“‘Scuse me, how do we get outta here?”

“Outta where?” I asked.

The despondent woman responded with shortness of breath, “Off this trail. Is there a shorter way down?”

This poor woman with a group of six, the youngest of which looked to be kindergarten age, was visiting the Lafayette Reservoir for the first time and had wandered off the lower loop to the Upper Rim Trail. It had taken them over an hour just to get to the spot where they stopped me in desperation. An hour? I suppose if Dave and I had attempted to drag our girls up these rocky, dusty steep hills when they were 5 and 7, it probably would’ve also taken us an hour to go less than a mile.

Since I do happen to know this trail like the back of my hand after coming here the past thirty years, I pointed out that just around the next bend was a side trail they could take down to the main lower loop. They looked relieved.

I ran on ahead and when I reached the trail marker, I pointed it out to the group. They gave me thumbs up and waved in appreciation.

As I ran a little farther, I looked back to make sure they were headed the right way. Not sure why, but seeing this group work their way down that little side trail gave me a sense of satisfaction. It was as if I had a small part in saving them from a miserable, potentially dangerous situation. And the fact that they trusted a total stranger to lead the way.

After all, if we hadn’t run into each other when we did, they might’ve missed the trail marker and the next “short cut” would not have come until after a series of even tougher climbs. And if they missed that one, the steepest climb of all was at the midpoint and would most certainly have sent the kindergartner – and adults – into fits of tears.

Part of me was bummed they didn’t make it all the way around the Upper Rim because the rewards when you reach that midpoint peak are 360 degree views including Mt. Diablo and the valleys below. Maybe they’ll come back when the kids are older. Or with just the adults. I love bringing friends here. When you love something this much, you can’t help but share it.

When I got to the peak today, I stretched out my arms as I marveled once again at the views and uttered praises to God for allowing me to run another day. I haven’t always been able to get to this peak. Lately, it’s been a slower climb than previous years. But I’ve never been more thankful.

The rest of the run was filled with God showing me how closely I need to stick with Him so I don’t go off on a path I shouldn’t be on – or am not prepared to complete. And letting Him lead me back when I realize I’ve gone too far.

Later that day I got the email that runners’ love to get: “Congratulations! You have been randomly selected for the opportunity to register for the April 29, 2018 Big Sur International Marathon.” So I wasted no time in making it official and completing my online registration. I do believe I set a new PR for fastest race registration…probably shouldn’t be THAT proud of how fast I can enter my credit card info. But amidst the adrenaline rush, I actually took a moment to read the fine print before I hit the submit button. In particular, that little disclosure I usually skim over called “Course Time Limit.”

Having just run my ninth San Francisco Marathon two weeks ago, some of the post-race reviews and comments I’d read were fresh on my mind. What caught my attention were disgruntled runners’ remarks about how they were directed onto the Golden Gate Bridge walkway vs. roadbed, how water cups were gone by the last aid station, and how there were so few volunteers and crowd support at the end. Turns out that most of these comments were from runners who had finish times well PAST the allotted six hour cut-off. Other reviews mentioned how surprised they were with all the hills (we are still talking about San Francisco, right?) and how it would’ve been nice to be prepared for them.

Full disclosure. Good in life and in marathons.

I have been guilty of not reading race disclosures or not checking course elevations in my earlier years of running. Honestly though, it wasn’t until after I’d run my first trail race (2011 Brazen Racing New Year’s Eve Half at Lake Chabot) and the initial shock of significant elevation that I started paying attention to these charts…and hill training.

I’ve definitely missed a trail marker or two over the years. I have also been guilty of overestimating my abilities and allowing pride and enthusiasm to sideline wisdom and good practices. Like the time I wanted to get in a long heat training run and thought going 18 miles in 103 degree temps would be a good idea. After the run, I literally stumbled into a Safeway Jamba Juice, saw spots, put my head between my knees while standing in line, and must’ve blacked out since the next thing I knew, a man was leaning over me asking if I was okay.

Then there was the other extreme. That time I set out for a run after work but left later than I intended (parent conference that went waaaaay longer than expected). I had not packed cold weather running gear since the plan was to run earlier in the day. Who would’ve thought a few hours could make that big of a difference in temperature? Not only did it get ridiculously cold, but it turns out that my regular running route did not have any street lights. That night I ran in complete darkness except for oncoming car headlights. It was so dark I could not see where my next step was, and I was so cold that I could not feel my fingers. When I got back to my car, I’m not sure how I got in and turned on the heater since my fingers were frozen. Since I had only worn shorts and a tank top, I could see that my legs were purplish blue.

Aaaaand that time I wasn’t prepared for a torrential downpour. PSA: Mylar blankets were not made for wind and rain.

Perhaps these running fails are what inspire me to continue blogging. It’s the joy of encouraging others in their journeys, helping avoid misery – and maybe – just maybe even saving someone from potential disaster.

My brief encounter with the group on the trails today paints such a sweet picture for me. It’s a picture of how much God loves to lead me to places where I get to marvel at His handiwork. It’s also that scene where I’ve wandered somewhere I shouldn’t have, and He is more than glad to get me back on the right path.

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart; do not depend on your own understanding. Seek His will in all you do, and He will show you which path to take.”  Proverbs 3:5-6 NLT

It’s an unusually windy, late June day at my happy place aka Lafayette Reservoir. I’m sitting on one of the fishing docks watching waves that are close to lapping up onto my shoes. Enjoying the breeze. Blogging away on my iPhone.

I did a double workout yesterday, so today I thought I’d take it easy instead of trying to trudge up those hills on tired legs. Or maybe it’s all just getting harder as I get older.

I have to confess that “the getting older thing” has hit me harder than I expected since turning fifty last October. Was it just coincidence that I’ve never really experienced run-impeding injury until this year? True, I should count it an incredible blessing to have run these last nine years and 200 or so races injury free.

But being injured to the point of giving up races this year brought with it more than the disappointment of the wasted race reg fees and pride of ruining a perfect track record (pun intended since I never ran track).

Being sidelined messed with much more than my bank account and ego. It really messed with my identity.

