Super Surprise

I wanted to cry out "SUR-prise. SUR-prise. SUR-prise!", channeling the best Gomer Pyle I could muster. It was hard to keep it in. But I had to keep running. The shouting would have to wait.

A year ago on this weekend, all I wanted to cry out was tears. I hated every step, every cruel foot plant in the popular Virgina Ten-Miler. I entered only because I coached a team of energetic, motivated kids who embraced the concept of chasing each other on this rock'n, roll'n road course. I, however, did not embrace those ten miles. My running was lack-luster. Every workout during practice was so difficult, almost tortuous. I walked uphill often under the guise of waiting for lagging runners. I assigned my other coaches to run with the faster groups. Me? I often chose the novice runners because I could at least keep up with them. Most of the time I  put on a hopeful face, but it was a masquerade. Something was wrong and I doubted a road race was going to help. Still, I threw my name in the hat because I need to be an example. I think I ended up that year as the third grandmasters woman (ages 50-59) but was not pleased with the agonizing moments it took to complete the course. Besides, it was slower than the year before which was ten minutes slower than my fastest time a dozen or so years before. It was demoralizing (although not unanticipated) to be faced with declining performances.


But this year something was different. I'm not saying I cheerfully sent in my registration money. (I would rather spend it on a trail race.) Still, I signed up early enough to have assigned the least expensive fee. I even did so before being pressured by the kids. As a coach, maybe I was growing into these shorter racing distances.

The team practices had been going well. We had added a key weekly workout that I hoped would build that deep-down toughness: mental and physical. We also ran lengthy workouts over the miles of rock-strewn ribbons of trails that wait patiently on the mountain above the school. On more than one occasion, I arrived home excited to tell Gary that I ran every step and felt good, perhaps even strong. I didn't know why. What could account for me running better than I had in years?

On race day for the Ten Miler, I dutifully journeyed into town and found a parking spot. Oddly, I wasn't that anxious. Rather, I felt a kind of calm though I had no realistic expectations of running any faster then 82 or 83 minutes. I wandered around, ran a warm-up on some quiet side streets and then made my way to the start, along with the 1298 other runners in the 10-mile race and the 1113 4-mile race runners.

The gun sounded, sending the masses down Langhorne road. Though many zoomed passed me, I chose to run conservatively. I think the first mile (mostly downhill), was checked off in about 7:10. Not blistering, by any standard.

Then came the lengthy climb up to Rivermont Avenue. In loathed this hill in previous races. But on this particular Saturday, I looked forward to it. I downshifted into my granny gear and chugged my way up the hill. My breathing was strong, not labored. My legs felt able. I passed many who struggled against the incline. I wondered when the race would become more difficult. Wow, I marveled. I think I'm running smart but I never expected to feel this good and in control.

Continuing to pass people right and left, my pace remained oddly consistent. The timing clocks at each mile marker told an unfamiliar story. I was running an average pace of right under 7:30 miles; perhaps 7:28 or 7:29. Could it be? My mind leaped and twirled in mental gymnastics. How is it that I could be on track to run 75 minutes? Could all the clocks be wrong? Were my calculations off? But when I passed the 5-mile clock in a little over 37 minutes, the reality of my race began to sink in.

Strong and steady. Be smart. Push it on the downhill. Goodness. I just passed Lindsey. Oh my. I'm in front of Cecil and I'm running with the lead runners from our team. Hum. How old is the girl right in front of me? I don't think she's in my age group but she sure is popular. Everyone keeps calling her name. I can't believe I feel this much in control. Yep. Still on pace. Maybe I can even get in under 75. Oh my. Am I dreaming?

No. I wasn't dreaming. The big push up Farm Basket Hill got a little harder as I watched my two runners gain ground in front of me. Still, I was making good time and passing people on the climb. As I closed in on the finish, the crowds grew and the cheers became loud and boisterous. My official time was 74:51. I was delighted.

Delighted, that is, until a woman approached and asked me my age. Shoot. I really thought I had grabbed the overall Grand Masters title. But alas, a woman less than a minute in front of me had just turned 50. I had to settle for a 55-59 age group win. Still, before the race I thought it unrealistic to ever run under 80 minutes. I was the 26th woman out of 551 and 159th out of the 1299 ten-mile runners. Not a bad day.

But the question remains: why? How did this happen? Is it the iron and general nutrition plan I started back in February? Is it the 7-day-a week running? Is it training with my team? The answer? Who knows? But then again, who cares? I'll take it any way I can get it.

Just one more day: Days 233 - 253

Wow. It's been a while since I posted anything related to daily running. Rest assured, however, that I have been faithful. There have been bouts of vertigo, insane schedules, and more on my plate that I ever could have imagined. But somehow, I have been putting in miles, albeit not many long runs. In fact, my mileage is on the puny side. Still, most days I feel decent; Decent enough to keep pace with most of my cross country runners.

So, please excuse the brevity of this little report. I just came back from a run and have to get things in order for the morning.

Year-to-date miles: 1681

Dizzy Dame

I think I have a better understanding of the term "Dizzy Dame." My perspective on the matter has been particularly acute in the last twenty-four hours.

Out of nowhere, I started to think I was in one of those crazy amusement park walk-throughs where the floor is off kilter and everything feels catty-wompus. When I turned my head, it took a while for the insides to stop sloshing. And when I got still, my brain kept right on going round and round the traffic circle, just like the Griswalds in European Vacation. Initially, I thought it was dehydration. I had just gotten through with a long run in very hot and humid conditions. But it wasn't. No amount of water stopped the madness.

I hit the couch, listless. When that didn't help, I tried the bed. The room wouldn't stop spinning, even with my eyes sealed shut. And oddly, I was much more dizzy when I laid on my right side. In fact, it was so bad my stomach started turning in the opposite direction.

