What about my less-than utmost for his highest?

I've written before about RA Dickey: the Christian, VFL, Academic All-American, Star Wars nerd who currently pitches for the Toronto Blue Jays.  The pitcher in my family is somewhat of a fan but can't fully embrace him because pitchers who are known for throwing knuckleballs are not glamorous enough to be heroes to aspiring heat-throwers.

View image | gettyimages.com

But Tuesday, RA Dickey became my personal favorite current baseball player, and will likely join Mr. Hank Aaron in the Elizabeth Pemberton Hall of Fame for Baseball Players Who Are Also Awesome Human Beings (not to be confused with The Derek Zoolander School for Kids Who Can't Read Good and Want to Do Other Stuff Good Too).

In his book Wherever I Wind Up, Dickey talks about how, before a game, he prays that God be glorified in his performance.  Not an unusual thing to hear a Christian athlete say, but Dickey points out that he did this in his first major league appearance for the Texas Rangers in 2006 and gave up six home runs in three and a half innings, setting an MLB record that he never intended to set.

After bouncing around between the Minor leagues and a few MLB teams, Dickey had a remarkable year in 2012.  He was a pitching phenomenon and was named to the NL All Star team from the New York Mets.  His book was released and he had the platform to discuss sexual abuse he was subjected to as a child and how finally confronting all of the ugliness in his past freed him to live a more authentic life in Christ.  It seemed that authentic life led to worldly success, as he won the National League Cy Young award that year.

Since that time he led a fairly quiet life with the Toronto Blue Jays, pitching on a regular rotation as the only knuckleballer in the MLB.  That is, until this postseason, where he was named the starter in the American League Championship Series on Tuesday, October 20.  

If this were a movie starring Kirk Cameron, Dickey would have pitched a perfect game and given all the credit to God in his post-game interview with Erin Andrews.  (Actually, if this had been a movie starring Kirk Cameron, all this would have happened in game 7 of the World Series.)  But guess what happened in real life?  He gave up four runs in the first inning of the game, and another in the second before he was replaced in the third inning.  The Blue Jays lost to the Kansas City Royals 14-2.  You can read more about it here:

R.A. Dickey implodes in ALCS Game 4, and the Blue Jays-Mets trade looks lopsided

Sidenote:  I have real problem with a lot of Christian movies because they present a view of the Christian life that isn't very realistic to me.  Yes, the plots do present problems that have to be dealt with, but it seems to me that they seem to be resolved by God answering a prayer in a way that perfectly wraps up the story in under 120 minutes.  That hasn't been my experience, very rarely have situations been resolved by God granting my wishes as expressed in prayer.  Most often, I feel his presence as I lie in a crumpled, defeated heap, having begged and beseeched him for my version of the perfect outcome.  I hear him say "I’ve got you, and I’ve got a plan for you that is far better than the one you’ve imagined for yourself."

This is why RA Dickey is my favorite current baseball player, because I'm sure that if Erin Andrews were to interview him after the game he would say that God is glorified even though the performance wasn't very glorious.  I’m certain that he knows that God doesn't want the Hollywood ending, he wants the ending where he has a relationship with RA Dickey despite the final score.  

There is a quote in Rachel Held Evans' book Searching for Sunday that clarifies this point so perfectly.  Discussing the failure of a church plant she and some friends had passionately nurtured but could not grow, she says

Church is a moment in time when the kingdom of God draws near, when a meal, a story, a song, an apology, and even a failure is made holy by the presence of Jesus among us and within us.  (emphasis mine)

We don't glorify God with perfection or victory, or in miraculous performances.  We glorify God when we welcome Jesus in to our failures.  I’m still a little uncomfortable starting up this blog again because even though my heart knows that this whole thing is about the journey not the destination, my head knows that the destination is essential for the journey.  And I’m not sure if, or when I’ll reach that destination.  But my goal is to glorify God whether I make it or not.

The Turtle is Back in the Race!

Behold the turtle. He makes progress only when he sticks his neck out.

- James Bryant Conant

A couple of very kind people have mentioned to me that they missed my blog.  (They are either kind, or extremely desperate for entertainment.)  And I've wanted to write, but was a little bit embarassed to do so since I quit running.  As I was preparing to blog again, I Googled "turtle quotes" for inspiration (since I am fully embracing my verrrrrry slow pace as a runner), and found the above quote from James Bryant Conant.  How fitting, as I prepare to stick my neck out physically and emotionally  again.

A few weeks ago I spent Sunday morning at our second church home, the baseball field.  Some could accurately argue that this may well be our first church home, since we seem to end up here more often than not on Sunday mornings.  The sky was beautiful, the temperature was just right, Jay was pitching for the first time since throwing a perfect game and a shutout two weeks before, Will had friends to play with and didn't have his head in an electronic device.  Everything seemed "perfect."  Psalms 96:12 popped into my head:  "Let the fields be jubilant, and everything in them; let all the trees of the forest sing for joy!"  I snapped this picture and posted it on Facebook with Psalms 96:12 and just knew that Jay would pick the opposing player off of second base, the team would win a tournament, we would celebrate at Cardin's Drive-In with a peanut butter milkshake and all would be right with the world.  I was trying to promote joy and light among my Facebook friends!

