After NINE days in the hospital, Dad is finally FREE and recovering at home. Whew! Can I just say, WHAT A WEEK! I got home yesterday afternoon around 5:00 and I felt wrung out. It is hard on a girl to see her dad having a hard time of it. To see him slowly worn down by the prolonged hospital stay, all the while trying to keep a brave and positive face, not wanting to ask for help but having no choice.
Despite all the worries, weariness, ups and downs and the things Dad had to go through, I think some good came out of it as well. For one, I got to spend a lot of time with him. I love talking with Dad and since he was pretty much stuck in that hospital bed until they set him loose, we sat and talked. I got to spend a lot of time with Mom and Julie as well. We had some good laughs, some good talks and an all around good time together. I drank a lot of coffee. I'm not sure if that is necessarily good, but I enjoyed it.
I spent Friday morning through Sunday afternoon in Fayetteville, and on Saturday I went for a beautiful 10 miler through the country. It was gorgeous! It has been a while since I have run there and I loved every moment. I saw a total of 3 cars during my 10 miles. I was joined by my aunt's dog for a few miles, seeing cows, geese, buzzards, hawks, and a few other dogs and cats as well. It was a gorgeous day and very nice to run off the worry, weariness and the smell of hospital.
We met a ton of...characters. Nurses, doctors, friends of Mom and Dad's from church and from their neighborhood. We learned some new phrases like, "Sometimes drugs are better than hugs." and "Well, Lord love a duck!" It was good to have so many people asking after Dad and wanting to help but sometimes...I know Mom did not want to tell that same story for the 15th time or discuss with a friend how their cousin's husband's dad fell off a ladder once and ...blah blah blah. Nurses and doctors also wanted to regale us with stories and sometimes...I wanted to tell them as politely as possible to go away. I didn't, but they may have seen it if they had looked into my eyeballs.
I think all of this has brought our little family closer. I wouldn't have thought that possible, but after this past week, I see that it is. I'm glad Dad is okay and while he does have a long road of recovery ahead, I think it is going to get better each day. It is hard to be at work and not up on their mountain helping out, but I know God will provide the help they both need. He has provided so much already and while my heart hurts for Dad, I rejoice that I have such a wonderful Dad to take care of in the first place.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Monday, February 21, 2011
The Opposite of Last Weekend
While last weekend was spent running PR marathons and celebrating in the sunshine, this weekend was completely different. Friday afternoon around 3:00, my sister called to tell me that Dad had fallen off a ladder and was going to the hospital because he broke his shoulder. I called Mom and then left work and headed to Fayetteville to meet them at the hospital. While I was on the phone with her, I could hear Dad in pain sitting next to her and my heart dropped down into my stomach.
I arrived to find him in the emergency room with an ice pack on his right wrist, which was holding his left arm in place. He had already been to get his x-rays and that just about sent him over the edge. By the time I got there, he had received pain medication and was still hurting, but not as badly. He was talking and smiling, with maybe a grimace or two mixed in when he tried to move.
The prognosis was not good. He had broken his wrist and his shoulder and both would require surgery. The shoulder was so badly broken that it was possible it would need a replacement. We would learn more about that from the doctor the next day.
I spent that night with Mom and we got up early Saturday morning to see Dad before his wrist surgery where they would be putting in a plate. The shoulder, however, would be waiting until Monday or Tuesday. While he was in surgery Mom and I grabbed some coffee and talked while waiting for the doctor to come tell us Dad was out of surgery.
I stayed with Dad all day Saturday. After his surgery he did a lot of sleeping, but when he was awake we talked and I gave him apple juice. While he slept I read or watched him and prayed. It broke my heart to see him so uncomfortable. I wanted to tell the doctor to do the surgery NOW. I wanted Dad to be fixed and beginning the healing process. I wanted his shoulder to be okay, not needing a replacement. The doctor told us that shoulder replacements were not the greatest things and that it was very hard to regain full range of motion with a shoulder replacement. It would need at least a year of physical therapy and even then...
So I prayed for the ball joint to be saved, but it was not to be. The CT scans showed that it had split too much, which would cause the bone to die. It had to be replaced after all.
It was very hard to leave Mom and Dad and go home Saturday evening. I knew there was nothing more for me to do and I had jokingly given Mom detailed instructions on the administering of apple juice. Since leaving, however, Dad has constantly been on my mind. He is hands down one of my most favorite people in this world. I have always viewed him as one of the best gifts God has given me and I am thankful for him every day of my life. As I've said before, he is one of the most amazing men I have ever known and my love for him cannot possibly be measured or described adequately.
