Yes, that is a screen shot from my phone. I don’t think I habitually overuse emojis, but I may have been accused of emoji abuse once or twice in my life.

Last week I succumbed to worldly pressure and started an Instagram account. In my defense, you kind of have to if you’re going to survive in the business world today – especially if you’ve just started one of the hottest new food concepts in the Midwest.

Can I just admit the whole process has further confirmed this nagging, aching feeling that I’m getting old? First off, I had to ask my 22 year old daughter how to set up the whole thing and how to actually hashtag. Then there’s the issue of IG etiquette and that I couldn’t figure out where to check messages or how to “like” someone’s comment.

On Facebook, by now I would’ve simply clicked the “feeling dumb” emoji thingy.

So, it’s been a week since our big restaurant grand opening and an even bigger feat: ME figuring out Instagram. I was told by my 19 year old that I should turn on notifications for IG on my phone so I don’t miss any important messages. And because I’ve made it my personal mission to reply to EVERY customer Facebook and Instagram comment. Now my phone is blowing up.

Feeling a bit overwhelmed, I decided to go to my happy place yesterday for a little run and much needed alone time with Jesus. I hopped on the path and instantly began to enjoy the sights and sounds of the reservoir. And not staring at the world from a 5.5×2.5 inch iPhone screen.

A slightly breezy, cool morning at the reservoir. Not a lot of people. An elderly man speed-walking was fast approaching from the opposite direction. He looked familiar. As our eyes met, he smiled and gave me a “thumbs up.” I reciprocated. That’s all.

I realized I had seen this man several times before on my regular runs here. He always gives me the “thumbs up.” But this morning it hit me in a new way. It was a real life “Like.” And I hadn’t even posted anything on FB or IG.

I missed this. Just good ol’ face-to-face interaction with other humans. The next person I passed smiled at me. I sent her the “smiley” emoji back.

Another elderly man passed from the other direction; and I smiled at him, but all I got in return was the “frowny-face-I’m-in-pain” emoji.

“That’s okay,” I said to myself.

I often pray when I see elderly folks out on the trails or people struggling. I pray for them and also that, by God’s grace, I will still be running when I am their age. Three “prayer hands” emojis just went up.

And this went on for the rest of my run. Enjoying life away from the screen.

Not my best run by a long shot – really more of a detox run. But wait… Did I really actually run cuz everyone always says if it’s not on Facebook, it didn’t happen. Insert “shocked-look-hands-on-the-face” emoji here.

I got in my car and instinctively reached for my phone. For once I was thankful I wasn’t getting service. I just sat and enjoyed the view and my coconut water. “Peaceful face” emoji.

On my way home, I stopped to get my usual raw beet juice blend but changed my mind when I got there and tried something new. It was a vibrant, enticing, beautiful hot pink Pitaya bowl with coconut. As I dug into the first bite, I once again shifted back into foodie Instagrammer mode and took no less than a dozen selfies of me and my bright pink meal. Hey, it happened to match my bright pink running visor! How could I not take a few selfies?!

Dork. Yeah, I’m THAT person.

Being that it was such a gorgeous day, I strolled around a bit and found a new place to sit and do some post-run stretches. More selfie photo opps. I ended up sitting underneath this behemoth statue and writing most of this blog post entirely on my phone.

I thought about posting these selfies.

No. Stop already. No one cares about your lunch matching your outfit or where you choose to do your stretches. At the end of the day, no one is saying “Dang it! How can I sleep tonight not knowing what she ate or whether she stretched after her run?”

My other struggle this week was realized and came as a result of being limited to 150 characters for the Instagram bio! At first I thought I was allowed 150 WORDS. And even THAT would be a challenge for me. I’m embarrassed to say how long it actually took for me to condense it down to the 150 character max. Every time I hit the submit button and the warning box popped up about exceeding the limit felt like my high school AP English teacher handing back my essay rough draft AGAIN.

I finally got it down to the 150 characters. When I have some spare time (aside from writing this blog), I intend to send IG a strongly worded letter expressing my discontent at their limiting my freedom of expression to a mere 150 characters. Followed by a long string of all the choicest unhappy, exasperated, angry, crying emojis.

When I break this whole thing down and ask God why I’m like this, He patiently, gently, firmly, articulately tells me what I’ve known all along but often deny. I vehemently hate being misunderstood. Let me be abundantly clear on this point. I REALLY don’t like when my intentions and thoughts are not understood.

Perhaps this is precisely why God’s Word has stood the test of time and why He instructs us to not add or take away from it. Under any circumstances.