Within a minute of posting that picture, things started to go downhill.  The other team caught fire, hitting and scoring several runs.  Jay lost confidence and was benched.  It got worse.  The second game of the day was uglier and we altered the purpose of peanut butter milkshakes from celebration to drowning our sorrows.  Shortly after placing our orders, the coach and players from the second team showed up at Cardin's.  We sullenly drank our consolation milkshakes in the shadow of their celebration and I vowed to never post anything positive about a sporting event until it was over.  (Which has been remarkably helpful during Tennessee's football season!)  

Looking back, I can see that the fields and everything in them were still jubilant, the trees of the forest still sang for joy.  It was still a beautiful morning in a beautiful setting, with my son playing the game he loves best.  In fact, I'm certain that if you gave Jay the choice of a bad day on the baseball diamond or no day on the baseball diamond, he wouldn't hesitate to pick a bad day on the baseball diamond.  He's just happy to be in the arena.

I'm reminded of a song written by Kyle Matthews and made famous by Donnie McClurkin, "We Fall Down."  Here's the chorus:

We fall down, we get up.  We fall down, we get up.  We fall down, we get up.

And the saints are just the sinners who fall down, and get up.

We're so fortunate to be falling down and getting up in jubilant fields and joyful forests.  Why do we place all of our attention on the inevitable falling down?  I've spent too much time on what I didn't do (the Disney Princess half-marathon) that I completely lost sight of what I did do (became a runner for a sustained period of time!)  It reminds me of something we did with our boys when they were little.  Whenever they fell or tripped, Bart or I would say "Safe!" Then we would get them back up and send them on their way.  We wanted them to know that tripping or falling was a part of life and that it shouldn't slow you down.  Obviously I need to parent myself a bit here.

This takes me back to my turtle imagery.  Do you know how a turtle that has flipped on his back gets righted?  One way is to stick his neck out and move it around to build up momentum to flip rightside, but there is another way:

Click here to see a turtle help a friend!

Is there something you need to "get up" and do?  Join me!

Say what you want to say, and let the words fall out, honestly.

So this is the week that I should be packing my tiara and tutu and getting ready to cross the Disney Princess Half Marathon off my bucket list.  And I’m not doing it.  It would have been easy for me to slink off and not ever post to the See How She Runs blog again, but one of the goals of this whole exercise was to be more authentic and open about things that I was not very open or authentic about.

I’ll let you in on a little secret.  I write when I’m running, and you may notice that I haven’t posted anything since November.  I think I did one more long run after the Buddy’s Race Against Cancer and then packed it in.  I’m disappointed in myself, not because I didn’t achieve my goal of running in the half marathon, but because I “quit” so far into the race.  I ran regularly from January through November, ELEVEN WHOLE MONTHS.

I’m also frustrated because this was supposed to be an exercise in “letting go and letting God.”  My runs may have been slow time-wise, but they were very enriching spiritually.  I spent a lot of time talking to God, telling him that I trusted him to play his part in making this happen, and I really believed that it would, until I decided I knew better than God what I was capable of.

And why am I having trouble starting up again?  I go back to the Theodore Roosevelt quote about the man in the arena (the focus of Brene Brown’s Daring Greatly): 

The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.

I’m disappointed in myself for getting out of the arena because I dared greatly for a time and then quit, returning to join the cold and timid souls out of the game.  But this is a critical place to be right now, one that can teach me a lot about myself.  The place outside the arena initially feels safe but soon starts to smother me in ennui, triggering a downward spiral of shame and unworthiness.  Exciting challenges await inside the arena, but can have a tendency to result in sensory overload for me which is probably what sent me running for the exit.

I suspect I fall in the middle of the introvert/extrovert continuum and haven’t learned how to successfully sustain each side.  So life-wise, my goal is to find a way for the introverted part of me to recharge while in the midst of the dust, sweat and blood of the arena, while continuing to challenge the extroverted Elizabeth who dares greatly.   Another goal is to again “let go and let God.”  I knew he was with me the first time around, now I know what happens when I try to wrestle back control from the Almighty. 

As far as running goes, I have some pretty clearly defined goals as well.  It was interesting that as I added distance, my pace pretty much remained the same.  It was a slow pace that did not meet the requirement for finishing the Disney Princess Half Marathon, but the beginning, middle and end of my long runs were very similar.  My first time around on this half-marathon journey, I thought it would be possible to increase speed and distance at the same time.  Now I see that this isn’t how it works for me and I can spend the next few months working on speed knowing that it is the more challenging aspect of training.

Sunday  morning will be bittersweet because I had this vision of crossing the finish line and it won’t happen as I thought it would.  That doesn’t mean that it won’t happen eventually!

When the going gets tough...

The Buddy's Barbecue Race Against Cancer was last  weekend.  I'm six weeks into half-marathon training and figured it would be a good test.  The whole family did a 5K back in August that did not go as well as expected.  I blamed it on the heat, humidity and my cranky six year old race partner.  This time around it would be considerably cooler and the only Pemberton I'd have to worry about is me.  Completely different experience, right?

Wrong!  I did more running in this 5K than the last one, but walked over half of the distance.  And really questioned whether I am a race kind of girl.  I know all about the race advice to maintain your own pace and not worry about others passing you, but it was hard to hold on to that when the couple HOLDING HANDS strolled past me.  Yes I passed them later in the race, and that supports the "don't worry, maintain your pace" philosophy, but by that time I was just so ready to finish the darn thing that I didn't care.

