Denial

People say a lot about denial. It’s a coping mechanism, a pleasant relief, a necessary part of grief, etc. It’s easy to spend a lot of time there, pretending bad things aren’t happening or the ugly truth of a situation isn’t really there. I get it, but denial has never been kind to me.

Denial is like a pesty fly when sitting in a comfortable spot. It keeps swooping around my head, buzzing in my ear, landing on me, and making me itchy. It reminds me that where I am really isn’t very comfortable, and until I get a fly swatter or move, I can’t really be at peace. Having tried to sit through a number of pesty flys in my life, I now know I’d rather get the fly swatter right away than even attempt to get comfortable in a spot where the buzzing of truth is going to pester me without ceasing.

Last Saturday, I had a brief visit with denial. I skipped running for two weeks. The last time I ran, I had a bout of heat exhaustion that left me nauseated and exhausted for the rest of the day. I was certain my next run would be no different so I avoided it. Easy to do when on vacation (denial looked less like a pesty fly and more like a relaxing beach chair). But now I was home. Home with a free day and cool temperatures and I did not want to run.

Running meant facing the truth about how out of shape I was. I dreaded the feeling of shin splints and being out of breath. I told myself “just a few miles, go easy on yourself. Just get back in the habit.” I took an hour to get dressed, and put new music on my ipod. I put it off, still knowing I had to face the truth and grab that fly swatter, however unpleasant it might be.

The fly of denial had a surprised me that day. I chased it out the door and down the beginning of my usual 3 mile route. When I got to a place where I turn to go three, or go straight to do the 5 mile hilly route (that’s actually one of the prettiest runs I do), the fly led me towards 5. I thought it might be too much so I went for a block towards my 3 miler, but the pesty fly kept buzzing the words “just go for it.” So I turned back and headed on the 5 mile route. What did I have to lose? I could always walk the end if I needed to. And I felt surprisingly good that day.

It was one of the best runs I ever had. I cruised up hills with ease and soaked in the beauty of late summer. The smell of cut grass and sounds of people setting up for garage sales. This 5 mile or so route and fabulous feeling restored my confidence in running, in what it does for me and how it makes me feel. It reminded me that I am not always going to suffer from heat exhaustion or feel out of shape when I run. In this instance, my imagination of the truth was so much worse than actually facing it.

This is why I hate denial. It makes the truth worse and allows us to sell ourselves short in what we think we can handle. . In fact, facing the truth can be more than getting rid of a pest. It can be a pleasant run, newfound confidence, and the freedom of a great summer run.

Mysteries of Discomfort

It remains one of the great mysteries of exercise. Why when I am fatigued and tired after a long day does a run, which leaves me sweaty and exhausted, also make me energized? How can I lay on the floor smiling and stretching and breathing hard and feel better than before I put my body through this pain? Why doesn’t taking a nap help in the same way?

The only way to grow is allow discomfort into our lives. We have to find a way to make peace with it and trust that it won’t hang around forever. We also have to trust that it will leave us stronger and able to endure more.

Whenever we exercise, tax our bodies and push them to a new level through something physical like running, we create micro tears in our muscles. This causes pain and often soreness in days to follow. When those tears heal, the muscles get bigger and stronger therefore able to endure more. If there are no micro tears the muscles don’t grow. In fact, after awhile they atrophy: wither away from not being used.

This week I lie awake angry at God and frustrated with a relationship that is out of my control. As I stared up at the darkened ceiling in the wee hours of the morning with my face wet with tears I said out loud “I am miserable and I don’t know what to do about it.” I thought about how I got there. Doing the best I can, trying to act out of love not fear, searching for truth. It hardly seemed fair that those actions could lead to such pain and the grief and loss of friendship.

What in life is ever fair? Things are going to happen, bad things, undeserved things, painful things. Some we bring on ourselves and some just find their way to us when we least expect it. It’s uncomfortable and painful. And it really doesn’t make sense. Try as I might there just aren’t answers in this situation. I might not be ready for them, and they might never come. As much as I hate to admit it, there may not be any answers at all.

In the great big muscle of life though, this is just a micro tear. Something that happened on the way to pursuing what I love and who I am called to be. I trust that it will heal. Eventually that tear will become a stronger muscle and a source of strength. It becomes a place of compassion for others who are experiencing their own tears. For now there is soreness and pain. Running and living have taught me to endure it and to trust in growth at the end. They have also taught me that if you want to live, I mean really live life and not hide away from it, discomfort and soreness are part of the package. A tradeoff for toned calf muscles and the joy that comes with living in truth.

It’s a relief to me to keep facing pain, and discomfort and still be standing at the end of it. To be somehow better than I was before I faced it. In those moments I am stretching my sore and tired muscles I can’t help but be thankful for the grace that kicks my butt out the door to run, or to follow my heart and says “It’s going to be uncomfortable; do it anyway.”

Letting Go

Before I decided to run this marathon, there were a lot of goodbyes. I didn’t move or take a new job. This time, all of the goodbyes were caused by other people moving away while I chose to stay put. My friends, on the tough days, were my sense of purpose. Often what they wanted for me was what I did. Not that this is a bad thing! True friends and family reflect your own desires back to you, and want the very best for you. But what do you do, when they aren’t there, helping you figure out what that is? What do you do when everything you thought you counted on to help define you falls away and there you are alone?

Without really knowing it, I listened to myself. Running in the dark and cold I allowed these questions to exist and the pain of loneliness to move from my heart through my body. In many ways, I think it was the holy spirit that allowed me the grace to be patient through this time, that challenged me to run with loneliness rather than distract myself from it. It was as if God placed those long miles before me just to say “Stay with this.”

It was the most difficult journey of my life so far. To be without everything I knew and try to make sense of who I am, who I had become and what I really wanted. Those are not easy questions to answer. I am still trying to answer them.

I have found incredible grace here. Ways of encountering the holy I never dreamed of: red tailed hawks, indigo buntings, being lost, making choices, finding the strength to say “no” to people I love, and trusting myself when no one seemed to understand. I found new people who understood this part of my soul and deeper friendship with the friends who stayed with me through this. I found a way to let the quiet, the loneliness, and grief make space for new life. I found a way to just listen to myself, and to the God who calls me to simply be who I am, and follow my deepest desires wherever they will lead.

I found a way to accept myself and my path without depending on someone else to second the motion. While I still seek and need and love the companionship of great friends, I know now that if I am without those companions for awhile, God is still there.

It’s been over a month since the race concluded and I see now that dreams change. Somewhere in the midst of that race I knew I wasn’t going to finish in the 5 hour time goal I set for myself. In that same moment I knew that just finishing was going to be a tremendous success. Had I really known what I was in for, I might have stuck to “just finishing” as the goal.

That’s the thing about following your heart. You really never know what you’re in for when you start. You might have to let go of your previous vision of success and some of what you thought you needed to get there. It’s like setting off without a GPS or a map. You will inevitably get lost, but the beauty you will see by opening yourself to the guidance of your surroundings and the excitement of the adventure are worth the inconvenience. The journey really begins with the action of letting go.

Marathon Final

It’s hard for me to believe three weeks ago I was running a marathon. My body is pretty well recovered and I’ve moved on to yard work, gardening, short runs and bike rides. In many ways things have returned to normal.

But the marathon stays with me. In the past few days I realized the lessons and formation of these months of running were not over with the final exam of the race, and a grade of passing with a finishers medal. Like any great class, there is a lifetime of growing into these new ideas and applying the lessons.

The one that stays with me these days is the truth about pain. We humans do a lot to avoid pain. Everything from mindless over eating, to watching television, drugs, alcohol, working too much, sleeping or surrounding ourselves with noise and distraction. I understand this. Who wants to deal with pain? Who wants to go looking for it?

Endurance running, training really, for anything is all about pain. It’s all about being in pain and pushing past it. It’s finding a new threshold of what you can endure and reaching for a goal that lies beyond it. In my case, it was a finish line 6.2 miles beyond the worst pain I have ever experienced.

In the days since the marathon there have been left over loose ends, difficult situations, challenging relationships and questions of wrong and right that have nothing to do with running. Painful and messy problems and questions that just keep bubbling to the surface. The real marathon final exam.

Here is my answer. Pain is an inevitable part of life, whether we choose it, or it chooses us. It is uncomfortable and unpleasant and at times unbearable. When pain makes itself known, the easy answer is to run from it, or try to ignore it but pain always catches up, and eventually consumes us. The longer we ignore it or try to avoid it the more it takes over our actions.

I don’t want to be a person that lives with a fear of pain dictating my choices. I don’t want to live in pain either, but sometimes we just have to. I know now not only can I survive pain, I can find moments of grace in the midst of it. Perhaps when we are in the most pain, we are most aware of the smallest things that help us through it. A friend who listens, a well-timed cup of water, someone who will cheer for you by name. Pain, if we accept it as part of our journey and something we are conditioned to handle, won’t consume us. But first we need to accept it. We need to accept that it will test us; force us to be vulnerable, accept our limitations and to ask for and receive help.

My final answer to this marathon exam is pain is often far worse in our imagination and fear then it ever is in our reality. We are conditioned to handle so much. These painful, messy real life issues that have come up during this marathon don’t have a visible finish line right now. There are still difficult choices and unpleasant realities. I accept this pain is part of the process. I know now that I will endure it. I will find the moments of grace that carry me to the other side of the pain, a finish line of a life recovered and joy and celebration in growth. Pain is part of the journey. Only we can decide if it will have the final answer.