I hoped by morning it would all be a thing of the past. But upon opening my eyes, I found that the room was still in motion. Devastated by the discovery,  I stumbled my way to the bathroom, soaked by another round of profuse sweating. Dry heaves produced nothing but an impulse to get outside in cooler air. Gary helped me to the back door where I dropped onto the steps and continued the retching. Nothing. But the morning air seemed to help. I made my way back into bed and stayed there for hours, praying for sleep to work its magic.

The entire day has been on again, off again. I have a better appreciation for the vertigo Gary gets when he works on the car, having to repeatedly change positions. He says Dramamine helps. It might. I tried it. Then, another running friend suggested that running makes it better. The theory is that it get all those tiny particles in the inner ear get freed up and moving the way they should. Tried that too, if you consider walking a little over a mile is running. Jury is still out on that one.

Anyway, I've been thinking about spiritual vertigo. When a stressor comes along, I get caught up in the cyclone of turmoil. I lay down and close my eyes, praying it will go away. And it does, for a while. I settle into a welcome slumber and upon waking, keep my eyes closed to assess how I feel. Not too bad. I'm relieved. But then it's one eye followed by the another. My brain registers the facts. My condition is the same. The anguish returns and the world I live in still spins.

The problem is that sleep seldom heals. It simply masquerades. In order for the spinning to stop, the insides need to be fixed, balanced and in perspective.

Oh, Lord. My insides need fixed. Allow me to trust in your sovereignty. Shower me with sufficient peace and faith as you promised to do. Give me wisdom to know how and when to reach out a hand. Oh Lord, my Lord, stop the spinning.

Just one more day: Days 226-232

I hope no one minds, but I made  a decision. With all I have to do in getting for a new teaching job and continuing to coach, I find it difficult to daily record my runs. Not that I'm not running. I am. But I'm just not sure that anyone really cares if I ran 2 miles or 20 miles. So I decided to change things up and save myself the self-inflicted assignment (and pressure) of recording my every step. Rather, to keep myself honest, I will post a mere blurb each Sunday and simply report whether or not I was successful in daily running. If any epiphanies struck during the course of an outing, I shall gladly report on that. In fact, I wrote about a night run just a few days ago (Running in the Dark).

So here goes. I ran every day this week. Period. Enough said.
Year-to-date: 1578 miles

Running in the dark

I love running in the dark. The darkness embraces me. The darkness calms and soothes. The darkness is my friend.

With days full of preparation for the coming school year, my runs, as of late, have been as the sun sets in the west. But last night it was a little later than that. In fact, late enough that prime-time TV was in full swing and the stars were in full view.

Country roads are standard fair for runs from my house. Normally, I wear a reflective vest so the rare car that passes sees me rather than hits me. I also carry a tiny flashlight but refrain from turning it on until I see a car approaching from in front or behind me. Last night was no different.

I've found the best approach to night running on roads is to run right down the middle. This, of course, would be very bad advise if your route is a busy city avenue. But out in the country where you are more likely to coax a herd of cows to stampede beside you rather than have cars run you down, the middle of the road is a good place to be. The runner is able to see bright headlights from the cars in plenty of time to move to the side. Cars driving toward you or coming up from behind will see you better in the middle than if hugging the shoulder.

Another reason to run the middle is there is likely to be fewer potholes or debris. Assuming most drivers stay in their lanes, the middle gets little use, making it a perfect spot for the nighttime runner.

Running at night gives me a sense of speed, even if my speed is less than optimal. I can't see very far into the darkness. That means I can't see what's coming up. I can only deal with each individual step one at a time.

In life, I sometimes wish I could see what lies ahead. How long is the road? What's around the next corner? When will I get to the finish? But after being reminded of some important lessons during my run last night, knowing what's coming up probably isn't a good idea.

There is one particularly difficult hill on the route I ran. Depending on the course I take, I normally hit this cliff at 7, 15, or 18 miles. I always dread it, struggling to make it all the way up the hill and around the bend. Sometimes the hill beats me. But an odd thing happened last night. I didn't even notice the hill. In fact, I was on top and running the flat for quite a way before it registered that the hill was behind me. For a minute, it was disorienting to not remember making the climb. But then it occurred to me that when I simply concentrated on efficient, smooth running one step at a time, even the difficult journey became pleasant. The darkness focused my attention on what was important. Distractions faded into the shadows, allowing me to run in freedom.

I was still contemplating the ease of running that hill when a car approached. I flicked on my little light as I moved toward the left side of the road. My light was intended to grab his attention, and it did. I saw that he moved over a little to his left. That was nice of him. But what wasn't so nice was his blinding headlights. I lowered my head and shielded my eyes from the glare. My pupils, dilated to accommodate night running, burned from his beams. I could no longer see where the blacktop merged with the rough shoulder. There were a few uncomfortable moments when I wasn't sure if my next step would be into a hole or onto an unseen rock. I felt like the guy who sees a light at the end of the tunnel, only to realize it's a train barreling at him at top speed.

I turned my own light toward my feet and regained focus. I could see where I was. The car passed by harmlessly and I continued my run, eager for my eyes to readjust to the blackness. Then it hit me. For light to be helpful, it needs to be the right kind of light coming from the right place. The blinding light in front of me was of no help. In fact, it was counterproductive, blinding me in the moment. But I also know from running trails with friends that a light from behind isn't all that helpful either. A beam behind me casts odd shadows and distorts reality. A light directed at my feet is the best.

A light at my feet lets me see obstacles to avoid. It makes clear my path one step at a time. It protects me from distractions off to the side or looming down the road. It keeps me in the moment.

Then I realized the significance of a oft-quoted verse. "Your word is a lamp for my feet, a light on my path" (Psalms 119:105). For as many times as I've heard that verse, I understand it better after my run in the dark. I'm glad I can't always see what's ahead. Thank God, however, that His light, His Word, let's me see every step in the night. That's the only light I need to get to where I'm going.

Keep the light directed at your feet. Run long. Run strong. One step at a time.