I don’t mean to sound overly dramatic; but during my season of injury, I honestly thought I may never be able to run or race again. And it made me question a lot of other things.

God’s timing is impeccable. Earlier this year I made some difficult career decisions. During this time, my oldest also wrapped up her college swim career, was set to graduate, and settle down five hundred miles away. Hubby’s growing business ventures had him traveling out of state more than before. A lot more. And add to all this, prepping our home to sell so we could downsize.

When you leave the only career you’ve ever loved, have kids that technically don’t need you anymore, watch your husband’s business dreams come to fruition, and box up decades of memories into cardboard boxes, it conjures up the perfect storm for an identity crisis.

In the back of my mind, I remember saying “At least I’ll always have running.” I probably shouldn’t have said that.

Shortly after, that hope came crashing down. Literally. I was home alone with my dog when I heard a huge crashing sound. Like the giant metal lid of a dumpster just fell. Oski and I just looked at each other then went about our business. Part of me was a little scared to investigate the source of the sound. I didn’t hear screaming from neighbors and my vicious attack beagle wasn’t alarmed, so I figured it wasn’t anything to worry about.

Hours later when I went upstairs for the night, I saw it. The wooden hanger with six hooks that had been displaying close to 200  race medals had come crashing down on my glass top desk below. I’m amazed it did not shatter. *Shout out to Crate & Barrel for making an indestructible glass desktop.

But there it was staring up at me now: My entire running career in an unorganized, tangled heap.

I’m typically the one in our family to clean up messes immediately. I hate when stuff is not put away, peanut butter knife on the counter, drawers and cabinet doors left open, toilet paper under vs over, etc. But I couldn’t bring myself to clean up the mess this sad pile of medals had left. It sat there for days. I tried not to look at it. Since Dave was coming home from another business trip soon and would probably need the desk space, I moved the entire pile over to the floor. And that pile sat there for weeks. It wasn’t until movers were scheduled to come haul away phase one of my downsizing efforts that I finally did something with my medals. It was harder than I thought it would be to box them all up. Why? After all, I never bothered to look at them after they’d been unceremoniously hung on the $19 clothing hook from Target.

But as I picked each one up from the pile, I couldn’t help but reflect back on each journey to the finish line that medal represented. And how much running meant to me. As well as how it had become a big part of my identity.

When you’re sidelined by injury and simultaneously boxing up nine years worth of race medals, this kind of messes with you. It felt like some sort of farewell ceremony. In fact, all the “identities” I’d held over the last decade seemed to be going into small, medium, and large moving boxes. Teacher, swim mom, homemaker, PTA president, parent of dependents, runner…

Sure, I’ve had various jobs over the last thirty years ranging from bank teller to aerobics instructor to weight loss consultant. But none of them seemed to define me.

I’ve never thought of teaching as a job. It’s who I was, and it was one of the most fulfilling roles I’ve ever held. When you wake up excited to go to “work” every day, you feel daily purpose and like you’re making some difference in the world. Similarly, I’ve never thought of running as a sport or exercise. It’s what I do and who I am. And it’s made all the difference in my little world for nine years.

I was back at the Lafayette Reservoir a few weeks ago. During my run, the song “Unashamed” by Building 429 came up on my iPod shuffle. It’s a song I’ve recycled on my run playlist over the years, but that day it hit me in a new way regarding this whole issue of identity.

“I’ve been down and broken
But I believe what you’ve spoken
You make all things new
I’ve witnessed your mercy
Stirred up all of your glory
And none compared to you
I can’t help but speak of the things you’ve done

So let my life proclaim
I am unashamed

I won’t hide your name
So all the world will know
That you
You are all that I live for
Jesus
I am unashamed”

I finished my run that day super pumped to blog about this answer to the cry of my heart – and how God was realigning my perspective with His own. I took some notes on my phone so I wouldn’t forget. I didn’t actually sit down to start this blog until now, but once again, God’s timing was perfect. Last Sunday’s message at church was all about identity. It solidified, filtered, and edited what I truly wanted to convey in this blog post:

God’s Word and His Holy Spirit give me my identity.

Wait. That’s it? I feel like I knew that already. But God knew I didn’t really know it in the way He intended. In a real, first-hand experiential, “NOW I get it” sort of way.

It is when I am at my weakest that my identity comes into question. It is the goal of the enemy, aka the Devil, to make me doubt my identity.

In fact, he tried this with Jesus in the desert 2,000 years ago. After Jesus had been fasting forty days and at His weakest, he took that opportunity to make Jesus question who He was by putting three areas to the test: provision, protection, and power. Basically, he wanted to get at the stuff that would make Jesus give up trusting completely in what He already had with God. And who He was with God.

Sure, that was 2,000 years ago AND after all, it was Jesus – Son of God. So how does that relate to me today? Well, think about it for a moment. If the Devil was giving me a similar test today, what would it look like?

Well, it might involve career, children, marriage, home, health, and even running.

Hmmm, so when I think about this some more, does the enemy reeeally care if I’m a teacher, mother, housewife, business owner, or runner? Nope. What hits him at his core is that I know who I am in Christ.

And this answers the question of purpose and calling. In this next chapter of my life, I don’t have to question whether there is meaning in the mundane. Not everyone has to be a teacher to make an impact on students. Or a mom writing notes to put in her kids’ lunchboxes. Or a runner blogging about how strength to cross a finish line came from Jesus. Impact is not the same as identity. It is the result of knowing your true identity. And from Whom it comes.

“Therefore, since we have been made right in God’s sight by faith, we have peace with God because of what Jesus Christ our Lord has done for us. Because of our faith, Christ has brought us into this place of undeserved privilege where we now stand, and we confidently and joyfully look forward to sharing God’s glory. We can rejoice, too, when we run into problems and trials, for we know that they help us develop endurance. And endurance develops strength of character, and character strengthens our confident hope of salvation. And this hope will not lead to disappointment. For we know how dearly God loves us, because he has given us the Holy Spirit to fill our hearts with his love.” Romans 5:1-5

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s okay,” I said to myself.

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

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

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

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

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

Dork. Yeah, I’m THAT person.

