I took about a month off from both running and writing about it after the marathon. Between the hours of training, both physical and psychological, I just felt tired of it. This was a long journey and it seems like only yesterday that I started training, even though it was last June. Along the way we lost Jean, and I still think of her every time I drive by the spot near the parking lot where she died. Since the race I have been doing sports conditioning boot camp type classes at the gym and trying to mix it up a bit. Truth be told, if someone wasn't telling me to, I would never do a single push-up.
I have only run a couple of times, and tomorrow will be my longest run, possibly between seven and fourteen miles since the race.
I am glad to have set and accomplished a big goal this year, and our endurance club will be having our year end party soon, at which we set our goals for next year. I am not sure what mine will be. Perhaps another marathon, perhaps not. I have been wondering lately if I am doing what I am supposed to be doing from a broader life perspective. Miles of running gives you that time to start filing those thoughts, and now I am going back through some of those archived conversations with myself.
I also have decided this blog probably needs to incorporate more of the "Thoughts" part from the title, so am expanding on what types of things I will write about.
The family is doing well. Aiden often asks if I am going running when I leave the house, and lately I have been saying "nope, not today, just off to the gym or to work." I sometimes wonder if he will get into running. I think all fathers ponder what, if any, sport their children may gravitate to. If he chooses anything, it will be his choice. I can merely tell him what I get out of running and let him discover if any of it makes sense to him. I think Catherine is glad the marathon is over as it did take me out of the house a lot. I am fortunate to have such support at home.
Life is good. I am trying to remind myself on a daily basis how blessed I am. The economy is still stalled, and I have a good job and am able to provide for my family. This is a lot more than many people have and something I would do well to remind myself of on a regular basis.
Friday, November 20, 2009
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Mission Accomplished
I did
it. I brought months of training to bear on the Denver Marathon and
finished. I was a bit of an emotional and physical wreck after crossing the
finish line. I felt lightheaded and dehydrated, but managed to find
some water and shade. I drank three bottles of water in about five
minutes. It was just so hard and my body and mind were pushed into
places they don't often go. There was solidarity in looking around
me and seeing people in exactly the same condition; physically spent,
but elated at the same time. My hat was encrusted with a white
layer of salt that brought no end of fascination to some friends who
I met up with after getting back from the race.
The
best part of the race was seeing Catherine and Aiden at the finish
line screaming and ringing their cowbells. It made me find one last
bit of something to crank into the finish line gates. The race went
well from a technical point of view. My splits were not perfect, but
not wildly out of balance either, and I did not have anything left at
the end. I hydrated properly along the way and did not have to make
any unexpected bathroom stops, which means I ate right coming into
the race (TMI, I know, I know). I gave it my all, and that, in the
end, is all I can ask of myself.
I
waited quite a while for a friend of mine to round the last corner
coming into the finish, and when he came around he looked to be in
pretty bad shape. I got out there, put his arm over my shoulder and
told him over and over that he only had half a block and was going to
do it. I told him to dig deep, and he did. He made it to the finish
line, and when they announced his name I was so proud of him.
A
great and emotional experience. I told someone this might be my last
one. But as I write about it, I find myself re-evaluating. Disney
is in January, I think...
I
have to thank a lot of people who made this whole deal possible.
First and foremost, my family, who put up with me leaving the house
at 4:00am to go run or go out on Saturdays for hours on end. Also, to
my friends in the Lifetime Fitness Endurance Club, especially Sandy,
who challenges me to keep pushing and is still pestering me about
doing a triathalon. I also want to thank Tammy, Will, Luke, and
Clayton, who opened their home to us while we were in Denver and who
always make us feel like family.
Monday, October 19, 2009
Taper
The training program peaked with 23 miles a couple of weeks ago and now I am tapering, meaning the miles come way down and I run much less frequently. I mentioned this before, but I think I am overtrained. I read the signs again in my marathon book, and am experiencing a couple of them. I am having difficulty sleeping and it has become hard for me to get motivated to run. Hal Higdon says one sign of overtraining is fear of training, and on a few occasions I have experienced a strange anxiety when beginning a run.
This is my first marathon in almost five years, and I picked the Higdon Intermediate II program, which is about 650 miles. I believe I should have selected Intermediate I or Novice II. For the taper, I am adjusting and will run very little, if at all, in this last week before the race. I talked to a friend who overtrained for the Omaha marathon and had the same symptoms coming up on the race. He simply stopped running the week before. Counter to what one might think he ran his personal best.
I think I overestimated where I was in terms of capacity coming back into running. I was coming off an injury that took almost a year to rehab, in addition to a great deal of life change (new job, moving to Omaha). It has been great to get back into the sport, but in this case I have learned (and relearned) some great lessons that apply both to running and to life when it comes to setting life-goals.
- Swing for the fence at every at-bat. Always believe you can hit it out of the park.
- Be comfortable with, and even thankful for, the strike-outs. You learn something each time you miss. Harvest these lessons.
- Challenge yourself, but at the same time be realistic.
- Run your own race. The “coach” is not always right.
- Seek out the wise council of people who know you and love you when things start to get off track.
- Listen to your mind, body, and spirit.
In spite of the challenges, I am still excited about running the marathon next week. I will show up and do my best, and in finishing know the satisfaction of setting a difficult goal and working to accomplish it, even if along the way I made some mistakes and everything did not go as planned down the stretch. I normally learn much more from my mistakes, so can see immense value in the missteps I may have made in accomplishing this goal.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Extraordinary
I did a 23 mile run today and this was my last long run of the program. At this point I start to pare back on the miles in preparation for the race on October 18th. I can’t wait to come back to Denver! I was supposed to do 20, but I wanted to get as close to a full marathon as possible without doing something really foolish, like running a full marathon. This exercise served to break down any remaining doubts or fears I have about the race. I now know for certain—barring something I can’t control happening—that I can and will finish.
This has been a long journey, and it is not over yet, but today I called out my best effort and at the end told myself I had done something extraordinary. I’m not sure we hear that enough. I know I don’t say it enough to the people that I am in relationship with.
At work mistakes are often the focus. The missteps and fumbles are played up and spotlighted. If someone does something great there can almost be an effort to not make a big deal out of it because we don’t want to single anyone out. I see this frequently in big corporations. Rewards and recognition budgets go unspent each year because managers can’t bring themselves to acknowledge that they have extraordinary people working for them doing extraordinary things.
SIDEBAR: Some people get promoted to management not because they know how to work with people (the organization's most valuable asset), but because they have experience or technical expertise. These things are valuable, but should be maybe 3rd or 4th on the list of management criteria.
I spoke with an HR manager just last week about her frustration with this. “I’m going to have to tell them they have to spend this money on their people and genuinely express gratitude for the big efforts they make, or they will get some other area of their budget for HR cut, like seminars and travel.” Managers love to go to seminars and travel around on the company dime, so she was going to hit them hard right in the professional solar plexus. Rock on Ms. HR.
Sometimes, like I did today, we have to validate ourselves, no matter what the endeavor. This is not egotistical, but rather a form of self-care. On Facebook I see status updates from friends who are doing amazing things all the time. One friend has three weddings to cater this weekend. He is an excellent chef and has such a great attitude about huge efforts like this. How do you juggle three amazing meals in a 72 hour period? Another pastor friend regularly performs weddings and funerals, so much so this year that I think he is on pace to break some kind of record this year. He helps people on a regular basis through wonderful and difficult life transitions. Another friend produces amazing metal sculptures that are in every sense of the word, extraordinary. I hit the ‘Like’ button regularly because there is no ‘Extraordinary’ button. Tell someone today you think they are or that they did something extraordinary. You won’t regret it.
This has been a long journey, and it is not over yet, but today I called out my best effort and at the end told myself I had done something extraordinary. I’m not sure we hear that enough. I know I don’t say it enough to the people that I am in relationship with.
At work mistakes are often the focus. The missteps and fumbles are played up and spotlighted. If someone does something great there can almost be an effort to not make a big deal out of it because we don’t want to single anyone out. I see this frequently in big corporations. Rewards and recognition budgets go unspent each year because managers can’t bring themselves to acknowledge that they have extraordinary people working for them doing extraordinary things.