It was like every single ugly voice that I've worked to silence for the past ten months had their say with every person that passed me.  (And that was A LOT of people!)  "Who do you think you are?"  "Look at the fat girl trying to run!"  "Ten months running and this is the best you can do?"  "Waste of time, waste of time, waste of time" chugging through my head like a train.  Even earbuds with my best power songs couldn't drown them out.  (Let me be really clear here, nobody that passed me actually said anything to me, the Buddy's race is a very positive environment and a fun race to do.  Those voices were all in my head.)

I don't feel like this on my solo runs.  Often a fellow runner gives me a thumbs up or "great job!" as I plod along. So obviously I came to the conclusion that I'm just not cut out to run races, that I 'll just run for myself.  The thought of running the happy fun Disney Princess Half Marathon in a tiara and tutu while those negative voices have their way with my mind is a pretty miserable picture.

But here's the interesting thing:  even with the walking and the voices and the unhappiness, I went a lot faster than I normally do on my solo runs.  My fastest 5K time ever.  And even though I was miserable and prepared to give up racing, I skipped a shortcut several other people took. 

So I'm going to keep training and planning on running the Princess Half Marathon because I'm pretty sure I'll talk myself out of running if I don't still have it as a goal.  But I'm also telling myself that I as long as I continue training, I can opt out.  It’s enough to keep me going for now.

Doing all the things, like hula hooping, pumpkin carving and Christmas light application...

“I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.”  - Philippians 4:13

This is a go-to verse for me, as I’m sure it is for many of you.  This verse has seen me through graduate school, doctor’s appointments and medical procedures, singing a duet with my sister-in-law at a funeral and times at home when Bart has been on business trips.  But I’ve realized that I tend to use this verse as a superhero costume, pulling it on when times are tough.  (And how many of us have done the following exercise:  I can do all things…, I CAN do all things…, I can DO all things…, I can do ALL things…, I can do all THINGS…?)

But I started thinking about this a little bit more recently.  (This may seem odd, but stick with me.)  To celebrate the fiftieth day of school last week the first graders had a “50’s” day where the girls dressed in poodle skirts and the boys slicked their hair back.  They also had a hula hoop contest to see who could keep the hoop spinning the longest.  Will was REALLY upset that he didn’t do well and I was REALLLY baffled about why he was so upset.  He’s good at a lot of other things, why was it so important to be good at the hula hoop?  We don’t even own a hula hoop!

At the same time, I was fighting a virus or something that knocked me on my butt for a few days.  I barely had the energy to get out of bed, so my version of running was out of the question.  I missed two long runs and was very disappointed in myself.  Because I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.  My thought process went like this:  Well, Elizabeth, you could get out of bed and run if you were stronger in your faith.  Your smaller than mustard seed faith obviously isn’t enough to move this mountain.  I even thought about abandoning the half-marathon effort.  Clues to why Will was so upset about the hula hoop contest started falling into place.

Philippians 4:13 isn’t like Superman’s Cape, we can’t just can’t pull it out, shake it off and use it as (someone else brilliantly called it) a “spiritual steroid” to accomplish a difficult task.  It is so much bigger than that.  We can’t claim that verse and pick up a hula hoop for the first time expecting to win a contest, just like we can’t claim that verse and run five miles with a fever.  But we can survive and thrive in whatever comes our way through this life.

So many of the studies mention that you really do have to look back a couple of verses to fully understand what Paul is saying.  In verses 11 and 12 he says,

I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances.  I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty.  I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want.

I can endure all things via my attitude, not my aptitude.

And even though we may truly believe that “we can do all things through Christ who strengthens us”, we don’t actually have to do ALL the  things.  I’ve spent a lot of mental energy on my inability to carve a pumpkin or place lights on a Christmas tree so that you can’t see the wires.  And in my weird little head I  tell myself that I should be able to do those intricate pumpkin carvings through Jesus, or that if I only trust in him I’ll be able to wrap the Christmas light strands so that you only see the bulbs.  (God answered a prayer for me, calling me on this ridiculous obsession, when someone developed the pre-lit Christmas tree.  Also, if you are good at pumpkin carving and Christmas light cord hiding then please know that I am really and truly are happy for you, and still a little bit jealous.)

Turtles, stampeding through peanut butter...

So I’m following the Jeff Galloway runDisney Princess Half Marathon Training Program (http://www.rundisney.com/training/) and crossing off each day as I do it. (I mean it, the first thing I do after a run is go straight to the refrigerator and cross of that day’s training assignment with a big fat pink Sharpie.  Making that big pink “X’ is the best part of my running days.)  But I’m sore and still awfully slow and feeling sorry for myself.  

Okay, maybe I run slightly faster than a herd of turtles stampeding through peanut butter, but only slightly.  I’ve been running to Pandora’s Pop and Hip Hop Power Workout station and Sweet Lord they play an awful lot of Pitbull.  Also, there is the very delicate process in opening the apps on my phone required for my runs.  First Pandora, then Nike Run+ to track my mileage and time and then Two Timer, which is an app that allows you to build in walk breaks to your running time.  (Yes, I’m “fudging” a bit about how much I’m actually running, but more on that in a minute.)  When the third Pitbull song in a row comes on, I can’t just hit the “next” button because it messes up the Two Timer app and then I have to navigate over to that one to fix it.  (Imagine the Napoleon Dynamite “Gosh” right here. And yes, I am fully aware that this is a perfect example of a first world problem.)