Life Beyond the Soreness

It’s been almost two weeks since the marathon. The soreness is only a memory and regular, post-marathon life has resumed in full force. There’s been work to catch up on, and to-do lists to handle. The novelty of talking about it has worn off. It’s as if the “been there, done that” mentality has set in. That’s how it’s supposed to be. It was a few hours and a few months of my life. They are over. Time to move on.

But when that soreness fades, one can find herself with a lot of questions. What’s next? Where do I go from here? There is an abundance of free time and no need to carbo-load or hydrate or even run. And yet, I’m just not ready to move right into another challenge. There’s a lot of wandering around and wondering. Now that I have crossed through that open gate and changed, how do I live? How do I continue to honor the experience and the person I have become through it?

I think these questions will stay with me for a while. But I have discovered something in the days beyond the marathon, amidst all the questions and aimless wandering through each day.

It started with my first, post-marathon run on Sunday afternoon. It was rainy, a dismal day. The timing tag was still on my shoes. I left it there and trudged out the door without enthusiasm for three miles. I had no expectations of this run, so I just let my body carry me through the familiar motions. It was just another routine run.

But something had changed. I’ve been trying to put my finger on what’s different since this race for the past week or so. It’s not confidence. I don’t have feelings of “I can take on the world, I have run a marathon (though I have joked in that manner to friends.)” The feeling is more like peace.

Yesterday morning I looked out the kitchen window and saw an indigo bunting sitting on the grass below my bird feeder. I gasped when I saw it. They are tiny, smaller than a sparrow but the brightest blue in creation. This tiny bird has a way of commanding attention with its spectacular color. I have only seen one at one other time in my life. The fact that it was hanging out in my yard felt like a small miracle. I watched it for an hour, flying back and forth, perching on the telephone wire and eating at the feeder.

Watching that indigo bunting I realized what changed is my faith. We never can tell when God will grab us, and invite us on a new journey. Grace happens in our routines, in every day moments. Like the bright blue indigo bunting it streaks across our vision and leaves us to stand there, staring with mouths agape at the splendor of holiness.

The post-marathon peace is a trust in God, and a trust in those invitations. I’ve realized my faith no longer needs answers or reasons. Just as I can’t control the indigo bunting in my yard, I can’t control when God will show up and invite me to something crazy, even painful. Something like a marathon. I am now open to those invitations and trust that they will come. Those three-mile runs that lead us to marathons and the indigo buntings that invite us to sit still with the questions and to remember that God will find us where we are, and invite us to deeper holiness. There is a sense of peace in knowing that, and knowing that all I have to do is say “yes.”

The Finish

Eventually, I got there. And those wonderful marathon planners again exercised excellent, strategic placement of the finish line. I could see it for a few hundred feet after turning a corner. A few hundred feet, DOWNHILL. Of course, we all want to run fast to the end. I would have loved to pick up the pace and cross the finish line with gusto and a triumphant arm raise. The truth is, just making it to the finish was all that I could do. I smiled and waved at my friends who were already done and kept plugging away, one painful step at a time, to the end.

The announcer was just as enthusiastic for me as he was for the first few runners across the line (admittedly I wasn’t at the finish earlier, but I cannot imagine more enthusiasm.) I heard him yell my name and my hometown and let out a sigh of relief as I walked (hobbled) to get my medal and mylar blanket.

I met my friends at the end and waited for my sister. Every movement was painful and slow. I have never felt so happy to be done with anything as I was to be done with the marathon. It really is all about finishing. Just getting there takes so much grit and determination. The magnitude of the accomplishment hasn’t really hit me yet.

What did strike me as I crossed the line was the finish line is an open gate. You run through it to whatever is waiting for you at the end. Medals and mylar blankets and a good lunch and friends and family. But beyond that. My favorite quote during training was “There will be days I wonder if I can run a marathon, there will be a life time of knowing that I have.” My friends, my sister, and I were saying after the race, “Welcome to the lifetime.”

Welcome to the lifetime, indeed.

There are gates at the Oklahoma City Memorial that stand at either end of the site. They say 9:01 and 9:03 and represent the innocence of the city at 9:01 that morning, and the lives and a city changed forever after the bombing at 9:03 a.m.

The pain and suffering of that day has changed a city and all who visit it. It started a marathon of memories and hope. I wish that the events of April 19, 1995 had never happened. If I have learned anything from this race though, it’s that every major event, moments of pain and suffering, provide us with gateways to the lifetime beyond it. It’s up to us whether we go through those gateways, whether we endure suffering to find hope, whether we let people help us and push us and support us, and whether we believe enough in the power of love and hope to help others and thank them for being with us. Are we willing to let go of our old selves, to shed our perceived limitations and accept who we become through trials and tribulations? I hope I can do that. I know that the magnitude of the 26.2 miles and the events of the weekend changed me. I only hope I can honor those moments--letting love and hope and perseverance shine through--with my lifetime beyond the finish line.

Stay tuned…

The Agony

The marathon is by far, the hardest thing I have ever done. I have never been in as much physical pain as I was so much of that race. After running miles in the double digits, my feet are burning, my legs are tired and my hip flexors and IT Bands feel like snapped rubber bands. They are moving, but nothing is cushioning them or protecting them from the constant friction. But pain is one thing. The length of the pain is entirely another.

I think the grace of suffering in life is that we don’t often know the end point. So we are forced to take things one day at a time. I don’t want to minimize the hell that not knowing the end point can bring with it. It could go on forever. Or it couldn’t. The thing is, we just don’t know.

With a marathon, you know. You know the end point. You know at any given time (if a race is well marked) how far it is away and how long it may take you to get there. You know that you have 10 miles to go or 16 or even a seemingly small distance like 2 or 4. You know that you can’t stop until you complete every one of them and that it’s going to take a long time to do that. You know all of this at the same time you know that putting one foot in front of the other seems impossible right now. Much less for ________ more miles. You know that this pain isn’t getting better. There were times when I couldn’t imagine my legs and feet hurting worse than they did and I knew, somehow, they were going to. The only way for this to end was to go through more pain, for a long time, to get there.

Finding a will to finish even with all of the knowledge of how long it will take and how much it will continue to hurt is what makes a marathon so difficult. Why keep going? You pay to be here, you did all of this training, no one is making you do this race. Just sticking with training is accomplishment enough. So why go on? Fortunately I found a reason.

There were moments, when the magnitude of this race hit me. When I saw the name of one of the victims (just past mile 21), one who was on the news a lot in Milwaukee after the bombing, tears welled in my eyes. Not to mention the people I saw with shirts that said names and had pictures of who they were doing this for, parents, friends, siblings, husbands and wives, children…all victims with surviving families running this race. Or the firefighters in full gear who were walking the half. This was a race of hope. In a tiny, tiny way, my being there, and my running was a tribute to that hope. In the moments I remembered that, I remembered why I had to persevere and finish, not because it would be an accomplishment for me (at mile 22, if I could have had a cab, I would have said “screw accomplishment” and got inside) but because I believe that hope is stronger than any pain we feel. Therefore finishing was the only choice. Pain wasn’t going to win this time. Hope was. For me, and for all of the people there who believed in it. I had to keep going, to endure the agony, because this wasn’t about me. It was about hope.

The Race

There are so many different things a person experiences in well over five hours of running. Most if it is pain (not an exaggeration!) I would say the marathon is a test of perseverance above all else. My legs did not feel great after mile 10. Less than the half way point. You have to find a way to get through all of those miles, the middle miles in a very long journey, without losing your mind.

This is not easy.

I had to focus on something other than the finish. The finish was too far away to seem attainable. Fortunately, there were many options. The first thing I did was focus on just getting to the next mile marker. This is where Oklahoma City shined with their marathon preparation. The mile markers (and even kilometer markers) were giant green and white flags that you could see for a few hundred feet. Genius. Each one was a sign of hope and as soon as I would see them, I would get a boost. I don’t think I walked past a single one. For the few hundred feet I could see each mile marker, I knew I could make it to that next point.

At mile 9, I turned to my sister and said “look, there it is, I was hoping for it.” Certain mile markers stood out more than others. Halfway, of course. Mile 16 (10 to go). Mile 18. Mile 18 was in a beautiful neighborhood and in addition to the green flags, there were permanent, beautiful mile marker signs with the survivor tree on them. This is also where the banners with the names of the victims began in earnest. I thought if I could just get to 20 I was through some of the hardest psychological miles of the race.

Mile 24. I saw mile 23 and it seemed like hours before I saw 24. I don’t know if that was “the wall” for me, but I do know that it was the longest mile in the entire race. It was on busy roads, in the sun, and it just took forever. I still think that mile not measured properly and I actually ran five miles between those two markers. I cheered when I went by 24 (at this point in the race a cheer was a quiet “yay” and half-hearted fist pump!) Other miles were memorable for their water stops, for what I was thinking and for where they were in the city. A marathon is a one-mile at a time race. I fought hard not to think about finishing it but just to think about getting to the next mile.

