Something Omthing Omthing

I'm sitting here in my pajamas at my grandfather's desk in my little study at home, and I am on my second cup of coffee.  Chance sits at his window watching the goings on of the neighborhood as I sit at the computer checking e-mail accounts and job websites, with some writing in the mix as well.  This unemployment thing is not so bad after all.  (insert winky face here)

I was reading over yesterday's blog when I noticed something.  It appeared to me that I had written contradictory things, and I wanted to clear them up.  Not only for you, dear readers, but for me as well.  Because while I recognize these things as contradictory, I still feel that way and must fight against it.

I noticed that I wrote a lot of "I want" sentences.  "I want to do something...I want to be a part...I want to write...I want to think..." etc.  I want, I want, I want.  What is wrong with this picture?  Maybe nothing.  I mean we all want things and that is probably okay.

But when writing about wanting (there it is again) God to guide, help, show, and choose a path for me that HE wants...how do my wants fit into that?  Do they at all? 

Jason and I have been attending a marriage seminar at my church this week given by Dr. Jerry and Lynn Jones.  Sunday, during class, the men and women were divided up, and Lynn spoke to the women about being a woman of God.  She pointed out something about herself that I KNOW I have done all my life.  When reading Romans 8:28, which says, "And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose,"  whose version of "good" do we think that is referencing?  Lynn pointed out that for most of her Christian life, she had always believed she knew what that "good" ought to be.  So while she often prayed "your will be done,"  what she meant was, "here are some ideas I have for what your will should be."

So can I make out my list of wants and also claim to want God to lead the effort in project Next Step for Jane?  Maybe.  I mean I can certainly tell him what I want and I believe He hears me.  But I've seen in the past how God has not given me what I want because he had something better around the corner.  Something that would work for his purpose, not mine.

So that's what I'm trying to do.  Sure, I have a list of things I'd like to do.  I have a list of things I want my next step to be.  But when I ask for God's guidance in the whole thing, I'm going to try to mean it.  Really mean it. His will, for real, not mine.

Here goes...

Canned with Constellation

Today was my last real day of work.  Tomorrow all I will be doing is turning in my blackberry and handing over my badge.  Then it is done and I will be officially unemployed.  I thought I knew how I would feel about this, but today I find a mixed bag of feelings and emotions, and I am unsure what to do with them.  If it weren’t so blasted hot outside, I’d run them off.  And I may yet do that.

Today was a day of uncertainty for many of my coworkers and I hated that for them.  Everyone was awaiting “the call” which would tell them their position was no longer funded and request that they attend a meeting to discuss the matter.  Due to the type of layoff I accepted, I already knew my fate and I had made peace with that.  Losing my job would not devastate my little family, and I planned to look for some way to work on my Master’s in Public Affairs full time.  If that wasn’t doable, another job of some sort. 

Because my job as a Project Coordinator was not my dream job, I was okay with giving it up.  While I liked my company (Jacobs ESTS) quite a bit, the work I did for Upper Stage Systems Engineering left much to be desired.  It wasn’t challenging and, to me, it wasn’t interesting either.  It was a good job though, and there were some nice people in the mix, not to mention a good pay check.  So I couldn’t really complain.  Most days I could talk myself into taking joy in the work my hands found to do.

And then all at once, the horrible layoff did not seem so horrible when no one around me had been laid off.  I was thrilled for them but confused as well.  I did not want any of them to be sent home.  Many depended on their paychecks and others really liked their jobs.  My prayers for these families and friends went up and yet I still imagined the worst.  The company e-mails and meetings filled with words of woe and warning left little hope that any of us would be able to stick around. 

Yet, it seemed that everyone but me was in fact sticking around.  Wonderful, yes.  Exciting, certainly.  And yet I felt like the sucker.  No longer did I feel I’d made a difficult yet smart decision.  I felt as if I’d taken the bait.  The Director called me shortly after I received the happy news from my employed co-workers.  He thanked me for the sacrifice I had made so that others might keep their jobs.  He said it was selfless of me and some other words of praise for my decision. 

It was nice of him to call, and maybe there was some part of me glad to give up a job I didn’t necessarily need or want so that others were able to keep theirs.  But that wasn’t why I did it.  I never even considered that it might help.  I knew there was a slim chance of my task being funded and that is why I volunteered to go.

So I feel duped.  The joke is on me.  Still, I must ask myself, do I really want the job?   The answer is no.  In fact, the first week on the job I knew I had made a mistake in taking it.  I knew I’d taken the easy road, accepting what was immediately available instead of waiting for something that would be a better fit.

I want to do something in which I am interested, maybe even passionate.  I want to be a part of what is going on around me, not merely the person who exists on the outside helping with the minutia.  I want to write.  I want to think.  I want to contribute.  I want to plan.  I want to use my creative juices and see what happens.  I want to be challenged to grow in areas ready to sprout and burst into something that matters…maybe only to me, but that would be enough. 

Naïve?  Idealistic?  Maybe so.  I probably always have been a little of both those things.  I think God can use that, however, and I intend to let him.  I will not take the easy, familiar road this time.  I will keep my eyes and ears open to all possibilities around me and ask for His guidance in taking the next step.

So I feel excitement.  Hope.  Curiosity.  Possibility.  I have no idea what is around the corner, but I’m already looking forward to it.  Whatever else I am feeling will eventually fade as the distance between myself and this day lengthens.  Whatever the truth is, whatever people think won’t matter in a few minutes.  I’m already looking in a new direction and this time I’m really going to try to let God lead me to a place I belong. 

