Play On

There are times in races or on runs when you must soldier on, despite what obstacles decide to pop up.  Of course, everyone knows that we really have a choice of whether to keep going or shut it down, but sometimes we don't allow ourselves choices and we just continue.   These reasons vary and are often times quite personal.  Sometimes it's to prove to ourselves we can.  Sometimes it's to prove to others that we can.  And then sometimes it's to honor someone who we know would want us to go on... to keep trying, keep pushing and finish what was started.  So often the ability to push aside the challenges and keep going are the result of years of life experience and practice.  The trials of failure and the victories of winning serve to propel us forward until we are finished.

But there is nothing quite like witnessing the tough challenging of continuing on from a group of 13/14 year old boys, or as I like to call them, "man-children".

Will had his first regular season basketball game yesterday.  We pulled into the parking lot simultaneously with my friend Deb and her family.  Her son, Sergio, is a friend and teammate of Will's.
As Deb and I exchanged hellos, the boys walked ahead together and into the gym.  Deb and I filed onto the bleachers and settled in to watch the end of a game already in progress.  Somehow the conversation came to the startling fact that our boys were getting ready for high school.  We talked about how some of our boys have been together since preschool.  This was where Will met Sergio and I met Deb.  We laughed as I recalled Will's 5th birthday party.  As Deb dropped Sergio off, he asked his mom to write down their phone number in case he needed to call her.  About midway through the party, Serg asked to use my phone.  He took the crumpled up paper from his pocket and dialed the number.  "Hi mom!  What are you guys up to?  Good... yes it's fun.  I just called to say hi.  Ok... I love you too.  Bye."  His little self could barely reach the phone dock on the wall as he tip-toed to hang up.  He then proceeded to join the boys again as if all was well.  I will never forget that.  This small boy who needed his mom's voice of reassurance.  Once he heard it, the world was right.  We also laughed as Sergio then proceeded to invite all the boys to his house for a sleepover.  He did that often, without first consulting with Deb.  One time Sergio called Will and asked if he could spend the night.  Knowing Sergio's habit of concocting grand parties without his mother's knowledge, I asked to speak to Deb.  Sure enough, when Deb got on the phone, she knew nothing of the invitation and then said "That could explain why he's hiding under the table right now..."

When the game in progress was over, we moved seats to the "home" side and settled in.   All the boys playing had known each other at least since kindergarten.  I noticed the difference a year makes in watching the intensity of  the playing.  They all looked so BIG and were so physical.  The game was intense and exciting, with our boys trailing by a hair, then getting ahead by a hair.  Sometime during the third quarter, Will and Sergio collided while going for a rebound.  In a split second both boys were on the ground.  I saw the boy's coach jump up and run and as I looked over, I saw Sergio in the midst of a full-blown seizure.

Instinctively I raced over.  Deb was already at his side.  Sergio was having a grand mal seizure after the back of his head slammed to the gym floor.  His arms were straight ahead and fists were closed tight and posturing.  As I looked at his faced I noticed the blue color getting more apparent.  Sergio was not breathing.  His eyes were wide and fixed and his body was jerking wildly.  Deb kept him on his left side as I began to recall the steps of CPR in my head.  Would his mother be able to do this?  Deb is an advanced practice nurse and was more than capable, but to her own boy?  I kneeled down... frantic in my head, calm on the outside.  In a frenzy of activity, I looked up and saw the boys... his friends... watching in horror as their friend lay on the ground.  All I could do in the moment was say "God, please take over.  Please help him."  Nothing else came to mind.  In an instant I feared that Deb and Steve were watching their son's life as they knew it, slip away.  I feared that even with survival, a blow to the head that was hard enough to cause this seizure, was going to have some serious and life changing effects on his brain.

Slowly, Sergio's body began to relax.  His grunts turned to deep breaths and the color began to return.  With the blink of his eyes, he looked around and looked a bit perplexed.  Deb continued to calmly talk to him and tell him he was ok.  "Do you know what day it is?"  In very slurred manner, Sergio replied, "Sunday."  Praise God!  "Do you know where you are?"  "Basketball."  Again, a wave of relief like none other washed over me (can't even imagine what that was like for Deb).  Little by little, Sergio's speech became more coherent.  "I hit my head... Jeezo Pete!"  It was clear that he knew exactly who he was, where he was and what he had been doing.  I heard the distant sound of siren's approaching.  Deb kept him laying there and I noticed his right arm, still straight ahead and his fist clenched.  I had yet to see him move (although she kept him still, I wasn't really sure he could move yet).  When the paramedics arrived, they questioned him and his mother.  I saw them check his head and then run their fingers down the back of his spine.  Not having seen him move yet and noticing the position of his fist and arm, I held my breath, fearful of what was going to be discovered.  "Hey buddy, can you sit up?"  The EMT took his top arm and slowly Sergio began to move it.  He then pushed himself up to a sitting position and looked up and began answering questions appropriately.