So my heart has been heavy all weekend as I have watched him struggle and hurt and undergo all sorts of procedures and discomfort because of his injuries. It wasn't until I watched Mom describe the fall from the ladder that I realized I should not be so sad. I should be grateful! He fell almost 8 feet to the ground. What if he had hit his head? Or something equally as horrible? As I sat watching Dad sleep, I still prayed for complete healing and an easing of his pain in the process. But I said a great big thank you as well. He would be okay, after all.
While the recovery process may be slow and laborious, I know Dad can and will do it. He is one of the most determined, disciplined and steady men I know, and he will stay the course until his shoulder is 100% again. And what's more, he will do it without complaining or whining or being grumpy.
The big shoulder surgery is tomorrow, and I welcome prayers from any and all readers inclined to do so. I pray also for my sweet Mom who is by Dad's side tirelessly and lovingly assisting him with whatever he needs. My sister and I are going up as we can, while wishing we could just stay. Despite this accident, it is still evident that God has remained close to us through all of it and I am so very thankful for that.
I arrived to find him in the emergency room with an ice pack on his right wrist, which was holding his left arm in place. He had already been to get his x-rays and that just about sent him over the edge. By the time I got there, he had received pain medication and was still hurting, but not as badly. He was talking and smiling, with maybe a grimace or two mixed in when he tried to move.
The prognosis was not good. He had broken his wrist and his shoulder and both would require surgery. The shoulder was so badly broken that it was possible it would need a replacement. We would learn more about that from the doctor the next day.
I spent that night with Mom and we got up early Saturday morning to see Dad before his wrist surgery where they would be putting in a plate. The shoulder, however, would be waiting until Monday or Tuesday. While he was in surgery Mom and I grabbed some coffee and talked while waiting for the doctor to come tell us Dad was out of surgery.
I stayed with Dad all day Saturday. After his surgery he did a lot of sleeping, but when he was awake we talked and I gave him apple juice. While he slept I read or watched him and prayed. It broke my heart to see him so uncomfortable. I wanted to tell the doctor to do the surgery NOW. I wanted Dad to be fixed and beginning the healing process. I wanted his shoulder to be okay, not needing a replacement. The doctor told us that shoulder replacements were not the greatest things and that it was very hard to regain full range of motion with a shoulder replacement. It would need at least a year of physical therapy and even then...
So I prayed for the ball joint to be saved, but it was not to be. The CT scans showed that it had split too much, which would cause the bone to die. It had to be replaced after all.
It was very hard to leave Mom and Dad and go home Saturday evening. I knew there was nothing more for me to do and I had jokingly given Mom detailed instructions on the administering of apple juice. Since leaving, however, Dad has constantly been on my mind. He is hands down one of my most favorite people in this world. I have always viewed him as one of the best gifts God has given me and I am thankful for him every day of my life. As I've said before, he is one of the most amazing men I have ever known and my love for him cannot possibly be measured or described adequately.
So my heart has been heavy all weekend as I have watched him struggle and hurt and undergo all sorts of procedures and discomfort because of his injuries. It wasn't until I watched Mom describe the fall from the ladder that I realized I should not be so sad. I should be grateful! He fell almost 8 feet to the ground. What if he had hit his head? Or something equally as horrible? As I sat watching Dad sleep, I still prayed for complete healing and an easing of his pain in the process. But I said a great big thank you as well. He would be okay, after all.
While the recovery process may be slow and laborious, I know Dad can and will do it. He is one of the most determined, disciplined and steady men I know, and he will stay the course until his shoulder is 100% again. And what's more, he will do it without complaining or whining or being grumpy.
The big shoulder surgery is tomorrow, and I welcome prayers from any and all readers inclined to do so. I pray also for my sweet Mom who is by Dad's side tirelessly and lovingly assisting him with whatever he needs. My sister and I are going up as we can, while wishing we could just stay. Despite this accident, it is still evident that God has remained close to us through all of it and I am so very thankful for that.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Bits and Splits
Last night I attended a TRX Circuit Training class at the gym for the first time. Ordinarily I would not have done this right after a marathon, but it was for an actual class I am taking at UAH (more on that later). This was a two part class where we spent 45 seconds on the TRX section (don't ask me what that means, but if you know please share) and then 45 seconds on the circuit part which was out in the gym. The instructor helping with the circuit portion saw me halfheartedly doing some long jumps (the exercises in the circuit were somewhat insane for even the freshest of legs) and so she came over to me.
