About a week ago, my boss Cory and his wife Christine asked me to watch their 14 month old daughter (Sage) for an hour and a half. They told me that it would be during her nap time, so I could just hang out. I agreed to babysit.
When I arrived at their house, Christine had just put Sage down for her nap. Christine told me that this would be a breeze. I literally wouldn't have to do anything unless Sage woke up before they got home, at which point I should just give her a bottle and play with her in the living room. "You won't even have to change a diaper." Christine told me.
Before she left, Christine told me that the day before, Sage had gotten her leg stuck in the bars of her crib after taking her diaper off and peeing in her bed. Christine didn't know who else to call as everyone she knew was unavailable, so she called the fire department. 4 fire men showed up to free a naked 14 month old from the cage that was her crib. The point of her telling me this story was to explain how I would get Sage out if she got stuck again, but somehow I knew this babysitting job wouldn't be quite as easy as everyone thought.
After Christine left, I wrote some e-mails and worked on a few things before sitting down to watch some TV. Not long later, I heard noises from upstairs. Sage wasn't crying, but she was definitely awake. I wasn't sure if she hadn't gone to sleep yet, or had woken up early, but Christine had told me that when Sage was up, she would start crying. I decided to wait.
The noise stopped, so I had good reason to believe that Sage had gone back to sleep. 5 minutes later, she was making noise again. Not crying, just noise. I stood at the bottom of the stairs listening, and hoping she would go back to sleep. The process repeated. She would be quiet for a few minutes, then stir for a little, then quiet. After about 20 minutes of this, she started crying. I admitted defeat and started heading upstairs. It seemed like Sage was up for good, and only 45 minutes after Christine had left.
I walked up the stairs and opened the door. Nothing could have prepared me for what I was about to see. Sage was standing in her crib, holding her diaper in her hand, and there was poop...everywhere. I'm serious. It was all over the crib, all over her hands, and even on her face...It was on her shirt, on the floor, in her hair, you get the idea. She was like a little monkey flinging her feces festively. It was disgusting. In an entirely calm but disbelieving voice I said "oh no...Sage...what have you done". She looked excited and happy to see me as she held her arms out requesting for me to pick her up. I didn't want to, but I knew I had to.
Thinking back, I'm guessing that I haven't babysat in almost 10 years. Even then I only babysat for kids who were potty trained. I have very little baby experience, and yet...I didn't panic. Looking at the situation as a whole would have been far too overwhelming. I decided to take it one step at a time. Step one: get the poop off the baby.
I didn't know how in the world I was going to clean her up, I was so unprepared for this. What I DID know was that I needed to get her and myself out of that room because it smelled awful. I picked her up, held her at arms distance, and walked downstairs with no discernible plan for step 1.
All of a sudden the bathtub caught my eye. It seemed logical, give the baby a bath right? Well yes, but I had never given a baby a bath before. Could I even do this? Was this inappropriate? It didn't matter, it was my only option.
I put her in the adult sized tub next to the little baby tub for her. I started warming up the water while I tried to get her out of the rest of her clothes. She was handing me toys in a playful manner, clearly unaffected by the situation.
Bath time seemed to be a treat for her, for me it was awkward and scary. I had to remind myself that this wasn't something I was doing out of choice, it was out of necessity. I didn't read too much into it, I simply treated it as a problem that needed to be solved.
Every little thing was new to me. I looked around for baby soap and found some. It seemed kinda watery so I wasn't sure if this is how baby soap is, or if Sage had dumped the soap out and refilled it with water. I just went with it.
Step 1: check. Step 2: dry the baby off. This may seem like a no-brainer to most of you, but I had to think about it. Sage isn't stable enough on her own two feet for me to simply stand her up and dry her off like a dog or something. Don't worry, I figured it out. I "swaddled" her in a towel, and made my way over to the changing station. Yes that's right, Step 3: diaper.
On any other day, this would have been a bit more overwhelming, but after giving Sage a bath to get her own POOP off of her, a diaper didn't seem too far fetched. I grabbed a diaper, logically decided which side was the front, and then started looking for other diaper necessities. Do I need to wipe her? Am I supposed to use baby powder? I found a box of wipes and decided "better safe than sorry". I couldn't find baby powder, which was a relief because I wouldn't have known what to do with it anyway.
Step 3: check. Step 4: clothes.
I brought Sage upstairs, back into the poop room, and started looking for clothes. I wasn't sure which articles of clothing fit her and which didn't. I attempted to find a matching outfit, but quickly gave up on that. Finally I found a pair of jeans that looked like they fit, and started to figure out how one clothes a baby.
After all of this, I hadn't even considered how I would clean up the poop mess. If it had been any other situation, I would have figured out a way to multi-task, but this was a baby. I couldn't exactly leave her in the bathtub to bathe herself while I attended to the disaster in her bedroom. She's 14 months old...I've got enough sense to know that you can't leave those things alone in a bathtub.