God Himself was THE Master of brevity. After all, who else can be introduced as “I Am” without any other descriptive words or phrases? Three characters. Five if you count the space and a period.

Exodus 3:13-14 (NIV) ‘Moses said to God, “Suppose I go to the Israelites and say to them, ‘The God of your fathers has sent me to you,’ and they ask me, ‘What is his name?’ Then what shall I tell them?” God said to Moses, “I am who I am. This is what you are to say to the Israelites: ‘I am has sent me to you.’”

God also said “My grace is sufficient.”

2 Corinthians 12:9 (NIV) ‘But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.’

Is my “need” to feel understood due to a lack of understanding His power and ability to speak through me? Or that sometimes I don’t need to speak at all? Or my arrogance in believing it could be MY own words that draw people to Jesus?

I have prayed the 2 Corinthians 12:9 verse (the part about His power made perfect in my weakness) countless times during almost every race I’ve run these past eight years. I mean who wouldn’t want that God-boost when you hit the wall at Mile 20? Kind of like adding the “kaboom explosive” emoji with the “runner plus puff of wind” emojis all at once.

I feel like God is redefining why I run. I think we all know “comfort zones” can be dangerous as they often prevent us from trying new things, innovating, improving, or just seeing things in a new light.

Ironically, technology and social media have recently shined a new light on an old area for me. People time. Just enjoying good ol’ face to face interactions with people. Even if it’s a simple thumbs up from an elderly man passing by. It’s about seeing Jesus in all situations. Every detail. All surroundings. Any passerby.

Running and races are quite the platform for human interaction if you really think about it. Where and how else would you EVER be able to gather that many people together that have paid money to subject themselves to possibly the greatest physical and mental challenge of their lives? A camaraderie like none other. Every runner feels like quitting at some point during a race, questions all life choices leading up to that moment, or says “I am never doing this again!” During the most difficult portions of the race, we can be reduced and whittled down to the weakest versions of ourselves. 

Yet at the starting line only a few hours earlier, we showed up as the best version of ourselves. All our months and miles of preparation leading up to race day. Nervous optimism. Standing in the start corrals, there are two types of runners: talkers and non-talkers. Some talk incessantly because they’re excited and/or nervous. Some don’t talk at all or even make eye contact because they’re also excited and/or nervous. I’m probably somewhere in between. But I used to be more of the latter. “Don’t talk to me and I won’t talk to you. After all, I could get distracted and forget to start my Garmin. Then my pacing will be off. I won’t know when to eat my gels. I’ll be completely off my game. There goes all my training. And say goodbye to any PR.”

Insert “rolling eyes” and “laugh until you cry” emojis here.

Almost 200 races later, I’m starting to think this is why God said His grace is sufficient. For some, this might’ve become clear after that first marathon. But apparently I didn’t get the message that first time. God knew what was ahead. He already knows ALL my moments of weakness – on and off the race course. As a newbie runner, eight years ago that Bible verse simply meant trust Jesus during my weakest, vulnerable moments.

Today that verse means way more.

His grace is what allows me to get to the starting line. My weakness is who I am. My weakness is why Jesus died and rose again. He is the reason I get to do this thing I’ve come to love so much. Running draws me closer to the One who created me because it has become the only way I know how to lay aside the notion that I can accomplish anything of worth through my own power. Whether it’s the first step in a race or the fifty-thousandth step.

No doubt, words are powerful. The difference with God’s Word is that each time you read it, you’re spending time with Him. Just let that soak in for a moment. You’re spending time with the Creator of the Universe, the same God who commanded the waters to part and the dead to rise. WHY would He be interested in my little life? Or my running? Or what makes me happy? Or what causes me pain?

Because He just does.

Psalm 17:8 (NIV) “Keep me as the apple of your eye; hide me in the shadow of your wings.”

Psalm 37:4 (NIV) “Take delight in the Lord, and he will give you the desires of your heart.”

Psalm 37:4 (MSG) “Keep company with God, get in on the best.”

I love that last one. The Message version of one of my long time favorite verses.

In true form, I have once again gone waaaaay over the recommended word count for a blog post. So, I will simply conclude this one in the best way I know how and at the risk of being misunderstood:

“Lime green heart” emoji.

I put it on my calendar New Year’s Eve. Not like a resolution or anything. Maybe because I had recently turned fifty, run some good end-of-year races, and felt strong going into the new year. But more than anything, I didn’t want to just keep adding medals to my collection.