Just one more day: Days 219-225

Grandpa, grandkids (minus Seth), and great grandkid

Day 219 – August 6, 2012

Today dawned a cloudy, a welcome relief from the hot sun. My run around the lake felt smooth and strong, despite the humidity. I explored a few extra road to make the run a little longer.

Total – 7 road miles

Day 220 – August 7, 2012

I’ve loved being at the lake with family enjoying lazy, hazy summer days. But alas, it’s time to go home. With the decision made, we left early, leaving me to run once we got home and organized. It was back to country roads. Nice, but I missed seeing the lake.

Total – 6 road miles

Day 221 – August 8, 2012

It was the first day of new teacher orientation followed by a “Words of Wisdom” women’s gathering to encourage two young ladies headed off for college. The tight schedule had me pulling into a dark parking lot at 10:15, heading off for a short campus run. Though humid, it was a quiet, relaxing time.

Total – 4 road miles

Day 222 – August 9, 2012

My team met me after school for another team run; a “follow the leader” run around campus. Run a little, stop and do exercises or run steps, and then run more. The miles were low but the workout effective.

Total – 3.5 road miles

Day 223 – August 10, 2012

This new teacher stuff is time consuming. I ended up being at school until 8:15 p.m, resigning myself to another very short run around campus before heading home.

Total – 2.5 miles

Day 224 – August 11, 2012

It’s Saturday and time for a long mountain run. But alas, it wasn’t possible. I spent all day in my room at school, cleaning and decorating from morning til later afternoon. Then it was home to mow grass and pull weeds. My road run came with dusk and lots of bugs.

Total – 4 road miles

Day 225 – August 12, 2012

What a beautiful day to worship, and what a beautiful evening for a run. The temps have moderated and the humidity has dropped. Praise God from whom all blessings flow. J

Total – 6 miles

Year-to-date: 1543

Just one more day: Days 212-218

Day 212 – July 30, 2012

I guess today was a little better. My legs still feel dull and my energy could have been better.

Total – 6 road miles

Day 213 – July 31, 2012

Tonight was another small team practice. I am a little disappointed that so few kids are coming out for group runs. Nevertheless, we had a great time running trails. A few of the girls have really showed great improvement and will likely be running with the lead pack given a little more time.

Total – 4.5 trail miles

Day 214 – August 1, 2012

Time to leave for vacation! Before heading off to Gary’s sister’s place on the lake, I took to the roads. Maybe it was because yesterday was my last day of online high school teaching or maybe it was the promise of lazy days on the lake, but regardless, I felt strong as I ran along country roads.

Total – 6 road miles

Day 215 – August 2, 2012

Ah, a good sleep, coffee in the morning, and my first of many runs around the lake. With the humidity so high, it was a relief to be able to jump in the lake when I got back.

Total – 5.5 road miles

Day 216 – August 3, 2012

The route around the lake is a relentless sequence of rolling hills. High temps and humidity made it tough. But there is something about looking at water that makes it feel better.

A blood moon in the evening drew me out the door again for a second spin around the lake. I added a little extra.

Total – 11.5 road miles

Day 217 – August 4, 2012

Another vacation morning. Another run around the lake, but in the opposite direction. It was annoying that some road workers kept following me in their paving trucks. There’s nothing like struggling up a big hill with a steam roller chasing you.

Total – 6 miles

Day 218 – August 5, 2012

More running around the lake. I have been very happy that I have not walked a step on any of the hills since I’ve been here.

Total – 5.5 miles

Year-to-date: 1510 miles

Just one more Day: Days 205 - 211

Day 205 – July 23, 2012

Ok. I have to admit it. When I get involved in a project, it’s hard to take the time to run. I've been consumed with an upholstery project for my son, Caleb. Then, when I finally headed out the door to run at dusk, the bugs were so bad they kept getting in my eyes, up my nose, in my ears, and plastered all over the front of me. I tried to keep my mouth closed so as to keep the protein intake at a minimum. It was so frustrating, I bagged it at 2.5 miles. But at least I ran fast.

Total – 2.5 road miles

Day 206 – July 24, 2012

Project day again. This time, I got out the door at 10:00 p.m. but I am so glad I did. A warm breeze was blowing, reminiscent of the kind you get at the beach. Stars were out and the country roads empty. Beautiful! I am so thankful I am able to run and enjoy it!

Total – 4 road miles

Day 207 – July 25, 2012

Another run at dusk but the bugs were not quite as bad as the other night. I suppose it would be better to run in the mornings but I do enjoy evening time.

Total – 4 road miles

Day 208 – July 26, 2012

Another team run, but a small turnout. The older kids got in six miles on this steamy, hot morning. I took two middle school boys for a shorter run. Seems like I am stuck a measly four mile run. But, with no races looming in the near future, my motivation is lacking a tad.

Total – 4 trail miles

Day 209 – July 27, 2012

With the Olympics starting tonight, I got out the door in the mid-morning sun, but not early enough to avoid the heat. I felt terrible and my knees feel, well, pudgy. They feel think and sort of hurt. And, my energy was low. The only good thing about the run was when it ended with some time in the pool.

Total – 6 road miles

Day 210 – July 28, 2012

I saw so many turtles on the trail today and unfortunately, fit right in. It was discouraging to have another day when I just didn’t feel strong and able. My knees have been making me take notice. This is strange since the big miles earlier this month didn’t seem to hurt them.

Total – 12 trail miles

Day 211 – July 29, 2012

I must be in a little slump. I fell asleep when I got home from church even though Olympic coverage was on. Maybe I’m getting sick or need a rest. As a result, I put on a more cushioned pair of shoes and basically had a rest day of just two miles. Maybe this week will be better.

Total – 2 miles

Year-to-date: 1465 miles

"God, are you sure about this?"

Emily Hill

I received news this morning that one of my runners has been injured, along with her dad, in a motorcycle accident. What was supposed to be a relaxing ride on the Harley during a week at the beach turned into the unexpected. Out of nowhere, a Jeep ran a stop sign, not even slowing, causing the motorcycle to ran into the side of the vehicle. The results are never good when that happens. Frantic calls, ambulance rides to the hospital, a messed-up bike, and lots of pain and suffering. Did God really want this to happen to His people?