"You've got some big leg muscles, you can do better than that!" she said. I tried to comply, wondering if "big leg muscles" could be taken as a compliment. Afterward she came over to me and my classmate and told us we'd done a great job for first timers. I must admit, despite the difficulty level and my tired legs, I had a great time attempting it all and laughing at some of these attempts. But whenever I found my legs simply would not follow instructions (such as high knee tucks on the bosu), I looked down at the orange strip on my shoe and... I grinned.
A few of my friends have requested splits and so I am including them here.
Mile 1 - 9:02
Mile 2 - 8:50
Mile 3 - 8:33
Mile 4 - 8:46
Mile 5 - 8:45
Mile 6 - 8:45
Mile 7 - 8:52
Mile 8 - 8:34
Mile 9 - 8:07
Mile 10 - 8:54
Mile 11 - 8:32
Mile 12 - 8:34
Mile 13 - 8:25
Mile 14 - 8:45
Mile 15 - 8:44
Mile 16 - 8:39
Mile 17 - 8:41
Mile 18 - 8:59
Mile 19 - 8:56
Mile 20 - 8:43
Mile 21 - 8:40
Mile 22 - 8:23
Mile 23 - 8:37
Mile 24 - 8:41
Mile 25 - 8:40
Mile 26 - 8:17
Mile .2 - 6:49 (pace - not sure of overall time)
It wasn't quite the speed-up at the end I was hoping for, but it was enough. If I tried to bring some of those 8:50s down to 8:40s, a few more minutes could be shaved off with a bit more training and focus. Not that I'm quite ready to begin that just yet...but it won't be long.
Two new things I did for this marathon involved hair and Gu (but they have nothing to do with each other). First of all, I have a very short haircut with multiple layers. I think my hair guy was tired when I went to my last appointment and well...it is interesting to say the least. Too short for a pony tail, but too long to just let it sit on my neck (not to mention the really short curls that stick straight up on top of my head). So what did I discover? Pig tails! They were tiny and a little uneven, but they stayed in place and kept me cool and comfortable throughout the race.
Jason taught me the Gu trick, although most other runners may already know it. I knew I wanted 4 Gus for my marathon and I knew there would be some out on the course, but I still wanted to take some with me. My shorts did not have pockets and I can't stand things jumping around on me when I'm running, but Jason had the answer. He pinned my Gu to the outside of my shorts and then flipped it in the inside so it was against my skin. I only carried two with me, but four would have worked just fine. They did not move or jump or chafe, and they were easy to pull off while running. My flavor of choice is Espresso Love. Due to the coffee-like flavor, it is the only one I can tolerate.
Those are the bits and splits of my 3:45:52 (you knew I had to throw that in again) Mercedes Marathon.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
A Red Letter Marathon
On February 13, 2011 I awoke to one of the most perfect days in the history of perfect days. It started out around 35 degrees, clear and crisp with a vibrant blue sky and warm sunshine, reaching the high 50's eventually. It was perfect for being outside and that was a good thing. Because not only would I be outside, I would be outside running a marathon and continuing to chase my own personal record.
My husband and I along with two friends, Shannon and Kristi, drove to Birmingham on Saturday for the Mercedes Marathon. Shannon would be running her second half marathon and Kristi would be running with her. Jason was also doing the half, and I was planning to run the full marathon. We went to the expo, picked up our packets and tested our race chips before heading back to the hotel for some dinner and relaxation.
That night I hardly slept at all. I tossed and turned and tried every position I knew, all to no avail. I think I fell asleep sometime around 1:00 a.m. only to wake up again at 4:30 a.m. for good.
I worried about this but then I thought about Jason's Ironman and how he had hardly slept the night before. If he could do that on so little sleep, surely I would be fine for my marathon. I drank a little coffee, ate half of a Cliff Mojo bar and got dressed. Jason and I met Shannon and Kristi in the lobby and we walked to the start line with many other runners in the chilly morning air.
Jason kissed me before running a warm-up mile, and Shannon, Kristi and I found a spot in the crowd to wait. As we stood there Shannon looked at me and said, "I read that it does not matter how much sleep you get the night before a race, because the night before that is the one that counts." I felt relieved. I had gotten GREAT sleep on Friday night. I decided to quit worrying about sleep or lack there of and run the race I came to run that day.
