I overheard this conversation on the shuttle bus to the CIM start line a few weeks ago. The warm bus was parked in line with dozens of other buses filled with runners waiting out the cold until the last minute. He was probably early thirties, maybe late twenties, as were his running companions. They were finishing up bananas, peanut butter sandwiches, and stuffing extra layers of clothing in their gear check bags. Then one by one, they shared race strategies and goals. These were some fast runners. I mean, c’mon, sub 3 is fast at any age, right? Then one gal – with shocked expression – asked the guy “Hey, where’s your Garmin?” He looked at his naked wrist and said with theatrical sarcasm “Oh no! How am I gonna run now?” His companions nervously laughed at this relaxed candor. Seeing their faces, he seemingly felt the need to reassure them that everything would be alright and half-joked “I guess I’ll just have to pretend it’s ten years ago.”

Ten years ago. I couldn’t help but smile thinking about how my own running journey began ten years ago. Ten years ago I didn’t own a watch or any device that could track distance, time, elevation, cadence, steps, calories, and temperature to name a few features of my Garmin Fenix 3 (which is already behind several upgraded versions since I purchased it in 2014). Ten years ago, I ran in whatever shoes were on sale at Big 5 that weren’t totally ugly. I’d never heard of Hoka or minimum heel-to-toe drop. Ten years ago I wore cotton t-shirts and shorts that looked like my junior high PE shorts. Ten years ago I did not know social media was a thing. Ten years ago I ran my first marathon and didn’t post it on Facebook or Instagram. 

Fast forward to 2018 CIM (California International Marathon). Lots of emotions and reflections leading up to that crisp, clear, cold December 2nd morning. I hadn’t planned on it being my 50th marathon. I didn’t want to overthink it or place too great a significance on it. But as race day approached, something about it just “felt” different. Okay, okay, it did feel special. You know what else I felt? Sick as a dog. Yup, the week before I managed to develop some sort of gross hacking cough and felt like passing out that Sunday. Tough breathing made me think perhaps the recent NorCal fires and horrible AQI’s were to blame. Yeah, when you can see ash all over your car and can’t see Mt. Diablo at all, it’s bad.

This isn’t how any runner wants to feel going into any race much less a 50th marathon. All my personal hype and emotion went out the window as I was now focused on just getting to that start line without hacking up a lung. I almost forgot to email my CIM buddy Lisa who I had met in 2012 at the start line as she and her pace team partner were leading a group of runners in a pre-race prayer. We’ve kept in contact every year since then. And we’ve met up for prayer before each race as well. This year when I saw her with her 4:05 pace group, it was extra special. We exchanged long hugs with tears in our eyes. I’d also invited an Instagram running friend to join us for prayer. She recognized me from my bright lime green Run for God shirt. Several other women in Lisa’s pace group joined us as I asked God to lead, strengthen, and encourage each of them. I prayed they’d run a Hebrews 12:1 race of perseverance and endurance on this course that God had marked out for us. And I prayed we would give Jesus the glory from start to finish.

Then we hugged and didn’t see each other again. Until the next day’s Instagram posts.

It’s been years since 4:05 was my goal. This year my goal was 4:45. Realistic since all year I had been running anywhere between 4:29 and 5:00. The one year I tried to keep pace with Lisa, I held on until about mile 17. 

Funny thing about running with a super high techy watch. I don’t even look at it during a race. When I got my first “real” running watch about eight years ago, I was so hyper-focused on mile splits. It’s a miracle I never ran into a pole or tripped from constantly looking at that watch face. A few years ago, I went the other extreme. I decided I’d just use my Garmin for training purposes and look at race stats afterward. I started doing something kinda hokey and non-techy lately for marathons. I pick a reasonable goal time and load my iPod playlist with that exact time’s number of tunes. Last year’s CIM goal was 4:40, and I finished in 4:38 with my last song blasting. At Carmel Marathon this spring, the goal was 4:30. Finished in 4:29 just as a fave song was ending.

Not exactly an Olympic marathon training method, but hey, it got the job done.

This year’s CIM and 50th marathon can be summed up with these beginning, middle, and ending songs: “Well Done” by The Afters, “Little Drummer Boy” by For King and Country, and “Christmas Canon” by Trans Siberian Orchestra. I desperately wanted to run this 50th marathon with God saying “Well done!” not just when I crossed the finish line, but every step of the way. That meant sustaining a laser focus on Jesus by committing and submitting each mile, each thought, each heartbeat, each emotion, and each step to Him.

Tis the season, so how could I not throw in some Christmas tunes especially with the giant decorated Christmas tree waiting for me at the finish line in front of the State Capitol Building. I had recently read the Message version of the famous Luke 2 account of the night Jesus was born. To my delight, it said that the shepherds RAN to see the new born savior in the manger! That was all the motivation I needed to picture the star atop the State Capitol Christmas tree and me running toward it like the shepherds did. “Little Drummer Boy” reminds me to give my best effort because, really, what gift could I possible lay before the King that would be considered worthy? Jesus doesn’t want our “stuff.” He wants our whole heart.  That last song with its heart-pounding, perfectly timed cadence from TSO’s version of “Christmas Canon” was all I needed to kick it into high gear that last mile with the lyrics reminding me of “the hope that He brings.”

Marathon 50 was all I could hope for and more. I’ve never run a race with no regrets until this one. There’s always the woulda/coulda/shoulda’s that go through my head after a race. The trifecta of regrets. This race was so entirely focused on giving Jesus the best Christmas gift that I possibly could. I ran my best for Him. PA-RUM-PUM-PUM-PUM.

Today I ran the Rim Trail on those steep but soft trails I’ve missed since focusing on flat asphalt training for CIM the past few months. It crossed my mind – as I was completely invigorated and immensely content being out there on top of the world – that 2019 is around the corner, and I need to be a good steward of the races I’ve already committed. In fact, I just got the email this morning that I got into next year’s Chicago Marathon. I get to run my 53rd marathon for my 53rd birthday! I’ve thought a lot about incorporating more speed training and hill repeats, but what really resonated with me was those words “pretend it’s ten years ago.” Whoa, wait… Does that mean no more running with my Garmin or iPod? Or no more Facebook and Instagram posts about running? Nah. Well, maybe. When technology drives my motivation or becomes a measure of the joy I hope to feel, then maybe it’s time to dial it back. Back ten years perhaps.

When I think about the pure joy and absolute contentment of this year’s CIM, I want that again. And not just in running – in every moment of each day. 

I’m back in Indiana for the third time in less than two months. A new travel record for me which also included trips to Tuscon, San Diego, and L.A. sandwiched in between.

My last Indy trip was timed around the Indy Monumental Marathon. The likelihood of cooler temps had great appeal, and I figured I’d use it as training for the December California International Marathon – goal race for the year and my 50th marathon. Funny cuz I wasn’t “planning” for C.I.M. to be THE BIG 50th when I signed up last year simply to get the early bird discount. I had kind of lost count, and honestly, the number didn’t really matter to me.

As far as long runs go, I suppose Indy accomplished its purpose. A few weeks prior, I kept seeing articles about mental endurance training. Yeah, you’d think after 48 marathons I’d have that dialed in, right? In some ways, I think that part is actually getting harder for me. This verse just came to mind as I was typing that last sentence:

“If you are faithful in little things, you will be faithful in large ones. But if you are dishonest in little things, you won’t be honest with greater responsibilities.” Luke 16:10 NLT

If you’d told me when I first started running ten years ago that I’d hit fifty marathons, I’d have said you’re crazy. So, who’s crazy NOW?! Reflecting back on those first marathons, I can say without a doubt that I went in with a whole lot of naiveté and not enough GU. There’s only so far adrenaline and wishful thinking will take you. I mean, yeah, I did manage to cross the finish line, but the stuff going on inside my head was not pretty. That’s okay – at least they matched those very unattractive race photos of me permanently archived now somewhere. Who would buy these?? Seriously, how does one even make that face or sweat that much in the most awkward places?

Back in April 2009, after running my first half marathon in my hometown of San Ramon, I now know that I had been bitten by the race bug. I googled local races and found the San Francisco Marathon which was at the end of July. Then I googled marathon training plans and found Hal Higdon’s novice 16 week plan. Hmmm, 16 weeks…I’d have just enough time to train. The thought was completely overwhelming but exhilarating at the same time.