If we believe in God's sovereignty, the answer has to be "yes." But that can be as hard to accept as being asked to eat nails for breakfast. Sometimes, however, in His mercy, God allows us a glimpse into the answer behind the "why."

Poor Harley

Christy Hill wrote the following email this morning in the aftermath of the accident. I was delighted when she said I had permission to share it with you.

Some of you may have heard about Tim and Emily’s motorcycle accident yesterday. We are at Myrtle Beach and Tim and Emily were on the bike just out for a spin when a jeep ran a stop sign and didn’t even slow down.  She pulled out in front of them. Tim didn’t even have time to react, they just ran right into them.

The impact “laid the bike down” meaning there was no way to keep it upright. The bike fell on top of Emily, but she slid a few feet from it. Tim took the brunt of the hit.  They were both sent to Grand Strand hospital. I got the call at 2:05pm from Emily (Conner and I were at the condo) and the medic told me to get to the hospital right away.  

Emily was treated for “road rash” on her left side, but had no other injuries. Tim suffered a broken collar bone, had a large deep gash in his right temple, road rash all over him, and severe pain in his leg. They kept him at the hospital last night.  When we left him, he was resting, but in extreme pain.

Emily had told me in the ER that the lady (Kimmy) who hit them was extremely upset (as anyone would be). But she kept telling Emily she “needed Jesus.” Emily prayed with her at the scene while waiting for an ambulance to transport her to the hospital – they took Tim immediately.  She [Emily] said in the ER that if this lady accepted Christ this accident would be worth it.  

The lady came to see us later that evening in the hospital. She asked us for “forgiveness” and told us she had been a believer, but had gotten away from the Lord. She said Emily’s words and actions were pulling her back to Him. In her card she wrote, “Your sweet smile ministered to me so much today. Your words of truth that “God is Almighty” put my soul at rest.” She told us at the hospital she wanted the peace and relationship that Emily had with Him.  

Not exactly how we wanted to remember our beach vacation, but God has a plan and purpose in all this for us and for Kimmy. Tim’s family is scheduled to come to the beach on Saturday, and we were going to spend next week with them.  We are just going to take things day by day.  Hopefully, Tim will be discharged today and can rest and recover some before we make the long trip home.  

I am praising God for His protection yesterday for them. When they ride the bike, I used to be very vigilant about praying for protection, but you get comfortable. They left yesterday about noon, and I do remember praying a prayer for protection for them. I know God protected them…it could have been so much worse…even ultimately.  

Thanks for your prayers…our main one right now is for Tim’s full recovery. He’s bringing back one massive scar on his face as a souvenir. I would have preferred a "Life is Good" T-shirt…I think I will get one of those as well.  

Love to all! 

7/27/12  NEWS UPDATE: In another email today, Christy shared the following:

It’s been a rough day.  Emily slept well and is stiff today, but she has been a trooper!  New xrays determined Tim also has a broken hand on his left hand and a cracked rib on his right side.  The doctor explained in a trauma situation, they treat the most serious injuries first and then reevaluate any other potential injuries.  The doctors are keeping him in the hospital until they think he can move on his own and there is no more danger for him.  Tim’s family is heading down to the beach tomorrow, so that will help.  He was able to stand and walk a few steps with a lot of help. He is still in a lot of pain.   

We recovered Tim and Emily’s things from the bike today.  We also visited the intersection.  God truly was protecting them.

Kimmy, the lady who hit them, texted Emily today and I am posting their conversation here…simply amazing. 

 

Kimmy: R u sure God can forgive me? I still feel so guilty. I’m so sorry. Ur such a power girl, great things will come out of your ministry starting with me. How are you feeling? How is your dad feeling?

Emily: Is this Kimmy?

Kimmy: Yes…Hey yes!  I prayed last night .I’m going to heaven!!!

Emily: Yes He loves ya and has forgiven ya. 

Kimmy: Emily I feel so free.  Like no more chains are holding me!! I want to tell everyone about God.  I was so excited with joy when I felt God forgive me. 

Emily: That’s what He wants. He wants you to also tell others about him and his great love. 

WOW. What else can I say? God was sure in what he was doing.

7/30/12  NEWS UPDATE: In another email, Christy shared the following:

A good day today. Tim got the word that he is being released tomorrow, Lord willing.  The improvement in his mobility has been tremendous. He is standing and walking much better than before, albeit slow and strained. 

The family is down in the beach house and we will be climbing Mount Everest (ok – one flight of stairs) to get him in, but once he’s in he will be on the main floor and have all he needs. So thankful to have the rest of this week to let him recover and still regroup. Stitches (22) will come out later this week for his face. 

Although things will not be “normal” we are looking forward to being at the beach with a little bit of normalcy.  We are already referring to things “before the wreck” and “after the wreck.”  It seems like we were on vacation 3 months ago rather than 3 days ago. It is so strange to be driving back and forth to the hospital with all the tourist attractions and beach things around us…things we were enjoying just last week. You always go on vacation hoping for rest and rejuvenation, and I must say this vacation we have changed…forever. We will take home scars, both physical and emotional…but they will serve as reminders of God’s faithfulness and love to us. 

I always read books over vacation and I was reading a book that spent a great deal of time dealing with how we should treasure our families and not take for granted those moments we have together, never realizing we would be put to the test (Why did I require a living visual? :) ).  We truly are rich…we have each other…we STILL have each other.  I had driven past this hospital the day before the wreck and remember thinking how sad it was for “those” people who would have to come here on their vacation…never realizing less than 24 hours we would be there. One thing is for sure…Hill Family Vacation 2012 will be one for the books! 