Finally the race began and we were off. I ran with Shannon and Kristi for a bit but I was very cautious about starting out too fast, so after about 2 miles they ran ahead. I tried to hold my pace between 8:40 and 8:50 until around mile 9 when I decided I wanted to catch up to them so I could cheer for Shannon before we parted ways and I ran the 13.1 course again. That mile was an 8:07.
I pinched their butts when I caught up to them and we ended up running the rest of the half marathon together. Shannon was way ahead of her goal and feeling good, so it was exciting to know she'd be getting a PR that day. It was very fun to have them to talk with for those few miles and just as we separated for the last time, I saw Jason running to meet me.
He ran with me until mile 15 and kept me company. He had run a 1:17 half marathon and he was very pleased with that. It had been a while since he had raced anything and he was not quite sure where he was. So far, everyone had run exceptionally well that day. All that was left was for me to join them.
When Jason left I knew it was time to dig in and focus on my race. So far I was on pace, and my plan was to slowly begin to speed up and run negative splits. I continued running 8:40s until around mile 18 and then slowly began allowing myself to pick up the pace. I listened to my body and was somewhat concerned about running out of energy, but I had also planned 4 Gus and I had followed that plan. Despite my intense dislike of them, they got the job done and I did not ever become depleted of the energy I needed to hold the pace.
By mile 20 I began to get excited and somewhat emotional as I realized I still felt good. How I had longed for this moment! To reach the end of this race and still have it. It is the balance I find harder and harder to achieve as I try to run faster marathons. To start a race fast enough to PR, but slow enough to have something left at the end... On this day I knew I had done it.
I let go of my inhibitions and caution and allowed myself to continually speed up. The course was somewhat rolling, but when I approached a hill I reminded myself that I ran hills every day, and that I wanted this. I refused to slow down as I climbed.
The miles flew by until 23 and then they seemed to double in length. I did not slow down, but I was beginning to feel fatigued and I was determined to speed up anyway. As I watched the clock, I realized that it was possible to run a 3:45 if I held pace. I wanted that 3:45. I set my gaze ahead and my mind to the goal and I ran with all I had.
As the spectator crowds began to thicken along the end of the course, I kept my eye out for the one I could not wait to see. Sure enough, there he was. I gave him a thumbs up and smiled the biggest, goofiest grin I could summon. To the sound of church bells, I ran around the corner picking up speed as I watched the clock of the finish line. As I ran under it, it said 3:46, but my chip time was 3:45:52. I was ecstatic. On top of the world. Overwhelmed. Overjoyed. I grinned as they put my medal around my neck, and when the volunteer handing out finisher caps asked how I was I said, "GREAT!"
Jason soon found me, followed by and Shannon and Kristi. Hugs, congratulations and smiles were given as we took pictures and made our way back to the hotel. I could not believe I had done it. I had finished the Mercedes Marathon in 3:45:52, a thirteen minute personal record from my 3:58:57 finish in 2009.
As I stood in the shower after the race, it was my first moment alone to reflect. With the goofy grin still painted across my face I thanked God for such an amazing race.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you, Lord. I know it is just running and that I didn't even go anywhere but to the same place I started. But it means so much to me and I am so very happy. Thank you so much for this gorgeous, perfect day and for this able body."
What began as a red letter day soon became a red letter marathon and I remain grateful, excited, amazed and humbled by the experience. And as I bask in the excitement of another personal record I feel empowered to look ahead and wonder what is next. I can't wait to find out.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Trust Your Work
It is pretty sad when I am merely to the introduction of a book and I already have a lump in my throat. My friend, Julia, brought me "Running with the Buffaloes" by Chris Lear this morning when we met to run, and so while I was stuck in the recording studio all day at work, I picked it up and began reading.
This book is about the University of Colorado's men's cross country team and a season the author spent with them. I have no idea if it will be interesting or not, but from the Forward (written by Adam Goucher who was on the team that season) and the Introduction, I'm thinking it will be.
The part that spoke to me was in the very first paragraph of the introduction. The coach, Mark Wetmore, was speaking to Adam Goucher who, according to the author appeared nervous before the 1998 NCAA Men's 10k National Championships for which he had worked hard (which I suspect may be an understatement as I read about this season in its entirety).
"You're fine, Adam. You're fine. Trust it, Adam. Trust your work."
Reading these words my eyes began to burn and I thought, Good grief! What is my deal?