Another thing I focused on were the notes from friends. I had little index cards cut up that people wrote funny things or words of encouragement on. As it turns out, this was a brilliant idea (that I read in a book.) These notes were the best distraction. As it turns out, I have some really funny friends. Many, of course, were inside jokes. But many were words of wisdom and support and just generally funny. A few of the more universal marathon words that people wrote, are below this post. I used these notes as a reward for getting to a new mile. They also turned out to be a great way to think about the person who wrote them for a few minutes (therefore not thinking about how my legs and feet wanted to leave my body.)

------------------------- some words from the notes--------------------------

“what the hell are you doing reading this? Watch where you are going!”
“ I know you will be running along a path that the OKC victims onee walked/ran/drove. They cannot take that path any longer, but you can take it for them, and that is special. Keep running!”
“I’ve learned that finishing a marathon isn’t just an athletic achievement. It’s a state of mind; a state of mind that says anything is possible.”
“You had a blue moo cookie dough milkshake. You have enough energy for three marathons.”
“Jillian [Michaels] has nothing on you. You rock!”
and countless others….
“You have tasted a variety of artificially created goo flavors, only to still feel like your are eating horribly flavored toothpaste.”

The Start

I don’t know if there is ever more energy anywhere at an insane hour of the morning, than there is at a marathon starting line. I left my hotel at 5:30 a.m. When I got into the elevator, charged up people in running shoes were already headed to the lobby where people were drinking coffee, chatting, and generally looking like it was Sunday after church, not Sunday at 5:30 before we were all going to run a long way.

As we ambled through the darkened streets of downtown, towards the starting line, the crowds and energy only increased. It was as if people were coming out of every building, wearing race numbers, to join the crowds on the street. It was all kinds of people. Short, tall, fat, thin, old, young, people who looked like runners (not me) and people who didn’t. 22 thousand people eventually found their way to 4th and Robinson, right outside the gates of the lighted memorial. 22 thousand participants and countless thousands of spectators. All ready to go by 6 in the morning.

The four of us who came together met left my dad to make our way to the starting corral. Seeing the line of people packed shoulder to shoulder and sidewalk to sidewalk for multiple city blocks brought tears to my eyes. There I was, one anonymous person in an enormous event easily lost in the sea of tech gear, race numbers and running shoes. A celebration that brings thousands of people out of their beds, out of their states (all 50 of them) and out of their comfort zones to run, to volunteer, and to watch on one day, together. I can’t help but think how amazing it is that 22 thousand people, for their own reasons, decided to run in Oklahoma City that day. I knew three of them. Yet I was connected, simply by being there, to everyone. We were all running the same course, on the same day. We were all gathered here, in the space of a few city blocks to see the sun rise while we ran. No matter how fast, we were all running the same route. We were following in the footsteps not only of those who ran before us, but of each other. It’s exciting and it’s overwhelming. No wonder as the 22 K runners plus countless spectators (a number totaling beyond 30k I am sure) silenced themselves for one hundred and sixty-eight seconds (a second for every victim) I couldn’t help but let a few tears fall down my face. This was the beginning of a journey we would all share, but we stood in silence to remember.

The starting horn blew soon after and the sea of people in front of me inched forward. My sister and I slowly made our way to the start line (taking nearly 15 minutes in an already long event!) I heard the beeps of my sister and my timing chips as we crossed the official race start. We were on our way.

With each step through the first few miles I was a bit overwhelmed by what I had undertaken. This was the beginning. It was the beginning of a long way to go and it was exciting. It was exciting to see the people gathered here. To be, for just a few minutes, running with everyone else who was running this race. It was the first few miles that I took it all in. I was running a marathon. I got there. I made it, in tact, to the starting line.

The beginning of the race was the most scenic. It brought us through Bricktown (right past our hotel again!) and past the capital building. We turned into pretty neighborhoods and wove up and down hills. We saw runners and walkers alike.

The most memorable sight in the first few miles was the two firefighters. They were in full gear. Helmets, oxygen tanks, coats, boots, everything. I would find out later they were walking the half. Images of fire fighters on ladders, pulling people out of the debris flashed before me. Whether these two were rescue workers on this day 15 years ago or not, their presence that day was a tribute to the strength of the city and the lives saved that day.

This was the beginning of the race. Before the elite runners would separate themselves from the pack, and before half marathons and 5k runners turned off to continue their own courses. It was my favorite part. Not just because the energy and spirits were high, but because we were all together running and walking, doing our best to follow the same path to the finish line.

It was here, not at the end, that I absorbed the energy. That I took in all of the atmosphere and excitement. Before the marathon is about perseverance, it’s about excitement and a sense of wonder and adventure. It’s that energy that is the most fun and it’s that energy that leads to the strength to finish. The wonder and excitement is what overrules the doubt and fear to lure people into training in the first place. In the beginning I couldn’t help but think “I only hope I am willing to keep following those wonderings right through doubt and fear after this, because where they lead you is worth the risk.” I also knew in that beginning, that it was in the first few miles more than anywhere that I had to trust I would be able to handle whatever difficulty and struggle came my way.

The Memorial

I hope that sometime in your lives, you all have a chance to visit the Oklahoma City Memorial and Museum. It is a place you can spend a couple of hours and your life will never be the same. I went there 6 years ago as a random stop on a road trip. I returned to run a marathon that supports it.

Why is this place so special?
As I walked through the museum and heard the stories of the park ranger at the site, I realized why. It’s not just the symbolism of everything from the Empty Chairs to the landscaping. It’s the stories of the individuals and the experience of the day that is captured.

You start in a room hearing the recording of a hearing that was happening in a building across the street. It’s ordinary events. The kind of things that my sister and friend (both lawyers) hear every day. And then you hear the blast and see the 168 victim’s faces shine on a wall. A door opens to the aftermath. Did I mention the museum is in a building that suffered some damage from the explosion? You see that damage too.

There were many things that stood out to me on this walk through a day in history. The first was the display cases filled with objects recovered from the blast. There are watches, keys, briefcases, toys from the daycare center. An entire display case full of keys. Car keys, office keys, house keys. They sit in a pile, with one key pulled out and hung above the rest. The keys belonging to one of the victims. Ordinary objects from what turned out to be an extraordinary day, a minute in time. Objects made significant by the loss of life of their owners.

And it continues through the museum. Video clips of the survivors and their stories. Parents taking about dropping their kids off at daycare mere minutes before…never to see them again. People who were pulled from the building by rescue workers. Stories so individual, in a tragedy so big.

You can’t help but feel a part of it as you go through this museum. I challenge anyone not to be touched by the cards and letters sent by children all over the country in the days after. One, rainbow colored card in child’s handwriting read simply: “Get Well.”

Perhaps the most difficult room in the museum is the room for the victims. Each person has a small box with their name, picture, and objects to represent them left by the families. Ordinary people. People whose faces inside, and empty chairs outside stand as testament to the impact a single life can have on so many. 168 individual lives. Thousands who wish their chairs did not stand empty. A community that has gathered, worked and loved through their suffering to make sure their lives are remembered, and that the legacy those 168 people left is somehow greater than the senseless act of violence that took them from this earth.

I left the museum and the memorial, for the second time, moved by the power of our lives and the power of love to transcend the most unspeakable acts of evil. We may never “Get well,” from the sickness and brokenness, the loss and the tragedy in our lives, but we can choose to hope beyond it. We can choose keep loving, and keep honoring the lives of those who have touched us and left us, with our own acts of love and kindness, passion, compassion, and hope. The stories of these people, and the symbols of their legacies reminded me that we are all, with our ordinary lives, called to be extraordinary symbols of love and hope for each other. We are called to cry tears, run races and stand in quiet, and most of all remember. Remember that senseless acts of violence can never erase legacy of one life as long as we are willing to gather, to remember, and to allow extraordinary grace to transform our brokenness into our own legacies of love.

Marathon Expo

I think my roommates here in Oklahoma think I am a little intense about this whole thing. When they arrived I had three restaurant suggestions, the expo schedule memorized and a highlighted map of shuttle stops, food places and local events. If you haven’t figured it out by now, I am totally a nerd about…well…just about everything. Including marathons, I guess.

I just don’t know how to do anything big (but a car, start a garden, pick out a bird feeder) without a ton of research. So I have researched this marathon and committed all of the essential details to memory. I am trying to tone it down a bit but it’s tough. I am super excited and super nervous and I respond to all of this with knowing and being excited about EVERYTHING there is to know and be excited about!

Naturally, I was super excited about the expo. I will get my bib number and chip have all of the things I need for the race. There will be maps to study and tons of marathon info. There will be running stuff for sale and product demos. There will be a whole lot of excited running people. There will be speakers including running legends (that I have realized only I know who they are. Joan Benoit Samuelson, Dick Beardsley, and Bart Yasso.) A marathon expo is a great place to be an excited runner.

I saw a little bit of Dick Beardsley’s talk and related to a few funny t-shirts (“running is a mental sport, and we are all insane” or “I am just doing this for the facebook photo.”) I am “all geeked out” about this. I totally buy into the whole running culture. I love it, Gu and all. And the expo was a place for me to fit in and celebrate that culture. I think we all enjoyed it. I also think my sister will continue to make fun of me for my enthusiasm and for years to come, it’s what she does (I was definitely with people that were not quite as excited about the expo as I was. Hard to imagine!) What can I say? The marathon is a weekend, not just a race. We might as well enjoy the ride and all of the cool gear, speakers and inspiration and quirky running culture stuff that comes with it.