In my feeble attempt at humor in the ER I told Tim the least he could have done was to wait to do this until AFTER we had taken our beach pictures…oh well…we will take those pictures someday with our smiles telling how we looked death in the face, helped a young lady searching for Jesus, and learned that we are better off for it all. Only with the Lord right there by all our sides that Thursday afternoon. They say that what does not kill us makes us stronger…well, my dear friends…we are stronger today!  God is so good!

All things new

Caleb was right. His new (to him) Catalina sailboat was a great bargain, even if the interior decor was retro plaid and the accent deck colors baby blue. But it was retro because it was truly retro. It was manufactured in the 1970's when tealy-blue was a hot color. (I should know. I lived that color back then.) But not so now.

The light-colored woodwork on the deck has already been restained and sealed in a dark cherry hue. The hull is slated to become black with accents of gold, the deck a light gray, remnants of the cabin's blue carpet will disappear, and the boat will take on a manly, sophisticated look. At least, that's the plan.

I happen to be part of the plan. The last time he was down at the boat, Caleb stuffed his car full of cushions in need of a make-over. He presented them to me, along with that shy grin of his, when he got home. They filled my sewing room to capacity and taunted me for a do-over. With a general idea of what Caleb wanted, my mission became finding an economical solution for this design dilemma. I lost count of the number of stores I visited in search of the perfect materials. After a failed attempt at using gold tablecloths for the accent color around the edges (it frayed so badly it thought the hairy BigFoot creature had visited Bedford with a bad case of alopecia), I settled on affordable king-size black sheets and found two bolts of clearanced upholstery fabric. Perfect.

The project is coming together. A couple of accent pillows and a coordinating curtain panel to give some privacy to the V-berth complete the picture. I enjoy making something look good, especially if its prior look was old and worn.

Old things becoming new. Don't you love the idea? Laws of thermodynamics tell us things naturally progress from order to disorder. (And if we look at a teenager's room a week after it has been scrubbed clean, we know this to be absolutely true.) But it's fun to ward off the chaos as long as possible.

Oddly, God, in his mercy, has a spectacular knack for everlasting do-overs. He takes what is inherently ugly, wraps us in a cover of love and grace, and presents us to the waiting world. Why? Why would he put so much time and energy into us? Perhaps it's because He takes no greater pleasure than for His work  to reflect back on the beauty of His own character. We likely drive God crazy when we let our nasty 'ol selves peek out from behind the beautiful tapestry that He's made.

When God draws us to Himself, saving us, He completely makes us over. We don't have to be retro, ugly and unacceptable in His sight anymore. We no longer have to be slaves to wrong-doing and evil. Rather, we become beautiful do-overs by the grace of God.

Will our frayed ends show from time to time? Sure. But God delights in snipping off those loose strands to tidy up the mess.

Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; old things have passed away; behold, all things have become new. (2 Corinthians 5:17)

Just one more day: Days 198 - 204

Day 198 – July 16, 2012

After a reprieve from journaling my daily runs right before, during, and in the aftermath of the Tour de Virginia, I am back on track. Not that anyone had lost sleep over my absence. It’s just that this keeps me honest.

I’ve been running in the evenings for the last week after supper. It’s a nice way to end the day although the bugs at dusk has added a little protein to my diet. Tonight was a standard 6-miler that felt pretty good. I am running in INOV 233s, a lightweight road shoe, that I am loving!

Total – 6 road miles

Day 199 – July 17

This was an evening run with my team and it served to tell us all that we are NOT ready to run fast or hard yet. The distance was short but was comprised of short bursts either downhill (on the way out) or uphill, all the way back. Whew. We are out of shape for this kind of hill workout! Everyone was sucking wind.

Total – 2.5 gravel road miles

Day 200 – July 18, 2012

I love my evening runs followed by a cool-off in the pool. The only problem with runs near dusk is that I come back covered in bugs, inhaling a few along the way.

Total – 4 road miles

Day 201 – July 19, 2012

Another team practice but only 3 kids showed up! Ugh. Anyway, the first mile of trail was reminiscent of a few weeks ago n the AT. Lots of blow downs!  But after that, we enjoyed a romp on some very nice trail.

Total – 4.5 trail miles

Day 202 – July 20, 2012

Another evening run with the bugs, But, it’s a great way to end the day.

Total – 4 road miles

Day 203 – July 21, 2012

After a day of some work and some relaxation, I took to the back roads and enjoyed the sounds and scents of summer; fresh cut grass, cows, wild flowers blooming, and gravel crunching underfoot. A dip in the pool was a prefect ending.

Total – 5 road miles

Day 204 – July 22, 2012

A Sunday afternoon run was a hot and humid one. But it was a good way to spend a little down time.

Total – 6 road miles

Year-to date total: 1430 miles

Just one more day: The hiatus ends

Just so you know. . .though I have not blogged about my daily runs the last several weeks (before, during, and in the aftermath of the Tour de Virginia), I am back on track and will be posting again at the end of this week. I must confess that I actually missed two days: the two days after I dropped from the Tour. I thought about abandoning the everyday run challenge, but decided that despite missing two days, I would try to get in 363 days this year; a feat I've never come close to.

Stay tuned. I am still running.

Tour de Virginia: Anecdotes and final thoughts

A few days ago, runners Eric Grossman, Troy Shellhamer, and Anne Lundblad finished the Tour de Virginia in Harpers Ferry, all 568 miles of it. None of the three found it easy. All suffered a lot, especially in the closing days. But they finished and must be congratulated for this tremendous undertaking.

I'm glad they finished on several levels. First, they are my friends and friends want friends to be successful. They worked hard, put in the time and miles, suffered like they had never suffered before, and arrived at the finish line. Cudos to them. Well done.

But secondly, I'm glad they finished so I can stop thinking about it and move on. Rob French concurs. Rob developed Achilles problems and pulled from the race the day after I left. He called me on Day 14 to commiserate. We have both had a good dose of quitters remorse and wish to put the Tour behind us but in perspective. Hence, I offer my last thoughts on the matter.

