Marathon

A week ago I ran my first marathon. 26.2 miles past the historic buildings of the old Ft. Benjamin Harrison, along pathways in open fields, through deep woods, over rolling hills and along Fall Creek, on the northeast side of Indianapolis. It was the Community Health Network Marathon, and many of the 6,000 participants were running to support some medical cause.
My wife, Linda, was great team support. Because she was there I could wear my sweats to keep from freezing, and hand them over to her just before the race began. She was there at mile 6 and mile 12 and at the finish line to cheer me on. She drove me home when my muscles were too sore to press down on the accelerator.
I ran well for the first half of the race, cruising along at about 9 minutes 15 seconds per mile. I passed some runners, and some runners passed me.
But around mile 18 pain crept into my thighs. Around mile 20 my calf muscles cramped up. I came to a full stop, but even just standing there my calf muscle was twisting and rolling. I kept moving, walking sometimes and jogging sometimes. For the last mile I was able to run again, at about 9 minutes 30 seconds for the last mile. I finished in 4 hours 56 minutes.
It was a day of odd events. A guy in a yellow shirt and a cheesehead hat passing me at mile 6. A spectator dress like mothman, waving a skeletal claw at me. A volunteer racing across a meadow, chasing away a couple of deer so they wouldn't gallop through the pack of runners. Two women in pink tutus running past me at mile 19. One runner telling another, "Yeah, there was the time I didn't watch my step and I found myself standing knee-deep in the carcass of a deer."
Mostly I had time to think. About the beauty of the day. About how my body was performing at that moment. About the next step in the race. About the next step in life.
My mother almost died the week before the race. She has lived many years and has struggled with Parkinson's Disease for a long time. She lives in a nursing home in Indianapolis. She had an unresponsive episode but came out of it after a couple of days. One day soon she won't. But I pray that the Lord will hold her safe always, whatever comes. I thought about that a lot as we ran.
I will run a marathon again, God willing. I learned a lot about how to prepare. Run more, stretch more, drink more water just before the race.
Pray for RETA and the families they serve, that the Lord will give them endurance for the long run.

Crazy Love

I'm reading the book "Crazy Love" by Francis Chan because we'll start studying it in our Discipleship class in a couple of weeks. Francis suggests that when we develop a deeper relationship with God we want to praise Him for His glory. Francis said, "Over time I realized that when we love God, we naturally run to Him - frequently and zealously." I understand should and ought and must. Those attitudes are probably what motivate me to go to church or open the Bible. But want to praise God? I pondered that as I went out on my long run this morning. I left right at sunrise, and as I started running I realized the eastern sky was blazing with colors as the sun rose above the horizon. It ws glorious. I started running faster so I could get to the county road where I planned to run east, so I would have a better view of the sunrise. And then it dawned on me: I was running to catch a better glimpse of God's glory. OK, I'm beginning to get it.
At about mile seven on my run I saw a little boy in pj's run out to the end of his driveway to get the newspaper. He ran back to his house at full speed - but tripped and skidded on his knees. He just knelt there in the driveway, wailing at the top of his lungs. His grandma came out and said gently, "Oh, why don't you get up and come inside and we'll take care of that." "I can't," the boy cried. So his grandma helped him up and guided him inside with her arm around him. I was overwhelmed. I am like that little boy whose knees got skinned (sometimes by my own fault, sometimes because life happens). God is like that grandma, compassionate and loving. I think I can't, but God can, if I'll trust Him. Can I show that kind of compassion and love to someone else? OK, I'm beginning to get it.
I ran 20 miles today. My first marathon is about a month off. I am trying to build up miles and endurance on the long runs, not worried so much about speed or time. My friend Randy, who has run several marathons and will run in Toronto in a couple of weeks, reminded me not to over-train and get injured. I ran hard today, but tomorrow I'll rest. After worshiping God. Because I want to.
Keep praying for RETA. Check out their website at www.retaforlife.com

Trash Talk

I ran 18 miles this morning in preparation for a marathon in a few weeks. I ran a nine mile loop twice, which meant I got to see the same scenery twice. Unfortunately there was a lot of litter by the side of the road. People throw all manner of trash out of their cars instead of saving it for a wastebasket. On the second loop, I discovered the litter could be a convenient mile marker: plastic fork, Cheese Nips box, Miller Lite 6 pack - this must be mile twelve.
Its sad to think that people can consider children to be disposable. Even though children are already conceived, they can be terminated. Even though children are a beautiful gift, they can be neglected and abused. But the folks at RETA love children, and have compassion for young men and women who struggle with what it means to be a parent. Perhaps you can help RETA, so children aren't treated like litter.

Captain Obvious

It rained steadily while I ran 13 miles this morning. I didn't mind because it cooled me off even as the day got warmer. But after several miles of rain and sweat and car-spray and buggy-spray I was soaked. Around mile 11 a man on a bicycle rode up next to me. He looked me over and said, "Yer goin' to get wet." Captain Obvious strikes again. Ok, he was kidding me. I smiled and said "I'm already wet."
Sometimes we're all wet. We make a poor choice. We are just wrong. We sin. We still need help. That's what grace is: even when we're all wet, we are still taken in, and dried off and helped and given a new start. I sense that RETA is a gracious place.
So after running long and hard and getting wet I'm going to take a shower. And then dry off.
I hope Captain Obvious didn't get too wet himself.