SIDEBAR: Some people get promoted to management not because they know how to work with people (the organization's most valuable asset), but because they have experience or technical expertise. These things are valuable, but should be maybe 3rd or 4th on the list of management criteria.
I spoke with an HR manager just last week about her frustration with this. “I’m going to have to tell them they have to spend this money on their people and genuinely express gratitude for the big efforts they make, or they will get some other area of their budget for HR cut, like seminars and travel.” Managers love to go to seminars and travel around on the company dime, so she was going to hit them hard right in the professional solar plexus. Rock on Ms. HR.
Sometimes, like I did today, we have to validate ourselves, no matter what the endeavor. This is not egotistical, but rather a form of self-care. On Facebook I see status updates from friends who are doing amazing things all the time. One friend has three weddings to cater this weekend. He is an excellent chef and has such a great attitude about huge efforts like this. How do you juggle three amazing meals in a 72 hour period? Another pastor friend regularly performs weddings and funerals, so much so this year that I think he is on pace to break some kind of record this year. He helps people on a regular basis through wonderful and difficult life transitions. Another friend produces amazing metal sculptures that are in every sense of the word, extraordinary. I hit the ‘Like’ button regularly because there is no ‘Extraordinary’ button. Tell someone today you think they are or that they did something extraordinary. You won’t regret it.
Monday, September 21, 2009
Fatigue, Irrational Fear, and Rebooting the System
As I enter week 15 of an 18 week training program, I am at that stage where it has been going on long enough that I am feeling confident, but at the same time having a day here and there when I am just sick of it. Yesterday was a 16 mile run, which went fine, but today I had a measly three miler that felt boring and difficult. I have not been sleeping well and was just plain tired. I read in my Hal Higdon marathon book that this stage can be tough, especially as your high mileage diet requirements become more complicated in terms of maintaining glycogen stores and taking in the right amount of carbs and protein. The book also said your body can start to fatigue and even sleeplessness can result from overstress, even if it seems you are just following the plan. I don’t think I am overtraining, but I suppose it is possible. I have been having trouble sleeping, but I assumed that was related to the pain around losing a friend last week. Truth be told, it is probably a combination of things, from a hairy project deadline, grief, and where I am in the training program.
This is also the stage of training where irrational fears related to getting hurt or sick show up, either of which could send weeks of hard work and aspiration down the drain. I use hand sanitizer every five minutes and walk very slowly through parking lots so I don’t trip on a rock or go off a curb wrong and twist my ankle. If I am in my office and don’t have to leave, I take off my shoes and pad around in my socks. The other day I snuck down the hall to the copier, thinking no one would notice me, and ran into our Chief Medical Officer, who looked down and my feet and smiled. Stairs are almost out of the question at this point and I really don’t like to shake hands with people anymore.
The point is, training has been a mental and physical challenge that will come to fruition in five short weeks, and I don’t want anything to sabotage getting to race day. Something very well might end my hopes of doing the race, and this is where the need to reboot comes in. There is nothing I can do about many of the events that could stop the show at this point, so I need to focus on what I can actually do something about or influence.
My own attitude could foul things up if I don’t stay focused on why I set off on this crazy trip to begin with. It is natural to get tired at this stage, but that does not mean I can’t push through it by resetting my frame of reference.
I started this whole effort to challenge myself to do something difficult. I’ve done this before, but it has been five years, so to get back on the trail and do the work holds special meaning for me at this stage in my life. I want my son to see his father as someone challenges himself and swings for the fence every time he gets an at-bat. I want him to see me as a man who takes on goals that bear a cost. I want him to see me cross the finish line. It is not about impressing him or showing off, but about demonstrating how to set a goal and work to achieve it, and how to celebrate when that goal is met.
At this point in the training, where there is fatigue and fear, it is vital for me to go back to why I started this journey and remember to train defensively (not overdoing it, listening to my body). At this stage I can avoid things that can lead to injury and just keep doing what I know yields results, like eating right, getting enough sleep, and not giving in to the temptation to over-train.
Above all, I need to continue to enjoy being outside with friends doing something that brings me life. When a computer no longer understands why it is doing what it is doing or gets scrambled in terms of processing information, a simple fix is to reboot it. I need to reboot my training program and attitude as I move into the final weeks of the effort. I suppose in any area of our lives there is a time where we know we need to reboot. Perhaps it is in a relationship, at work, or in some other area of your life. Where is a reboot needed in your life?
This is also the stage of training where irrational fears related to getting hurt or sick show up, either of which could send weeks of hard work and aspiration down the drain. I use hand sanitizer every five minutes and walk very slowly through parking lots so I don’t trip on a rock or go off a curb wrong and twist my ankle. If I am in my office and don’t have to leave, I take off my shoes and pad around in my socks. The other day I snuck down the hall to the copier, thinking no one would notice me, and ran into our Chief Medical Officer, who looked down and my feet and smiled. Stairs are almost out of the question at this point and I really don’t like to shake hands with people anymore.
The point is, training has been a mental and physical challenge that will come to fruition in five short weeks, and I don’t want anything to sabotage getting to race day. Something very well might end my hopes of doing the race, and this is where the need to reboot comes in. There is nothing I can do about many of the events that could stop the show at this point, so I need to focus on what I can actually do something about or influence.
My own attitude could foul things up if I don’t stay focused on why I set off on this crazy trip to begin with. It is natural to get tired at this stage, but that does not mean I can’t push through it by resetting my frame of reference.
I started this whole effort to challenge myself to do something difficult. I’ve done this before, but it has been five years, so to get back on the trail and do the work holds special meaning for me at this stage in my life. I want my son to see his father as someone challenges himself and swings for the fence every time he gets an at-bat. I want him to see me as a man who takes on goals that bear a cost. I want him to see me cross the finish line. It is not about impressing him or showing off, but about demonstrating how to set a goal and work to achieve it, and how to celebrate when that goal is met.
At this point in the training, where there is fatigue and fear, it is vital for me to go back to why I started this journey and remember to train defensively (not overdoing it, listening to my body). At this stage I can avoid things that can lead to injury and just keep doing what I know yields results, like eating right, getting enough sleep, and not giving in to the temptation to over-train.
Above all, I need to continue to enjoy being outside with friends doing something that brings me life. When a computer no longer understands why it is doing what it is doing or gets scrambled in terms of processing information, a simple fix is to reboot it. I need to reboot my training program and attitude as I move into the final weeks of the effort. I suppose in any area of our lives there is a time where we know we need to reboot. Perhaps it is in a relationship, at work, or in some other area of your life. Where is a reboot needed in your life?
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Loss
On Sunday, September 13th 2009, our running community here in Omaha lost a mother, wife, and friend.
J was running near Life Time Fitness and died. She left behind a husband and daughter. This is the second time I have opened my email and received this type of news. Two years ago a friend died while running the Collegiate Peaks Trail Marathon near Buena Vista Colorado. Now I descend again into what David Whyte calls "The Well of Grief."
I talked to J for the last time on Saturday night at an Endurance Club party. She was excited for a half marathon she was going to do and had made great progress toward that goal. Her husband is an excellent athlete and was so proud of her. He is currently injured, so we were joking with them saying that J was the real runner in the family now at that it would take her husband months to catch back up, if he could at all.
J was a beginner, but never gave up. Running is a hard activity to pick up because on the first few runs it can seem almost impossible that it will ever be enjoyable. I remember when she showed up to the track workout for the first time. Runners can be pretty obsessive about technical clothing and shoes, but she didn’t care about the gear. She came in cut-off sweats and these really glamorous movie-star sunglasses, and slowly moved around the outside of the track, pushing herself a little harder each week.
She reminded me that with a positive attitude you can achieve a goal, even if at the beginning it is hard to see results. Running can be frustrating at times and is like any sport in that regard. My 20 mile run last Saturday was frustrating because my legs gave up the ghost at about mile 17 and I ended up finishing a lot slower than I did on my first 20 miler. I have said that time is not my concern when running, but improvement is, and even though I finished the run I admit to some momentary disappointment in the idea that I had seemed to have moved backwards a bit. My memory of J reminds me that it really does not matter how fast you are and that the point of the journey is not to arrive, but to do. It is in the doing that we are changed, and she was changing.