Confiscated Peanut Butter

Marathon Weekend: Part One.
This is it. The training is done and the traveling has commenced. I write this from Oklahoma City, where 48 hours from now, I will have completed a marathon (cross your fingers!) From just the journey here, I sense there might be a lot of stories from this whole weekend.

I learned this morning that peanut butter constitutes a liquid or gel. Now, one of our running group just happens to be a science teacher and confirmed my initial assessment that peanut butter is a solid. What is interesting about this little scenario is that marshmallow fluff, apparently, IS a solid. I spread both on bread and turn them into a sandwich before I run. They seem about the same consistency to me, none of which is “liquid or gel” that’s banned by the airlines. But this morning, at 6 a.m. my peanut butter, in a sealed jar was confiscated by the TSA guy. Thank god he didn’t take the fluff. Peanut butter is easy to find in Oklahoma. Marshmallow Fluff is not always so easy. I texted one friend that I might have wound up in jail if they tried to take it! It’s important not to mess with a runner and her pre-race food!

So with a slightly lighter suitcase I headed, event free to Minneapolis. Half awake, I grabbed a bagel sandwich and coffee and headed for my gate. It would turn out that sandwich was a good decision. I had to board the plane twice and wait two hours past the initial departure time before we finally took off. In the midst of getting on and off the plane though, I met some other runners. Three new friends who are running the half on Sunday. The delays passed by unnoticed in the midst of “where are you froms,” “how long was your long runs” and “this is going to be so fun!” (okay, so the “this is going to be so funs were mostly from me!”) You could tell we’d all been tapering with the excitement in our voices, and enthusiastic promises of running fall marathons together in areas all over the country.

Finally I arrived in Oklahoma City (where it remains to be seen if I will encounter my new friends again, amidst the 21,000 people here for this). I anticipated a quick check in and lunch, and then plenty of resting and watching cable. I handed my ID to the front desk clerk and told him my name. “Have we got mail for you,” he said. I saw a woman come from the back with boxes and cards from people I work with. I was immediately overwhelmed. I didn’t even know you could send mail to a hotel for people! There is something about mail. It conveys love and support in everything from the stamps, to the script of the handwriting. Even the hotel people exclaimed how loved I must be.

I went to my room with the boxes in tow and a sense of joy. Soon my sister and our friends would be arriving. I was in a beautiful part of town and a comfortable hotel. I was connected to people I never even knew and in many ways, and I never felt more connected to the people I love that couldn’t be here with me. The truth is they are with me.

Ironic that this lonely journey is ending with such a profound experience of community. I am soaking in every moment of the joy and peace and laughter of all of it. And wherever that peanut butter is, I hope someone gets to enjoy it.

The Last One

Yesterday was it. My last “long run” before the marathon. 6 miles.

I didn’t want to start it. I wasn’t ready for the last one. By 6:15 p.m. on Saturday though, I knew it was time. It was perfect weather. Mid-fifties, sunshine and a gentle breeze. As soon as my feet hit the ground I knew this run was something special. That rare, really great run. Not just great at the end or after warming up. But great all the way through. I bounced, danced, smiled, and glided up hills. I took deep, exaggerated breaths past every blooming lilac bush and floral tree (safe, now that the stinky blooms of the flowering pear trees have gone.) I soaked in the sun, mouthed along to the songs on my ipod and thought about the 5 months or so, and the week that lay before me.

The last time I did a 6 mile “long run” it was snowing. I was with a group, chasing after people twice my age who qualified for Boston and trying to find my place. I was recovering from a horrible stomach bug and just trying to get through it. The marathon was far from my mind and doubts had pretty much taken over.

This run, yesterday, was 6 miles of celebration, mixed with a little bit of sadness. I suppose that’s why I wanted to put it off for just a bit. No one wants to say goodbye to anything that’s changed her life. Marathon training has done nothing less.

The girl who began this journey did so out of some sort of call. A call to love that lonely, broken person into someone new through running. I chose to do this to honor the victims of the bombing in Oklahoma City, but in a way, I also chose this to honor my own grief for losses I experienced over the past year. Deep down I knew I needed to acknowledge that pain by living it, and then in finding life beyond it.

So I have. For some reason, I believed this ride would be worth the suffering and sacrifice. That belief has carried me through some of the most painful miles. My desire to do this wouldn’t be there if it wasn’t worth it. What I didn’t know when I ran that 6 miles in December was how powerful that belief, that faith, and that hope really is. If it can carry me up a hill at the end of 20 miles, and through 5 months of training, it can carry me through anything. It might be a wild, painful, difficult, surprising ride, but it’s a ride worth getting in line for.

There is life beyond our pain. There is hope in the deepest desires of our hearts. It’s fitting that these last runs, this marathon, is in the spring. New life is blooming everywhere. For me, it’s the new life of a person who has learned to face pain head on, and not to “tough it out” but to embrace it. It’s the new life of a person who has taken her broken pieces, offered them up, and allowed faith and hope to teach her that trusting God with those pieces is worth it. It was Theresa of Avila who said “the important thing is not to think much but to love much and so to do that which best stirs you to love. Love is not great delight, but desire to please God in everything.”

Marathon training has changed my life into something new. It has allowed me, in a quite tangible and real way, to trust love, even when it makes no sense, when it hurts, and when it leads you on a wild ride. This last run was 6 miles of celebrating that love. For everyone who has hurt, who has dared to trust in life beyond that pain and found love there, this marathon is for you.

Climax

It’s been an emotional week. The 20 mile run week was a climax of training. I’ve heard from seasoned marathoners that it’s harder than the marathon itself. While I would have argued that I had no desire to complete another 6.2 after going 20, I think there is a point. What’s an extra six miles when there are crowds, and snacks and bands playing? As one friend said today “When you get done with the marathon people give you stuff: medals, mylar blankets, a huge food spread. When you get done with 20 miles you get home and get a shower!”

I am happy to have reached that point. The hardest part of training. The climax.

Climaxes, however, are not all good news. In literature a climax is a decisive moment that is of maximum intensity or is a major turning point in a plot. Intensity and turning points are bound to bring some disappointment.

I had two conversations with people last week that surprised me. Friends, who were interested, but sort of on the periphery of all of this training, offered me the most sincere words of support. I felt those two friends cheering me on, rooting for me. More than the “go for its” though, were the sentiments of recognition they expressed that this journey is about far more than the running, and through it I have grown. They were not only cheering for me to finish the race, but to keep becoming more myself though it. Between the lines they communicated, “we’ve been with you on this journey and we’ll stay with you through the end, wherever it takes you.”

I suppose any turning point of note is not without conflict. Especially when it involves a character’s growth and transformation. I had a friend attack me today, and blame much of the discord in our relationship on me running a marathon. After some time to sit and sift through the accusations, the angry words, and my own hurt, I remembered the hawk. A bird with a vision that is often misunderstood because it is a bird of prey.

It is a painful thing to learn that people who love you may stop if you change. That you might be misunderstood by your friends and even attacked when you embark on a journey to, as I have said before, fulfill your soul’s purpose. That is the risk. Anytime we choose to obey the quiet whispers of our souls, and follow where those whispers lead us, we are going to be misunderstood. There are going to be people who don’t get it, who don’t support it, who are threatened by it, and who attack it, and who those people are might come as a surprise.

A climax brings a whole mess of emotions. Maximum intensity and major turning points. Big fights with some, steadfast love and support from others, and trying to make sense of the mess. The hardest part of training has little to do with the miles. It is finding the strength to withstand the climax. It’s finding acceptance in the losses and gratitude for all of the gains. It’s sorting through the change, letting go of who you were and becoming who you are. It’s trusting and living in your own truth on the days when there are no medals, no food and no mylar blankets at the finish.

20 Miles to the Homestretch

As I write this my feet are soaking in ice water. It’s a little painful waiting for them to numb, but I know this is a good thing to do after 20 miles of foot strikes, 3x my body weight of impact on each one. I don’t know how many hundreds, even thousands of times that happens over the course of 20 miles but it’s a lot. My feet hurt. They hurt at the halfway point. Marathon training can be downright abusive to any normal human’s body. 20 miles of running proved that point.

I anticipated this day for months. The longest run before the marathon. The last big one before tapering over the next three weeks. Could I handle it? Would I be ready? It was not an easy thing to get up at the crack of dawn to run this morning. To be out for nearly four hours. A daunting task to even begin.

And yet, here I sit. The 20 miles of running now complete. People will ask how it was. I have to think about that answer. Seeing the sunrise and a yard full of thousands, yes literally thousands of daffodils, was incredible. Running in shorts for the first time in months? Freeing. Thinking about the people, who in the last week have encouraged me, telling me how far I have come, wishing me the best…those thoughts pushed me through some of the harder miles. And it was hard. It was so incredibly hard. There were moments when I had to talk myself into getting to the next telephone pole, mere feet away. My feet hurt, my legs hurt, my body just ached and I said to myself over and over “I feel great.” I longed for cold water for miles, and was filled with gratitude when I was able to stop at my office at mile 18 to drink it, splash it on my face and pour it over my head. There were moments of hope: seeing 2 hawks, running down hills, feeling a burst of energy, a cool breeze. There were moments of despair, thinking this would never end. Being tired and still having 10, 6, 4 and 2 miles to go. This is how it was.