What I did not know was that while Sergio's body lay in a fit on the floor, one of the mom's had huddled his frightened teammates together.  Some of them were crying.  She led them in prayer.  Now I don't know how often God gets the undivided attention of some very sincere, helpless, panic stricken eighth grade boys.  But I can't help but think that God's infinite compassion and love for these young men who were turning to him had much to do with Sergio's amazing turnabout.  I compare it to parents who love all of their children, fiercely and equally.  But there is something about that little one who can ask for things unlike the bigger ones.  Something happens that softens you so much when the tiniest voice in the family cries out in need or makes a request.

As Sergio was loaded on the stretcher and strapped in, they sat him up.  I was certain the game was going to be called after that kind of traumatic event.   But Sergio requested the game continue.  And so after he was safely in the ambulance, the boys played on.

No doubt they were shaken.  But those boys jumped back in the game and did as their buddy had requested.  They finished it.

Sergio was taken to Children's Hospital, where he was evaluated and had a CAT scan.  The scan was normal... no fracture in the skull and a bad concussion.  And so with precautions, they sent him home.

I continue to witness God's presence and power everywhere.  I am reminded how fragile this life is and how it can change in a split second.  I am humbled beyond words that He was right with Sergio, his family and his friends and took complete control of a situation that could have gone so much differently.  I believe these boys witnessed it also and for that, I am so thankful.

First grade trip to Applefest
From left:  Sergio, Claire, Michael H., Patrick, Will, Dylan and Jonathan
All but Claire are on the basketball team, along with some not pictured

Glimpse of Divinity

Right now, more than ever, I need the psychological release that long runs provide.  Unfortunately,  physically, I also need this downtime.

These days I find myself wishing for the simplicity of small children and their small issues over the complexity of big children and their bigger issues.  I refer to, of course, my almost 14, 11, 10 and 6 year old.  I imagine that those with even older kids, say mid to upper teens, are thinking, "Oh honey, just you wait.  Yours are still young!"  And I know that.  But the glimpse of the uncertainty of the years ahead is a bit scary and some days I want to go back to babies who have kept me up all night, skinned knees and crying over having to take a nap.

Each of my kids needs me right now.  They need me in ways they never have even if they don't necessarily want me.  This is especially true with Will, 14 next month.  This very easy going, loving, sensitive and funny boy has transformed into this moody, argumentative, know it all teen.  He pushes my buttons, pushes his limits and many days we go head to head in battle.  I often find myself wondering if I just need to be silent and listen or continue arguing my point to make sure he gets it.  All I can think of is the fact that I have one chance to not blow it.  There are no do-overs when raising kids.  I believe God knows my fears and occasionally sends me messages that I (or I should say WE) are doing a good job and that he is on his way to becoming a wonderful young man, despite the bumpy road.  Will recently wrote a student essay for a high school application.  In it, he mentioned how fortunate he is to be growing up in such a faith-filled family.   He described this influence as being one that he hopes helps him lead others.  During the last two weeks, I have gone back to that in my mind to help ease some of the anxiety I have right now.  If he really means that, and I believe he does, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he will be just fine.

Jack, 10 next week, has very different needs.  At the age of 6, based on a thorough assessment of his teachers, pediatrician and us (John and me), was diagnosed with inattentive ADHD.  I scratched my head at the diagnosis back then since Jack is not hyperactive, nor is he really a discipline problem.  I now realize that the "H" (for hyperactive) is just standardly put into most attention deficit diagnosis.  When this was first discovered, I was adamantly opposed to medicating him.  I made myself extremely clear that this was not a route we wanted to take.  Thankfully, our pediatrician was sensitive to our wishes and helped give us ways to manage his inattention and focus ability so that he could do well in school.

With that discussion, however, came a warning... "As the workload in school becomes harder and more focus and attention is needed, no matter how intelligent he is, he may begin struggling to maintain his grades.  Often times we begin to see these kids bringing home Ds and Fs in about the 3rd or 4th grade, where they were bringing home As and Bs before.  At this point, many parents find themselves needing to introduce meds and when they do, their children's grades go back to As and Bs since they are able to focus and pay attention."

His words were eerily prophetic.  That is exactly what is happening right now.  Only I am still trying my best to manage his inability to focus on difficult tasks without medication.  We have turned our house upside down revamping his diet, removing things we have researched as being harmful for kids like Jack and putting him on a diet that has been shown to help these kids.  Let it be known that this is killing us.  We spend hours doing homework, most of the time trying to get him to just sit down and start working (or stay down and continue working).  He forgets everything and is the most disorganized child you will ever meet.  He refused to go to basketball practice yesterday and instead came home in the carpool and told me he quit.  I was so angry until I looked into his little face and saw the fear he had telling me.  Sports are getting harder for him.  He can't remember the drills or where he is supposed to be on the court.  He's small and can't make a lay-up (he told me as he cried).  The other kids are bigger and better.  My heart breaks for him and yet I know that there are other kids with MUCH bigger challenges in life.  But he is MY kid and he is struggling and this is very hard for me to watch and wonder if I am doing him a terrible disservice by my refusal to medicate.   His 10 year check up is December 5th, where we will go back to the drawing board and discuss all of our options.