I know what my deal is, however. Despite my best efforts not to care, not to over think, not to raise it to a place it does not belong, the upcoming marathon has become important to me. As far as my training, I wouldn't say it has been as grueling and intense as I considered my training for the St. Louis marathon last year to be, but what began as a lighthearted, experimental approach has become focused, filled with purpose and hope.
So I imagine myself at the start line. I picture myself starting what will be a smart, negative split-filled, personal record race. I check the weather daily. I go to bed early. I'm trying to give my body the nutrients it needs to remain strong and healthy and perform well on race day. I daydream about seeing Jason at the finish line and hearing him cheer for me as I run under an amazing clock time. And so now I'm in trouble. Because my heart is all in, once again.
And while I cannot compare my running to that of Adam Goucher and the UC cross country team, I can borrow the words of his coach from that time. I know I have worked hard. I know I have run well. I know I have met all of the training goals I have set for myself and I know I can do this. I've just got to remember to trust my work.
This book is about the University of Colorado's men's cross country team and a season the author spent with them. I have no idea if it will be interesting or not, but from the Forward (written by Adam Goucher who was on the team that season) and the Introduction, I'm thinking it will be.
The part that spoke to me was in the very first paragraph of the introduction. The coach, Mark Wetmore, was speaking to Adam Goucher who, according to the author appeared nervous before the 1998 NCAA Men's 10k National Championships for which he had worked hard (which I suspect may be an understatement as I read about this season in its entirety).
"You're fine, Adam. You're fine. Trust it, Adam. Trust your work."
Reading these words my eyes began to burn and I thought, Good grief! What is my deal?
I know what my deal is, however. Despite my best efforts not to care, not to over think, not to raise it to a place it does not belong, the upcoming marathon has become important to me. As far as my training, I wouldn't say it has been as grueling and intense as I considered my training for the St. Louis marathon last year to be, but what began as a lighthearted, experimental approach has become focused, filled with purpose and hope.
So I imagine myself at the start line. I picture myself starting what will be a smart, negative split-filled, personal record race. I check the weather daily. I go to bed early. I'm trying to give my body the nutrients it needs to remain strong and healthy and perform well on race day. I daydream about seeing Jason at the finish line and hearing him cheer for me as I run under an amazing clock time. And so now I'm in trouble. Because my heart is all in, once again.
And while I cannot compare my running to that of Adam Goucher and the UC cross country team, I can borrow the words of his coach from that time. I know I have worked hard. I know I have run well. I know I have met all of the training goals I have set for myself and I know I can do this. I've just got to remember to trust my work.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
The Hypocritcal Runner
The last month or so, I have been reading "Crazy Love" with my small group, and I have added in daily excerpts from "My Utmost for His Highest." These two books seem to have a common set of themes and they go something like this: What is going on in this world is not about me, it is about God. To sit around worrying about things is to say God is not big enough to handle them. My life should point to God - end of story. And if I were focused on Him with a relationship that was strong and intimate, these little earthly things would not really matter. (A very brief and broad synopsis).
To me, this is very liberating. You mean, I don't have to worry about being some successful career woman because all that really matters is that my life points to Christ? Whew! You mean, if people think I'm silly or ridiculous for what I believe and what I do with my time, it doesn't matter because it isn't about me anyway? You mean if I have a bad hair day and feel unattractive it doesn't matter because my life is just a mist and in the big scheme of things, I am only here for a few seconds? You mean I don't have to have a huge house with all the latest stuff because those things have no value?
And all of a sudden the worrying and the striving and the silly things that get under my skin are taken away. Because they simply do not matter. It is such a relief not to worry if people like me, if I'm successful enough for a 31-year-old, if I have too many gray hairs and wrinkles for my age or if the guy in the yellow Camaro pulled out in front of me. Who cares! And who is going to remember any of that anyway in 50 years? Or even 10!
As for the bigger issues, the ones that really do seem important - will I be a good mother if I have kids one day? What will become of this country? What if I lose someone I love? Will I end up with cancer or Alzheimer's? Could Jason ever lose his job? I am not supposed to worry about these. God has instructed me over and over again in the Bible not to worry. That makes it actually WRONG if I sit around doing it. I never thought about it like that.
So lately I've felt liberated, free, content and at peace. I have been given permission to love Love Himself because that is the most important thing in this world. Who wants to carry all of that other stuff around all day anyway? People at work stir up trouble - I let it go. I don't have the best house among all of my friends - so what? This body is going to grow old - bring it.