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

I thought about posting these selfies.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God also said “My grace is sufficient.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Today that verse means way more.

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

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

Because He just does.

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

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

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

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

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

“Lime green heart” emoji.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, who do I say Jesus is?

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

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

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

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

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

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

And finally…

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

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

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

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

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

Photo credit: Chasqui Runner, Jason Lehrbaum, Oscar Mejorada

 

 

 

 

I used to have that Nickelback song “If Today Was Your Last Day” on my run playlist to motivate me to run as if it was. Haven’t heard the song in years, but it came to mind this morning. My last race was the Livermore Half Marathon two weeks ago. Before that was the Napa Valley Marathon exactly one month ago. Both I would consider good solid races. I even managed to negative split at Livermore.

But what if that was my last race?

The thought of “a last race” has NEVER crossed my mind until very recently. Hang on, I have a deep confession I’m about to reveal…

I am struggling with hip pain.

More specifically, possible piriformis syndrome, pinched nerve, or sciatica. Truth is that I can’t even say those nasty words without grimacing. I think it hurts more to admit THAT than the actual physical pain of this dumb hip nerve that is now potentially sidelining some upcoming BIG races.

And when I say BIG, I mean BIG. Like the Oakland Marathon last week which I could have deferred to 2018 but didn’t since I was holding on up until three days before thinking I could still push through it at a slower easy pace. And the Cinderella 100K bike ride I had talked my sister into doing this Saturday. And the Carmel Marathon at the end of this month just for kicks because I’m gonna be in Indiana anyway. But none bigger than the race on April 15th. Which I am still considering despite a painful training run yesterday fully equipped with my brand new hydration vest loaded with plenty of “practice food” for this race that has an 11 hour cut off time. Yep, I’m still hanging on to somehow finishing the Mt. Diablo 50K the day before Easter Sunday. I haven’t told my hip yet that this course has an elevation gain of 8,246 feet.

April was going to be my “QUADfecta” month of races. Clever, right? Two road marathons, a metric century ride, and a quad thrashing trail race. What could go wrong?

A certain Bible passage has been nagging me since my hip issue started:

‘As he went along, he saw a man blind from birth. His disciples asked him, “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?” “Neither this man nor his parents sinned,” said Jesus, “but this happened so that the works of God might be displayed in him.”‘ John 9:1-3 NIV

‘Walking down the street, Jesus saw a man blind from birth. His disciples asked, “Rabbi, who sinned: this man or his parents, causing him to be born blind?” Jesus said, “You’re asking the wrong question. You’re looking for someone to blame. There is no such cause-effect here. Look instead for what God can do.”‘ John 9:1-3 MSG

I love how in the Message version, Jesus says “You’re asking the wrong question. You’re looking for someone to blame.” WHY does it matter so much how or why something happened and who or what caused it? Really, if we knew the answer to these questions every single time something bad happened, we could conceivably prevent it from happening again. The converse would be true as well. If we knew why/how all good things happened, we could duplicate them over and over again.

Isn’t this essentially what running is all about – duplicating good results over and over again? And preventing bad ones?

It’s human nature to look for blame as well as cause and effect in situations that are difficult to explain or handle. In my case, I typically blame myself. Whether it’s the common cold, allergies, flu, or my current hip pain, I tend to beat myself up with thoughts like “I should’ve been more careful” or “I could’ve prevented this.”

Rationally speaking, I realize it is ludicrous to think I could possibly be the cause or prevent all my own physical ailments. However, I am THAT mom who opens public door handles with her shirt sleeve, Purells excessively, and sleeps on the couch at the first sign of a sniffle from her husband.

I suppose I should be quite grateful that this recent injury is the first time I’ve been sidelined from running in eight years and almost 200 races. SO WHY IS THIS SO HARD FOR ME?

This is also the first time I’ve referred to my hip thing as an injury because in my mind that word means I did something incorrectly – whether accidentally or intentionally. For example, falling twice at last year’s Double DipSea race because I tripped over tree roots was accidental. Lifting boxes full of books last week because I was too impatient to wait for someone to help could be classified as intentional. And then there’s the all out 100-yd sprint race I had no business running but just wanted to prove I could. But this injury seemingly appeared out of nowhere. Okay, okay…age and lots of mileage may have something to do with it.

Alas, I’ve come to that fork in the road and, perhaps, that place where many crucial Bible truths were realized by everyday, common folk like me. STOP FOCUSING ON CIRCUMSTANCES. STOP TRYING TO CONTROL EVERYTHING. STOP ASSIGNING FAULT.

If your thought life were like a playlist and you had to delete all songs focused on negative circumstances, control, and pain, how many songs would be left?

Essentially, God’s plan is to allow Him to delete these songs and replace them with ones that rebuild the broken places, fortify weakened systems, and give sight where darkness previously loomed.

Numerous times in the Bible, God used music and songs in the unlikeliest of circumstances. Leading an army to battle, calming a psychotic king, opening prison gates and loosening shackles… Not the results one normally expects when a song comes on the radio.

Songs really speak to me on and off the race course. My hip injury got so painful recently that I legit thought I’d never run again. The lyrics to the song “Even If” by MercyMe put things in perspective:

They say sometimes you win some
Sometimes you lose some
And right now
Right now I’m losing bad

I’ve stood on this stage
Night after night
Reminding the broken
It’ll be alright
But right now
Oh right now I just can’t

It’s easy to sing
When there’s nothing to bring me down
But what will I say
When I’m held to the flame
Like I am right now

I know You’re able
And I know You can
Save through the fire
With Your mighty hand
But even if You don’t
My hope is You alone

They say it only takes a little faith
To move a mountain
Good thing
A little faith is all I have right now

But God when You choose
To leave mountains unmovable
Give me the strength
To be able to sing
It is well with my soul

I know the sorrow
I know the hurt
Would all go away
If You’d just say the word
But even if You don’t
My hope is You alone

You’ve been faithful
You’ve been good
All of my days
Jesus, I will cling to You
Come what may
‘Cause I know You’re able
I know You can

It is well with my soul

I don’t want to come across as overly dramatic in thinking “What if my last race was in fact my last race?” But I suppose there HAS to be a last time for everything, right?

