This wasn’t my first rodeo. I’ve dug plenty of holes in my day. Deep ones. Literally and figuratively. Last week’s was my first in Indiana soil. Wow, and I thought digging in NorCal clay soil was hard.

First off, let me start by saying folks out here take their lawns and gardens very seriously. Dave and I have owned eight homes in our 32 years of marriage – seven in California. I’ve left my mark on each one with some contribution to the landscaping whether it was digging a pond, building a deck, planting trees, or even hacking a perfectly good one. In fact, I had done such a horrific job on one poor tree that our neighbors almost called the police since they thought it had been vandalized.

A nice tree can do wonders for curb appeal. This is the time of year to plant trees. I found a fascinating specimen of a tree along with a couple of ornamental shrubs at my local Lowes and brought them home with great anticipation of no longer being the loser yard on the block.

Gloves and shovel in hand, I broke ground. It made an unfamiliar sound. What’s this? Metal? Concrete? Please don’t be a pipe or gas main. To my massive dismay, it was rock…after rock…after rock. Big ones. Lodged securely in bone-dry dirt. How is this even possible? It’s been more humid than the tropics this summer. The other thing about Indiana yards is that very few people have in-ground sprinklers. They’ll just freeze over during winter wreaking all sorts of havoc. So here I was an hour later, sweaty and annoyed, staring down at the two inches of progress I’d made digging a hole that needed to be two feet deep and wide. As I was standing there assessing the damage to my yard and soul, a couple walking their dogs stopped and said with the most sympathetic tone “Gotta love that soil!” I somehow felt the need to validate myself by telling them how we’re new to Indy and that I’ve planted many a tree back in California. That prompted them to ask if I wanted to borrow their bigger shovel. My bigger ego declined their offer. We finished exchanging pleasantries, and the couple continued on their walk.

Either it was a really short walk or I’d completely lost track of time and sensibility because the couple was back and now offered to get me the number for their landscaper. Once again, I declined their neighborly gesture and asked that they check up on me around midnight.

The next morning (no, I didn’t stay out there until midnight), the wife was out for a walk and saw me digging a new hole since I’d managed to plant that first little tree – more shrub than tree – and was now onto the actual tree. We looked at each other and laughed. She said “I feel like I should grab a shovel and help you.” I said “I feel like that would end our friendship before it even starts.” We then formally introduced ourselves and learned that Kari lives a few doors down, has two adult kids – one of which has had two kidney transplants possibly needing a third, and goes to our church but only online due to her husband’s current health issues. I said I would be praying for them. I don’t say that often to “strangers” since it’s unlikely I will hear from them again, won’t be able to follow up, and won’t know how it turned out. I know, I know, that’s the very definition of lack of faith – that I need to see the results to act on it. Or it’s a lack of accountability. They’ll never know if I do or don’t pray for them. But now that I know she lives down the street and will likely see her often, I was truly excited to pray and watch for the fruit of my labor.

Speaking of labor, you know what happens when you dig a hole? Or three in my case. You’re left with a big pile of dirt and rocks to move. I was already sore and hurting from the digging, so the thought of moving the pile had zero appeal. Time to get creative. Hey, let’s hide the pile instead. Isn’t that what raised planter boxes are for? Thank you, Lord, for ones that you can just build around the dirt.

More trips to Lowes and Home Depot. More time outside in the front yard. More opportunities to get to know my neighbors.

Thursday was Kari’s birthday. I found this out as I had just finished the planter boxes and was hosing off my driveway (you can do that in Indiana – no water shortage here). Her daughter celebrated with her at work that morning. We chatted about our daughters’ occupations as well as our own. Turns out we are both retired elementary school teachers and agree that third grade rocks! She loves golfing and biking while I love running. We also shared how God brought us to Carmel, Indiana and this particular neighborhood then agreed it was definitely “a God thing.” As if I wasn’t already giddy over all the connections, she proceeds to tell me she’s an author and loves writing.

Since I’d just found out it was her birthday and didn’t exactly have a gift or anything, I figured the best gift is the gift of prayer. Also the easiest on the budget. Just kidding. Kari graciously accepted my free gift, and I prayed blessing, provision, healing, and favor for her and her family as we were standing there on my very clean driveway.

I used to loathe pulling weeds with a vengeance, but after a week of digging it was a welcome change. The next day I was back out there weeding when Kari and her hubby were walking their dogs again. I had just dropped Dave off at the airport for his trip to D.C. for the Franklin Graham Prayer March along the National Mall. I shared this with them as well as how Dave has a passion for praying for our country and has fasted in prayer for every election I can remember. I shared this not to sound overly spiritual or brag about Dave’s convictions but to encourage them in knowing they have neighbors that believe in the power of prayer to accomplish much. Especially the miraculous. The next morning I decided to put my money where my mouth was and join the prayer march only I made it more of a prayer run from the nearby beautiful Monon Trail. I scribbled on my hand some key topics from the National Mall prayer route so I wouldn’t forget.

I didn’t wake up this morning thinking I’d blog about digging holes. After this morning’s church message – the third in a series simply called “Miracles” – I was amped to start writing. Honestly, all three messages have nudged me toward opening up the laptop to my blogsite, but ironically, I got a little distracted with sprucing up my front yard and digging holes. God’s timing is never wrong or off as I see so clearly now all the points from the sermon series this month colliding and exploding today! I couldn’t let another week go by without doing what I was inspired – and perhaps supposed – to do after that first message: “I wanna be the mom who packed the little boy’s lunch.” No, that wasn’t the sermon title. Hold on – stay with me here – the point is coming soon. Remember, it’s all about miracles. This one was Jesus’ famous feeding of the 5,000 with five loaves and two fish miracle. The lesser known miracle that day was the the little boy who willingly shared his lunch of five loaves and two fish (I’ll never complain again about the bologna sandwiches I was given as a kid). But what about the mom who packed his lunch? How is that a miracle? She certainly didn’t wake up that morning thinking she was going to do anything miraculous much less go down in history as the mom who packed the lunch that Jesus used to perform one of His greatest miracles. BAM! There it is!

This morning’s message was a feast (dare I say better than bread and fish) for my soul with so many verses and lessons God has literally been showing me in every day situations, and of course, through running. I love the baton analogy from the healing of the lame beggar through Peter and John as Jesus’ way of “passing the baton” to His disciples – and ultimately to us! All my years of teaching this Bible story and singing that WeeKids song (now it’s stuck in my ahead) and I never realized this was the very first miracle not performed by Jesus Himself on earth. The baton reference really resonated with my runner self. In fact, just this last month during my runs, I’ve often thought and prayed about how God wants to use me to “pass the baton” whether it’s to our daughters and soon to be sons-in-law, to our friends, to my running comrades, to our employees at our restaurants, and to our neighbors.

What does all this have to do with digging holes and meeting new neighbors?

Peter and John were simply on their way to church. Nothing out of the ordinary. They didn’t wake up that morning expecting to see or perform a miracle.

What if they’d ignored the crippled beggar man (as most did) and went into the temple as they usually did each week?

What if I’d kept my head down and just kept digging those holes?

I don’t know when and how Kari’s son and husband will receive their healing. I do know that when they do, it will be nothing short of a miracle. But so was God bringing us to Indiana. And me digging my way out of three impossible holes. And seeing Kari every time I was out digging. And getting the opportunity to pray for her on her birthday. And if all my plants survive my black thumb. Miracles.

‘Peter and John went to the Temple one afternoon to take part in the three o’clock prayer service. As they approached the Temple, a man lame from birth was being carried in. Each day he was put beside the Temple gate, the one called the Beautiful Gate, so he could beg from the people going into the Temple. When he saw Peter and John about to enter, he asked them for some money.

Peter and John looked at him intently, and Peter said, “Look at us!” The lame man looked at them eagerly, expecting some money. But Peter said, “I don’t have any silver or gold for you. But I’ll give you what I have. In the name of Jesus Christ the Nazarene, get up and walk!”

Then Peter took the lame man by the right hand and helped him up. And as he did, the man’s feet and ankles were instantly healed and strengthened. He jumped up, stood on his feet, and began to walk! Then, walking, leaping, and praising God, he went into the Temple with them.

All the people saw him walking and heard him praising God. When they realized he was the lame beggar they had seen so often at the Beautiful Gate, they were absolutely astounded!’ Acts 3:1-10 NLT

Say what? He was referring to the problems runners experience when one group of muscles is stronger than their opposing ones – typically quadriceps and hamstrings.