Until then, patience and courage.  Prayer and, of course, lots and lots of running.  

Dua-ling

Saturday I participated in my very first duathlon, and just like my first triathlon it was a BLAST!  The Heel and Crank Duathlon consisted of a 2.5 mile run, a 10 mile bike ride, and another 2.5 mile run all through Huntsville’s Research Park. 

I was looking forward to it, but not expecting much out of myself.  What sort of attitude is that, you ask? Well, the weeks prior to the race had been sort of stressful and with two minor injuries (sprained ankle followed by aggravated hip) I had not done much running…or anything else for that matter.  The week prior to the Heel and Crank, I’d begun picking my mileage back up and I had enjoyed some good runs, but nothing close to speedy.

And since I had not done anything “speedy” (my version of speedy, anyway), I figured this race would be more of the same slower pace.  I’d begun making peace with this slower pace a month or two ago, so I wasn’t distressed by the knowledge.

It was a hot Alabama morning, but I was feeling rested and ready for a fun event.  When the final “Go!” was shouted, I was pleasantly surprised to have a little push in me.  So I pushed.  My first mile was a 7:48.  My second was a 7:19.  Here is what I figured.  A lot of these athletes were more cyclist than runner, so if I could get far enough ahead of them on the run, maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to catch them again on the second run.  Let me add here that I had no delusions about my cycling abilities.  I’m a newbie, that is for sure, and these legs need more training before I can really hold my own out there. 

But more than catching other runners and passing them was the fact that I HAD PUSH!  I was able to pick up my pace and feel strong!  I can’t tell you how long it has been since I have felt that way.  Possibly since before the St. Louis Go! Marathon.

The race played out very much as I’d imagined it would.  I ran ahead of the cyclists and they whizzed past me on the bike.  I caught a few on the second run, but not as many as on the first run.  Given more than 2.5 miles maybe… but they’d gotten a good distance between us on the bike.

There was one in particular I had my eye on.  I had only gotten a few looks at her, but I was pretty sure I’d seen her in a few meetings at work.  As some of you may know, work is soon to be over for me.  Due to the cancellation of NASA’s Constellation program, along with the enforcement of the termination liability laws, my job with Jacobs ESTS will be gone as of Wednesday. 

Last week was sort of unpleasant due to news of the upcoming layoff, and so what better place to work out any stress I’d felt than in a race?   I decided to name this fellow athlete “NASA”, and in order for me to feel better about the whole layoff thing, I needed to cross that finish line in front of NASA.

Passing her on the first run was no problem.  I had fresh legs and she appeared to be one of those more-cyclist-than-runner people.  This being the case, she whizzed by me on her bike and I never saw her again.  While riding, that is. 

When my ten miles of cycling were completed, I hopped off my bike and started running again.  At least I thought I was running.  I kept looking down at my legs to make sure, and my watch said 7:30 pace, but it certainly didn’t FEEL like I was running.  And then I saw NASA.  She was a good bit ahead, but I recognized the pink shirt, and I thought catching her was doable.

I knew I only had 2.5 miles to make good on my goal to beat her, so I had to push.  And the push was there, just as it had been for the first run.  I finally caught up with her when we had a little less than a mile to go, and I held the best pace I could all the way to the finish.  Take that, NASA.

Of course, in reality, I’m sure this gal who works for NASA is a very nice person, and if she is a contractor chances are she may be feeling a bit of stress also.  Still, in my own tiny way, I felt triumphant.  I’d had a great time participating in the duathlon, I had some push for the first time in months, I got to see some good friends, and pass out Marathon Bars to other athletes. 

As Jason and I drove home, I felt grateful for the experience and hopeful for future events…and maybe for the future itself.

God Bless the USA

I love my country.  I love the many freedoms I enjoy every day.  The freedom to vote, the freedom to own property, the freedom to worship Who and how I choose.  The freedom to work where I want to work and the freedom to go to school and study what I want to study.  I enjoy the freedom to wear what I want, say what I want, write what I want, and the freedom to own a firearm if I so choose.

I love the history of my country.  I love learning about the many great men who put it together and helped form it in it's infancy. I know we are a  young country compared to all the others, but that doesn't stop me from loving our short history.  

I love my country's flag.  I love the diversity of the peoples and the lands that make up my country.  I appreciate the men and women who fight for this land I love, who help protect these freedoms I treasure.

Lately, however, I have begun to worry about my country.  Without overly bashing our President, I will say that I do not agree with much (possibly all) that he has done and is trying to do.  From bailouts to health care to the canelation of NASA's Constellation Program, to the leadership he has nominated, and even how the oil spill has been addressed.  I see people losing jobs, losing their homes, worrying about insurance, mortgage payments, car payments, and taxes.

I not only worry about the freedoms I could lose and the state of the economy, but the state of our beautiful land itself.  I worry that the land I have grown to love so much will not be the same land for future children, for my niece and nephew.

I don't want to sit around and worry, however.  So here's what I'm going to do.  And if you, my reader, have an idea I haven't mentioned, PLEASE SHARE!

1.  I'm recycling.  Cliche?  So?  I know not everyone can do this very easily, but in Madison, they will give you free recycle bins and provide pick-up as well.  Maybe we do end up paying for these services through taxes, but that is one tax I approve.