Her husband offered to help me and Catherine move about 48 hours after having met me for the first time, and is such a good man. He owns some Subway stores and they get robbed all the time. He smiles when I ask him about the latest robbery and says, "no one was hurt, that's what's important." He has such a great attitude and loved his wife very much. This evening was the viewing and most of the running club was there. She was a scrapbooker and we got to look through several of the albums she created. We all signed a Team Nebraska bib and gave it to her husband. Life Time Fitness has given us the backing to organize an annual race in J's honor and we will start on that next week.
I pray for the family during this time of grief and pain. In the Psalms the writer says “though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…you are with me.” To me, right now, the important words here are “through,” and "with me." The writer is telling us that the valley is not endless and that there will come a time when the sun will come out again and we will emerge from the canyons of grief. The author is telling us we do not go through grief and sadness alone. In this instance I know that grief is being met by our running community with love for Steve and his daughter, but this fact does not make the process any easier.
Goodbye J. You are missed by all of us.
J was running near Life Time Fitness and died. She left behind a husband and daughter. This is the second time I have opened my email and received this type of news. Two years ago a friend died while running the Collegiate Peaks Trail Marathon near Buena Vista Colorado. Now I descend again into what David Whyte calls "The Well of Grief."
I talked to J for the last time on Saturday night at an Endurance Club party. She was excited for a half marathon she was going to do and had made great progress toward that goal. Her husband is an excellent athlete and was so proud of her. He is currently injured, so we were joking with them saying that J was the real runner in the family now at that it would take her husband months to catch back up, if he could at all.
J was a beginner, but never gave up. Running is a hard activity to pick up because on the first few runs it can seem almost impossible that it will ever be enjoyable. I remember when she showed up to the track workout for the first time. Runners can be pretty obsessive about technical clothing and shoes, but she didn’t care about the gear. She came in cut-off sweats and these really glamorous movie-star sunglasses, and slowly moved around the outside of the track, pushing herself a little harder each week.
She reminded me that with a positive attitude you can achieve a goal, even if at the beginning it is hard to see results. Running can be frustrating at times and is like any sport in that regard. My 20 mile run last Saturday was frustrating because my legs gave up the ghost at about mile 17 and I ended up finishing a lot slower than I did on my first 20 miler. I have said that time is not my concern when running, but improvement is, and even though I finished the run I admit to some momentary disappointment in the idea that I had seemed to have moved backwards a bit. My memory of J reminds me that it really does not matter how fast you are and that the point of the journey is not to arrive, but to do. It is in the doing that we are changed, and she was changing.
Her husband offered to help me and Catherine move about 48 hours after having met me for the first time, and is such a good man. He owns some Subway stores and they get robbed all the time. He smiles when I ask him about the latest robbery and says, "no one was hurt, that's what's important." He has such a great attitude and loved his wife very much. This evening was the viewing and most of the running club was there. She was a scrapbooker and we got to look through several of the albums she created. We all signed a Team Nebraska bib and gave it to her husband. Life Time Fitness has given us the backing to organize an annual race in J's honor and we will start on that next week.
I pray for the family during this time of grief and pain. In the Psalms the writer says “though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…you are with me.” To me, right now, the important words here are “through,” and "with me." The writer is telling us that the valley is not endless and that there will come a time when the sun will come out again and we will emerge from the canyons of grief. The author is telling us we do not go through grief and sadness alone. In this instance I know that grief is being met by our running community with love for Steve and his daughter, but this fact does not make the process any easier.
Goodbye J. You are missed by all of us.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Grief
Our running community lost a good friend on Sunday. She died while running. I am sad for the loss of a friend and the devastating impact a tragedy like this has on the family. Our group is in shock but committed to this family and helping in every way we can.
There are points during the day when I let the grief settle in around me and not try to fix anything or make it better. Grief must be felt, not stayed. It is at times, as Rilke said, "like pushing through solid rock," but is a necessary part of being alive. I left my Asics on some landscaping near where she died today. Someone had placed roses there. I run that stretch every day, and now every day it will be different.
"Between grief and nothing, I'll take grief." William Faulkner
There are points during the day when I let the grief settle in around me and not try to fix anything or make it better. Grief must be felt, not stayed. It is at times, as Rilke said, "like pushing through solid rock," but is a necessary part of being alive. I left my Asics on some landscaping near where she died today. Someone had placed roses there. I run that stretch every day, and now every day it will be different.
"Between grief and nothing, I'll take grief." William Faulkner
Friday, September 11, 2009
Nerves
"People begin running for any number of motives, but we stick to it for one basic reason-to find out who we really are." George Sheehan-MD
Tomorrow the training plan calls for the second of three 20 mile runs. I say “calls for” because I always have four options when training:
1. Train to the plan
2. Change the plan to not include the specific runs
3. Reduce the mileage and try to make it up later
4. Not run at all.
This morning I decided to choose option number one. In fact, I think I may do 21 or 22 miles, which is about three laps around Lake Zorinsky and probably means about three hours of time-on-feet.
The Friday before a 20 mile run always brings on a bit of nervousness. Will I trip on a sidewalk today and get one of those slight injuries that does not give me an out but makes the run more difficult? Tonight will I crack and eat five slices of pepperoni pizza washed down by seven Cokes? Will I be unable to sleep?
The key today is to remember that I ran 20 miles two weeks ago and everything went just fine. The other key is to remember the quote by George Sheehan and continue in my desire to find out who I really am.
I believe most people have some way of discovering and expressing who they really are, and that most people want to choose option one. Artists create; people with the gift of service give selflessly back to the community; parents invest in the lives of their children; teachers try to awaken the minds of the students. How do you discover who you really are and cultivate this process of discovery?
Tomorrow the training plan calls for the second of three 20 mile runs. I say “calls for” because I always have four options when training:
1. Train to the plan
2. Change the plan to not include the specific runs
3. Reduce the mileage and try to make it up later
4. Not run at all.
This morning I decided to choose option number one. In fact, I think I may do 21 or 22 miles, which is about three laps around Lake Zorinsky and probably means about three hours of time-on-feet.
The Friday before a 20 mile run always brings on a bit of nervousness. Will I trip on a sidewalk today and get one of those slight injuries that does not give me an out but makes the run more difficult? Tonight will I crack and eat five slices of pepperoni pizza washed down by seven Cokes? Will I be unable to sleep?
The key today is to remember that I ran 20 miles two weeks ago and everything went just fine. The other key is to remember the quote by George Sheehan and continue in my desire to find out who I really am.
I believe most people have some way of discovering and expressing who they really are, and that most people want to choose option one. Artists create; people with the gift of service give selflessly back to the community; parents invest in the lives of their children; teachers try to awaken the minds of the students. How do you discover who you really are and cultivate this process of discovery?
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Running in the Dark
“When we become aware that we do not have to escape our pains, but that we can mobilize them into a common search for life, those very pains are transformed from expressions of despair into signs of hope.”
As summer yields to fall and my marathon training program really hits stride, I find myself running in the dark. Like a lot of runners, I have to maintain a pretty regimented schedule in order to account for all the training required to get through the 26.2. This regiment becomes even more crucial in order to balance my life between family, work, friends, and community.
Since this is my blog, I can put in whatever potentially uninteresting content I want to, so skip the next section if you’ve no curiosity about how a runner like me has to operate.
MORNING
4:00am: Wake up, feed dog, and get to coffee pot that was preset night before
4:15: Do personal email and Facebook and get lunch together
5:00am: Load up car with enough stuff to summit Everest (gym bag, work clothes, briefcase filled with consumer electronics and books, lunch) and drive to Lifetime Fitness
5:30am: Run Lake Zorinsky
6:30am: Shower at club and get ready for work. Drive to office listening to extremely loud rock music
7:00am: Get to office. Take deep breath and change roles
11:30am: Eat lunch (I do six small meals a day, so my lunch bag is like a clown car. Food just keeps coming out in a long ridiculous procession. I get grief for this pretty regularly from my inconsiderate co-workers, some of whom may read this and repent)
AFTERNOON
4:00pm: Leave work. Take deep breath and change roles
4:30am: Play with Aiden
5:30pm: Dinner
6:30pm: Play with Aiden
7:30: Start bath/bedtime process (Catherine does most of this with me as backup quarterback/referee/EMT if a fight breaks out and/or one of them is injured)
8:30pm: Check in with email and Facebook
9:00pm: Go to bed and read
9:15pm: Nod off and drop book on face. Wake up briefly in shock. Turn out lights
Now that it is fall the workouts around Lake Zorinsky take place in the dark. This darkness persists until a small band of light appears on the horizon at the end of the run. I wore my headlamp the first time I had to run in the dark a few weeks ago, but don't like it so have abandoned the practice. Now I wear a dorky orange construction worker vest, as most of my running clothes are black in honor of Robert Smith. One of my primary running goals for this marathon is to train smart, and the first part of this run takes place on streets. Being run over or by a car or hit by an early morning cyclist is not consistent with the goal of training smart, thus the dorky vest is a required piece of gear. There is also a herd of deer at the west end of Zorinsky that sometimes crash across the trail if a runner or cyclist spooks them, and I want them to see me too.