I remember closing my laptop, taking a deep breath, closing my eyes, and asking God if this was a good idea. And if He gave me the green light, to help me through all the training. And that I could draw closer to Him as a result. Oh, and maybe that He could use this whole running thing for His glory.

I got the green light.

I think back to that 16 weeks of training and all the textbook rookie mistakes I made. Ramping up mileage too quickly, over training on concrete, poor nutrition, running on strained IT band, etc. My longest training run was only 15 miles. I ended up crossing that first marathon finish line wearing a huge knee brace and never wanting to run again. The goal was 4:30. I finished in 4:48.40.

Three days and a whole bottle of Advil later, something strange happened (besides being able to walk without wincing). It was like some cloud and mental fog had lifted revealing this one thought that literally reduced me to tears:

His grace and mercy saw me to that finish line.

It certainly wasn’t my stellar training methods. It wasn’t my ambition or adrenaline. Pure and simple, it was God. He kept up His end of the deal. Now it was my turn.

Indy Monumental Marathon did not disappoint in terms of its spectacular Midwest autumn colors and perfect race weather. My cousin in Chicago said there’s usually one week of this fall wonderment in the Midwest, and then it’s gone almost as quickly as it came. She was right.

I went for a run on the Monon Trail yesterday afternoon when the high was 39 degrees and a completely different scene than just a week ago. Mesmerizing gold and red, bountiful everywhere the eye could see was now barren trees and trails. It got progressively colder as I made the turn back at the 5 mile mark. I felt good, though. I appreciate that last statement more and more these days. To be able to say “I feel good” during a run has somehow become harder the last few years. Age? Traveling? Stress? Poor sleeping habits? Based on my marathon experience two weeks ago, I’d say “all of the above.”

That one hurt. A lot. From start to finish.

I told Dave on the drive home from the marathon that this was the race that makes me never wanna run again. Wait. Where have I heard that before?

Practically speaking, this race was run under entirely different circumstances. I’m a different runner than ten years ago. I regularly put in solid 20 mile training runs now, have race nutrition down, as well as stretching, tapering, pacing, etc. Basically all the things I didn’t have down that very first marathon. But I don’t know that I ever “felt good” during this last one. It was a struggle from the beginning which chipped away at my confidence with every mile and made me question why I was even out there.

And then something happened along Washington Blvd. during those middle miles of “mental no man’s land.” I heard the sweetest voice along this residential street lined with stunning autumn foliage and neighbors out cheering on runners:

“Good job, RUN FOR GOD!”

I’d forgotten that I’d personalized my race bib not with my name but with the words RUN FOR GOD. A little boy had seen it and cheered for me. Can I just take a moment here and say that his words were the turning point and made all the difference?

You see, up until then – even in signing up, this race was run out of convenience and for my own purposes. God allowed this little boy to remind me of WHY I RUN as well as that prayer from ten years ago to use my running to draw closer to Jesus and bring Him glory. I ran the rest of that race with a new determination to finish strong, encourage and pray for other runners along the way, smile, and not look like I was dying (even if I was). After all, God’s name was on my race bib. I had to represent! In fact, the race photos are some of my better ones, and I’m actually smiling in all of them. Can’t post them since they’re copyrighted, so you’ll just have to trust me.

Yesterday, I was again reminded of that prayer while on the now winter-esque Monon Trail. In fact, the Holy Spirit put it to me in a new, fresh way:

“What if there were no more races?”

Not to sound morbid or anything, but there HAS to be a last race at some point. I get emotional thinking about when that might be and how I might react as I cross that finish line for the last time. I’m no Shalane or Meb, but I can somewhat relate to the emotion of retiring from marathons and that last race – whenever it might be. Often when I race, I repeat certain Bible verses over and over. This past year, I’ve also repeatedly said to myself “There will come a day when I can’t do this. Today is NOT that day!” Cue Braveheart music. Or Lord of the Rings.

Over the years, Jesus and I have had some really great conversations during runs. Sometimes He poses questions that have literally stopped me mid-stride. Yesterday was one of those times. He simply asked me if I would still run if I wasn’t signed up for some race – if the goal wasn’t training for a future race. As I continued in silence alone on the trail surrounded by a different kind of beauty than the fall colors from a week ago, I realized my answer was a solid “YES.” 

Jesus brought to full circle Hebrews 12:1-2 which was my starting gun verse ten years ago, is the theme of Run for God ministries as well as my blog, and the verse that continues to equip and exhort me in all of life’s circumstances – especially when I feel like I can’t go another step.

“Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a huge crowd of witnesses to the life of faith, let us strip off every weight that slows us down, especially the sin that so easily trips us up. 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.”

Speaking of “crowd of witnesses to the life of faith,” I was able to finally meet Hoosier and Run for God faithfuls Troy Jackson and Troy Lovegrove for a pre-race prayer!

Not gonna lie, I do love me some nice race bling and swag (medals and goodies). I might miss that stuff a tiny bit, and I know Dave will miss all the delicious food samples at race expos – ha, ha. But I can now confidently say that the reward I look forward to most is this one:

“The master was full of praise. ‘Well done, my good and faithful servant. You have been faithful in handling this small amount, so now I will give you many more responsibilities. Let’s celebrate together!” Matthew 25:21 NLT

 

 

 

 

 

This is a big year for anniversaries. Thirty years of marriage, ten years of marathons, first year of our new restaurant.

As the date of my tenth San Francisco Marathon approached last month, it seemed to “feel” different than previous years. I mean I’m always excited and a little nervous, but this year there was an extra buzz of excitement as I walked into the expo to pick up my race swag which, to my surprise, also included a ten year loyal runner gift of a fleece blanket.

Everyone has different favorite parts of this course. Most will agree that crossing the Golden Gate Bridge is a highlight. One fond memory I have is from Golden Gate Park and an elderly African American man standing quietly off to the side of the road around Mile 15. That first year, he stood out because he was holding a tall wooden post with a gigantic hand-painted sign that simply said “Jesus Loves You.” He would smile and wave at runners. That’s it. I’m guessing most of the 17,000 runners who passed him didn’t notice, didn’t care, or didn’t remember him after the race. But something about his smile and the peaceful look on his face resonated with me.

During a 26.2 mile race that takes the average runner 4-5 hours, you have a lot of time to think as well as pray if you’re so inclined – and not just desperate prayers for relief from bodily pain or the end (finish line) to come quickly. I remember praying for that elderly man. Praying blessing over him. Praying that his simple sign and those three words would encourage other runners.

The following year – and six years after that – I couldn’t believe he was there again at the same spot with his giant sign. Always on the right hand side of the road. I usually run on the left side of the course (just habit), so I made it a point to run over to him for a high-five and a quick word to say “Right back at ya, bro!” And then I would pray for him as I ran on.

Two years ago, I remember looking forward to seeing him as I approached Mile 15. He was not there.

Last year, same thing. I was actually worried that something had happened to “my friend.”

This year I didn’t expect to see him. And I didn’t. I later told Dave that I suspect since he was elderly that he had passed away. I said the same thing about my friend as I had said after Billy Graham’s passing this year: “Wow, he probably has THE biggest mansion in Heaven now!” Well done, good and faithful servant.

This year as I rounded the turn toward Mile 24 and caught a glimpse of AT&T Park, I admit I got a little emotional. Mile 25 runs right past the stadium where fans line up early for afternoon Giants games. By then, the fog had cleared revealing the beautiful San Francisco Bay just steps away. I got teary-eyed thinking about how I was about to cross this particular finish line for the tenth year in a row. For a few surreal seconds, highlights from those ten years played in my head. I was an emotional wreck by the time I saw the Mile 26 marker but pulled it together for that last point two. I savored every moment of those last 385 yards, took lots of mental snapshots, and even heard a friend cheering me on from the sideline right before I crossed the finish line.

It wasn’t my fastest or my slowest San Francisco Marathon, but it definitely felt special.

Race expos, pasta buffets, and post race muscle maladies are certainly not the most romantic way to celebrate an anniversary. Funny that the L.A. Marathon was held on Valentine’s Day a few years back. Nothing says romance…

Dave definitely wins for planning anniversary surprises ranging from tickets to Phantom of the Opera (which I accidentally found) to long stemmed red roses delivered to my classroom.