Luckily I didn't have to tackle the rest of the mess alone. Cory got home a little earlier than I expected, and after finding me no where downstairs, came upstairs to look for me. I was busy putting elastic waist jeans on a baby. He came in the room and asked "what's up?". I replied "we had a little accident". He exclaimed "holy crap!" I added "literally", and thus I was saved from cleaning up the mess alone.
Cory and Christine were quite proud of how I handled the situation, and looking back on it, so was I. It was trial by fire, but I made it through. It's amazing how God seems to be continually initiating me into manhood; teaching me things that I had never considered something that I'd need to know. Ya learn something new everyday.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Saturday, April 3, 2010
The Half Marathon
The past two weeks I visited a few places in the south. The purpose of me being there was to run the (half) marathon, and then be in my friend Forrest's wedding. It was quite an eventful time for many reasons, but I'll focus on the half marathon for now.
I flew into Atlanta for the half marathon and to help my friend James unpack from his recent return to the ATL. I hung out for a few days with James and his roommates Drew and James, and then it was time for the half marathon. I was not looking forward to it because I hadn't run in nearly 2 months.
Race day started off pretty poorly. I had only gotten about 4 hours of sleep the night before, and when I woke up I had a lot of congestion. The weather was cold with the promise of rain. Not exactly ideal, but we were excited none-the-less.
Fast forward to the start of the race. James and I are wearing ridiculous running shirts and shorts, along with hot pink hats. For breast cancer...duh. The race begins, and there are literally thousands of people beginning to run. We sneak in at Corral C with the serious runners. I probably won't do that next time. We started at a pace a little faster than we were all comfortable with, but eventually just held back and let the serious runners pass.
I was very worried about my knee, but I had gotten a new brace the day before and had high hopes. I was basically expecting a miracle.
I had joked with James and my sister that if I was feeling good, I might split off and run the full marathon, but I had absolutely no reason to believe it was a possibility.
By mile 3 or 4, I was feeling great. A little bit of race day adrenaline was kicking in and my knee was feeling up to the challenge. I began seriously considering going for the full marathon...26.2 miles.
Around mile 6, my knee started hurting. It wasn't a dull and gradually increasing pain like before. It hit, and it hit hard. I had to walk for a little bit. I knew that the full marathon was completely out of the question, now I was wondering if I could even complete the half.
We began walking more than we were running about that time. James and my sister were extremely gracious about the pain I was in and didn't care about their own times. We all just wanted to do it together.
We were in no hurry at all. When we had to pee, we stopped. When we wanted a drink, we walked till we were finished with it. There were even a few times when we began looking for a coffee shop because we were all a little tired...we didn't find one though. I began getting pretty frustrated. We tried running a few times here and there, but the pain was just too much. Luckily it was mostly just in the right knee.
My parents came to Atlanta that weekend to see me and to be there for me, my sister, and James on race day. They waited at a CVS around mile 8. As the three of us were getting closer to where my parents would be, a shooting pain went through my knee that almost made me collapse. I began thinking that it might be a good idea to stop when I saw my parents, and ride back with them.
When we got to where my parents were, I wasn't feeling good about anything, but James and my sister assured me that they didn't mind walking the rest of the way if need be. Even though I felt ashamed about my condition, I decided to accept their offer, and go the rest of the way. I just wanted to finish it.
The next 5.1 miles were awful. lots of walking, a little running, and lots of pain. As we got within a quarter mile of the finish line, I suggested we pick up the pace and finish running rather than walking. After about 20 feet, the pain was so great that I felt like stopping, but I pushed through. I was angry. I was going to finish that dang race running no matter what. We finished, and I remained angry.
Over the course of this injury, I've definitely been praying about it. There are some days when I ask God "what are you trying to tell me in all of this". There are other days when my attitude is more of "well, it is what it is...". Then there are still other days when my attitude is "Dang it God! Why is this happening to me?"
I've recently been reading a book called The Prodigal God. In the book, Tim Keller talks about the "parable of the prodigal son" highlighting not the younger "prodigal" brother, but rather the elder brother in the story. You can read about these two brothers in Luke 15:11-31.
Part of Tim Keller's point is that while the younger brother recognized his sin and need for forgiveness, the elder brother did not. He had lived a morally "good" life and felt that he "deserved" certain things because of it. He put his faith in his self as a savior, and not the savior Jesus.
It's easy to look at both these brothers and point fingers at things that they've done wrong, but I've become more and more aware of these same qualities in myself. Specifically qualities of the elder brother.
Not that I would have been able to admit it before, but I've seen that when I do "good things" I hope, and even expect, to be rewarded. That is to say "God, look at all these things I've done...now why is my knee hurting? Why hasn't money come in like It "should" be? Why...are things not going perfectly?"
It's not the way God works. He works for the good of those who love Him, and sometimes that means knee pain. I don't know why, but I know this: God is committed to the continuous process of sanctifying us (making us more Christ-like)...and growth is usually very difficult. I've learned lessons in this marathon thing that I suppose I couldn't have otherwise learned, and I thank The Lord for that.
