We have options when responding to a violent act. One is the natural one, to turn toward animosity. The other is the supernatural one, to turn toward love.
We have an amazing power at our disposal in the linking of prayers for those who have been affected, that they may find consolation and healing. We pray for those who are trying to solve this crime, that they are one with the mind of wisdom and that anyone with knowledge about it is given the courage to come forward to them. And we pray for those who would perpetrate such crimes, that their minds, hearts and souls may receive the grace they need to return to love.
As a marathoner, this atrocity hit home in an unexpected way. For the sake of the running community, I am filling my heart with as much love as possible in order to let it pour forth into a thirsty world.
Pace et bene,
David +
Showing posts with label running. Show all posts
Showing posts with label running. Show all posts
Monday, April 15, 2013
Saturday, August 11, 2012
The Illusion of Final
I had a tough training run today. The first three or four miles were all right, but after that, I was struggling. I've run the distance and the terrain before, but you would never know that from today's experience. In fact, I've often run further.
I was slightly over eight miles into my 10 mile run when I began to weave back and forth and realized I was "bonking." I didn't have the reserves to continue. I felt physically spent. I sat down, exhausted.
My running partner Warren was having a strong day, and was well up the final hill when I sat at the foot of it. My other running partner Jessi came back to where I was and asked if I was all right. I said I was; I just had bonked and felt wasted. She said, "Are you sure? You're almost there." I asked for help standing up, and made my way to a nearby bench in the shade. I knew I would be OK, and encouraged her to finish her run.
She left and I recovered in the shade for a few minutes with her question echoing in my head. Am I sure I'm finished? Am I OK with stopping this close to my goal? Am I sure I'm finished? Did I really want to end this run at this point? Am I sure I'm finished?
As I regained my strength, I realized the answer was, "No. I'm not finished. I only have a mile and three-quarters left. I don't need to run it at top speed, but I need to finish it because I can."
I dialed Warren on my cell phone to let him know of my decision and the route I would be taking. I topped the hill and a little at a time began to run toward my goal.
No one would have mistaken me for Usain Bolt during that last segment. My best pace was a lively jog. But it was not my intention to set a speed record. It was my intention to finish.
Warren and Jessi doubled back and ran with me while I finished the last mile. I told Jessi that it was her comment, "Are you sure? You're almost there," that made the difference. As teammates, we encourage each other and affirm each other's success. I knew I was supported 100% whether I continued or stopped short. I also knew if I could finish, I must finish. This is not some macho code of honor; this is simply having integrity and learning what the day and the trail want to teach.
I have learned over the past 10 months of endurance running training that I have not come close to completely tapping my reserves. I have learned more and more that I have reserves to tap. I have learned that I am loved and supported, not just by my friends, but by strangers in the running community who call out encouragement as they pass.
At the end of the run, I had gone 10.25 miles before I switched off my performance tracker. After that, I probably walked another 1/3 of a mile. What mattered was not that I did not do so well as a trail runner, or that I had to regroup a couple of times physically along the way. What mattered was that when I was almost there, and no one was going to judge me for the decision I made, the only decision I could make was to finish.
Today, I learned there is a difference between giving all and giving up.
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
The Power of Will
The popular belief is that we only use 10% of our brain. I have heard this is a misconception; actually the other 90% is used for processing functions. Either way, there is always more "brain power" available.
As an endurance runner, I am learning about the power of will. My training today involved running a mile uphill at a sustained high heart rate (between 140-155 bpm; my resting pulse is 51, and my comfortable running zone is 130-135). Occasionally it would fall to 139 or 138, and I had to push as much psychologically as physically to force it back up into the 140+ range. Bodies in motion do not necessarily want to stay in motion!
When I am feeling spent, it is hard to summon the will to hit the accelerator. However, that is when I begin to appreciate how powerful the will is. I am exercising it as much as my legs and lungs and heart.
I can be stubborn, but not necessarily strong-willed. Now I am learning how to be strong-willed.
The will is powerful, and I suspect employing even 10% would be amazing. Nothing I have done in my life has taught me about the will quite like endurance running. At first the only will that seemed related to endurance running was the one dividing my estate, because on some of those initial double-digit training runs, I was pretty sure I needed to keep it up-to-date!
Now the other will is involved, the force within.
And yes, my heart rate averaged 142 on that uphill run. That's the power of will.
