I'm supposed to be at 42 miles for the year right now. Instead tonight I just reached 30, 12 miles short. I actually thought I could run 15 mile weeks this year, but dropped back to 13 as I know "stuff" happens.
And "stuff" has already happened. Good stuff, but it's still stuff and it's still stressful.
When I got home a week ago from my first day on the new job, I had no illusions of running. A new job, plus a total communiting time of 1 hour and 45 minutes sapped my strength. Tuesday was the same. Thursday was ice and snow. Saturday was apartment hunting (a very successful adventure, I might add; photos to come Feburary 2, the Lord willing). Yesterday I slept. One week off. Twelve miles behind.
But it's okay. Pastor Barry spoke about restoring margin last Sunday in church. And skipping my runs for a week did that for me. The first week in the new job is now over. The routine is more comfortable. The drive is less intimidating. The coworkers are great (having been stranded in Harrisonburg with four overnight on Thursday because of the ice and snowstorm gave me a rare opportunity to know them very well!).
Now there's a new rhythm , and running again has its place in the dance of life. Though just 27 degrees tonight, I ran in jacket and windpants. And it was very good.
Monday, January 21, 2008
"Enlarge my territory"
For the second time since yesterday, the prayer of Jabez has come to mind. Hence, I think I'd best be listening. The prayer comes from the Bible, in 1 Chronicles 4:10, "And Jabez called on the God of Israel, saying, "Oh that you would bless me indeed, and enlarge my territory, and that Your hand would be with me, and that You would keep me from evil, that I may not cause pain." So God granted him what he requested.
Yesterday as I was recounting my upcoming move and the communities I'll be able to participate in more fully, a friend said, "So the Lord has enlarged your territory." A whole book has been written on the prayer of Jabez, a prayer I had asked my Aunt Joyce, a missionary, to explain to me a few years back. I pondered her thoughts, which I understood with my head but not my heart. But now circumstances have put me where I finally get it.
You see, I feel like a bird in a gilded cage who's been set free to fly. Staunton is a beautiful community with historic buildings, shops, stores and museums. It's great for shopping and touring. Yet it's not me. I need sun, stars, grass, trails and sky. Here amongst all the buildings I have felt like a wild animal in a cage.
When I lost my car last fall, I thought it would help. I'd be forced to walk, forced to explore on foot, forced to come to terms and to peace with my surroundings. And on foot, I thought I'd encounter more people and interact more with the community. Instead as I became more fit (having travelled more than 20 miles on foot in a weekend sometimes), the City became smaller and smaller. I met few people, and found I needed even more room to wander and get rid of energy. People who exercise, you see, really DO have more energy to spend.
But then I was offered a job in Harrisonburg -- where acquaintenances I've met at races gather for weekly club runs, and where the jail chaplaincy to which I've been accepted as a volunteer operates from. And an upcoming move will also put me closer to my granddaughters, and their mom and dad. And now I understand what it means for God to "enlarge my territory." A whole new world has opened up.
And I, too, pray that I would be kept from evil, and that I may not cause pain. Relationships just do seem to come with pain; human beings hurt the ones they love most. My dad used to say that was because those who don't care about us can't hurt us since what they do isn't important to us. When we love someone, however, we open up ourselves to hurt. But God gives power over intentional hurt, and he can give the power to work through the unintentional hurts as well. He can prevent us from causing pain to others.
Today I came across the prayer of Jabez again, while these thoughts percolated in my brain. In her blog, "Running Across the Miles," Kristin Armstrong talks about working through her brother's brain injury following a New Year's Day sledding accident. Sometimes she ran, and she prayed for her brother as she ran. "Running miles for someone who can't is a very fine thing to do. The sun hit my shoulders and I knew God understood. " Ahh yes, I could relate to that. That's how I felt as I ran for Ryan Shay and the Chicago Marathoners a while back.
But Kristin goes on. "My parents left for the ICU in Minneapolis and I stayed back to tend to the minutiae that makes up our lives...and being the correspondent with hundreds of people whose lives and hearts are impacted by Jon. It has been incredibly humbling, especially as the bossy older sister, to see how the quiet and unglorified life of my brother has far greater and deeper reach than anything I have ever said or done. He is the kind of person who does what needs to be done, without fanfare or complaint, and by his steadfast presence he allows other people to fly. . . .For years Jon has kept the prayer of Jabez taped up by his computer." Kristin's territory, because of her writing, cycling and running roles, and because of her celebrity status, is large. Yet God, according to Kristin, has answered Jon's prayer for an enlarged territory; his is just in a more quiet, supportive, way. And Jon's territory, and his impact on that territory is just as valuable.