Jeff Galloway is a proponent of the run/walk combination in completing long distance races.  You set a specific time to run, followed by a shorter time to walk.  You’ll switch back and forth between running and walking throughout your workout.  The purpose of this is to “rest” yourself before you completely deplete yourself.  Galloway has found that this actually results in faster overall times in marathons and half marathons for many runners.  I run for four minutes and walk for one and the Two Timer app keeps up with where I am and beeps when it is time to transition from one to the other. 

So the whole running thing has been really annoying, and I’d like to quit, but I really don’t want to quit, and I’ve put so much effort into this already it would be a shame to quit, but I am really annoyed by it, but I miss it when I don’t do it, but there’s way to much Pitbull.

Then I hear about Maickel Melamed.  He’s a thirty eight year old man from Caracas, Venezuela who has muscular dystrophy.  Last weekend he completed the Chicago marathon in 16 hours and 46 minutes.  He was the last finisher, and his message to people is “If you dream it, make it happen.”  And the amazing thing is that this is his THIRD marathon.  He has also finished races in Berlin and New York City.

Okay, I'm back on track now.

Zen and the Knuckleball. (And what does this have to do with running a half marathon?)

I didn't grow up with baseball.  My brother played and my dad coached for a few years, but we didn't follow a particular MLB team.  Our big sports tradition occurred each fall listening to John Ward broadcast Tennessee football games on the radio.

When trying to come up with a name for our firstborn son, Bart and I decided on "Aaron" as his middle name in honor of Bart's childhood hero, true home run king and outstanding human being Hank Aaron.  Little did I know just how much our family would embrace this sport, although Jay's first word ("ball") should have given me a clue.

Jay gravitated towards Chipper Jones as his sports idol and while I won't argue with Chipper's on-field performance, he doesn't quite provide what I'm looking for as an away-from-baseball role model for my sons.  (Mr. Jones is a nice guy and appears to be a good dad.  But he seems to have the off the field emotional maturity of an adolescent boy.  And I don't mean that as an insult, but when your own 10 year old is struggling with the emotional maturity of an adolescent boy, you want to shield him from idolizing men who still seem to struggle with it.)

We were at an end of season baseball party for Will's team at UT's Lindsey Nelson stadium when I noticed RA Dickey's name on the wall of honor as a three time academic All-American.  This was in the spring of 2012 as Dickey was starting to get a lot of media attention for his pitching, his memoir, and for putting his major league contract with the Mets at risk to climb Mt. Kilimanjaro in order to raise money and awareness to fight the sex trafficking of young women in India.  Smart and compassionate former Volunteer who was a professed Christian, Star Wars fan and pitcher of note?  We could work with this!

But he was famous for throwing a knuckleball, a pitch many consider simply a novelty or trick.  Aspiring pitchers (including the one in my family) want to throw hard and fast, they don't want to rely on a "gimmick" like the knuckleball.  But I like to encourage thinking outside the box, so I learned more about the knuckleball and those who have "mastered" it.

To a batter, a knuckleball looks like it should be pretty easy to hit.  It is much slower than a standard pitch so hitters think they have time to swing hard and crush the ball.  But a well thrown knuckleball has no spin, which makes it look like it is "floating" or hovering up and down as it approaches the plate.  You'll often see hitters smile or laugh as they strike out because each pitch looked so hittable until it wasn't.  

The interesting thing about throwing a knuckleball is that once you become proficient at the mechanics of the pitch you have to surrender to it.  The more a pitcher tries to "control" a knuckleball, the more hittable it becomes.  And sometimes, even when a pitcher is doing everything right he may still give up a lot of hits.  Fans, and sometimes even coaches and managers, love the knuckleball when it works but are quick to dismiss it as soon as a pitcher gives up a few hits.  Those who understand the knuckleball tell you that you just have to ride out the bad times and wait patiently for it to get better.  It provides such a great template for running, as well as for life.  Master the mechanics, understand that there will be peaks and valleys and be prepared to ride them out. 

It is interesting that the first ten minutes of a run are excruciating and I am always so tempted to quit.  The first ten minutes should be the easiest, right?  I’m rested and haven’t started sweating yet, the hills don’t come until later on in the run.  But if I ride out that initial physical discomfort and mental frustration, I am rewarded later on (usually after the first or second hill) with both my body and mind relaxing and starting to enjoy the run.  I won’t call it a “runner’s high” because it isn’t a euphoric feeling, it's more a place of contentment.  The feeling lasts longer on some runs than others but I can always count on it to be there for some of the run.

Finished the first official week of half marathon training and am very excited to see what happens in the coming weeks.  Still a little bit sore, but it is a happy sore, one I feel like I've earned.

If you ain't first you're last. That makes no sense at all!

As of yesterday, I am officially training for the Disney Princess Half Marathon.  Still not fast enough, and a little bit sore after my first thirty minute training run, but as Lao Tzu supposedly said, “The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step.” 

Or, to borrow from Butch Jones, I’m gonna build this program brick by sparkly, princessy brick.

