Once Again for the First Time

This afternoon, on my "wog" (walking and jogging), I was thinking it had been seven years since I started training for my first triathlon.  That would have been elegant.  Seven is a number of completeness, a biblical symbol of wholeness, a symbol of full circle and Sabbath and returning to the beginning.   Its been eight.  So, oh well.  This doesn't have to be deeply symbolic to be true.

A lot has happened in eight years.  Three triathlons, countless 5k and 10k races.  Two half-marathons (one of them a failed full attempt).  Two stress fractures, a calf injury, more stops and starts than I care to count.  More significantly, deepening a marriage, a child born, sent to daycare, preschool, kindergarten, first grade.  Another through grade school, then middle, then starting high school.  Another with a Masters, another into college.  Seminary.  Call.  Graduation.  Ordination.  Trying to adjust to the blessings and challenges of life as a full-time pastor.

And now.  Today.  The fire again.  I want to go back to where it started.  Lake St. Louis.  Sprint this time.

I'm not yet sure how.  But I saw a 10 week plan on my Sufferfest app and something jumped in me.  So, the plan for now is build a base until late June.

I'm publishing this to make it real.  For posterity.  For motivation.  And to start writing about this again.  Writing does something for me.  Heals, bolsters, encourages, challenges.  Maybe it will also save my congregation from hearing about training every other sermon.  Maybe it will connect me again with the amazing triathlon community that I experienced before.  Maybe it will just be words lost in cyberspace.

But its a good day to start something new.  The last day of 2014, a tough year for many of us.  A tough year for my city.  Its a good day to start over again for the first time. May it be so.

And Now for Something Completely Different

There's a little race tomorrow.  I've got my packet, my t-shirt and my number.  They all say "marathon".  But I'm running the half.  Or rather, I'm running and walking the half.  I ended up being three weeks out of the saddle with my injury.  And, in order to keep from re-tearing my calf muscle/tendon, I had to ease back into running.  I'm still only running in 5 min. intervals - though I'm sure I could do a bit more without hurting myself.  So, I'll run some and walk some tomorrow and there will be a big fat DNF next to my name in the race results.  So it goes.  I couldn't change to the half-marathon because it was sold out.  They told me I could go ahead and finish the half - and I would get a half-marathon medal and finish line amenities but I wouldn't have an official time.  S'alright.  I'm bummed, to be sure.  But its only a race.

Its only a race.  And life has been good.  Very good, actually.  Running and anything related to it bums me out a bit but there are bigger things than running.  Much bigger things.

So, in honor of the Biggest Thing of all, its time for something completely different.  Its totally out of left field for those who don't know me well - and for some that do.  I don't talk about my faith much on this blog - the last thing I want to do is preach and alienate people.  That's not my thing, really.  But, I do want to preach.  Or Somebody wants me to preach.  The Call is a long, bizarre story so I'll leave that part out.  The Result is that I dropped my application for Seminary in the mail today.  You heard me.  Seminary.  Something Completely Different.  But, maybe not that different, if you look at where my life has been headed - this strange and awesome trajectory that I only recently began to understand.  Its out of my hands.  Always has been - at least when its been at its best.  When I try to take over, I mess things up but good. 

So that's it.  That's where I'm headed.  I'm closing this blog down.  Its been a source of support, joy, and accountability and I'm thankful for that.  But, its time to move on.  Its time to stop measuring myself by miles and inches and pounds.  Its time to stop measuring myself, period.  I thank you, gentle readers (all three of you ;) and I wish you the best of everything in all your journeys.  May the Lord Bless you and Keep you in all your ways.  Thanks.  Peace Out.

Certifiable

Last week, after coming close to killing myself during a 16 mile pain fest, I was advised by my boss (a triathlete) to seek counseling.  At the time, I thought he was joking.  Now, I'm not so sure.

