Chasing Old Men

By November, 2002 I'd been running for about 9 months. I'd finished my first 5K in a time that turned out to be respectable for a first 5K. I'd lost around 55-60 pounds, depending on what time I weighed in and what we'd had for dinner. I was feeling pretty darned proud of myself.

Riding that high, I registered for my 2nd 5K, the Waterfront 5K in Homestead. The route ran from Sandcastle Water Park, past Loewe's down to Eat N' Park and back, along the Monongahela River. Along the way it passed the remaining open hearth stacks; all that remains of the era's U.S. Steel plant.  Those interested in the U.S.'s gilded age will recognize this as the site of the 1892 Battle of Homestead, which pitted just under 4,000 steel workers fighting against wage cuts (among other things) and two of the richest and most politically influential men in the world - Carnegie and Frick.

Things didn't turn out well for the strikers. And, on November 16, 2002, they didn't turn out so well for me, either.

I arrived early. Way early. Like, too freaking early, my family in tow on a cool, drizzly day. Not sure why I feel the need to point out the weather conditions, given that we're talking about Pittsburgh, but now ya know.

There may have been a couple of other runners there when we arrived and I got out the car with Caleb to stretch. Denise and Emily, because girls are smarter than boys, stayed in the car where it was warm and dry. Caleb was excited for me, which got me pretty pumped. At that time I was a big believer in stretching, having read an article or something praising its benefits. However, being a believer does not mean that one knows what one is doing, so I randomly went through a series of stretches I'd seen folks doing at the Hazelwood 5K back in October.

A couple minutes in a car pulled up and out hopped a gentleman who looked very much like the man in the cartoon above.  His smile literally swallowed his entire face as he greeted us with a booming 'GOOD morning!' He believed deeply that it was. Nearly made me a convert.

Being the introvert that I am, I meekly returned his greeting and sized up my newly arrived 'competition.' I am to this day not sure why I saw this man as competition - I hadn't before and haven't since seriously thought about competing in a race. But, if this was who I was up against today, why not? Of course, I'll take your trophy. After all, I'm certain I can take a 90 year old Mr. Magoo looking dude who very likely had escaped just moments ago from whatever Alzheimer's care facility in which he currently resided.

If you want, you can Google this race's results and find that I ran a 20:00 5K; 6:27/mile.

You can also Google the existence of life on faraway planets and honest to goodness tales of those who've died, gone to heaven (or hell) and come back to share their experience. These stories hold more truth than me running a 20:00 5K; 6:27/mile.

The race started well. A few last minute words of advice from Caleb about pushing myself to the finish. Smiles from Denise and Emily, who'd come to the start/finish line to wish me well. And off we went.

The pack was not sizable, and I was in the front of it for a full mile and a quarter. A sensation not altogether different from one I'd felt as an elementary schooler back in Akron racing against the big boys flooded me. This may well be my moment after all. Denise would be so proud. Caleb would carry me off on his shoulders. Emily would brag about me to all her friends. I could hardly wait to see them.

The footsteps behind me were now next to me. Then in front of me. And they were legion.

Ok, not legion. But, there were enough. And two of them belonged to my new 'friend.'

As this was an 'out and back' race, he reached the turn before me and was still smiling that God forsaken 'GOOD morning' as he blew by in an whir. I'd like to say I did not curse him.

My finishing time was more like 26:30, well near the back of this small, but clearly much better trained group of runners. My family reported that the winner finished in just under 16:00, followed closely by our friend.

I did not finish strong. I finished feeling like I was dragging concrete blocks on my feet while being stabbed repeatedly in the side with ice picks.

Denise and the kids briefly beckoned me to push, then just shook their heads. For this we got up early on a Saturday? Nice.

There was no celebration. There were no cheers. I was not carried on shoulders. Em would not be bragging on Monday.

I did learn (re-learn?) an important lesson of humility that day. One that I've repeatedly been taught throughout my life.