2.  I'm praying.  Maybe this one should be in front of recycling, but this list is not in order of importance. I believe God is bigger than ALL of the things about which I am concerned and it is my prayer that he will protect this country from itself if need be.

3.  I'm bringing my own grocery bags.  I have a TON from races (it seems to be the new race packet and I love it), and so I have them all in a pile on my back seat.  Sure, sometimes I get the plastic bags to use them for poop-picker-uppers in the back yard.  But I don't need many.

4.  I'm staying aware and voting.  This is not something I have always done, but come November, I believe our votes are vital to the direction of this country in the next two years.

5.  I'm buying American.  Yes, I own a Toyota.  I also own clothes made in China, and I think my toothbrush might be as well.  But this article clued me in to some things and so I am challenging myself to BUY AMERICAN and protect the jobs of my countrymen and women. 

So those are only five things and I KNOW there are more.  Tell me what they are.  Share with  me your ideas and let's challenge ourselves to do all we can for this land we love!

How We Roll

There is a five-year-old in our family who pretty much has all of us wrapped.  His name is Caleb Rudolph and he is my sister's son.  His imagination is alive and active and my sister is constantly telling me the creative and hilarious things he shares with her on a daily basis.

Caleb is a boy who loves his machines.  He knows the color (maybe even make and model) of his ENTIRE family's cars, trucks, lawn mowers, weed eaters, bicycles, four wheelers, boats and any other sort of machine we may have.  Whenever he comes to my house, he always asks if he can go out to the garage and check out our machines. 

Grandpod (my dad) is the family member with the MOST machines by far.  Having 150 acres of mostly wooded land, he has need (want) for more than the average suburban family, and whenever Caleb goes to visit his grandparents, he wants to try out ALL of these machines, and talk about them at length.

I'm not sure how long ago it was, but Caleb came up with an idea he called the Machine Parade.  Not only did he decide which machines would be in this parade, he decided who in the family would drive each machine and in what order.

Well, on Father's Day, an opportunity presented itself.  We were all at Mom and Dad's and so were all the machines.  So what did we do?  We had a machine parade, of course!

Leading the parade would be Grandpod riding his orange Kaboda tractor.  Behind Grandpod would be Caleb riding his four wheeler, with Caroline riding as his passenger.  Behind Caleb would be Julie (my sis) riding their four-wheeler.  Behind her, I would be driving the Ranger with Jason as my passenger.

Behind us would be Mom on Dad's four-wheeler and behind her would be Mark (Caleb's Dad) on my dad's riding lawn mower.

We got into formation and down Shang-ri-la we went, all of us laughing and grinning at each other.  The pictures were taken by Mark's parents who had also joined us for Father's Day.

On the way back, Caleb's tiny four wheeler had a hard time getting back up the hill.  So Jason hopped out of the Ranger and pushed Caleb and Caroline back up the hill.

It was a hot day for a machine parade, but I don't think any of us minded all that much.  I was ready to take off in the Ranger, but since the woods are full of ticks and chiggers this time of year, I figured I should probably wait.

Caleb is planning to have another machine parade on his birthday in January.  His party will be held on Marathon Mountain (Mom and Dad's land), and he is already talking it up in constant excitement.

And I think the rest of us may be just as excited as Caleb is....

The Non-Running Post About Dad

I am sure without the single hint of a shadow of a doubt, that I have THE best dad in all the world.  It is okay if you have the same feeling about yours.  In fact, I hope you do. 

My dad met my mom when she took one of his classes at Gulf Coast Community College.  My dad was a history professor there, teaching Western Civilization and American History.  Mom was married at the time with one child (my sister) and Dad was married at the time too.  They became friends because Mom worked in his department as some sort of assistant (I think).

Right after Mom had me, her marriage fell apart. Mom could not compete with the drinking, constant tv watching, and the other women in her husband's life.  So after 2 kids and 10 years of marriage, they called it quits.  Dad also went through a divorce around the same time due to a mean wife.  As mom tells it (because Dad doesn't really tell it) his wife was just plain mean to him all the time. And if you know my dad, it is really hard to figure out why or how anyone could be mean to him.  He is one of the most easy-going men I know.  Probably THE most easy-going in the world.

So these two friends (Mom and Dad) went through something similar at the same time, and I think Dad helped her move at some point in there.  Dad's wife began to spread rumors at Dad's place of work, Mom's place of work, and Mom's church that Mom was the reason for Dad's divorce.  This was not true, but it caused a lot of ruckus anyway.  AND, it pushed two people who were not romantically involved closer together.  They spent more time together figuring out what Dad's ex-wife had said to whom and  how to put out those fires she'd started.

So what happened?  They fell for each other. When Dad asked Mom to marry him, she said she would, but on three conditions.

1.  No drinking or smoking.  Ever.
2.  No TV in the house.
3.  He would go to church with her every time the doors were open.

Dad promised Mom he would do all of these things.  Not only did he say it, but he did it.  And before Mom came on the scene, Dad enjoyed a pipe with a nip of scotch (I like to picture the stodgy, scholarly professor here, reading, smoking a pipe, and sipping scotch in a room full of books).

Dad did not drink again.  He did not smoke his pipe.  We did not have a TV in the house.  And we ALL went to church ALL the time.