God is Prodigal (definition: recklessly spendthrift) in that he has given to us that which we don't deserve. Forgiveness.
Check out The Prodigal God by Timothy Keller
I flew into Atlanta for the half marathon and to help my friend James unpack from his recent return to the ATL. I hung out for a few days with James and his roommates Drew and James, and then it was time for the half marathon. I was not looking forward to it because I hadn't run in nearly 2 months.
Race day started off pretty poorly. I had only gotten about 4 hours of sleep the night before, and when I woke up I had a lot of congestion. The weather was cold with the promise of rain. Not exactly ideal, but we were excited none-the-less.
Fast forward to the start of the race. James and I are wearing ridiculous running shirts and shorts, along with hot pink hats. For breast cancer...duh. The race begins, and there are literally thousands of people beginning to run. We sneak in at Corral C with the serious runners. I probably won't do that next time. We started at a pace a little faster than we were all comfortable with, but eventually just held back and let the serious runners pass.
I was very worried about my knee, but I had gotten a new brace the day before and had high hopes. I was basically expecting a miracle.
I had joked with James and my sister that if I was feeling good, I might split off and run the full marathon, but I had absolutely no reason to believe it was a possibility.
By mile 3 or 4, I was feeling great. A little bit of race day adrenaline was kicking in and my knee was feeling up to the challenge. I began seriously considering going for the full marathon...26.2 miles.
Around mile 6, my knee started hurting. It wasn't a dull and gradually increasing pain like before. It hit, and it hit hard. I had to walk for a little bit. I knew that the full marathon was completely out of the question, now I was wondering if I could even complete the half.
We began walking more than we were running about that time. James and my sister were extremely gracious about the pain I was in and didn't care about their own times. We all just wanted to do it together.
We were in no hurry at all. When we had to pee, we stopped. When we wanted a drink, we walked till we were finished with it. There were even a few times when we began looking for a coffee shop because we were all a little tired...we didn't find one though. I began getting pretty frustrated. We tried running a few times here and there, but the pain was just too much. Luckily it was mostly just in the right knee.
My parents came to Atlanta that weekend to see me and to be there for me, my sister, and James on race day. They waited at a CVS around mile 8. As the three of us were getting closer to where my parents would be, a shooting pain went through my knee that almost made me collapse. I began thinking that it might be a good idea to stop when I saw my parents, and ride back with them.
When we got to where my parents were, I wasn't feeling good about anything, but James and my sister assured me that they didn't mind walking the rest of the way if need be. Even though I felt ashamed about my condition, I decided to accept their offer, and go the rest of the way. I just wanted to finish it.
The next 5.1 miles were awful. lots of walking, a little running, and lots of pain. As we got within a quarter mile of the finish line, I suggested we pick up the pace and finish running rather than walking. After about 20 feet, the pain was so great that I felt like stopping, but I pushed through. I was angry. I was going to finish that dang race running no matter what. We finished, and I remained angry.
Over the course of this injury, I've definitely been praying about it. There are some days when I ask God "what are you trying to tell me in all of this". There are other days when my attitude is more of "well, it is what it is...". Then there are still other days when my attitude is "Dang it God! Why is this happening to me?"
I've recently been reading a book called The Prodigal God. In the book, Tim Keller talks about the "parable of the prodigal son" highlighting not the younger "prodigal" brother, but rather the elder brother in the story. You can read about these two brothers in Luke 15:11-31.
Part of Tim Keller's point is that while the younger brother recognized his sin and need for forgiveness, the elder brother did not. He had lived a morally "good" life and felt that he "deserved" certain things because of it. He put his faith in his self as a savior, and not the savior Jesus.
It's easy to look at both these brothers and point fingers at things that they've done wrong, but I've become more and more aware of these same qualities in myself. Specifically qualities of the elder brother.
Not that I would have been able to admit it before, but I've seen that when I do "good things" I hope, and even expect, to be rewarded. That is to say "God, look at all these things I've done...now why is my knee hurting? Why hasn't money come in like It "should" be? Why...are things not going perfectly?"
It's not the way God works. He works for the good of those who love Him, and sometimes that means knee pain. I don't know why, but I know this: God is committed to the continuous process of sanctifying us (making us more Christ-like)...and growth is usually very difficult. I've learned lessons in this marathon thing that I suppose I couldn't have otherwise learned, and I thank The Lord for that.
God is Prodigal (definition: recklessly spendthrift) in that he has given to us that which we don't deserve. Forgiveness.
Check out The Prodigal God by Timothy Keller
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Marathon part Tres
It's been quite some time since my last blog, and I apologize for leaving both my readers in suspense.
In the last blog, I left you with this "After I got back to Colorado Springs, I was surprised that I actually wasn't doing so shabby up here as well. My first two runs back in Colorado, I averaged 9-9.5 minute miles. I was thoroughly proud of myself...and then it happened."