I sometimes forget that 6 is still little.  I think we are out of the woods when it comes to needing a watchful eye on Lucy around the house.  Things don't need to be baby proofed anymore.  I don't need to put the liquor up high (on the contrary, these days I keep it VERY close) and she is free to run about without me needing to follow her.  So on Friday night when she crawled across the stove, putting her hand on the hot range in an effort to reach the salt shaker, I was reminded that she IS still little.  Lucy has 2nd degree burns across her entire palm and some of her finger tips.  I had no idea how serious this is when it happens on the hand.  She earned a trip to the ER, where the on-call physician told John that a consult at Shriners Burns Institute would be a good idea.  We thought he was being a little over the top until yesterday.  Last evening I spoke to a neighbor who is a fire fighter and paramedic.  His 6 year old recently burned her elbow on the stove and it became infected, causing a fever and earning her a nice round of antibiotics.  Figuring he sees this sort of thing often, I texted him a picture, concerned about the redness around the large blisters.  He texted me back and told me to call him.  I did and he asked if we had been to Shriners.  He began to tell me all the reasons it is necessary to get a consult there when a burn like this occurs...  the high risk of infection due to it being on the hand, the fact that there are so many tendons in the hand that when the blister heals, the hand is likely to remain in a contracted state, requiring lots of PT to help release the scar tissue.  Lucy is already holding her hand continuously in a "C" shape.  He continued to tell me that every single child he has brought to Children's ER with this type of burn is sent over to Shriners.  Huh?  Her hand was off the burner in less than 1 second and we had it under cold water immediately.  How could this have become such an ordeal?  She sees the pediatrician at 9 this morning.  I am hoping we don't have to cancel Thanksgiving for a Shriners admission!

The silver lining in our house these days is Emma, age 11.  The most unlikely of the four to be showering me with hugs and love is indeed, showering me with hugs and love.  Emma was the baby who didn't like to cuddle or be rocked.  She was squirmy and on the move all the time.  She was a rotten toddler, a punkish little girl and a sassy child.  She has a quick temper and a sense of humor far beyond her years.  She makes me crazy and she makes me laugh.  And yet lately she has been my one child that has given me the affirmation I've needed that I am not failing my children.  Emma is beautiful and graceful and funny as heck.  She is fiercely protective of Lucy and a top notch student.   I have yet to find a teacher who doesn't love having her in class and love her humor.  When she is not home, I miss her presence.  And I firmly believe that this will all come to a screeching halt in about 14 months, when she turns the ripe old age of.... 13.

But for now I am able to see how God works.  Through all the uncertainty and worry of raising kids,  there are constant messages that He is close and that I am doing ok as a mother.  For these things I encounter daily, I am so grateful.  Monday it was the hour and 10 minutes I spent running with Sarah, talking about many of these issues and so much more and feeling in good company with many of my motherly struggles.  Yesterday it was Lucy telling me that when she grows up, she wants to be "a mommy, a nurse, and a marathoner..."  It was Will giving me the requested hug in the morning and knowing it was sincere.  It was watching Jack, once again, play priest (when he was supposed to be at basketball practice) and seeing the reverence and respect he had for the crucifix he was parading around.  And it was Emma telling me she loved me as she hopped out of the car and in to school.

But mostly, it was John walking through the door at 5:11 pm and taking over :)

Happy Thanksgiving!  In the midst of hardship and chaos, notice your blessings and the Divine presence that it with you always.

Another blog not really about running, but whateve... it's needed

I am still afraid, but after taking a step back, I decided that I simply need to focus on becoming a better, more spiritual, tolerant and wholesome person and not succumb to the hatred and division that is making Satan rejoice.  But then I think of my children and the anger and panic come back.  How do I raise these people to adhere to a moral code that society does not?  How do I drive home the point that just because something is legal, doesn't make it right?  And how do I do it without creating pompous, self righteous judges in the process?  Why does this have to be SO HARD?

My 13 year old loves Instagram.  If you don't know what that is, look it up.  Too lazy to explain.  Anyway, I follow him and the other day I was looking at the things he was posting.  A lot of them were political poster pictures poking fun of President Obama.  I immediately called him in and told him he needed to remove them and that he could not do that.

"Why?  I'm just standing up for what I believe."

"No you aren't.  You are being callous and disrespectful and you cannot do that.  Respect the office, Will.  It doesn't mean to have to like what he stands for, but if you are going to be stupid with social media, you cannot be on it anymore."

Ok, I'd better admit that I immediately wanted to go back and delete my angry post election entry should he see it.   While I want my kids to adhere to a moral code different from that of our government, there is definitely a way NOT to do it.  I am trying very hard not to be a "Do as I say, not as I do..." parent.  Because any idiot knows that kids do what they see you do (even if they tell you that you are not cool and not funny).

So how do I go forward as a parent and as a Christian and as a runner (I just needed to throw running in there to make this mesh with the blog)?

There were a series of events that got me thinking about how to go about this.  I am going to tell you, and I am really not proud of this, but on Wednesday I could not really bring myself to pray.  I know, I know, never a good thing to give God the silent treatment.  I was so mad at everything and everyone.  I knew I needed to stop and just say some prayers, but I was busy being ticked.  So I ignored that ever present voice inside my head telling me to hit my knees.  But that God is so clever and does not like to be ignored.  He simply will draw your attention to things, that if you are aware of His constant presence, show you what He wants you to do.

