For Mother’s Day this year, I ran marathon #55 in my mom’s honor. It was a picture perfect spring day at the Morton Arboretum in Lisle, Illinois where my daughter lives. The plan was to do the 7.5 miles of the paved East and West routes 3.5 times around with my car parked conveniently in between serving as my lone aid station. The first loop was glorious. It was everything I had hoped it would be complete with sprays of soft purple trees everywhere the eye could see reminding me of mom as she loved purple.

I was overcome with emotion and wished I’d brought my sunglasses to hide the tears streaming down my face. I spent most of loop one praising and worshipping the One who created this beautiful setting and being reminded with every mile of how He cares for “the birds in the sky and lilies of the field” and how much more He cares for me.

As planned, I tore into a GU energy gel at mile 6 then stopped at my “aid station” after that first 7.5 miles put down half a can of coconut water. Onward to loop two.

Business as usual. After all, this wasn’t my first rodeo. I asked God to help me notice things on each loop that I hadn’t previously. Purple magnolias, a crabapple tree statue, low hanging fragrant white flowers. How did I miss these the first time? I also thought about how mom would’ve enjoyed this arboretum. She used to love taking the grandkids to the arboretum in our home town whenever we visited. Lots of other fond memories of mom and even some funny ones popped up along the way as I approached mile 14 and my third energy gel. I was now really looking forward to my next aid station stop as the quads and calves seemed to start tightening up. I needed salt. I got to my car and ate a couple of handfuls of salted mixed nuts and took in more water.

I had made good time and kept a consistent pace for the first half of the marathon. Confession: I hate miles 15-17. It’s at this point in almost every one of my previous 54 marathons I’ve wanted to quit or prayed Jesus would come right then and there. This is the part of the race when the honeymoon is over. Even at the peak of my running fitness, I mentally and emotionally loathed these next miles. There’s just so much race still to run and no end in sight. Don’t get me started on those well-meaning spectators who cheer “ALMOST THERE!” when you’re not even close.

I dunno what it was about yesterday’s run, but it was almost as if I had checked out after mile 17 or so of loop three. The tank was now empty on every level. It was new territory for me perhaps because this was my first time using my car as an aid station which now became my biggest temptation to quit. Maybe that made it easy to rationalize: “Had I accomplished what I had set out to do which was remember my mom?” “She wouldn’t want me to continue this suffer fest!”

“WHY AM I STILL OUT HERE?” “WHAT’S THE POINT?”

The weather turned from clear, sunny, and ideal running temp to cloudy, cold, and windy. Headwind, of course. I was really glad I wore layers and put my long sleeve tech shirt back on. I’m still trying to get used to layering on runs since moving from California to Indiana last year.

I had to dig deep into my arsenal of Bible verses that I usually wield when things get tough during races. During a section of loop three and probably three miles of just repeating verses over and over, the Holy Spirit reminded me of Psalm 121 prompting me to look up through a very tall forested section of the road to see a leaf covering that was literally glowing.

“I lift up my eyes to the mountains—
where does my help come from?
My help comes from the Lord,
the Maker of heaven and earth.”

The sky was clear again. It was completely quiet except for the gentle rustling of leaves from a slight breeze. “Be still and know that I am God” came to mind. But how can I be still whilst continuing to run? You quiet your mind of distracting thoughts is how. You continue to wield the Sword of the Spirit with verses like “Take captive every thought to the obedience of Christ Jesus.” You praise Him every time your Garmin beeps another mile done. You declare God has authority over the next mile and submit that mile to Him – one mile at a time, every mile.

One of the best marathon surprises is when you think you’re at a certain mile but then you look at your watch and it’s one mile more than you thought! Such was the case as I reached mile 20. Conversely, when you think it’s a certain mile and it’s less, you kinda wanna cry.

They say the marathon doesn’t really start until mile 20. “They” are not wrong. Many times I’ve said to myself “I just need to get to mile 20; then I know I can make it to the finish!” There’s nothing magical about crossing mile 20; however, something does kinda click – for good and sometimes bad – at that point.

The good: You know you’ve prepared and trained for a solid 10k and tell yourself these last six miles are just like another mid week run. You focus on that place you are familiar with even though you’re actually entering into unknown territory since your longest run was likely only 18-20 miles. Don’t think about that part! Think about what you know and how to get there. You’ve done this distance SO many times! From my driveway, through our neighborhood, past several kiddie parks, past my girls’ high school, up over that hill I love to hate, then back home with a strong finishing kick.

The bad: Happened yesterday. I felt horrible those last six miles. It wasn’t even all physical pain. I think I was emotionally done-zo. Another confession: I almost forgot my Garmin leaving the hotel in the morning, and it crossed my mind that since it’s a virtual, self-supported race, NO ONE WOULD EVER KNOW if I didn’t actually run the entire 26.2 miles! Right?