My third run while I was back in Colorado was a 7 mile run. It was going very well for the first two miles and then my legs started to tighten up. Since I have gotten quite good at allowing myself to stop if I need to, I decided to take a short break to stretch. After stretching, I continued the run, and completed the final 5 miles without needing to stop.
I was pretty excited that I was doing so well after having been back in Colorado for only a few days. When I got home, I stretched, and started to draw a cold bath (since that's a good thing to do after longer runs.) As I was walked down the stairs, all of a sudden, I felt a shooting pain in my left knee.
I was pretty shocked and confused at first. It came out of no where. There was no dull pain to indicate that more pain was coming. I hadn't tweaked it, twisted it, or otherwise hurt it on the run. I didn't know what the deal was, so I decided to take the cold bath and not worry about it. It was probably nothing.
The next day, still hurting. The day after that, not any better and not any worse. I iced it, I heated it, I did all the right things, but no change. It was not bad enough to see a doctor (yet), but bad enough to keep me from running. I started doing research.
I found a few possible explanations, but the most likely was Chondromalacia Patella, commonly known as "runner's knee". http://orthopedics.about.com/cs/patelladisorders/a/chondromalacia_2.htm
This is the passage that made it really hit home:
"Does this sound like your situation?
You're a self-proclaimed athlete--certainly in shape, but not quite a professional runner/cyclist/etc. You decide to train for the local 10-mile race, or perhaps even a marathon, maybe you're a cyclist who is riding more than usual. Your knee starts to give you trouble, so you see your doctor and are diagnosed with chondromalacia."
The answer was yes...well, all except the doctor part because I hadn't been. The problem was, the recommendation for treatment is several weeks of rest, and then slowly rehabilitating it with leg exercises. I didn't have that kind of time.
I decided if it got any worse, I'd go see a doctor. It never got worse, only stayed the same. I had finally resolved to go see a doctor (about 3 weeks later), when all of a sudden it started getting better. I was very excited, but that didn't change the fact that I had already missed 3 weeks and would undoubtedly miss 2-3 more. I became pretty sure that my dream of running this marathon had been shattered. I was positive that I wasn't going to be able to run the full marathon and pretty sure I wasn't going to be able to run the half either.
I called James to tell him the bad news, and he wasn't nearly as disappointed as I had thought he would be. He hoped that I would be able to run the half marathon and if not, no big deal. That was a relief.
A week or so later, I decided to get a knee brace and run a local 5k. I figured if I could run 3 miles I might be able to get back into the training and at least do the half-marathon. I was a little worried that I was biting off more than I could chew starting back with 3.1 miles, but I went for it anyway.
It went great! I didn't break any speed records or anything, but I ran the whole thing and my knee didn't hurt. Maybe the half was in my sights after all.
At a certain point, James decided he simply had too much on his plate to train for a marathon, so he decided to do the half as well. It looked like all three of us (me, James, and my sister) were going to be doing the half, if my knee was up for it.
I started running 3 miles a few times a week to ease back into it, all while wearing the brace. 3 or 4 runs later, guess what. The other knee started having the same problem. I couldn't believe it. I was devastated.
Throughout this whole marathon process, I've been seeking God. When the injuries happened, it was no different. I kept praying and asking God his purpose in all of it. I was frustrated, hurt, angry, etc. I prayed for healing and it didn't come. Clearly God had a lesson for me to learn in all of it, I just didn't know what it was.
I couldn't even bring myself to go to the gym and ride a bike (that actually hurt my knee too) or swim or anything. I knew that there were things I could do to keep my fitness level up, but I was done. I was out. I was defeated.
I couldn't stay down about it for long, I started swimming and doing other cross-training exercises, but it wasn't the same. I wanted to run.
Then I found something out. My sister, although she has been training diligently since November, was never really planning on running the entire half marathon. She set her goals to walk/run the 13.1. Maybe I would just walk/run it with her. If my knee hurt, I'd walk. Sounded like a good plan.
I talked to James the other day. He knew that my knee was still bothering me and said "so what are you planning on doing?" I told him the plan, and he said "look man...if we have to walk the thing, we'll walk it."
That's when it all became clear. This marathon was never about finishing. It was about pushing myself and encouraging others to do the same. It was about setting a goal, and going for it, no matter the outcome. It was about risking. It was about perseverance. It was about striving for excellence but being content with less.
By the time that I arrive in Atlanta for the race, it will be about spending time with one of my best friends and my sister. I can't wait.
God knows what we need...whether we do, or not.
In the last blog, I left you with this "After I got back to Colorado Springs, I was surprised that I actually wasn't doing so shabby up here as well. My first two runs back in Colorado, I averaged 9-9.5 minute miles. I was thoroughly proud of myself...and then it happened."
My third run while I was back in Colorado was a 7 mile run. It was going very well for the first two miles and then my legs started to tighten up. Since I have gotten quite good at allowing myself to stop if I need to, I decided to take a short break to stretch. After stretching, I continued the run, and completed the final 5 miles without needing to stop.