It's not the territory that matters; it's being in the territory God designed for us that matters. I am moving closer to the territory I've been given. And I pray that God will bless me, and that I will not cause pain.
Yesterday as I was recounting my upcoming move and the communities I'll be able to participate in more fully, a friend said, "So the Lord has enlarged your territory." A whole book has been written on the prayer of Jabez, a prayer I had asked my Aunt Joyce, a missionary, to explain to me a few years back. I pondered her thoughts, which I understood with my head but not my heart. But now circumstances have put me where I finally get it.
You see, I feel like a bird in a gilded cage who's been set free to fly. Staunton is a beautiful community with historic buildings, shops, stores and museums. It's great for shopping and touring. Yet it's not me. I need sun, stars, grass, trails and sky. Here amongst all the buildings I have felt like a wild animal in a cage.
When I lost my car last fall, I thought it would help. I'd be forced to walk, forced to explore on foot, forced to come to terms and to peace with my surroundings. And on foot, I thought I'd encounter more people and interact more with the community. Instead as I became more fit (having travelled more than 20 miles on foot in a weekend sometimes), the City became smaller and smaller. I met few people, and found I needed even more room to wander and get rid of energy. People who exercise, you see, really DO have more energy to spend.
But then I was offered a job in Harrisonburg -- where acquaintenances I've met at races gather for weekly club runs, and where the jail chaplaincy to which I've been accepted as a volunteer operates from. And an upcoming move will also put me closer to my granddaughters, and their mom and dad. And now I understand what it means for God to "enlarge my territory." A whole new world has opened up.
And I, too, pray that I would be kept from evil, and that I may not cause pain. Relationships just do seem to come with pain; human beings hurt the ones they love most. My dad used to say that was because those who don't care about us can't hurt us since what they do isn't important to us. When we love someone, however, we open up ourselves to hurt. But God gives power over intentional hurt, and he can give the power to work through the unintentional hurts as well. He can prevent us from causing pain to others.
Today I came across the prayer of Jabez again, while these thoughts percolated in my brain. In her blog, "Running Across the Miles," Kristin Armstrong talks about working through her brother's brain injury following a New Year's Day sledding accident. Sometimes she ran, and she prayed for her brother as she ran. "Running miles for someone who can't is a very fine thing to do. The sun hit my shoulders and I knew God understood. " Ahh yes, I could relate to that. That's how I felt as I ran for Ryan Shay and the Chicago Marathoners a while back.
But Kristin goes on. "My parents left for the ICU in Minneapolis and I stayed back to tend to the minutiae that makes up our lives...and being the correspondent with hundreds of people whose lives and hearts are impacted by Jon. It has been incredibly humbling, especially as the bossy older sister, to see how the quiet and unglorified life of my brother has far greater and deeper reach than anything I have ever said or done. He is the kind of person who does what needs to be done, without fanfare or complaint, and by his steadfast presence he allows other people to fly. . . .For years Jon has kept the prayer of Jabez taped up by his computer." Kristin's territory, because of her writing, cycling and running roles, and because of her celebrity status, is large. Yet God, according to Kristin, has answered Jon's prayer for an enlarged territory; his is just in a more quiet, supportive, way. And Jon's territory, and his impact on that territory is just as valuable.
It's not the territory that matters; it's being in the territory God designed for us that matters. I am moving closer to the territory I've been given. And I pray that God will bless me, and that I will not cause pain.
Saturday, January 12, 2008
Lost and Won Run
I set out this 45 degree morning with a plan for a 9 to 10 mile run, depending on how tired I got near the end. I'm still in maintenance mode, so the goal is enjoyment, not PRs.I watched the water in a meandering creek dance along the slabs of rock at the bottom. Immediately my mood soared. Soon I reached the place where the road was cut into the rocks, the spot I photographed last week.
At one point I stopped as a lady guided a gentleman trying to back a U-Haul trailer. As she was on the back passenger corner, I thought someone on the other side might be of help. I waited a couple minutes, but they were fine so I ran on.
I ran down Augusta, on to Lambert and Donaghes and took a wrong turn. I backtracked. What appeared to be three generations were raking and cleaning up a lawn. Grampa hollered a "hi" as Dad and baby looked on. I asked for directions and he asked where I was headed. I'm on a 10-mile run, I said. I wasn't sure about giving him the whole route, but ultimately handed him the crumpled paper I'd been studying.
"I already finished my run," he said.
And with a big smile, he gave me directions. I ran up a steep hill to what appeared to be the end of the road, but didn't find the road. I ran down and up the hill again; and then I did so a second time, this time going all the way back to the guy's house (he'd gone inside by then). Just then I saw a "soccer mom" in a van, and asked for her directions. But this time I was smarter. "Past Springhill Road?"