Well, back in the day (and possibly still in some places) the Church of Christ had some pretty crazy views on divorce.  Or maybe their views on it were not so crazy, but the ways in which they addressed it were. The elders at whatever church Mom and Dad attended said they were "living in sin" and would not allow them to become members.  So Mom and Dad went from church to church until they found one where they were "allowed" to become members, but Dad couldn't lead a prayer, teach a class, serve the table, anything of that sort.

To me, it seems ugly and humiliating to have a group of men look you in the eye and tell you that you are not wanted there.  Men who claim to follow and model their lives by that of Jesus Christ, no less!   If I would have been Dad, I would have said, "Forget it."  I would have told them what power-hungry, ignorant hypocrites they were and walked out.  Furthermore, while Dad believes in God and that Jesus Christ is His Son, he does not agree with every claim of the church of Christ, or that it is necessary to attend church at all.  And yet... he promised. 

Not only did he go along with something he did not think was necessary (church attendance), he did it despite being treated so badly.  All because he told Mom he would.  He promised.

So let's recap.  Dad married a woman with two young daughters and gave up his pipe, his occasional nip of scotch, his television, and he went to church with her despite his feelings on the subject.

And then there was me.  I was only a baby when they married, so from the day I looked around and knew who was who, he was there.  When I got a little older and had questions about everything under the sun, I wanted to know why my last name was different than his last name.  I knew about my biological father, and I still saw him from time to time.  But Dad was my dad, and I wanted to put that in writing.  So he adopted me sometime before the 2nd grade and a little girl named Erika Jane Titus became Erika Jane McGuire. 

Dad took care of me. He made my lunches for school.  He drilled me on my spelling words.  He played Candyland and Connect Four with me.  He took me to the library.  He disciplined me (and believe me, I  required a lot of it) and he never stayed mad at me.

He let me have a cat, and he hated cats.  He let my cat and my sister's cat have baby cats in the garage for a grand total of 11 cats.  And he HATED cats.

He taught me to drive.  He showed me the importance of doing my best in school.  He bought me a truck, a huge dog, and sent me to college.

Then he let me go to China.  And when I came back to the states with nothing but the truck he'd bought me, he helped me get on my feet.

This list is nowhere near exhaustive and is never ending to this very day, but it is a good list all the same.  He still does a lot for me and my husband.  He still proof-reads all of my papers for school.  We have good talks about all sorts of things from the trivial patterns of the weather, to politics and good books.

The point is my dad is amazing.  He is the most intelligent, laid back, responsible, wise, contented, humble, interesting, kind man I have ever known.  I have always believed, even from a very young age, that my dad was the greatest gift God gave to me (besides his own Son, of course).  In my eyes, it was God's way of saving me from a thousand wrong paths, just by putting this man in my life.

When it comes to running (you knew I was going to mention it), Dad thinks my mom and I are masochistic, nutty, crazy women - along with the rest of the running population.  And yet, Dad supported Mom all the way through her goal to run a marathon in all 50 States.  He may not have attended every race (preferring only those that took place out west), but he let her go.  And when I picked up the sport, he rolled his eyes, told me I was just like my mama, and cheered me on at every race he attended. 

I've written enough on the subject, I'm sure, and have still left out a thousand good stories in between.  But you get the idea.  I really do have the BEST DAD in the world. 

Santa is a Runner

I have a secret about Santa Clause that few may know.  He and I had a run-in (no pun intended) a few years ago and I didn't realize at the time it was him, but I have since figured it out and so I will share this with you now.

Santa Clause is a runner.

"No way," you say.  I know it seems hard to believe given what we all know...or what we THINK we know about him.  We believe Santa to be a chubby, jolly fellow who lives in the north pole making toys year round to deliver to boys and girls all over  the world.  He knows when we are good and when we are bad, and if we are bad we might get coal in our stockings.  He is also a huge fan of cookies and milk, hence the chubbiness.  He MUST be magical if he can ride flying reindeer all over the world in one evening to make sure all participating families receive their presents under the tree.

Correct?  Okay, well I am going to have to change a few of these things.  When Santa is not eating cookies and delivering toys, he is running and traveling and getting to know people all over the world.  And if he were really that chubby, how would he get down all those chimneys?  He's a runner for sure. 

I will prove it.

When I met Santa Clause, the year was 2002 and I was spending a year in China teaching English at a small Agricultural College in Jingzhou.  It was my second semester there and my best friend, Emily Webster (now Thames) had joined me.  Having her there was much more fun than living there alone because for the first time I had a traveling buddy who was willing to experience all kinds of adventures with me.

Running in China
 
Some friends in Wuhan told us about a half-marathon in Macau, China, and a few of them were going to do it.  At this point in my life I had run 3 half-marathons and I thought to myself, I have to do this.  I can't pass up a chance to run a race in China!  So Emily and I got permission from our supervisors at the college and made plans to go.

One thing about this race that was important to know is that if runners ran it under 2 hours and 30 minutes, they would receive a medal.  I was not a very fast runner, but I knew I had to get that medal if it took all I had.

So I began to train.  Training consisted of running laps around the track in the center of the college in the dark of night.  Four laps equaled a mile so...that added up to a lot of laps as my training progressed.  This was the only time while living in China that I felt some connection with my American life.  Running was something I had done in the US and something I did in China.  It connected me to the familiar.  It was also the only time I felt truly alone, which may not sound pleasant, but in my city there were few Americans and we stood out like bright light-skinned, light haired beacons.  I could never decide if it felt like being naked, being Julia Roberts, or being an alien (from space) when out in public.  I may have been treated, at times, like all three.  But if you were outside, you were NEVER alone.