The advantage of having parked my car conveniently in the middle of my course loop was easy access to my race hydration and nutrition. The disadvantage was knowing I could hop in my car at any point, call it a day, and no one would know. I’m not talking about cheating – I’m talking about ending misery and cutting a race short because self-preservation was now priority number one.

Yesterday was my third self-supported marathon since Covid began. The previous two were run on local out-and-back trails. No choice but to run the entire distance when you have to somehow get back to the car. Yesterday was my first marathon with a multiple loop course.

You wanna know what kept me going those last few miles yesterday? ACCOUNTABILITY. Not a PR. Not a medal. Not bragging rights.

The last few weeks on the Run for God Run Club Facebook group page I’ve read several posts by C2M (Couch to Marathon) members sharing everything from discouragement and frustration to desperation and perceived failure. During yesterday’s run, I thought a lot about one post in particular from a couple of days ago in which the member shared that she and her husband were discouraged with their lack of progress and did not think they would make it through the whole program.

I wrestled with whether to reply on this particular post because I realized when I first read it that I didn’t have a good answer. I actually felt ill-equipped to provide any sort of productive running advice or even minimal amount of spiritual encouragement. It wasn’t until the last two miles of my suffer fest to the finish line yesterday that it hit me:

I’m accountable to Jesus and need to finish this race SO that I can encourage others.

Not a coincidence last week’s key Scripture from 2 Corinthians 4:7-18 MSG [emphasis mine] in my Bible study group focused on the purpose of sharing in Christ’s suffering:

“If you only look at us, you might well miss the brightness. We carry this precious Message around in the unadorned clay pots of our ordinary lives. That’s to prevent anyone from confusing God’s incomparable power with us…

We’ve been surrounded and battered by troubles, but we’re not demoralized; we’re not sure what to do, but we know that God knows…

While we’re going through the worst, you’re getting in on the best!

We’re not keeping this quiet, not on your life.

And what we believe is that the One who raised up the Master Jesus will just as certainly raise us up with you, alive. Every detail works to your advantage and to God’s glory: more and more grace, more and more people, more and more praise! So we’re not giving up. How could we! Even though on the outside it often looks like things are falling apart on us, on the inside, where God is making new life, not a day goes by without his unfolding grace. These hard times are small potatoes compared to the coming good times, the lavish celebration prepared for us. There’s far more here than meets the eye. The things we see now are here today, gone tomorrow. But the things we can’t see now will last forever.”

It all makes sense now! What God allows us to experience is not only for our benefit but for benefit of others! I mean I knew that intellectually, but God illustrated this lesson for me yesterday right there during my lowest point of my marathon. God’s purpose for me finishing what we’d set out to do that morning was so I could encourage others to do the same – persevere ESPECIALLY when we don’t want to or when we don’t see the point!

One of the lessons God taught me when I was a third grade teacher has proven to be a reliable source of replenishment – dare I say better than any energy gel or drink – whenever I hit “the wall” or wanna give up. It was the Jacob and Esau lesson in which Esau, in his greatest moment of weakness, traded his birthright for a bowl of lentil stew. A bowl of lentil stew? Really? Even if you’re a huge fan of lentils, how desperate do you need to be to give up your future place in history, your legacy, and all the privilege that comes with it, for this momentary, temporary, fleeting hunger fix? When I used to be obsessed with diets and weight loss, the mantra was “A moment on the lips, forever on the hips.” My third graders had a little more compassion for Esau than I did as they reasoned that he probably thought he was about to die anyway, so what good is a birthright to him at that point?

Yesterday at around mile 24, I repeated over and over again the same four words I’ve said at this point in previous marathons: “DON’T BE AN ESAU!” In other words, don’t give in to the temporary pain! Don’t cheat yourself out of what God has in store for you! Don’t trade what God wants to give you for temporary relief! Don’t give up the glorious finish to the race God marked out for you! Don’t forsake what God wants to birth in you!”

Today being my first Mother’s Day without my mom, I’m thankful for how God allowed me to learn all these poignant lessons as I ran my marathon in my mom’s honor.

Natalie turns 26 this week. I tried to convince her it’d be super cool to run her first marathon this year. Run a mile for every year you’ve been alive. I dunno why she rejected my birthday commemoration idea. I mean who wouldn’t wanna run 26.2 miles to celebrate a momentous occasion? Okay, everyone put your hands down.

Fine. I’ll just have to run it for you.

My plan is to run 3 1/2 loops around the beautiful Morton Arboretum which is four minutes from Natalie’s apartment. I will stop first for coffee at my beloved Peet’s since Lisle, Illinois has the closest Peet’s this side of the Mississippi. I knew there was a reason God moved Natalie and Zach to Lisle.