It’s a relief to have a specific program to follow rather than having to motivate myself to run just for the sake of running.  I’m not a very entrepreneurial person (at least that’s what I always list as a weakness on performance reviews) but tell me something that needs to get done and it will be done.

We’re not all cut out to be leaders, and it took me a long time to come to peace with that.  I felt that as a fairly intelligent and ambitious person, I should seek out leadership roles.  But I don’t like “leading” people.  And I really don’t like “disciplining” people (unless I gave birth to them).  But “fairly intelligent” and “ambitious” don’t always equal “leader.”  Also, if everybody leads, then who follows?

In my very first post I wrote about coming in last place in a race my friend Becky “ran” (aka walked).  I’m so thankful that we were able to laugh about it, particularly when the really old lady passed us with about half a mile to go.  Oh, and also when the police car followed us the last quarter mile or so when we were obviously the only ones still on the course.  I'm not afraid of coming in last because I've already done so, and it wasn't the worst thing in the world.  We even laugh about it.

How many people don’t even run in the race because they are terrified of coming in last? 

Of course, later on in the movie Reese Bobby tells his grown son:

“Hell, Ricky, I was high when I said that!  That makes no sense at all!"

When first told about my half marathon goal, Jay immediately suggested that I could win the race and seemed a little disappointed in my settling for simply finishing.  I adore his optimism, it has encouraged (and will continue to encourage) me for the next few months.  But finishing is enough.  

Not Pinterested

It may be obvious by my lack of posting, I’m sort of at a crossroads with the half marathon training.  School and sports started for the boys which threw off my training schedule.  And it was still pretty hot and humid, not a very fun time to run.  Of course the past few days have been really nice when it comes to weather, but has that inspired me to lace up my shoes and hit the road?  No.   I’m back to battling with the voices, particularly the ones who tell me than I’m not a real runner and that this is all a waste of time.  I’ve looked at some running blogs and the Pinterest Health and Fitness section for inspiration, but everything makes feel worse rather than better.  I don’t look like any of those people that I see.  (Granted, a lot of those Pinterest posts don’t look like real people either.) 

It is going to take a lot of “Just One More’s” to get my abs and arms to look like this, so I like to head over to the Humor section and pin lots of snarky e-cards about working out.  

I’ve felt this way for a while but have hesitated writing about it because I know how whiney it sounds.  The part of me who was so drawn to Louis Zamperini’s story in Unbroken says “Quit complaining and get on with it.  Zamperini would have considered himself lucky to have the problems you have!”  Or “You’re trying to run a race in a tutu, not rebuild houses in Haiti.”

But I still feel like a bit of a fraud.  Running was supposed to be the magic cure for body issues and weight and it hasn’t been.  Just like Weight Watchers wasn’t, and Marianne Williamson’s “A Course In Weight Loss” wasn’t.  Oddly enough, the only thing that ever really magically worked on body image and weight was pregnancy.  I was so nauseous during both my pregnancies that I couldn’t tolerate emotional eating, and for once (twice, actually) my size didn’t really bother me.  

If someone else complained this much to me about preparing for this race I would exasperatedly tell them just to give it up.  But I can't.  Because even though I'm averaging about one run a week, it still feels pretty good.  In January I would run once a week and it would take me two or three days to physically recover.  Not anymore.  Even though I've lost very little weight, my body has somehow adapted to running.

And, as anyone who has asked me about my training will tell you, the official runDisney training program for the Princess Half Marathon on February 23, 2014 starts on October 1.  I still think I can do this.  So I'm at a crossroads, and I'm going to chose the path that leads to awesome!

Kid President Pep Talk

You've probably seen the Kid President Pep Talk several times, but to me it never gets old.  The Princess Half Marathon is going to be my Space Jam!

There Is Work To Be Done. (But still I run.)

The Pembertons did their first family 5K this weekend, participating in Knoxville’s Color Me Rad race.  I say “participating” because unfortunately, there wasn’t as much running as I hoped there would be.  But I learned some important lessons:

• My half marathon quest really has to be my own because Bart is very tall and has long legs and therefore goes faster than I did even though I’ve been running since January and he started a couple of weeks ago.  

• Will lost his mind, complaining every step of the 5 kilometers, only to announce later on in the car that he “really had fun and can’t wait to do it again!”  

• Sweet, helpful Jay needs to stop being so sweet and helpful because it is getting on my last nerve.  He’s trying to get me to run faster, and is having some success because I am trying so desperately to get away from him.  (There's a difference between running to first base and running 13.1 miles, amirite?  Please don't say anything about this to him, it isn't his fault he's got such an ungrateful mother.)

I was passed by a lady running in some sort of jelly shoe-Croc hybrid, a guy in fleece pajamas (in mid-August!!), and a dude in a unicorn mask.  That was disheartening and I really hoped none of them could walk the next day.  But Becky and I were not the last ones to finish.  That was good.  (Although I have to be truthful here, Becky started in the wave behind me and passed me just before the halfway point in the race.  It may have been the thirdway point, but Becky wasn’t holding hands with a cranky six year old at the time so I’m going with my original assessment of where we were on the course.)

We weren't last!  