For instance, counting myself a good writer, I was shocked to pull my 1st paper out of my mailbox at Emmanuel to find a C+ on the front page and only one note - 'work on writing' - on the last.

Shortly before moving to Pittsburgh I got a voicemail from New Hope's previous minister telling me to call. Who are you to tell me to call? What value could there be in listening to you? Turns out quite a bit, actually.

I remember being a 20 something year old youth minister sitting across a booth from an older, more experienced guy from Southeast Christian thinking he was not saying one new thing to me. I knew a lot about ministry. I was good.

Today I realize how little I knew upon entering Seminary, how much my writing needed to improve, how invaluable it would have been to return that phone call and how very, very little I knew about ministry.

I know less now. And, I don't say that sarcastically, or to demean myself. I say that because it's true. The older we get, the more we realize we have to learn. How much more we value other's wisdom and experience. How much less inclined we are to insist on making our own mistakes and trying to do things our way.

As Denise would say - how much more open we are to accepting influence.

That gentleman was right, after all. I had a family who was crazy about me (and perhaps just a little crazy). I was healthier than I'd been in many years. I was exercising on an historic site. And it was only 8:30 a.m. Who knew what the day still held?

It was a GOOD morning.

With? Wind

A while back Jeremy, the guy who leads the music part of Harmony's worship gatherings, talked between songs about the passage in John 3 where Jesus says, 'The wind blows wherever it pleases. You hear its sound, but you cannot tell where it comes from or where it is going. So it is with everyone born of the Spirit.' It's a verse I've often wrestled with because it implies, among other things, that the movement of God in our lives is not predictable, easy to see or particularly comfortable. I like to have solid things that I can hold in my hand and see and understand - at least at some level. Comparing God's movement to the wind makes that pretty much impossible.

Of course, the first image of God in Scripture does this - the spirit (wind/breath) of God is hovering (brooding like a mother bird) over the chaos/darkness of creation. No telling how long that went on before God finally spoke light into the darkness. Soon, God is breathing that same windbreathspirit into human beings, giving them life. And, it's clear repeatedly from that point forward that often in joining ourselves to God's story there is an uneasy balance between darkness (absence of God / disorder) and light (God's presence / hope) and being caught up in the wind and standing still. Sometimes those things go on all at the same time.

Anyhow...that Sunday afternoon I ran 8 miles or so out Crumbaugh towards Lemon's Mill Road. The sky was filled with those big puffy cumulonimbus clouds that are about 9 shades of white and gray. At that particular moment they appeared close enough to reach up and tug off a handful like cotton candy. It felt like a storm was brewing, although I don't remember now if one ever came.

What I do remember was that as I turned west at the intersection of Crumbaugh and Johnson Mill Road the wind almost instantly slammed into my face.  The first thing I noticed was the wind. And I didn't so much notice it as get overwhelmed by it. My breath was literally taken away. My steps became laborious, as if I were trudging through water. And the sound. Not sure how to spell what filled my ears. Something like WWWWWHHHHOOOOSSSSHHHH!!!!!!!  But, not really. Doesn't quite cut it. The podcast I'd been listening to was completely drowned out by the roar. It was just incredible.

Over the 1.2 miles of that stretch of road, the effects of the wind were unmistakable.  Evergreen trees bowing. Blackbirds held motionless in the sky. Tall, brown and gray grasses laying on the ground. And the constant rush of sound.

I had to fight for most every step I took, especially on the 3-4 lightly rolling hills - not normally much of a challenge, on this day strangely steep.

And the clouds - they filled more and more of the sky as they were shoved across the sky. I was afraid I'd get a face full of their cotton now, no longer tempted to reach up and pinch off a piece of their sweetness. They grew darker, taking most of the sky's light with them as they headed east.

As I neared Lemon's Mill, a ray of sunlight first poked and then burst through one of the puffiest and darkest of the clouds, its beam illuminating a patch of pasture where a group of fat, dirty cows laid in the mud and grass ignoring the entire experience. Apparently none of this impressed them nearly as much as it did me.