The thing that amazes me after every long run: when it’s over, I can’t believe I did it. I can’t believe that I could run 20 miles and still be able to walk and function and go on about my life (granted, I will be sore and that soreness will be a reminder of what I accomplished.) I can’t believe that I was running, convincing my legs to move forward and now I sit here relaxing with my feet numbing in ice water. It ended. This thing that seemed so daunting for so many months is now over. There was an end after all and it involves ice water, chocolate milk, cheese and crackers, and sitting and thinking “I did it.”

I did it.

It’s hard to put into words how satisfying that feeling is. How encouraging. How much in life we see something before us that seems so daunting, and in the midst of it, might seem to never end, and then it does and we can say “I did it.” Of course, running for that long is about more than getting through it. It is about finding the moments of joy along the way. But the real reward is in enjoying each accomplishment. Savoring the feeling of cold water, the well-earned tiredness and even the soreness. It’s in saying your going to do something, committing to it even when it seems scary and finding a way to finish. Running a marathon is an accomplishment for sure, but so is being able to say “I did it” after every long run. 20 Miles. 4 months of training done. 3 weeks left to appreciate the miles completed and savor every moment of the homestretch

The Lonely Road

Harry Potter walks into the forbidden forest alone to face Voldemort.
Jesus journeys alone into the desert to face the devil and its temptations.

These two models of faith and self-sacrifice have been on my mind lately. I am not this type of hero. But I take something from their example.

I have read that the bravest warriors are forged in fire. I have not read that they take their buddies, or significant others, or even families with them. These warriors take on the most trying parts of their journeys alone.

The truth is, running a marathon is a lonely journey. In fact, I sometimes think that might be at the heart of why I took it on. A part of me wondered if I could handle training so long and so hard and for so many hours at a time, alone.

As four months and mile after mile of training have passed, I’ve realized how lonely I am. How lonely this is. Few people understand the motivation to do it to begin with. I am blessed by those that do. But no one is out there running 14, 16 or 18 miles with me. I am on my own day in and day out. I am making food choices alone, rest choices alone, and balancing my job and social life alone. I am feeling like my feet will fall off after 13 miles of running with 5 more to go, alone. I am trying to rationalize this crazy thing that no one makes you do, alone.

Yet, I am convinced that this is how it is meant to be. This, in so many ways, is not a choice. I would love to have someone to train with, there wasn’t anyone who could….who wanted to. I wound up running mostly by myself when I went to a running group! And I still knew I needed to do it. Of course, Jesus and Harry Potter knew what they needed to do too and didn’t let the fear of loneliness stop them from going where they were called to be-someplace scary without the safety net of a friend, or even a stuffed animal or blanket. I am certain that pain, suffering and feelings of abandonment were part of their journeys too. I know they are part of mine.

I was reminded, by two hawk sightings on my 18-mile run, that God is still there. In the first mile the hawk was flying so low I could see its eyes and details of its feathers. Maybe God is not as far away as God sometimes seems. But God who seems to appear in the form of a hawk these days, seems to be around, only for brief moments, as if just to say “you are fulfilling your soul’s purpose.”

Fulfilling your soul’s purpose is not a group project. Loneliness and feeling abandoned, left to face the cold, the hills and the miles alone, is a necessary part of the training. The bravest warriors are forged in fire and the fire is a lonely, difficult, painful place to be. But it is necessary. It is part of the journey. I have faith in that much. I am betting so did Harry, and Jesus. No one desires coming face to face with loneliness, pain, and weakness, but if we are to be who we are called to be, we must. After all, no two souls have the same purpose. I know I am supposed to keep training. That’s all I know. So in the fire I remain for now, praying for the patience to wait and the grace to endure it, alone.

New Shoes

Have you ever smelled new running shoes?

The smell of running shoes sits up there with baseball gloves, lilac bushes and bread hot out of the oven in my world. I could stand in a shoe store by the tennis shoes and drink in the smell all day long.

Today I bought a new pair of running shoes. In less than four months I have run 300 miles. At that distance, my shoes break down and I find my shins and calves taking the brunt of running’s impact. After Monday morning’s run, the second or third in a row with my legs bothering me, I calculated my mileage. I was shocked to come up with 300, a number that usually takes me 6 months to reach. I shouldn’t be. I know I am running at least twice as much as I used to. Nevertheless, the mileage numbers and the worn down shoes stood as a tangible representation of the work I have put in. Staring at these two things, my calendar with the miles ticked off and the worn down treads on my Mizunos, I was hit with the magnitude of the distance. This time not of the marathon, but of the training. I’ve never run this far, or this frequently for this long in my life.

Like all changes that happen over time, it’s difficult to see the total impact when you are in the midst of it.

My worn running shoes triggered a bit of reflection on the last 300 miles.

When I went for my 8 mile run this weekend, I wondered what good it could possibly be doing—since it was so short! Running 4 miles barely seemed worth changing for. It takes me 3 miles to get warmed up. 6-mile runs seem easy to fit in on a morning before work.

The reality is the 8 miles I ran this weekend were on a retreat. I was working. I got up at 5:45 a.m. to fit them in, and in a strange place with unfamiliar routes. Pre-marathon, I took weekends I was working or traveling off of working out completely. I certainly didn’t get up before 6 a.m. to work out. Four runs a week or two days of running in a row seemed like too much. I do that regularly now and twice as far. Prior to these four months a 9-mile run on a Saturday would wear me out for the day. When I ran 16, I didn’t do much, but I was able to do a couple of errands and didn’t need a nap. I’ve learned more about nutrition, rest, hydration, and focus than I ever have in my life. I have gone to bed earlier, gotten up earlier, and shelved dozens of the excuses I used to have for not running.

Today I took my new shoes out for a four-mile run. It was 60 degrees and sunny. I saw more dogs and strollers, cyclists, and other runners in that short run than I have seen out over the past 4 months combined. I felt like I was running on marshmallows in the new shoes. It felt like spring.

When I put those old shoes away, with them I put away three hundred hard miles of training. 300 miles of growth and transformation. 300 miles of winter running. With the comfort and support of the new shoes came renewed excitement. These shoes will carry me through the marathon and beyond. I am excited to see where the next 300 miles will take me; one mile at a time.

It's not just about the marathon...

Have you ever heard of anyone who just woke up one day, decided to sign up for a marathon and run it that same day? I haven’t. I am sure there are a few souls who have done it, but the story is not a common one. People train for marathons. They train for different amounts of time, at different speeds and with different levels of success. But people train for marathons and most of them train for many months.

If you are going to sign up for one of these things it really better not be because you only want to run 26.2 miles in a row. A standard program includes more than 300 miles of running before the final 26.2. The marathon race and training are two separate things. One is filled with people running, cheering, volunteering. The other you do on your own. One lasts 5+ hours, the other lasts 5 months.

So it’s not just about the marathon, it’s about the training and what training will do for you. Getting your body in shape is just the beginning.

I’ve realized in the last few weeks that training is a trial for the soul. It wears you down in every way something can. As much great support as I have had through this, I have had twice as many people put some aspect of this down. People who call me crazy, question the value of it, point out the dangers of running out in the cold, say “it’s bad for you,” etc. After awhile, it’s hard not to believe that stuff.

I’ve run out of motivation over and over again. I have been dejected by the snow, slow on hills, lost, tired, and sore. I’ve gotten sick of running, and just plain sick and had to find a way to put my shoes back on and go. I have had scheduling conflicts and not enough sleep.

I’ve listened to my brain tell me how tired I am, how much my feet hurt and how I can’t handle one more hill. I have seen my grocery bill increase, my need for sleep increase, and my free time decrease.

But I keep training. We human beings are so much tougher than we can possibly imagine. For so much of our lives we skate on the surface of what’s comfortable, fun and easy. But that’s not where we really learn. That’s not where we are transformed. We are changed when we dig down deeper than the pain, the boredom, and the exhaustion and find the strength to keep going. When we encounter a wall, and find a way to get past it, we see the other walls of fear and negativity crumble with our new found confidence.

It takes a lot of time and patience, both on individual runs and over course of months. There are going to be days and weeks filled with doubt. And yet, if we can just be patient, just keep running, we might find ourselves not only accomplishing something we never dreamed we could, but having been transformed by the journey. By the perseverance and ability to continue running through pain, not away from it. We might find our perspective on life changes a bit when we’ve run 16 miles or wake up before sunrise to fit in a run. We might find ourselves growing not just as runners, but as people.

the hawks were watching...

One of my favorite things to do while running is look for wildlife. In an urban residential setting I am somewhat limited to deer, various birds and the occasional groundhog. Nevertheless there are some woodsy parks and a river bikeway that provide their share of creatures. In order to see them, though, you have to be looking.

I usually set out on my long runs aiming to see interesting birds. While I regularly see sparrows, robins, cardinals, crows and grackles, there are just enough great blue herons, woodpeckers, and hawks and small songbirds to keep things interesting. This time of year is perfect for spotting new ones. The trees are bare and the weather is just starting to warm up, so you can see them flying through the branches to build their spring nests.

Lately, the red tailed hawk has been soaring about on my runs. They are certainly large and majestic, and at the same time, easy to miss. They fly up to 100 feet above the ground, floating on thermals and searching for prey. Often, they perch near the tops of trees and telephone poles, their gaze fixated on the ground below.