So I truly cherished these evenings spent running circles in the dark.   And there was that 2:30 goal I was chasing... 

When it came time to go to Macau, I felt ready.  I had trained every night, more than for any of my previous three half-marathons, and I knew I could do it.  I would get my medal for running a half-marathon in China.

Traveling in China

I need to interject two things here.  First, this is going to be a long story, so you might want to take this moment to get a cup of coffee or mark your place for another day should you be interested in finding out more about Santa.  Second, I need to talk about sickness and traveling in China.

During my time in China, I really lucked out when it came to getting sick.  I did not get HALF of what so many of my fellow Americans got while there.  I never puked and I never came down with the usual sicknesses that require meds unavailable in China...not to mention a plethera of other fun things other Americans got.  No, the ONLY time I got sick was when I traveled.  I guess I came across germs not in my home town, or maybe I managed to stay clear of all those germs in my day to day life.  I have no idea.  I ate all my meals from the street vendors, so the only thing I can claim is divine intervention on that one.  But the traveling sickness got me every time.  This is probably due to the fact that (and please excuse me if this is not politically correct) China is a VERY dirty place.  Imagine the worst gas station bathroom you've ever seen and that has nothing on the public...facilities in China.  Nothing. 

The traveling sicknesses I came down with were usually just weird. I felt awful, might have had a small fever, but that was it.  No other symptoms showed up.  No puking, sometimes diarrhea, but that didn't happen often either. And after a few days it was over.

Traveling to Macau meant taking a bus to Wuhan (3 hours) and then catching the train from there to Hong Kong, and I don't remember how long that took, but it was overnight.  On the way there we did not get a sleeper car, but on the way back we did (good thing too).  Emily and I enjoyed Thanksgiving dinner with many fellow teachers in Wuhan before catching the train with those also going to Macau for the race.  We sat at a table on the train, laughing, talking, dozing, snacking, and wishing for a sleeper car.  I think we even broke down and played several rounds of M.A.S.H.

The bathroom facilities on the train consisted of a floor with a hole in it.  It appeared to me on my few-as-possible visits there, that everyone who entered had managed to miss the hole.  Every sort of grossness you can imagine was around that hole.  And even with holding it and trying not to drink too much, I needed to visit the hole at least once because (sorry male readers) it was unfortunately for me, that time of the month.  Yep. 

So we finally reached Hong Kong where we caught a ferry over to Macau.  I don't remember exactly when I began to feel badly.  I don't remember if it was before race day or on race morning.  I seem to remember walking around  Macau with Emily shopping at cute little shops, visiting old Portuguese churches, and stumbling across an Italian restuarant (maybe that was the problem).  Either way, on race morning, something was terribly wrong.  Jane had the uncontrollable squirts.

The Half-Marathon in Macau

There was nothing for it but to go to the bathroom as often as I could before the race. I went and I went and I went and it seemed unending.  I couldn't eat or drink anything because that meant more going.  The race started and finished inside the Macau Staduim, so I had plenty of access to bathrooms up until the race started and they were even real toilets instead of holes in the floor.

All the runners lined up at the starting line about five minutes before the race, and I decided I had time for one last stop.  I ran up the stairs to the first floor of the stadium and into the bathroom, and that is where I was when I heard the race start.  I quickly got off the toilet and ran around the corner, where I slipped and fell as I turned too quickly, banging a knee and an elbow on the concrete floor.  I hopped up and ran down the stairs and down the track through the start line.  It was a crazy start, and I had to calm my beating heart and find my pace, but at least I'd started and I meant to see it through - squirts, time of month, sore knee and everything.

I don't remember much about this part except we were running along what seemed to be a marsh on both sides.  Tall grass and wet ground as far as the eye could see.  I don't remember much city or many buildings at all.  So when the urge to go came upon me again...and again...and again, it was off into the marsh I went wondering what kind of snakes and bugs and poisonous plants lived in Macau, China.  I think this was probably second only to how awful I felt.  I couldn't drink any water and I couldn't eat any of the gummies in my pocket because they'd only set things in motion again.

All I knew to do was run on and hope my stomach eventually found peace with whatever had set this horribleness into motion.  My main worry was how much all of these stops were setting back my time.  I had no idea what time it was, how long I'd been running, what kind of pace I was running...nothing.  I was sure, however, that I was way behind my goal and that I would not be getting a medal for running this half-marathon in China.  Needless to say, my spirits were quite low.

And then came Santa Clause.

Santa Runs the Macau Half-Marathon

As I trudged along at my slow pace, up came a tall, skinny  man with a full head of white hair and a white beard. He was wearing red shorts and red tank top.   He looked down at me and I looked up at him.  There was a moment.  Then he said to me, "You are going to make it."  My first thought was you have no idea, mister but instead I said, "I'm trying to finish under 2:30, but I have no idea what time it is."

Santa, of course, had a watch.  He looked at it and said in his kindly voice, "Well, if you stick with me, we will finish under 2:30.  Not by much, but we will get there."  That was all I needed to hear.  If it took all I had, I meant I was going to stick with Santa.