The first was a greeting card I received on Monday from a dear friend with a beautiful and sweet message.  As I was shuffling some papers on my desk, the card I had already read, caught my eye (this was on Wednesday).  I opened it up again and read it again.  One of the sentences said something about being awed by my "deep commitment to love unconditionally."  Immediately I stopped what I was doing.  All day my mind had been filled with resentment and anger.  That one line suddenly made me feel like a fraud.  I was anything but "loving unconditionally" that day.

The next was my creeping on Will's Instagram account (poor kid hates that I follow him... too bad he has no choice :)  Doing this made me realize what a hypocrite I was by telling him to essentially "hate the sin, love the sinner."  Didn't I love the idea of "outbreeding those bastards"?

On Thursday morning, I was driving home from dropping the kids off at school.  I was listening to 93.3, which now is featuring Christmas music.  No judging... I could listen to Christmas music all year long and sometimes do.  Anyway, the song "I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day" came on.  I love that song, but have never really listened to the words.  Thursday I did and boy, it's meaning could move a boulder to tears.

Finally, while I was ironing table cloths for Thanksgiving (stop being jealous of my exciting life and instead be proud that I am two weeks ahead on that task...), I got a text from my sister Maggie.  And I hope you don't mind, Mag, but I am sharing it because it was very powerful.

"Well, I've resigned myself to implore the help of St. Paul, who like Obama, hated Christians, and yet he was converted.  Converting the thug in chief is our only hope for the next 4 years...(icons with little sad faces)."

So maybe Maggie wasn't ENTIRELY Christian in her text, but her message was awesome.  Suddenly things kind of clicked and I think I actually said out loud, "Ok.  I hear you."

Hate breeds hate.  Division and anger is just as big a threat to our country as its  immoral laws.  It is our duty to pray for one another.  That is how change is made.  That is the only way this great nation will stay great.  This incredibly powerful message was coming at me from every direction, as evidenced by the things I just talked about.

So that is how I will go forward.  I will pray for our president, our Senate, House and Supreme Court justices.  I will pray that the decisions they make are in the best interest of the country and that whatever they are, they align with the will of God.  If we all do this, miraculous things will happen.  That is our only hope for change.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lOC0HaGmOBg&feature=related

Retreat

It's time for a break.  And I don't mean just in running mileage, but in other areas as well.  Two days ago, six year old Lucy came home from school and wanted me to see her paperwork.  Her sense of urgency was over the top.

"Mommy, you HAVE to see my stuff.  I took a test today and I want you to see it.  Oh and I did "dibels" and I was done in seventeen seconds mommy... SEVENTEEN!  We actually get one minute, but I was done in seventeen.  Isn't that GREAT?"  Are you proud?"  Dibels refers to a test that kindergarteners are given to test their recognition of numbers and letters and the sounds different letters make.  They are supposed to recognize a minimum specific number in one minute.  Apparently Lucy was quite proud that she crushed it all in seventeen seconds.  And got them all correct.

"That's awesome, Lucy.  Give me one second and I'll look at your stuff."  I was preoccupied at the time.  I was following an all important Facebook battle between two of my "friends".  It was a political battle and the two people going back and forth were on opposing sides.  It was getting quite heated.

"Mommy, look NOW!  I don't want to wait.  I want to show you."

I could feel the heat rising as she continued to hound me.  It was honestly the first time I'd sat down.(except for the long two hour lunch I had just sat down for to celebrate a friend's birthday... funny I don't count that).  I had just gotten on the computer ten minutes before the kids got home.  Lucy continued to plead, which quickly turned into a whine.  Jack walked in and immediately asks me if I'd gone out to get him the sweatshirt he had been asking for.

"Jack, I said you could have it for your birthday.  Now please go away."  Please go away?  He'd been gone for nearly eight hours at school.

"That's STUPID.  Why do I have to wait for my birthday?"

"Because you don't get anything you ask for just because you want it right now.  Now GET OUT."

I finally slammed down my fist, shut down my screen and stomped downstairs.  Lucy followed with her backpack in tow.

"Now will you look at my stuff?"

"Give it to me.  I don't know why you guys can't just be patient.  Jeez, you need attention 24/7 and God forbid I am not giving it to you the second you ask..."

And so it went on.  My ranting about what ungrateful, selfish, needy little time suckers they were.  I didn't actually say that, but my words definitely implied it.  Emma and Will seemed unaffected.  It was as if they'd heard this broken record so many times they could recite it word for word.