Saturday, March 10, 2012
Crucifixion and Resurrection
The past week has been challenging on every level. It culminated Friday night in a 10:00 p.m. trip to the emergency veterinary clinic with my beloved cat, where she was left overnight with an uncertain fate, and then a 3:00 a.m. call to the hospital to comfort a family dealing with an unexpected death.
After that, I drove down to the clinic where the cat was improved somewhat, then went home and grabbed two hours of sleep before rising to join my marathon team on a 15-mile training run over hills and trails.
I started strong, keeping up with the better runners on our team for the first five miles, which is a big improvement for me. I knew eventually they would pull away. About 10 or 11 miles into the run, I ran out of steam. I was dizzy, wobbling, and thoroughly exhausted, facing the main hill climb for the second loop and feeling 100% empty and hollow.
Our assistant coach came down the hill toward me, like an angel descending, and asked how I was doing. We went through the checklist. Pain? No. Exhaustion? Yes. She suggested I call it a day, since the coaches knew I was beginning already depleted from lack of sleep. I asked if it was all right for me to just sit down for a minute, and she said yes. I was an emotional wreck.
I sat on the grass beside the trail. It was the softest, coolest grass I have ever felt. She sat beside me, helping me think things through.
Our coach came up at that point and asked what was happening, and he agreed with her assessment that I call it a day. After a bit, I stood up and looked at Coach and tried to say, "I don't want to fail." However, I only got the "I don't" part out before I was wracked with tears, and for about two minutes I sobbed like a baby while they hugged and supported me.
And then it was done. The tears had passed. I stood erect, and it was as if someone had poured strength into me. The assistant coach said I looked a lot better. I said to her, "Let's conquer this hill."
They allowed me to continue, and continue I did. After some distance, they had me check-in again. We were at a point where I could pack it in, or finish the last four or so miles. I said I would obey their direction, but I wanted to finish the distance.
After a little more examination, they gave me the permission to finish and Coach ran beside me, allowing me to set the pace. In a mix of running, jogging and walking, I completed the 15 miles.
As I did, I noticed the depth of the blue sky, the intensity of the green hills, the song of the waves of the lake lapping at the shore, all as if I were seeing it for the first time.
Somewhere around mile 10 or 11, a part of me died and a new part rose up, more alive than I have ever felt in my life. Completely alive.
When I arrived to run this morning, our team chaplain said a prayer that included a familiar passage from Isaiah 40:30-31: "But those who hope in the LORD will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint."
Sometimes we have to be willing to endure the crucifixion in order to understand resurrection. When we do, the LORD renews our strength. We run and not grow weary, and we walk and not be faint.
After that, I drove down to the clinic where the cat was improved somewhat, then went home and grabbed two hours of sleep before rising to join my marathon team on a 15-mile training run over hills and trails.
I started strong, keeping up with the better runners on our team for the first five miles, which is a big improvement for me. I knew eventually they would pull away. About 10 or 11 miles into the run, I ran out of steam. I was dizzy, wobbling, and thoroughly exhausted, facing the main hill climb for the second loop and feeling 100% empty and hollow.
Our assistant coach came down the hill toward me, like an angel descending, and asked how I was doing. We went through the checklist. Pain? No. Exhaustion? Yes. She suggested I call it a day, since the coaches knew I was beginning already depleted from lack of sleep. I asked if it was all right for me to just sit down for a minute, and she said yes. I was an emotional wreck.
I sat on the grass beside the trail. It was the softest, coolest grass I have ever felt. She sat beside me, helping me think things through.
Our coach came up at that point and asked what was happening, and he agreed with her assessment that I call it a day. After a bit, I stood up and looked at Coach and tried to say, "I don't want to fail." However, I only got the "I don't" part out before I was wracked with tears, and for about two minutes I sobbed like a baby while they hugged and supported me.
And then it was done. The tears had passed. I stood erect, and it was as if someone had poured strength into me. The assistant coach said I looked a lot better. I said to her, "Let's conquer this hill."
They allowed me to continue, and continue I did. After some distance, they had me check-in again. We were at a point where I could pack it in, or finish the last four or so miles. I said I would obey their direction, but I wanted to finish the distance.
After a little more examination, they gave me the permission to finish and Coach ran beside me, allowing me to set the pace. In a mix of running, jogging and walking, I completed the 15 miles.