Last night’s Run for God Run Club live topic was “Runner’s Knee,” so why were we talking about quads and hammies? First off, props to Coach Dean Thompson for giving one of the best, practical, relatable explanations of what is this infamous runner’s knee and what causes it. Basically, your knees are just along for the ride, but how enjoyable that ride will be depends on the balanced strength of surrounding muscles. *My neanderthal summation. Sorry, Dean.

I spent the second half of 2019 running and racing in a knee brace after some brutal descents from Mt. Diablo 50K in April. It was the same knee brace I wore in my very first marathon – the 2009 San Francisco Marathon. I assumed the weeks of IT Band pain leading up to the race was from newbie over training. But after last night’s discussion, I think it was a classic case of ignoring strength training. Squats? No thank you. Let’s face it – I’m a cardio junkie. In my defense, I had no idea the importance of gradually building up all those muscle groups and the pitfalls of unbalanced training. Yes, I had very chiseled enviable calves for days and never had issues with quads or hamstrings until about two months into marathon training. Wait, what? I thought I was supposed to do the Forrest Gump thing and just run for a very long time. Isn’t that how everyone trains for a marathon?

I should’ve known something was up when I had no problem passing runners on steep climbs but eating their dust on the downhills. Downhill running used to be fun. I used to look forward to reaching the tops of hills so I could barrel down the other side at breakneck speed. But now it just hurts. Grimacing pain. The price of ignoring weak quads. I think I actually heard my hamstrings laughing at my quads and saying “Now let’s get you back to level ground where you belong.”

It’s taken over a decade for this poignant lesson to come full circle: “Opposing muscles can cause problems.” The moment those words left Coach Dean’s lips, I knew it was no longer about running for me. It was about a verse God used back in 2008 to propel me into not only a healthier lifestyle but a lifelong pursuit of living out these words on and off the race course:

“Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.” Mark 12:30 NIV

Four ways to love God. Four avenues for God to reach us. Four muscles for God to build in us to accomplish His purposes. Four radio stations for God to speak to us. But what happens when I don’t like the station I’m on? Can I just push a button or say “Hey, Alexa, change the channel!” God wants all of us – the good, the bad, and the ugly. Sometimes we want only certain aspects of Him.

I have been guilty of resting my laurels on those areas in my life I feel strongest. Ironic that these areas are ones God has shown up big time and situations He has graciously and often mercifully stepped in to literally save the day. Satan can see how I take pride in the very strengths aka “muscles” God has developed in me over time. In fact, he banks on it – my pride. So much so that he has been known to very intentionally set up camp right next to that muscle. Tucked away inconspicuously so I might not even notice…until an old wound resurfaces causing me to question if God can really handle this next set of challenges.

Back to that verse…

“Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.”

Consider each – heart, soul, mind, strength – like legs of a table. We all know what happens when any one leg is shorter. At best, it’s an annoying minor inconvenience. But how frustrated would you be if your IKEA box was missing a table leg? Not that this has ever happened – I love IKEA.

God showed me back in 2008 how my perspective of Him and daily walk with Him was off balance. Yes, like a table with uneven legs. Up until then, I thought it was enough to spend a few minutes reading my Bible a couple of times a week, to pray for family and friends, to turn up the volume when my favorite worship song came on, and to even to be a church and Bible study leader. Deep down, in my soul you could say, I knew something was off. Why was I tired all the time? *No medical issues. Why was I quick tempered with family and friends? Or worse – apathetic. Why did prayer feel so dry and obligatory?

My opposing muscle was causing problems.

Strength as a leader overshadowed personal problems. It’s somehow easier to overcompensate and pour out all your heart and strength into areas you excel to the detriment of areas in your life crying out in pain. My table was off balance. Shorter, weaker legs needed to be strengthened.

I’m not gonna claim that running was the answer. I’m just gonna say that twelve years ago, God opened that door to bring balance and health to my life as well as build a platform for me to later speak about the parallel between faith and endurance.

“Let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking unto Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith.” Hebrews 12:1-2 NKJV

A slow release vitamin. I’ve never been referred to as such, but it might be one of the greatest compliments I’ve ever received.

Humbling, for sure. God’s perfect timing, as always.

I’m sure it is the desire of every teacher to impart sage life lessons to students that will serve them well for years to come. Or at the very least, that they’d leave your classroom with an arsenal of useful party trivia like the difference between waxing and waning moons, chemical vs. physical reactions, the fastest land animal, and where mangrove trees grow.

Bonus teacher feelies when I got this message from former third grader Keenan’s mom last week:

‘So the kid who has always HATED running got up at 6am on the first Sunday of summer vacation and announced he was going to run a mile. Went, did it and the next day got up and did it again, and again and again. Monday he decided to run two miles, so he did. The next night he announced, “I’m going to run a 5k in the morning,” so he did.’

She also shared some funny memories like when I’d come into class on Monday mornings with my own version of show n tell in the form of race medals. Keenan even went so far as to do an impression of me. Not sure how that went…probably involved me limping and grimacing every time I had to stand or sit. Hope he nailed my crying as I walked up and down three flights of stairs from carpool to our second floor classroom the day after a marathon.

But the words that I’ve been digesting, processing, and feeling the benefits from are these:

“Your impression and impact is like a slow release vitamin!!! Who you are and what you invested is still being released in your students lives…for a lifetime. Thought you’d like to know.”

Ummm, yeah! How did she know I needed to hear that? Actually, I didn’t even know I needed to hear that. Of course, God knew.

The past few weeks – and months – have been spent preparing and obsessing over the arrival of our newest family member, Miles, the mini aussie labradoodle puppy. Not coincidentally, the whole fam got to stay with us when we brought Miles home. This puppy got a whole lotta lovin’ and socialization for two weeks. And so did I. The day they all left, I suddenly felt a void similar to when Natalie and Meagan left for college. The nest was once again empty. That was even a blog post of mine titled “Empty Nest or Emptiness.” Part of the emptiness back then and last weekend was a feeling of uselessness. Like “Okay, now what?” As adorable as this new puppy is and has me wrapped around her little paw, my life certainly can’t revolve around her pee and poop schedule.

But this feeling didn’t just start when we brought Miles home a few weeks ago. It’s been months really. I could easily, conveniently attribute the unproductive, lack of purpose feelings to COVID quarantine life. Don’t get me wrong; the depression and effects of long term sheltering in place are very real. My blog post from exactly one month ago was a huge step for me. Saying the words “We moved to Indiana” was like finally exhaling. The move had very little to do with COVID and California, but it has had a lot to do with our current circumstances. It’s changed the way we run our businesses out here. It’s changed our finances. It’s changed our lifestyle. So has Miles.

There’s a reason puppies, toilet paper, and baker’s yeast were hot commodities during quarantine. Folks suddenly have a lot of time at home. As a result of COVID and Miles the puppy, I cook almost all the time now, get up precisely at 6:30 am, and go to bed before 11 pm. I’ve also started running in the morning instead of late afternoon when Miles usually takes her longest nap. She’s napping right now as I’m typing.

It’s been a struggle to get good habits established. Probably why I loved being a teacher. Every minute of your day is accounted for down to your recess/lunch restroom breaks. After I retired from teaching, my bladder didn’t. Dave and I would be driving down to Monterey for a day trip and at precisely 9:45 and 11:35 I’d summon Dave to pull over for restroom stops. Teacher bladder schedule still alive and well. With exception to the restroom thing, I thrived on the structure and control of the classroom environment. It fed my inner OCD monster daily. Regular feedback (good and bad), progress, and accountability also fueled me. I cherish when Facebook memories pop-up now reminding me of so many incredible, touching, silly, funny, and life-giving moments. They also remind me of the feeling of daily purpose I had back then.

I’ve come up with lots of good excuses for why I don’t have more intentionality, structure, motivation, commitment, etc. in my day. For awhile, living in two states was one. Then COVID. It’s been discouraging and depressing to say the least. Lots of stuff in Indiana has reopened recently, so there goes that excuse. We made the leap and moved, so no falling back on that excuse anymore. So NOW what’s my excuse? Encouragement. I needed some good ol’ fashioned words of affirmation that I could still make a difference in this new chapter of life.

Encouragement does two things: sustains and fuels.

And like a slow release vitamin, encouraging words release nutrients – life giving, essential building blocks – into our systems over an extended period of time.