As generous, thoughtful, and truly appreciated those anniversaries were, it’s taken thirty years for Dave to realize and me to communicate that I really don’t like surprises or red roses.

So this year I took it upon myself to plan our 30th anniversary celebration. I didn’t want to go to our usual spots like Carmel or Napa. We hadn’t been to Bodega Bay since before kids and we pretty much never venture that direction, so off we went for a day trip that I had googled up. Was Google even around thirty years ago?

Much to my relief, the day hike, lunch spot, and dinner lived up to their google acclaim. More importantly, the time spent with Dave seemed to fly by and the day ended with a feeling of sadness that it was over but excitement for the next date together. Isn’t that how it always should be?

Whether or not you’re a runner, married, or a business owner, you can probably guess that none of these endeavors are easy, come without sacrifice, and for sure hold their share of tears and joy. Perhaps this is why anniversaries or milestones are so significant and worthy of celebration.

The title and excerpt from this article by Ben Reoach, pastor of a large Midwest church, recently caught my eye:

Remember His Goodness: Six Ways to Fight Spiritual Amnesia

“When it comes to remembering God’s faithfulness, we can be especially forgetful. One striking example of this is found in the book of Exodus, chapters 14 and 16. In the span of just a couple of chapters, we see the Israelites delivered from slavery and brought through the Red Sea, and then they are grumbling about not having food to eat.

And then, of course, we remember that we do the same sort of thing. God brings us through a trial, answers a prayer, and within a few days it’s almost forgotten. We’re already looking to the next struggle on the horizon and finding reasons to gripe and complain.

We have to find ways of remembering God’s faithfulness.”

God Himself set the stage for celebrating significant milestones. After each day of Creation, He made it a point to say “It is good” culminating with His magnum opus, the first human, whereby God declared “It is VERY good.” The next day was set aside for enjoying all He had created.

And so we celebrate, not just for the sake of celebrating, but to remember and recount God’s goodness as well as His faithfulness and timeliness that become more apparent with each passing year. We celebrate with things like loyal runner blankets, day trips, dinners, wine, and even closing down your restaurant early to treat your staff to a night of dinner and games.

So, then why don’t we celebrate EVERY year with as much pomp and circumstance as the decade markers or the “jubilee” years? As a huge Disneyland fan, I will say that Disney sure knows how to put on a 60th Anniversary Jubilee which also coincided with their 10th Anniversary Half Marathon. Upon a little further research, I found that the word jubilee itself means “a special anniversary of an event” with a nod to the 25th and 50th years. Many word origins/traditions find their roots in the Bible. I admit I don’t venture much into Old Testament books like Leviticus (mostly cuz I’m not a great history or Bible scholar), but I did find this passage about God’s purpose for the Jubilee as well as this commentary quite interesting:

“Make the fiftieth year a special year, and announce freedom for all the people living in your country. This time will be called Jubilee. You will each go back to your own property, each to your own family and family group. The fiftieth year will be a special time for you to celebrate.” Leviticus 25:10-11 NCV

“The Jubilee year contains many of the pictures of our salvation. Just as the land, the people, and all the property was released, so we too have been released from a debt that we could not pay (our sins). We were once slaves to sin but now we’ve been released, once held captive but now set free. Christ’s blood has atoned for our sins and satisfied the wrath of God that was due us (Rom 5) and as the land was given rest, we too have entered into His rest from all of our works for we could never save ourselves by our own works because salvation is fully a work of God.” – from What is the Meaning of Jubilee in the Bible? by Jack Wellman

Now THAT is worth remembering and celebrating DAILY!

This December I will be running my 50th marathon. It’s also my seventh year running the California International Marathon. The number seven in the Bible holds countless significance with regards to God’s order, timing, provision, and completion. In fact, Leviticus also documents how that 50th year of celebration came to be with “seven times seven years of Sabbaths” which is 49 years. When I ran that first marathon (SF) back in 2009, I definitely didn’t think I’d EVER hit 50 marathons much less for that 50th to be my seventh C.I.M.

Coincidence? Nope.

Of course, my prayer is always that God would say of any race I run that “It was good.” For this 50th marathon, I’m kind of hoping He will say “It was very good.”

 

 

The temperature on my thermostat currently reads 73. The air conditioning is set to kick on at 74. Comfortable.

A few days ago I finished reading Reborn on the Run by Catra Corbett aka Dirt Diva (a great, fast read about incredible perseverance). It seems funny that she’s an ultra marathoner since by definition I am also an ultra marathoner, but we couldn’t be more different or miles apart. First off, an ultra marathon is any distance over 26.2 miles. I have run three official 50k’s (31.06 miles) and six endurance runs ranging from 26.96 to 31.32 miles. Add all of my “ultras” together and that might be just one of Catra’s typical race distances.

At the beginning of summer, I saw an Instagram post with a picture of a Catra sitting fully clothed in a sauna – not looking anywhere near as gross as I would – with the caption “heat training.” I hadn’t read her book yet but had seen her several times on the trails with her famous ultra marathoner dachshund keeping stride and not even panting. Up until recently, my definition of heat training was going for a short run in DRY temps over 90. And maybe I’d wear a t-shirt instead of a tank.

I got my own free sauna experience a few weeks ago while running in Indiana. Actually, I didn’t even need to be running. Just stepping off the plane into the passenger tunnel to the terminal was in and of itself a sauna. It had been so hot recently that the airport garage had a giant refrigerated bottled water display with a sign welcoming you to Indy and a free bottle of water.

I had flown out to meet Dave who had already been there a couple of weeks for business and to promote our restaurant’s participation in the city’s food festival and other July 4th activities – like their inaugural 5k race.

The weather forecast for the Spark!Fishers Inaugural 5k was “only” 80 degrees at 8am. Hmmm, that doesn’t sound too bad. What I didn’t realize was 91% humidity makes that 80 feel like almost 100. I’ve run in 100 degree DRY temps in California (which btw isn’t wise) but nothing like stifling Midwest summer humidity. I’m sure I made it worse by dousing myself in sticky bug spray. A quarter mile into the 5k and I was already soaked and questioning all my life decisions leading up to this day. Has anyone ever DNF’d half a mile into a 5k? Would I be the first? Why does everyone else around me look like they’re not suffering as much?

I decided I didn’t want to DNF, pass out on the course, or spend a minute longer than necessary out there, so I picked up the pace. As I made the last turn onto 116th and caught that first glimpse of the finish line, I was no longer a runner. I was a woman on a mission. I was a warrior, conqueror, and survivor. I crossed that finish line with an official time of 30:57 which normally would not be anything I’d brag about, but I was elated. Some poor volunteer placed my medal around my dripping sweaty neck and another one handed me an ice cold bottle of water. As I made my way back to the car, I noticed a few runners who had obviously finished way before me, looked like they hadn’t sweat at all, and were ready to run another 18 minute 5k. I just had to ask “Sooooo, does this feel hotter than normal to you? Or is it just me?” And then I felt the need to explain that I was from Northern California which seemed to impress them only from the standpoint of bewilderment at why I was even out here.

Turns out it wasn’t just me. It was a day of record heat and humidity. We had a full day of outdoor activities after the morning’s 5k, so by the time the 7pm July 4th parade rolled around, I was reduced to a Wicked Witch of the West melted puddle in a corner of our restaurant.

My brain must’ve truly melted cuz I went out for two more runs during my time in Indiana. I felt like I needed to take advantage of this unique heat training opportunity with some big summer races back home coming up.

This thought kept me going during those runs:

“You can’t expect to do in a race what you haven’t done in training.”

There are rarely – okay never – ideal race conditions. If I really wanna make myself crazy, I can hyper focus on all the things that could go wrong or not it my favor. Everything from weather conditions, to injuries, to missing the race shuttle, to loud hotel guests, to unusual pre-race dinners. But those are minor inconveniences compared to the stuff of real, everyday LIFE. The stuff that hits you from out of the blue that completely rocks your world, cranks up the heat, turns your stomach inside out, and throws you off course. How do you prepare for those moments? What sort of training plan can you put in place?