The evening went on as it normally does.  I read a book and went to bed and woke up  at 3:30 yesterday morning.  I laid there with a very unsettling feeling.  Something wasn't right and I could not put my finger on it.  I got up, went downstairs and grabbed some coffee and went to my computer and as soon as Facebook popped up, I KNEW what it was.  I was reminded of the exchange with Jack and Lucy the day before.  I was immediately able to see that this virtual world in front of me had taken priority over my live children.  All four of my kids are gone all day in school and when they get home, not only do they need my undivided attention, but they deserve it.  And on so many levels, over and over again, I have failed to acknowledge that.  Instead, I am dependent on a world that doesn't matter.  I am over the top involved in lives that light up my computer screen.  That doesn't mean the people on Facebook don't matter, it means that it shouldn't matter to me what the hell they had for dinner or what their kids are selling or why they think Obama is God (or Romney).  At least it shouldn't matter at 3:40 in the afternoon.  Maybe it should matter instead at 5:00 am, on a morning that I am not running.  But then again, maybe it shouldn't matter then either.  Facebook isn't bad.  There are wonderful prayer pages and prayer chains that stem from Facebook.  It's been a way to see my family from out of town and see my nieces and nephews grow up.  It's been the way that my friends and I have built a running community and inspired so many in our town to run.  It's been a way to promote businesses.  And if I could limit myself to using it for just those things things, or in other words, find a healthy balance, it would work perfectly into my life.

And so I realized my harmful attachment to this thing that was affecting my parenting had to go, at least for a little while.  I don't have the discipline to just not get on FB when my phone pings with notifications anytime I get a message or comment.  So I deactivated my account until January 1st.  Then I suppose I will reevaluate whether or not I even want to be back.  Perhaps it's like an alcoholic saying they will have "just one beer..." But I am going to try to use it only for the above mentioned things.

My neighbor approached me last night and said "How will I get my Nora fix if you don't post?"  I said that she may actually have to type in the web address... if she thought she could manage :)

I find it amazing, and then again I don't, that the things I pray for are answered in such an obvious way.  I also ask for help in recognizing how they are being answered.  I always ask for help to be a better mother and wife.  All other earthly jobs or titles I have pale in comparison to the importance of those two.  What reason did I have for waking up unsettled?  Why did I know as soon as Facebook popped up what needed to be done?  Some days I don't even know what to pray about or ask for and so my prayer is simple. "You know what I need today more than I do.  Guide me."  And so He did.

It is time for me to retreat from my usual world of running many miles and keeping up with virtual reality.  It is time for rest and time for weeding out what does not matter.  It is time to really cherish and give thanks for what is physically in front of me, begging for and needing my attention and guidance.

And what a perfect and beautiful season for such a retreat to begin!

MCM

In regard to my last post, Dad, rest assured, I have cleared Purgatory and everyone is now in Heaven.

Yesterday John and I ran the 37th annual Marine Corp Marathon.  It was humbling, unexpectedly challenging and indeed, a marathon I will not soon forget.  My husband shocked me with his performance.  I see a tried and true ultra runner in this guy.  At one point, I do believe he was not even coherent, but I never would have known had he not told me later.  He looked completely unaffected by the hills, the wind and the distance.  The entire race, I kept expecting his wheels to fall off, his calves to cramp up or something to snap or pull and take him out.  After all, he didn't listen to me when I gave him advice.  He took weeks off for an injured calf muscle and neglected my ongoing suggesting (ok, nagging) that he get on the elliptical or accompany me to Sarah's cycling class to keep his cardiovascular fitness.  He never got nasty, but he continued to do his own thing, which in my opinion, was the wrong thing.  I told him of how agonizing that race would be for him if he did not do as I say.  I am, after all, a running coach!

Well this running coach was wrong.  Dead wrong.  Not only did I NOT take my own advice on what I know to be proper training (INCORPORATE REST!), but I also clearly did not know what was best for him.  Somehow, he did.  And don't think in days to come that will not annoy the living heck out of me.  But for now, with post marathon euphoria in full swing, I will admit that John did exactly as John should have done.

My morning started at 3 am Sunday.  I awoke from a solid sleep of six hours with a headache.  I had been dealing with it all day on Saturday and was taking ibuprofen every four hours.  I first thought I was just dehydrated.  We had an early flight that had me up at 2:45 on Saturday morning.  Our flight was at 7, but I needed to make sure the house was presentable.  We had our neighbor coming to take care of our pets and should anything happen to us while away, people would surely be coming in and out of the house.  So I got up and cleaned (maybe the headache is not a mystery after all...).  I also knew we'd be sore and tired and I would not want to do a darn thing on Monday.

All day Saturday I forced fluids.  I drank water and Gatorade until I was floating.  I carbed up and was pleased as can be to go to bed at 8 pm feeling bloated and heavy.  I knew this would come in handy during the race.  The headache would lessen considerably when I took ibuprofen, but by that 4 hour mark, I needed more.  I could tell the medicine was working as a "symptom masker".  At 3 am on Sunday morning I got up to go to the bathroom.  The headache was evident and my body was wiped out.  The day before was exhausting and I could feel the lingering effects of it all.  I leaned against the edge of the counter and began to cry.  How in the world could I go out and run a marathon today? I just wanted to go to bed and sleep all day.  What the hell am I doing to myself?  I am exhausted and just couldn't fathom running at all.  It wasn't a shitty attitude that was bringing me down.  It wasn't negative thinking.  It was absolute dread of what was to come with the way I felt.