I couldn't help but recall Jeremy's words from the Gospel of John. I'd certainly not seen this coming, had not an ounce of control over it, and was finding being overtaken by the wind a bit more strenuous and uncomfortable than I particularly liked.

Aren't Biblical images of God and God's spirit meant to be comforting, encouraging? The whole, 'I won't leave you or forsake you' thing sounds good. Until that presence means gasping for air and struggling to move. The wind was clearly there. And I did not like it.

At Lemon's Mill, I turned back towards our neighborhood.

And was just as instantly overwhelmed by a sudden stillness. I'd anticipated the wind being now at my back; driving my run, making me stronger and faster and better than I was before. Like Steve Austin.

Instead. Nothing.

Clouds still filled the sky, broken slightly be a few more cracks of sunlight.

But no wind.  Erect trees. Grass warily stretching its nimble frame. Complete stillness. The cows looked at me like, 'Duh. What'd you expect?'

I admit that I was more than disappointed. I was a little angry. 'Nice,' I thought, 'you make it tough for me on the way out and offer no help on the return trip.'

And then - about 1/3 of the way back - WWWWWWWHHHHHHHOOOOOSSSSHHHH!!!!!!

Only this time, I couldn't hear it. I didn't see it coming. Just, suddenly was smacked in the back by its force. The next .7 miles the wind literally pushed me up the street. I had to lengthen my stride to keep from tripping, and still, I struggled to keep up.

Again, I saw the trees bending over, the grass sighing and lying back down, the clouds rushing across the sky. A group of horses sped across one of Kentuckiana Farms' fields, their manes a mess of hair and wind and energy.

It was as if the wind had heard my complaints, smiled to itself, 'OK, want to know my power; to taste what it's like for me to move you? Here ya go!'

It was exhilarating. I know I have never run that far that quickly in my life. At times it was if my feet weren't even touching the ground.

I wasn't thinking. I just went with it, grinning from ear to ear, like Lenny stroking a puppy. I may have even said, 'WHHEEE!'

Or not.

Then I turned north at the corner of Crumbaugh and Johnson Mill, by now not expecting anything. I wouldn't have known what to expect anyway.

Which is a good thing, because the next half mile the wind came from the east, then the south, then the north, then the west, then not at all.  I think, just for a moment, I glimpsed the wind blowing where it pleases. It was one of those fall moments when one minute you're raking leaves and the next they are being lifted and whirled around you in a mini-cyclone. Minus the leaves, and, thus, any physical evidence of the wind - just its force. Delightfully unpredictable.

The roar.

Silence.

Shoved from behind.

No resistance.

Gasping for air.

Still.

My ridiculous grin now became a full blown laugh. Like Sarah inside the tent making sweet tea, overhearing her century old husband that they were soon to be parents. Yeah, right.

Oh.

Fun?

Yes, a bit.

But a bit disarming to tell the truth.

I like things to make sense. To know what's happening. To fit into whatever neat little package I have in mind. It's one reason why I wear a GPS watch when I run. So that I can predict within a few seconds when I will finish one mile and start the next. So that I can later map the run out online and see exactly where my steps took me and plan to do the same thing the same way again next time.

It becomes quite comfortable. Normal.

And completely void of life.

With...YOU!

Yesterday marked the beginning of week 5 of my training for the Flying Pig Marathon. It was a 16 mile run on the Legacy Trail in Lexington, which is a fantastic way to begin one's day! The trail is relatively flat, which is nice this early in training. I know the Pig has some significant hills that I need to prepare for, but, first, just getting my lungs and legs back.

Was pleased with my time, 2:15:42, and that my pace, 8:29/mile, was pretty consistent.

One thing I am noticing that I don't like and will need to consciously work on, is that seemingly no matter what my distance is, the last mile is almost always the slowest or close to it. I am not sure what accounts for that. Maybe I slack off knowing that I am about finished? I know that for a couple of weeks in January by the time I neared the last mile or so I had acute pain where I'd bruised my left foot tripping over a guitar stand while carrying a chair out of Emily's bedroom. Ouch :) No, I am not particularly graceful. But, the pain is gone...will tell that story soon because it's fun!

