Half Marathon, Wholly Proud

Way back in April of this past year, my good friend called me up with a brilliant idea.

"Hey!  It's been a while since we did any running.  What do you think about signing up for the KC 1/2 with me this year?"

Running.  Argh.  On one hand, it had been almost ten years since I ran the LA Marathon, five years since our last KC Half Marathon together, and I was definitely feeling the tug that it was time to get moving again.  On the other hand, I was tired and depressed, steadily losing energy and gaining weight.  The motivation to run was seriously lacking.  But I told myself there is nothing like spending $40 to sign up for one of the largest runs in your city to light a fire under you, right?  I had until October to get it together.  Sounded like a plan to me.

It took a couple of months and enlisting a few more friends to train with me, but in June I finally got moving.  And in the beginning, it seemed like it was helping.  I was running short distances slowly, but my strength and speed were gradually increasing.  Surely the scale would start moving the direction I wanted as well, right?  Nope.  I was disappointed, but I knew I needed to keep moving.  The race was coming, and I was falling farther and farther behind  my friend in training.

Over time, my running buddies became unavailable.  One was pregnant and needed to take some time off.  The other went back to work and our schedules no longer lined up to make running together possible.  The friend I signed up with invited me to train with her, but by now her pace was so far above mine that I knew I would be holding her back.  So I just continued plodding along.  Somehow it began to feel like I was getting slower instead of faster.  I told myself the jogging stroller was slowing me down.  I told myself that if I ran a little each day my knees would stop hurting.  I told myself that I still had time before the race.

Then time ran out.  As the day grew nearer, I ran slower, and my distances were shorter.  Between June and October, I had actually gained nearly 10 pounds.  I didn't bother to even go out and run the last two weeks before the race.  I was so frustrated.  Why couldn't I get my body back on track?  Why didn't I bounce back into running this time?  Why was I even doing this to myself?

I started to dread the day of the race.  I was so disappointed that I didn't even want to go.  How far would I be able to run?  Maybe three miles?  The race was 13.1 total, and walking the last 10 alone with aching joints didn't sound like much fun to me.  The day before the race, I remembered that I had another friend in the area who was signed up, and who would probably be participating at a pace closer to my own.  Late that afternoon I sent her a hopeful text, and she agreed to meet up.  She was excited to have company; I was excited to have a manageable pace laid out.

The night before the race I was scrambling.  Even though I had known about this race since April and it was now October, I really wasn't prepared.  Nerves continued when I rose early race morning, but adrenaline and excitement were kicking in as well.  I met my fast-running friend (the one that had originally convinced me to sign up) to carpool before dawn and we searched for parking as start time drew near.  We checked in, used port-a-potties, and said our goodbyes. I found my similarly-paced friend and went over the plan of attack for our run/walk pace.  As we merged into the crowd of thousands of runners lined up near landmark Crown Center in downtown Kansas City, I began to feel a sort of peace.  While I wouldn't run the pace that many would that day, while I wouldn't even meet my own goal of just running the entire distance, I would be doing more than most at 7 am on a Saturday.  I was there, I was following through on my commitment, even though I wanted to back out.

During my training, I was so focused on the fact that I was not where I wanted to be that I ended most runs feeling discouraged.  While I felt good on the runs themselves, and immediately after, when I looked at my totals for the week I would get angry that I wasn't able to do more and I would want to quit.  On race day, once I made peace with the pace I could handle and accepted that this was my level of ability for now, I ended up really enjoying myself. It was fun.  My running buddy and I even goofed around for the cameras when we noticed them.

We were out there, pushing ourselves, doing our best, and we were having a really good time. It was an absolutely gorgeous day and some of the views of the city skyline and fall foliage were breathtaking.  I wish I could have taken pictures along the route.  I was surrounded by thousands of people of different levels of ability, all pounding the pavement for different reasons.  I was one of them.  I had earned a place on the road that day as well.

The experience of this race, continuing to find a way even though it wasn't what I hoped for, has caused me to examine my heart.  As happens so often, what felt like a failure has turned out to be an incredible lesson.  I find that I am frequently so disappointed that I am not meeting my own "standard"--as a mom, as a wife, as a friend, as a follower of Jesus--that I want to just back out.  I beat myself up over the areas where I feel as though I'm failing.  I think someone else can do it better, and I think I need to do it better.  I keep trying, but it doesn't look the way I want it to or the results aren't what I expect and so I become frustrated and discouraged.  I waste a lot of time and energy thinking about what I "should" do or where I need to improve.

I wonder, what would my daily life be like if I made peace with the fact that I am working at the pace that I can handle right now?  What if I could step back and appreciate the fact that I am showing up?  What if I could value the fact that, just like my run training, even when it is hard and I am not where I want to be, I still keep going?  I have been reconsidering the Serenity Prayer as of late.

God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,

The courage to change the things I can,

And the wisdom to know the difference.