Both kids were home last week for spring break from college. Dave and I are in the process of selling our house and downsizing, so part of the agenda last week was purging our home of decades of stuff. Can I just say that I went through some emotional purging as well? I felt somewhat paralyzed sitting there amidst empty boxes I had just purchased from Home Depot that seemed cruelly beckoning to be filled with countless memories and even some unfinished projects.

With Natalie being a senior and finding her happy place in beautiful San Diego (I mean, who wouldn’t), I had myself a good momma-cry her last night in her room which we had painted lime green and teal ten years ago (colors that are cool when you’re ten). She flew back yesterday to start her last quarter of school. I texted “Have an awesome LAST first Monday of school!” Yeah, I’m also THAT mom who gets sentimental over every last dumb thing.

All this to say, it’s kind of a tough emotional season right now. Some days I can’t stop crying. (Yes, I know I’m THAT age, too.) Is it bad that I think the blind man in the Bible verse got off easy with Jesus just putting some mud and spit on his eyes then he was healed? Oh, but wait. That’s not how it actually went down. Jesus told the man after the whole mud/spit thing to ‘“Go, wash in the Pool of Siloam” (this word means “Sent”). So the man went and washed, and came home seeing.’ John 9:7

The man had to take action. He had to exercise a great amount of faith especially given the circumstances surrounding him. I’ve never actually pictured this whole scene, but now I’m wondering how he got to the Pool if he was still blind. Did his family or friends help him? They had to have had tremendous faith as well. Jesus could’ve healed him in numerous ways including just saying the word. Why this way?

All the times I’ve been sick or hurt and asked God for healing, I don’t remember ever asking Him what’s my part in the process. Yeah, sometimes I prayed over going to the doctor, procedures, or medicines to take, but I don’t know that I ever thought about what it would actually take on my part to be healed. And the bigger question: What will bring Jesus glory through it all?

This brings me to the last part of that Bible passage articulated two different ways: “But this happened so that the works of God might be displayed in him.” (NIV)  “Look instead for what God can do.” (MSG)

God speaks to everyone differently. As a former teacher, it was always inspiring to think that God knew my exact learning style. That’s why running and writing have been instrumental in how God has revealed so much of who He is and has made His very Word quite literally come alive.

THIS is so hard for me to write because I like to post blogs AFTER races and results. And especially AFTER I have successfully come through a trial. I suppose this particular blog post is a first step and my way of going to the Pool with mud and spit still on my eyes. I don’t know when or how my hip thing will be healed. I don’t know if I’ve run my last race. I don’t know when our house will sell and when that last day in our home will be. I don’t know how I’ll feel backing out of our driveway that last time.

I do know that I want to move forward. I want everything to feel good again. I want to not cry every time I walk into Natalie’s empty lime green room. I want to run without pain. I want to cross many more finish lines – in races and in life. I want to be able to say “it is well with my soul.”

I guess I need to go to the pool…

Today. Every day.

 

A homeless man recently asked me if I could spare any change. I almost never carry cash (which annoys my family) and didn’t have even a dollar to give. But I did happen to have a container of granola with me and offered it to him figuring he was hungry. He graciously accepted while commenting, “Granola. That’s that healthy stuff, right?” I replied with an inordinate amount of excitement, “Yes! And it’s packed with protein, full of fiber, and rich in Omega-3 and 6…”

As I heard myself, I simultaneously thought “Stop talking, Irene. The poor man is cold and hungry. He doesn’t wanna hear your nutrition spiel.” Yet I continued. It’s as if I was a train without brakes. Just stop already. And puhleeeease, don’t ask him if he has gluten or nut allergies.

I never know exactly what to say to strangers. Case in point from an encounter two weeks ago. Moments like these I never want to forget, so I took notes when I got back to the car after finishing this last taper run before my Napa race:

Another picture perfect day at my happy place. Hip felt better so I ran an easy 3 around the reservoir then down to the docks for some stretching. There was already a man sitting with his two fishing poles. As he stood up to re-cast his line, I could see he was quite large and a little intimidating dressed in all black covered in tattoos. I said a quick hello as I walked past him to get to a quiet spot near the end of the 20 foot dock. I settled in and closed my eyes as I started my stretches. Ah, a peaceful warm day. Birds chirping, ducks quacking. And then the rap music. Before I go on, I have to acknowledge that my own kids have labeled me THE most basic mom they know. Basic? I didn’t even know that was a term until it was applied to me. Apparently the term encompasses everything from my high-maintenance espresso orders, to my wearing matchy-matchy Lululemon all over town especially at Costco , and to my (ahem) taste in music. So, as all basic moms these days do, I immediately assumed this stranger’s music was just noise. BUT my whole week’s lesson was on listening for more of God…and now THIS. Ughhh. I hate rap music. Almost as much as country music. I can’t tell him to turn if off. He was there first. Plus he’s really big. But I could probably outrun him if he gets mad at me. Wait, it’s taper week, so I’m not supposed to over exert myself. Okay, I’ll just keep quiet. Next thing I know, his music is blasting the word “Jesus.” Oh great. It’s not only rap music, but it’s the swearing kind. I couldn’t tune it out. Then I heard the words “Holy Spirit,” “His Kingdom,” and “Heavenly Father.” And I listened more intently. This probably went on for over 30 minutes since I ended up listening to this stranger’s entire playlist. Funny thing, I actually enjoyed his music. Some really deep, moving lyrics not meant for the typical Sunday-only-worshipper. I would’ve stayed longer, but the wind picked up. As I got up to leave, I said to the stranger “That’s good music, bro!” He looked surprised (I can’t imagine why…ha, ha) and said “Thanks!” Then he told me the artist was a Christian rapper named Bryann Trejo. He also showed me the fish he had just caught. And in that moment, perhaps still caught off guard by God’s sense of humor or just my lacking anything creative to say, I said to the stranger “You know, you’re also a fisher of men.” He smiled and said “God’s blessing be with you.”