Two days after flying home from Indiana, I ran my eighth consecutive Dirty (Half) Dozen Endurance Run. The goal is to run as many miles as you can during a six hour time limit. The first year I ran it was unusually cold and windy out at Point Pinole Shoreline. The following years were more of the expected July temps. I have no idea if this years temps were actually normal or not if I were to go completely by feel. I even commented to an aid station volunteer “Perfect cool weather today!” He was probably thinking “Poor thing is now delusional.” But my six hours did seem to go by pretty quickly unlike previous years when those hours seemed to drag on as the heat of the day took its toll. When I look back at my splits, they were consistent. I finished with 29.06 miles and a second place age group win.

So, what’s my heat training plan for when things feel like they’re about to heat up in LIFE? Or when all of a sudden it feels like a scorching furnace was just turned up all around me? Even as I am writing this, a couple of situations arose involving finances and my parents’ health. A phone call. A letter in the mail. A text message. A doctor’s visit. Things were heating up around here. Not gonna lie; I went to bed the other night with a horrible outlook, focused on every bad scenario/outcome, and woke up in a not-so-good place.

In between writing this and a doctor’s appointment, I went for a run on a nearby trail that was mostly exposed with very little shade. In that 90 degree heat, I was immediately reminded of the training plan I used during Dirty Dozen. Hydrate, of course, but more importantly “rest in the shadow of the Almighty.”

I read that verse from Psalm 91:1 in a devotion recently, and it gave visual impact to a song on my playlist that has helped me during hill training. I love that first time “Shadow of the Cross” by Crowder came on my iPod Shuffle one very hot day as I approached the first steep, dry, rocky climb on the Upper Rim Trail.  That’s when God gave me some heat training advice. The plan? I simply run as fast as I can to the next shady spot, catch my breath, and walk up the steepest hills.

Sounds hokey, but now I always picture the shadow that those majestic oaks cast on the trail as the shadow of the Cross. And when I get there, I not only find shelter from the scorching sun but also the opportunity to lay my burdens at the foot of the Cross. Some days, it’s quite a load. But being completely covered in that shadow is also such a poignant reminder of what Jesus did for me on the Cross. He laid it all out there for me, took the torturous, relentless heat, suffered unimaginably, all so I could be restored. Restored to THAT time long ago in the cool shade of The Garden before sin happened and you could enjoy running all around Eden not worrying about sunscreen, heat exhaustion, bug bites, hydration, and carbo loading. Or finances and your parent’s health. Restored to just enjoying all He created for our benefit. Restored to a relationship with God, not a religion. Restored to perfect fellowship with God.

The Bible also says Jesus is the Living Water. Sometimes what I’m really thirsting for only God can provide. So there you have it – your own spiritual aid station – and you don’t even need to be running an ultra marathon or leave your couch to reap its benefits.

I may not have immediately responded well to some heated situations this week. In fact, I went to sleep one night still holding on to doubt, fear, anger, entitlement, worry, anxiety, and guilt. So much guilt. I momentarily ditched the training plan. You wanna know the crazy thing? Sometimes I choose to stay on those exposed, dry and scorching parts of the trail when shade and restoration are steps away. In the past I have gone days and even weeks wandering, trudging along remaining set on staying the course of whatever it was that set me off in the first place. Some days God’s life lessons help me run better; this week the stuff God taught me on the run helped me run better in life. I quickly found His restoration – I ran as fast as I could to the shadow of the Cross – instead of holding on pridefully to “being right” or worse – “being wronged,” obsessing over things I shouldn’t, feeling paralyzed by guilt or the weight of situations, and continuing to suffer prolonged “heat exhaustion” as I have in the past.

Those situations I alluded to earlier…those curve balls in life that crank up the heat…yeah, they’re probably gonna get worse before they get better. It might get really hot. Midwest hot. Good thing I’ve done heat training and know where to find shade.

Well, THAT didn’t go as planned. My third year running the infamous Double Dipsea ultra half marathon ended up being more of a test of mental fortitude and perseverance of will. Did I train for those two as much as I’d trained for the steep steps and climbs?

I’m sitting here on a post-race Monday with my left foot elevated and three compression socks on thinking the answer is “no.” But then again, no one plans to roll an ankle in the first few miles of a race that boasts “you’re either the hunter or the hunted” with its handicapped race start, 700 steps, and climbs aptly named “Cardiac, Insult, Dynamite, Suicide, and Steep Ravine.”

Going into this year’s race, I felt prepared – more so than the previous two years as I now had a better idea of how much hill training should be done so I won’t be crying at the sight of stairs afterwards like that first year. I had a good amount of hill training mileage under my belt and the weather forecast was prime for me to P.R.  Maaaaaybe even an age group win.

The first few miles were uneventful. Just starting the climb, waking up the quads for the thrashing to come in later miles. The first sort of “flat” section is a welcome sight and opportunity to take in your first glimpses of the views that initially brought runners to start this crazy tradition back in 1905. Stinson Beach, Mill Valley, Muir Woods, and of course, the Pacific Ocean below certainly make this race perennially tempting.

I managed to pass some runners in my age group and a few in the previous waves of older males on that initial climb. I was expecting to say “On your left” many more times during the course of this unique and counter-intuitive handicapped race. My left ankle quickly put that expectation to rest around mile four. I wish I had a more exciting, heroic, tell-future-grandkids-worthy story for how I hurt my ankle; but alas it was just as mundane as when I rolled my ankle a year ago on a perfectly flat paved trail with no apparent obstacles or challenges. In fact, it felt and even sounded the same when it happened. Yeeeeeah, I heard something “snap” which last year a friend stated was my common sense. I could tell right away that this wasn’t gonna be one of those just shake it off kind of missteps. As with all the other times I’ve felt twinges of pain, I immediately applied my customary first aid which was to pray Jeremiah 17:14.

“Heal me, Lord, and I will be healed;
save me and I will be saved,
for you are the one I praise.”

I’ve lost count of all the times I have prayed this verse during training and races. Whether it’s a mild cramp, knee pain, IT band flare up, plantar twinge, or GI issue, I reflexively pray that verse over and over until I am healed. Okay, sometimes the GI thing doesn’t have a pretty ending, but it’s never “cost” me a race.

I truly count myself incredibly blessed to have had relatively few ailments in ten years of running and 200 or so races. So it wouldn’t have been a big deal to call it quits on Saturday’s Double Dipsea and live to run another day. Or would it? I told Dave when I got home “If I only had a mic hooked up to my inner voice and the back and forth debate I had with Jesus at that point…” It’s probably never a good idea to argue with the Creator of the Universe; however, this was not about little old me getting her first DNF and not getting her finisher’s medal. It was about learning to persevere in prayer.

Before I continue, let me totally acknowledge that continuing to run with an obvious injury is not wise practice. Over the years I’ve said this to several beginner runners who’ve come to me for coaching. If you’re one them and reading this right now, you should probably stop. Close this window on your browser. Go out for a nice leisurely run, listen to the birds sing, and pretend you never read this.

Back to the debating with Jesus thing, it was more me coming to grips with feeling guilty about missing time with Natalie as she was flying up for Father’s Day weekend. I thought about giving my race bib to someone who missed out on the registration window since this race has been sold out since March. Maybe it would’ve blessed someone who needed to run DD this year. So, I spent a good mile or so telling God how sorry I was for not listening and obeying if I wasn’t supposed to have been there. An aid station was coming up at which point I could call it a day and go home. When I got there, I saw a runner seated by the medic truck with ice wrapped around his ankle. He looked like a “fast runner.” You know, that lanky physique, serious expression, minimal race attire, ripped calves, don’t make eye contact, pause-my-Garmin-before-rendering-assistance look. I’m not sure why but seeing him sitting there made me NOT wanna stop.

I have a pretty high pain tolerance thresh hold and can’t remember the last time I actually cried due to physical pain. Sometimes when I’m running, Jesus and I have these talks and He shows me stuff that brings me to tears. As I left that aid station after some water and GU, I felt tears starting to well up. Not from ankle pain. From Jesus saying to me “Okay, if you insist on doing this, you’re gonna have to trust me more than EVER each and every step of the way.”

This year in training and in races I’ve been saying to myself:

“There will come a day when I cannot do this. Today is NOT that day.” *Cue Braveheart theme music.

It’s the realization that, no, I’m not the same runner that I was ten years ago. It’s also an appreciation for health, strength, and the fact that God allows me to do this thing called running. This year my dad’s Parkinson’s and his visible physical decline has also deeply affected my running. It’s pushed me mentally and emotionally in ways I never wanted to be pushed but also in ways that are making perseverance and battling for victories through prayer more tangible.