There was more traffic on the trail yesterday at 7:30 than I'd anticipated. Some sort of running club. A guy walking his dogs. A group of guys having a blast playing what appeared to be some cross between flag football and ultimate frisbee. On my return loop they were covered in mud, which I'd guess made it even better.

I listened to 3 podcasts:
1) The Longest Swim on The Story.  This episode featured two stories of perseverance; one regarding Diana Nyad's attempts to swim from Cuba to Florida, the other an interview with Ian Heigh, who leads the charge in maintaining Edinburgh's Forth Bridge. Nyad is a 60something member of both the national and international swimming halls of fame,  who, in 1979 recorded the longest swim in history - from Bimini in the Bahamas to Florida. She'd tried to swim from Cuba to Florida before but not made it. After a 31 year 'retirement' from swimming she has now tried again 3 times - the last effort foiled when she was attacked by a school of jellyfish 2 hours in...incredibly she pressed on another 39 hours! Listening to her describe the attack made me feel like a big baby for sure. Seeing a jellyfish is enough to get me out of the water. She plans to try again in Julyish. Listening to her joy for life and her tenacious approach to conquering this goal was uplifting to say the least, and probably accounts for the extra spring in my step the first 4  miles or so of my run.

I also enjoyed the second part, which chronicled 100+ years of maintaining the world's first major steel bridge, Forth Rail Bridge in Scotland. The story focused specifically on the painting of the bridge in its unique shade of red, which generally took about 3 years to complete and due to a constant barrage of water, wind and haar (sea mist) from the time of its construction had to be repainted virtually as soon as the previous paint job was finished - giving the world the saying 'painting the Forth Bridge,' which is used to describe working on a seemingly endless and endlessly repetitive task...like weeding one's garden or, well, training for a marathon. I guess you could see why I'd enjoy the story.  Now, the bridge has been painted with some new high tech paint that is supposed to last 20+ years. We'll see :) Heigh, who loves the Forth and his job caring for her, sounds both sure that it will, and hopeful that it won't.

2) How Magic Mushrooms Work, on 'Stuff You Should Know' from How Stuff Works. Funny at times, compelling throughout, Josh and Chuck provide a thorough account of the history of Magic Mushrooms, legal issues regarding their growth and use, an explanation of how they work, and more.  Mostly served as mind numbing background fuzz for miles in the middle of my run.

3) Can You Vacation in Antarctica, on 'Stuff You Should Know.  Short answer: yes. Short (rhetorical) follow up: Why would you want to? There are great pictures on the internet that are far more accessible and viewable from the warmth and comfort of, well, anywhere besides Antarctica.  You can run a marathon in Antarctica. For $16,000.

I hope this part doesn't get buried, but as I mentioned in an earlier post, I am not merely running this marathon for the fun of it. I am running to raise awareness and funds for the Not For Sale Campaign that works to free and educate slaves throughout the world. It's insane that I can run carefree on the lovely Legacy Trail while all over the world there are more enslaved people than there have ever been. I'm guessing even an Antarctic vacation could sound appealing to them.

Please know that when I'm running, I will only be successful if I am running with you, knowing that you are behind my efforts.

With...Denise

As I've fallen further in love with running for it's sake rather than simply as a method of sweating off pounds, the people I've run with have become a large part of the joy.

Previously, I mentioned running with my son, Caleb. That didn't last long, but does come back into the story later.

When spring arrived in Pittsburgh in 2002, roughly July, Denise became my running buddy. We'd run together a few times early on in the dating days. Denise was an athlete in high school...volleyball and tennis. She exercised a LOT and was very health conscious. I was a pot smoking couch potato whose only exercise came from long walks in the clouds at the top of Iroquois Park and bussing tables at Red Lobster. Running, or any other exercise, for its own sake was not exactly on my top 10 things to give one's evening to.