I can hear the deer moving around as I run through some of the more densely forested areas of the park. The first time I ran in the dark this season I was convinced the snapping branches were being caused by Jason Voorhees. He never really ran in those movies, so I think on a middle distance run I could get away, but who knows, he may have done P90X or is training for a fall marathon. He probably walks at about a 20 minute/mile pace and I am at about 8:10s on shorter distances, but he can hide really well and I don’t think ever pulls a hamstring or gets an IT band injury.
I expected to be the only weirdo down there, but there are actually some other regulars, who I assume are also doing fall marathons and have schedules similar or even more complicated than mine. There are no lights down in the park so you can’t see other runners until you are very close. You will hear the sound of shoes on the trail or perhaps see a headlamp before you see the other person and exchange a “good morning” or simply a wave if you are burning it and breathing hard.
As I have been running in the dark for a few weeks now, I realize that my eyes adjust about a mile in, and that I can see the basic shape of things. The darkness bothered me at first because I was afraid I would trip on something and get an injury that would prevent me from doing the marathon. I thought about how sometimes in life we find ourselves running in the dark, processing worry, fear, doubt, and emotional injury. I have experienced this processing recently, especially in my career, where I question if what I am doing at work is what I was designed to do. Pain from my life story has also surfaced, and I don’t know what is in front of me or off to the side in the forest. Sometimes in “grass is always greener” moments I want to flee what I do for a living or numb myself to the pain. As I ran the other morning, I remembered a line from Dante's Divine Comedy.
“In the middle of my life I awoke in a dark wood, where the true way was wholly lost.”
Perhaps the undergrad majors in English and Philosophy were not a total wash after all.
I find solace in the fact that I can still see small pieces of what is in front of me and that just as the sun eventually rises in the natural world it will rise again in the world of my heart and spirit. Sometimes this solace occurs when I pass another runner and remember that running in the dark is a shared human experience. I understand in those moments that there are brief, or sometimes long, periods when we can experience the dark together. I can reorient myself in the dark when I remember that God calls us into a “dark night of the soul” in order to prepare us to freely give compassion to others. We are able to give grace and compassion to others because we have experienced darkness and the need for these things in our own lives.
The fact that the sun will rise can occur at a fleeting moment during the day when I realize I am using my gifts and talents alongside others to accomplish something greater than myself in the world of non-profit healthcare. Pain from the past is redeemed when I play with my son and I see the joy in his face.
The other day I thought about the title of Hemingway book “The Sun Also Rises,” and this brought me confidence that even though I am at times running in the dark, my sight will adjust enough so I can navigate the questions, doubts, and fears. Eventually a small band of light will appear on the horizon. I am comforted when I eventually cross paths with others who are experiencing the same darkness, but are committed to moving forward one step at a time.
Credits:
My wife Catherine created the amazing new graphic for my blog. I am thankful to live with an artist because otherwise the header would have remained pretty lame and uninteresting.
Thanks to Rachel C for posting the Nouwen quote in her status. I updated this entry because of how well it fit and how great it was that we were in the same frame this week.
Henri Nouwen
As summer yields to fall and my marathon training program really hits stride, I find myself running in the dark. Like a lot of runners, I have to maintain a pretty regimented schedule in order to account for all the training required to get through the 26.2. This regiment becomes even more crucial in order to balance my life between family, work, friends, and community.
Since this is my blog, I can put in whatever potentially uninteresting content I want to, so skip the next section if you’ve no curiosity about how a runner like me has to operate.
MORNING
4:00am: Wake up, feed dog, and get to coffee pot that was preset night before
4:15: Do personal email and Facebook and get lunch together
5:00am: Load up car with enough stuff to summit Everest (gym bag, work clothes, briefcase filled with consumer electronics and books, lunch) and drive to Lifetime Fitness
5:30am: Run Lake Zorinsky
6:30am: Shower at club and get ready for work. Drive to office listening to extremely loud rock music
7:00am: Get to office. Take deep breath and change roles
11:30am: Eat lunch (I do six small meals a day, so my lunch bag is like a clown car. Food just keeps coming out in a long ridiculous procession. I get grief for this pretty regularly from my inconsiderate co-workers, some of whom may read this and repent)
AFTERNOON
4:00pm: Leave work. Take deep breath and change roles
4:30am: Play with Aiden
5:30pm: Dinner
6:30pm: Play with Aiden
7:30: Start bath/bedtime process (Catherine does most of this with me as backup quarterback/referee/EMT if a fight breaks out and/or one of them is injured)
8:30pm: Check in with email and Facebook
9:00pm: Go to bed and read
9:15pm: Nod off and drop book on face. Wake up briefly in shock. Turn out lights
Now that it is fall the workouts around Lake Zorinsky take place in the dark. This darkness persists until a small band of light appears on the horizon at the end of the run. I wore my headlamp the first time I had to run in the dark a few weeks ago, but don't like it so have abandoned the practice. Now I wear a dorky orange construction worker vest, as most of my running clothes are black in honor of Robert Smith. One of my primary running goals for this marathon is to train smart, and the first part of this run takes place on streets. Being run over or by a car or hit by an early morning cyclist is not consistent with the goal of training smart, thus the dorky vest is a required piece of gear. There is also a herd of deer at the west end of Zorinsky that sometimes crash across the trail if a runner or cyclist spooks them, and I want them to see me too.
I can hear the deer moving around as I run through some of the more densely forested areas of the park. The first time I ran in the dark this season I was convinced the snapping branches were being caused by Jason Voorhees. He never really ran in those movies, so I think on a middle distance run I could get away, but who knows, he may have done P90X or is training for a fall marathon. He probably walks at about a 20 minute/mile pace and I am at about 8:10s on shorter distances, but he can hide really well and I don’t think ever pulls a hamstring or gets an IT band injury.
I expected to be the only weirdo down there, but there are actually some other regulars, who I assume are also doing fall marathons and have schedules similar or even more complicated than mine. There are no lights down in the park so you can’t see other runners until you are very close. You will hear the sound of shoes on the trail or perhaps see a headlamp before you see the other person and exchange a “good morning” or simply a wave if you are burning it and breathing hard.
As I have been running in the dark for a few weeks now, I realize that my eyes adjust about a mile in, and that I can see the basic shape of things. The darkness bothered me at first because I was afraid I would trip on something and get an injury that would prevent me from doing the marathon. I thought about how sometimes in life we find ourselves running in the dark, processing worry, fear, doubt, and emotional injury. I have experienced this processing recently, especially in my career, where I question if what I am doing at work is what I was designed to do. Pain from my life story has also surfaced, and I don’t know what is in front of me or off to the side in the forest. Sometimes in “grass is always greener” moments I want to flee what I do for a living or numb myself to the pain. As I ran the other morning, I remembered a line from Dante's Divine Comedy.
“In the middle of my life I awoke in a dark wood, where the true way was wholly lost.”
Perhaps the undergrad majors in English and Philosophy were not a total wash after all.
I find solace in the fact that I can still see small pieces of what is in front of me and that just as the sun eventually rises in the natural world it will rise again in the world of my heart and spirit. Sometimes this solace occurs when I pass another runner and remember that running in the dark is a shared human experience. I understand in those moments that there are brief, or sometimes long, periods when we can experience the dark together. I can reorient myself in the dark when I remember that God calls us into a “dark night of the soul” in order to prepare us to freely give compassion to others. We are able to give grace and compassion to others because we have experienced darkness and the need for these things in our own lives.