As I did, I noticed the depth of the blue sky, the intensity of the green hills, the song of the waves of the lake lapping at the shore, all as if I were seeing it for the first time.
Somewhere around mile 10 or 11, a part of me died and a new part rose up, more alive than I have ever felt in my life. Completely alive.
When I arrived to run this morning, our team chaplain said a prayer that included a familiar passage from Isaiah 40:30-31: "But those who hope in the LORD will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint."
Sometimes we have to be willing to endure the crucifixion in order to understand resurrection. When we do, the LORD renews our strength. We run and not grow weary, and we walk and not be faint.
Monday, January 30, 2012
Heroes Where You Least Expect Them
This morning I met Coach at the track in a local park for our training session. The workout would be light since we are running in a 10K race (6.2 miles) on Sunday. Our drill was to run barefoot in order to become familiar with where our natural foot-strike occurs. I was apprehensive about running on the textured track surface, but I figured it would be like a giant pumice stone and other people pay a fortune for pedicures. So, off with the shoes and socks, and onto the track I went.
Soon it felt natural, and I was able to sprint, jog, run and walk as instructed. I began doing some speed drills, running 50 or 100 yards to catch up with people walking the track, then recovering at an easy pace.
There was a woman running on the track who I will call Ann (not her real name). As I passed her during one of my last speed drills, I was breathing as deeply as possible. "Breathe! Breathe!" she said as I passed, although a slight speech impediment made it sound like she said, "Bree! Bree!"
I knew what she meant, so I slowed down and said to her with a laugh, "Breathing is good!" She smiled and said, "I love to run." The slight catch in her speech was still there. At first, I thought she might be deaf, speaking with the open-throated tone that some deaf people have.
I said and signed to her, "I'll go with you," and we began to run again. Her pace was moderate but enthusiastic, clearly showing the joy she felt about running. I jogged barefoot beside her, no longer thinking of my feet.
We ran a few laps together, running until we caught up with three friends of hers who were walking the track. One friend said this would be the last lap. Ann and I paused while I introduced myself to her friends, and they began to finish the lap.
"I had an accident," she said, voluntarily filling in the gaps. "I was 16. I was in a coma for a long time. They said I would never breathe on my own or talk or walk. Now I'm 36 and I love to run."
"You are my hero," I said. Her eyes were shining when she said to me, "And you are my hero."
"Well," I said, "I do have this big scar across my left side where they took my kidney out when I was a kid. I could never play sports. Now I'm 56 and I'm training to run a marathon."
"See?" she said, "you are a hero. We're both heroes." Her smile beamed.
"The first time I spoke after my accident, I was my hero," she said. "Then I couldn't walk and speak at the same time. Now I can run and speak. We are all heroes."
We ran to the track's gate, where she caught up with her friends. I told her I am usually here at the track this time of day Mondays through Thursdays, and I hoped we could be running partners again.
Who would want to miss the opportunity to run with a real hero? Not me, that's for certain.
Soon it felt natural, and I was able to sprint, jog, run and walk as instructed. I began doing some speed drills, running 50 or 100 yards to catch up with people walking the track, then recovering at an easy pace.
There was a woman running on the track who I will call Ann (not her real name). As I passed her during one of my last speed drills, I was breathing as deeply as possible. "Breathe! Breathe!" she said as I passed, although a slight speech impediment made it sound like she said, "Bree! Bree!"
I knew what she meant, so I slowed down and said to her with a laugh, "Breathing is good!" She smiled and said, "I love to run." The slight catch in her speech was still there. At first, I thought she might be deaf, speaking with the open-throated tone that some deaf people have.
I said and signed to her, "I'll go with you," and we began to run again. Her pace was moderate but enthusiastic, clearly showing the joy she felt about running. I jogged barefoot beside her, no longer thinking of my feet.
We ran a few laps together, running until we caught up with three friends of hers who were walking the track. One friend said this would be the last lap. Ann and I paused while I introduced myself to her friends, and they began to finish the lap.
"I had an accident," she said, voluntarily filling in the gaps. "I was 16. I was in a coma for a long time. They said I would never breathe on my own or talk or walk. Now I'm 36 and I love to run."
"You are my hero," I said. Her eyes were shining when she said to me, "And you are my hero."