I was pretty excited that I was doing so well after having been back in Colorado for only a few days. When I got home, I stretched, and started to draw a cold bath (since that's a good thing to do after longer runs.) As I was walked down the stairs, all of a sudden, I felt a shooting pain in my left knee.
I was pretty shocked and confused at first. It came out of no where. There was no dull pain to indicate that more pain was coming. I hadn't tweaked it, twisted it, or otherwise hurt it on the run. I didn't know what the deal was, so I decided to take the cold bath and not worry about it. It was probably nothing.
The next day, still hurting. The day after that, not any better and not any worse. I iced it, I heated it, I did all the right things, but no change. It was not bad enough to see a doctor (yet), but bad enough to keep me from running. I started doing research.
I found a few possible explanations, but the most likely was Chondromalacia Patella, commonly known as "runner's knee". http://orthopedics.about.com/cs/patelladisorders/a/chondromalacia_2.htm
This is the passage that made it really hit home:
"Does this sound like your situation?
You're a self-proclaimed athlete--certainly in shape, but not quite a professional runner/cyclist/etc. You decide to train for the local 10-mile race, or perhaps even a marathon, maybe you're a cyclist who is riding more than usual. Your knee starts to give you trouble, so you see your doctor and are diagnosed with chondromalacia."
The answer was yes...well, all except the doctor part because I hadn't been. The problem was, the recommendation for treatment is several weeks of rest, and then slowly rehabilitating it with leg exercises. I didn't have that kind of time.
I decided if it got any worse, I'd go see a doctor. It never got worse, only stayed the same. I had finally resolved to go see a doctor (about 3 weeks later), when all of a sudden it started getting better. I was very excited, but that didn't change the fact that I had already missed 3 weeks and would undoubtedly miss 2-3 more. I became pretty sure that my dream of running this marathon had been shattered. I was positive that I wasn't going to be able to run the full marathon and pretty sure I wasn't going to be able to run the half either.
I called James to tell him the bad news, and he wasn't nearly as disappointed as I had thought he would be. He hoped that I would be able to run the half marathon and if not, no big deal. That was a relief.
A week or so later, I decided to get a knee brace and run a local 5k. I figured if I could run 3 miles I might be able to get back into the training and at least do the half-marathon. I was a little worried that I was biting off more than I could chew starting back with 3.1 miles, but I went for it anyway.
It went great! I didn't break any speed records or anything, but I ran the whole thing and my knee didn't hurt. Maybe the half was in my sights after all.
At a certain point, James decided he simply had too much on his plate to train for a marathon, so he decided to do the half as well. It looked like all three of us (me, James, and my sister) were going to be doing the half, if my knee was up for it.
I started running 3 miles a few times a week to ease back into it, all while wearing the brace. 3 or 4 runs later, guess what. The other knee started having the same problem. I couldn't believe it. I was devastated.
Throughout this whole marathon process, I've been seeking God. When the injuries happened, it was no different. I kept praying and asking God his purpose in all of it. I was frustrated, hurt, angry, etc. I prayed for healing and it didn't come. Clearly God had a lesson for me to learn in all of it, I just didn't know what it was.
I couldn't even bring myself to go to the gym and ride a bike (that actually hurt my knee too) or swim or anything. I knew that there were things I could do to keep my fitness level up, but I was done. I was out. I was defeated.
I couldn't stay down about it for long, I started swimming and doing other cross-training exercises, but it wasn't the same. I wanted to run.
Then I found something out. My sister, although she has been training diligently since November, was never really planning on running the entire half marathon. She set her goals to walk/run the 13.1. Maybe I would just walk/run it with her. If my knee hurt, I'd walk. Sounded like a good plan.
I talked to James the other day. He knew that my knee was still bothering me and said "so what are you planning on doing?" I told him the plan, and he said "look man...if we have to walk the thing, we'll walk it."
That's when it all became clear. This marathon was never about finishing. It was about pushing myself and encouraging others to do the same. It was about setting a goal, and going for it, no matter the outcome. It was about risking. It was about perseverance. It was about striving for excellence but being content with less.
By the time that I arrive in Atlanta for the race, it will be about spending time with one of my best friends and my sister. I can't wait.
God knows what we need...whether we do, or not.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Marathon part Deux
Even though I only recently published the Marathon Training blog about my first two weeks running, that actually happened back in October. A lot has happened since then, both good and bad.
I realized pretty early on that I knew absolutely nothing about running a marathon, so I started looking into it. The Internet is a powerful resource. As it turns out, a lot of experienced marathoners recommend that you have been already running steadily for about a year before attempting a marathon. You should be comfortable running between 3 and 6 miles, and averaging 10-15 miles a week. That bothered me a little bit. Not only did I despise running at my very core, I also wasn't good at it. I started to doubt the possibility of running this thing.
When I was first thinking about running this marathon, I couldn't help but look toward the end of the training schedule. I was seeing numbers like 16, 18, and 20 and was thinking "MILES!?"