And then...I have a running injury...and I'm wanting a PR marathon in two weeks and all of a sudden I am out of sorts, worrying, fretting and frustrated. Wait a minute. If all of that other stuff doesn't matter (the unpleasant stuff no one wants to worry about anyway) then this can't either. If my relationship with God is more important than the horrible traffic on Tuesday morning and the fact that someone hacked into my e-mail account, then that applies to marathon running as well!
I've been ignoring this injury for a while. I've had a little pain below my right knee (down my shin a little), but it would only hurt at the beginning of each run, so I assumed it was just something tightening up. I have had it since before October. The hard fall I took in the 50 Miler probably did not help it, but after I recovered it did not seem any worse, so I continued running with it. Saturday, after my 20 mile training run, I noticed some swelling. I had never noticed it before assuming it was a bone that matched the other knee, but when I looked, it did not match at all.
So I have to take some time off. Which is fine because I need to be tapering and resting anyway. But there is the upcoming marathon, the Just Move It contest at work, and my own daily enjoyment of the activity. So I had to start over this morning. I had to remind myself of the new (or renewed) purpose in my life, which is to point to God. It is not about me or my running or my health or my attractiveness or my speed or lack there of. It is about my amazing Creator, my Lord and Savior and Friend. The running part is merely a blessing - one of the many I've received from Him, and that is what it must remain.
Then Jesus said, “Come to me, all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you. Let me teach you, because I am humble and gentle at heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy to bear, and the burden I give you is light.”
Matthew 11:28-30
To me, this is very liberating. You mean, I don't have to worry about being some successful career woman because all that really matters is that my life points to Christ? Whew! You mean, if people think I'm silly or ridiculous for what I believe and what I do with my time, it doesn't matter because it isn't about me anyway? You mean if I have a bad hair day and feel unattractive it doesn't matter because my life is just a mist and in the big scheme of things, I am only here for a few seconds? You mean I don't have to have a huge house with all the latest stuff because those things have no value?
And all of a sudden the worrying and the striving and the silly things that get under my skin are taken away. Because they simply do not matter. It is such a relief not to worry if people like me, if I'm successful enough for a 31-year-old, if I have too many gray hairs and wrinkles for my age or if the guy in the yellow Camaro pulled out in front of me. Who cares! And who is going to remember any of that anyway in 50 years? Or even 10!
As for the bigger issues, the ones that really do seem important - will I be a good mother if I have kids one day? What will become of this country? What if I lose someone I love? Will I end up with cancer or Alzheimer's? Could Jason ever lose his job? I am not supposed to worry about these. God has instructed me over and over again in the Bible not to worry. That makes it actually WRONG if I sit around doing it. I never thought about it like that.
So lately I've felt liberated, free, content and at peace. I have been given permission to love Love Himself because that is the most important thing in this world. Who wants to carry all of that other stuff around all day anyway? People at work stir up trouble - I let it go. I don't have the best house among all of my friends - so what? This body is going to grow old - bring it.
And then...I have a running injury...and I'm wanting a PR marathon in two weeks and all of a sudden I am out of sorts, worrying, fretting and frustrated. Wait a minute. If all of that other stuff doesn't matter (the unpleasant stuff no one wants to worry about anyway) then this can't either. If my relationship with God is more important than the horrible traffic on Tuesday morning and the fact that someone hacked into my e-mail account, then that applies to marathon running as well!
I've been ignoring this injury for a while. I've had a little pain below my right knee (down my shin a little), but it would only hurt at the beginning of each run, so I assumed it was just something tightening up. I have had it since before October. The hard fall I took in the 50 Miler probably did not help it, but after I recovered it did not seem any worse, so I continued running with it. Saturday, after my 20 mile training run, I noticed some swelling. I had never noticed it before assuming it was a bone that matched the other knee, but when I looked, it did not match at all.
So I have to take some time off. Which is fine because I need to be tapering and resting anyway. But there is the upcoming marathon, the Just Move It contest at work, and my own daily enjoyment of the activity. So I had to start over this morning. I had to remind myself of the new (or renewed) purpose in my life, which is to point to God. It is not about me or my running or my health or my attractiveness or my speed or lack there of. It is about my amazing Creator, my Lord and Savior and Friend. The running part is merely a blessing - one of the many I've received from Him, and that is what it must remain.
Then Jesus said, “Come to me, all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you. Let me teach you, because I am humble and gentle at heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy to bear, and the burden I give you is light.”
Matthew 11:28-30
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