I went into the Napa Valley Marathon two weeks ago without my iPod (prohibited on this course) but with a new determination to just listen to the sounds along the entire vineyard-lined 26.2 miles. When I think about the almost 200 races I’ve run since I started this crazy running journey in 2009, very few were run with my iPod. Perhaps I was under the impression that “serious runners” didn’t need music. After all, electronic devices are banned in races with awards and prize money involved. And certainly “no headphones” since you could be communicating with a coach or pacer. In previous Napa marathons, I’ve actually seen course officials “pull runners over” and DQ them for wearing headphones.

Typically I train with an iPod loaded with about 4 1/2  hours worth of music. My anticipated finish time or goal. As I hit the road two weeks before Napa for that last long training run of 20 miles, I realized that I forgot to charge my iPod. And then right before my half marathon the following week, the battery died at mile two since I hadn’t completely charged it the week before. Strange since I’m normally so OCD about race prep.

All this to say, I think God wanted me to unplug for awhile. And just listen.

And so I did.

Turns out God had a lot to say to me that morning. In between the sound of rain pelting the race shuttle bus to the start line, to the chirping of birds during the occasional periods of sunshine, to the unexpected hail hitting the asphalt at mile 16, to the strong headwinds blowing the wrong direction at mile 24…

In between all this fantastic smorgasbord of weather, God’s voice was loud and clear. I didn’t have headphones on, but I did hear my Coach telling me at one point to not fight an uncomfortable pace. This was early on in the race, and the goal was to possibly negative split which would not happen if I forced my pace too early on. I’d never read this particular version of the famous “Be still” verse until now:

‘God says, “Stop fighting and know that I am God!”‘              Psalm 46:10 ERV

“Be still, and know that I am God.”  Psalm 46:10 ESV

And so it went with my Coach and I for 26.2 miles. He had to constantly remind me to breathe properly. I’ve noticed recently that I’m almost holding my breath when I run. And definitely not exhaling completely. He kept repeating over and over again to take in more oxygen and release more carbon dioxide. Good air in, bad air out. Inhale Him, exhale me.

“He must increase, but I must decrease.”  John 3:30 ESV

If you’ve ever run with me, you know that I’m not a great conversationalist. Don’t get me wrong; I love running with friends. I just can’t seem to sustain a meaningful conversation while holding a reasonable run pace. Sometimes it feels like friends purposely ask me deep life questions while we’re running UP hill. Oh sure. Then they get to catch their breaths while I explain the meaning of life as I’m turning blue. It’s okay. Unlike me, they bring cell phones and can call 911 when I pass out.

Napa was my 39th marathon. And the marathon where I did the least amount of talking.

Every time I started to revert back to my usual negative thoughts like “why did I think I could PR today,” or “if only the camber of the road didn’t keep changing,” or “that next water station better be coming up soon,” or “my calves and quads hate me,” God literally reminded me to:

“…take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ.”       2 Corinthians 10:5 NIV

And to not only submit every thought to Him, but also every step, every mile, every breath, every emotion.

So it was that I ran this race not telling God what to do, what I needed, and how I was feeling. Instead, I just listened.

*Photo credit: NVM (start line and vineyard pics)

Two years ago I wrote a blog post titled “I Hate Taper Week.”

Here I am again four days out from my fifth Napa Valley Marathon and my 39th marathon taper week. I went into this week once again hating taper week with its decreased mileage, nervous energy, phantom leg pains, and OCD eating. But something changed on day three.

Grappling with mild hip pain, yesterday I “forced” myself to just walk where normally I would be running at a spot I affectionately call my Happy Place. The reservoir, nestled in the hills of Lafayette with spectacular views of Mt. Diablo, is now my go-to for hill training, speed work, and really any distance run. For reference, I never walk for training. It doesn’t fit in my training plans, and I can’t technically log the miles in my app. I mean, I could; but then I feel like I’m cheating.

My Happy Place aka The Lafayette Reservoir has been my trusty training partner since I began this crazy running journey in 2008. But even before that, we shared many moments together.

The first time was when my now sister-in-law Alice very literally dragged me out of bed to go for our first run together in an effort to drop a few pounds before my wedding. After this tortuous routine went on for weeks, Alice lost ten pounds and I gained four. My wedding dress became too snug and my attitude on running even less comfortable and more annoying.

When I look back, many of my Happy Place memories involve trying to lose weight or maintain some form of fitness. Two kids later, in an effort to shed pregnancy fat, the reservoir trails again became my trusted training companion. But not without a few mishaps. Like the time I let go of the double stroller for truly a millisecond, and the stroller with my first born child went rolling into the ditch below. To this day, I can still hear Natalie screaming up until the moment a large bush stopped the stroller from flipping over or careening into the reservoir itself. Not my proudest mom moment; but in my defense, child #2 had been begging to walk alongside me instead of staying in the stroller with her sister. Is it my fault Meagan dropped her bottle and when I bent down to pick it up to prevent it from rolling off the path, Natalie decided at that moment to make the ride an E ticket instead of an A ticket ride? (Disneyland reference, if you’re under the age of 40.)

Misery loves company. Over the years I have made concerted efforts to bring my loved ones into my fitness obsession. My powers of persuasion often yielded wonderful family hikes at my Happy Place. But occasionally, the weather thwarted my best intentions. Like the time I insisted the weather forecast was wrong and even if it wasn’t, the threat of thunder and lightning would motivate us to finish faster. Is it my fault that it started to hail heavily halfway around the reservoir? FYI, park porta-potties will keep you from being pelted to death by marble-sized hail.

If you’re starting to wonder how exactly I started referring to the Lafayette Reservoir as my Happy Place after what seems to be many not-so-happy experiences, I think it just came to me one day when I least expected it.

I can’t remember for which race I was training; I just remember I had been struggling with some life choices and attitudes at the time. Nothing like a good run to relieve stress. But it was more than that.

It was my wrestling with some “hills” and “unexpected turns” in my life and quite literally crying out to Jesus during my run for direction, strength, peace, joy, and forgiveness.