I went back to bed and tossed and turned until 5.  I then got up, knowing I had to eat.  Maybe coffee would help.  The little hotel pot had 1 single packet of regular coffee.  John and I both drink it and he was beginning to stir.  Well, actually, I was telling him to get his ass up and eat.  I decided to do the nice thing and offered him the coffee.  I did let him know that I had not had any either yet, but he happily accepted that only cup.  I put the freshly brewed cup of watery hotel coffee with nasty powdered creamer on his nightstand.  He continued to lay there and not move.  So I walked over, picked it up and said, "Well since you aren't going to drink it, I will!"  He kind of snickered at my attempt to be selfless, which quickly turned selfish, and got up.  I, on the other hand, left the room in pursuit of REAL coffee (STARBUCKS!) in the lobby (carting the hotel cup of coffee in hand).

Upon my return to the room, John said he wanted to tell me something.  He sat down on the bed and said, "I know I've been telling you for weeks that I want you to run with me.  I know you want to race this and go for a 3:45.  I'm telling you that I want you to race.  I was just saying that, but fully intended to let you go race.  I told Suttan so we have been snickering at all your comments over the past few weeks.  I will be fine and will enjoy the marathon.  You just go do your thing."  Hey Suttan, we need to have a little chat.

"Why did you not tell me this?"

"I didn't want you to get all crazy nervous."

"No."

"No, seriously, I want you to go for it."

At that point, John had no idea of my 3 am bathroom tears.  He had no idea that I wanted nothing more than to crawl back in bed.  I didn't want to walk the marathon, let alone, run it.

"I can't do it today, John.  I don't have it.  I am running with you and we will go for a sub 4.  We will line up with the 4 hour pacer.  Ok, well maybe we'll line up with 3:45."  Yup, that quick.  And then came the nerves.  I am as crazy as a shit house rat.

We met my cousins, Sean and Brian, in the lobby.  Stephen joined us shortly and we were off to the start.  The start was over a mile away and we were accompanied by lots of nervous and giddy marathoners.  As we approached the start, we walked along a fenced in area with tombstones as far as the eye could see.  It was Arlington National Cemetery.  Chills came over me and I stopped to take a picture.  On the website I read that the race starts in between the Pentagon and Arlington.  Right in between those working to protect and keep our country safe and many of those that died doing so.  You'd have to be rock to not feel overwhelmed by just being there and the significance of it all.

We got the start, went to the bathroom with minimal wait and hopped in our corral.  We could see the 3:45 pacer up ahead and that was enough for me.  I didn't know what would happen... we'd just wait and see.  Shortly before the wheelchair race, we were treated to a flyover of 2 Osprey planes.  It was crazy cool.  The National Anthem followed shortly and then the wheelchair racers were off.  In no time at all, the cannon boomed and the marathon began.

In the first 5 miles, I knew a 3:45 wasn't happening.  That sluggish, tired feeling was present even with the adrenaline rush of the marathon start.  I was totally ok with that and settled into a 9 or so minute pace, with John setting the pace.  John felt great from the start.  I could just tell.  His breathing was easy, he was chatty and he looked as relaxed as could be.  By mile 6, my body had warmed up and I felt much better.  "Ahhh...", I thought, "I really DO get better with distance."  This is where I began to enjoy just running alongside my husband, talking and noticing the surroundings.  We were having a great run, racing each other to the timing mats to see who could get the better split (for the record, our splits were exact until the finish, where he crossed one second ahead... whatever!).  I took out my phone to take some pictures of some of the incredible things I'd witnessed along the way.  I smiled at the sweet, encouraging texts from Sarah, who was tracking us.  At the 15k split, I remembered Air Force.  This was when I knew I was in trouble.  No such trouble lingered today.  My legs were not heavy and I felt well fueled.  Although I felt confident a sub 4 hour race was a given today, I approached that thought with caution.  John commented on the number of runners passing us.  I replied, "Just wait until the last few miles.  We will see many of them again."

At around mile 15, the race began to change.  John made a comment that made me think "Boy, it's early for this..."  He was hurting.  I got very worried with still 11 miles to go and his training history.  "It's ok.  Just stay steady.  We are ok.", I said.  And then the wind started.  We looked at each other and said "Well, here it is!" in reference to the nasty winds predicted for the race.  We both got quiet and settled into the task at hand.  One foot in front other.  With the wind picking up, our pace began to slow a bit.  I didn't want to fight it because I knew what would happen... we'd be done by mile 20.  So we didn't fight, but just readjusted and chugged along.