At times I have felt ashamed of who I am and thoughts that cross my mind when it comes to dad’s Parkinson’s. I find myself crying a lot when I’m alone with these thoughts. Even now as I’m writing this. I feel like his condition and caring for him and mom have been sort of a litmus test for my faith as well as actions. I texted a good friend last week about some stuff I was going through and how I couldn’t stop crying. We agreed that crying can be a good thing. In fact, God says so in Matthew 5 – the chapter famous for the Sermon on the Mount in which Jesus taught about the Beatitudes aka the BlessEDs:

3“You’re blessed when you’re at the end of your rope. With less of you there is more of God and his rule.
4“You’re blessed when you feel you’ve lost what is most dear to you. Only then can you be embraced by the One most dear to you.
5 “You’re blessed when you’re content with just who you are—no more, no less. That’s the moment you find yourselves proud owners of everything that can’t be bought.” MSG

Those are just three of the nine Beatitudes. Interesting that most other translations of verse four say “Blessed are those who mourn.” Mourn? Yes, as in grieving and crying and not just in the context of losing a loved one. As in crying at the realization that I am nothing without God’s grace and mercy. Grieving over what grieves God. Being brought to tears when I think about my own disobedience and transgressions. You know those red course marking ribbons that are tied to tree branches so runners can see up ahead that they are on the right path? They remind me of Isaiah 53:5 “By His stripes, we are healed.” Every time I see those red ribbons, I repeat that verse thanking Jesus for what He did for me on the Cross so I could live this life without condemnation as well as have moment to moment, step by step, living-breathing-healing interaction with my Heavenly Father.

And so it was. From that point on, up and down 700 steps – some of which so steep you couldn’t see the top one, through Jurassic Park looking forests ridden with tree roots every few feet, jaggedy rocky single tracks, I committed and submitted every step to God’s  hand of healing and protection. Literally.

At the mile 7 aid station turn around I did stop at the medic truck to get some Advil. Surprisingly they are only allowed to dispense two Advil at a time. I joked with them about how many I take at home after a race. Waaaay over the medically recommended dosage. Hey, I’m no superhero and will definitely use whatever provisions God gives me as part of His healing!

So as I headed back up those stairs with half the Advil dosage I would normally take, God started reminding me of people to pray for with each turn and hill. With that in mind, those infamous steps really weren’t so bad going back up. I was focused on the steps right in front of me and tried not to look all the way up. Not all common sense had left my body as I knew it was not good to try to over compensate weight on my good ankle. I asked God to help me use the right balance on both legs and put all my hill training to good use. All those miles logged going up and down the Lafayette Reservoir Upper Rim were paying off.

Something happened around mile 9. I felt a release in my left ankle. I was even able to run on it, not fast or anything, but steady on the smoothest portions of the trail. At that point, all the faster runners and last wave of the handicap start group had long passed me. No more hearing “On your left” or “Runner up” from herds of crazy fast runners barreling past, so I could just enjoy this truly beautiful course. I don’t know what part of the course this was but I came to a forested section that I will never forget. It was not only visually stunning, but it was THE MOST strikingly quiet I have ever experienced. I mean like someone had just put noise canceling headphones on me. Deafening silence. Incredible and eerie at the same time. Had I not rolled my ankle and taken a full hour longer on the course than in previous years, I would’ve been running with a herd and missed out on this amazing moment.

Now I share this next little revelation with great respect for runners of all levels with the intent of gratitude but realize it may come across as boastful. I’m not usually in the back of the pack at races. I’m not super crazy fast by any stretch of the imagination, but it’s never crossed my mind that I wouldn’t make course cutoff times. Limping along and resorting to walking much of miles 4 to 9 took its toll on my overall time. Several runners passing me asked if I was okay or needed help. It was very touching. Another reason I might’ve gotten teary-eyed. On the way back up and feeling strong on the stairs, a couple of runners behind me noticed and said “Hey, you’re the one that rolled your ankle. How are you even still here?”

I realized then that this race was an opportunity to give Jesus the spotlight in a whole new way.

Since we were on a narrow single track, I couldn’t see who was behind me; so I yelled back “Only by God’s grace! All things through Christ!” She and another runner responded “That’s right! Absolutely!” Perhaps being in the back of the pack affords more time for reflection and opportunity to offer encouragement. I know when I’m going full speed gunning for a PR, I find it hard to carry on meaningful conversation. It certainly was humbling and gives me new appreciation for the camaraderie shared with those whose goals may not be a PR or age group win.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed in my race results. I am definitely itching for a redemption Double Dipsea next year. But for now, I’m going to focus on those steps right in front of me, try not to hurt myself, and take what I learned on that course to daily life.

PC: Brazen Racing, Jason Lehrbaum, Jay Mijares, Nyobugi Okullo, NY Times

 

 

 

I’ve always loved vacuuming. There’s just something very satisfying and even therapeutic about seeing those carpet lines form. One of my favorite compliments I’ve ever received was from a friend who happened to see me finishing up vacuuming one day: “You would make a great crop duster.”

Today I discovered a new joy: I didn’t need to move the vacuum cord plug for the entire job. Yes, Dyson does give you generous cord length to work with, but in the nearly thirty years and dozen homes in which we’ve lived, this was a first. I think I’m gonna like this place.

Last week we moved from the large house in which we raised our two kids to an apartment. To say that I was dreading becoming emotionally unglued leaving this home is an understatement. I had been packing 3,300 square feet of house for months since we made the decision to downsize as both girls had graduated and moved out. Actually, we started this process over a year ago, but timing didn’t work out between business and family needs; plus we didn’t want to try to sell our home during the holidays. More time for me to procrastinate and delay the inevitable.

But vacuuming and running have proven very therapeutic recently.

As with many runs, I use that time to pray, worship, and sometimes pour out my heart to Jesus. I’ve cried often during runs this year since we learned of my dad’s Parkinson’s in January. He was actually diagnosed two years ago but didn’t tell anyone.

Paralyzed. That is the best way to describe how I have felt whenever I think about my parents’ situation AND how I have felt waking up every morning to empty moving boxes and piles of stuff staring back at me beckoning to be sorted, donated, trashed, or bubble wrapped. Have I mentioned I’m OCD? I mean not like medically diagnosed, but the kind that drives you crazy if things can’t be assigned a specific category, don’t have a place, or are oddly shaped. To compound my frustration, dealing with both of my parents’ memory loss led me to a rock bottom moment in which I asked myself these two questions:

Why bother saving/packing ANYTHING if no one’s gonna remember ANY of it? What’s the point of ANYTHING I do if it won’t be remembered?

I shared those debilitating thoughts with Dave after visiting some memory care facilities and seeing end stage patients. That night I cried big, ugly tears – the kind where you can’t talk simultaneously.

I’ve since realized Parkinson’s is a cruel disease – as with most diseases – and that my dad can’t help a lot of stuff he says or does now. But God is greater and knows our hearts and minds. None of the events of the past few months comes as a surprise to Him. God is good and has proven His authority, sovereignty, and power to save time and time again. On the most difficult of days, I have found great peace in the assurance that all of us who believe in Jesus will receive our ultimate COMPLETE healing in Heaven.

My parents’ health will likely become worse and helping them will likely get harder. Three weeks ago I ran the Diablo Trails Challenge 50K with over 8,000 feet of elevation. Before the race, I said to myself that these hills are gonna be easier than the climbs I have already and will face with my dad’s disease. I’d rather climb the Summit and North Peak ten times over than face what they’re going through.

Surprisingly, recovery went well from that challenging race. Nothing like a 17 minute PR and third place age group win to get you pumped up to finish packing and move five days later. Was I insane to schedule this move sandwiched between a 50K and Big Sur Marathon one week later? Pretty much. Part of me thinks I did this knowing full well how I would be feeling emotionally about closing the door on the home which was the setting for eight graduations, several career changes, financial highs and lows, our first and only dog, many successful and unsuccessful meals (ahem, salmon spaghetti needs to be forgotten), swim team travails/victories, and Cal football festivities – just to name a few.