Some say dogs give you a reason to get up in the morning. Miles has certainly done that. Nothing gets you outta bed quicker than knowing your doggo is about to explode. But what about the other 16 waking hours of the day? I don’t know exactly what’s in store for me next. I do know that hearing and seeing how Keenan is pumped and showing the self-discipline to be a runner after almost seven years of hearing me talk about it ad nauseum in class every week has breathed new life into this tired, middle-aged runner.

Slow release vitamins. Consumed and transported into the digestive tract, bloodstream, and tissues with slow, steady release for maximum absorption over time. Reminds me of what I used to tell the class: “Slow and steady wins the race.” And “No excuses – PERSEVERE!”

Thank you, Jennifer and Keenan.

“Let’s see how inventive we can be in encouraging love and helping out…” Hebrews 10:24 MSG

“Do you see what this means—all these pioneers who blazed the way, all these veterans cheering us on? It means we’d better get on with it. Strip down, start running—and never quit! No extra spiritual fat, no parasitic sins. Keep your eyes on Jesus, who both began and finished this race we’re in. Study how he did it. Because he never lost sight of where he was headed—that exhilarating finish in and with God—he could put up with anything along the way: Cross, shame, whatever. And now he’s there, in the place of honor, right alongside God. When you find yourselves flagging in your faith, go over that story again, item by item, that long litany of hostility he plowed through. That will shoot adrenaline into your souls!” Hebrews 12:1-3 MSG

I’ve dreaded writing this chapter for months. Somehow putting pen to paper makes it final, seals the deal, no turning back. Well, here goes…

We moved.

Yeah, yeah, what’s the big deal? Lots of people move all the time. Heck, I’ve moved almost thirty times in my 53 years – four of them just in the last three years. Most of the moves during my adult years were even MY idea. In my defense, I’ve also completely packed and unpacked each home myself – no small feat given the amount of stuff we’d accumulated over the course of 32 years of marriage, two kids, a dog, plus several of Dave’s real estate offices. Then there was the purging, moving, remodeling, and selling of my folks’ home after my dad passed away last October. This last move I caught myself saying out loud “I’m getting too old for this!” I absolutely hate asking for help and actually broke down crying after asking Dave to help me hang a heavy picture in our new home. I’ve taken a lot of pride in making sure everything is in its new place with each move as if it were about to be featured as a big reveal episode on HGTV.

Moving used to be fun.

Back when it was just a cross town move. The kids didn’t need to change schools. Many times I got to pick out paint colors, flooring, counter tops, blah, blah, blah. Now the kids have homes of their own to obsess over furniture and picture placement.

This last move was not my idea.

I mean, sure, no one pointed a gun to my head and said “Move!” Had you told me six years ago when I first visited Indiana that we would move and eventually retire here, I’d say you’re outta yo mind. Would you believe the only reason I agreed to even visit back in 2014 was because I’d lost a bet with Dave? He’d been traveling to Indy for business after the last California real estate slump in 2008 and really took a liking to the people and doors God had started to open. He kept asking, okay, telling me I should come out with him to visit and that I’d like it. Can I confess that all I pictured was cornfields and a stark absence of Peet’s Coffee and Lululemon stores? Finally, one day I jokingly said “I will go with you if there’s a marathon in Carmel.” Next thing I know, Dave’s sending me a link to register for the Carmel Indiana Marathon on April 12th, 2014.

I didn’t wanna admit it, but I felt something that first trip.

Relieved to not see cornfields. Relieved to find a REALLY good coffee place (felt like I was cheating on Peet’s). Relieved to see a high-end mall with a Tesla showroom, Pinkberry frozen yogurt, and Lululemon. Amazed to see beautiful, massive, traditional as well as modern churches everywhere. Flabbergasted to see houses with land – actual land – all around them and no fences in between surrounded by so much lush greenery without any sprinklers. Humbled to see God’s provision of the homes Dave had completed and ones that were in process. Encouraged to see a pastor at the marathon start line invited to say an opening prayer over the event and participants. Surprised at how peaceful I felt throughout that entire first visit.

If I’m being totally honest with myself, I’ve been in denial ever since that trip. Denial that I could ever be happy moving there. Here. The majority of those feelings were rooted in the thought of leaving behind family and friends. Oh, the guilt but mostly just straight up missing them. Then there’s all the creature comforts like my go to grocery store, my Costco (which, as it turns out, is everywhere), my dentist (no one is ever gonna replace Vicky), my sushi place (Amakara), and my pre-race carbo load of choice (Amici’s pizza and pasta). Let’s face it, we’re spoiled in California with year round near perfect weather and world renown places to visit some of which became our family’s favorite day trips. Napa, Tahoe, Half Moon Bay, Monterey, Carmel (pronounced carMEL not CARmel). And last but not least, all the local races that had become annual traditions penned – not penciled – in on my calendar.

Well, Covid19 certainly took care of my race calendar. Wiped it clean. Oddly enough, that gave me a sense of relief. Not the virus part, the race part. Relief because I didn’t think I could keep up my level of training during this move and now SIP restrictions. My first cancelled race was San Diego Half Marathon which I vowed to run with my daughter Natalie until I could no longer. In fact, I was in Indiana all set to fly directly to SD the Friday before the race when the first shelter in place orders started mid March. Then they all started dropping like flies. I’ve never seen the word “cancelled” so much. *BTW, it should be spelled with double l’s. Looks more balanced and obeys the double consonant rule. One of those little shelter in place obsessions along with toilet paper, hand sanitizer, and baker’s yeast – which I finally received this week – thank you, Amazon market. For the yeast, I mean. Don’t worry, we’ve never run out of the other two.

God’s provision and timing have been nothing short of miraculous. Did we HAVE to move during shelter in place or at all for that matter? No. Did we have peace doing so? Yes.

The pudding has plenty of proof. Things went so smoothly. We were shown much favor and grace with various moving related services. The last step which was somewhat symbolic for me was shipping my car cross country. It could not have gone better despite my nearly passing out watching it being loaded.

I’ve settled in nicely especially now that I have my “baby” with me. You really take having a car at your disposal for granted until you don’t. I’ve been able to find my new fave grocery store which comes with a grand piano in the upstairs dining area and serenades you while you’re in the produce section as I experienced yesterday. More importantly, I’ve discovered some new trails to run. This recent discovery has been a bit bittersweet though. Some segments of the trails here remind me of maaaaaaany NorCal trails and races I’ve run over the past decade. On one of my quests for hills and ANY sort of elevation out here in predominantly flat Indiana, I was elated to find some beautiful, lush trails in Fort Harrison State Park. Many single track and portions that reminded me of Saratoga’s, Dipsea’s, Lake Chabot’s densely forested trails. But what got me all choked up was this one hill. By Mt. Diablo Summit standards you wouldn’t even call it a hill. More like a speed bump. But as I was working my way up this very short climb, my heart started aching remembering what it took to climb and descend the 31+ miles of Mt. Diablo’s 8,349 feet of elevation back home, I mean, in NorCal. It took digging deep and trusting God 110% for each step. This 50k race took me places on foot and in my heart I will forever cherish. Those views from the valleys, from the summit, and everything in between. It was as close to Heaven on earth as it gets. Funny, but the last time I ran this race I kinda knew it would be my last. We hadn’t even decided on the move yet.

That aching heart thing. Since the move, I’ve felt this aching every time I open up Facebook or Instagram and see my friends post gorgeous pics of their runs at ALL my fave places. The one that really killed me the other day was a post with pics at Lafayette Reservoir. Oh man…scroll past fast before I start crying ugly tears. C’mon now, it’s been my happy place for over 30 years. From before our wedding and running to lose weight but gained instead, to when our kids were born and that one labor inducing attempt around the lower trail, to when I almost sent a child careening off the trail from the double stroller into the reservoir, to when I actually started calling myself a runner, to when I coached a cancer survivor friend on to her first 5k, to when I ran seven lower trail loops as marathon PR training, to when I ran four Upper Rim trail loops as Mt. Diablo 50k training, to running countless prayer laps before my dad died…

The last time I was at the Lafayette Reservoir I was turned away even before I could step foot on the trails. The entrance was completely barricaded due to Covid19. I had just dropped Dave off at Oakland Airport for like the millionth time. Another reason why our move was necessary. The time apart had become increasingly unbearable. Instead of running my San Diego Half Marathon virtual race at the reservoir that morning, I turned around and headed back towards Danville for the Iron Horse Trail. Another trail fave. Completed the requisite 13.1 miles.