Headphones and music are probably going to be a must have for the Princess Half Marathon.  Becky had her headphones and music, and as she noted in our post game analysis at Cracker Barrel: “Between songs I could hear myself gasping for breath and I got scared ‘til another song started.”  Also, I need to do more cardio on my non running days and probably less post game analysis at Cracker Barrel.  And maybe try another 5K on a day where the humidity wasn’t way up there in the 90s at 8:00 in the morning.  (Hmmmm, I think I see aspects of Will’s personality in my own.  And I wondered where he got that!)

But the nice thing about Color Me Rad is that it is all about the fun of running.  I don’t even think they declare winners, and they don’t have a time clock.  People of all shapes and sizes were walking and running and having fun.  It was an incredibly supportive environment.  And even though I can see the amount of work that needs to be done between now and February 24, 2014, it still seems like it is possible. 

We have a favorite “get fired up” piece of music in our family for when we need a little audio inspiration.  Titled Awesome, it is a mash up of songs including the Zulu chant from “The Circle of Life” in the Lion King, Queen’s “We Will Rock You,” Fort Minor’s “Remember The Name,” Kanye West’s “Jesus Walks”, and Leo Arnaud’s “Bugler’s Dream” (also known as the Olympic Theme).  There’s a line from “Remember The Name” that is repeated over and over:  It’s 10% luck, 20% skill, 15% concentrated power of will, 5% pleasure, 50% pain and 100% reason to remember the name.  That will be my mantra as I work towards next February.

Here's a link for the song:  Awesome

Just tell me that doesn't make you think you can do anything you set your mind to!

Lucky number seven?

I’ve been reading Jen Hatmaker’s book Seven.  I’ve spent 30 minutes sitting here trying to figure out how to summarize it, so I’m just going to post the description of the book from her website: 

• 7 is the true story of how Jen took seven months, identified seven areas of excess, and made seven simple choices to fight back against the modern-day diseases of greed, materialism, and overindulgence.

Essentially she focuses on seven things each month for seven months.  The first month she limited herself to seven foods, the second month she only wore seven pieces of clothing, the third month she decides to give seven things away each day, etc.  This book really has me thinking about how our family lives.

On one hand, I’d like to congratulate us on buying used cars and driving them ‘til the wheels fall off, mowing our own grass and having very little credit card debt, but then I’m confronted with how much spoiled food we throw away each week, the staggering number of pairs of black shoes I own, and the piles of toys we end up picking up every evening before bed.  Maybe that’s why I love watching “the Real Housewives” of wherever, because I can comfort myself with the knowledge that at least I’m not THAT materialistic and indulgent.

Seven has also caused me to question my motives for the half marathon goal.  There are races closer to home that would be more budget friendly.  (I mean, if you’re going all the way to Disney World to run a race you might as well stay a few extra days to visit the parks.)  Also, did I really need the expensive (and more importantly CUTE) earphones and shoes?  Was it necessary to download $20 of music from iTunes to motivate me to run?  Thankfully (I guess) I’m too fat for really cute workout clothes because that would definitely be another thing I MUST HAVE in order to achieve my goal.  Actually the “too fat for cute workout clothes” is the reason I splurged on the really cute earphones.  And it’s the reason I have a bunch of adorable baseball caps that I have since learned I can’t wear when running because they make me sweat twice as much as normal, which is a lot.

I spend a lot of time on this we’re so poor/we’re so blessed fence.  (I spend a lot of time on metaphorical fences.  See my “Coke is the elixir of Satan/not a big deal” debate in the previous post if you need to be convinced.)  And I’ve come to the realization that it is because I am physically blessed yet spiritually poor.  There’s not really anything we can’t (or don’t) buy for ourselves.  We have a hard time when asked for gift suggestions for ourselves at Christmas and birthdays because there isn’t much out there that we (or our kids) don’t already have.  But I’m pretty sure we bought all those things thinking that they would make up for what was lacking spiritually.

Let me veer off a bit to define what I mean by spiritually poor.  I have struggled with the parable of the prodigal son for years, always identifying with the brother who stayed and worked with his father while his sibling was off having a grand old time spending his inheritance on hookers and blow.  (Sorry, “hookers and blow” is my new favorite go-to phrase for summing up overindulgence.  Just got a raise at work?  Let’s go spend it on hookers and blow.  Need a theme for your 40th birthday party?  How about "hookers and blow?")

Back to the prodigal son.  As I said above, there was always a simmering resentment of the younger son, feeling bad for the one who got up early and fed the pigs, planted the wheat, went to temple whenever he was supposed to, even when it was raining and his sandals got wet and caked with mud.  It is only very recently that I’ve realized the reason I identify so much with the older son is that he is spiritually poor like me.  We both think we can earn the love of our father by what we do.  But the point, I think I’ve finally realized, of the parable of the prodigal son is that being a child of God means that he loves all of us however we are, that we’re enough.  For the first time I’m beginning to understand that I am enough.

But, as UT football coach Butch Jones frequently says, “It’s a process” and I would currently put myself at “spiritually working-poor.”  There’s a point in Seven where Jen Hatmaker talks about donating a large part of her really nice but no longer needed wardrobe to a domestic violence shelter.  She says that she’s praying for the recipients of her clothes, that they will make those feel special and worthy until they heal enough to know that they are special and worthy.  Now, I don’t equate my body image struggle with that of a victim of domestic violence, but I do think that choosing the Disney Princess Half Marathon was my way of pretending to be special and worthy.  Interestingly, each training run helps me realize that I’m actually getting closer to knowing for sure that I’m worthy.

