I would never stop in the middle of a race to post on my blog. Nor would I update my Facebook page before crossing a finish line. So I find myself in an uncomfortable spot as I’m currently smack in the middle of the hardest race of my life. Actually, I don’t even know if I’m half way. In marathon mileage terms, where I’m at right now kinda feels like mile 12-ish. Those dreaded middle miles ahead and no finish in sight. I didn’t think I’d be writing all this until I knew the outcome.
My mind and emotions have been all over the place the last three weeks. On one end of the spectrum, I have said to myself:
“I’m never running again – it’s too painful,” “I have no more testimony – my blogging days are over,” and “Getting old is so depressing – what’s the point of anything I do.”
Contrast that with:
“I WILL RUN UNTIL MY LAST BREATH AND HEART BEAT!” “I WILL CONTINUE TO WRITE CUZ SOMEONE OUT THERE IS GOING THRU THE SAME THING!” “I WILL RUN FOR MY HEALTH AND FIGHT THE GOOD FIGHT CUZ I HAVE SO MUCH MORE TO LIVE AND GIVE!”
Not to freak Natalie, Meagan, and their boyfriends out, but lately thoughts of upcoming weddings and taking grandkids to Disneyland are the only things that have kept me going. That and seeing Dave ugly cry when Cal finally makes it to a Rose Bowl.
Last Saturday – for the first time ever – I arrived late to a race. One week late to be exact. In fact, the start line arch and timing pads had already been taken down, I wasn’t wearing my race bib, and no running friends were anywhere to be found. It was just me, my Garmin, pockets full of energy gels, and quiet trails on a breezy, beautiful morning. I had told myself I would do this “make-up race” in my dad’s honor at some point. Natalie even said she’d run it with me. I didn’t think I’d be running it just one week later. But that’s a good thing.
You see, the week leading up to the July 6th Dirty Dozen Endurance Run, we thought dad’s time on earth was coming to an end after battling pneumonia and two weeks in and out of the hospital. His doctor gave me two options that Wednesday – one of which involved hospice and end-of-life “pleasure feedings” for the purpose of keeping dad comfortable. Basically he’d be fed ice chips. His ability to swallow had diminished (a symptom of Parkinson’s progression) which was how he developed pneumonia to begin with – silently aspirating on food and liquids going down the wrong pipe then bacteria accumulation. The ice chips would come with a high risk of aspirating and reoccurring pneumonia. This option was the “giving-up” route. I chose option two: a surgically placed permanent feeding tube. He would receive nutrients directly to his stomach with the hope of gaining the strength to allow him the opportunity to work with physical, occupational, and speech therapists.
Seems pretty cut and dry as I’m writing this. But as I was standing in that dark hallway outside dad’s hospital room with the doctor’s consolatory hand on my shoulder as she spoke and saw tears flow down my cheeks, it was one heart-wrenching blurry mess.
That same night I was picking up Dave, Natalie, and her boyfriend Zach from the airport (two separate trips to Oakland) since Dave was wrapping up a two and half week business trip and Nat and Zach were flying up for the July 4th weekend. We’d planned this family vacation months ago with Dave initially wanting everyone to meet up in Indiana where our businesses, home away from home, and good ol’ Midwest Independence Day celebrations would be abundant. But being that it was the same weekend as one of my favorite races which I have run eight years in a row, family plans were moved to the Bay Area just so I wouldn’t miss the tenth anniversary Brazen Racing Dirty Dozen Endurance Run. Turns out, we needed to be in the Bay Area for different reasons – a very different race.
Dad’s feeding tube was placed Friday since docs weren’t available Thursday on the July 4th holiday. He wouldn’t receive his liquid “food” for 24 hours after the procedure since he needed to be monitored for reaction and possible infection. We brought mom (whom we moved into Assisted Living the week before) to visit Friday afternoon. Dad was sedated, so we didn’t spend much time with him but did lay hands on him and prayed – even my mom. I don’t think I’ve ever heard my mom pray in Taiwanese. I do have a very limited understanding of my mother-tongue (and by limited I mean I only know how to order three dim sum dishes and repeat a few other choice phrases that were frequently yelled at me growing up); however, I could somehow discern my mom’s heartfelt prayers over my dad beside his hospital bed.