My race changed dramatically at mile 21.  While John seemed to come out of his struggling spell, I was slipping into mine.  We were on pace for just under 4 hours and I knew I was the decisive factor.  "You have just 5 miles to do this for him.  Just 5.  That's nothing.  That's a Marvin loop.  Ok, Marvin sucks, don't think of that.  Ok, how about 2.5 out and back on the outer.  Yeah, much better!"  Then what I like to call the "real stuff" had to be pulled out.  It was time to run in prayer.  It was time to suck it up and stay steady.  Why was I here?  I was here because my cousin, Brian, asked me to be.  Brian has an autistic son, Brian, and we were running in support of the school he attends.  I was thinking of what it would be like to deal with not only that diagnosis, but day to day life, with an autistic child.  A hell of a lot more challenging than anything I have ever dealt with.  I wore a reminder on my head of the "puzzle" of autism spectrum disorder.  Sarah bought me the head band a couple of weeks ago to wear in the race.  I thought of what she was doing... watching the splits, crossing her fingers and hoping we were going to hit that sub 4 time.  I thought of how lucky I am to have such an awesome and dedicated friend.   I continued to pray, certain a gazillion people were entering Heaven as I ran.  I prayed for my goddaughter, Mariana, and the challenges her sweet life will bring for her.  I prayed for sweet Nora, Aleisa and William.  Each thought carried me forward.   But the miles were getting super hard.  At one point we had a small, but insurmountable hill.  I remembering asking Jesus that if He could kindly push me up, I would appreciate it.  My Garmin battery had died around mile 19 and I could no longer see what pace I was running.  John was calling out our splits with each mile and I was certain we had a shot.  By mile 23, John seemed to be a bit ahead.  I looked at him.. perfect form, no shuffle and strong.  "Buddy, go.  Go get that sub 4.  You can get it."  "Nope, I don't care.  We are running together."  "Please, John... YOU CAN DO THIS!"  I thought of my friends who had run Columbus the week before and qualified for Boston.  I remember the pain on their faces when I saw them.  "Come ON, Kate... get it together.  2.5 miles to go.  Those girls gutted it out and so can you.  DO NOT lose this for John."  Hard as I tried, my exhausted body wasn't having it.  I believe the months and weeks preceding this race had come to a head.  There wasn't anything to give and nothing to do but survive the duration.  It wasn't a fuel issue.  I wasn't shuffling, I was running.  It was an exhaustion issue.   At mile 26 there was a hill to the finish.  Knowing we were already over 4 hours, I pleaded with my husband "Don't leave me."  I could not believe those words came from my mouth.  But somehow I didn't think I could get up that hill.  That finish was so close, yet a lifetime away.  Anyone who scoffs at the last .2 miles of a marathon has clearly never run one.  That point 2 is brutal and deserves credit.  As we neared the mat, I grabbed John's hand.  We crossed hand in hand.

Immediately the 3 am bathroom episode came to mind and I smiled.  I was disappointed that we didn't get sub 4, but so happy I was able to complete it in the time we did.  There wasn't a hint of disappointment on John's face.  He was ecstatic!

We made our way through the finishers chute and a line of Marines greeted us and shook our hands and thanked us for running.  "No, THANK YOU!", I said over and over to nearly every single one.

It is hard to run a race like the Marine Corp Marathon and come away unaffected by the things you see on that course.  I hope if you are a marathoner, you will put this one on your list of ones to do.  It is worth the cost of the entry fee and of getting there.  God Bless the USA.

Semper Fi

Offering it up

My dad used to have a saying that drove me crazy.  Whenever something went wrong, or physical pain or discomfort was present, he would say the words, "Offer it up for the suffering souls in Purgatory."  As a kid, teen and young adult, hearing those words annoyed me tremendously.  I used to think, "Sure, dad, I'll happily accept the pain of this nail I just stepped on so that someone I don't even know and never will can get to Heaven.  Whatever."

My, my, how things have changed.  When it comes to running, there are more times than I can count that I have been struggling, when my dad's voice pops into my head... "Offer it up, Katie", (the name only the two most special men in my life call me).  What strength and power those words now have!  How much easier it has become to get through some difficult and trying runs when I can turn my own discomfort into something good for someone else.  It's nothing I can see or touch, yet I know what power it yields and that brings great strength and happiness in the midst of pain.

On Sunday I went to Columbus because a few people I knew were running the marathon.  This is the first time in five years that I have not participated in either the half or full marathon as a registered participant.  I love the atmosphere and hype of a marathon and I really love watching the runners.  I love to watch their faces and try to guess what is going on physically.  I can see strength in the ones that are smiling and I can see many things in the ones that are not.  Suttan and I went to run in 3 of our friends that were doing the full.  The goal time was 3:45 or under, a time that would land each of them a spot in Boston in 2014.  No three runners could be more different in their running histories, yet here they were, towing the line, racing for a common goal together.

After some confusion as to which direction we were actually heading (surprise, surprise... we got a bit mixed up...), we began making our way backwards from mile 26.  Our plan was to meet them at mile 20 and hopefully keep them on pace to the finish.  We agreed that had any of the 3 fallen behind, one of us would wait for that person and run her in.  Because we were late to begin our backward search, we had to run most of it and figured if lucky, we'd meet them at about mile 22.

Along the way, I made a point of looking at the runners.  I mean REALLY looking at them and studying what was going on.  The end miles are so difficult physically and mentally.  If I could have jumped in and hugged each sweaty, salt-crusted, gritty one, I am pretty sure I would have.  I have so much admiration for the determined, gutsy runners out there grinding out the last few miles with sheer will power.  I have so much sympathy for the ones suffering tremendously.  I wanted to call out "Hey I know what you feel like... keep going, you are almost there...", but telling someone at mile 24 that they are almost finished with "2 more miles" is not a always great thing.  You might as well tell them they have 30.  Two miles is an absolute eternity when you hurt so badly.  I hoped that maybe I could just connect with someone's eyes and they would know that I was rooting for them.  Sometimes words are not necessary.  I wondered who was on pace to finish in their goal time and who was crushed under the weight of missing the mark and feeling physically horrible.  In my mind, I called out a thousand times "Offer it up, dude.  It'll be so much sweeter that way."