Gary picked me up on the morning of Stage 6 and brought me home. I quickly sorted wash and began the arduous work of putting away all my gear. I didn't want to be reminded of my failure, although at that point, I actually didn't feel too bad about dropping. Besides, I had work to do in preparation of the gang overnighting at my house.

On the day of Stage 7, I got up early and started working: cleaning house, preparing bedrooms, and cooking and baking. My feet swelled from standing all day, looking like swollen gourds. But it was worth it. By the time the runners arrived, barbeque grilled chicken, baked beans, homemade bread, salad, strawberry pretzel squares, apple crisp and ice cream, and a chocolate fudge torte awaited them. I enjoyed being able to give James and Adam a day or two off from having to cook. And, I think they all enjoyed sitting at a table in air conditioning after a dip in the pool and a cleansing hot shower. It was their first taste of normalcy in over a week, capping the day with a sleep in a bed.

Come morning, the runners left a little later than normal, a change not welcomed by Anne who was used to getting an early start. I put dinner in the crock pot and left shortly thereafter, having committed to crewing for the day. This relieved them of their dependence of springs for water. Unfortunately, I got to the first check point about five minutes behind the runners, finding out from a group of nurses out on on hiking outing, that Troy had fallen and ravaged his hand. In fact, the blood trail was still evident on the ground. Thankfully, they patched him up as best they could and sent him on the way. I gave chase, driving around Robin Hood's barn, to intersect with them at the next point.

I hiked in and waited, prepared with sodas, sweet tea, water, and a variety of snacks. Eric seemed surprised to see me. Techno TroyBoy approached, phone held to ear, chatting away. Anne was pleased to have a strawberry lemonade. I was just glad to assist.

Next stop was to check on Robin (Eric's wife) who was waiting five miles away before starting the trip home. The boys had come through and now she was waiting on Anne. I scurried off to the next spot, ThunderRidge overlook, although I was too late to catch the guys.

Nevertheless, at Petites Gap, both Eric and Troy arrived within minutes of each other, again grateful for being able to wash off, drink, eat, and refill their packs. Ten miles remained. I waited for Anne, expecting to soon see her ever-optomistic self. Wrong. As she approached, Anne sobbed. "I just fell again for the seventh time in eight days. I can't do this anymore. This will be my last stage. I'll finish the day but I am not starting tomorrow."

I was shocked. Anne is not taken to crying and emotion. With my arm around her, I led her over to a log in the shade and asked her to sit. She downed a Diet Coke and munched on some treats. Finally, she stood up and gathered her poles. "What's that bracelet you've been wearing all week?" I asked. It was obviously rubber and sort of pretty, but I wondered if it had a purpose.

"Oh yeah, Mark gave it to me. It helps with balance," she stated matter-of-factly.

"Balance? Really? How's that working for you?" I asked, glancing down at her bloodied and bruised knees. Then our eyes met and we broke out in fits of laughter. How ironic! But her mood lifted and off she went. By the time she got back to my house, her resolution to quit waned, especially when Emma, her daughter, chided her.

"Mom. Your fans will be so disappointed if you quit. Quitting is not an option. You only have six more days."

With that, Anne ate a hearty dinner and prepared for another day on the trail.

To give Anne a head start, I drove her to the trail head before sunrise and watched as she began the ninth stage. I planned on meeting the runners after they completed the first ten miles. But alas, my drive up the Blue Ridge Parkway was thwarted by a huge tree that had blown over in another storm. It took a thirty mile detour to arrive at my appointed position. But arrive I did, catching all three runners. Throughout the day, I held my breath that I would be able to manage the rough back roads in my Honda Civic station wagon. I winced whenever I heard the road rise up to meet the bottom of the car. Thankfully, I was able to meet them no less than five times that day.

By the time I saw them for the fourth time, a storm blew in, dropping heavy rain and lighting up the darkened sky with bolts of lightning and loud thunder. At least they wouldn't be hot any longer. Anne didn't look like she was relishing the weather. I hoped, for her sake, it would be short-lived.

I thought about heading home, now that they had only the last ten miles to cover. But instead, I made my way along back roads and finally arrived at the road leading to their stopping point. "Four-wheel vehicles only beyond this point. Cars not recommended." Oops. It would be a long walk out (about four miles) if I couldn't get to them. It was obvious the van had no chance of making it. It was up to me. With that, I swallowed my fear and headed in. All was well until the spot where a stream and road intersected. Large gravel had been dumped in the stream bed, perhaps a foot deep. I got out to take a look, thinking the car would sink into the stone. I was right. It did. But with speed, I managed to emerge on the other side. It was all about momentum. Whew. Disaster averted.

I was alone at the end of the road. That was worrisome. Off I trekked to the where the AT crossed the rugged Jeep Road. Gathering sticks, I barricaded the trail heading further north and made a sequence of arrows all the way down the hill and to the waiting car. Soon after, as I thumbed to the spot I left off reading in my book, I glanced up to see Troy approach. Yeah! Then Eric, and in another twenty minutes, Anne. Now all we had to do was get the car back across the stream and meet the crew in a nearby camping spot. Easier said than done.

It almost didn't happen. But with all the courage I could muster, I asked my passengers to hold on. Wheels spun, rocks flew, and water went every which way when we hit a big hole on the other side. We made it across and it seemed like the car was intact. (At least no parts were scattered on the ground.) I think it took about five minutes for my heart rate to come back down. Soon, we were back at camp where the runners posed for a parting picture before showering away the day's grime.

Then came the drive home. I had learned a lot from watching them persevere. Especially Anne. So tough. My mind was busy contemplating suffering and endurance, desire for the extreme and the commitment it takes to achieve. I was glad I could be of service for a couple days, hanging onto the feeling of kinship with the others.

Now, the event is over and I can finally stop mulling over the happenings. I was glad to be a part of the event, even the way it turned out for me. Lessons learned, life goes on.