I left his room that day with the same thought I had after visits earlier in the week. This could be the last time I see him. I had made it a point when leaving each time to say “I’ll see you soon, Dad” because I couldn’t bring myself to say “tomorrow.” My TypeA/OCD/black&white personality has been tested to its limits quite often this past year as I’ve had to exercise great creativity, cross lots of boundaries, and flat out lie at times – all in the name of helping my folks navigate this challenging season of life. But somehow even after some lies of whopping-doosie magnitude (“Yes, mom, Assisted Living is completely FREE”), I couldn’t say “See you tomorrow, Dad.”
And so, I missed one of my favorite races the next day as well as my critical long run for my 11th consecutive year of the San Francisco Marathon less than two weeks from now. If you’re a non-runner reading this, I fully acknowledge that my priorities sound out of whack. How can I even think about running at a time like this? Call me crazy, but it’s just about all I could think.
“Set your mind on things above, not on things on the earth.” Colossians 3:2 NKJV
Running, thinking, breathing, praying, living – they’ve become so intertwined and inseparable. In fact, after dropping Nat and Zach off at the airport then a particularly sad visit at the hospital with my dad, Meagan, and Nathan last Sunday night (thinking this was their goodbye to him), I felt compelled to go for a run. My happy place, the Lafayette Reservoir, was near the hospital, so I wasted no time in getting there with one hour before its gates closed at 9pm. I was the only one on the lower trail as the sun was setting. Too bad I wasn’t wearing my Garmin to track pace cuz it sure felt like I tore up that three mile loop. In my thirty plus years coming to the reservoir, this was my first time praying OUT LOUD the entire time. Running and wielding the Sword of the Spirit – key Bible verses I had memorized over the years that now were engaged in battle for my dad’s life. And when tears started flowing and it was hard to breathe between each stride, the Holy Spirit took over:
“In the same way the Spirit also helps our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we should, but the Spirit Himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words.” Romans 8:26 NASB
Not coincidentally, the next two days, Dad rallied! By Wednesday, his doctor called to give me a progress report anticipating discharge to skilled nursing/rehab on Friday. My sis-in-law, Beryl, has been a great encourager during this difficult season and texted me that exact verse Tuesday. Then my running friend, Mary, messaged me Thursday with these verses:
“Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” Philippians 4:4-7 NIV
Even though I missed the race on July 6th, I can now say that I feel like I ran it in a different way surrounded by people God strategically put in place to cheer me on. A huge change in mindset for me after hitting the lowest of lows, depression, and loneliness a few weeks prior. Friday night, Dave and I visited dad in his new skilled nursing facility. After we prayed with him and got ready to leave, I said “See you tomorrow, Dad!”
The next morning I showed up at Pt. Pinole and the start line of what would’ve been my ninth Dirty Dozen race. I ran a little over thirteen miles – half marathon distance – enjoying time with Jesus on the exact same course that I would’ve run the week before. Sure, I was supposed to finish the six hour endurance run and had a goal of thirty miles like previous years, but this is one race that is far from over. Dad has an extremely long road ahead of him. Mom does as well. This finish line is no where in sight. I have no course map or official pacer. Most of the course is not particularly scenic, and the aid stations don’t carry my go-to fuel. This race came with a very hefty cost. No refunds, transfers, or deferment. DNF is not an option. There’s no cool race shirt or massive medal waiting for me at this finish. The motivation: the chance to run a race previously side-lined by guilt, regret, frustration, anger, shame, disappointment, hopelessness, and failure. The reward: high fives from Jesus and hearing the words “Well done!”
“And let us run with endurance the race God has set before us. We do this by keeping our eyes on Jesus, the champion who initiates and perfects our faith.” Hebrews 12:1-2 NLT