One Hill of a Run...celebrating the victory

Eliza (the blonde) was the first person I recognized as I neared the finish line. Here, she and her momma are making sure I'm okay and have my breath back before giving me a hug.

Maggie doesn't care that I am hot and stinky; she just hugs me anyway.
This hug (look hard you'll see Maggie's head and arms wrapped around her Mom's as well as mine) came just after learning I had beat my goal by nearly 13 minutes. I nearly burst into tears! (Photos by Steven David Johnson)

One Hill of a Run...the rest of the story

In spite of fighting a cold all week and using my inhaler around the clock, I awakened at 6:00 a.m. and, having laid everything out the night before, was dressed, breakfasted (oatmeal with milk and blueberries, with coffee) and out the door by 6:50 a.m -- on a jog/walk to my first 10-mile race, a mile away.
Co-worker and neighbor Susan's door opened just as mine did. She said a quick prayer for me, "God, let her legs be swift, her heart be strong and her lungs ...(I don't remember the rest)" And I was off.
At the gym, and already warmed up, I presented my bib and received a timing chip, which asked somebody showed me how to attach to my shoe. I downed a sports drink and headed outside to stretch. I talked for a bit with some of the other runners, and found a couple 12-minute-milers with whom to start. At 7:45 a.m. we were off ... to a very fast start. Having already run the course two weeks before, I backed off. I decided I would just run my own race solo, knowing everyone was at a pace too fast for me to maintain. But by mile one, I was already picking them off.
Shortly after mile two I realized I had forgotten to take a 1-minute walk break at the 20 minute point, so I reset my chronograph and walked for one minute. By that time I had found a running partner who was surprised at my choice. I wasn't even breathing hard or seeming stressed. "I can't pace myself slow enough for these hills," I said. "So after reading a recent Runner's World article about someone who intentionally runs long runs with a walk break, I started doing it, too. And it works for me." He ran on, but soon I caught up with him. "When's your next walk break? I think I'll join. I've never walked a race before, but I've never run hills like this before." So we swapped stories and took a walk break together. Then he petered out and said, "Go on...I have to walk a while."
Soon I found another runner to pace alongside. He hadn't trained much lately. An older gentleman, he'd been out of state over the last couple weeks for two family funerals and a wedding for a nephew just back from Iraq." I said just the emotional ups and downs of that would tax one's strength.
At mile 5 I slurped down an energy gel with lots of water from my camelback. And soon I enjoyed a bit of downhill. At the 7-mile marker I actually felt a bit of disappointment. "I don't want this to be over. I'm having so much fun. This is enjoyable." I ran from mile 7 to 8, not seeing another runner anywhere. For a few seconds, I feared I had gone off course. And then I saw a green footprinted painted on the pavement, and knew I was still on track. Being the solo runner for about a mile in a race was actually enjoyable....no stress, just a chance to enjoy the run and the scenery.
I did have to walk up the last steep hill--even though I hadn't yet reached the next planned breaking time. And then I headed alongside the park for the last stretch--setting my pace just behind the young man I had just caught up to. After entering the park and the home stretch, I passed that runner -- someone much younger than me. The end of the race was a loop around a parking lot. All the volunteers were whooping and hollering. Just then I heard a familiar voice shout, "Paparazzi coming!" And there was my son-in-law -- racing to catch up with me. He ran past, turned around and ran backwards so he could snap some photos--he brought joy to my spirit, a smile to my face, and a surge of energy. (Later Anna Maria told me that, fortunately, they had left home early. They had just entered the park, wondering how they'd find me, when I ran past them. She said her husband had rushed them out the door, hurried them along, and she was so grateful. Had he not hurried them, they have missed the finish).
For me I was circling the last loop. The finish line was in sight. Just when I thought I had nothing left for a hard finish, I saw Eliza's distinctive white blonde hair right next to the finish chute. Then I saw Anna Maria and Maggie next to her. That gave me the energy to surge to the end -- wheezing and gasping for air. The finish chute took a sharp left there, and I nearly missed that. I was completely spent. But just then I heard a volunteer to my left say, "She needs to chill." Her voice kept me from running into the barrier! I guess I was supposed to have stopped at the finish to have the chip pulled; but they gave me a second to collect myself and ease the wheeze a bit, before clipping the chip from my shoelace.
Anna Maria watched with concern in her face as I dug out my inhaler and tried to breathe. But it wasn't long, and I soon had my air back. Then I got my victory hugs. I was ecstatic. I had done it and I had run well. No mistakes.
Content with that, but curious about the time, I looked at my watch for the total time. "Hmm, I thought. If this is right I far exceeded my goal." AM said, "Go check...ask where to go." So I did...and I did. I hoped for 2 hours and ran the course in 1:47:34 - a 10:46/mile pace. I nearly burst into tears. I hugged Anna Maria and the girls, all the time repeating, "Thank you, Jesus. Thank you, Jesus. This is like a miracle."
Thank you, thank you to all of those who prayed for me, and who have encouraged me on my running journey.