Yesterday I stumbled upon a Facebook post that was both inspiring and healing. It was from my running hero, world class marathoner, NorCal native, and fellow believer Sara Hall (wife of Olympian Ryan Hall). She was a top contender and on pace for a spot on the 2020 US Olympic team until about mile 20 of the marathon trials in Atlanta on February 29th. Leap year day. I was glued to my laptop watching her every move from 30,000 feet that morning on board a Southwest flight to Indy. Little did anyone know this would be the last “real” race for awhile. Since then, even Boston has gone from being postponed to fully cancelled. My heart ached for Sara that day. My heart aches for those who qualified for Boston 2020 knowing what it would have meant if it had been me.

Sara had posted a pic from Atlanta’s Olympic trials with this caption: “What a gift to have something you miss so much.”

My heart didn’t ache this time. I would go so far as to say it was smiling. As I pondered Sara’s words, I felt my heart filling up. Overflowing.

I’d been dreading blogging about our move because I was worried it would dredge up so much heartache from all the people and things I already miss. I was quite frankly tired of crying all the time. Bad time for hormones to kick into overdrive (that’s a whole other dreaded post). Guilt over leaving family and friends can and has been paralyzing. Action or non-action driven by guilt is kind of just a band aid, hitting a pause button, a place holder. It’s been a struggle to fully commit to anything long term as a result. Saying yes to stuff here or there felt like I was being disloyal to the other. Time to move on and press on. No more marching in place. Literally. But don’t listen to me – God said it best:

“For the mouth speaks out of that which fills the heart.” Matthew 12:34 NASB

“Guard your heart above all else,
for it determines the course of your life.” Proverbs 4:23 NLT

“I’m not saying that I have this all together, that I have it made. But I am well on my way, reaching out for Christ, who has so wondrously reached out for me. Friends, don’t get me wrong: By no means do I count myself an expert in all of this, but I’ve got my eye on the goal, where God is beckoning us onward—to Jesus. I’m off and running, and I’m not turning back.” Philippians 3:12-14 MSG

I think if New Testament author Paul were alive today, he’d be a great running coach! He’d be the kind who’d watch your running form, time your splits, pace you on your long runs, and high-five you after every workout. He’d also tell you if fried chicken and nachos paired with staying up all night Netflix marathoning the night before a race was a bad idea.

If you’re a runner like me and all your 2020 races have been cancelled or postponed, you might be needing some extra accountability and motivation to continue the good habits you’ve worked so hard to build into your daily life. In a typical calendar year, I sign up for 20-25 races. These strategically scheduled races have been a continual source of goal setting and training cycles. With no foreseeable “finish line” to the current COVID19 situation, what’s next Coach?

Obviously, Paul wasn’t assuming we’re all marathon runners when he put pen to paper – or quill to scroll. He did write from experience and divine inspiration from THE ultimate coach: Jesus! Paul knew his audience well because he lived amongst them and knew their ways – many of which were unhealthy to put it mildly. He was unwavering in his convictions and stick-to-it-ive-ness when it came to staying the course. That course was not the famed Boston or even Athens marathon course. IT WAS THE COURSE OF DAILY LIFE. It was living each day with the discipline of developing a character and lifestyle worthy of high-fives from Coach Jesus! He knew it’d be tough and full of setbacks. He knew temptations would abound.

Our current situation is no surprise to Him. He also knows each one of us intimately and that those things which have caused us to go off course in the past are magnified now with the security of jobs, school, shopping, gyms, entertainment, and routine absent. But check it out – He says “NEVER GIVE UP!” Each day is a new “race” opportunity. His mercies are new every morning. At the end of the day, how will you cross your finish line? Was it a better day than the one before? Did you hit your goals? Or were your goals too lofty? Here’s a goal anyone can hit: CHECK IN WITH COACH JESUS FIRST THING IN THE MORNING. I’ve actually said out loud when I get out of bed “What’s the plan today, Coach?” As you go about your day with Coach by your side, ask and listen to how He directs you. Yes, in everything from meals to exercise to parenting to finances to TV. How will you run your race today?

“We are surrounded by a great cloud of people whose lives tell us what faith means. So let us run the race that is before us and never give up. We should remove from our lives anything that would get in the way and the sin that so easily holds us back. Let us look only to Jesus, the One who began our faith and who makes it perfect. He suffered death on the cross. But he accepted the shame as if it were nothing because of the joy that God put before him. And now he is sitting at the right side of God’s throne.” Hebrews 12:1-2 NCV

“You know that in a race all the runners run, but only one gets the prize. So run to win! All those who compete in the games use self-control so they can win a crown. That crown is an earthly thing that lasts only a short time, but our crown will never be destroyed. So I do not run without a goal. I fight like a boxer who is hitting something—not just the air. I treat my body hard and make it my slave so that I myself will not be disqualified after I have preached to others.” 1 Corinthians 9:24-27 NCV

Prayer for today:

Coach Jesus,
Thank you that your mercies are new every morning. Thank you for seeing all my faults, struggles, and failures and still loving me. I praise you because it’s through you that I am a new creation. I am redeemed and saved by your grace. I praise you because I am imperfect but have a perfect God. Today I ask for strength, creativity, and discipline to do well the things I need to do for my family and my work. I ask for self-control when it comes to exercise, eating, and entertainment. Open my eyes to those parts of my day that I give up too easily to temptation. Help me rely on you more each time and each day to overcome that which derails me from focusing on you. May my goal each day be to cross that finish line with high-fives from you.
For your glory, Jesus! Amen!

I’ve been training my whole life for this moment. Honing my skills as opportunity arose. Preparing to emerge as the victor – unscathed, stronger, more vigilant.

I am a Level 10, Black Belt, Ninja, DefCon1 combat-tested germaphobe. I’m also a former kindergarten teacher.

As we’re now in the second week of state mandated shelter in place, I’m realizing I’m not doing anything THAT much differently. Like I’ve always been one who hyper-hand-sanitizes. I regularly use no less than six wipes to scrub the shopping cart handle. I shamelessly pour Purell on my airplane tray table and armrests (while Dave pretends we’re not together). I stay limber so I can open public doors with one foot. Years ago at a grade level team meeting, my teammate – who admittedly had a cold – needed to use my laptop after which I sprayed it generously with sanitizer. My other teammate looked at me shaking her head saying “It must be hard being you.” One of my proudest mom moments came last week when Natalie said “You have prepared me well, mother.”

As I am sitting here at my kitchen table alongside a half-completed puzzle and dinner on the stove at 2pm (I’m hungry all the time now – Natalie calls it boredom hunger), I’m doing what I said I wouldn’t do until the end of the month. Blog and post. As with some previous years, I’ve used the month of March as a social media “spring cleaning” of sorts. Fasting from posting. It started years ago in my third grade class when students were talking about what they were giving up for Lent. Some said candy or TV. One said video games. This kid was particularly determined. I asked if I could check in with him every day to see how it was going. He said yes. Impressively, this student made it to Easter and reported how good it felt that he did something he knew would be hard but that God helped him and surprisingly, he didn’t really miss those video games. I was inspired by this third grader.

Well, I picked a fine time to take a social media break, didn’t I? March came in like a momma T-Rex on her third day without coffee.

I had to make an exception to my “posting fast” last week when we were suddenly faced with the harsh reality that all restaurants, ours included, had to go to take-out only mode. Had to post on our Instagram and Facebook pages to let people know we were doing carry out ONLY. Not that I wanted ours or any restaurants to completely shutdown, but in the back of my germaphobic OCD mind, I kept thinking “but someone STILL has to touch the food.”

Our businesses are in Indy which means we travel back and forth. A lot. Well, mostly Dave. And by “a lot,” I mean like two or three trips every month. He’s there right now and was supposed to fly home tomorrow, but that flight got cancelled which he rebooked for this Saturday, March 28th. And then he’s scheduled to fly back three days later on April 1st. In my FaceTime call with Dave last night, I laid out the plan for how I was going to pick him up from the airport with N95 mask on, douse Purell on him before entering the car, then upon stepping over the threshhold of our apartment doorway, how he would strip down (not in the sexy way) and place all his clothes in a plastic bag, run directly into the shower whilst holding his breath, followed by me Lysoling his every step. No joke.