The spring blooms are in full force now. I figured they would be given the blankets of little purple blossoms peeking out from the remnants of *snow we saw on our last visit in March. *Lisle is only 30 minutes from downtown Chicago. Besides the abundant evidence of spring, Morton also boasts some gentle rolling hills which I prefer over completely flat roads when running 26.2 miles. I’ll park my car in one of the lots along the 7.5 mile loop to serve as my aid station. No heavy hydration vest to schlepp on my back like my previous self-supported marathons. Also at-hand are nice, clean conveniently located restrooms if needed. I definitely won’t miss standing in those long porta-potty lines at races. Another bonus to running at Morton!

Good plan, right? Makes me appreciate even more all that goes into planning an actual race. Shout out to my awesome race director friends out there.

Speaking of plans, this past year was the year of be-ready-to-change-those-plans. My last in-person marathon was 2019 San Francisco. I was also registered for the Chicago Marathon, but it happened to fall exactly on the date my dad passed away in October. I had deferred my race registration to 2020 when I knew my dad’s time to cross his finish line here on earth was approaching. Of course, once Covid hit, all 2020 marathons were cancelled or switched to virtual which means you run wherever/whenever you want (before a set deadline) in one continuous segment, track and submit your finish time then they mail you your finisher’s shirt and medal afterwards. On dad’s heaven-versary October 13, 2020, I ran in my dad’s memory a full 26.2 miles from our house, to Main Street, to the local Monon Trail, to the White River bridge near the Indianapolis Art Institute, and back home. No drinking fountains available due to Covid, so hydration vest it was. Not a bad alternative plan to running the streets of Chicago.

I usually register early for races to take advantage of early bird pricing but also to put my training on the calendar as soon as possible. I had optimistically registered in December for the April 3, 2021 Carmel Marathon. It would be my seventh Carmel and 55th career marathon. My plan was to run one marathon every year coinciding with my age. Peak marathon training would hit during my favorite training weather and colder temps in February/March. Everything was going according to plan. Then I got a very unplanned call from my sister on February 4th.

“Mom has 4-5 days.”

What? I mean, we knew her health had declined with Alzheimer’s this last year, but we thought things were under control for awhile. My previous blogpost goes into way more detail, but basically we scrambled to get the family on a Zoom call that evening to say goodbye. The next morning, I got another unplanned call. Mom was gone.

Even though I was overwhelmed with gratitude for God’s timing which allowed me to “happen” to be in NorCal to see mom one last time, and completely at peace knowing she’s with my dad in eternal glory, I’m not sure I knew how to grieve or process it all. We did the best we could to honor mom via a Zoom memorial which enabled us to connect with relatives across the country and even Taiwan. Remembering all the logistics and expense that went into my dad’s memorial pre-Covid, perhaps my mom would’ve been happier with the convenience of Zoom. Ohhhhh, how she disliked anybody spending money on her or inconveniencing them in any way. Every birthday, Christmas, and Mother’s Day, I got the same call from Mom: “Don’t spend money on me!” No gifts, flowers, cake. Nope, she didn’t want any of it. But what she did cherish was seeing all of us. Spending time together. Laughing, singing, playing games, feeding us even though we were full.

Life after February 5th went on. Random little things reminded me of Mom. The day after she died, seeing a jar of peanut butter on our counter brought on a big, ugly cry. Ohhhhh, how Mom loved peanut butter. I had to pour through hundreds of old photos including Mom and Dad’s wedding album as I was putting together a Celebration of Life video. More ugly crying. Surprisingly, it was harder to write my speech for my mom than it was for my dad. The words just didn’t seem to come unlike with my dad’s speech where I had to trim it from almost 3,000 words to the final *1,168 delivered in-person at the church where he and Mom faithfully served for fifteen years. *I just now looked up that word count since I was curious. Funny that my mom’s speech ended up being 1,205 words. Not that I was counting.

1,205 words to sum up a life – 16 paragraphs, 74 lines. I worked hard to hold back the tears at paragraph 8, line 29, word 446: “Mom was my biggest cheerleader.” I was doing fine up until those words came out of my mouth and seemed to hang there in space both physically and virtually for an eternity. I must’ve somehow regained composure and finished my speech. It was all kind of a blur. The Zoom memorial came and went. Not sure what I expected to feel afterwards. Relief? Closure? More peace? Is there such a thing as “more” peace? I mean, if God gave me undeniable, COMPLETE peace the morning Mom went home to my dad and Jesus, how can I have MORE peace?