Hawks have always been just a little off putting to me. Maybe it’s the yellow or red eyes and hooked bill. Maybe it’s their size and wingspan. They are majestic, certainly, but a little threatening too. Yet, I love to spot a hawk while running. I have to stop and watch them--stare back at them staring at me, or see them soar in circles for a bit--before running off more focused and alert than I was before.

After seeing the red-tailed hawk on my last two long runs, and a few other times during the week I decided to find out if there was any spiritual symbolism to this creature. It turns out the hawk, in particular the red-tailed variety, is associated with messengers, protectors and visionaries. Soaring high above the earth and able to spot a mouse from 100 feet away, hawks have a sense of the big picture and remind us to be more alert to our surroundings. They also symbolize an awakening to your souls purpose, and freeing yourself from anything keeping you from achieving that purpose. They remind us to be open to hope and new ideas. The hawk also is a symbol of God’s care and protection, and if we listen to its message, we, too will be protected.

The symbolism of the hawk came in a timely way. As I struggle through these difficult weeks of training it has helped to be reminded that this will be worth it—that these walls I have hit are part of the journey. That finding my way through them, around them, and over them is part of the ultimate joy and achievement. There is a bigger picture here. The hawk can see it. And now, when I see the hawk, I am reminded to have faith that this run is a part of it, however difficult it might be that day.

We all need reminders to be more alert to our surroundings, to see things from a new angle and to believe in ourselves, and our dreams and our goals. These reminders can come in a multitude of ways. For me it’s the red-tailed hawk. For another, it might be something else. The message is far more important than the messenger—but to find it, you have to be looking.

A Mental Reset

After my last disastrous run, I needed to regroup and remind myself why I was doing this before Saturday’s 14 miler. Strangely enough, for fun! So how do I bring fun back? The first step just involved a little preparation and new gadget. I mapped out my route, wrote down directions and created a new play list with hours worth of music (yes, hours-as I would be running for more than two!) I hooked up my new Nike Fit and was already feeling better, more excited. I spent more time reviewing a training book that helped me shift my mindset.

I remembered that there are some great things about training and about races. I love the feeling of working really hard. I like the sense of satisfaction that comes from getting up early and working out longer in one session then most people do in a week. I love the feeling of resting after that. Of knowing that I earned it, and my legs reminding me what I accomplished with every movement the rest of the day (that’s a fun way of saying they are sore!) I love that no one is making me do this. It’s not for a varsity letter, or fame, or glory. It doesn’t make me any money. In fact it costs me quite a lot!

I choose to train and race because it reminds me that I am an athlete. Races celebrate that in everyone who chooses to do them. Pinning on a bib number is a sacramental ritual symbolizing hard work, commitment, and even courage. It connects a person, in an instant, to the thousands of other people who were running alone in the dark for the past 4 or 5 months to race this very day. The people cheering, paper cups filled with Gatorade, and finishers’ medals are just icing on the cake.

With this renewed perspective I ran my 14 miles. I listened to some new music, ate new flavors of cliff shot blocks, discovered new beautiful houses on quiet streets, saw a red-tailed hawk, and listened to the lady in the Nike Fit tell me how far I had come and what pace I had gone. I met B. for the second 7 miles and finished them with relative ease. We celebrated this longest run ever with an amazing home cooked breakfast. Food and warm coffee never tasted so good.

I have yet to figure out how to conjure a Patronus and deal with those running Dementors. I know they will be back. What I remember now is that I want to do this. I have listened to the people who question my sanity, my judgment and even my safety for too long. Over the next few weeks I will work on tuning those comments out, and amplifying the supportive feedback—“it will be awesome,” “look at what you have already done,” and “good for you, I admire what you are doing.” I will spend whatever time it takes changing routes and music to keep it fun and interesting. Most of all, I will remind myself with every run, that I am choosing to do this, I want to do this, and it is worth it every day.

FInding your Patronus

I know the Dementors are fictitious characters--a figment of J.K. Rowling's imagination in the Harry Potter books. I believe their effects are real. Dementors are characters said to suck every happy thought from their prey; to deny their victims any sense of hope. To combat them, one must focus on a happy memory and yell, with conviction, "Expecto Patronum." This spell produces a Patronus--a silvery image of an animal or other mythical creature that will fend off the Dementor.

I learned this week, if I am going to get through the marathon, I have to find a way to conjure a Patronus.

I faced the mental Dementors on a route I’ve done 100 times with no trouble. It’s a standard, hilly 5.5 miles. My usual “hour run.” After the first mile and half I turned to the hills and simply shut down. My legs felt great, the temperature was a warmish 30 degrees, and all of a sudden I was walking, coughing, trying to get a deep breath. I regained control of my body and started running again, only to stop moments later. “What’s happening?” I was shaking my head puzzling out why I couldn’t run these hills. It was as if, after all this training, I was afraid of working too hard, of pushing myself. My entire body felt on edge and jittery and I knew it was just mind games.

I tried to focus on the music on my ipod, on happy thoughts, on the marathon, anything good I could think of. I tried to dig deep and find a happy place. I tried dedicating this run to people I loved. I had long inner monologues iterating things like how great I am, just put one foot in front of the other, and you can DO this. You have done it. Just go.

None of it worked. Alternately walking and running I tried to puzzle out this problem. I have faced these mental blocks before. Certain times and routes have done this to me. I have yet to find a way through it. I have yet to know what to do when I face this.

And then the idea of a Patronus occurred to me. I have to find that happy memory, that thing that’s so powerfully good, that I can cling to it when I am facing the mental Dementors. Repeating positive phrases is not enough. At that point, I just don’t believe them anymore. Fear takes over and it’s a difficult thing to shake.

I am not sure how I am going to learn this Patronus charm. I do not know when or how these Dementors will sneak up on me in the course of training runs. I have dozens of theories about why they show up, and what the issues are, but in the moments of fear, those theories will not help. I need to learn the charm. In the coming weeks my training will add a new dimension—a mental dimension. I know now I need to seek the help of those more experienced in dealing with Dementors. I need to find the joyful thought of which I can grab hold, and the confidence to acknowledge the fear and defeat it. I used to think I was pretty good at this mental game, but the marathon has a way of bringing forth the Dementors in all of us. I believe that those who succeed find a way to face them. Expecto Patronum!

Why again? 10 weeks later...

Today, a friend said to me "I just never want to do a marathon. It's not necessary." She is, of course, absolutely right. It isn't necessary. I used to feel the same way she did. What struck me in that moment, was that she was saying things that just a few short years ago, I also said. What changed? How did I get from "I don't even really like running" to where I am now?

It changed on a bike path one day in March two years ago. Prior to that day I started running with an acquaintance who would become one of my closest friends (J.) Together, and without me even realizing it, J. helped me go from a 2-3 mile runner, to a 4-6 mile runner with hills. She taught me new routes and how to listen to my body. We talked and got to know each other one mile at a time. I improved my conditioning, and my running ability. Things like rain, cold temperatures, snow, and laziness stopped being a factor in my decision to run on any given day. I looked forward to seeing J., so I showed up at our designated work out time and ran the route we decided. Because I was meeting a friend, I forgot all of my excuses for not running. During the run, I heard only our social chatter, not the voices and fear in my head that told me I couldn't. I was distracted from all of the mental stuff that keeps me from choosing to run hills, or a longer route, or to run at all.

Then the day in March came that we had one of our "destination" runs. We drove to a bike path and set out on the trail. It was a good day so we just kept going. Running back to her car I was probably saying something self-deprecating about my level of health and fitness. She said "Allison, I am going to wait to tell you how far you ran today." Somehow I misheard the wait as eight and took that for the mileage. I said "eight?" Her response "WHY DO YOU HAVE TO DO THAT!! Sweet Jesus, yeah, 8. You really coudln't wait until the end?" After laughing about the miscommunication, I almost jumped out of my skin. I was running eight miles? Eight? I could do a half marathon! It was more than half of it and for me, eight miles was the magic number to knowing I could run long distances.

A half marathon, and a couple of Olympic Distance triathlons would follow that March day. These events helped me find new levels of joy and purpose in exercise and contributed to my desire to test my limits, and train. Running with J. carried me there. Every day, every workout we set up and did just because the other person was meeting us. Running with J. was just fun. In the fun, the laughter, and the great conversations, I forgot to fear new distances, new routes and bad weather. I just became a better runner.

Because of J., I found the joy in running. I know if I am running with a friend I can do anything and enjoy it (most of the time anyway!) I am running this marathon for J., for my sister who is running it with me, and for everyone who has ever run with me and made it fun. It’s the joy of all of those runs, the support of friends, and running through excuses that caused this transformation. Running a marathon isn’t necessary; it’s for the love and joy of running.

Freaking Out-Long Running and the Mental Game

It was bound to happen. I don’t know if it was a snowstorm derailing my usual Sat. a.m. run or if it was the cold or what. 12 miles totally psyched me out. I was nervous and worried about this run. Dreading it. Not sure if I could finish. Not wanting to try. Why now? I expected this to come at the 14 miler—longer than I have ever run at one time. I did a half marathon. 12 is a mile shy of that. I don’t know how to describe the anxiety I had about this run all week. I was freaked out.