Upon reaching the summit of several hills, I was greeted with such magnificent views that seemed to assault all my senses in the best way possible. I actually started to cry. Nothing about my circumstances had changed; life questions still hanging in the balance. God just took the focus off of me and back onto Him where it should have been from the start. The tears rolling down my cheeks were a salty blend of feeling humbled, feeling awed by the beauty of His creation, feeling overjoyed, and feeling sadness for all the times I’d missed out on Jesus wanting to spend time with me like this.

Yesterday my taper walk was three miles of exhaling me and inhaling Jesus.

“He must increase, but I must decrease.”  John 3:30 ESV

I noticed details along the way that I had never seen in the thirty years I have been traveling these exact same trails. I never bring my phone with me when I run; but I did yesterday since I was only walking. Pictures can’t capture the depth of the moment and how a view spoke to me. But I took some photos anyway. It didn’t hurt that yesterday was a perfectly gorgeous sunny day with barely a cloud in the sky.

Each time I saw a sight such as early spring blossoms or newly emerging grass along paths that were muddy only a few weeks ago, I couldn’t help but thank God for His goodness. I passed a few elderly couples, teens, and young moms along the way and was reminded to pray for my own aging parents as well as the urgent needs of a friend whose daughter is in the hospital experiencing great pain. An American flag flies high at the main entrance of the reservoir. My recent trips to the reservoir have been cold, rainy, and windy rendering this flag viciously flying for the duration. Yesterday, it was barely moving and not unfurled to its complete glory. I was reminded to pray for our country. All the times I have just passed by this flag without a second thought…

As I finished up with some stretches, I saw an empty bench behind me facing the lush green hills and glistening water. It was then that I did something I have never done in my thirty years of going to the reservoir. I sat down on the bench.

It felt strange at first and like everyone was staring at me. I actually pretended to do more stretches on the bench so as to not look out of place. Because who just sits on a bench?

When I finished my pretend stretches, I settled into a comfortable position and allowed myself to just be still, enjoying the warmth of the sun on my skin. I closed my eyes which somehow intensified the warmth. Once again, I exhaled more of me and inhaled more of Jesus.

“Be still, and know that I am God.”  Psalm 46:10 ESV

Ah, my new metaphor for taper week! Stop focusing on the stuff I think I should or shouldn’t be doing, and shift my attention to what God has already done in and around me. All the weeks and miles of training, all the carbo-loading, all the checking race day weather forecasts to determine my race attire…

“Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life?”  Matthew 6:25-27 ESV

As for taper week, I think I might actually start enjoying it.

Three versions of Psalm 18:36 ~

“You provide a broad path for my feet,
so that my ankles do not give way.”  NIV

“You cleared the ground under me
so my footing was firm.”  MSG

“You have made a wide path for my feet
to keep them from slipping.”  NLT

The same verse but three different images of God’s hand in a journey of a thousand steps. Also could be construed as the best ad taglines for new trail shoes.

My trail running friends can surely appreciate the significance of each as I do.

Interestingly, I read this verse in an Oswald Chambers devotional on Christmas Eve, and it spoke to me in a fresh new way about what it means to get to the next peak. When I think of a peak, my mental image is an actual mountain peak – snowy, icy, with a crazed bearded oxygen deprived climber dangerously perched atop with barely enough room to plant both feet. Oh, the euphoria. The rush. The thrill. The reward. Unobstructed, 360 degree views of all of life’s struggles below. Now a distant memory. Moments ago threatening to rob the climber of his life’s work and victory steps away.

But this mental image was quickly shattered as I delved more into this verse and its non-trailrunning implications.

Having run close to a hundred trail races with average net elevations of 2,500 feet each, I am no stranger to the adrenaline rush of reaching the tops of many arduous climbs. However, since these are timed races, I don’t allow myself to linger there and enjoy the fruits of my labor. Even on hill training runs, I don’t hang out at these peaks for any significant length of time. I will acknowledge that I have run on some of THE most epically scenic trails in California, from which coast lines, mountains, and valleys provide breathtaking companions along the entire course.

So, why the rush to get to the next peak?

Perhaps my image of the peak needs to come into better focus. From afar, the peak is a peak. Something for which to strive. A goal to be reached. I never really thought about what to do once I get there.

My family and I enjoyed several days feasting on food and fun last week with both girls home from college. As one got on a plane back to campus yesterday, Christmas stuff to put away, and a few days left of vacation before I return to work, I hate to admit that I’m in a bit of a funk. This weekend I’m running two New Year’s half marathons back-to-back which I’m counting on to lift me up out of my self-created pit. Crazy therapy, I know.

Of course, with the countdown to 2017 closing in, I have to reflect back on all the peaks and valleys of 2016. Without going into painstakingly long details of each, I would summarize the year as one with the highest of highs and lowest of lows. Sounds like a couple of my hardest trail races this year – namely Double DipSea and Rocky Ridge.

Going back to the verse, did God “clear the path” and provide “sure footing” for me to simply go from one peak to the next? This question is particularly heavy for me with two days left until New Year’s.

Heavy. Feeling heavy not just from all the decadent dining over the holidays, but a heaviness from sensing that I can’t keep repeating over and over again the pattern that the Lord has allowed me to see in myself – both from the top of the mountain and from the valley below. God has faithfully “set my feet firmly” in so many precarious circumstances. Perhaps the most precarious this year has been doubting my purpose and calling. This is one very narrow, slippery slope to try to navigate without proper footing. In my mind and sometimes my heart, I have gone SO far off course…so many times.

I am overwhelmed by the thought that Jesus is my personal “search and rescue.” Even the times I didn’t want to be found.

When I think about all the poor decision making, hurtful words, wounding silence, self-defeating thoughts…

When I think about all the times I could have been seriously injured, turned ankles, minor trips/falls, near misses from accidents (like the time I ducked under a railroad crossing with an oncoming train because I was on pace to PR)…

Honestly, WHY would God want to keep helping me?

I’ve only gone off course once in a race. It was during the 2013 Diablo 50K. I can’t remember if I was following a runner or he was following me. In any case, we took a wrong turn and realized about a half a mile later. Not a big deal for ME since I was not setting any records that day. But he, on the other hand, must’ve been since I’ve never heard so many colorful expletives come out of one person’s mouth especially since the way back was a very narrow, rocky single track on which he kept tripping and turning his ankle. The teacher/mom part of me wanted to tell him that such language would surely land him in the principal’s office with detention.