The fact that the sun will rise can occur at a fleeting moment during the day when I realize I am using my gifts and talents alongside others to accomplish something greater than myself in the world of non-profit healthcare. Pain from the past is redeemed when I play with my son and I see the joy in his face.
The other day I thought about the title of Hemingway book “The Sun Also Rises,” and this brought me confidence that even though I am at times running in the dark, my sight will adjust enough so I can navigate the questions, doubts, and fears. Eventually a small band of light will appear on the horizon. I am comforted when I eventually cross paths with others who are experiencing the same darkness, but are committed to moving forward one step at a time.
Credits:
My wife Catherine created the amazing new graphic for my blog. I am thankful to live with an artist because otherwise the header would have remained pretty lame and uninteresting.
Thanks to Rachel C for posting the Nouwen quote in her status. I updated this entry because of how well it fit and how great it was that we were in the same frame this week.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Breakthough
Saturday was a 20 mile run. I did it in 2:56. My average heart rate was 142, which is 68% of my max, and I burned 3000 calories. Runners love information like this in the same way serious baseball fans love stats. I love information like this because the last number means the Cold Stone ice cream I ate an hour after finishing the run might not do as much damage.
There is something about finishing this particular training run that represents a major breakthrough for me after about four years away from running in a serious way. In spite of the fact that last week I did 19, breaking the 20 mile barrier means something different. I am only six miles under the marathon distance now, six very long and difficult miles, but it is less than seven, ten or twelve, which gives me great comfort. Six is a nice tidy number I can do business with.
I ran the first 15 with a friend, Sandy, and this made a huge difference. Running has always been in-part about relationships and community for me. On one level, running is a very individualized sport, but running with others is a great way to build meaningful relationships, and most runners will tell you that part of the fun of running is the people. Most runners will also agree that on long runs it is a lot easier to make it when you have company, whether you are talking or not. It may be the joint suffering, or a great conversation about motivation, God, family, or some present difficulty in life, but there is something about being with someone else that helps you get through the tough final miles of a long run.
Sandy dropped off at 15. My right IT band was starting to complain, and I was out of water. The pain began. At this point, though, the physical problems started to take a back seat to the psychological ones. The run became a mental battle. One challenge was that I became obsessed with how fast I was going and a maddening desire to finish with a specific time blossomed in my mind. Time is normally not my concern at all, and I had to really focus on the fact that finishing was my primary goal, and not getting hurt was my secondary goal. Speeding up at this point just because my ego wanted to finish at a certain time could blow up both the primary and secondary goals. I had to make a concentrated effort to stop looking at my GPS, which has a four quadrant display; total time; heart rate; current pace; and current distance. TMI for me in the last five miles. I had to fight the urge to stop. I had to tell myself I could finish.
In order to avoid looking at my GPS, I began to consider how life is an individual and communal experience, and how we live our psychological, spiritual, and physical lives as individuals and members of different communities. We fight our battles in all three domains. We fight them together and on our own. We don’t have to, and shouldn’t try, to fight them entirely by ourselves, but there is also something to be said for the fact that it is in our individual mind that we make decisions about who we are and want to be. It is in our minds that we decide to love ourselves even if we are in pain or have made choices we regret. It is in community that we decide to open ourselves up and let others into the pain.
Life is a balance between the two.
I finished and broke through something I needed to break through. I did it both in community and on my own. In two weeks I have to do 20 again, but next time the psychological battle will hopefully not be as difficult. Maybe it will, but I know I can stop myself from looking at the GPS and that the people around me in my community support the effort. Sandy is not training for anything, so running 15 by my side was simply a gift to me. It is in the last five miles that the gift of community can strengthen your individual psychology and make all the difference.
There is something about finishing this particular training run that represents a major breakthrough for me after about four years away from running in a serious way. In spite of the fact that last week I did 19, breaking the 20 mile barrier means something different. I am only six miles under the marathon distance now, six very long and difficult miles, but it is less than seven, ten or twelve, which gives me great comfort. Six is a nice tidy number I can do business with.
I ran the first 15 with a friend, Sandy, and this made a huge difference. Running has always been in-part about relationships and community for me. On one level, running is a very individualized sport, but running with others is a great way to build meaningful relationships, and most runners will tell you that part of the fun of running is the people. Most runners will also agree that on long runs it is a lot easier to make it when you have company, whether you are talking or not. It may be the joint suffering, or a great conversation about motivation, God, family, or some present difficulty in life, but there is something about being with someone else that helps you get through the tough final miles of a long run.
Sandy dropped off at 15. My right IT band was starting to complain, and I was out of water. The pain began. At this point, though, the physical problems started to take a back seat to the psychological ones. The run became a mental battle. One challenge was that I became obsessed with how fast I was going and a maddening desire to finish with a specific time blossomed in my mind. Time is normally not my concern at all, and I had to really focus on the fact that finishing was my primary goal, and not getting hurt was my secondary goal. Speeding up at this point just because my ego wanted to finish at a certain time could blow up both the primary and secondary goals. I had to make a concentrated effort to stop looking at my GPS, which has a four quadrant display; total time; heart rate; current pace; and current distance. TMI for me in the last five miles. I had to fight the urge to stop. I had to tell myself I could finish.
In order to avoid looking at my GPS, I began to consider how life is an individual and communal experience, and how we live our psychological, spiritual, and physical lives as individuals and members of different communities. We fight our battles in all three domains. We fight them together and on our own. We don’t have to, and shouldn’t try, to fight them entirely by ourselves, but there is also something to be said for the fact that it is in our individual mind that we make decisions about who we are and want to be. It is in our minds that we decide to love ourselves even if we are in pain or have made choices we regret. It is in community that we decide to open ourselves up and let others into the pain.
Life is a balance between the two.
I finished and broke through something I needed to break through. I did it both in community and on my own. In two weeks I have to do 20 again, but next time the psychological battle will hopefully not be as difficult. Maybe it will, but I know I can stop myself from looking at the GPS and that the people around me in my community support the effort. Sandy is not training for anything, so running 15 by my side was simply a gift to me. It is in the last five miles that the gift of community can strengthen your individual psychology and make all the difference.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Imagination and Memory
I looked at the marathon schedule last week and realized that the mileage was now getting serious.
Saturday had me down for 19 miles. I had not run that far in a few years, and in spite of having done a great deal of PT and the gradual build-up using the Hal Higdon Intermediate Plan, I was nervous. I am not competitive in terms of running fast, but always want to finish, and imagined myself getting to about 15 and folding up like a cheap piece of lawn furniture.
I took my rest day Friday, and that night ate a small piece of salmon, some rice, salad, and water. So far so good. I got to bed early. Okay, on target. Then I woke up at 1:00am, 3:00am, and 4:00am. Great. Sabotaged by my screwed-up sleep cycle. For a moment I thought of switching the 19 out to the next day in hopes of a better night’s sleep. Discouragement, I told myself, is the easy way out. I got up, filled my fuel belt, had some coffee, and headed to the lake. You train to go with what you get dealt that day. Training is experiencing all the things that can go right and all the things that can go wrong.
On marathon day you might have only gotten a couple hours’ sleep. On race day it might be broiling hot or freezing cold. One year it was around 80 degrees at the start of the Boston Marathon, and another year a full blown North Atlantic Nightmare storm rolled in.
Regardless of the endeavor, whether it is our family, job, friendships, school, or hobbies and interests, we are not well served by staying home or shutting down because all the conditions don’t meet with our specific requirements or comprise the best-case, most safe scenario.
On the days where we want to stay home, like I did when faced with the prospect of running 19 miles on little sleep, we can use our memory and imagination to see ourselves doing the one thing that seems impossible to us at the time.
We can remember ourselves being kind and patient with our children and pull that memory into the present to serve as a mental model that will get us through a tough encounter. We can imagine ourselves focusing on the most important priority at work and actually getting it done. We can see ourselves repairing a broken relationship and believe we can do it by remembering when we have done it before. We can remember the times God was there for us in the past, even if there is nothing but silence now.