Don’t get me wrong; I haven’t been lying awake every night pondering this question. But very recently, it occurred to me that maybe I feel guilty for being okay after Mom died. So different from when Dad died. I was a wreck for what seemed to be a long time. I think after my dad died I actually tried harder to bounce back into life. I know, I know, circumstances were completely different with my dad. My sister and I had to pull it together for my mom who was now living alone in a senior home and not remembering why dad wasn’t around. Literally had to explain every time we saw her that dad was in heaven now.

As a former elementary school teacher, I’d come home every day completely drained – especially Fridays. Teacher friends, you know what I’m talking about. From the moment you step into your classroom until the moment you get home and the bra comes off (sorry guys), you’re in teacher mode. You’re literally “ON” all day with every minute accounted for including restroom breaks. After Dad died, I felt like I had to be “ON” every time I visited Mom. Even now I feel bad saying this but visits were not enjoyable as more often than not there were health and/or memory issues with which to contend. Some of the happier moments were that first Thanksgiving and Christmas when we brought the grandkids to visit and they became the focus. Or when my sister and I took her out for Chinese New Year and the dim sum she hadn’t had in years was the highlight.

I think I have fewer regrets with my mom. For a long time after my dad died, I truly felt like he’d be alive today IF (fill in the blank). If I had done more. If I had done (fill in the blank) sooner. This is where Scripture not only addresses my self-condemnation and answers my questions, but also puts me in my rightful place that I am not God. These two versions of Job 14:5 spell it out:

“Our time is limited.
You have given us only so many months to live
and have set limits we cannot go beyond.” NCV

“Mortals have a limited life span.
You’ve already decided how long we’ll live—
you set the boundary and no one can cross it.” MSG

Perhaps my dad dying first prepared me better for my mom’s death. Sometimes I wonder what it would’ve been like had Mom gone first. You know what? God spared us a whole heap of heartache with His timing. Not to mention, had my dad lived the few more years I’d originally thought he would, Covid, quarantine, nursing home, Zoom, Parkinson’s…you get the picture. Good thing God didn’t go with my plans.

For the last few years, all I could think about was my dad’s Parkinson’s then my mom’s Alzheimer’s and all the logistics of both – then one day all of a sudden I didn’t have to worry about either anymore. I think it created a void. I’m no longer responsible for them. It’s like reverse empty nesting. After Natalie and Meagan left for college, I wrote a blogpost titled “Empty Nest or Emptiness.” Perhaps, full circle now.

Call it self-preservation or denial, I’ve tried not to think about this upcoming Mother’s Day. But as the day approaches, I can’t avoid the onslaught of TV commercials or Instagram posts reminding us to remember our moms as well as give them the gifts she’ll love. You know what? I never appreciated until now how Mom didn’t enjoy money being spent on her. If only we realized sooner how good we had it.

It didn’t quite hit me until this week why I’ve had a tough time jumping right back into things. Stuff like run club, social media, seeing friends, going to in-person church. Somehow jumping right back into life would feel like I’m done grieving. It would signal that I’m fine. I dunno…am I?

I really have no actual physical excuse for dropping my training for the Carmel Marathon. I just couldn’t get my heart and brain to go with the plan. I made the decision somewhat last minute to switch to the virtual race which would give me more time to actually train. But before that I kept going back and forth telling myself I didn’t care how slow my finish time would be due to lack of long run training weeks and I’d just slug it out come race day. But wisdom and better judgment prevailed. Not to mention, I had no desire to ride that struggle bus into one long suffer fest.

When I think about how to best remember my mom on this first Mother’s Day without her, I will focus on all her qualities that make me miss her today. Her love of nature and simple things like flowers and greenery. Her love of her grandkids and how she always asked about Natalie and Meagan as well how she loved going to all their school events and swim meets even though she worried they were getting too much sun, Ai-Ya! Her sacrificial acts like all those weekends she’d drive out to UCLA while terrified of the 405 freeway (who isn’t?) just to pick me up so I could be home for a day. Her concern that Dave was too handsome when I first showed her his photo because she was brought up to believe a handsome husband would not be loyal. Her thriftiness and obsession with clipping coupons as well as saving every disposable container known to mankind. Her love of singing especially to calm a screeching infant Natalie or completely changing the lyrics to my favorite 80’s songs. Her ability to give God praise in all circumstances like when we got that front row parking space in an overcrowded parking lot – “Thanks God!”

But the quality I will focus on and miss the most is that my mom was my best cheerleader. In my Celebration of Life speech, I said that Mom loved to say “WHY NOT?” It was her way of saying I could do anything. And she truly meant it. This weekend when I’m running my virtual Carmel Marathon around Morton Arboretum, I will remember my mom’s simple love of nature and those two words as I run my 55th marathon in her honor: WHY NOT? And I will do it all without spending any money.

“I know what I’m doing. I have it all planned out—plans to take care of you, not abandon you, plans to give you the future you hope for.” Jeremiah 29:11 MSG