I spoke with a friend about it, and she told that there's an old proverb that asks: How do you eat an elephant? The answer: one bite at a time…touché.
I realized that I don't need to worry about what will happen in week 15 of training. I only need to worry about today...and today was 3 miles...not 20.
So I began eating this elephant one bite at a time. I'd run 3 miles, and then look forward to another 3 mile run tomorrow. 5 miles on Saturday wasn't thrilling, but I knew I could do it...I had already done it accidentally the week before (see previous blog).
In the midst of this, I spoke with one of the teachers at Training Ground, because he is quite the marathon veteran. He has given me some really sound advice. One of the things he said was, instead of worry about exactly how many miles you run, just run for time. If you run about a 10 minute mile and you're supposed to run 3 miles, just run for 30 minutes. Sometimes you'll run a little bit more, sometimes a little bit less, but none of that matters, because running a marathon is all about running for an extended period of time. I thought that was amazing. Previously I had been tracking my exact miles and exact times to see exactly how fast I was running per mile. I needed to let that go and just run.
It got to the point where running eventually became, dare I say it, enjoyable. I remember running a particular 7 mile run, and coming back with a "runner's high". Before this day, I didn't know that this was a real thing. I was acting like I had it all together on the outside, but on the inside my body was having a party! I wondered if I should be driving home in this condition...seriously. I'll admit, it was pretty awesome.
So I continued. 3 miles, 6 miles, 3 miles, rest, 8 miles, cross train, rest, 3 miles, etc.
I was still a pretty slow runner. I would average 9.5-10.5 minute miles, but I could go longer distances. And then, I visited my parents in FL for Christmas.
This altitude thing is no joke. The air is pretty thin up here at 7300 feet. I didn't realize how much I was really affected by going back to sea level. I remember being shocked when I would go out for an "easy" 3.5 mile run and finish in less than 30 minutes. All of a sudden I was averaging 8.5 minute miles...even on 9 and 10 mile runs. The improvement was incredible.
After I got back to
(to be continued)
Friday, February 5, 2010
Marathon Training
I started training for a marathon back in October. I would never have considered myself a runner before. I hated running, I was incredibly slow, I had no "technique". I was just plain terrible.
Recently, I've been thinking and praying a lot about my need for perfection. If something I do isn't perfect, I focus more on the failure than the success of whatever I've done. For instance, if I was to run a mile and it took me say 11 minutes at this altitude, I wouldn't have been proud of the fact that I ran a mile, but merely focused on the fact that it took me 11 minutes. "I should have been able to do it faster, so and so can run it in 8 minutes" etc.
This topic was on the forefront of my mind when my friend James called me one day in October. He asked if I would be interested in running a marathon with him in Atlanta in March (21 weeks away). I said no. No way. He said "we'd be running it for a cause...breast cancer". I said "James...there is no way I could run a marathon. period. I'm not a runner, I'm terrible at running" etc.
He asked me to think about it, and I agreed to.
When he e-mailed me the 18 week training schedule I saw that the first week was 3 miles on Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, rest Friday, and 6 miles on Saturday. 6 miles was already more miles than I had ever run consecutively in my life. The marathon was looking less and less realistic.
I spoke with James the next day and came up with a compromise. Since the 18-week training schedule would start in 3 weeks, I'd give myself 3 weeks to think about it. I would come up with my own pre-training, training schedule, and see what happened.
My first week was 1 mile tuesday, 2 wednesday, 2 thursday, and 3 saturday. It went fairly smoothly, aside from my unrealistic expectations of what I should be capable of. I slowly began to become ok with "where I am". I realized that I'm not a runner, I never have been a runner, so for me to go out and run a mile in 7 minutes at 7300 ft (the altitude where I live) is just plain unrealistic. I needed to be ok with an 11 minute mile.
Week 2: 2 miles tuesday, 2 miles wednesday, 2 miles thursday, and 4 miles saturday.
The Saturday run was the turning point. I got on GoogleMaps, and mapped out a route that would take me 2 miles in one direction. Then I would turn around and come back. Seems simple enough right?
I started running at the end of my driveway, made a couple of simple turns, and began looking for "A street". 15 minutes passed, no A street. 20 minutes passed, still no A street. 25 minutes passed, still nothing. I began to get discouraged. I had been running for 25 minutes, and if I haven't passed A street (which is 2 miles from my house) then I've been running slower than a 13 minute mile! That's not so good...at all.
At around 28 minutes of running, I decided I would turn around at the next road, and just re-map it from there. I thought maybe I had passed A street without seeing it and would see it on the way back. No such luck. I became pretty disappointed in my performance.
I ran back to my house, and stopped the clock at 55 minutes. I started thinking about what this could mean. Perhaps, I missed the road (both times) and had really run more than 4 miles? Maybe they re-named the road and Google hasn't updated it yet. Or, worst case scenario, I ran for 55 minutes and didn't even make it 4 miles. It sounded like an awful possibility. I realized in that moment that I HAD to be ok with that. I HAD to be ok with where I am. I needed to stop putting so much emphasis on my running performance, when I have clearly never been a runner before. Rather than going straight to a computer to figure out my actual distance, I "sat" with these feelings for a while. I took a shower, changed clothes, ate some food, etc.