"Well," I said, "I do have this big scar across my left side where they took my kidney out when I was a kid. I could never play sports. Now I'm 56 and I'm training to run a marathon."
"See?" she said, "you are a hero. We're both heroes." Her smile beamed.
"The first time I spoke after my accident, I was my hero," she said. "Then I couldn't walk and speak at the same time. Now I can run and speak. We are all heroes."
We ran to the track's gate, where she caught up with her friends. I told her I am usually here at the track this time of day Mondays through Thursdays, and I hoped we could be running partners again.
Who would want to miss the opportunity to run with a real hero? Not me, that's for certain.
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Run Your Own Race
My friend Ray told me a story of driving with a wise friend riding along. When other drivers would do discourteous things, Ray would rant. His friend simply said, "Drive your own car, Ray."
Last Saturday, I did not meet my marathon-prep training goals. However, I did learn some important lessons! That is part of training, too: that sometimes the session is about what you learn, whether you met the goal or not.
I had been engaged in an easy run, sort of a trot, with some other runners who have been training a bit longer than I have. We were conversing as we went. Eventually, I ran out of steam and walked to recover.
My coach came alongside and suggested I finish the distance by doing brief "intervals," where there is a short, light run, followed by an equally distant walk in order to allow recovery time.
I did as he recommended, and I remembered what my stepgrandson Chet said to me: "Count your breaths, not your steps." So I began to focus on my breath and by doing so began to breathe more deeply. This rush of oygen fueled me back up, and my intervals became a little longer each time. I didn't want to push it, but I was curious to see how my improved breathing would affect my conditioning.
Today, I enjoyed a more successful training session. I met coach's goals for me, and my breathing was greatly improved and more efficient.
When Saturday rolls around, I will know that chatting with my fellow runners is probably not optimal for me, at least at this point. That is OK. They may be able to run and chat, but doing so causes me to breathe shallow breaths. I have learned I have to run my own race.
I am making some changes in my life to honor the ministry call I have heard. There are some things I need to drop, and I have resisted doing that because I don't want to let anyone else down or be a disappointment.
Fulfilling other people's expectations is a good way to stay busy, and what I have been doing is noble enough, but it is not related to my call, and the people I am called to serve go unserved as a result.
There will be some disappointed people when I withdraw from doing that which is not mine to do. Sorry! I truly am! I wish I could do it all! But, I have to run my own race.
The Holy Spirit comes alongside me to encourage and direct me, coaching my soul on its path the same way my running coach coaches my steps on the trail.
I do not run alone. None of us do. And yet, each of us is called to run our own race.
Last Saturday, I did not meet my marathon-prep training goals. However, I did learn some important lessons! That is part of training, too: that sometimes the session is about what you learn, whether you met the goal or not.
I had been engaged in an easy run, sort of a trot, with some other runners who have been training a bit longer than I have. We were conversing as we went. Eventually, I ran out of steam and walked to recover.
My coach came alongside and suggested I finish the distance by doing brief "intervals," where there is a short, light run, followed by an equally distant walk in order to allow recovery time.
I did as he recommended, and I remembered what my stepgrandson Chet said to me: "Count your breaths, not your steps." So I began to focus on my breath and by doing so began to breathe more deeply. This rush of oygen fueled me back up, and my intervals became a little longer each time. I didn't want to push it, but I was curious to see how my improved breathing would affect my conditioning.
Today, I enjoyed a more successful training session. I met coach's goals for me, and my breathing was greatly improved and more efficient.
When Saturday rolls around, I will know that chatting with my fellow runners is probably not optimal for me, at least at this point. That is OK. They may be able to run and chat, but doing so causes me to breathe shallow breaths. I have learned I have to run my own race.
I am making some changes in my life to honor the ministry call I have heard. There are some things I need to drop, and I have resisted doing that because I don't want to let anyone else down or be a disappointment.
Fulfilling other people's expectations is a good way to stay busy, and what I have been doing is noble enough, but it is not related to my call, and the people I am called to serve go unserved as a result.
There will be some disappointed people when I withdraw from doing that which is not mine to do. Sorry! I truly am! I wish I could do it all! But, I have to run my own race.
The Holy Spirit comes alongside me to encourage and direct me, coaching my soul on its path the same way my running coach coaches my steps on the trail.
I do not run alone. None of us do. And yet, each of us is called to run our own race.
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