So I’m not going to regret choosing the Disney Princess Half Marathon.  The entrance fee has been paid, and plans are in place.  And I honestly don’t know that any other race would have motivated me to get off my butt and start running.  But I don’t expect this “journey to worthiness” to end on February 24, 2014.  (Although it may take a day off to recover in a hot tub.)

Making Peace With My Coke Addiction

How's that for an attention grabbing headline?  But the "coke addiction" I'm talking about involves good old Coca Cola, created in Atlanta by pharmacist John Pemberton, who unfortunately for me isn't an ancestor.  The decision-making involved in consuming this product is indicative of pretty much my entire relationship with food.  I don't drink a whole lot of it, my daily consumption so between 12 and 20 ounces.  One can or bottle each day.  The rest of the time I drink straight water or Crystal Light flavored water.  (The non-alcoholic Appletini is a particular favorite, although I once had to explain to a babysitter just what my five year old meant when he asked for an Appletini with breakfast.)

So I spend a lot of mental energy deciding whether or not to drink 12 to 20 ounces of soda a day.  And I spend a lot more mental energy justifying and then shaming myself for the decision I made.  "Soda is bad and you should eliminate it from your diet" versus "everything in moderation" countered with "is one soda a day really considered moderation" followed by "it's just a freaking DRINK!"  Then I drink it down really quickly figuring that the sooner I get it in, the sooner I can work it off.

I do give up soda for Lent and somehow survive.  It isn't pleasant, but it really does serve as a very good spiritual exercise.  We live in a society where we rarely deny ourselves anything, it is very meaningful to deny yourself something you enjoy while contemplating Jesus fasting in the desert preparing for what was to come.  Of course, during that forty day period (that is actually forty six days) I mull over why I'm willing to give up soda for Lent but not for good.

This may be related to something from my childhood.  Around my third birthday I somehow decided that I would only eat peanut butter sandwiches.  This was obviously a big deal to my mom, after a period of time she took me to the pediatrician who diagnosed it as a “phase” and prescribed "waiting it out."  She tried his suggestion, but I was very committed to my peanut butter sandwich cause.  

We battled over this for three years.  She would make dinner and would tell me that I couldn't leave the table until I'd tried it.  Initially I was very good at secreting a bite into my napkin, then slipping it to our dog.  That plot was foiled pretty quickly, so I branched out to excusing myself to go to the bathroom and flushing whatever was offered.  A few times she sat at the table, not ever taking her eyes off me, to make sure I would take just one bite of something innocuous like a hamburger (or less innocuous like salmon croquettes.)  She'd say I couldn't go to bed until I'd tasted everything on my plate.  I would wait her out until she gave in and ordered me to bed.  (This is why I avoid ultimatums with my own kids, because it would be time to reap what I've sown.)

Now we're not talking about a preference for peanut butter sandwiches.  Other than eggs and bacon or cereal for breakfast and fruit, peanut butter sandwiches were the only food I ate (I also drank a lot of milk.)  During this time my sweet mom would slip a sandwich wrapped in foil or plastic wrap to take to nice restaurants, fast food places, neighbors’ houses, anywhere we went.

So I have some obvious “issues” with food that go way back that interestingly mirror my “issues” with body image and self-worth.  It’s those damn negative voices that never shut up.  But the thing about the voices related to food is that they make good points.  “Why bother fat girl?” is obviously a voice that has bad intentions.  But “soda is bad for you” and “everything in moderation” and “is one soda a day really moderation” and “but it is just a drink” are all valid statements even though they are on opposite sides of the soda argument.

Hollywood thinness is not my goal, and too many good memories have food as a component of them for me to completely give up things like dessert.  Interestingly, ideally I'd like to eat the way I do when on vacation or out with friends, aka, when I am relaxed.  I eat what I want, but the stresses are gone.  At times like that I really enjoy eating, rather than using food as a tool to silence those voices.  I can savor a Coke or chocolate cake, rather than getting it over with so I can work off the calories.  Science tells us that we have to expend more calories than we consume to lose weight, but I don’t think we can discount the emotions behind those calories.  When relaxed, I naturally make better food choices.

I’ve told several people that the blog writing keeps me running and the running keeps me writing.  During the past couple of weeks I’ve let both of those slide and have really missed it.  Glad to be back on track!

Air it out!

I have boys that have apparently inherited a propensity for sweaty feet from both sides of our family.  Add this to Keens and Chacos and you end up with some pretty smelly shoes.  Some of you know what I'm talking about, but if you've been blessed with kids who can wear those shoes without making you nauseous with the odor you should thank God EVERY DAY!

If I haven't lost you yet, please know that I don't just let the stink grow and build.  They are pretty expensive, and apart from the smell they are great play shoes.  So I've tried a variety of methods to get rid of the smell.  Odor Eaters spray, anti-bacterial wipes and sprays, soaking in Oxy-Clean for a couple of days, trying Voodoo spells with leftover Buffalo Wings.  The thing that works better than anything is setting the shoes out in the sunlight for a few hours.  

That's sort of what I'm doing with this blog, letting some of those stinky feelings air out in the bright sunshine.  Two things have happened.  First, so many people have told me that they have those same feelings and hear those negative voices.  While I hate that so many of us have that shared experience, it is interesting that we all have it.  How many of us thought we were the only ones who felt shame or unworthiness?  Some people I viewed as sailing through life told me about their anxieties, and a couple of incredibly sweet people have told me that they are surprised by my writing because to them I appear cool as a cucumber.  