But, when you're 17 and in love, you'll do anything. So, several times we'd run around Denise's neighborhood in the south end. Her route was about a mile long. Sometimes we'd make a couple laps.
Always a smart aleck, I'd literally run circles around her as she ran. I found it amusing. She didn't. These runs didn't last long.

So...decades later as I'm morphing from dough boy to human being, Denise enthusiastically joined me in running.

Sometimes, we'd run down Hazelwood Avenue enjoying the challenge of the hills in our neighborhood. That was a fun trip because you never knew when it was going to include witnessing a drug deal or some middle school age kid yelling to Denise from his front porch, 'Hey lady! Nice shorts!'

We had two usual routes. One was just up and down Parnell Street behind our house. The other, the one we took more often and that became a regular part of our evenings our remaining years in the Burgh was the oval at the top of Schenley Park.

The oval is a .6 m fine gravel track that wraps around soccer and softball fields, tennis courts, past playgrounds and a pavilion. On any warm day you'll find tons of Yinzers and their kids recreating joyfully on and inside it. And it is a place I will always treasure.

Riding to and from our runs, and on them, we'd catch up on the events of the day, discuss the business of our lives, share dreams, watch Caleb's soccer practice, argue, flirt, laugh and relax 4-5 days a week. Or, at least as often as we possibly could. There, we planned our 15th anniversary trip to Jamaica. The pic above is Denise ready for racquetball on that trip - one of the happiest times of our journey together. On the oval I cried about being homesick - and realized that home wasn't (and isn't) a place.

Sometimes we didn't talk at all. Sometimes we just ran. Listening to the crunch of the gravel under our feet as our strides became one. Watching the guys from Nigeria do things with soccer balls that no sane person could duplicate, dodging children learning to ride their bicycles, watching the sun set in a magnificent pink that I've not seen anywhere else.

Denise usually did 2, sometimes 1, sometimes 3 laps and then sat to read, call her mom, or people watch on a park bench while I pressed on. Generally I did 5, sometimes 6 or 7, laps, enjoying the brief, twinkling eye contact we'd make as I passed her.

Some of the most difficult days of my life ended on that oval - approaching the final turn towards Denise and her bench, wiping away the tears that go with having no idea what you're doing in your job, how you'll provide for your family, what this incredible woman sees in you. I'd see her from a distance and slow my stride, not because I didn't want to reach her, but because I wanted as much time as possible to drink in the anticipation of being with her - my best friend, my running buddy, the person on earth who's shown me Jesus more than any other has or will. Who has always believed in me. You don't rush that. You cherish it.

It Became My Crack

14 mile training run; longest since last year's marathon. Ouch :) The first 9 miles actually went really well.  But, then, I kind of hit a wall.

At least it was warm and sunny today! Listened to a podcast on human trafficking from howstuffworks, one on standardized testing from The Story...this one was pretty cool. A school administrator in Florida took his state's 10th grade aptitude test. And failed...It also included a story about Siglinda Scarpa, a rather, umm, eccentric woman who operates a cat rescue farm in North Carolina. Finished up with a sermon by Steve Daugherty from Crosspointe Church in Cary, NC. He is one of my favorite preachers and I try to catch Crosspointe's podcasts every week.

So, I've been telling about my experiences getting started running back in 2002. After that first embarrassingly painful run on a crazy cold February day, I kept at it. The plan was simply to go a little further each time out, which I did. I even bought my first running shoes, putting away my air walks one and for all. It would be quite a while before I'd buy any other running gear. For now, my 'uniform' consisted of xxl t-shirts and baggy shorts.

Caleb, unfortunately, didn't hang in there with me, although we did run  together again a time or two his sixth grade year when he ran cross country for his Middle School. By then, I'd made a lot of progress and was preparing to run my first 5K.