There’s a huge ripple effect going on all around deeply affecting every part of our lives. When the nation instituted “work from home” for most companies, the campuses at which we served daily lunches complied, which obviously meant no more lunch service. Our restaurant that serviced these corporations could not sustain the loss of income. We closed the restaurant permanently March 16th. There’s a lot that goes into opening a restaurant, but perhaps, even more closing one. With as much positive, upbeat tone that one can muster within the confines of a few hundred characters, I posted on our restaurant page announcing the closing. It would’ve been rude and unprofessional to ignore comments to this post. Especially since several were from loyal customers sad about our news. So I responded. Another exception to my “posting fast.”

That weekend, I was supposed to fly from Indy to San Diego to run the SD Half Marathon with Natalie. Many of my NorCal friends were set to run the Livermore Valley Half and Brazen Racing’s Badger Cove Half/10K/5K that same weekend. All were cancelled. Social media was where the news first broke. One of the posts shared the email notification from my fave local race director/friends who own Brazen Racing. I literally cried after reading their email not just about this one race cancellation, but about the impact on their family’s livelihood if cancellations continue. *BTW, sign up for their remote races and support local biz! In the following days, race after race all over the world dropped like flies including Boston. I was looking forward to conquering that Torrey Pines beast of a hill with Natalie in our third La Jolla Half. Cancelled. The 10th Anniversary Carmel Marathon on April 4th and marathon #53 for me was postponed to June 14th. It was just announced this morning that the Tokyo Olympics has been postponed to 2021.

Speaking of postponed, we just got official word of UC Berkeley’s May commencement – this after all in-person classes were cancelled a few weeks ago including the one Meagan was teaching and had worked so hard to prepare. My momma heart is just so sad for Meagan. I keep saying stupid mom stuff like “At least you didn’t pay for your cap and gown yet. It could be worse. Think about all the people who have to postpone weddings.” Could it get any worse? Then we find out from the vet that Oski has cancerous tumors on his spleen and has 4-6 weeks.

This is all unchartered territory for everyone. As I’ve been complying with our state’s shelter in place mandate since it was announced last Monday (has it only been 8 days??), I’ve had an inordinate amount of time to reflect as well as feel completely useless. I’d love to say that during this time I got caught up with friends and books, that I made recipes I’d been wanting to try for years, that I spent countless glorious hours in private worship and prayer time. Instead, I’ve felt numb, guilty, selfish, and without purpose.

The final blow came a few hours ago when Dave informed me that our long time friend’s husband just lost his battle with cancer two days ago. Her text also said “bad timing” because due to the current quarantine restrictions, she and their three kids were not allowed to be at his bedside. No words.

Strange how humor and levity surface at dark moments like this one. In my head I just heard myself say in that Chandler Bing way “Could this BE any worse?”

So here I am. I decided my “fast” from blogging and social media was no longer serving its intended purpose. In fact, it was having the opposite effect. I was distancing myself from making meaningful connections. I was ignoring opportunities to encourage others. I wasn’t bringing glory to God by sheltering in spiritual place. Years ago I told my third graders that Lent wasn’t just about giving stuff up; it was more about what you replaced it with. Living in a void or vacuum does not draw you closer to Jesus or others.

My last blog post was titled “Made for More.” Funny how I was so amped up after that one! Amped up to be the encourager that Jesus called me to be! A month later I’m sitting here in quarantine wondering how the heck I’m supposed to encourage others when my biggest daily achievements now are finishing a puzzle, and on a good day, putting on a bra. Instead of going from zero to sixty, it feels like I went from sixty to zero in one month flat. Why am I telling you all this? How is ANY of this encouraging?

It’s so easy to be discouraged lately. It’s one fast downward spiral if left unchecked. My break from blogging and social media became a really good excuse to socially distance myself. I didn’t feel like I had the appropriate words or responses for everything that was going on around me or the world. I still don’t.

You don’t need me to post another article, picture of empty toilet paper shelves, or meme. Although there are some really genius, hilarious memes out there. Thank you for the much needed laughs – you know who you are.

This past year with my dad’s passing then all the challenges associated with getting my mom acclimated to her new normal has wrecked me. Now when I hear heartbreaking news, I literally cry. Big ugly tears at times. So many triggers. Oh who am I kidding… Literally EVERYthing makes me cry these days. But the solution is not to distance and isolate myself. I don’t know when, but we WILL come out of this quarantine season. And when we do, I hope I emerge as someone who reached deeper for meaningful connections, looked harder for light in the dark places, and trusted fiercely in the One who is and always will be good.

Lastly, being the friend and germaphobe that I am, I’d like to offer you some free virus protection:

“Those who live in the shelter of the Most High will find rest in the shadow of the Almighty. This I declare about the Lord:
He alone is my refuge, my place of safety; he is my God, and I trust him. For he will rescue you from every trap and protect you from deadly disease. He will cover you with his feathers. He will shelter you with his wings. His faithful promises are your armor and protection.” Psalm 91:1-4 NLT

“For God has not given us a spirit of fear and timidity, but of power, love, and self-discipline.” 2 Timothy 1:7 NLT

“Finally, be strong in the Lord and in his great power. 11 Put on the full armor of God so that you can fight against the devil’s evil tricks. 12 Our fight is not against people on earth but against the rulers and authorities and the powers of this world’s darkness, against the spiritual powers of evil in the heavenly world. 13 That is why you need to put on God’s full armor. Then on the day of evil you will be able to stand strong. And when you have finished the whole fight, you will still be standing. 14 So stand strong, with the belt of truth tied around your waist and the protection of right living on your chest. 15 On your feet wear the Good News of peace to help you stand strong. 16 And also use the shield of faith with which you can stop all the burning arrows of the Evil One. 17 Accept God’s salvation as your helmet, and take the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God. 18 Pray in the Spirit at all times with all kinds of prayers, asking for everything you need. To do this you must always be ready and never give up. Always pray for all God’s people.” Ephesians 6:10-18 NCV

“Be prepared. You’re up against far more than you can handle on your own. Take all the help you can get, every weapon God has issued, so that when it’s all over but the shouting you’ll still be on your feet. Truth, righteousness, peace, faith, and salvation are more than words. Learn how to apply them. You’ll need them throughout your life. God’s Word is an indispensable weapon. In the same way, prayer is essential in this ongoing warfare. Pray hard and long. Pray for your brothers and sisters. Keep your eyes open. Keep each other’s spirits up so that no one falls behind or drops out.” Ephesians 6:13-18 MSG

“So let’s do it—full of belief, confident that we’re presentable inside and out. Let’s keep a firm grip on the promises that keep us going. He always keeps his word. Let’s see how inventive we can be in encouraging love and helping out, not avoiding worshiping together as some do but spurring each other on, especially as we see the big Day approaching.” Hebrews 10:24 MSG

I knew when the usher handed me this morning’s program my mind was about to be blown. I knew I was about to have doubts and heart cries of this last year addressed. I knew I was about to have a question answered that has plagued me off and on since retiring from classroom teaching, since opening three restaurants, since getting my run coach certification, since a few sidelining injuries and arthritis rearing its ugly head… I’ve literally said those exact words: MADE FOR MORE. I’ve said it in the form of a statement, question, desperate plea, and even resignation.

Have you ever heard a message you are 110% convinced was written specifically for YOU?

That was me this morning. I hate to break it to you if you were one of the thousands this weekend who heard this same message, but it was really just for me.

I mean c’mon, this Indiana pastor begins by referencing the redwoods in Santa Cruz, California and showing several captivating, majestic, awe inspiring photos. I’ve been there. Looked up and captured that same photo in my head many times. Redwoods are all over Northern California where I’ve called home for 30+ years and run for over a decade. When our girls were little, we took them to explore Santa Cruz, Muir Woods, and Yosemite to name a few. Those were fun and memorable family trips; however, I did not gain a true appreciation for the redwoods until I started running through them.

The nature of how trail races go typically spaces runners out according to pacing and technicality. If you’re super fast and well-trained for single track, lots of elevation, and dangerously uneven paths, you’ll probably be out in front of the pack running alone. If you’re a middle of the packer, you’re very focused on not face-planting while keeping a decent pace. A wide range of runners and paces in this category – chances are you’ll also be running alone for at least some portions. If you’re more of a hiker not in any hurry but determined to make race cut-off times, you’ll also be alone for significant periods of time. I’ve been an age group winner many times in trail races. In fact, for many years, that was my goal. Lately I fall into more of that last group. But guess what? I notice the redwoods now.