Siblings

My brothers would live outside, and preferably on the river, if they could. I snatched this photo from my little brother Anth's blog (he's on the far right); I have no idea when or where it was taken. But they're being their typical selves (except serious). They love to fish, and have caught some mighty fine tasting catfish. Baby Bro (Per) is man enough to let me call him that and is on the far left; he got that name cause he's the "baby" of the family and you "youngests" know that you NEVER outgrow that even if, as in this case, you grow up to be the tallest in the family. My Big Bro, the oldest (Paul) is in the middle. Obviously "Big", "Little" and "Baby" are about birth order -- not the size of their hearts or anything else. My sibs are the best anyone could have.
Me on the other hand? Though second oldest (2d from left), I ended up being the "runt" of the litter. Nonetheless when I call Per on the phone I always ask, "Hey Baby Bro, what's up?" And he always answers, "Not much, Big Sis, what about you?" (Son-in-law Steven took this photo at a nephew's wedding within the last three years).

Dark Hollows Falls - Sunday's Run

A wrong turn led me down this rocky path...not just the road less travelled, but, on Sunday anyway, a road no one travelled except for squirrels, chipmunks and birds. This detour added about a half mile to my 4 mile trail run, a detour I thoroughly enjoyed. And obviously Sunday's goal had nothing to do with speed...
Scenes from Dark Hollows Falls. Drought conditions have caused the authorities to ban all fires, even charcoal grills. As you can see there wasn't much water flowing Sunday, but the scenery was gorgeous. And the mushy, humus-covered trail felt good on my feet, used to primarily running on asphalt.

Dark Hollow Falls ...more from Sunday's run

North Fork of the Shenandoah

Views of the very dry Shenandoah taken from both sides of the bridge on Saturday, October 13.

Pickin' and Grinning' -- well, pickin' anyway

The photo is poor, but I just had to post it anyway (I tried to change the setting on my camera without my glasses, and picked the wrong one). According to Steven, Anna Maria told him that he would be the perfect husband if he just played the guitar. So he is teaching himself the banjo, which is quite a feat since he has never played a musical instrument before. He's getting pretty good at it, too. Sometimes when I'd go to see the kids, AM would be on the front porch spinning yarn on her spinning wheel and Steven would be picking at the banjo, while the kids romped in the yard.
I snapped this photo of Steven in the house. He's good enough now that the picking took me back to my childhood when Uncle Willy would play the banjo; Uncle Cliffy (which us kids couldn't say and which ended up being Uncle Kicky) would sing, play the autoharp; Uncle Dean played guitar or bass guitar; and Mom played accordion, organ or piano. When Aunt Joyce would come home on furlough she'd join in; she can yodle though she rarely does it anymore, and she can sing and play guitar as well.
This prompted the story I told the granddaughters as we awakened and waited for the sun to warm up the tent enough to go in for breakfast. This is the story as I was told it repeatedly during my childhood in the church where my Grampa, my mom's dad, went. Back before I was born (Grampa died when I was 3 or 4), the church where Grampa attended often had testimony time. And Grampa would stand and tell about how all his children would one day know Jesus. Nobody could quite understand his faith or his determination to believe that, as his kids at that time were living the wild life -- failed marriages, over drinking, smoking....you don't need the details. That's enough.
Even his wife, my gramma, didn't go to church nor want anything to do with it. Nonetheless whenever testimony time came, he'd state that his family would one day know Jesus. As I understand it, Uncle Kicky was the first to find faith. And he even wrote a few hymns or two. He's the one I went to when I was hurting and needed a friend; he always had a fresh word he had just read that morning. And he was the first to publish my writing.
I think it was Aunt Joyce who came to faith next, and she went to Bible college without having finished high school. It took a lot of hard work and lot of remedial work; but not only did she finish, she went on and earned a master's in social work as well. She now serves as a chaplain, primarily working with the American Indians near Phoenix.
I'll never forget when Uncle Dean and Uncle Willy started showing up at Mom's kitchen table with Bibles in their hands. I didn't understand what they had, but I knew I wanted it. They talked about a God of love, a God of hope. Believing I'd someday find that faith, I started reading my Bible--though I didn't understand a bit of it then. Dean now pastors a church, and, until he retired from construction work, he pastored part-time and built bridges during the week. I often wonder what would have happened to me had they ignored the call to faith, as their faith kept me from attempting suicide.
Somewhere in there Mom got her act together, too. And she played organ at church, taught kids in Bible club and Sunday school, and led the choir.
Even my gram found Christ -- I think she was in her 70s or maybe even a bit older. And she changed! Everyone at the nursing home where she spent her last days loved her, thought her the sweetest thing -- this about a woman who had been known for being abusive to her kids. That's basically the way I told the story, except I edited the suicide part as it was kids I was talking to. And then I ended the story with this, "Eliza and Maggie: this is a story you need to remember. It's a founding story of our family. My mom wasn't the best of moms to me, but she did better than her mom. I raised my kids with a lot of regrets, but I did better than my mom. And your mom is an awesome mom. And each of us has done better than our moms because of Grampa's prayers said long before you were even born. That's why praying is so important. Praying doesn't just effect the one you pray for; the prayers move through generation and generation in ways you can't know."
And from there we had one of many granddaughter-grandmom talks with lots of questions and lots of sharing. But that part of the story belongs to the grandchildren and isn't mine to share.