At the end of the day (Dave’s favorite phrase), I finished that race just four minutes shy of my goal and injury free. I wanted to come in under eight hours, and maybe had I not gone off course I would have. But when I look back at that race, it’s the time spent between the peaks and valleys that I seem to remember most.

But wouldn’t it be great to always just live on the peaks?

I used to think walking (or running) closely with Jesus meant always “being on the mountain top” with Him. Or seeking out “spiritual highs.” Aka Jesus adrenaline junkie.

But He wants something much deeper and impactful. Clearing the path for me and providing firm footing are His way of saying “This is a pretty good place to be right now.” The peak is good, but it is not the goal.

I never bring my phone with me during races, so I am extremely grateful for friends who do and those brave race photographers perched on scenic precipices capturing moments I pray I remember. These moments are truly awe-inspiring. If only the camera could capture what it took to get there – in my heart and in my mind.

Perhaps God clears a path and sets my feet firmly so I can run more freely…and enjoy the moments with Him more between the peaks.

I think this is the longest stretch I’ve gone between blog posts; but hey, I’ve been a little busy lately.

A week ago at this time I was carbo-loading in Georgetown at THE BEST Italian restaurant ever for the Marine Corps Marathon the next day. Two weeks ago I was busy turning FIFTY and being completely overwhelmed by friends, family, and colleagues with their love and assurance that fifty is the new thirty. Three weeks ago, there was the heart-arresting double overtime Cal vs. Oregon football game that thankfully came AFTER our staff CPR training earlier in the week so I had full confidence I could revive any member of my family or fan in our section of the stadium.

And I could go on.

Life is truly good. Sure, it has it’s moments of questionable choices (like what I had for dinner last night – never again) and fear of the unknown…like what is that little bump on the side of my neck or what will this country look like years from now for my grand kids? So much up in the air with the elections in three days.

After last week’s Marine Corps Marathon, Dave and I got to do some museum marathonning. How can you not when they are some of the greatest in the world and, well, they’re free?! We ventured into the National Archives Building which houses the original Declaration of Independence and Constitution.

It took great restraint (and the presence of several guards) for me to not sneak in a few photos which is a huge no-no. So, you’ll just have to take my word for it that this place is incredible. Standing there in the air conditioned marbled grand rotunda in front of these documents now shielded by what looked like bullet-proof glass under the dimmest lighting so as to not cause further fading…and the silence in this grand room. Very different scene from those hot, humid July days  when the founding fathers in powdered wigs penned these documents hundreds of years ago. Today, the founders would have simply e-signed the docs. Gouverneur Morris would have only to hit “save” on his laptop and the Preamble would be somewhere in iCloud for all posterity.

“We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defence, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America.”

Can I just take a moment here as a former third grade teacher to say that I was completely blown away by the perfect penmanship in these documents? I was actually LOOKING for cursive mistakes and inconsistencies. Found a few, but I’m willing to overlook these since each line was written perfectly horizontally on unlined paper. Not to mention, these were really long assignments.

Where was I? Ah, yes, the Preamble. When I really think about it, THIS is the reason I was able to run 26.2 miles through some of the most beautiful, iconic sites of Washington, D.C.

Or for that matter, any race in this country. Yes, life is good when you get to do what you love with the support of the ones you love. And with the protection of ones willing to sacrifice their lives for a country they love.

One of my favorite photos from last weekend is this one at the finish line area in front of the massive Iwo Jima memorial:

Flanked by these young Marines dedicated to serving their country. They believe in this country.

Worthy of the fight.

The Blue Mile: Mile ten to eleven of the marathon. Lined with hundreds of blue posters with faces of servicemen and women killed in action. Followed by supporters wearing blue, waving flags, and cheering on runners. As if this mile weren’t emotional enough, my iPod shuffle happen to play the Top Gun anthem (not the Kenny Loggins’ dogfight theme) but the slow tribute instrumental as I entered the Blue Mile. Tears welled up. I was overcome with pride and gratefulness for the sacrifice of these men, women, and their families. Some of these family members were now cheering ME on as a runner. Why? All I’m doing is running…

“The mission of the Marine Corps Marathon is to promote physical fitness, generate community goodwill and showcase the organizational skills of the United States Marine Corps… Organized by the men and women of the United States Marine Corps, the MCM is the largest marathon in the world that doesn’t offer prize money, instead celebrating the honor, courage and commitment of all finishers.”

It’s nickname is “The People’s Marathon.”

“If my people, who are called by my name, will humble themselves and pray and seek my face and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, and I will forgive their sin and will heal their land.” 2 Chronicles 7:14

Interesting that both the Preamble and this prayer for our nation begin similarly.

This year, I have a new appreciation for our country and all it represents. There’s a lot of good here because it was founded on Godly principles by men and women who were not afraid to declare in whose Hands our future lies.

Every marathon I’ve run has had its full share of pain, doubts, and sheer exhaustion. But I’ve always come away glad I finished. Fast or slow, PR or not. The battle so often is in my mind just to get to the next mile. I can’t imagine the physical battle of fighting on the front lines for our country. All I can say is that I am grateful for those who have and are…

And the least – as well as the best – I can do is fight in prayer for our country. After all, it’s worth it. Life is good here.

 

 

 

It’s a choice really.

We moved Meagan into her dorm three weekends ago.  Drove 25 minutes to Berkeley versus flying 500 miles to San Diego.  Easy-peasy, right?  She had also purchased pretty much everything she needed online and categorically packed it all up herself the night before.  Then Dave packed it all in Ninja Tetris-Master form in his car.

Speaking of packing, that was when I really lost it with Natalie three years ago.  Watching her pack that last bit of luggage the night before flying down to UCSD was the defining moment when I could no longer hold back perhaps years of tears.

So I was determined to be prepared with Child #2.  The night before move-in day, I emphatically proclaimed to Meagan “I will not watch you pack nor will we discuss it.”  And then added the directive “You are not to look me in the eyes at any point these next 24 hours.”