We began to talk and that helped keep my mind off my troubles.  The conversation that naturally occurred between two Americans meeting in China was what we were doing there.  I told him about the group I'd come to China with, teaching English in Jingzhou, graduating from Auburn, growing up in Panama City - the usual.  He was teaching in Hong Kong, although he had been to Jingzhou (because he's Santa) and knew about the Hubei Agricultural College.  He'd also been to Panama City and knew of the church I attended (because he's Santa).

Eventually we caught up to a lady from Spain who had arrived in Macau a few hours before the race started.  Aren't we a pair, I thought to myself.  I fell behind them a little and I may have taken another trip or two into the marsh, but I kept Santa (he called himself John) in sight.  Every once in a while when I'd be next to him again, I'd ask if we were still on track and he would tell me we were.  My spirits began to rise and with that my pace increased as well.

I ended up running ahead of Santa and the lady from Spain, and when I saw the stadium my pace picked up even more. I ran under the finish line in 2:28, with Santa and the lady from Spain finishing shortly after.  I could hear Emily cheering for me as I finished and as I received my finishers medal.  I cannot describe the feeling of pure triumph I felt upon receiving that medal.  I had Emily take a picture of me and Santa (which has suspiciously disappeared) and thanked him for getting me through the race, sparing him the details...and then I needed to hurry back to the hotel to use the bathroom and take a wonderful, blessed shower (that was on the roof of our hotel in the open air, which was cool).  I don't know that I had ever felt so nasty and then so blissfully clean.

Finally my stomach did find peace with itself and I was able to eat something and sleep on the train back to Wuhan, and then on the bus back to Jingzhou.  My students were amazed when I showed them my race medal in class the next day, and I don't think they fully understood that ALL finishers got one, although I did try to explain it. 

It wasn't too long after that when I realized there was a very good chance I'd been running with Santa that day in Macau.  From the white hair and beard to the red running outfit, to the fact that he'd obviously been all over the world, to how he showed up at just the right time.  I knew it.  Maybe he just happened to be running that race the same time as I was or maybe he knew my Christmas would be spent far from my family and this was my early Christmas present.

Whatever the case, he was my Santa Clause, my angel of the race, my God-send, my Thanksgiving blessing.  And it was another one of those running adventures that stick out in my mind as the most memorable, reminding me that I can do anything I set my mind to do despite...obstacles of all kinds.

P.S.  Maybe Santa would like a pair of running socks along with those cookies you leave by the fireplace this year.  Just saying....

Trying the Tri

Today I participated in my first real triathlon.  I say first “real” tri because I did one when I was 17, but I’m not sure it should count since I was almost last and rode a Wal-mart special for my 16-mile bike ride.  But that is another story altogether.  TODAY was GREAT and once I hit that water, I loved every minute!

Jason and I participated in the Buster Britton Triathlon in Birmingham, AL. This consisted of a 400 yard swim, a 13 mile bike ride, and a 3 mile run.  Small, but challenging in its own way.  Challenging for me because I’m a beginner.  A challenging course due to all the hills of the Oak Mountain State Park.  Still, I had the most wonderful time, took each section for what it was and surprised myself by how good, strong and relaxed I felt throughout.  I still have a LOT to learn and much room for improvement, but that is okay. That is one of the best parts.

We arrived early, picked up our packets, and took our bikes and gear to the transition area where volunteers wrote #278 (my race number) all over me with a #30 on the back of one leg (age) and a B for beginner on the back of the other.  For the first time since Jason started this new venture, I got to go INSIDE the transition area and be a part of it all with him.    

We walked down to the beach a little early to get wet and warm up, although all I really did was swim around and laugh.  Nerves, I guess.  My main concerns were the swim and the bike ride.  Would I get pulled under by another swimmer?  What if they grabbed my sore ankle?   Would I get on my bike smoothly?  Would I fall over?  What would it be like riding with other people?  Would I be able to get off my bike at the right time?  The run was not a concern at all.  That was familiar territory.  

The swim turned out to be much easier than I thought.  No one got near me (except for one guy who decided to do the back stroke in the wrong direction), and I swam smoothly and confidently around the buoys.  Once out of the water, I was thrilled with the experience and ready to face the ride.   I ran to the transition area, took a quick sip of water, and put on my gear.  Starting with my shoes, my number belt, my sweat band, my sunglasses, and last, my helmet.  I took my bike off the rack and jogged it to the bike start. 

And once again I was pleased and surprised by the experience.  I actually think it was my favorite part.  I’ve only had my bike for two weeks.  In that two weeks I’ve ridden as often as I can, but I’m still quite new to so many aspects of riding.  Still, I enjoyed pushing up the steep hills and then flying down them at what I considered break-neck speed.  I grinned like a goofball every time I got to do that, but I couldn’t help myself.  I was alive and able and strong.  It was a beautiful day and I was out in it trying something brand new.  I had to smile.

When I reached the transition area once again, I really was ecstatic.  The two portions of the triathlon I’d been most worried about had been successfully completed.  Now it was time for the run.  I took off my helmet, and changed my shoes.  I yanked off my sweat band and quickly replaced it with my visor.  I took a quick sip from my water bottle, grabbed my garmin, turned my number belt around and I was off.  I heard Jason cheering for me as I exited the transition area for the last time and his voice spurred me on.  My legs were tired, but I knew if I kept moving, they’d find their running rhythm.  This portion was very hilly, but it was entirely in the shade.  That was a huge blessing, for the morning had turned extremely hot. 