I get that calling a race a 5K or 10K is more fun that calling it a 3.1M or 6.2M, but, for those of us metrically challenged, it can be a bit to get used to. After all, this is still the U.S., and, yes, I know the metric system makes more sense and most of the world employs it. But...well...this is still the U.S., and we don't :) At least not for anything besides 5K's and 10K's.

I saw the brochure for Hazelwood's (our neighborhood in Pittsburgh) 5K Run/Walk on a counter somewhere. Honestly, I think it was at the local Bruster's Ice Cream shop, which was operated by a guy who was known for riding his bike across the U.S. and other pretty impressive distances. Ironic that I picked it up along with a couple of turtle sundaes? Perhaps. But, I had reached (blown past, actually) my weight goal, and at 32 years old was finding that as long as I ran 4-5 times a week I could pretty much eat whatever I wanted and remain around 170. This has since changed :)

I'd never thought about entering any races, and certainly wasn't considering actually 'competing' in them if I did run. But, I was intrigued. I wasn't certain how far I even ran most of the time. I just ran for 30-40 minutes 4-5X/week listening to the Dan Patrick show or something else on one of the two sports talk radio stations in town. I wondered how far 5K was. I wondered how fast I could do it. I wondered what was accepted as a 'good' time.

I mailed in my application along with my check and early on the morning of October 5, 2002, Denise and I made our way down to 2nd Avenue along with the other runners and their supportive family and friends. Denise had also started running, but has yet to enter a 5K or any other race. Just not her thing. But, as I learned that day, cheering for her formerly fat husband is one of her things.

As I'd never done this before, I tentatively watched the other runners warming up, mimicking their stretches, their postures, their strides as they jogged a bit to loosen their muscles. I re-pinned my race number bib because...well...it was not on correctly.

A typical Pittsburgh drizzle cooled the air a bit, but not too bad. The temperature without wind or rain in your face was in the mid-50's. Of course, wind and rain would, in fact be in my face.

I was excited, though, and didn't really care.

The 95 entrants lined up as time for the start approached. A newbie, I didn't know that this was a relatively small number. I only knew my heart was starting to pound, my head was rushing and I never heard the gun.

I'd lined up just behind the front, and when they took off, so did I.  We sounded like a herd of cattle clomping down Second Avenue. Not many people had come out to watch, and once we left our wives and friends behind to wait for us at the finish, we had the streets pretty much to ourselves.

The first mile + I hung right with the leaders, but soon realized this was not going to last and remembered I'd not entered to win, just to see if I could do it.

After that, the details are fuzzy. It's been nearly 10 years, after all.

I remember passing Carl and Kris, our next door neighbors who volunteered w/ the neighborhood association and were thrilled with the number of runners in this year's race. They seemed a little surprised to see me, and cheered my name.

I remember as we turned back onto to Second Avenue 1) being filled with righteous indignation at the 3-4 runners who passed me by cutting across a parking lot and shaving off the corner; and 2) remembering that the remainder of the race was mostly flat and straight. I'd done the hard part (only 1 significant hill) and was home free.

Turning into the lot where we'd finish, I saw and heard Denise cheering for me. Later, she'd email all our friends and relatives bragging on me. Seeing her smiling and clapping under her umbrella,  I tried to sprint home, but there wasn't much left in the tank. Turns out 5K was about as far as I'd ever run in my life, and I'd certainly never done it this fast.

I finished in 25:19, a pace of 8:10/mile. I came in 3rd in the 30-34 year old male group. Out of 5. I think I got a ribbon or something.

I was hooked.

Learning to Run

I pulled on my Airwalks, my xxl sweatpants, a t-shirt and sweatshirt, a toboggan, and gloves and headed out to change my life.

My energetic, ever supportive 10 year old son, Caleb, joined me. In retrospect, I think it may have been a bit like going to the zoo for him. What strange, new animal is this? My dad...exercising?!

Parnell Street was a .20 mile stretch that ran behind our house in Pittsburgh. It was where folks who lived on Gladstone Street, like us, parked; mainly because the walk to and from your car was easier. Downhill from car to house, not nearly as steep in reverse. Few of us owned a garage.