I soaked in the gems of facts this morning about redwoods. They grow 10 feet a day, chasing sunlight, feeding on fog. Its bark is fire, disease, and drought tolerant. Its roots only go down 9-10 feet but spread out vastly, interlocking with other redwood roots.

Besides experiencing the obvious beauty and majesty of redwoods, one characteristic that completely overwhelmed me while alone on the Stinson Double Dipsea course two years ago was the bark. Not its appearance but its ability to absorb sound. I had fallen way behind pace after turning my ankle at mile 4, and the majority of fast to medium-fast runners had already passed me. On the way back after the mile 7 turn around and six Advil, I encountered the strangest, most tranquilly eerie portion of trail. I had come up around a bend – not sharp or anything – but it was like I had suddenly run into some sort of sound isolation chamber. Like a giant bubble had closed up all around me. Like I put on sound canceling earplugs. I was alone. No sounds of other runners’ footsteps or breathing. No leaves rustling. No dripping of water from fog so heavy you thought it was rain. It was the most silent silence I’d ever heard. Simultaneously surreal and sensational. Or should I say “sensationless.” I wondered how this was possible and how long it would last. God’s creation all around me. His presence filtered out all other distractions of the day. As I continued on and left that grove of redwoods, its impact fueled me for the rest of the race. Took my focus off my ankle pain. Got me refocused on why I was running: Draw closer to God. Experience Jesus in new ways.

Of course, this morning’s church service was not meant to be a dissertation on California redwoods. But it was through the analogy of redwood roots and the purpose of God’s gifts to His body of believers that I got the answer to my question of whether I was made for more. I think I already knew but was afraid of what the answer might be or what it would take to conquer those fears.

Not a coincidence that this year’s run club theme is “Fearless” and our key verse is 2 Timothy 1:7. This morning’s message helped me see that I’ve allowed a lot of excuses (I mean, really good ones) extinguish areas in my life formerly on fire. It’s hard to commit to stuff you’re excited about when you’re traveling every month or not sure where you’ll be in a year. These excuses have been a good front for fears. Hey people, the unknown is scary sometimes! Also not a coincidence the first scripture reference this morning was exactly that one along with verse 6. I’ve easily recited verse 7 hundreds of times but have never even read the verse before it.

“6 This is why I remind you to fan into flames the spiritual gift God gave you when I laid my hands on you. 7 For God has not given us a spirit of fear and timidity, but of power, love, and self-discipline.” NLT

“Fan into flames God’s gifts!” Have I let some gifts collect dust? Have the flames turned into embers? Do I seek out gifts in those around me and make it a point to fan their flames? Support and encourage their gifts? It dawned on me that If I’m not doing those things, I could be letting others down. Letting the “team” down. And in this case, the team is Christ’s body of believers. That’s a lot of pressure to put on oneself though. No one wants to be the one to let the team down. But even this 53 year old, former teacher, Bible study leader, business woman, marathon runner, coach, and blogger is STILL learning that we are all works in progress – still maturing! Another passage from Timothy tells us not to be discouraged or intimidated because we’re young – funny since I feel anything BUT young lately. He goes on to adamantly say “Don’t neglect your God-given gift! Be diligent and fully committed to these things!” WHY? This is why:

“Get the word out. Teach all these things. And don’t let anyone put you down because you’re young. Teach believers with your life: by word, by demeanor, by love, by faith, by integrity. Stay at your post reading Scripture, giving counsel, teaching. And that special gift of ministry you were given when the leaders of the church laid hands on you and prayed—keep that dusted off and in use. Cultivate these things. Immerse yourself in them. The people will all see you mature right before their eyes! Keep a firm grasp on both your character and your teaching. Don’t be diverted. Just keep at it. Both you and those who hear you will experience salvation.” 1 Timothy 4:11-16 MSG

Bottom line: SALVATION.

Every gift given to us by God is to point us to Jesus.

What are my gifts? Do you know yours? How do any of us really know what gifts we’ve been given? I’m fairly certain they don’t just arrive on your doorstep labeled “GIFTS FROM GOD.” (Although some Amazon Prime deliveries have come pretty close.) Unwrapping our gifts requires a little more effort than just opening a box. I do think they may initially introduce themselves in the form of opportunities, desires, inklings, dreams, visions, and divine appointments (not a coincidence when you’re praying about starting a such-n-such then the same day happen to run into a total stranger who is the director of such-n-such. True story). Stuff that initially gets your heart racing. Or you can’t stop thinking about it. A friend might say to you “Hey, you’re really good at that! Have you considered pursuing this further?” Or you might even say at some point “Wow! They wouldn’t even need to pay me to do this!” *Don’t quote me on that last one.

One of my great loves and honors in life has been as an elementary school teacher. I have no doubt teaching is a gift given to me by my Creator. Now there might be a few parents and students over the years who disagree.

“I’m sorry you got that D on your science project. Maybe you shouldn’t have waited til the night before to do it all.”

“No, I won’t change your N to a G, but I will promise that colleges don’t look at kindergarten report cards.”

Overall, teaching has been a source of joy and fulfillment. Ever since I could remember, I’ve always wanted to be a teacher. But would you believe I was once afraid to walk into a classroom full of children? I dreaded the thought of interaction with kids. I’m also a huge germaphobe and didn’t want to even get near much less wipe noses or hold hands. God truly has a great sense of humor as He gave me kindergarten as my very first class. Aka the grade where you go home hating the sound of your own name. “Mrs. Tang! Mrs. Tang! Mrs. Tang!”

What if I’d given into the fear of children instead of pursuing the gift of teaching? I don’t know about you, but sometimes the idea of a gift strikes fear in me. If I think I’m called by God to do something, I start over-analyzing how unqualified, unequipped, and unprepared I am. Then I quickly become unmotivated. Good thing one of the gifts of the body of Christ is encouragement. Your gift could be to encourage others to pursue theirs.

“Just as our bodies have many parts and each part has a special function, so it is with Christ’s body. We are many parts of one body, and we all belong to each other. In his grace, God has given us different gifts for doing certain things well. So if God has given you the ability to prophesy, speak out with as much faith as God has given you. If your gift is serving others, serve them well. If you are a teacher, teach well. If your gift is to encourage others, be encouraging. If it is giving, give generously. If God has given you leadership ability, take the responsibility seriously. And if you have a gift for showing kindness to others, do it gladly.” Romans 12:4-8 NLT

I’ve privately coached new and experienced runners over the years as well as co-led run clubs. Recently I jumped on the opportunity to take a run coach certification course as I’ve always wanted to become more well-versed in the physiology and psychology of running. “Coaching” and “Running” are not formally listed in that Romans 12 passage on specific gifts, but I believe they fall into the category of encouraging. When I started this blog after retiring from classroom teaching fall of 2014, my vision was to combine my gifts of writing, running, and encouragement. If you’ve followed along with me since then – THANK YOU. And as Timothy so eloquently wrote, I hope you’ve seen progress and maturation from me, but mostly, I hope you’ve found a little bit of encouragement along the way. Looking forward to staying connected for the journey!

Finally, back to those redwoods. When one is sick, the healthy ones around it send nutrients through its roots. Those roots (the same ones I’ve almost tripped on and face planted many times) spread out and interlock with one another for one grand purpose – to strengthen one another. A few years ago started a run group at my church that met once a week at 10:24 am. Why 10:24? It’s from Hebrews 10:24 to remind me of my purpose for each meeting: to encourage one another. Pastor coined a new phrase this morning: “Let’s one another, one another.” Whatever our God-given gift is, use that to *fill in the blank* one another.

*Special thanks to Pastor Steve Carter and Northview Church Carmel.

Flashback to when I took Intro to Psychology in college and proceeded to think every case also applied to me. And if that wasn’t annoying enough, I appointed myself the resident expert and tried to diagnose the “problems” of everyone around me.

Fast forward 35 years to last month’s run coach certification course. That was me after two full days packed with new terminology, brainstorming solutions for scenarios, training plan development, and much discussion with some very seasoned runners as well as experienced coaches. The entire weekend I kept thinking “I wish I’d taken this course when I first started running!” Ohhh, the plethora of mistakes I’ve made in my own training and racing over the last eleven years. How am I even still standing? Then a week after the class I ran one of my favorite local trail half marathons and was on sensory overload surrounded by runners with horrible running form, loud erratic breathing, and – wait for it…heel striking – oh the humanity! The ensuing cognitive dissonance plagued me for the entire 13 miles as these same runners blasted past me not once but twice as the course was an out and back. They were doing everything wrong yet not in any visible agony and going at impressive paces.