My last night at the house God reminded me of a verse I used as a classroom theme when I taught third grade. We’d even made it into a class cheer one year. So as I strapped packing tape on those last boxes and ate take out Mexican since I’d packed all our dishes, pots, and pans, I fervently prayed Philippians 3:13-14 over and over:

“Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I PRESS ON toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.”

I felt such a huge burden lifted after praying that Scripture. And then an overwhelming calm, peace, and even joy.

It’s totally fine and natural to cry; however, I didn’t want that to steal the joy of recounting His blessings over the past 11.5 years. This was the home in which we were days away from foreclosure 9 years ago that by HIS GRACE, MERCY, AND FAVOR we were allowed to stay as long as we did and recover not only financially but many other ways.

God showed me that last night at my old house that this is just another race and moving is the start of a new race. I always pray to finish strong in any race.

Three weeks ago at Mt. Diablo, I felt strong and had something left in the tank those last 5 miles. Enough to finish strong. Last weekend at Big Sur (marathon #47 for me), I finished my last two miles faster than my first two and ran up every hill – even Hurricane Point. Jesus and I finished strong.

Moving day was more physically exhausting than any race I’ve ever run. But God was in all the details down to providing His OCD child with a courteous, meticulous moving crew who quadruple bubble wrapped every painting, mirror, and light bulb, and taped every loose screw as well as re-positioned some VERY heavy furniture several times until I thought it looked “just right.” Words can’t describe the overwhelming peace and closure I have felt since moving. Jesus and I (and three very patient movers) finished strong.

Lastly, perhaps as a litmus test for how God has changed my perspective on downsizing, hoarding years of unnecessary stuff, and holding on too tightly to material items, I can only laugh as THIS happened on our way home from the Big Sur marathon:

Maybe that’s why I love vacuuming. It’s a chance to make something look fresh and new again.

 

 

I’ve never actually watched the show, but that title just keeps coming to mind after last weekend’s race.

We got home late Sunday/early Monday morning. Not too bad considering our original flight out of Indy was delayed. We had checked in luggage then sat down in the airport’s main food court since we had some time to spare. The departure board displayed our flight as “ON TIME,” but when I checked on my phone twenty minutes later it said “DELAYED” two hours. This meant we would miss our connecting flight in Phoenix. I promptly headed back to the ticket counter and got the same ticket agent who not only checked in our bags but managed to pull an April Fool’s joke on me simultaneously. Gotta love flying on April 1st, right? This second time, he pulled up our flight and saw that the delay was definitely no joke. He quickly switched us to a different flight that connected in Las Vegas and would get us home only 30 minutes later than originally anticipated. Not only was he sincerely apologetic about the delay, but he printed three new baggage tags and said he would personally find our luggage and re-tag them. I found this strange.

He didn’t have to do this, and I certainly wasn’t expecting him to go out of his way to make sure our bags got on our same flight. In the back of my mind I thought “What if he can’t find our bags? Or the line gets busy and he can’t get to them in time?” Oh well. At least we got onto that new flight which left on time.

Less than 48 hours before, I was laying out my race gear and going through my usual pre-race routine: pin race bib on shirt, charge up the Garmin, set two alarms, double check coffee situation, look up weather forecast for the millionth time.

Speaking of “Stranger Things,” (which I just Googled and see that the show takes place in Indiana) I always comment to Dave how strangely the weather in the Midwest fluctuates. Since we have several businesses in Carmel and Fishers, Indiana, I regularly check the forecast. I also manage the social media for our restaurants there, so knowing weather conditions is quite helpful since we’d look rather foolish if I posted sunny, alfresco dining photos when eight inches of snow is currently falling.

That is actually what happened less than a week before my fourth Carmel Marathon last Saturday. Eight inches of snow. Followed by rain. Then 22 degree temp forecast for race day. I was pleasantly surprised to see that updated to 35 degrees as Saturday approached.

After ten years of racing in some 200 races, I recently came to an interesting revelation. Wearing a trash bag (clean, of course) to the start line is more of a Northern California thing. My first clue came just two weeks prior at the San Diego Half Marathon where I convinced Natalie to stay warm with a trash bag we’d acquired from hotel housekeeping. As with that race, I didn’t notice many runners sporting Hefty apparel last Saturday either. Did I care? Nope. I was warm and thankful it wasn’t 22 degrees.

Carmel Marathon has managed to carve out a special warm spot in my heart since my first visit to Indiana in 2014. I admit before visiting that I had all the Midwest stereotypes floating around in my head. Corn fields, five ‘n dimes, biscuits and gravy, overly friendly people, being the only Asian, bad coffee – okay, maybe the last one is just my own deep-seeded fear.

That first visit not only dispelled all my misgivings but replaced them with a sense of Midwest state pride, truly warm and sincere strangers, some of the best kale salad and pasta carbo loads, two other Asians, as well as really good coffee. Thank you, Jesus.

Since semi-retiring a few years ago, I’ve found myself more willing to take the time to engage in conversations with complete strangers. Before that, I think the only times I might open up to a stranger was at races. After all, we shared that common bond of spending countless hours, carbs, miles, and money for our lives to now intersect at this starting corral. What’s the difference now? Dave would say that I’ve had trust issues in the past. I can’t deny that. Perhaps it’s the busyness and stress that “naturally” comes with a structured 7 to 5 job. Or maybe it’s that teachers have to be “on” all day. I remember days when the only time I sat down or talked to another adult was when I got home.

Well, Californians don’t hold the monopoly on working long, stressful days. So then, what is it about the Midwest? Or Indiana that seemingly produces strangely friendly people?

A strange thing happened during Mile 25 of my 46th marathon last Saturday.

I heard someone call out my name. This was strange because I’m not from Indiana and have personally met only a handful of people. Turns out it was my Facebook friend whom I’d “met” through the Run for God instructors’ closed group page. Nancy’s class meets in Carmel, Indiana which I discovered a couple of months ago while scrolling through my Facebook feed. Once we’d made the Carmel connection, she invited me to visit her class on one of my trips out to Indiana. Cool, I thought! Totally wasn’t expecting that! As race day approached, Nancy messaged me to say she’d look for me on the marathon course at Mile 11 which I assumed meant that maybe her running group was meeting up there or manning an aide station. I didn’t get a chance to check messages before the race, so I didn’t know what Nancy would be wearing. She’d asked me first since we’d never actually met. I told her “a bright yellow Carmel Marathon shirt and black running pants” but later realized that’s probably what 50% of the runners will be wearing. Not knowing her sense of humor, I refrained from saying “And I’m probably one of the only Asian female runners.”

As Mile 11 approached, I kept an eye out for Nancy. That mile came and went, but no sign of anyone who looked like my Facebook friend. No big deal. I don’t blame her since it was getting colder and windier. Strange since I’ve never run a race where it actually got colder. In fact, my fingers were frozen at Mile 13 which made it a challenge to open my GU pack. I put my long sleeve tech shirt back on. Another strange mid-race first for me. Not blaming the cold or wind, but I did feel myself slowing down the second half. I was shooting for a sub-4:30 finish which I hadn’t done in a few years since my 4:13 PR in 2014.

Strange things go through your mind those last miles of a marathon. Mentally and physically, things start to unravel. Convictions and goals you bring to the start line sometimes get tossed to the side of the road. I had been doing well with my progression runs since January and hoping to negative split. But those hopes seemed to distance themselves like the 4:25 pace leader’s sign I had kept in sight for most of the race.

Up until then, that little 4:25 sign on a stick was my only gauge of time. Years ago I’d become so obsessed with mile splits that it took the joy out of the race. This last year I committed to not looking at my Garmin until after I crossed the finish line of any race.

So when I heard Nancy call out my name somewhere along Mile 25 and saw the smiling face that I had only seen on Facebook, I got this strange surge of adrenaline and the prompting to look at my Garmin. Much to my surprise, it showed 4:27. At that point, Nancy was running alongside me cheering. The Mile 26 marker was in sight. One more turn then I’d see the finish line. As a former third grade student of mine once said “It’s time to switch over to God-booster-jets!” And so I did. One more glance at my Garmin revealed 4:29. Lungs burning, face contorting, legs spinning out of control, I crossed the finish line with a 4:29.46. That last mile ended up being one of my fastest miles and that final 0.2 was an 8:19 pace – my fastest finish ever.

Although this race was not a PR, it was more satisfying and brought me more joy than my actual 4:13 PR from four years ago. Strange, right?