There.  That should do it.  But I probably didn’t have anything to worry about since my tear ducts were most likely still in drought mode after the onslaught of emotions and deluge of tears after Child #1 left the nest.

Meagan’s move-in day ended up being an entirely different experience than Natalie’s.  A full day of meeting the roomies, assembling small appliances, trying out different furniture configurations, having lunch with new friends AND their parents, trips to Target and Office Depot, hanging wall decor, and taking roomies out for a nice dinner before the dorm food routine begins the next day.  Then we hugged, and Dave and I left.

Maybe it was the busyness of the day or that I had mentally prepped myself better, but I didn’t cry this time.  I still haven’t.

I sort of feel guilty for not crying.  I mean it’s not the kind of guilt like I did something wrong or should have done more or better.  Was I using the “tear factor” as a measure of how much I’ll miss Meagan or even as a comparison of how much I love her?

No, that’s not it.

Friends keep asking me how it has been now that I’m officially an empty nester.  I remember three years ago telling friends that I can’t even go in Natalie’s room without crying.  And then avoiding going in her room altogether.

And then a song would come on the radio that reminded me of Natalie, and I’d break down in big, ugly sobs alone in my car.

I felt incredibly guilty when Natalie left the nest.  There was a deep void in my life that I couldn’t fill because I couldn’t identify its source.  It wasn’t supposed to feel like this.  I had a hard time moving forward.

Embracing and being happy for her new journey in life… What kind of mom wouldn’t feel this?  The kind that can’t let go of the past.  The kind that lost touch with how she became an adult overnight.  The kind that feels like all those years as room mom, driving on field trips, listening to her practice speeches, helping construct dioramas, tucking her into bed, and praying together every night…were perhaps now just a distant collage of memories.  And that I was the only one who would remember them.

My role in my firstborn’s life had changed seemingly overnight.  I knew how to be a mom to a preschooler, elementary schooler, and to some extent, a middle and high schooler.  I didn’t know how to be a mom to an adult.  I felt like a failure.  And I felt empty.

I still don’t have it all figured out, but it has taken three years to write that last paragraph.

It’s quite possible to be surrounded by lots of loving family, friends, a job you love, and even a sport you immensely enjoy and STILL feel empty.

The remedy for emptiness?  Identify the source.  There you have it. *Side note:  If you are struggling with this yourself, I just saved you thousands of dollars in therapy.

The source of my emptiness was guilt and misguided self-worth.  Guilt can carve a chasm deeper and wider than the Colorado River through through the Grand Canyon.  My guilt was about not being a good enough mom.  And I had managed to convince myself that my kids no longer needed me.

If I go waaaaaaay back to when both kids were infants and toddlers, I remember my entire self-worth for the day being measured by how well they ate, slept, and played with other kids.  Maybe I never quite let go of that strange sense of accomplishment.

All those things that filled my nest seemed to leave with the first child going off to college.

What’s different this time around?

Well, for one, I now have the benefit of a rear view mirror in which I can look back and see all the many times God saw my biggest “mom fears” and answered my spoken and unspoken prayers for both my children.  To my mom friends, you know what I’m talking about… All our worst nightmares about letting our kids go and the choices they will make.  But also the circumstances that are NOT a result of choices – the stuff that’s completely out of anybody’s control.

So this time around after move-in day, I had such a peace that the college roomies and friends I’ve prayed over for my kids were all designated by God and better than any roommate-match system.  And when they get their first cold in college, they most likely won’t die.  And dorm food won’t kill them either.  And not every stranger they meet at the library wants to steal their stuff or convince them to join a cult.

But more than that, I’ve seen first hand how God has used these last few years to grow and equip both of my kids.  I’ve heard both of them get passionate about different subjects and fields of study.  I’ve watched them navigate relationships – sometimes as the counselor and encourager, and sometimes as the recipient of misunderstandings, tears, and frustrations.  I’ve also been the proud momma on the sidelines witnessing both kids in leadership roles.

One child is now in her last year of college and one is in her first year.  I have enjoyed listening in on the advice being passed on from one to the other.  I have also enjoyed time alone with my younger child these past few years and seeing the different ways God has gifted her which I probably didn’t get to focus on when both kids were at home.  In fact, some days when Meagan would tell me about how she did on a school project or how she was going to manage her cupcake business orders, I would literally just sit there in amazement knowing that I didn’t have ANYTHING to do with her success.

When Natalie texts me about ideas she has this year as a swim team captain or new recipes she has tried without burning down her apartment, I can’t quite explain it but my heart feels “full” when I get these texts.

My “mom heart” is SO FULL when I think about all the ways God has answered my prayers for my kids.  And then some!

I’ve experienced two totally different college send-offs.  Sure, they both involved trips to IKEA and Office Depot; but more than that, they taught me different lessons about myself.  The very things I used to say half-jokingly to my kids every day before school are  probably good for ME to apply:

“Make good choices!  Don’t do drugs!  Stay away from bad people!”

This morning’s message at church reinforced this.  It was based on the Parable of the Sower from Luke 8:

“But the seed on good soil stands for those with a noble and good heart, who hear the word, retain it, and by persevering produce a crop.”

As a mom, I need to have faith that the years of seed planting – watered by continuous, fervent prayer – will eventually yield fruit in my children’s lives better than I could’ve planned, chaperoned, or scrapbooked.

What does all this have to do with “running God’s race?”  Everything.  It’s always about perseverance and endurance.  And CHOOSING to commit each and every step to God.  No matter how painful.  No matter how long it takes.  Sounds a lot like a marathon to me.  And sounds a lot like my theme verse from Hebrews 12 [both translations are cool]:

“So let us run the race that is before us and never give up. We should remove from our lives anything that would get in the way and the sin that so easily holds us back. Let us look only to Jesus, the One who began our faith and who makes it perfect.” NCV

“…let us also lay aside every encumbrance and the sin which so easily entangles us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of faith.” NASB

Sending my last kid off to college was like crossing a finish line of sorts.  Because this time around I chose to focus on all the marvelous ways God has been working in both of my kids’ lives, I could not help but feeling overflowingly FULL of joy for them… and for me.