Mind Games

Bart Yasso finished Comrades in southeastern South Africa with a body riddled from 33 years of pain and repeated flares of Lyme's Disease. He dragged his bad leg to an 11 hour, 33 minute and 38 second finish, missing his 11 hour goal by over half an hour (Steve Friedman, "The Race of his Life", Runners' World, November 2010, p. 98). How did he finish such a grueling race, especially since he was limping before he even started?

Bart Yasso, the motivational speaker who was, two nights earlier, referred to as "the Nelson Mandela of American running", finished by thinking of others.

"What are his problems, compared to the problems of the people watching the race, the poor South African children who live in villages where clean water is a luxury, where a pair of shoes is precious. He thinks of Paul Martin and his prosthetic leg. He thinks of Carri Lyons in Utah and her son she had heard from heaven, and of all the people who have approached him at this and other races and that makes his pain lessen, and it makes him wonder, yet again, how they could be inspired by him?" (p. 122).

Unlike Yasso, running for me is relatively easy. Yes, I struggle with lung pain and asthma. Yes, the outcome of a run is unpredictable. Some days the lungs behave; some days they don't. Statistics and journaling do not provide many clues as to what factors affect my ability to breathe. Yet even for me running is relatively easy -- though it doesn't feel that way in the middle of a race.

Like mile two of yesterday's Race Against Breast Cancer 5K. First, I told myself that I always struggle at mile two. Then I remembered the purpose of the race. . .raising funds for breast cancer research. And that reminded me of a lady for whom our church and I have been praying. She has been battling cancer as long as I have lived in Broadway; that's at least 2 1/2 years. I thought of her most recent hospital stay, and of her young children and husband managing without her, again and again. I thought about her most recent online journal entry--one in which she named all the ways she had been blessed. I willed myself to run as strong as she is.

I finished the race. And I finished strong. Thank you, Bart Yasso; thank you, Andrea Lohr.

Witnessing a Record

The granddaughters stayed over last night. The agenda? on Friday: watch a parade, supper, downtime and bedtime; on Saturday: snack and 7:00 a.m. run followed by second breakfast with Mommy and Daddy. Last night went as planned, and the girls were asleep by a little after 10.

Eliza woke up hungry at 7:00 a.m. this morning, as did Magdalena. I reminded Eliza that she should not eat very much or she might get sick while on her run. But two miles isn't a great distance, so I fixed both girls half a serving of oatmeal. Eliza had water to drink and Magdalena had a cup of hot chocolate. Knowing my stomach, I had just a cup of coffee. Magdalena grabbed a pad of sticky notes and a pencil; she would tick off the laps and keep time. We plopped stocking hats and ear warmers on our heads, flung jackets over jammies (mine were sweats and theirs passed the modesty and warmth test) and headed for the park.

"I'll race you on the first lap, Grammie," nine-year-old Eliza said.

"You'll beat me," I answered.

I showed Magdalena how to work my watch. She set it, hollered, "Go," and we were off. Eliza won, but not by much--about 2:40 according to the watch. Seven laps to go. I flung off my jacket. Magdalena reset the watch. And Eliza and I slackened our pace just a bit for the long haul.

We passed a couple walking. As I ran past them, I hollered, "Isn't it wonderful that she is running with me?"

"It sure is," they answered.

On the sixth lap, Eliza said, "I think I can go three miles, Grammie."
Having run a two-mile pace up to now, I wondered if I could still run three myself. Keeping my thoughts to myself, however, I said, "Okay, let's do it."

Seventh lap, eighth lap. Same pace. I said, "Just think, Eliza. Anything past this is a personal record."

"No, I've run 2 1/2 miles before."

Then on the ninth lap, Eliza slowed to a jog; but she didn't stop. On the eleventh lap, I was leading and she was dragging farther and farther behind. I slowed even more. "You okay, Eliza?"

She said she was. So we kept on going. Twelfth lap and final lap.

"Is the last one?" she asked.

"Yes, it is. You're almost there."

Then she took off. Soon she was soaring ahead of me.

"Good job, Eliza," I yelled. "You saved something for the finish."

"I always do," she answered.