Finally I went to the computer. I remembered that I turned around at Furrow Rd, so I Googled it. As it turned out, Furrow Rd was 2.5 miles from my house! I had run 5 miles when I only expected to run 4! Yes...I ran it at an 11 minute pace, but I was fine with that! It was cold outside, I was running at 7300 feet, I was ok with an 11 minute mile.
I knew in that moment that the marathon was possible. I called James, and committed to running with him.
Recently, I've been thinking and praying a lot about my need for perfection. If something I do isn't perfect, I focus more on the failure than the success of whatever I've done. For instance, if I was to run a mile and it took me say 11 minutes at this altitude, I wouldn't have been proud of the fact that I ran a mile, but merely focused on the fact that it took me 11 minutes. "I should have been able to do it faster, so and so can run it in 8 minutes" etc.
This topic was on the forefront of my mind when my friend James called me one day in October. He asked if I would be interested in running a marathon with him in Atlanta in March (21 weeks away). I said no. No way. He said "we'd be running it for a cause...breast cancer". I said "James...there is no way I could run a marathon. period. I'm not a runner, I'm terrible at running" etc.
He asked me to think about it, and I agreed to.
When he e-mailed me the 18 week training schedule I saw that the first week was 3 miles on Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, rest Friday, and 6 miles on Saturday. 6 miles was already more miles than I had ever run consecutively in my life. The marathon was looking less and less realistic.
I spoke with James the next day and came up with a compromise. Since the 18-week training schedule would start in 3 weeks, I'd give myself 3 weeks to think about it. I would come up with my own pre-training, training schedule, and see what happened.
My first week was 1 mile tuesday, 2 wednesday, 2 thursday, and 3 saturday. It went fairly smoothly, aside from my unrealistic expectations of what I should be capable of. I slowly began to become ok with "where I am". I realized that I'm not a runner, I never have been a runner, so for me to go out and run a mile in 7 minutes at 7300 ft (the altitude where I live) is just plain unrealistic. I needed to be ok with an 11 minute mile.
Week 2: 2 miles tuesday, 2 miles wednesday, 2 miles thursday, and 4 miles saturday.
The Saturday run was the turning point. I got on GoogleMaps, and mapped out a route that would take me 2 miles in one direction. Then I would turn around and come back. Seems simple enough right?
I started running at the end of my driveway, made a couple of simple turns, and began looking for "A street". 15 minutes passed, no A street. 20 minutes passed, still no A street. 25 minutes passed, still nothing. I began to get discouraged. I had been running for 25 minutes, and if I haven't passed A street (which is 2 miles from my house) then I've been running slower than a 13 minute mile! That's not so good...at all.
At around 28 minutes of running, I decided I would turn around at the next road, and just re-map it from there. I thought maybe I had passed A street without seeing it and would see it on the way back. No such luck. I became pretty disappointed in my performance.
I ran back to my house, and stopped the clock at 55 minutes. I started thinking about what this could mean. Perhaps, I missed the road (both times) and had really run more than 4 miles? Maybe they re-named the road and Google hasn't updated it yet. Or, worst case scenario, I ran for 55 minutes and didn't even make it 4 miles. It sounded like an awful possibility. I realized in that moment that I HAD to be ok with that. I HAD to be ok with where I am. I needed to stop putting so much emphasis on my running performance, when I have clearly never been a runner before. Rather than going straight to a computer to figure out my actual distance, I "sat" with these feelings for a while. I took a shower, changed clothes, ate some food, etc.
Finally I went to the computer. I remembered that I turned around at Furrow Rd, so I Googled it. As it turned out, Furrow Rd was 2.5 miles from my house! I had run 5 miles when I only expected to run 4! Yes...I ran it at an 11 minute pace, but I was fine with that! It was cold outside, I was running at 7300 feet, I was ok with an 11 minute mile.
I knew in that moment that the marathon was possible. I called James, and committed to running with him.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Failure
Here's a poem I wrote:
Failure
Anger, frustration, embarrassment, pain.
I wonder why it hurts.
All-consuming thoughts,
anxious for redemption.
Why has this happened?
What are you telling me God?
Jealous of success,
unaccustomed to failure.
I have to come through...
but why?
This is a poem that I wrote last night for “Sunday Night Smoke.” In “Sunday Night Smoke” we all get together with a cigar or pipe (no cigarettes) and read poems. Sometimes guys will read poems that they’ve found or the lyrics to songs that they enjoy, but mostly we encourage originals.
I wrote my poem on failure because failure is what I experienced on Saturday. If you’ve read some of the other blogs, you probably know that we went skeet shooting.