It was also relatively flat and didn't see much traffic, especially at night after everyone was home from work, hibernating in front of their tv's trying to stay warm. Seemed a good place to start running.

My plan was simple. I'd jog as long as I could and stop. Tomorrow I'd repeat. And so on. There was no goal for time nor distance. Just jog off some more of this fat butt, couple that with a more reasonable diet, and work down to a healthy weight.

Walking out the back door and up our sidewalk and steps to the freshly plowed street, I cursed Denise a bit for suggesting running. Once the trees shed their leaves, there's nothing shielding the biting wind that howls down the Monongahela River in October announcing the arrival of winter in Pittsburgh. While I don't recommend it, I have willingly swum and tubed in the Mon, which is one of a handful of north flowing rivers in the U.S. In Pittsburgh it was once lined with majestic steel mills that pumped smog into the sky and money into the pockets of Andrew Carnegie and Henry Clay Frick. We lived about a half mile uphill from the river.

The wind was lively this evening as we trudged up to Parnell. A new snow had fallen that day, and while it was night, the crisp, clear sky allowed the moon and a few stars to illumine our neighborhood in a surprisingly lovely way.  The view down river, over the tops of Gladstone's houses to downtown Pittsburgh gave me weird sense of 'home.' I don't feel at home much.

I looked at Caleb, watching me with a twinkle in his eye. I was quite glad he was with me because a) there'd be a witness to this historic event, b) since he was there I could not back out and c) if I collapsed in a heap, he could quickly run home and tell Denise.

I don't remember if we talked or stretched. I only remember this. I 'ran' about .15 miles that day and felt like I was going to die. My feet hurt (possibly the shoes were not right), my side hurt, and I could not breath.

I'd like to blame the frigid air for my struggle, but I must be honest. This, for me, was liking starting up Mt. Everest with none of the right gear, no guide and absolutely no sense of direction except 'up.'

Realizing that that was all I had in the tank that night was humbling. It frightened me, really. How in the world had I allowed myself to get so horribly out of shape? Was I going to be able to change? Did anyone  happen to glance out their window and see me bouncing down the street?

Fear and fighting with my body were going to be two incredible obstacles.

The most important thing I took from this first experience with running was the value of a partner. In the 11 years since I have run the vast majority of my miles alone. But, none of the hardest could have been possible without someone next to me or cheering me on.

So, thanks Denise, for pushing me out the door. And, thanks Caleb, for coming along for that freakshow of a night.

Step One.

2 Down...15 to GO!

Today wrapped up week 2 of training for  Cincinnati's Flying Pig Marathon. Things are going well so far. The biggest challenges are: 1)  simply making time for runs more than an hour long, and 2) coping with stiff legs that come from running in the cold along with the blisters I tend to get on my toes. But, time always seems to work out somehow, it really hasn't been all that cold, so I'm feeling pretty good.

As mentioned in an earlier post, I'd love your support, encouragement and prayers. I am running to raise awareness and funds for the  Not For Sale campaign, which  works to help free and educate as many of the 30 million slaves living all over the world (more than ever in the history of our planet) as they possibly can. Not for Sale doesn't just work to bring relief, but also rehabilitation and development.

If you'd like to help, go to Not For Sale's donation page and make either a 1 time donation or sign up for recurring monthly donations. If you choose the 1 time donation, I suggest basing your donation on an amount per minute I take off my previous marathon time (3:59:38). My goal this year is 3:30:30. 


So far in my training I'm looking at about an 8:25/minute pace, which is a 3:40:31 marathon pace. If that's where I end up, I'll take it, but it encourages me that when spring gets closer I should be able to speed up a bit.


If you decide to help my efforts with Not for Sale, please let me know your plans so I can keep track of our collective efforts. Feel free to post on my Facebook wall or comment on my blog where I will keep you up to date on my training and fundraising.