As with most avid runners, my 2017 race calendar was already filling up with the usual suspects and some choice new ones. Race lotteries had determined a few races I would not be running as well as one I would be – the Chicago Marathon in October. My marathon “anniversary race” will always be the San Francisco Marathon in July since it was the one that started it all back in 2009, so that race is usually first on the calendar. Then there’s the Ultra Half Series put on by my favorite local race organization Brazen Racing. The series is a minimum of five trail races plus the championship race comprised of higher elevation half marathons. This year will be my sixth time “competing.” I say competing because there are Top Ten standings, t-shirt, and prize money at stake; however, I’ve always gone into the series simply looking to run my favorite trail races and better my own previous times. Okay, okay, one year I really did want the t-shirt.

So, there I was New Year’s Eve sitting in my comfy bedroom chair that Dave claims is now conformed to my butt and leans to one side from excessive TV watching as well as post-marathon rehabilitation. Laptop open surfing various race websites, one race caught my eye. The Mt. Diablo 50K on April 15th. I wasn’t looking to do a 50K, but somehow, I was drawn to this one. Maybe because I had just turned fifty. Maybe because The Summit would be the highest elevation I’ve ever climbed. Or maybe because I somehow needed this date with Jesus.

I immediately started planning my training schedule. Lots of hill work at the Upper Rim Trail – my happy place. I hate carrying anything in my hands and pockets, so I meticulously researched hydration vests. Practicing nutrition was also in the game plan. Up until then, I had made it through every race I’ve ever run fueled by only GU gels and water.

January came and went unceremoniously. February and March brought with them record amounts of much needed rain along with something else I’d never experience before: hip pain. No big deal. Just a tiny twinge occasionally reminding me “Hey, I’m here.” My last blog post chronicles how the tiny twinge grew into a condition from which I honestly thought I might NEVER run again.

I had planned carefully for specific races leading up to Mt. Diablo as training runs. One of them was the Oakland Marathon two weeks before. Between all the rain thwarting hill training plans and a debilitating hip nerve injury, not only was Oakland not looking good, but the summit of Mt. Diablo seemed even more distant than ever. Resting, icing, heating, stretching, medicating…crying…were now the “norm.” (The crying part is a whole other blog post in itself. The joys of turning fifty.)

I’ve never opted out of a race. Four days before Oakland Marathon and I was still hanging on to the hope of running, even crawling if it came to that. But then God reminded me of a lesson He had coached me through at Mile 24 of the Los Angeles Marathon last year that gave me peace about giving up Oakland:

“Give up what’s good to find what’s best.” A practical object lesson for me from Luke 10:41-42.

‘But the Lord answered her, “Martha, Martha, you are worried and upset about many things. Only one thing is important. Mary has chosen the better thing, and it will never be taken away from her.”’ NCV

‘The Master said, “Martha, dear Martha, you’re fussing far too much and getting yourself worked up over nothing. One thing only is essential, and Mary has chosen it—it’s the main course, and won’t be taken from her.”‘ MSG

And that’s when I knew I had a special date with Jesus that I just had to keep.

I was being a “Martha” when it came to doing all the things I thought necessary to prepare for the big race. Including lots of worrying and running that would likely cause more injury. I wanted to give Jesus my best at Mt. Diablo. I wanted to delight in Him and Him in me. I wanted to marvel at His Creation. I wanted to see Jesus in a whole new way and draw closer to Him like never before. I wanted to conquer Devil Mountain with the One who has already won the victory and conquered death.

Turns out race weather for Oakland on that April 2nd was unseasonably warm which would’ve probably killed me if my hip pain didn’t. Score another one for God knowing it wasn’t in my best interest to run that race.

The days leading up to Mt. Diablo were filled with excitement, nervousness, apprehension, and lots of checking my weather app. Oh, and plenty of carbs, beet juice, and potassium loading. I did everything right and as planned but still couldn’t sleep the night before. This might just be the “thorn in my flesh” since I never seem to sleep well before a race. Not sure how much I actually slept, but I woke up fifteen minutes before my alarm was set to go off at 4:30.

Sometimes I feel like the anticipation is the hardest part of the race.

The sun had not yet come up by the time I got to the parking lot of Castle Rock Park, the staging area of the race start and base of Mt. Diablo. I sat in my warm car, read my Bible devotional, and committed the race in prayer as I do before every race. On this particular morning, the Lord brought several people to mind. Friends who had recently shared about life threatening illnesses as well as road blocks in receiving treatments. As I thought about the race I was about to run and the dreaded mountain peaks I would ascend, I knew that nothing I would face today would come close to the challenges facing these friends. I made it my goal to “pray up” these friends on the ascent to the Summit.