"Yes."
I hadn't gone far enough. What I had thought was the end of the road wasn't. The guy had been right, but the road drops just past Springhill; and Springhill Road, houses and trees hid a road on the other side. Confident, however, that I was going the right way I slogged on. Only after I had crossed both lanes of Springhill did I see the road I sought.
There were no other missteps; just more hills. And mountains looming in the distance. I snapped the photo above from Shutterlee Mill Road. I thought about cropping it, but decided to leave the photo alone. Part of the mystique and allure of Shutterlee is seeing the mountains loom between houses and buildings, like an old friend popping in for a surprise visit. I walked more than I ran the last couple miles, but got my tired bones home and fed. And then I retraced my route, including the three-time run up that hill, on http://www.gmap-pedometer.com -- 11.25 miles.
That's a PR, the farthest I've ever run. It took 2:20:00, but then I did stop once because of the movers, twice for directions and once for a photo. Besides gaining a PR, I found a perfect route for my Half Marathon training runs; as I can just add or subtract a few laps around Gypsy Hill till I reach the long distance running goals for the day.
And now I've just come up with the name for a new kind of run: the Lost and Won Run!
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
Identity
"The words 'I am...' are potent words; be careful what you hitch them to. The thing you're claiming has a way of reaching back and claiming you" (A.L. Kitselman, as quoted on the 1/3/2008 Franklin planner, Monticello edition).
I am...a parent. My kids claim me, as much as I claim them. To claim something is to demand or ask for as rightfully belonging or due, to assert one's rights (Webster's New World College Dictionary). We expect to spend time with each other. We expect respect from each other. We give and accept appropriate demonstrations of affection. A granddaughter stated last summer, "You like being with us...." And last weekend when I said that they were some of my favorite people, one said, "You are thankful for us. We are supposed to be thankful." Ah yes, more claims...It SHOULD be obvious to the grandkids that I like being with them. And if I add the adjective "loving", stating that I am a loving grandparent, I should be clear that I am thankful for the grandkids. That granddaughter's statement wasn't bragging; it was affirming me in my role, letting me know that she knew how I felt about her.
I am...a runner. That statement, too, claims me. Runners run. They may run fast. They may run slow. But they run.
The weather may be good; the weather may be lousy. But runners run anyway.
The running community has its own social norms; therefore to say "I am a runner" infers alignment with those social norms.
But now add an adjective to that statement. I am a racing runner. This changes things. Another set of claims has been added . . . training, and commitment to and participation in races, along with with the social norms and expectations of racers. Are my timing chip and number fastened properly? Given my pace, am I in the right place in the huddle . . .not to far forward where I'll hinder other racers, but not so far back that I hinder my own race? Am I respectful to the race organizers and volunteers?
Steven Covey's books speak in detail about roles, our "I am's," if you will. Each year I list mine, and I think about what it means to be that person: the goals and commitments that are part of that relationship or commitment, the norms, and the required tasks.
This year the list includes:
I am a writer...
I am a mom...a sister...a gramma...a friend...
I am a church attendee...
I am a member of a jail chaplaincy program...
I am a member of a paralegal organization...
I am an employee.
I can drift, not really thinking about these roles much, and probably I'll do okay. But what if I let those roles claim me more fully? what if I actually plan, think, and fulfill those roles with intentionality?
This year's plan is written on paper. Will it be written in my life as well? Ask me at the end of the year. Actually, if you have to ask, then it seems to me I will have failed. Better yet, let me know at the end of the year how I've fulfilled the role. See if you can emphatically state, "You are...." as well as my granddaughters do.
I am...a parent. My kids claim me, as much as I claim them. To claim something is to demand or ask for as rightfully belonging or due, to assert one's rights (Webster's New World College Dictionary). We expect to spend time with each other. We expect respect from each other. We give and accept appropriate demonstrations of affection. A granddaughter stated last summer, "You like being with us...." And last weekend when I said that they were some of my favorite people, one said, "You are thankful for us. We are supposed to be thankful." Ah yes, more claims...It SHOULD be obvious to the grandkids that I like being with them. And if I add the adjective "loving", stating that I am a loving grandparent, I should be clear that I am thankful for the grandkids. That granddaughter's statement wasn't bragging; it was affirming me in my role, letting me know that she knew how I felt about her.
I am...a runner. That statement, too, claims me. Runners run. They may run fast. They may run slow. But they run.
The weather may be good; the weather may be lousy. But runners run anyway.
The running community has its own social norms; therefore to say "I am a runner" infers alignment with those social norms.