Perhaps if I accept that I am working at the pace I can handle right now, I could allow myself to see more of the breathtaking scenery.  I could enjoy the laughter of my daughter as I change her diaper without being frustrated that she won't hold still and it's taking too long.  I could listen to my boys exchanging giggles in their bunk at night without becoming exasperated that they haven't gone to sleep yet so I can get a break.  Perhaps I could give myself a little credit that this motherhood gig is 24/7 and while I may not do it perfectly, I still keep going.  It may be that I would also find that there are some little things I can change, and have the courage and strength to step up to the plate where I need to if I am not so busy beating myself down about the things I cannot change.  Perhaps I would look up and see that I am surrounded by thousands of others who are working at the pace they can handle, all with different goals, all with different motivation, all worthy of my admiration and respect and my acknowledgement that I have earned my place among them. I might have a greater appreciation for the amazing friends on this journey who are helping to push me forward and holding onto hope for me when I feel like giving up.

Perhaps, I may even experience a moment like I did at the finish line of my half marathon.  In the moment, it felt good to cross the finish line, but once it was over I still felt regret over not having gone faster or run harder or trained better.  However, when I saw the photo a few days later, I literally gasped.  "Look!" I said to my husband.  "Look at my face!  I look so PROUD OF MYSELF!"

I want to be the kind of person who is able to be proud when I have earned it, thankful to those who helped make it possible, and to keep working harder when I need to.  Accepting the things I cannot change and changing the things I can, and knowing that in it all, God is working in me.  He is changing me through every moment and every experience, even when--especially when--it doesn't look the way I thought it would.  My job is to accept His direction, be willing to work hard and keep going, and know that I can be proud of the work he is doing and the person He is creating me to be.

Loves, friends.  Be proud today.

Fall is for Fighters

There is something absolutely breathtaking to me about Fall foliage.  I am literally in awe when I drive down a colorful, tree-lined street in our neighborhood.  Speeding down the highway with an entire bluff displaying a multitude of rust, gold, copper, bronze and scarlet colors beside me can change my entire outlook on the day.  I recently drove the opposite of the direction I needed to go in order to take a winding road past a little lake in a rather sketchy part of town.  I just knew the color would be beautiful there, and I needed to see it.  I drink in this incredible landscape and I ask myself why I am so affected.  What is it about this season that changes my entire mood, shifts my perspective, lifts my spirits?

 I do have some pretty sweet Fall memories.  When I think about it, some of my favorites are from my college days, when I lived in Southern California.  Fall doesn't really exist in SoCal.  There may be a few deciduous trees that send up a flare of color for a day or so, but there is definitely not a shift in temperature or a noticeable change of seasons.  While I was in college, I made my own Fall.  I told my friends about all of the fun things one could do in this season at home--admiring trees, drinking homemade cocoa, eating caramel apples, carving pumpkins--and then we did it.  We searched out those few colored leaves, we put on the air conditioner if necessary, or we sat outside after dark until there was a chill in our bones, and we sipped that hot cider and cocoa as if October really did feel like October.

The more I thought about it, though, I really began to feel like there was a significance about the changing colors of this shifting season that really speaks to my spirit.  My joy in this time goes beyond the creature comforts that fill the lengthening days.  My heart was so refreshed when my husband sent me home for a quick Autumn visit one homesick October while I was still in college.  The smell in the air, the crisp feel of the wind, and the view of those trees--as well as some good hugs from my crazy family--really helped me feel renewed.

While driving to work and thinking this over, I had the realization that when the leaves on the trees change, they are actually dying.  They aren't receiving the life-giving nourishment they have had for the last several months that colors them in lime, celery and emerald greens.  The best I can remember from elementary science is that photosynthesis isn't happening anymore.  The trees are conserving that energy and bracing themselves for the coming winter.  But those leaves... Those leaves are not about to go quietly into the cold, dark night.

I love that the leaves aren't letting go without a fight.  While I feel a little guilty for celebrating their demise, I also feel strengthened by this revelation.  I want to believe that when I feel as though nothing is working right, I am not being nourished, and my life seems less vibrant, that even when I can't see it something beautiful is happening.  I may be falling apart, I may have to let go of a summer dream and brace myself for winter, but as I struggle through those challenges, maybe somehow it is producing a beauty, a grace, a vibrant color that others might be to able admire.  I know from experience that seasons of struggle and death often produce something more lovely.  I plan to link to some of those stories from my own life here.

The thing is, I am definitely one of those people who won't go down without a fight.  Sometimes, I wish I was more flexible.  I wish change wasn't so difficult for me.  I wish I didn't struggle so much with things that seem to come easily for others.  I wish I didn't fight so much to be right, only to find out so often that I am actually wrong!  Sometimes, I think it is hard to be a fighter.  But if I am going to live my life as a person who doesn't go down without a fight, I just want to make sure that fight is colorful and flashy and bright, like the dying Autumn leaves. Sometimes, the world needs a fighter.

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I most definitely failed the 31 for 21 Challenge!  I guess there's always next year!  In addition to posts about seasons that are hard but produce good things, I also need to catch up with posts about my recent half-marathon, the Step Up for Down Syndrome Walk, and Halloween!  Guess I'd better get typing...