Nancy made her way to the finish corral where we exchanged hugs and “formally” met. I was in so much pain from my all-out sprint but had so much adrenaline from realizing that God used a stranger to get me across that finish line in under 4:30. Even more amazing or “strange,” Nancy told me that she had tried to find me at Mile 11 as originally planned; but with the new course changes, the route was diverted. She ended up walking two extra miles to find me.

Up until then, I was still assuming her running group was out here or finishing their races as well. Turns out Nancy came just to cheer me on. Me…a total stranger.

I have absolutely no doubt that if not for God putting Nancy at that last mile, I would not have finished under 4:30. Sure, it would’ve been close. But in a sport where 0.01 can make the difference between Boston qualifying or standing on a podium, every second counts.

I’m still an eternity away from my PR or a BQ, but Saturday’s race re-ignited hope. As well as faith. And trust in God’s people.

Oh, by the way, that original flight we were supposed to take ended up over three hours late. But our luggage made it to Oakland with us just like the stranger said it would. Strange, right?

“Let us think of ways to motivate one another to acts of love and good works.” Hebrews 10:24 NLT

“So speak encouraging words to one another. Build up hope so you’ll all be together in this, no one left out, no one left behind. I know you’re already doing this; just keep on doing it.” 1 Thessalonians 5:11 MSG

I had the honor of being guest speaker at my parents’ church last Sunday. It’s a small church comprised of Taiwanese and English ministries. I was asked to speak at the English service about my faith and running.

Seemed simple enough. After all, I have blogged about this exact topic for the last three and a half years, led the charge at my school in a “Run God’s Race with Endurance” theme, written several run-related devotions for publication, and can talk for hours to anybody who will listen about this passion of mine.

But when I finally sat down to draft an outline of what I would say to this young congregation, it was harder than I thought. Why? First off, I had to assume that no one in the audience was a runner or would ever become one. Stop. That fact alone was hard for me to wrap my little brain around. Up until then, the audience I typically shared my stories with were folks that had some connection with the running world. It might even be a second or third hand connection like a friend’s sister who ran Boston or my husband’s client’s spouse who is training for her first 5k.

Essentially, it was like starting from square one as I was also a “stranger” to them. They’d only met me a few months ago since I started driving my parents to church. I got to work on the outline for my message with four questions:  1) Why run?  2) How does running draw me closer to Jesus?  3) What is YOUR version of running?  4) How will that lead you?

I figured if I could answer all four in a somewhat engaging manner in the twenty minutes I was given, mission accomplished.

As I added sub points and Scripture references to my outline, I got more and more excited about sharing what running has come to mean in my life. It didn’t take long for this outline to look more like a full-blown master’s dissertation. I couldn’t help it; I just had so much I wanted to share about this journey of faith and all the valuable, life-changing lessons God has taught me first hand through running and racing.

I once mentored a new teacher who was passionate about teaching and bringing in all sorts of technology, experiments, and real-life examples into his classroom for every lesson. I’ve never met a teacher with more zeal and pure heart for his craft. However, his enthusiasm was also his weakness. Lack of focus and bunny trailing off lesson objectives made for confusing themes as well as not covering “depth” of topics.

I realized I was big time bunny trailing in my own message.

I was trying to cover more territory and hit more points than was feasible or necessary in a twenty-minute time slot.

Something hit me as I was talking to my husband yesterday. Dave travels a lot for business, so our time together has become more and more valuable lately. When he’s away, texting is our main mode of conversation, and often, it’s a group text with our daughters or with our management team. I hadn’t planned out what I was gonna share with Dave yesterday – that would be weird, right? I mean, after thirty years of marriage, I should be able to just say what’s on my mind, what’s most important to me (or even unimportant), and not worry about time constraints, wording, filters, or keeping to a theme.

What a contrast to preparing for a church sermon or a classroom lesson!

So, in the five minutes it took to drive to the restaurant we were meeting our daughter and her friend for dinner, I shared perhaps one of the biggest breakthroughs in my faith and my running that I’ve ever experienced which happened earlier that day:

I told Dave about how I’d set a progression run goal this year and that I wasn’t “feeling it” when I started out this morning. I said I would’ve been content just matching last week’s lap times. When I set out on today’s first lap around the reservoir, I thought about the friend Dave had recently shared about who desperately needed to do a 180 in his life. I spent that first lap praying for this person. When I finished that lap and looked at my Garmin, I was shocked to see it was my fastest on an opening progression lap. Ever. Now the challenge was to do the next lap faster. Still wasn’t “feeling it” when I hit the Garmin for lap two. I spent that lap focused on unloading a bunch of stuff I’d been dealing with that week that I realized was weighing me down and keeping me from praising Jesus. Exhale me, inhale Jesus. It’s my version of John 3:30 “He must increase, I must decrease.” At the end of lap two, I had hit my fastest lap since I started progression training. Now the pressure was really on. I said to myself “There’s no way I’m gonna beat that time.” Again, I would’ve been okay just coming close. But as I started my Garmin for the third lap, the Lord brought Dave’s friend back to mind. It would literally take a miracle to turn the situation and him around. I started praying for Jesus to do a miracle in his life. After all, this is what Jesus specializes in – and He could do it by just saying the word. Nothing is too hard for Him, right? I had about a mile to go on this third lap around the reservoir, and I was definitely not feeling like I could ramp up the speed for a true progression run. That didn’t bother me, although my burning lungs did. So, I spent the last mile focused on putting the spotlight back on Jesus and not my running. When I stopped my Garmin, I couldn’t believe it. A solid PR.

As we pulled into the restaurant parking lot, I wrapped up my story by telling Dave with tears in my eyes that I learned this verse in a very real way today:

“Which is easier: to say, ‘Your sins are forgiven,’ or to say, ‘Get up and walk’?” Matthew 9:5 NIV

I had to ask myself, what is harder for God: “To turn a man’s life around or to get me to a run PR?”

Jesus has a way of getting His point across poignantly and succinctly. I have much to learn about that. By the way, last Sunday’s message… I went fifteen minutes over time.

The 2018 Winter Olympics ended two days ago, but it feels longer. I’m going through Olympics withdrawals. This happens every time whether it’s the winter or summer games. For two weeks I join with the world – obsessing, eyes glued to prime time TV – cheering for athletes whose names I can’t pronounce and events I don’t understand…ahem, curling.

This time the drama began early. The curtain opened with team figure skating and one of the biggest U.S.A. gold medal hopefuls. Nathan Chen took to the ice with millions watching. He should be used to this by now, right? After all “King Quad” was even featured in a United Airlines commercial. Some say nerves got the best of him being opening night and his first Olympics. Big, costly falls had the commentators repeating one word over and over again at the mention of his name: disappointment. Wow, harsh. And then a few days later, another disappointing performance in his individual event. Sure, his final event was the stellar performance everyone was used to seeing, but even that perfect night wasn’t enough to catapult him to a podium spot.

Several other gold medal contenders met similar fates in their events. Lindsey Vonn and her Vonn-tourage left with some disappointment as she DQ’d her last event missing a gate near the top of the course. This was her final Olympics.

I seriously cannot begin to imagine the kind of pressure these elite athletes experience on and off the course. Their sports are challenging enough without the added stress of millions of eyes watching their every move. Some might say it’s the price they pay for gold and fame. But all can acknowledge that it takes an even greater mental discipline, focus, and determination to overcome that pressure.

If I compare my first memory of watching the Winter Olympics to this most recent one, Dorothy Hamill comes to mind. In the 70’s, any major television event was made even bigger in our family since TV really was our only means of entertainment back then. So when Dorothy Hamill (who admittedly suffered from extreme stage fright) skated her gold medal performance in 1976, we watched it along with the rest of the world on a TV that had an antenna and a handful of channels. If you missed it that night, you had to read about it in the paper the next day. She was so inspiring that shortly after those Olympics, my mom decided I needed a Dorothy Hamill haircut…which she gave me herself…which I decided only looked good if you were Dorothy or doing a triple salchow.

Lots of highs and lows in sports. They seem to be magnified even more with the way information is shared today. Highs are higher and lows are lower when you become the trending topic. I started thinking about this more after watching several “disappointing performances” the last two weeks. Would results been any different had the pressure leading up to the events been less? What if there were no cameras, crowds, social media, commercials, commentators, and interviews?