Skeet shooting is something that I really enjoy, and I’m usually pretty good at. Saturday was different. After I had picked out a shot-gun, I stepped up to the plate. The gun was a little lighter and shorter than I was used to, but I thought that would be a good thing. It was not. I missed all 5 clay targets that were thrown in front of me. I have literally never missed 5 in a row before, not even my first time shooting.
After the 3rd one that I missed, Mark said “I think it’s the gun.” Then I missed the 4th one and he said “pretty sure it’s the gun.” When I missed the 5th one he said “dude, it’s the gun. Get a new gun.” I felt a small sense of relief, but not much.
Last year, we did the same thing. We had 5 shots per person. I hit all 5 targets. Then we went out hunting for quail. I took two shots...killed 2 birds. I didn’t miss anything significant all day. Naturally, this year, I had every reason to believe that I would hit at least 4 out of 5. I expected it.
I’m not used to failing; I’ve always been pretty good at most things that I’ve tried. I’m not really spectacular at anything, but pretty good at most things.
For instance, I got up on a wakeboard the first time I tried. By the end of the day, I was jumping from one side of the wake to the other. On my 6th time, I landed a flip.
It’s been this way as long as I can remember. I don’t fail much. I don’t allow myself to fail. I always feel like I have to come through, but why?
I’m starting to realize how truly afraid I am of failure. It’s shaped my life more than I’ve known. Looking back, I see how many times that I chose safety over risk. If I’m honest with myself, I can see that I majored in finance because it was safe. It’s a “go anywhere, do anything” major. Not much risk involved, you’re practically guaranteed a job after college.
When applying to colleges, I got accepted to Miami of Ohio. I actually went up there to audition as a vocal performance major. They accepted me into the program and offered me a scholarship. I didn’t take it. Why? Because I was afraid. What good is a vocal performance major anyway? What am I going to do with that? “Either I’ll be famous, or be a music teacher” I thought to myself. It’s very unlikely that I’ll be famous, and I DON’T want to be a music teacher. Music teacher was “failure” in my eyes, so I didn’t bother trying.
When I was a kid I was a pretty accomplished child actor. I was in a number of large production plays. I received praise from many people, whether it was other actors, theater goers, or even newspaper columnists. I wanted to be an actor when I grew up. Then I was in a professional play. All of a sudden I realized that these people were “professional actors.” They did this for their career. They couldn’t have been making a lot of money. Once I saw that there was a VERY slim chance that I would make it as a famous actor and the alternative was being THIS kind of professional actor, I didn’t want to be an actor anymore. I wasn’t willing to take that risk. I was afraid of failure.
I knew I was pretty good at singing and acting, but probably not the best. I was afraid of failing, and success was measured in money. Failure meant not being rich. I wasn’t willing to take that chance, so I decided to devote my life to something where I was likely to make a lot of money: Finance.
I’m still unpacking a lot of this, but I know 2 things: I’m afraid of failure, and I’m afraid of not having money. I’m seeking The Lord in both of these things and gradually finding healing. Evidence of that can be found in the fact that I took this job at Training Ground. I have to “raise support” while I’m here. Talk about stepping out of my comfort zone and subjecting myself to the possibility of “failure.”
That’s all for now.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
First Place: Greatest Guy in the World. Second place: never heard of him.
Lately I’ve been reading Life Magazine’s Greatest Adventures of all time. It’s packed with story after story of epic adventures. Some of the stories are about a specific adventurer’s life of adventure (like Jacques Cousteau) but a lot of the stories are about “Firsts.” There’s the story of the First trip to the North Pole, First Trip to the South Pole, First trip to the Marianas Trench (deepest part of the ocean), First ascent on Everest.
In reading these short stories of famous adventurers, I’ve been thinking...how cool would it be to be the First to do....something? I don’t know what yet.
What is there left to do? The highest mountain has been climbed; the deepest part of the ocean has been reached. Man has flown around the globe; man has gone into space; man has walked on the moon!
Last summer we were hiking in Rocky Mountain National Park. We came to a remote lake, miles from any road or building. I thought to myself, “Wow, I’m in the middle of NOWHERE. I wonder how many people have ever even been here!” Then I saw a plaque on a rock.
A few weeks later, some of us climbed the mountain in the backyard of the Training Ground house. It was a really tough climb. Once we got to the top we were exhausted and felt like we had truly accomplished something. I thought there was NO WAY that we’d ever see another person while on top of this mountain, and THEN we met a nice couple from Tennessee that had hiked up the rather easy trail on the other side.
I’m sure there’s something that I could do, I just don’t think that I’m creative enough to think of it. Even if I was, I don’t think I’m passionate enough or enough of a risk taker to go for it.
There’s a guy right now (Jeb Corliss) who has been training to jump out of a plane and land without using a parachute...I don’t think I’m up for that challenge.
It seems like everything I could think of to be the first at is going to be extremely dangerous. But I guess that’s the point right? People are going to think you’re crazy...until you come back a success.
I guess we can’t all be Neil Armstrong.
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