Tour de Virginia: Recap Day 5

Well, we all know what happened on day 5. It was the first thing I blogged about when returning home not even midway through the Tour. (Catch up here if you missed it.)

As the days go by, there is little I can think about other than the events that transpired. I keep contemplating that I could have been, no, should be with the three remaining runners as they head for the finish in Harpers Ferry today. But alas, I am not. Honestly, I can't wait to congratulate them for their outstanding performances. So impressive! Yet, at the same time, I am hoping their finishes will allow me to put things in perspective and move on.

Here is what I've been thinking. It's the honest, brutal truth. I've been trying to weigh the reasons for the decision I made to quit against reasons why I should not dropped. Bare with me as I try to make sense of it all, in no particular order.

Reasons why I dropped:

1. I was emotionally spent, crying often during the day.

2. I felt lonely. I was not happy.

3. I was WAY behind the others--again. I hated this. This happened daily.

4. I got the feeling, whether imagined or not, that the others thought I was too slow, ill-equipped, and regretted the decision to "invite" me via Facebook. It felt like something between pity and annoyance at me making the logistics so difficult.

5. The miles seemed endless.

6. My feet really hurt, especially the blister under the ball and heel of my foot. It slowed progress over the rocks and uneven ground because it felt like it was being ripped apart.

7. Having enough to drink was a continual battle. Hence, I probably didn't drink enough in hopes of not running dry, resulting in compounding dehydration.

8. I had decided throughout the day that I hated the time on the trail. There were so many things to be done at home. At the time, it seemed to be a waste.

9. I wanted more sleep. I was functioning on a few scant hours per night. It was frustrating to never "feel" tired when I crawled into my tent. I didn't understand that. I should have been exhausted.

10. I hated the rushed routine of early mornings, trying to stay ahead of the others, being on the trail all day, a hurried supper and prep for the next day. I couldn't imagine nine more days of the same.

11. When I prayed for someone to show up at the road crossing--and they did--I felt that it would be kin to kicking a gift horse in the mouth if I turned down their help.

12. My husband had said he would pick me up if I dropped out. He loved me either way. But I almost wished he would have given me a little "tough love" encouragement.

13. I figured it would be between 9:30 and 10:30 p.m. before I finished the stage. I questioned my ability to eat, get cleaned up, pack for the next stage, and get up to do another 40-plus miles again at 3:30 a.m.

14. No one tried to talk me out of dropping. Had there been reception, I should have called someone who would tell me quitting was not an option.

15. I got frustrated at the thought of no support or check-ins during the day. What if something happened to me? No one would have any idea of where to start looking. The feeling of being on my own for 46 miles in a weakened state was overwhelming.

16. I decided I never wanted to do an aggressive multi-day event again.

Reasons why I should not have dropped:

1. Wise decisions are seldom made when based on emotion. I was definitely too emotional to make a wise decision.

2. Did my feet hurt? Yes. But not as bad as they have in past adventures. I could have put up with more pain (I think), assuming I could squish them into shoes again in the morning.

3. My legs were still fine. They felt a little tired when crawling over and around blowdowns but other than that, they were intact.

4.  I had paid into the event. I had just as much right to do the event (at my own speed) as everyone else.

5. There was nothing life-threatening about my state. I was just feeling a little weannie-like.

6. I contemplated how my suffering and perseverance could have be a great lesson to the athletes I coach.

A little swollen

7. It might have been wise to finish the stage, despite the late finish, went through the motions of preparation, and see how I felt in the morning. My Dad always said, "Get up and get moving. You'll feel better."

In retrospect, the following are tumbling around in my brain, still not bringing clarity.

1. My "recovery" has been very easy. It's almost like I didn't do anything. This tells me I didn't leave it all out there on the trail.

2. My feet are the only physical reminder of the event. I am still filing and cutting away dead skin, resulting in several big "holes" several skin layers deep.

3. I have run all but two days since then and my legs feel fine, strong, even.

4. Had I not dropped out, I would not have been able to host the runners for two nights to the extent that I did, cooking and baking huge volumes of food. I think this was of benefit to the runners. I LOVED serving them in this way.

5. Had I not dropped out, they would not have had support while out on the trail during stages eight and nine. This allowed them to carry less and not rely on streams and springs for their water. Again, the runners benefited because of this and I enjoyed continuing to be part of the team.

6. I have not been a good example to my athletes in terms of demonstrating perseverance despite adversity.

7. On the other hand, my failure to endure could be an example of what not to do.

8. Even on that day, I felt guilty in not finishing the stage. I could have at least done that. I didn't know it at the time, but I would have had but five miles remaining instead of seven. (The finish area had to be changed.)
9. But, had I finished and continued on, who knows if I would have broken down physically later on?

I'm sure you can tell I am still tormented about dropping out. I know I have to come to grips with it or risk going crazy. So, how can I bring resolution?

A friend recently wrote: "I understand your internal struggle. . .You can’t go back and change your decision.  If you had been doing this alone, you could have had a shorter day or taken a day off to allow body and mind to recuperate. . . It is way too easy to second guess ourselves after the fact. You made your decision and at least in my eyes you made the correct one. God gave you a brain to think and reason. You utilized that brain to make the best decision.  Remember, God answered your prayers when you needed it the most.

He's right. I can't go back and change anything. What's done is done. I need to get over it. Is it embarrassing to have dropped out after five days and only about 200 miles, a mere third of the total? Yep. Sure is. I went into this knowing it would be the hardest thing I'd ever done while reminding myself what it would be like to run across the bridge in Harpers Ferry. Apparently, that wasn't enough. Today, the others finish without me. Cudos to them. Well done.

Me? I'm not getting any younger but maybe I don't have to hang up my quest for adventure. Perhaps I only have to amend the method. Crew support. Flexible schedule. A partner. So brother John, maybe the 586-mile Israel Trail can be undertaken after all.

Tour de Virginia: Recap Day 4

"James," I asked the night before. "Do you think I could con you into taking down my tent in the morning and throwing it in my bin? I need to get up even earlier than I have been to get a jump on the others. Our tents are so close together I don't want to wake them."