As this was a local race, I’d run with many of these runners over the years BUT never noticed any of the aforementioned maladies. I resisted the all-consuming temptation to offer free coaching advice and preserved friendships in the process.

Sometimes ignorance truly is bliss.

Now the question remains: How do I actually use this wealth of knowledge?

My first thought was I need to practice what I preach. I don’t want to tell someone to do something I have not done, or would be willing to do, myself. As I’m writing this, a stack of running books are staring back at me from the dining table. Best sellers and recommended reading. Some I’ve read cover to cover. Fast reads – good balances of the practical, physiological, and psychological. Some are more reference manuals as they are highly technical, filled with charts and mind-spinning numbers. I mention this because I’m swinging the pendulum between thinking I know it all and I have so much I need to learn. To be a successful coach or runner? One in the same? Simply put, do I have to be a good runner to be a good coach?

Yes.

My definition of “good runner” has evolved over the years. When I first started running in 2008, I would’ve put fast and consistent PR’s at the top of the list. Today, overcome adversity and progress are at the top. Don’t get me wrong – I still applaud speed and marvel at personal records (PR’s). Do I want to PR my next race or any race? Absolutely! But is it realistic? At what cost? My perspective has shifted from results-oriented to progress-driven. Not an easy shift.

Last Saturday I set out to do a 20 miler. Part of the 12 week training plan I’d written for myself leading up to Carmel Marathon on April 4th. My sixth year and marathon #53. One thing that has changed significantly in my training over these last 52 marathons is allowing for wiggle room. That’s the +/- factor not just in any given run or week but also race goals. Not to be confused with unfounded compromises, rationalizing away potential, or plain old excuses. “I’m supposed to run 9 miles today but I’m not feeling it so I’ll just do 6 and tack on 3 more this weekend.” “I’m no where near a race PR, so just finish.” “It’s too cold.”

Wiggle room allows me to be better in tune with my body. Wiggle room says don’t push it if you feel like you might aggravate an old injury or feel a new one surfacing. Wiggle room gives latitude to go longer and/or faster as well. An attitude of latitude, you could say. For most of my running career, I beat myself up when I didn’t meet my own goals and expectations. I did not allow for wiggle room. Ten years ago, I would have scoffed at the idea. A little success too soon can be a dangerous thing. Combined with an OCD personality equals a recipe for inevitable disappointment. You know you can’t PR every race, right? You know you shouldn’t run on that swollen ankle even though your training plan says to do 38 miles this week, right?

Back to that 20 miler last Saturday…

It was sunny and 20 degrees warmer than the previous week’s cold, foggy 15 miler. The rationalizing began earlier than usual – around mile 12. That internal dialogue which progressively tries to talk you out of what you SHOULD be able and confidently set out to do a short ninety minutes ago. I dread the middle miles of long runs and marathons. There’s still sooooooo many miles left as the first signs of tiredness creep in. If I could record those conversations and play them back later, I’m not sure if I’d laugh, cry, or give up running all together as a result. “I’m NEVER doing this race again!” “I should’ve downgraded to the half when I had the chance!” “Where is the next porta-potty? Nevermind, that bush will do!” “That cute little 25 year old in the sports bra that blew past me – oh honey, just wait til you have a few kids, a dog, work full time, and arthritis kicks in!” If there were an actual coach running alongside me that could hear all that was going on inside my head…

Saturday’s long run was sort of a litmus test for the upcoming marathon. My last marathon was San Francisco last July – the longest stretch in about a decade I’ve gone without running a marathon. I had deferred Chicago and CIM with my dad’s passing in October and subsequent lack of training leading up to December. Saturday felt kind of like starting over again. Like being a marathon newbie back in 2009. You’d think after 52 marathons…

Wiggle room is building latitude – and forgiveness – into your training plan. It’s grace for the race. It’s when your training plan says 20 miles, it’s unseasonably warm, your arthritis flares up, you feel like walking the entire way back to the car at mile 16, then you remember from the coaching class that some 30 second bursts can remedy fatigue, then – hallelujah – you feel good after mile 17, you wonder how you made it this far when you thought “THERE’S NO WAY!,” then at that exact moment your Garmin signals mile 18 the song “WAY MAKER” starts on your iPod shuffle carrying you victoriously to mile 19.

But your training plan called for 20. Ah yes…plus or minus.

I started out saying I wish I’d taken this coaching class when I first started running. Let’s be real. Back then I didn’t know enough to know I needed it. Or that it applied to me. When you think what you’re doing is working, injuries and life’s curve balls haven’t reared their ugly heads, and you feel invincible, you could say you don’t need a coach. The reality is you’re actually uncoachable. The hardest, most humbling year of running AND life for me was hands-down 2019. God’s timing with this coaching class was in and of itself a textbook example of how He knows His runner better than even she knows herself.

‘Each time he said, “My grace is all you need. My power works best in weakness.” So now I am glad to boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ can work through me.’ 2 Corinthians 12:9 NLT

I’m having a hard time letting go of 2019.

When I hung that first medal up on New Year’s Day, I pictured that “NOTHING IS IMPOSSIBLE” theme very differently. I pictured new race PR’s and a few more age group medals. Instead, I ran half the number of races from previous years and my s-l-o-w-e-s-t marathons ever. By a lot. I deferred Chicago and CIM to 2020. I missed Dirty Dozen, my fave “loopy race.” I didn’t qualify in number of races for the Brazen Ultra Half Series for the first time since its inception. I ran four grueling races with a giant knee brace. I was super close to not running my 11th straight SF Marathon.

And I almost quit running entirely. 

With about three hours left of 2019 and those medals coming down, I just realized “NOTHING IS IMPOSSIBLE” meant something else. It meant laying down my own timing, hopes, abilities, pride, and comfort zones. It meant digging deep for reasons to get outta bed some mornings. It meant reaching high to climb outta dark, depressing moments. It meant writing the final paragraph of one chapter so another chapter could begin. 

All that was possible ONLY by God’s saving grace, mercy, and strength.

Philippians 3:12-14 says to not look back, but instead look forward and press on with Jesus (paraphrased). That doesn’t mean forget important lessons, emotionally searing events, or loved ones no longer here. Maybe I don’t wanna let 2019 go cuz I’m still hanging on to stuff. Okay, yeah, my dad. Okay…breeeeathe. Stop crying already. Or go ahead and ugly cry. It’s okay. I’m okay. Really.

Lots of unknowns in 2020. So much already for which to be thankful and look forward. It’s all about perspective. And knowing the things that are possible thru Jesus are the most worthwhile.

Wishing you all God’s best, trusting in Him for the impossible, and seeing His perspective for the new year. See you in 2020, friends.

First off, that I make terrible decisions. Or at least it’s felt that way with each loss.

Full disclosure, for years I completely avoided Fantasy Football chalking it up to being a “guy thing” but also acknowledging there must be SOME skill involved if people (my husband) are willing to plunk down good money for a chance to win big if they make it to their league’s Super Bowl. To Dave’s credit, he did use his winnings on a nice family Christmas trip one year. In light of that, I didn’t terribly mind his behemoth Super Bowl trophy prominently displayed in our theatre room aka Man Cave. Speaking of Man Cave, chalk that up to another example of poor decision making when I agreed to flip a coin for how the living room was to be used and why my grand piano ended up in the loft.

My entrance into the world of Fantasy Football actually wasn’t by choice. It started back in August when a text thread amongst nine of us – the majority with the last name Tang – quickly got out of hand in a matter of minutes:

“You in?” “I’m in!” “Sure, I’m down!” Then the one “I dunno – I don’t think I have time for it this year. Sorry, guys, I’m out.” But we NEED an eighth person to complete our league! “Mom, you’re in!”

All of a sudden I felt like I was back in six grade being picked dead last for the kickball team.