Turns out pushing through the pain for 8 miles isn't such a great idea.  The consequences this time around are an injured calf that refuses to heal.  I've run twice since February 28.  The first was a three miler that was relatively do-able - my calf was sore but didn't seem to warrant stopping.  I was limping the next day.  The second was yesterday's attempt at a "long run" - just one 4.5 mile loop of Queeny Park.  I didn't get a half a mile. 

So, there have been some tears.  I'm not sure I'm out of the marathon.  I have the number of a chiropractor that treats athletes and I'm reserving my final verdict until after a visit with her.  I may try to run tomorrow morning - advice marathon vets?  If I can't get back to a reasonable training schedule by next week, the full Mari is out.  I can probably do the half - we'll see what the Doc says. 

Even though I'm not officially out, I'm heartbroken.  And a little relieved.  After some time resting, its pretty clear to me that I was suffering from overtraining.  True to form, I would never have admitted it until my body forced me to acknowledge reality.  I've got to stop this ridiculous self-torture.  When will I find the line between training and punishing?  Looking at old posts, I think I had that line before.  I suppose my all-consuming drive to "get back to my former self" after Noah was born has completely warped my judgment.  Two stress fractures and now this whateveritis are evidence enough that I push myself too hard. 

Balance is elusive.

And still . . . I long to finish what I've started - to cross the line and hang the medal.  To put that silly 26.2 sticker on my car.  Lord, please save me from myself. 

In Case You Didn't Know Already . . .

This week, I actually feel like I'm in training for a Marathon.  I know.  I've BEEN in training  for a marathon but the miles are starting to look really big to me. Sunday's run was fifteen miles - in hilly, rocky, lovely Queeny Park.  I surprised myself by finishing without the usual moment of despair that seems to happen with every long run.

And yesterday, in the middle of the week, I ran an 8 mile tempo run.  8 miles.  As a mid-week tempo.  That's when I really got it into my skull - and into the rest of me - its really happening.  I just might pull this thing off.  I might actually run 26.2 miles and live to tell about it.  Wow.

Speaking of pulling this off, friends, the time is getting short.  I am launching my full fledge Begging for Money campaign - starting here and extending to friends and family (be ready for the email, Ma), work and hopefully some public venues where I can wear my tshirt and ask strangers to give me there cash.  Well not me but my buds at Wine To Water.  Doc is in Haiti right now, bringing bio filters to the people of Haiti.  As you probably know, they are in dire need of clean water over there right now.  You can click on the video in my sidebar to get a glimpse of what they're doing over there.  If you double click it, you can get the full screen.  Maybe a super-techie out there (that does not mean you, spam robots!) can tell me how to make the video viewable in my sidebar.  Its beyond my skills. 

ANYWAY - the time is now friends.  If you can and want to help out, even if its just $1.00 or so, please do.  You can visit my fundraising page or go directly to Wine To Water. Tell your friends and family, tell your enemies.  Please, help us out - this is an urgent but fixable problem.  Love to all of you still reading and those of you who happened here by accident!  Peace out for now.

Whine Fest

Sheesh.  Has it been that long since my last post?  Wow. 

I've been struggling with feeling lousy the last couple of weeks.  Back and forth from being laid out on the couch and running/swimming/spinning and feeling great.  I can't figure it out.  I'm eating plenty.  Sleeping as much as I can - which is probably not enough but, I'm trying. And still . . .

In the meantime, I've gotten a 14 miler in - 14 miles is a long way to run any way you look at it.  Its far.  But I gotter done.  Last week was a recovery week which finished off with an "easy" ten mile run.  The kicker is that it did feel easy.  Kinda.  As easy as ten miles can feel to a mere mortal like me.  It went fast and fun as well as I was lucky enough to meet up with a dude training for an ultra and going about my pace - he slowed down for me and I sped up for him.  It was fun to talk with someone who knew so much and was so passionate about running. 