As we grow older we can drift away from using our imagination and memory. The work world often talks a lot about innovation and creativity, but if you told your boss you were going to spend a couple days imagining what innovation might look like, I am not sure what the reaction would be. We are to produce, and imagination does not often count as production. We must regain our imagination by putting it into practice in simple ways. We do not have to be George Lucas (even though that would be really cool).
The weather last Saturday was perfect. For a runner, perfect usually means somewhere in the mid 50s- low 60’s, and for some reason in Omaha in mid-August, that is exactly what I got. When I started running I decided to imagine myself finishing, regardless of how tired I was. I imagined my GPS turning from 18.99 to 19.00. I imagined going into Lifetime and taking a shower. I remembered the times I had run that far before. I remembered that I could do it.
My legs started to hurt at about mile 15, and for a brief moment I imagined the crumpled lawn furniture, but then a quote came to me out of nowhere, from the great A.C. Green of the 80s LA Lakers: “Tough times don’t last, but tough people do.”
I don’t know if I am tough or not, but I finished. This week is 20 miles. I can imagine it will be tough.
Saturday had me down for 19 miles. I had not run that far in a few years, and in spite of having done a great deal of PT and the gradual build-up using the Hal Higdon Intermediate Plan, I was nervous. I am not competitive in terms of running fast, but always want to finish, and imagined myself getting to about 15 and folding up like a cheap piece of lawn furniture.
I took my rest day Friday, and that night ate a small piece of salmon, some rice, salad, and water. So far so good. I got to bed early. Okay, on target. Then I woke up at 1:00am, 3:00am, and 4:00am. Great. Sabotaged by my screwed-up sleep cycle. For a moment I thought of switching the 19 out to the next day in hopes of a better night’s sleep. Discouragement, I told myself, is the easy way out. I got up, filled my fuel belt, had some coffee, and headed to the lake. You train to go with what you get dealt that day. Training is experiencing all the things that can go right and all the things that can go wrong.
On marathon day you might have only gotten a couple hours’ sleep. On race day it might be broiling hot or freezing cold. One year it was around 80 degrees at the start of the Boston Marathon, and another year a full blown North Atlantic Nightmare storm rolled in.
Regardless of the endeavor, whether it is our family, job, friendships, school, or hobbies and interests, we are not well served by staying home or shutting down because all the conditions don’t meet with our specific requirements or comprise the best-case, most safe scenario.
On the days where we want to stay home, like I did when faced with the prospect of running 19 miles on little sleep, we can use our memory and imagination to see ourselves doing the one thing that seems impossible to us at the time.
We can remember ourselves being kind and patient with our children and pull that memory into the present to serve as a mental model that will get us through a tough encounter. We can imagine ourselves focusing on the most important priority at work and actually getting it done. We can see ourselves repairing a broken relationship and believe we can do it by remembering when we have done it before. We can remember the times God was there for us in the past, even if there is nothing but silence now.
As we grow older we can drift away from using our imagination and memory. The work world often talks a lot about innovation and creativity, but if you told your boss you were going to spend a couple days imagining what innovation might look like, I am not sure what the reaction would be. We are to produce, and imagination does not often count as production. We must regain our imagination by putting it into practice in simple ways. We do not have to be George Lucas (even though that would be really cool).
The weather last Saturday was perfect. For a runner, perfect usually means somewhere in the mid 50s- low 60’s, and for some reason in Omaha in mid-August, that is exactly what I got. When I started running I decided to imagine myself finishing, regardless of how tired I was. I imagined my GPS turning from 18.99 to 19.00. I imagined going into Lifetime and taking a shower. I remembered the times I had run that far before. I remembered that I could do it.
My legs started to hurt at about mile 15, and for a brief moment I imagined the crumpled lawn furniture, but then a quote came to me out of nowhere, from the great A.C. Green of the 80s LA Lakers: “Tough times don’t last, but tough people do.”
I don’t know if I am tough or not, but I finished. This week is 20 miles. I can imagine it will be tough.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Tracks
The room I sit in for 40-plus hours a week does not have a window. The air is recycled. I look into a monitor, answer the phone, and scratch notes on a yellow pad. The days can blend together and when I leave the office I feel like Fred Flintstone, screaming down the dinosaur. I love what I do and am blessed to have a job; I would just rather be outside doing it. Sometimes life does not feel like much of an adventure, with the meetings, the PowerPoint slides, and emails you are copied on but can’t figure out why.
I crave the outdoors, much like my father did. It has only been later in life that I have fully appreciated the massive gravitational pull places like the Red Feather Lakes or Eagle’s Nest Wilderness had for him. My father died on the Fourth of July several years ago, and some of my memories of going to these places with him are difficult for me to lift up to the light and examine.
It was clear that on some occasions he would rather be out there having adventures on his own, rather than with a ten year old who fouled up the tent lines or hooked himself in the ear fly-casting. Getting to the deep spots in the Gore Range is not always easy, so when I dragged my feet or complained about blisters I could see it in his face; “Why did I bring this kid?” My father drank a lot, and his frustration with me would often rise as the level of the scotch bottle dropped.
The fish in the more remote places in the Colorado wilderness are very old and very wise. The foolish angler will go away empty handed every time. If you talk, move around, or even breathe too heavily, they will gaze at you with pity and slowly swim away. Sometimes my father would approach a stream crawling on his belly, like a marine, and cast from his knees. With Jedi-like focus, he would lightly cast into a six-by-four inch spot between the bank, a rock, and a broken tree limb, and wait. He was much more patient with this process than he was with anything else in his life.
I learned to be quiet and stay out of the way. I would leave my line in the water for long periods of time to avoid having to recast and face the possibility of getting tangled in the trees or snagged on a sunken log. This way I could avoid calling dad over for help and the verbal strafing that often came with disrupting his Zen-like focus on the moving water. You don’t catch a lot of fish leaving your fly in one spot, but who was I to disrupt the alcoholic family dynamic?
As a child, I did not fully understand why my dad loved being out there in the woods. It often seemed boring. No basketball, skateboards, or Flintstones. I also realize now that as a child with an alcoholic father I was constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop, so this constant stomach-knot likely tainted for me from what was so wonderful about being out in the middle of nowhere. If other people are around the shoe might not drop on you, but in the Eagle’s Nest it seemed like we could go days without seeing anyone.
On occasion I understood the draw of nature, or as Jack London called it, the call of the wild, but only when the conditions were just right. The light through the trees hitting the stream in just the right way or the smell of the damp forest in morning offered small insights into my father’s need for these places. These glimpses of beauty and peace have since bloomed into full comprehension.
I run now, and being outside running, especially in the mountains, has crystalized for me why the outdoors were important to my father. There are days I feel an immense sadness at being away from Colorado and the easy access I had to places like Deer Creek or Red Rocks. Even though these places are close to the city, you could get back there and feel a million miles away.
I don’t run for speed or to pile up mileage. I run to challenge myself and learn that I am stronger than I often think I am. I run to be outside and feel the sunlight. I run to clear the cobwebs, and in Samuel Johnson’s word, ‘clear my mind of cant.’ I run so I have the space to pray, reflect and think about my family and friends.
Last week I left the house and went over to 192nd. Our house is in the last development before a series of gravel back roads and cornfields. There is a town called Gretna about four miles away. 192nd passes over a train track about a mile out from my house. This road has become my early Sunday morning run as I train for the Denver Marathon in October. I ran out on the dirt road and left the houses behind. The corn is getting high and it was wonderful to run by the fields and breathe the fresh morning air. I hope this area does not get paved over. There are two ‘for sale’ signs on plots at a corner I call “the North by Northwest corner.” I hope Wal Mart does not get them. Now they are full of corn and soybeans.
As I approached the overpass, I thought of risk and adventure, and how the opportunities for these present themselves to us every day but that I am prone like everyone else to let them go. I thought about how the following day the week would begin and I would once again be in the windowless space in front of the computer. Since moving here I have heard the lonely train horn in the morning and evening. I knew the tracks were close and they called to me.
I’d like to think it was a spontaneous decision, but it wasn’t.
I dropped down the overpass embankment to the tracks, skidding and sliding through waist-high grass and wild raspberry bushes. I scratched up my legs on some kind of thistles, but made it to the tracks without breaking my neck. I stood on the tracks and looked down to where they curved around a bend about a mile away. I did not know where the first chance to get off of them would be. I was stepping into the unknown and this pleased me to no end.