"Sure. No problem." Sweet James.

It was a little awkward to ask for special help. Up to this point, we were supposed to take care of everything ourselves. In fact, originally, Eric had the idea that we would each have to cook for ourselves in the the evenings. Thank goodness he decided to bring along his brother James, a professional chef. On my previous adventures, I was blessed to have crew to deal with all the logistical details of setting up and taking down camp, helping to prepare packs, and worry about all the other details. It was all I could do to just get up and run. But this time around, I was finding it difficult to take care of everything. My non-running hours were so few, it proved to be a major challenge for me. Still, though I asked but this once, it seemed to open a flood gate. In coming days, the remaining runners seldom had to deal with camp set-up or take-down issues.

I set my alarm for 4 a.m. Since everything was prepared the day before, I merely grabbed my breakfast items and headed up the trail. I was actually disappointed to see several other runners up and at 'em as I passed by the campsite on my way out. I felt pressure rising knowing they would be in hot pursuit, again relishing me to bring up the rear--again. It was quite depressing. But I could hardly blame them for wanting to leave in the dark. The massive heat wave was still in full swing. We were running right into the depths of a pre-heated oven with no promise of quenching water.

The first seven miles went by quickly. I was so pleased that my legs still felt no stiffness or soreness after three long days on the trail. I suppose it was my turtle-speed that protected them. The terrain allowed considerable running in this section, eventually leading to a downhill run on gravel, across the I-77overpass, down a country road, and back onto trail. My progress was good and I was happy with the time it took. But since it was inevitable, Rob came up behind me followed by Anne and then TroyBoy. In fact, we were all together when we descended the hill down to a shelter in search of a spring at about 19 miles. (Eric slept in. He would pass me, however, within the next few miles.) I ended up being last in line to lay claim to the trickle of water escaping from a crack in the rocks. For the first time, I dropped in iodine pills to treat the water. I hoped the taste wouldn't be too bad.

This meant I was the last one to reclaim the trail. I didn't like being last. I could only imagine what the others thought of me. I was doing my best for the circumstances, but my best wasn't even their worst on a bad day. The pressure I felt was intense. I couldn't shake the feeling that they would rather me not be in this event. My speed (or lack thereof) was just too inconvenient for everyone else.

At this point, I could feel the heat rising and my emotions falling. Eric passed me somewhere in there, briefly telling me of going down the wrong trail to the spring. Then he was gone. The trail eventually popped out into the open, immediately raising the temperature about twenty degrees. It was miserable. Then came a footbridge across a river and s surprise on the other side.

"Hey, come over here" a young man shouted. "I have soda, water, grapes, and some other snacks. Want some?"

Do I? Yes! A West Virginia runner, who I did not know, had heard about the Tour and drove an hour to help. He said we were all within thirty minutes of each other. That was encouraging to hear since I figured I was hours behind, standard fare for me. His refreshments did just that as I crossed the road and began the next climb. With only fourteen miles to go, I felt confident of turning in a reasonable performance. Energy good. Legs good. Attitude getting better.

There were more blowdowns in this section, which I negotiated with a sense of normalcy. I glanced at my data card and checked off an intersecting trail two miles later. Then the trail slipped into a rhododendron tunnel that twisted and turned, providing much needed shade. It was lovely and quite runnable. The tunnel gave way to an open hardwood forest, the trail rambling through it like a giant ribbon. There were plenty of little bridges but alas, the streams beneath were simply dry rock. I was getting thirsty again and needed to refill.

Somewhere along the line, the tunnel and forest trail seemed to blend into one big maze. It was like I was getting nowhere, trekking in circles. Every time I came to another bridge, I could have sworn I had already crossed it. I could find nothing on the data card to serve as a point of reference. Round and round I went, not sure if I had somehow doubled back. I was in the twilight zone.

Much to my relief, I finally passed a stream with moving water, filling my pack to the brim and guzzling the fresh water as fast as I could. Then a shelter appeared on the right and my faith was renewed that I was still following the blazes to the north. This meant six miles remained. Easy, right?

Wrong. The climb out of that hole was, as Anne later described it, "heinous." Steep and rocky, it went straight up. I gasped for breath and leaned on my poles to propel me upward. It was incredibly difficult but finally turned to follow the contour of the mountain's ridge line. I also became aware that my feet, especially the right one, were becoming a problem. I could feel that a blister, deep under a callous in the ball of my feet, had formed. A step onto any uneven surface pulled and tore at it. Another equally deep blister formed under my heel callous. Progress was slow and the eventual descent off the rocky mountain trail not at all pleasant.

After what seemed like hours, I saw the van waiting at the road crossing for me. Adam handed me a Diet Coke. Eric's dad, visiting for the day, was sent to check on me since it was taking so long. By the time we drove the half-mile down the mountain to the Woodshole hostel, everyone else had already showered, organized their packs, and had started the eating and drinking process. I felt more like the odd-man out than ever before.

The outdoor shower washed away the grime but not the hurt and feeling of dread. I found it difficult to bear any weight on my right foot. It was very painful. I began to think of the 46 miles coming up in the next stage. "How in the world?" I mused. I felt depressed and sullen. Even the oven-baked pizza seemed bland and blah.

Rob, Troy, Anne and I slept in a rustic loft that evening. The ladder leading up through the hole in the floor was difficult to negotiate on hurting feet. Three times during the night, I woke up with a cotton-mouth feeling. Climbing down the ladder, I downed several glasses of water before climbing back to my mattress. Then, the process was repeated twice when my kidneys finally responded to the fluid. I massaged my feet with cream and came up with a plan for how to protect the blisters come morning. Though it was still difficult to bear weight, by the time my alarm went off at 4:30 a.m., I had convinced myself that everything would be okay.

"Get up and get going," my Dad used to say. "You'll feel better." I sure hoped he was right. Once I started, there was no turning back.