Yesterday, I did a tempo run at a little over six miles.  This morning I swam.  Tonight I feel like I got hit by a truck.  So, I'm going to bed.

Just thought I'd check in - in case anyone's still out there.  Coming Soon: The Final Push and a Plea for Money.

Peace out.

Sweet Spot

It's been a long week, friends.  Boy Genius has been having more migraines than usual (he started getting them in first grade, he's an intense kid) and woke up Monday morning feeling nauseas and exhausted - which is usually the start of the things.  I kept him home from school and called the doc.  They couldn't get him in until Wednesday - by which time he had been out of school Mon, Tues and part of Wed.  His doctor wanted to do some blood work to rule out anything serious.  Boy Genius - who is ten- has never had blood drawn (except by finger prick which, of course, is not what needed to be done).  He was incredibly brave, talking to me about the book he was reading while they dug around in his arm, trying to find a vein.  I, on the other hand,was trying desperately not to pass out.  Thankfully, the blood work came back normal and he's feeling much better. 

From Boy Genius' doc's office, I went to the Walgreens clinic because I was feeling pretty crappy.  The nurse there - who was incredibly nice and took loads of time talking to me and examining me - diagnosed allergies and gave me some stuff which has pretty much nullified the symptoms. 

The piece de resistance of children and doctors occured last night around 9:00.  Noah had been sounding a little raspy when we put him to bed but seemed fine.  Then, an hour or so after we put him down, he woke up crying and making a sound that no parent should hear from their child.  If you've ever had a child with croup, you know what "strider" is and will probably never forget it.  He just got over a case of croup that went to pneumonia in December so I knew what I was hearing.  I tried the usual - a steamy bathroom, a trip outside - but nothing seemed to be helping.  Hubby got him calmed down but, even asleep in his Daddy's arms, he was still making that "whooping" sound with each inhale.  After some debate which shall remain confidential, we went to the emergency room.  They promptly gave him a steroid breathing treatment which helped immensely and gave him some oral steroid as well which made him strangely hyper but much better.  We were sent home at midnight. 

Its tough to see your kids sick - especially when it seems to occur one after the other, insult following injury. When we go through these things, I thank God that we live in a time and are in a position where treatment is available and effective.  I can't imagine what the mothers at the turn of the century - or those who are desperately poor in our time - went (go) through.  To watch your child suffer is bad enough, to be able to do nothing to help must be unbearable.

This week, as most weeks do nowadays, culminated in my long run - a longer run than I've ever done (which is also normally the case these days).  I chose to head out to a nice flat trail by the river to do my 12 miles and change.  It was a beautiful day.  I left a happy if slightly hoarse baby with a content if slightly tired Daddy.  The sun was shining.  There wasn't a cloud in the sky.  I had some new tunes on my iPod and my legs were fresh from a rest week.  After everything that went down this week, it was beyond luxurious to have a couple of hours to myself.  The first hour was glorious.  It was warm enough that I wasn't chilly but cool enough that I felt refreshed.  There was a fresh coat of snow on the ground (I'm laughing at myself just now because I accidently typed snot instead of snow.  brings about an entirely different image).  The river was clear and reflected the sunshine.  Lovely. 

At an hour, my legs started hurting a little - not a lot.  I found myself slowing down if I let my guard down which, ironically, was harder than keeping my normal "cruise" pace.  Your instinct is to slow down because you're tired but it turns into a slog if you slow down too much - and it feels like more impact, at least to me.  Going too slow will wear me out as quickly as going too fast.  You have to find your sweet spot and stick with it.  Natural enough at 6 or 8 or even 9 miles.  But, you start getting closer to that ten mile mark and the body just wants to call it quits.  By an hour and half into it, I was hurting for real.  I had to fight myself to stay in the sweet spot - even though that remained the most comfortable pace to run and I didn't feel worn out.  As I closed in on the two hour mark (my run was to be 2 hours and twenty min.), I was sure I couldn't go on.  "I can't" my quitter brain would whine.  "yes.  you can.  suck it up." Beast would growl.  I had run to the end of the trail and was almost back to the start where I would have to turn around and run another twenty min. before doubling back again.  I'm not gonna lie.  Turning around was hard.  I was praying again, asking for the right attitude, asking to find the joy, to move above the pain.  But I turned.  And I ran. Then, just a couple of minutes into my second lap, something happened.  The cloud in my brain lifted.  My legs felt a little lighter.  A thought came like a bolt from somewhere deep - "I will not be defined by suffering."  Yes!  " I will be defined by perseverence, by my stubborn determination to keep on putting one foot in front of the other, no matter what."  That's it, friends.  That's it in a nutshell. 