Before long we spotted three matching shirts running towards us.  The girls were together... FANTASTIC!!!  There wasn't much smiling, but I could recognize relief in their faces upon seeing us. They were well on their way to a strong finish in under their goal time.

After filling their water bottles (I remember aid station workers running toward me at JFK, taking my bottles and having them ready when I ran by.  That was a small, but very appreciated gesture), I told them I would run an 8:35 and they just needed to stay close.  Well quite frankly, I couldn't tell how I was doing.   I couldn't tell if they were fading or I was just running too fast since my Garmin was all over the place.  So realizing the girls had time to spare, I just decided to run with them.  They couldn't really pick up the pace, but they weren't falling behind either.  They each had a different look about them, but all commonly fatigued as only one can be after running that far at that pace.

Within seconds of one another, they each finished in under 3:44.  That was a very sweet moment as their faces all turned so quickly from pain and fatigue to joy.  I was so grateful to have been part of that.

I am sure people wonder how I feel knowing the number of times I've tried to nail this time and seeing all three of these girls do it so flawlessly.  It was even Erin's first marathon.  And here is the honest answer...

There was a time when it would have, and did, sting a bit.   I am human and it was hard to see what seemed like everyone, get what I wanted so badly.   Why was everyone else having these incredible races and why were things falling into place when I was just as capable, yet unable, of getting it?  Isn't this how we view so many things in life?  With the "It's not fair!" mentality?

I believe the echo of my dad's words over and over have brought on a different, more evolved and more powerful purpose to my running.  But it isn't just the echo of those words, but the implementation of them that has transformed me.  It is indescribable what happens when you step outside of yourself and just do for others like we are supposed to do.   I am thrilled for Jen, Cheryl and Erin.  I look forward to the day I can nail that time and join them in Boston (wait... did I just type that?  I sure have a lot on my plate next year :)

Thank you dad.

Blink

Life is but a blink in the grand scheme of eternity.  It is a passing through from this world to the next, where we will spend forever.  My goal is to live my life on earth as if it were a "training ground" (thank you, Tom Ryan) in preparation for my final destination.  And you all know how much I looooveeee training!

Apparently Heaven is a place of unimaginable happiness.  Anything our hearts and souls desire, becomes a reality in Heaven.  I have tried to imagine many times over what this is like.  I believe I have come up with my perfect Heaven.  Upon arrival at the gates of Heaven, I will be judged.  I imagine this to be the most frightening thing I have ever encountered.  I imagine myself to be begging for mercy as my life is played in full view... no excuses, no denial of all the wrongs I've committed.  They are all right there.  But God is so merciful and also accentuates the good things I've done.  He knows my soul inside and out and decides that I always TRIED hard to be better and follow Him, no matter the countless times I failed, I was always sorry and asked for forgiveness.  It was because I tried that I enter into His kingdom.

I walk through the gates... no wait... GLIDE with my sweet new set of wings.  I really don't need legs anymore.  They are just decoration now.  But the good Lord knows what I like and so I am led to my room.  I enter the most glorious room one can ever imagine.  It is filled with the finest, most state of the art running gear ever.  In the back there is a door that leads to a breathless, beautifully wooded area with running trails as far as the eye can see.   There is a knock on my door and it turns out to be Jesus, handing me his running schedule.  Turns out that He, too, runs early.  And of course, we run the same pace.  I am suddenly overcome with emotion and so thankful that I recognized the need to be good on earth because nothing, and I mean NOTHING, could top this moment.  But there is more.  There are marathons and ultra marathons in Heaven.  There are pre-loading pasta dinners and when I arrive at the table, every person that I love who has gone before me is at the table.  And now they have all discovered how much they love running (I suppose it is a lot easier in Heaven) and are also planning on running with me.

Do you know the sense of urgency I have to be there some day?

But I have work to do.  For starters, every important decision I make must be guided with that goal in mind.  The goal to spend eternity with God in Heaven.  One of those decisions is what politician to put into office.  Do not fool yourselves into thinking morality does not come into play here.

I am pro-life.  As a pro-life person, I believe that life begins at conception.  I believe the value of a two cell soul has the same value as a 6 year old breathing child.  That is what it means to be pro-life.  So no wonder it baffles me when I hear self pro-claimed pro-lifers saying they are voting for a president who does not believe the same thing.  I have been told I am tunnel visioned.  That there is more than one issue at stake.  That abortion cannot be the only thing we think about when we vote.  Huh?  Read what I said... I BELIEVE A TWO CELL SOUL HAS THE SAME VALUE AS A 6 YEAR OLD BREATHING CHILD!!  Would the good Lord be ok with me voting for a person who promised me wealth, financial security, free shit, lower taxes, college tuition for my kids and all that other stuff if the stipulation was that it would be legal to kill children, regardless of the reason?  I think not.  It is not pro-choice people that bother me when it comes to their vote.  At least they aren't hypocrites.

I will vote my conscience in order to keep my eye on the prize... running with Jesus.  I hope and pray that others do the same.  Remember, life is but a blink.