The trees and bush were thick next to the tracks, and it was likely the next chance to get off would be somewhere near Gretna. The clock was ticking. Contrary to what I had imagined, the surface on either side of the tracks was not fine, soft, blackened dirt, but rough fist-sized rocks. I tried running on the rocks, but quickly realized this was a sure prescription for a sprained ankle. I moved to the center of the tracks, looked down at the bend, and ran as fast as I could.
Running on railroad tracks is technically much more difficult than I had imagined. I was reminded of how before trying it, I thought running on the beach would be easy, like in the movies when you see people just gliding along and smiling. Running on the beach is actually quite difficult. You sink in the heavy wet sand and it is exhausting. I think some people imagine fly-fishing in the same way before they try it, perhaps seeing it as similar to lake fishing. Throw on some bait, push a button, and let her rip. The shock of trying to cast a fly rod for the first time can be like running on the beach, a difficult and frustrating surprise.
The wooden track ties were slick with dew and oil, and you have to treat it like trail running; head down so as to not go down in a tangle of arms and legs. With my head down, I could not focus on the bend in the track. The damp ties were not spaced in accordance with the length of my stride, so I had to continually make micro-adjustments to my cadence as I ran, tightening here and lengthening there.
It was then that I thought about senses, and how I would likely feel and hear a train before seeing it. I thought about my father, sensing rather than knowing where the trout were in the river and his patience with the process of casting, waiting, looking, and recasting. I was slowed down and my heart rate dropped well-below where I was getting much of a workout. Initially I felt the frustration my father expressed when I disrupted the calm, silent flow of fly-fishing. The tracks became a burden.
Running the tracks required a patience that the runner can lose sight of. Slowing down became an answer rather than a problem. The purpose of the run had become something much more than exercise or training. I was on an adventure in the outdoors. I was risking and being foolish. I was coming to a renewed understanding about being outside; something my father knew but never taught me in a formal way. He tried to show me, and carrying all his weaknesses tried the best he could to foster in me an appreciation for what being outside meant, both to him specifically, and in general as a way to break with the sometimes mundane life of the city and office.
While on the tracks I felt a rush of excitement and joy. I wonder if my father felt this when he saw the spotted green curve of a trout move towards his fly. I can only believe he did.
I crave the outdoors, much like my father did. It has only been later in life that I have fully appreciated the massive gravitational pull places like the Red Feather Lakes or Eagle’s Nest Wilderness had for him. My father died on the Fourth of July several years ago, and some of my memories of going to these places with him are difficult for me to lift up to the light and examine.
It was clear that on some occasions he would rather be out there having adventures on his own, rather than with a ten year old who fouled up the tent lines or hooked himself in the ear fly-casting. Getting to the deep spots in the Gore Range is not always easy, so when I dragged my feet or complained about blisters I could see it in his face; “Why did I bring this kid?” My father drank a lot, and his frustration with me would often rise as the level of the scotch bottle dropped.
The fish in the more remote places in the Colorado wilderness are very old and very wise. The foolish angler will go away empty handed every time. If you talk, move around, or even breathe too heavily, they will gaze at you with pity and slowly swim away. Sometimes my father would approach a stream crawling on his belly, like a marine, and cast from his knees. With Jedi-like focus, he would lightly cast into a six-by-four inch spot between the bank, a rock, and a broken tree limb, and wait. He was much more patient with this process than he was with anything else in his life.
I learned to be quiet and stay out of the way. I would leave my line in the water for long periods of time to avoid having to recast and face the possibility of getting tangled in the trees or snagged on a sunken log. This way I could avoid calling dad over for help and the verbal strafing that often came with disrupting his Zen-like focus on the moving water. You don’t catch a lot of fish leaving your fly in one spot, but who was I to disrupt the alcoholic family dynamic?
As a child, I did not fully understand why my dad loved being out there in the woods. It often seemed boring. No basketball, skateboards, or Flintstones. I also realize now that as a child with an alcoholic father I was constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop, so this constant stomach-knot likely tainted for me from what was so wonderful about being out in the middle of nowhere. If other people are around the shoe might not drop on you, but in the Eagle’s Nest it seemed like we could go days without seeing anyone.
On occasion I understood the draw of nature, or as Jack London called it, the call of the wild, but only when the conditions were just right. The light through the trees hitting the stream in just the right way or the smell of the damp forest in morning offered small insights into my father’s need for these places. These glimpses of beauty and peace have since bloomed into full comprehension.
I run now, and being outside running, especially in the mountains, has crystalized for me why the outdoors were important to my father. There are days I feel an immense sadness at being away from Colorado and the easy access I had to places like Deer Creek or Red Rocks. Even though these places are close to the city, you could get back there and feel a million miles away.
I don’t run for speed or to pile up mileage. I run to challenge myself and learn that I am stronger than I often think I am. I run to be outside and feel the sunlight. I run to clear the cobwebs, and in Samuel Johnson’s word, ‘clear my mind of cant.’ I run so I have the space to pray, reflect and think about my family and friends.
Last week I left the house and went over to 192nd. Our house is in the last development before a series of gravel back roads and cornfields. There is a town called Gretna about four miles away. 192nd passes over a train track about a mile out from my house. This road has become my early Sunday morning run as I train for the Denver Marathon in October. I ran out on the dirt road and left the houses behind. The corn is getting high and it was wonderful to run by the fields and breathe the fresh morning air. I hope this area does not get paved over. There are two ‘for sale’ signs on plots at a corner I call “the North by Northwest corner.” I hope Wal Mart does not get them. Now they are full of corn and soybeans.
As I approached the overpass, I thought of risk and adventure, and how the opportunities for these present themselves to us every day but that I am prone like everyone else to let them go. I thought about how the following day the week would begin and I would once again be in the windowless space in front of the computer. Since moving here I have heard the lonely train horn in the morning and evening. I knew the tracks were close and they called to me.
I’d like to think it was a spontaneous decision, but it wasn’t.
I dropped down the overpass embankment to the tracks, skidding and sliding through waist-high grass and wild raspberry bushes. I scratched up my legs on some kind of thistles, but made it to the tracks without breaking my neck. I stood on the tracks and looked down to where they curved around a bend about a mile away. I did not know where the first chance to get off of them would be. I was stepping into the unknown and this pleased me to no end.
The trees and bush were thick next to the tracks, and it was likely the next chance to get off would be somewhere near Gretna. The clock was ticking. Contrary to what I had imagined, the surface on either side of the tracks was not fine, soft, blackened dirt, but rough fist-sized rocks. I tried running on the rocks, but quickly realized this was a sure prescription for a sprained ankle. I moved to the center of the tracks, looked down at the bend, and ran as fast as I could.
Running on railroad tracks is technically much more difficult than I had imagined. I was reminded of how before trying it, I thought running on the beach would be easy, like in the movies when you see people just gliding along and smiling. Running on the beach is actually quite difficult. You sink in the heavy wet sand and it is exhausting. I think some people imagine fly-fishing in the same way before they try it, perhaps seeing it as similar to lake fishing. Throw on some bait, push a button, and let her rip. The shock of trying to cast a fly rod for the first time can be like running on the beach, a difficult and frustrating surprise.
The wooden track ties were slick with dew and oil, and you have to treat it like trail running; head down so as to not go down in a tangle of arms and legs. With my head down, I could not focus on the bend in the track. The damp ties were not spaced in accordance with the length of my stride, so I had to continually make micro-adjustments to my cadence as I ran, tightening here and lengthening there.
It was then that I thought about senses, and how I would likely feel and hear a train before seeing it. I thought about my father, sensing rather than knowing where the trout were in the river and his patience with the process of casting, waiting, looking, and recasting. I was slowed down and my heart rate dropped well-below where I was getting much of a workout. Initially I felt the frustration my father expressed when I disrupted the calm, silent flow of fly-fishing. The tracks became a burden.
Running the tracks required a patience that the runner can lose sight of. Slowing down became an answer rather than a problem. The purpose of the run had become something much more than exercise or training. I was on an adventure in the outdoors. I was risking and being foolish. I was coming to a renewed understanding about being outside; something my father knew but never taught me in a formal way. He tried to show me, and carrying all his weaknesses tried the best he could to foster in me an appreciation for what being outside meant, both to him specifically, and in general as a way to break with the sometimes mundane life of the city and office.