Wait, what just happened?! I came back from a run to 28 text messages. This thread took on a life of its own with foreign terms like PPR, half-PPR, commissioner, draft order. Whatever. Rolls eyes. I guess I’ll just be their place holder. But I still had to draft a team on official draft day September 4th. What does that even mean? Now I could’ve decided to just willy-nilly the whole thing and go through the process with my eyes closed. Part of me was a teeny bit curious. I went to the supreme source of all things and Googled “Fantasy Football for Dummies.” It recommended practice mock draft simulations. Hmmm. This all sounded kind of interesting and dare I say, fun. An hour later, I had my cheat sheet ready with names like McCaffery, Kamara, Barkley, Mahomes, and Lamar (who?) scribbled down. I was fully prepared to show my family I’m not about to just be their bench warmer. Have I mentioned yet how competitive our family is? And we weren’t even playing for money. It was all about pride and bragging rights. Ummm, for me at least.

I’ll spare you the details, but my family basically created a monster. Turns out I did well enough in my initial draft and proceeded to score big the first few weeks. A little early-on success got all the competitive juices flowing. Dave commented after week three: “This is like when we told Mom she should try Facebook.”

And just like that, my weekly routine involved player/team research, waiver wire picks, Thursday, Sunday, and Monday night football. Actually, it was all good lighthearted fun…until my first loss to the commissioner herself, Meagan, in week five. I was plagued by my decision to bench Marlon Mack and Courtland Sutton that week. How did I go wrong?? I read ALL the analyses! Those choices cost me a perfect record. It was then that I started questioning all my decisions. And not just in Fantasy Football.

That loss came the week of October 7th. That was also the week I was faced with the hardest decision of my life. And it wasn’t about MY life; it was about my dad’s life.

Up until that week, I’d felt I made sound choices regarding dad’s recent health crises. None of them were “easy” decisions but not desperately heart and gut wrenching…YET. My sister and I had been wrestling with a huge quality of life question for weeks prior. That week dad seemed to show more definite signs of agitation, physical and mental decline, as well as suffering. His feeding tube was no longer providing adequate nutrition. We had met with hospice the week before to gather all the information and options available as well as engage them in monitoring dad’s condition. All that was left was for one of us to sign the paperwork. Neither my sister nor I were ready. Neither of us wanted to cut short dad’s days – not even one day.

Hold on. Am I really comparing a life decision to Fantasy Football?

Well, yes. At least one component of both: second guessing.

This may seem glaringly obvious, but why is it we never second guess ourselves when we win? Or when circumstances turn out the way we had hoped or better than expected? I guarantee I would not be writing this particular blogpost if my dad had fully recovered and was living his best life with my mom right now.

Make no mistake, I prayed fervently, desperately, passionately, and at times, with great ugly sobbing cries alone in a car, running on a trail, and muffled face in a pillow so I wouldn’t wake up Dave. I committed and submitted all my potential choices, details, timing, and subsequent actions to God by faith – confident He knew what would be best – for everyone.

When dad crossed his finish line here on earth Sunday, October 13th, it didn’t happen as I had expected. We’d spent a good part of the weekend at his bedside telling him how much we loved him, sharing favorite memories, thanking him for sacrifices he’d made for our family, and singing favorite worship songs. Good friends from his beloved church visited. Faraway relatives and friends facetimed – and tried valiantly to hold back tears. Dad was unconscious through it all, but we were confident he could still hear us. I didn’t expect to be overwhelmed (in a good way) by the presence of dad’s friends and relatives at his bedside. I didn’t expect to get a call from his hospice nurse simply saying “He’s gone.” I didn’t expect it to happen so fast, but at the same time, wanted it to be faster once the inevitable was upon us.

What exactly was I expecting? How had I pictured it happening?

I think because in 2003 our entire family had been at Dave’s dad’s bedside when he peacefully took his last breath, I was picturing something similar. Natalie was seven at the time. Meagan was five. I’ll never forget Natalie’s first words after he died: “Wow, I got to be there when Yeh-Yeh went to be with Jesus!” Maybe I need to stop watching drama series because I pictured my dad’s passing much more dramatically. I would be at his bedside holding his hand, he would open his eyes one last time, look at me with one last joyous signature toothy smile, tell me he loved me, was proud of me, that I’d done everything I possibly could for him and that he’d forgiven me for all the arguments we’d had and poor choices I’d made.

None of that happened.

Being in various service industries for many years, I know that if twenty people leave good reviews, it’s human nature to HYPER focus on the ONE bad review. It doesn’t matter if it’s regarding your teaching, your restaurants, your real estate company, or YOU in general, the stuff that sticks with a vengeance and keeps you up at night is the negative stuff. Yup, they suck the joy right outta you. Ironically, I’ve allowed those things to consume me despite the TREMENDOUS blessings that have surrounded me and been right under my nose.

It was my choice that we had dad’s memorial on my birthday – Saturday, October 26th. Logistically, it made the most sense. Leading up to dad’s passing, my sister and I talked about timing and the very real possibility dad could die on my birthday. You know what? I actually thought that would be an honor. That is how confident I was about dad’s glorious, ultimate healing as I had also pictured Jesus welcoming him with open arms into one rockin’ party in Heaven. So when it came time to plan dad’s Celebration of Life, there was no doubt in my heart I wanted my birthday to be all about the gift of a life well lived.

Years from now will I regret that choice? Only if I choose to focus on the negative and those things I wish I’d done differently. Or stuff that didn’t happen the way I pictured.

Instead, I will choose to cherish the day I was surrounded by family and friends I hadn’t seen in years. The day we handed out 144 personalized golf balls that Natalie and I worked on together until our fingers cramped up – Dad LOVED golf. The day we shared a video montage of dad’s life starting with black and white photos from the good ol’ days in Taiwan to the color photo of our last visit with him the week before he passed in which I’ve never seen him so happy to see my mom. The day we sang two of my favorite worship songs about Jesus – our “Living Hope” and about infinite, powerful, all-consuming “Oceans.” The day I was allowed the mic and an unlimited amount of time (really five minutes but I miraculously ONLY took ten) to share how dad impacted me most. The day I felt the most joy and relief I’d felt after years of agonizing health decisions. The day I didn’t think about what I would’ve, could’ve, or should’ve done differently.

Heading into 2020, there will undoubtedly be an onslaught in hindsight words of wisdom posts and even memes. I went for a long run yesterday on a favorite trail in relatively cold Indy temps. It was on this same route a year ago that I legit thought I was gonna freeze to death – literally – since I hadn’t factored in wind chill and was way under dressed for an 18 miler cut short to 15. I was totally prepared yesterday layered with hindsight, a new down jacket, and a handheld bottle of water (cuz last year I had no idea all water fountains would be shut down aka “winterized”). I even had my GU energy gels in an UNZIPPED outer jacket pocket for easy access since last year my hands were so frozen I couldn’t maneuver the zipper. Bad decision in hindsight. Those little GU packets were no where to be found when I reached for them at the 7.5 mile turnaround. I panicked for a moment (15 miles is a long way to run without proper nutrition) then had to laugh as I thought I had planned this run so meticulously. Call me crazy, but I decided then and there to finish my run fueled by praising Jesus. They say so much of running is mental. Don’t get me wrong; you need to be wise about your running prep and conditions. But yesterday was all about being thankful for what DID go right and not what I could’ve done differently.

So after three straight weeks of losses, on the eve of possibly taking Meagan down for week 16 Superbowl supremacy, I vow to not hyper focus on why I didn’t start Mark Andrews or Marlon Mack. I will instead remember how my family foisted Fantasy Football on me during a season when I needed a welcome distraction but didn’t know it. I will cherish the smack talking and family bonding that I would’ve missed out on had I not decided to take this thing somewhat seriously. I will revel in beating Dave week 7 due to a last minute roster addition – thank you, Latavius Murray. I will smile when I think about Natalie’s mid-season consolatory remarks when I started Niner defense instead of Patriots who had been averaging 30 points a game: “At least you didn’t start (injured) Mahomes this week.” I will make concerted efforts to remind myself that given the information available, I made the best possible decisions – not just in Fantasy Football. And if this whole thing turns out the way I hope, I will be celebrating a Superbowl victory over Dave next weekend. Thank you, Lamar Jackson, MVP.

Most of all, thank you, Jesus, ultimate MVP.

“We can rejoice, too, when we run into problems and trials, for we know that they help us develop endurance. And endurance develops strength of character, and character strengthens our confident hope of salvation. And this hope will not lead to disappointment.” Romans 5:3-5

“Trust God from the bottom of your heart; don’t try to figure out everything on your own. Listen for God’s voice in everything you do, everywhere you go; He’s the one who will keep you on track. Don’t assume that you know it all. Run to God!” Proverbs 3:5-7

“I came that they may have life, and have it to the full.” John 10:10