, and my mother-in-law Glenda:  I know we'll one day run together on streets of gold. 

You don't have a soul. You are a Soul. You have a body. - C.S. Lewis

< less than

Today I started my first "long run" with a Rogue training group.  Since I'm hoping to run a marathon February 2012, I figured joining in a little distance training every now and then might be a good idea. (I'm clever like that.)  Cautious of my abilities, I opted to run the 4 mile route.  Not coincidentally, it was the shortest one to chose from.

Now, I'm sure better people than I would join right in a strange running group and feel at right at home.  Not I.  Conjured in my head were thoughts of 90 lb gaunt Rogue men with a 5 min/mile marathon pace.  As I drove to meet the 7:00 a.m. running group, I had to stuff away thoughts of inadequacy.

"What if I'm going to be the slowest person there?"

"What if I can't run the 4 miles I try to run? I'll look like a fool."

"You're crazy to try this.  You don't know these guys, and they already know each other."

And the emotional clincher, "You're stupid to feel stupid."  Undo that psychological conundrum.

Guess what?  The monster at the end of the book was not there. There was a gaunt 5 min/mile marathon-pace coach, but he was really nice and liked my running shoes.  People of all shapes, sizes and ages were represented.  And they were the same kind of different as me.  I ran the 4 miles without a hitch (unless you call needing windshield wipers for my sweat a hitch).  More importantly, it was very, very worth it.  If for no other reason than another momentary fear was conquered.

What's your ever-so-slight (or massive) feeling of inadequacy today?  Step right through, my friend, because good things wait on the other side.  Jeremiah 29:11

Do one thing every day that scares you.  ~ Eleanor Roosevelt

Part I: Why I run

I started running for the obvious reasons:  it's good for your health, it helps keep my weight in check, it's a fairly inexpensive exercise (sooo wrong about that one), it lifts the mood, etc.  But in past couple of years, running has taken on new meaning.  Meanings that I never expected.

Put simply, the main reason I now run is because it's become a spiritual exercise.  My mind is cleared of modern clutter, and I focus with a clarity that I rarely experience in any other venue.  I have never felt more grateful for my health, or for God's creation, than when I run.

"Thank you, God, for my lungs.  They work, and I'm alive. Thank you so much, God, for these legs that move.  They hurt, but I'm grateful to have them."  These are the not-so-complicated things I think.

Simple, private prayers of thanksgiving between God and me bubble forth so easily when I run, and I feel God's presence.  The beauty of a fading sun, long shadows of the evening, redbuds blossoming in spring -- all remind me of the Creator who made it all. (Can you tell I'm a late day runner?)

In every walk (or run) with nature one receives far more than he seeks. ~ John Muir