I quickened my pace, almost caught her, and finished about ten seconds behind her. According to Magdalena's watch, we had run three miles in about 25 minutes. That is probably a little bit off, as it would have taken her a few seconds to stop and start. But I am guessing it is isn't too far off--maybe closer to 27 minutes?

As we headed for home, I saw the walkers again, "You just witnessed a personal record," I told them.

He said, "She ran a lot of laps!"

"She did. She just ran three miles."

I nearly cried. Eliza's response? I think I would like to run five miles one day.

You can do it, Eliza. You can do it.

After School Run

That's nine-year-old Eliza running two miles toward her "100 miles by the end of the school year goal." She will do it, too, because she has a plan. If she follows her plan, she will actually exceed her goal. "That's a good idea," I told her. "That way if you can't run for a day or two because of getting sick or injured, you'll still reach your goal."

"I know," she said confidently.

In fact she can run 2.5 miles without stopping now.

"I learned a trick," she said. "I just don't run as hard as I can."

That's right, I told her. "Running all out is for once around the track, maybe even a mile. But to go long you have to slow down."

Tonight was a two-mile night because she'd already run several laps at recess. About a year ago, she ran a one-miler and won her age group. And she was the first female in a track race during that same year. So she is fast. It runs in the family; her great aunt Andrea (my sister) was a fast runner in school and a cousin on her dad's side is a competitive runner. I, too, have a few medals and trophies on the shelf, though I didn't start running till I was 45 years old.

In spite of those two race successes, however, Eliza did not set any running goals or get the running bug until this year. I am not sure what changed her course, except she has said she will get a medal if she completes the 100 miles. Perhaps knowing Grammie runs races made her think that running is all about competition--against others. Perhaps hearing about that 100-mile medal made her realize that it does not have to be. And that would be important to Eliza; she does not like contests or competition. Sure, in a race, the first few at the front of the pack compete against each other. But only those first few win an award. The rest run to run, run to push themselves, or run for fitness. It matters not whether Eliza runs to win a race or runs to reach a goal. It doesn't even matter if the running bug sticks. But she is getting stronger. She is staying fit. She is choosing not to be a part of the obesity epidemic. And that is the important thing. And if she keeps running? Well, I DO love running with her!

Depression

My running buddy calls it the five-mile circle. I say it's a circuitous route containing several figure eights. And, while it may seem impossible, it seems that the route is all uphill. I am certain that, at each intersection, he stopped and looked to see which way was the hilliest -- and then chose that route. Some hills are a gradual 1/4 mile or more; some are short and steep.

The only way I've found to run this thing is to just plod along one step at a time without looking ahead too far and without thinking too much. One foot in front of the other, over and over and over again. If I look too far ahead and don't see the crest of a hill, the dread of the thing becomes too much. If I think too much about the pain and the exhaustion, the weight of my body gets to be too much.

"It's all mental," my buddy says. "Just keep putting one foot in front of the other."

He always can. Not me. On the really bad days, in spite of my best efforts, all I see is the hill ahead. Energy escapes like air from a slowly leaking tire; suddenly it just isn't there. I walk. Walking is discouraging. I try to convince myself that it's better than giving up. At least when walking, the legs are still in motion. Slow motion, yes, but still moving. My spirit, however, doesn't hear. Deflated, it says, "You caved. You quit."

Today was a bad day. Today the hills loomed unendingly. Somehow I was even too exhausted to look ahead. Too exhausted even for discouragement. Another hill? So what. It is what it is. Eventually this, too, will pass. Somehow it did. Somehow today I won. Today I ran.

Nicole Replenishes Broadway's Water Supply

I took a bike ride yesterday, October 2nd, to check on the North Fork. Tropical storm Nicole arrived on Wednesday evening. She brought a 24 hour rain and, in some places, a bit of flooding. Fresh mud along edges above the banks of the North Fork showed that she got pretty high, but receded soon after.
The river as it looked on September 8th. Since Broadway people get their drinking water from the North Fork, this was a frightening sight. 88 people in the Bergton/Criders area (up the river from us) have signed leases allowing hydrofracking on their property. It takes thousands of gallons of water to push oil out of bedrock. One of the questions is whether our water supply is big enough to handle the current need plus the drillers' needs. If that answer is affirmative, then the next question is whether the containment ponds will be sufficient enough to protect the river and, thus, the quality of drinking water, especially during floods.