But now add an adjective to that statement. I am a racing runner. This changes things. Another set of claims has been added . . . training, and commitment to and participation in races, along with with the social norms and expectations of racers. Are my timing chip and number fastened properly? Given my pace, am I in the right place in the huddle . . .not to far forward where I'll hinder other racers, but not so far back that I hinder my own race? Am I respectful to the race organizers and volunteers?
Steven Covey's books speak in detail about roles, our "I am's," if you will. Each year I list mine, and I think about what it means to be that person: the goals and commitments that are part of that relationship or commitment, the norms, and the required tasks.
This year the list includes:
I am a writer...
I am a mom...a sister...a gramma...a friend...
I am a church attendee...
I am a member of a jail chaplaincy program...
I am a member of a paralegal organization...
I am an employee.
I can drift, not really thinking about these roles much, and probably I'll do okay. But what if I let those roles claim me more fully? what if I actually plan, think, and fulfill those roles with intentionality?
This year's plan is written on paper. Will it be written in my life as well? Ask me at the end of the year. Actually, if you have to ask, then it seems to me I will have failed. Better yet, let me know at the end of the year how I've fulfilled the role. See if you can emphatically state, "You are...." as well as my granddaughters do.
Sunday, January 6, 2008
Wheels
I start a new job on the 14th, and needed wheels to get there. But it's hard to hunt for wheels when you don't have any so, as usual, I posted my need to my friends via e-mail and phone. In the meantime I did what I could, which wasn't much. None of my phone calls in response to ads netted any good solutions. But son-in-law Steven found this one at EMU. I called the owner who, understandably, didn't want to hold the car till I could look at it yesterday. So Steven did it for me, and he said he'd go for it. Steven told me ins and outs. I called the owner and said, "yes"; he even brought it to the Staunton DMV (a 40 minute drive) for me to pick up. When he called to say he was on his way, I did a U-turn and finished my morning run at the DMV. The papers were nearly completed when I handed him the money. Once all was cared for, we went outside and I saw the car for the first time. The Mercury is 16 years old and has 160,000 miles, and it's a 5-speed. There was a tear in the driver's side seat. I bought seat covers to protect that and Eliza (6) installed them for me. I could get them on the seat, but Eliza said that wasn't good enough. "We really need to do this right," she said. And she then figured out how to fasten them. This photo was taken in Lost River Park, West Virginia. The car handled great.
Saturday's Run
Finally found a safe and scenic place to run in Staunton...this photo was taken yesterday from Commerce Drive.
The view from Mountain View road.
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
This one's for Chicago and Ryan Shay...
It was cold today, 25 degrees now and probably about 30 degrees when I got off work. An occasional running partner cancelled because of scheduling issues and the cold, he said. I debated doing the same. But I received my Runners' World magazine today. I've been anxiously awaiting stories about the 2007 Chicago marathon and about Ryan Shay, and that magazine didn't disappoint me.
The Chicago marathon was held during a record high for the October race (over 81 degrees). Though 36,000 started, only about 24,000 finished. One died, and over 10,000 were diverted, injured or dropped out.
I also read about Ryan Shay, 28 and married for about 4 months. Though he died in NY this summer at the 5.5 mile mark while competing in the U.S. Men's Olympic Marathon Trials, he was known for his dedication to running. 140-mile training weeks, according to author Amby Burfoot (p. 88). His father said, "He simply wouldn't allow himself to be distracted by outside influences." Outside influences like the Michigan cold. "The locals couldn't fathom why a teenager would bull his way through 10-mile training runs in blizzards and sub-zero tempteratures" (p. 91).
If Shay could run in below zero temps and the Chicago runners could run in record heat, I could run on a cold Virginia day with temps hovering around the mid-20s.
And so today, like Shay, I refused to be distracted....
The Chicago marathon was held during a record high for the October race (over 81 degrees). Though 36,000 started, only about 24,000 finished. One died, and over 10,000 were diverted, injured or dropped out.
I also read about Ryan Shay, 28 and married for about 4 months. Though he died in NY this summer at the 5.5 mile mark while competing in the U.S. Men's Olympic Marathon Trials, he was known for his dedication to running. 140-mile training weeks, according to author Amby Burfoot (p. 88). His father said, "He simply wouldn't allow himself to be distracted by outside influences." Outside influences like the Michigan cold. "The locals couldn't fathom why a teenager would bull his way through 10-mile training runs in blizzards and sub-zero tempteratures" (p. 91).
If Shay could run in below zero temps and the Chicago runners could run in record heat, I could run on a cold Virginia day with temps hovering around the mid-20s.
And so today, like Shay, I refused to be distracted....
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