While on the tracks I felt a rush of excitement and joy. I wonder if my father felt this when he saw the spotted green curve of a trout move towards his fly. I can only believe he did.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Weekly Training Recap
I am training for the Denver Marathon in October. When Aiden was born, I gave up the hardcore training, got a bit out of shape, came back too fast, got injured, discouraged, then decided to get back after it.
Coming back after the injury has been a journey. I went to a PT, Marty Euwema, who had me stand in front of a mirror, looked at my legs and said, "Well, I see the problem." I had hurt my soleus, overcompensated on my right leg, weakened the left quad, then my left knee drifted out of alignment. Simple. Strengthen left quad, bring knee cap back into track. The best thing was when I told her I had stopped running. Marty said "Why the hell did you do that? Get out there!" I was scared I would permanently damage my leg, but trusted her enough to get back out on the trail and things have improved.
Today was an 11 mile run around Lake Zorinksy here in west Omaha. We start from Lifetime Fitness and go around the who lake then tack on a mile or two at the end to round it out. It was hot, humid, damp, broiling, and just plain tough going. This has been quite a change from the Colorado dry heat. In some ways harder, in some ways easier.
There are always a few of us that start together, then we fall into smaller groups according to pace. Sandy and I are about the same on long distance, so we normally run together. Today went out too fast, probably around 8/mile, and we paid for it dearly on the second leg. We were chatting for the first few miles, but became dead quiet and focused on the last portion of the run because there seemed to be no oxygen left around the lake.
It was hard, but good. Always good, no matter how hard. I've found that the easy experiences in my life are not the most valuable. It is in the difficult, challenging experiences that we are refined in a way that, for me, is more rewarding.
Coming back after the injury has been a journey. I went to a PT, Marty Euwema, who had me stand in front of a mirror, looked at my legs and said, "Well, I see the problem." I had hurt my soleus, overcompensated on my right leg, weakened the left quad, then my left knee drifted out of alignment. Simple. Strengthen left quad, bring knee cap back into track. The best thing was when I told her I had stopped running. Marty said "Why the hell did you do that? Get out there!" I was scared I would permanently damage my leg, but trusted her enough to get back out on the trail and things have improved.
Today was an 11 mile run around Lake Zorinksy here in west Omaha. We start from Lifetime Fitness and go around the who lake then tack on a mile or two at the end to round it out. It was hot, humid, damp, broiling, and just plain tough going. This has been quite a change from the Colorado dry heat. In some ways harder, in some ways easier.
There are always a few of us that start together, then we fall into smaller groups according to pace. Sandy and I are about the same on long distance, so we normally run together. Today went out too fast, probably around 8/mile, and we paid for it dearly on the second leg. We were chatting for the first few miles, but became dead quiet and focused on the last portion of the run because there seemed to be no oxygen left around the lake.
It was hard, but good. Always good, no matter how hard. I've found that the easy experiences in my life are not the most valuable. It is in the difficult, challenging experiences that we are refined in a way that, for me, is more rewarding.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Running and Repentance
I was out running this morning and it occurred to me that earlier this week I let my shadow-self prevent me from seeing things as they really are.
It was raining and I was in a wooded part of the trail. I could smell fresh pine needles and wild grass, and a mist was coming off the lake. There was no one else on the trail and I was having one of those runs where everything was coming together. No pains or aches. No hamburger hangover. Beautiful.
I reflected on what I wrote in the last entry and it occurred to me that if the worst thing that happens to me during the day is that I have to do some paperwork, I am coming out way ahead of most of the people in the world. The shadow-self keeps me focused on myself. This ego-centric part of my self is focused on my needs and my comfort. The shadow-self invites me to complain about having to do paperwork when most of the world would be grateful to have a job that provides the quality of life mine does.
Remember when our parents used to tell us to eat all the food on our plates because there were starving children in China? Guess what; there really are starving children in China. There are starving children in North Korea, India, Indonesia, and the United States. Our parents, as usual, knew what they were talking about and were trying to instill gratitude in us. For me, this is a lesson I must constantly learn; to be grateful for what I have. I am able to put food on the family table, a roof over our heads and provide health insurance all because of my job.
While running I realized I have a body with all its limbs that allows me to do something I enjoy. There are men and women coming back from the wars missing arms, legs, eyes, or suffering from traumatic brain injury and PTSD. They are no longer able to do the things I take so easily for granted. They are broken in ways I will never understand.
The shadow-self is a flat-out narcissist.
I decided I needed to repent. Some people who don't have much use for religion may hear that word and connect it directly to the guilt and shame that many strains of Christianity cultivate in order to keep people in line. This is a false Gospel. Have no fear. Repentance is not about crawling on our hands and knees over broken glass.
In the New Testament, the Greek word μετάνοια/metanoia is a compound phrase that means something along the lines of "to think differently after." On reflecting about what I said related in the previous note about work that drains me, I realized I needed to repent, or think differently about it.
While running in that beautiful setting, the fog lifted and I became aware of a desire to have a change of mind and a change of heart. It was not a sense that I was a jerk and needed to get my act together. It was a desire to become more human.
Thinking about others allows whose life circumstances are far more challenging than mine compels the compassionate part of my heart to over-ride the narcissistic part. Praying for those in need allows me "think differently" about the world and my place in it. In these moments I am even able to embrace the shadow-self and acknowledge the fact that this part of myself is wounded and needing of love and grace.
Thinking differently about my situation allows me to get beyond my own ego and find creative ways to help those in need. Thinking differently invites me to a space where the world becomes more clear, wonderful, and full of opportunities to give myself to others in an authentic way.
It was raining and I was in a wooded part of the trail. I could smell fresh pine needles and wild grass, and a mist was coming off the lake. There was no one else on the trail and I was having one of those runs where everything was coming together. No pains or aches. No hamburger hangover. Beautiful.
I reflected on what I wrote in the last entry and it occurred to me that if the worst thing that happens to me during the day is that I have to do some paperwork, I am coming out way ahead of most of the people in the world. The shadow-self keeps me focused on myself. This ego-centric part of my self is focused on my needs and my comfort. The shadow-self invites me to complain about having to do paperwork when most of the world would be grateful to have a job that provides the quality of life mine does.
Remember when our parents used to tell us to eat all the food on our plates because there were starving children in China? Guess what; there really are starving children in China. There are starving children in North Korea, India, Indonesia, and the United States. Our parents, as usual, knew what they were talking about and were trying to instill gratitude in us. For me, this is a lesson I must constantly learn; to be grateful for what I have. I am able to put food on the family table, a roof over our heads and provide health insurance all because of my job.
While running I realized I have a body with all its limbs that allows me to do something I enjoy. There are men and women coming back from the wars missing arms, legs, eyes, or suffering from traumatic brain injury and PTSD. They are no longer able to do the things I take so easily for granted. They are broken in ways I will never understand.
The shadow-self is a flat-out narcissist.
I decided I needed to repent. Some people who don't have much use for religion may hear that word and connect it directly to the guilt and shame that many strains of Christianity cultivate in order to keep people in line. This is a false Gospel. Have no fear. Repentance is not about crawling on our hands and knees over broken glass.
In the New Testament, the Greek word μετάνοια/metanoia is a compound phrase that means something along the lines of "to think differently after." On reflecting about what I said related in the previous note about work that drains me, I realized I needed to repent, or think differently about it.
While running in that beautiful setting, the fog lifted and I became aware of a desire to have a change of mind and a change of heart. It was not a sense that I was a jerk and needed to get my act together. It was a desire to become more human.
Thinking about others allows whose life circumstances are far more challenging than mine compels the compassionate part of my heart to over-ride the narcissistic part. Praying for those in need allows me "think differently" about the world and my place in it. In these moments I am even able to embrace the shadow-self and acknowledge the fact that this part of myself is wounded and needing of love and grace.
Thinking differently about my situation allows me to get beyond my own ego and find creative ways to help those in need. Thinking differently invites me to a space where the world becomes more clear, wonderful, and full of opportunities to give myself to others in an authentic way.
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