There is a quote attributed to Plato that says "Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle."  In trying to confirm that it was, in fact Plato, I found other people who may have said it:  Philo of Alexandria and Ian Maclaren, also known as Rev. John Watson.  Not to be confused with Jackson Heights' own Mr. Randy Watson.  You all may know him as Joe the Policeman from the "What's Goin' Down" episode of "That's My Momma." (If you know the source of this quote just let me say “Hello soul mate!”  Or should I say “SOUL-GLO mate?”)

Click here for Jackson Heights' Own Mr. Randy Watson

Anyway, hearing people's responses to this blog has helped me really understand that a lot of us are fighting a hard battle.  And opening up about that battle allows other people to say “Yes I understand, and you are not alone.”  And when you know you’re not alone you feel empowered to do just about anything.

The second thing I’ve noticed about exposing these stinky feelings in this blog is that they now have a much harder time taking hold of me.  They aren’t compatible with sunshine and fresh air.  Or running.  Oddly enough, I feel most “normal” when I’m out on a run; all is right with the world.   I may be slow, but I can outrun the stinky feelings.

Several years ago in Sunday School my friend Clay Brown pulled out a crisp twenty dollar bill and asked if anyone wanted it.  Of course we all said yes.  He then pulled out a container with water and placed the twenty in the water until it was soaked.  He asked us again if we still wanted it and again, we all said yes.  He then pulled out a baggie of dirt and dumped it in the container of water creating some pretty nasty mud.  He ground the formerly crisp twenty in the mud and asked again if any of us wanted the bill.  Again, even though we were in our Sunday best and not in terrible financial straits, all of us were willing to take a chance on a muddy twenty dollar bill.  Clay finished the demonstration by asking why we would place so much value on a soaked, muddy twenty dollar bill while failing to see the value of our own selves beyond the damp, muddy, stinky feelings. God created us for better purposes than that.

Let’s “air it out” and get on with the race!

The Voice

Do you hear “that voice?”  Not the usual somewhat negative voice that mildly questions just about everything you do.  That one is annoying and can wear you down.  It’s the one that suggests that “Sure, it’s fine if you stick around for one more episode of Duck Dynasty, you can run tomorrow.”  Or “Well, you’re already having a burger and fries, why not have the milkshake too.”  It is the voice of the grasshopper that wants to enjoy the sun while the ant stores up food for winter.  It is self-involved Goofus to the always perfect Gallant.  Let’s call this the Goofus voice.

(Every freaking month when Highlights arrived in the mail I’d hope for Goofus that he had learned his lesson from the previous month.  It was like my own third grade soap opera.  HE NEVER LEARNED!  I did read somewhere that today Goofus would be considered as having “an alternative learning style.”  I love that!)

But I’m not talking about that voice, I’m talking about the voice that goes for the jugular, the one that says “You’re a complete and total failure, why even bother exercising at all?”  Or “Your crappy body deserves crappy food.”  The destructive voice that you don’t hear often, but when you do nothing good comes of it.  I’m not sure where this voice comes from, but one person I know truly believes that this is the voice of a demon that should be called out in the name of Jesus.  I don’t fully agree with this view, but I do appreciate the seriousness with which this person takes that voice.  (And I do like looking at the voice as something apart from me.  It isn’t my voice, it isn’t me.)

I heard that voice last week.  My friend Kelly called to give me a pep talk about running.  She’d read in the blog about my disappointment with how little time I was dropping on my mile pace and wanted to let me know that she ran a slower pace in the summer than she did when the temperature was cooler and with lower humidity.  This call was like a life ring, or a water station in a race.  (Look at me embracing running imagery!)  Kelly has run several half marathons and obviously knows what she’s talking about, and it made perfect sense to me once she said it. 

But no sooner had I grabbed on to that life ring that the voice started up.  “Why on Earth would Kelly call you about running?  Why would she waste what she knows on you?  It isn’t heat or humidity, it’s YOU!  You’re SLOW because you’re FAT!”   That voice also rears its ugly head when people have said such nice things about my writing and this half marathon goal.  “They can’t possibly mean it,” it snarls, “they have to say SOMETHING because what you’re doing is so ridiculous.”  This voice sounds a lot like Nellie Oleson at her worst, so we’re going to call this the Nellie voice.

Here’s the interesting thing though.  This Nellie voice makes no sense.  Kelly has just moved to a new town and is pretty busy establishing a new life for her family.  It would be so much easier for her not to make that call than to make it.  And the people who have said positive things are actually very nice people who are not known for saying things they don’t mean.  When I push that voice out in the open, it is exposed for the sad, angry thing that it is.

When I go for a run I hear from Goofus first. “ It would be so much easier to stay in the air conditioning, chafing is becoming a problem in the heat and humidity, my thigh is a little achy.”  After a couple of minutes Nellie takes over and starts her tirade of “This is a waste of time, are you sure this thigh thing isn’t actually hip dysplasia?”  Interestingly though, about ten minutes in I start to hear from another voice.  It is quiet but very confident.  It is reassuring  and tells me that I’ve got this.  This voice is all me.