I often think about who I am running for when I run.

I have no goals or delusions of ever being an Olympic athlete, but I do know that people are watching me on and off the course. On any given day, it might be the regulars running along the Iron Horse Trail or Lafayette Reservoir. It might be hundreds of runners gathered in my start corral of a marathon. It might be the sixty kids at afterschool Run Club. It might be employees at the businesses we own. It might be my 339 Instagram followers or my 597 Facebook friends. It might be the waitstaff at our favorite restaurant. It might be random drivers on my way to Costco who see me in my little Mini with the race magnets and license plate GOD+RUN. It might be the folks who sit in the middle-back-first-row-section at church where I always sit. It might be my husband and two daughters. And even our dog.

Does knowing that people are watching me affect how I run?

Sure, I’d love for every race I run to be THAT race that inspires someone to get out and crush a goal. I’d be thrilled if me high-fiving THAT five year old at Run Club was her story twenty years from now of why she became a marathon runner. And if folks who never thought they could run started running after reading one of MY blog posts, I’d be over the moon.

But what if none of that happens? What if NO ONE is watching? Would I run any differently?

Most of my training runs are run alone. Most are 9-10 miles. Weekends are usually 16-20 milers. Many hours alone. Sometimes I run to music. I almost NEVER run with my phone. It’s the one time of the day I get to completely unplug from the world, screen time, technology, and agendas. Sure, I could definitely make more of a conscious effort to do all that aside from running, but let’s be real – I’m somewhat addicted to screen time. Perhaps all the more reason why I have come to appreciate my run time. And my Audience of One.

As I’m tapering this week for my sixth Napa Valley Marathon on Sunday, I am reminded of how poignantly God taught me He is the only audience I ever need. It was during this race two years ago, while running along 26.2 miles of vineyards, that I learned firsthand what it meant to bring Him delight (vs Him bringing ME delight). Initially I went into this race equipped with the obvious verse of choice for a run through wine country:

“I am the vine, you are the branches. He who abides in Me, and I in him, bears much fruit; for without Me you can do nothing.” John 15:5

But I came out of it seeing THIS verse in a whole new light:

“Delight yourself in the Lord; And He will give you the desires of your heart.” Psalm 37:4

Truth be told, this verse holds a special place in my heart as over thirty years ago while at UCLA God showed me how taking the spotlight off of myself and putting it on Him should be my ultimate desire – and in my best interest. Can I admit that was no easy feat? But as I gradually started submitting goals, wishes, wants, and desires daily to Jesus (stuff like grades, money, jobs, food, friends, future spouse), I found a burden lifted that I wasn’t meant to bear in the first place. It became easier – even natural – to see God in all circumstances. As a result, I couldn’t help but praise and draw closer to Jesus.

I have jokingly called Psalm 37:4 my “get a husband verse” because it was through this verse that God was able to shift my focus and show me the joy of giving Him the spotlight which was how I ended up meeting Dave, the love of my life. That’s a whole other blog post.

My goal in any race – aside from running a PR – is to run my best for Him. Delight Jesus, run a PR. Don’t quote me on that one, ha-ha. But it was during the last few miles of Napa that God flipped that verse around. Am I bringing delight to Jesus when I run? Did I do everything and give all I could today so that He could say it was a delight to watch me run?

And that change of perspective has made all the difference.

Now when I run, whether it’s in training or a race, I run knowing that the only One whose opinion matters or has any influence on my performance that day is God. And if I listen really closely, sometimes I can even hear Him applauding.

Last time I ran the Upper Rim Trail, it ended up being more of a sludge fest with the goal quickly shifting from hill training to simply staying upright and not losing my shoes in the thick, sticky mud.

That was two weeks ago, and like today, it had just rained 24 hours prior to my arrival. In my twenty plus years of coming to the Lafayette Reservoir, I’d never experienced the trail as sticky. Had I known, I would not have chosen that path that day. Sticky mud took its toll on my ankles and knees by creating an unbalanced gait with the addition of five pound mud weights stuck to each shoe and tweaking my knees from kicking off those heavy weights after each stride. That particular path was not my wisest choice – especially since I had a perfectly good alternative on the clean, paved path below.

I’m sure my dad is not the only one to have said these words of wisdom, but he was the first one to have personally bestowed them upon me:

“It’s not stupid to make mistakes. It’s stupid to repeat them.”

Dad offered these consolatory words when I was in high school after my first car accident in which I was entirely at fault. I vividly remember how calm he was about the whole incident. Maybe that’s also why his words stuck with me.

So when I arrived at the Reservoir this morning already feeling wiser, I had my “dirty” trail shoes on fully prepared to take the path that would not render me limping and lamenting for days. Weather-wise, it was a sunny, perfectly chilly day for a run.

I saw a park ranger near the entrance and asked him about conditions on the Upper Rim Trail. He shook his head and said “I couldn’t even go up some of those hills in my ATV yesterday.” Disappointing words. That should’ve been enough for me to choose the lower paved trail, but at that exact moment, a runner shot past us from the base of the Upper Rim Trail. My eyes immediately went to his shoes. Clean. As were his ankles and calves.

Hmmm….

Now the question became “Whom do I trust?” I needed to get in a good hill training but didn’t want a repeat of the last mud fest.

I decided to go with the runner. The evidence was clear – or clean – that it was not the same conditions as the last time it rained. I cautiously headed up that first hill determined to not repeat the mistakes from two weeks ago and fully ready to turn off onto the lower trails if it really got bad. Turned out to be a near perfect hill training day on soft, slightly muddy trail. Since more rain was in the forecast this week, I took advantage and went around for a second loop for a total of ten miles.

As I was running – actually running, not sludging this time – I saw ATV tire tracks along the path. Except for the steepest hills. I thought about how often I had safely run this same trail and taken it for granted. I don’t normally stop to ask about trail conditions before heading out. If I hadn’t seen the park ranger or runner, I would’ve just ignored the signs, proceeded, and hoped for the best.

Why did I ask this time?

Lately I have a “new normal.” The things I have grown accustomed to and routines I am lovingly dependent on have been tweaked much like my ankles trying to sustain heavy mud weights. Life as I know it changed after we found out earlier this month about Dad’s health situation. It felt like a massive weight on my shoulders which made the pounds of mud on my shoes feel like feathers. At least that’s how it initially felt.

Although I am abundantly, overflowingly blessed with family to team with on this new journey, my natural tendency was to go the path unguided and trudge my way through alone. During those alone times, I found myself deeply entrenched in self-inflicted guilt. One morning I woke up remembering a scene from a few years ago in which I missed an opportunity to help my dad. The following days I kept thinking about instances when I could have/should have been more proactive and patient with both parents which might have alleviated some stress factors. I also realized I had ignored the signs.

I’m exceedingly good at the self-blame game. I win every time. The prize? Guilt.

It feels like trying to run through thick, sticky mud. Just when you think that first layer of mud on the bottom of your shoes is bad, more mud keeps accumulating and getting heavier until you literally can’t take another step. Guilt is heavy. It also creates unnecessary strain.

I did not see this coming. Obviously. If I had known, I would have done things differently.

Isn’t that the case with most things in life? Like in racing, in the hundreds of races I’ve run, there has never been a perfect race. That means there is always something I could have done differently to better my outcome. The race that illustrates this best is 2012 C.I.M. aka The Monsoon Marathon. So much training and preparation go into any marathon. Had I known just how bad the winds and constant downpour would be beforehand, I may not have even shown up at the start line that morning. At the very least, I definitely would have dressed differently. And brought more energy gels. And hydrated better. And took a melatonin to sleep better.

All these woulda/coulda/shoulda’s. Had I done them all, would my results really have been that different? Maybe. Maybe not.

So now I have new “shoulds” – new opportunities each day. Become more knowledgeable about the new path. Seek wisdom from those who have already gone this path. Practice new trail safety – don’t go alone. To name a few.

And like my dad says, don’t repeat mistakes. Funny thing…God says that, too.

“Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed,
for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.” Lamentations 3:22-23 NIV

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct your paths.” Proverbs 3:5-6 NKJV

“Two are better than one, because they have a good reward for their labor. For if they fall, one will lift up his companion. But woe to him who is alone when he falls, for he has no one to help him up.” Ecclesiastes 4:9-10 NKJV