I finished the run.  The remainder actually felt pretty good.  It hurt.  But it still felt pretty good.  I hurt now.  But I feel good.  The baby's in the bath, dinner' s in my belly, the day is almost done.  Everyone is well and another long run is in the books.  These are the moments that define our life - if we let them be.  If we resist our temptation to identify with the suffering and ignore the blessings.  Only we can decide what we will be defined by.  And its a choice that's not made once but a thousand times a day.  God give me the strength to choose right more than I choose wrong.  And the strength to keep at it - no matter what.

And the Verdict Is. . .

Mostly, dumbass.  Sure,there are elements of badass in Sunday's run:  running in pain for an hour and twenty minutes, finishing the run with 3 twenty second pickups despite the pain, heck,just finishing the run. And there were many good things about the run - I had my nutrition absolutely dialed in. Though my legs were KILLING me, I never bonked and didn't even crash very hard afterwards,which is typical of me after a long run.  I usually come home famished, eat everything I can get my hands on and pass out on the couch (or at least try to pass out on the couch, its hard to sleep with a nineteen month old jumping on you and yelling "Mommy!").  On Sunday, I was certainly hungry but a protein smoothie and some graham crackers did the trick.  I took a short nap but didn't feel like I would die without it.  So, the day of, I felt much better than I had.  Yesterday, though, every muscle below my waist was screaming in unison:  "YOU ARE A DUMBASS!".  Thus, the verdict. 

My legs feel pretty good today - tired but not 'injured' which I was a little afraid of.  Training for something like this - especially something that is just beyond what you can reasonably accomplish - is always a dance on the fine line between overtraining and pushing yourself, between injury and soreness, like I said before, between badass and dumbass.  I still don't know if I can do this.  I'm confident after Sunday's run that its going to hurt like hell.  As of right now, though, I can continue to press forward.  I didn't hurt myself - not permanently - and, Praise All of Creation, this is a recovery week.  I'm taking today totally off (which I should have done instead of swimming yesterday - dumbass!) and running easy tomorrow and Friday with an easy spin on the trainer on Thursday.  Sunday's run will be about 6 miles which should ( I emphasize should) feel pretty easy after 11. 

In other, much more important, news,  the charity I'm running for, Wine to Water, has set up an emergency fund for Haiti.  As you probably know, clean water is paramount over there right now.  If you can spare anything, please visit their site and click on "Haiti Emergency Fund".  Or, visit Red Cross's website or Unicef - whatever you feel called to do.  From what I can see, Red Cross and Unicef are providing emergency supplies for immediate relief and organizations like Wine to Water will move in for long term solutions.  Both are needed so, please, do whatever you are comfortable with.  Also, Soles4Souls is collecting shoes for the victims of the earthquake (think about all the broken glass and metal on the street and how many of the survivors you see on television barefoot) so, if you have any old running (or other) shoes,visit their site and find a drop off location.  I'm pretty sure many running stores are participating. 

Disasters like this remind us how important it is to reach out and help those most in need - this earthquake was made many times worse by the extreme poverty the Haitian people endure.  With that in mind, I'm going to keep putting one foot in front of the other and keep asking people to give what they can.  You do the same.