Lost

I ran a 5K race in a senior games competition this morning. Yep, I'm a senior, at least by their rules. It was a trail course, mostly through the woods between the Goshen Millrace and the Elkhart River. The course was confusing because of all the repeated loops and intersections of trails that weren't always clearly marked. At one T intersection I came to a dead stop trying to figure out whether to turn left or right until I saw another runner, Paula, off to the left. Near the end of the race I came to a stop again, unsure whether I was supposed to keep running down a paved road or turn onto a dirt trail loop. Fortunately the front runner, Roland, was coming out of the loop and pointed the way. I made it to the finish line, just ahead of a swarm of mosquitos. My fellow runners helped me out today. Otherwise I might still be lost in the woods. They pointed the way when I literally didn't know which way to turn. I suspect that's the way it is when RETA volunteers help the moms and dads who come to RETA for help. Sometimes we need someone to show us the best way to turn, so we don't get lost. Maybe you can volunteer for RETA. You can check them out at www.retaforlife.com.

Wonderfully Made

I ran 13 miles for my long run yesterday. It was a hot and hard run. My water bottle ran dry around mile 9. I was glad for the water fountain in the park. I'm finding it difficult to get in a long run in when it is both cool and daylight.
I have been reading an article about muscle tissue in a running magazine. We have three kinds of muscle in our bodies: cardiac muscle (to run our hearts); smooth muscle (to run our involuntary functions like digestion); and skeletal muscle (to make our bodies move). And we have three types of skeletal muscle: slow-twitch; intermediate fast-twitch; and fast twitch. The different types of skeletal muscles can be used for different speeds of running. The best runners develop their muscles so they draw on them in the most efficient manner to run faster and longer. That's why they are elite runners. As David said in Psalm 139, our bodies are truly "fearfully and wonderfully made." Today, my muscles are reminding me I ran a long hard distance yesterday.
In Psalm 139, David also wrote about how God "knit me together in my mother's womb." One of the programs of the RETA ministry is Pregnancy Help Services. RETA can help direct a pregnant woman to material and medical assistance, as well as dealing with the emotional aspects of pregnancy. You can read more about it at www.retaforlife.com

Rain Race

I ran the Steve's Run 10K race this morning in Michigan. The race starts in downtown Dowogiac. The course runs 6.2 miles down the main street, across a railroad bridge, through a golf course and along dirt trails around the campus of Southwest Michigan College. Steve was a young recent graduate of the college when he died of cancer. He had been the announcer for the Southwest Michigan College Roadrunners. The annual race draws hundreds of people to keep Steve's memory alive and to support the fight against cancer. I registered as a cancer survivor and got a special T-shirt which I wore in the race. (I had prostate cancer surgery last March and I'm recovering well.) The rain fell steadily as I signed in this morning. Rain doesn't slow down a race like this. As long as there is no lightning the race goes on. You just give in and accept that you are going to get soaked and muddy and you are going to enjoy it. I stood under a storefront awning in downtown Dowogiac, dodging the rain while we all waited for the beginning of the race. I met Arvin from Chicago, who declared that running in the rain was better than running in sub-zero windchill and snow in Chicago. Agreed. I heard a couple next to me conversing in German. They switched to English to ask me how the race was set up. They saw volunteers standing in the street holding up signs with times on them: eight minutes; eight minutes thirty seconds; and so on. They knew the purpose of the signs was so you could place yourself in the pack according to the time you thought you'd run. But, they asked, did the signs refer to kilometers or miles? "Miles," I said. They replied that was a little odd since the 5K and 10K races are measured in kilometers. I shrugged and said, "Crazy Americans." They laughed. We lined up in the street. I missed my friend Mark who ran the race with me last year but had to sit out this year due to a sore foot. When the race started we surged down the street, our timing chips setting off a steady beep as we crossed the timing strip at the start line. As I settle into a long run I slip into a meditative state. I focus on the road a few yards in front of me as brief impressions pop up and fade behind me. A man with a boom box playing Willie Nelson's "On the Road Again." A giant American flag rippling overhead from a fire department aerial ladder. An old German shepherd sitting in front of her dog house, barking a slow steady beat, "Woof! Woof! Woof!" just like she's saying "Go! Go! Go!" (She did the same thing last year.) A man with feet as big as Sasquatch plopping down on the asphalt as we negotiate a sharp decline from the railroad bridge. The white lime line on the golf course, guiding us to the woods. The steep hill through the cemetary, where a lot of people fell back. Sasquatch passing me on the left. A volunteer yelling "FIRE UP!!" (which was Steve's old pre-race cry.) Another volunteer uttering a laconic "fire up" as we passed by. (Its all good.) Another volunteer out in the woods wearing a safari hat and holding up a sign that said, "Look out for the zebra crossing." I love the trails the most. Today they were muddy due to the rain. At one fork in the trail you could take the high and dry branch, or the low and muddy branch. I chose low and dirty. Hooray mud! Finally we were out of the woods and did the last two miles on straight and flat roads. I picked up the pace for the final mile, stretching out my stride. When I turned the last corner and the finish line came in sight I sprinted. I finished in 54 minutes 40 seconds, a time that pleased me. A volunteer handed me a wooden tongue depressor with my place written on it. Just like old high school cross country days. As I chomped on a bananna after the race, I celebrated with several friends: Jim from work; Mark and Jamie and Arvil from South Bend; Arvin from Chicago; Mark from Wakarusa; and Gary from the Two Rivers Runnings Club. It was a good day to be a cancer survivor.
Keep praying for RETA. Keep the board members in prayer as they make decisions for the ministry.