There were two small glitches in this portion of the race.  The first was the sore ankle from last weekend’s trail run.  I hadn’t really taken care of it like I should’ve the previous week and it was complaining a little on the uneven road.  The other was the fact that I had forgotten to pack a sports bra. 

Now, some girls and all guys may not understand this predicament, but some may.  The sports bra is THE most important part of my running attire followed closely by my running shoes.  I could run a long way without much more…but I do require both of these things. 

The Marathon Bar tri top I was sporting was tight and did have a mesh net-like inside that was like a sports bra.  Still, I prefer for the girls to be held in place a bit more tightly, and I was not sure how the run was going to feel without my usual support. 

It wasn’t so bad.  I didn’t really think much about it until the last mile when one of the water stop volunteers offered to splash me with water.  I was already wet, but so very hot and I said, “Sure!”  The cold water felt GREAT, but what I realized shortly after that was there might be a bit of chafe on…certain areas.  Some men and hopefully few women may understand what I mean here.  Yikes!

But what else can you do but keep running?  So I did.  I’ve had chafe in all sorts of fun places over the years.  This triathlon business, however, introduced some new ones. 

I finished the run strong, despite the chafe and the ankle, and upon my finish came a feeling of triumph, excitement and satisfaction.  I had finished the triathlon and what’s more, I enjoyed every moment.  Jason quickly found me after I finished and asked me how it was.  “It was GREAT!” I said.  And it was.  It was absolutely perfect for my first foray into the triathlon, and I am already looking forward to my next one.  

Running in Nowhere

When I signed up to run the Cahaba River Ramble 10 Mile Trail Run with my mom and our friend, Maggie, I had no idea what an adventure it was going to be.  The Cahaba River Society puts this race on every year, boasting of a beautiful trail run along the last free-flowing river in Alabama.  It is one of the most beautiful places I have run, although it is in the middle of nowhere. That is not an exaggeration.

I suppose everywhere is somewhere, and the three towns located around the Cahaba River are Vance, Woodstock, and West Brocton.  If you blink, you will miss all three.  Friday afternoon, Mom and I drove to the Greystone Inn and Suites, which is in the middle of a field and nothing else.  No Wal-mart, no gas station, no McDonald’s, nothing…except for the hotel. 

Once we reached the hotel in Vance, AL we decided it would be a good idea to find the location of the race.  We drove 20 minutes through Nowhere, Vance, Woodstock, and West Brocton, passed the 2^nd wooden sign (as directed) to the dirt road supposedly named River Trace (although there were no signs, we just guessed).  We turned down River Trace and there was nothing, nothing, and nothing.  It was beautiful, but there were no race tents, not signs, no banners.  Just us, the dirt road and the rushing Cahaba River.  We eventually made our way out and decided that maybe they didn’t have much to do to get ready and they’d show up in the morning.

Sure enough, when we arrived the next morning, there was the registration/packet pick-up table and a few other people milling about.  We got our packets, which included two t-shirts, some Feetures socks, some stickers, brochures and our race numbers.  Mom and I borrowed some bug spray from one of the volunteers since we had forgotten to bring any and there was nowhere in Vance/Woodstock/West Brocton to purchase any (except maybe for the Dollar General).   

The race was delayed 15 minutes so that one of the aid station attendants could get to his aid station in his canoe… and we were off.

The first mile and a half was down the gravel road which led to Caffee Creek. The 5k runners turned around at that point and the 10 mile runners crossed the creek.  I decided I did not need the rope, but quickly changed my mind after I slipped down all the way up to my neck.  The water was cold and refreshing, though, so I did not really mind.

After a cool dip in the creek, I felt refreshed and ready to run the trails.  These trails were very diverse, from heavy packed dirt, leaves, and pine needles under the trees, to loose sand along the riverbank, to the deep mud and large puddles in the low spots.  I was running along, loving the smell and the sounds of the river and the woods.  Running trails always makes me think of the movie, Last of the Mohicans, and I imagine myself as Hawkeye running through the woods to rescue Cora (although when he gets there, I AM Cora). 

So I was running along, loving every moment when all of a sudden my right foot landed on unsteady ground and my ankle turned with a snap.  My breath caught and I hopped on one foot until I could get myself to put the right one down.  I continued running, albeit slower, to see what my ankle would do.  I looked at my Garmin to see that I was on mile 2.88.  And just like the rest of the trip, I was in the middle of nowhere. 

I really wanted to finish the race and so I kept running.  Eventually the pain dulled to an ache and I knew I could tolerate that pain level.  A man named Len caught up to me and we ran and chatted as I tried not to think about my ankle.  I ran as carefully as I could so I would not turn it again, for I was sure that would send me over the edge.

The most excruciating moments were those going downhill.  Len got ahead of me whenever we went downhill, but I caught him again when we climbed or ran on a flat surface.  Before long, however, he left me on a long downhill as my run turned in to a slow hobble.

The miles passed quickly, despite the pain in my foot, and I still enjoyed the different scenery along the course.  The only annoyances were the pesky horse flies that pegged me in the head from time to time, but I only suffered one real bite during the race.  I looked forward to the second creek crossing because I knew the cold water would ease the pain in my ankle enough for me to finish the race on the flat gravel road.

The creek crossing was wonderful, as expected, and once out, I took off down the gravel road to catch the runner I’d named “Grandpa” who had passed me after Len.  I did not realize that the “great equalizer” as described by the race director was yet to be run.  I assumed we had already climbed it and so when we were directed to turn off the gravel road, I looked up and thought, no way. 