Nothing seemed to help. I plotted my route on G-maps pedometer trying to make myself feel better. This told me I needed to cover at least 3 suburbs to accomplish the distance in a loop. Not helpful. I bought “nutrition” (more on that in a future post) for this run. That only reminded me that I was going to be running long enough to need food. I tried to think about how great the half was. All I could remember was being tired and sore. Shoot. How am I going to do this?

The day came for the run. I had a belt with 3 water bottles, 6 cliff shot blocks and a package of sport beans. This in addition to the 4 layers of clothes, ipod, sunglasses, house keys and written directions on my person. I have packed for vacations with less stuff than this. It took me about a half hour just to put on all the gear. Then I ran out of excuses to put this off. I had to run. I set off down the hill to meet my friend (B) at our work. The first two miles felt great (down hill). I was listening to “fame” and thinking “YES! I AM going to live forever!” I can do it! This carried me all the way to B.’s office. She greeted me with enthusiasm and we set off for the 6.5 miles she would accompany me for. I felt good.

Then we hit the first of what would be at least a dozen hills. To top it off, I don’t know right from left so I wasn’t 100% sure my directions were accurate. I was lost and running up hill. Not a good combination. But B. kept my spirits up with her jokes and motivation, her willingness to walk a couple of the steeper hills and her observation of the spectacular beauty around us. She was right. I was running by mansions and trees simply covered with snow. It was white from the ground to the sky. I wanted my camera. But hills are hills and my rear end and legs were burning.

Until we got to a glorious l-o-n-g down hill around mile 8. How could I be so tired at mile three and feel like I could run forever at mile 9? Downhills are pretty cool that way. But all good things come to an end. B. and I parted ways and I went to finish what should have been the last three on my own.

Repeating a section of the run B. and I just did, I turned into the hilly, mansion part of town and promptly got lost. Again. I had no idea how we found the road I needed to get home. I was lost. Sweaty. Cold. Feeling like everything below my hips was sure to fall off. My feet burned. Street signs were covered with snow. I kept running/walking trying to find my way. I passed the same house a second time and everything looked hopeless. I was going to be running until dark in a neighborhood that was only 2.9 square miles! Then, on the horizon, I saw the street I needed! Which began with a GIANT HILL! At least I was heading uphill towards home.

There were many more hills and many more desperate thoughts of “when will it end?” before I got to my hot shower. I ran 13 miles that day and up more hills than I could count. It was hard. Harder than even my freaking out self could have imagined. But I finished. I suppose that’s where the mental training comes in that everyone talks about. It’s not that you can’t finish, it’s convincing your brain that you can do it. It’s trying to figure out how to keep going. Keep training. Keep running. Keep looking for the giant hill that will lead you home. I am sure I will freak out again. I am sure I will have longer, harder runs. I am also sure that somehow I will find my way home at the end of them.

Running out of Fear?

It was a high of 18 today. It was sunny and the roads were finally clear…sort of. After some indoor cross training and track running due to inclement weather I was finally able to get outside for this week’s long run of 8 miles. I scheduled to do the second 4 miles with a friend and we had agreed on a meeting time and place. All I had to do was figure out my route and get there.

Bundled in layers I headed out the door and a gust of wind blew right through my jacket chilling me to the core. For what must be the 100th time in a month I questioned why I was doing this. It was so cold. I am from Wisconsin and it was cold, even for me. I turned the heat on full blast in the car on my way to my starting point and pondered my motivation. Maybe it’s fear. Fear is my motivation for going out on an 18 degree day and running 8 miles through traffic and snow? I am afraid that I can’t run a marathon. I am afraid that I won’t finish. That I won’t make it to the starting line, that I will get sick, get swine flu, that I will quit, that my legs will give out or my training will get derailed. I am afraid of so many things. I am afraid that I will fail in this attempt.

I believe we should act out of hope and not fear. That fear can paralyze us and decisions we make because of hope are what lead us to places we dream of and places we are called to. And yet, fear, today was motivating me. So what does this mean about the things I believed? I must admit, it gave me pause. Then I thought of a t-shirt I once read “Respect Everyone, Fear No One.”

Perhaps a better word for my motivation is respect. After all, I still believe that anyone in the right circumstances will finish. If your life, or the life of the ones you love is on the line, you can jog, walk, crawl, or hobble your way to 26.2. You’ll find a way to finish. I want more than that. I want to feel good at mile 10, 12, 18. I want to know that when I hit a wall, I have faced it before. I want to do this without injury. I know that won’t happen if I don’t train. I respect the distance. Every time I train I make a deposit in the bank of confidence. I face all of those things I am afraid will happen and acknowledge that they could, in fact, happen. When I signed up for something I hadn’t done before, something I wasn’t 100% sure I could do, I took a risk. It’s uncharted territory for me and I might fail. Things could go wrong. With each run I do, and each mile I accomplish, I am one step closer to erasing all of those fears by proving them incorrect. Yes, I might fail, but not today. Today, I am running.

Have I been changed for the better?

Marathon training changes your life. I am not talking about the cliché “I am a new and better person sort of way” either. I am talking about basic, day to day stuff. For instance, my poor friends. ALL I TALK ABOUT IS RUNNING! I hear the words coming out of my mouth and can’t stop them “on my run this…” or “oh I have to do 14 miles that weekend that…” All I talk about nutrition, carbo loading, vitamins, stretching, cross training, head lamps, wicking gear and repeat my personal favorite phrase “I am training for a marathon” (usually as I shove a bite of pie or cake or a Cadbury Cream Egg in my mouth) as an excuse for everything! I know that there are a few people who find this interesting. But I wonder if I am annoying the heck out of everyone else?

I want to be more interesting than my training schedule, but I can’t seem to help it! I’ve been trying to figure out why this is. If I have some deep seeded inner need for approval or attention I am trying to seek. But that’s not really it. I settled on a conclusion as I lay on the couch on Saturday after my 10 mile run. I talk about training all of the time because it’s all I think about and do. Of course I think about work, and friends, but the time most people spend watching interesting televison shows, sports and movies or reading great books, I have spent devoted to training.

It’s not just the time runs/workouts take. That’s only an hour most days, and a couple of hours on the weekends. That alone would not merit this kind of obsessive, one-track thinking. No, it’s more than the workouts. It’s time I spend waking up early enough so I can eat something long enough before my run. It’s time I spend stretching, showering and changing after they’re done. It’s time I spend washing my workout clothes, which are now dirty most of the time. It’s the extra sleep my body demands and the recovery time after a tough workout. I can’t just run 10 miles and go about a busy Saturday. I took two naps and spent most of the day on the couch! I wear only good shoes now to preserve my feet, and stay far away from anyone with a trace of a cold. It’s planning good meals and drinking water and taking vitamins so I feel good on my runs. It’s reading about training and mentally preparing. It literally takes all of my free time! I was starting to wonder if I was just overdoing the whole thing when a friend who has run one reminded me that no one knows how intense training for a marathon is until they have done it.

Training demands a lot of attention, focus, energy and sacrifice. It changes how you see everyday life. I only hope it isn’t too challenging to my friendships. For all of you out there who have listened to me, thank you. If we are still friends after the 25 of April, it will be through your grace and patience. And for those of you who have run with me, read this, and shared your running/marathon training wisdom, there will be miles dedicated to you at the race. It is with your support that this will move from everyday changes (and craziness) to a change for the better.

Rejoicing in Running

Dear Mother Earth, who day by day,
unfoldest blessings on her way
Alleluia, alleluia

Running is my prayer: a night run, and the raw beauty and simplicity of Patty Griffin singing All Creatures of Our God and King led me to focus on this. Running is my prayer: my recognition that God is alive in this world. It is my grateful response to the abundant blessings of this life. Each foot strike is my Alleluia.

Listening tonight to this song, I was drawn to a quiet moment of reflection. I thought about my run last night. It was dark when I left so once again, the headlamp was guiding my way. I was with a friend on my favorite 5 mile hilly route that curves and winds near mansions, golf courses, and forests. Of course we couldn’t see any of it. A little beam of light doesn’t do much for illuminating beautiful vistas. Nevertheless, it was perfect. Good conversation interrupted by some gasping for breath at the top of the hills, exuberance upon accomplishing them, then right back to the good conversation. In darkness it was a new way of “seeing” and experiencing this favorite route. Then in the light we caught two deer crossing the street in front of us elevating the evening to something beyond a training run Deer, some of my favorite creatures with their size, their quietness and their elegant movements, are common in my neighborhood. But I don’t see them everyday. A possible deer sighting is a reason for me to run, and they never fail to surprise and delight me.

Thou rising moon, in praise rejoice
Ye lights of evening find a voice
Alleluia, alleluia

Trying to fit my run in yesterday was nearly impossible. A 14.5 hour work day left me with only a 2 hour break to run, shower and eat my dinner before getting to the next meeting. It would have been the easier thing to skip it. If I were only training, I might have done that.

But running is my prayer.