Speaking of friends, up until this race, I had underestimated the power of the fuel they provide. I always ask God to provide the necessary fuel to start and finish strong.  Today, God provided friends as essential fuel: the camaraderie, the mental push, some helpful hints along the way, and even shouting out “wrong way! U-turn!” exactly when I needed it. And if you’ve ever hiked up North Peak, you also had to make it down – somehow. North Peak was another section of the race where having friends along the way made it not as terrifying and even laughable as it was so steep that sliding down on your bottom seemed a viable option if you didn’t bring poles (like me) or weren’t coordinated enough to crab walk it.

I also have a new appreciation for aid station volunteers. Tired, sweaty, hungry, salt-deprived, and trying to fill a 1.8 liter hydration bladder could’ve been a daunting task if not for the tireless, encouraging, smiling volunteers – some of which had been there all day. They put out quite a nice assortment of snacks, too. Gotta love boiled potatoes, watermelon chunks, oranges wedges, and bananas all dipped in a hearty portion of salt. Not together, of course. Because THAT would be crazy.

Friends from across the country also ran this race with me. Specifically Dalton, Georgia. I’ve never signed up for a virtual race but this one caught my attention since it supported the Run for God ministry which has published several of my blog posts over the years in their Devotions book series.

The 7th Annual Run at the Mill in 5k/10k/Half Marathon in Dalton was the same day as Mt. Diablo. This was Run for God’s “anniversary race.” The theme and prayer that rang through the hearts’ of the Run for God founders months before as well as the microphone on race morning was from Luke 9:20. It posed the same life changing question Jesus asked His disciples over 2,000 years ago:

“But what about you?” He asked. “Who do you say I am?” NIV

God has used running to help me answer that question. Sure, it’s taken almost nine years and 200 races, but I am closer now to answering that question than when I ran my first race back in March 2009.

So, who do I say Jesus is?

He is the One who never leaves my side up and down the toughest, longest races I’ve ever run. Actually, short races, too, since I’m a horrible sprinter.

He is the One who allows me to see and hear the beauty all around and share with all of Creation praising Him. I’ve never been a “nature person,” but that’s what trail running and this particular journey to the Summit has unearthed in me.

He is the One who keeps my feet from slipping and protects me from my enemies. Twenty two stream crossings, rocky and narrow paths, bees, snakes, poison oak…to name a few. But especially the enemy who likes to whisper doubts and excuses in my ear all day long.

He is the One who heals and proves where I can put my hope and trust. But also shows me that I can still have joy amidst pain regardless of not knowing when healing will come.

He is the One who sets the pace and constantly reminds me to not get ahead of Him or fall behind. It’s only taken me some 200 races to figure out that it really doesn’t pay to start out a race too fast.

He is the One who keeps my focus on breathing in more of Him and exhaling more of me. Literally and figuratively. Another great object lesson: I can’t fill a container that’s already full. Holding back and holding on to my old ways, thoughts, habits, attitudes doesn’t exactly leave much room for more of Him.

And finally…

He is the One who is worthy of devoting every step, every thought, every word, every breath, every minute, every hour, every day, every race. Worthy because He knows firsthand about pain, anguish, humiliation, betrayal, victory, joy, friendship, forgiveness, grace, mercy, compassion, love. Worthy because He died and conquered death for me. Pure and simple, Jesus is the reason I run.

My favorite part of this race? The moments alone with Jesus on narrow single tracks completely surrounded by lush greenery, or the wide rolling paths where I couldn’t see over the next hill because it’s about to become really steep again, or that lonely perfectly content massive oak tree with half of its canopy stretching over the path in front of me, or any one of the twenty knee-deep streams I got to splash through, or those countless breathtaking views of the valley below…

I’ve said before in previous posts that I don’t like to bring my phone on runs. This is probably the one race that I really wish I had thinking back to the countless picture perfect moments God and I could’ve taken some awesome selfies together. Instead, I’ll just have to rely on memory and pictures friends took along the way.

But really, I don’t ever have to look far to be reminded of that incredible date as Mt. Diablo is quite literally visible from anywhere I go. Funny since I never truly had an appreciation for this view. In fact, for weeks leading up to the race, I had this dreaded thought that if the day didn’t go well that this view would be a constant reminder of failure. A 3,849 foot high reminder that I didn’t prepare enough, or a DNF on my record, or not making the eleven hour cut-off time, or that I just had no business even signing up for this race.

Now, every day I have this pervasive, stunning, visual reminder of that date. Now, each time I look up at Mt. Diablo – be it standing in my street, leaving for work, or coming home from grocery shopping – I have the best reminder of the date I had with Jesus. Better than any medal.

Photo credit: Chasqui Runner, Jason Lehrbaum, Oscar Mejorada