The hill was so steep runners could not even walk it.  This was a climb.  It did not hurt my ankle, however, so I went as hard as I could go.  Legs pumping and lungs heaving, I finally made it to the top and began to go…down.  I don’t think I have ever wanted to reach the bottom of the hill so badly.  I heard footsteps behind me and right before getting back on to the gravel road, a girl in a purple tank top passed me. 

I joked with her about being glad that was over and said, “good job” as she ran ahead of me.  I was okay with this for a time.  Then I thought wait a minute, she was behind me for 9 miles. I don’ think she should finish in front of me.  Silly, I know, especially under the circumstances, but I was annoyed that my ankle was slowing me down so I picked up my pace and went after her.  All in good fun, of course.

She could hear me coming on the loud gravel road and she picked up her pace.  So did I.  We raced toward the end and I passed her right before the finish clock, beating her by a mere 4 seconds.  I sort of felt bad about it afterward but…I’d been in whatever place that was for 9 miles.  I figured I should keep it, despite the ankle issue.

I got some water and grabbed my camera, walking slowly back along the course to cheer for Mom and Maggie.  Mom soon showed up, looking strong and Maggie along with her dog Molly soon followed.  I stood in the river to ease any swelling and enjoyed the cool water after a long, hot run.

All in all, it was a good day.  I enjoyed the scenery, the experience and I was grateful that I was able to finish the race (and maybe feeling a smidge hardcore in my own way).  This week I’m holding off on the running (some) and doing more cycling, swimming and pilates…and getting ready for something brand new…

New Wheels!

It’s sassy!  It’s red!  It is my new bike!

I took the afternoon off work on Tuesday, and Jason and I spent a good two hours at Madison Cycles as they attached narrower handle bars, watched me ride around the parking lot, fitted me for shoes, and asked what kind of pedals I’d like (although I’m not sure they are called pedals).  I picked out some of those shorts with the big diaper-like padding in them and laughed at myself in the dressing room mirror.  I don’t think I look as cute as Jason does in them, but they are WONDERFUL when sitting on that small seat so I will get over the hilarity of me in tight shorts.

They put water bottle holders on my bike and gave me two free bottles.  We laughed about falling over for the first time, and I got nervous about my choice to use shoes that clip into the pedals (or whatever they are called).  Jason drove my bike home in his 4Runner and as soon as we got there, I was ready to try out my new, sassy red bike.

Tuesday was fun and uneventful.  I learned things like a ponytail and a helmet don’t mix and clipping in and out of my pedals (or whatever) is not as bad as I thought.  I stopped at stop signs, rode uphill, sped around curves, loving every minute.

Wednesday, however, was another story.  Despite the fabulous diaper shorts, my bum was quite sore, as well as my neck from Tuesday’s ride. I was determined, however, to get this body used to all things cycling, and so as soon as I got home, I rushed out the door to get in some time on my bike.

I practiced clipping in and out and changing gears when riding uphill and on flatter roads.  I wasn’t really sure what I was doing, and I noticed that there was a really loud clicking noise in certain gears, like the chain was hitting something.  I hadn’t touched the gears in the back, so I decided to see what they did.  Well…this was a mistake, but only because I’d been moving the wrong gears all along (according to Jason). 

The chain made a loud noise and all of a sudden my pedals weren’t working.  I almost fell over, but clipped out in time, and got off the bike to see what I had done.  The chain had come off some of the gears.  I didn’t know at the time how easy it was to slip the chain back on the gear so all I knew to do was walk the bike home.  This was tricky however, because I had on my cycling shoes which make walking awkward. 

A little girl playing on her scooter along the sidewalk stopped a few times to see what I was doing.  I grinned at her, and wanted to say something like “this is my second day…I really have no idea what I’m doing…” but I didn’t as she grinned back and scooted along.  My hair was sticking out of my helmet in all directions. Sweat was dripping down my face and legs even though I’d only ridden about 4 miles.  I took off my shoes and began walking down the road in my bright green turtle socks…and my diaper shorts… and my green helmet from 1999.

I jogged a little in order to hurry this experience along, and thought that barefoot running might not be so bad.  The only passing vehicle to witness my gear-shifting shame was the UPS man.  I gave him a nod as if to say, “I always do this,” and continued on my way. 

I started to get a little annoyed because I’d already run 12 miles that morning and I didn’t want to be running, I wanted to ride!  I really wanted to get in a longer bike ride to see how it felt.  Plus, I didn’t know what I’d done to my bike and if I would need to take it in to Madison Cycles again…which would take time…which would get in the way of more riding. 

Later that night, Jason gave me some tools to use if anything goes wrong on my bike and he showed me how easy it was to put the chain back on the gear.  He also showed me which gears I’m supposed to be using, assuring me that no, my helmet did not make me look like an alien (or maybe it does, but everyone’s helmet looks like that).  I told him I needed Cycle Maintenance and Use 101 and he said he’d show me all I needed to know. 

So this is my new thing.  I’m excited about my new red bike, excited about learning to ride it well, and looking forward to some small triathlons and long bike rides with my husband.  I have a lot to learn, but I’m approaching it with a good sense of humor so at the very least, we will get some good laughs out of it.  I’m looking forward to the new adventures this may bring my way, better fitness, and maybe even a slightly better shape to my backside, which I’ve always believed to be rather strange looking.