Ye who long pain and sorrow bear,
Praise God and on him cast your care,
Alleluia, alleluia

There are days, like yesterday, where running saves me. It takes my tired bad mood and transforms it into energy and peacefulness. It reminds me that our routines are really never routine. There are surprises and moments of delight waiting in the darkness. It allows me to celebrate and be thankful for what my body can do: find energy through physical exertion, make it up a hill, stay warm in the cold, see moonlight and deer walking, hear the wind, smell the dampness of melting snow, and feel myself growing stronger and faster. It allows me to say, with the action of movement, thank you. I still have much to learn. I still don’t know where I am being called to or led, but I am willing to discover. I am willing to embrace the mystery, to push myself, and to be open to where the light will lead. Thank you for this great journey. Thank you for filling it with unimaginable beauty. Thank you. Alleluia, Amen.

Let all things their Creator bless,

And worship Him in humbleness,
Alleluia.

To hear Patty Griffin singing this song before her album Downtown Church comes out on Jan. 26th copy and paste the site below:
http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=122500765&ps=bb2

Really Running with a Headlamp

I like plans and schedules. I like to know what’s happening in my day. I’ve found I don’t really accomplish as much as I want to or enjoy free time as much as I need to when I don’t have some sort of plan. Working out is an excellent example of this. Plan or no plan, I work out more often than I don’t. It’s just that without a plan, I am okay with a few days off here and there, or I’ll wind up spending a half hour thinking about if I should run today or not. It’s just not the most efficient way of doing things (that is not always a bad thing, it’s just not always my favorite either.)
A marathon plan changes all of that. I find myself thinking about when I will get my runs in a lot (read: obsessively) then working out at crazy times to do that. Like this morning, I needed to be on the road by 7 a.m. so I could still fit in some of my long miles with a friend. Not at all a usual time for me on a three day weekend. And not at all something I would do if there were no training plan.
So I wasn’t used to seeing how dark it was at this hour. There was no trace of the sun at 6:40 a.m. when I needed to leave. In those moments, I gave no thought to how dorky the headlamp might look. I needed it. I headed out the door and allowed that bright, LED light to guide me.
It was a solid hour before the sun made any type of appearance. In fact, even mere hours after it happened I have to convince myself it was morning, not night, when I was running. I have never been so grateful for the headlamp’s invention. I felt both smart and safe with it. It was dark; I needed to get my run in; this is the only time today it could happen, and the headlamp made it possible for it to happen in a safe way.
I suppose that’s why we have running gear. So when we actually can commit to something like 5 months worth of training, we can’t use weather, or sunlight as an excuse not to get off our butts and go. Sure there will still be extreme snowy or icy days, and I won’t risk a broken leg for a day of training. But there are far fewer excuses with things like headlamps and jackets, gloves, reflective hats, shirts and shoes. While I maintain that “all you need is a pair of good shoes to run,” training is different. It’s a commitment over a long period of time that demands some sacrifices and creativity. My mom always said we need the right tools for doing what we are passionate about—in this instance the right tool was a headlamp.

Top 10 Reasons to Run Outside in Winter

I am much more of a fan of cold, snowy, winter running then the hot, humid heat of summer running. I feel more energized, I run faster, I don't become quite as soaked with sweat...but people have called me crazy. They tell me it's dangerous or hard to breathe or whatever. I would concede that it's harder to get out the door and easier to curl up under a blanket and watch a movie. But here's the thing. If you are going to train for a marathon, it's going to take at least 4 months (provided you are already running) so you are bound to have some bad weather in that time. In the past few weeks I have discovered all sorts of great reasons for training in the cold. These are my top ten. I'd love to hear yours as well!

10) Less skin exposed=less chafing!
9) You have first hand knowledge that it's possible to choke on a snowflake.
8) 32 Degrees becomes a reason to celebrate (after runs in single digits!)
7) A newfound appreciation for people who shovel.
6) It's easier to run incognito (darkness, layers of gear, etc) and avoid paparazzi.
5) You know down to the minute when the sun sets, and can appreciate the lengthening days.
4) Hot showers after a cold run-ione of the best things in life.
3) Snowfalls in darkness have a certain quiet beauty that might otherwise be missed.
2) At what other time is a blinking light or reflector strip a necessary item of apparel?
1) You are definitely more hardcore, badass and elite for braving the cold!

What the Calendar Doesn't Know...

I think I knew what kind of calendar a person should follow to train for a marathon long before I ever had a desire to run one. Long runs on weekends, a fast run during the week, and a couple of “easy” runs and cross training to round it out. I knew that you never run more than 20 miles if you are training for your first marathon and that you taper the weeks before. What I did not know is that “The Marathon Calendar” does not know everything about the life of a person training!

I was all set to follow my training plan to the letter. I figured out the whole five months and have already made plans for runs when I am traveling and working late and everything else. Even with all of my careful planning I knew that things would eventually go awry and at some point I’d have to adapt the plan. In the first month I think I have followed the exact plan maybe, maybe 50 percent of the time! What could cause me to shift the calendar so soon into training? When I am fresh and excited and never needing to run more than 7 miles?

Let’s start with a severe case of food poisoning right before my first “long run” (5 miles.) I went to bed early, had my clothes laid out and had successfully followed the calendar for almost one whole week! I was up plenty early for that run, but I spent the whole night crawling back and forth from my bedroom to the bathroom, throwing up, shivering, and passing out on the floor. Running was not an option. I couldn’t even walk for 24 hours. It took a week for me to feel well enough to try a 30-minute run and to think about eating normally again. So adaptation number one. Try to recover before running and hope it doesn’t happen marathon week!

It also doesn’t take into account when you go on a trip and bring every single item of running clothing you own—except your running shoes! (An actual true story) It doesn’t know about an icy day, or a very cold day or just a very busy day. Lest you think The Marathon Calendar only doesn’t know about reasons not to run, let me tell you that The Marathon Calendar also doesn’t know when you made a wrong turn on a run and wound up going 8.5 miles instead of the scheduled 7 (these are all taken directly from my current training, nothing here is made up!)

What I am learning, is that despite my careful plan and the hours spent thinking about how and where and when I will get in these runs, things happen. Wrong turns and sicknesses are just part of living life for five months. The true art in any long term plan, any goal that will take more than a week or two to accomplish, is to know how to adapt the plan. To value each step as a part of the bigger picture, but not make each step the whole picture. To move forward, stumble backward, take a detour, then brush yourself off and keep going. To know “the Marathon Calendar” and your personal best aren’t always the same thing. To believe in and expect nothing less than your personal best, and in then end, to trust that is enough.

The Dreaded Treadmill

The title might not indicate this, but let me start by saying I really, really tried to have a good attitude about the treadmill. Running outside was not an option today. My plan called for a 6-mile route and I was getting home after dark on a zero degree-day. There isn’t a run around my neighborhood that feels safe for that long after dark. I consider myself tough about the cold, but factoring in safety and temperature, inside running looked like a good option. Besides that I was inspired by a book about first time marathoners and this guy who trained for an entire marathon on the TREADMILL! I just had one measly 6 mile run to do so I thought maybe I haven’t given the old treadmill enough of a chance.

You know how long it took to go back to my old treadmill hating ways? 30 seconds. Maybe 28. I was distracted by the fact that once I got up to speed on the treadmill, I proceeded to move my arms the wrong way and fling my ipod across the gym. Feeling a little embarrassed I hit the pause button and went to chase down my music. Note: The treadmill did not count this little jaunt as part of my mileage. Also, there isn’t a reading for humiliation factor among the blinking lights and numbers.

But I am training for a marathon; I have a good attitude; I am determined to work out inside and like it! I got back on the ipod flinging device and started up again. At 6 mph I was barely staying on the machine and my heart rate was through the roof. I am sure I can run 10-minute miles. I have run 5Ks in under 30 minutes and it did not feel this miserable in the first 30 seconds. What is wrong with this thing? Is 6 mph on a treadmill different than by land? All I knew was there was no way I could survive an hour of this. This was supposed to be an easy run! I brought it down to 5 mph. Time crept by. I looked at TVs. I tried to people watch. I tried to think about the next week and day. I tried to time how long I could go without looking at the elapsed time (usually 10 seconds). I tried counting things, making it through a song, watching my reflection in the glass…everything! After all of that 5 minutes had gone by. It felt like years. How does anyone do this?

I managed a full 30 minutes. When I was at the point of loud screams and curse words the entire gym would hear, I decided to finish my workout on the track. I only had 28 laps to do to get to 6 miles!

As I set off around the track, I breathed a sigh of relief. Finally I was getting somewhere. I actually felt like I was moving. I finished the first mile in 10 minutes. As I was doing the laps I thought about why the treadmill makes me so miserable these days. Treadmills are about time, not distance. You can’t watch the miles go by running in one spot. All you can do is wait for the numbers to tell you that you are going forward. Marathons are about distance. They’re not meant to be fast. They’re meant to be slow and steady. A first time marathoner shouldn’t even have a time goal! Treadmills punish that with their tedium. Outside (or even on a track) it’s much easier to focus on distance. Whether it’s how close you are to home, or how many laps you have done, your watch won’t tell you how far you have come. Time and treadmills move at a constant pace; runners do not. There are subtle variations in our speed based on landscape and weather and how we are feeling. That’s what I like about endurance running. Moving with the natural rhythms of my body and the landscape and taking in the surroundings. Accomplishing the miles. Going out for a long run, turning around, and somehow making it home. Tomorrow I will take my running back outside and leave the treadmill for short speed workouts or moments of true desperation. Tomorrow, I will have a new appreciation for the sidewalks, the streets and even the cold—and I owe it all to the treadmill.