Promised Land

When I was younger, I often wondered how the Israelites could be so dense as they wandered in the wilderness. As I read the Old Testament, I often thought that if I had seen the hand of God as clearly as it was shown to Israel, that I would have responded in faith and obedience. That was then; this is now. Today, I was reminded AGAIN that I care too much about what others think. It was just a trip to town to run errands, but when I came home, I was nearly in tears over several imagined judgments that others might have made. I know not to place too much value on the opinions of those who do not know all the facts. I know that my value and worth is determined by my position in Christ. I know that He will be my final Judge and that His judgement is right. That thought is both comfort and motivation. He knows my true heart. All the things that I think that I hide from others, He knows. He loves me, and He will rightly judge me. It is with that realization that the righteous tears of repentance fall. He is the One that I ought to strive to please. Truths that I've known, but that get buried in the swirling chaos of this wilderness. Someday, by God's great grace, He will bring me to His promised land, and my filthy rags will be traded for His glorious robes of righteousness.

One of those runs. . .

Had a rough week this last week. My husband was gone, and it seemed that wherever I turned, there was more to do than I could even hope to do. I gave up. I stayed up too late, I slept in instead of running. I just sort of coasted. Then I felt guilty. Like I had failed to do right and that there was no hope of doing right in the future. Well, I haven't gotten much more sleep since my husband got home. He came in late one night, and we spent the next night in the emergency room with our two-year-old getting stitches until midnight. I did run though. I'd planned to do a long run this week as my last before a race that I'm running the first of May. After our late night last night, I really would have preferred taking a nap, but my husband was running hill repeats so I decided to join him. On my second trip down the hill, he mentioned a time and distance. Just a number that he'd seen posted by some running friends. I know he knew that I would take it as an instant challenge. He was right. For the next hour and fifteen minutes, I pushed myself every step. I was focused. Then it happened. I ran. Not the painful, straining, "I have no legs" kind of run, but the one that is more like flying. That feeling doesn't come often these days. The last time I remember it was almost a year ago. I guess if I think about it, I've been feeling it creep up on me during a few runs over the last few weeks. Days when I find the usual setting on the treadmill seems just a bit too slow. Needless to say, I am smiling a broad smile tonight. This is why I love running. The feeling of sailing, of strength, of satisfaction that comes from doing something well that God made me to do. It is a joy that comes from tasting deeply of the great goodness of God's world, of seeing just a tiny piece of how the world might have been without sin and death.

Xterra 24K in Colorado Springs

Last Saturday, I ran the Xterra 24K in Cheyenne Mountain State Park. I'd really wanted to run the 25K at the Cheyenne Mountain race a bit later in April, but had to juggle the race schedule around my husband's races. I thought that the Xterra would be close to the same race since it was nearly the same distance and on the same trails. I have to say that the feel of the race is just different. The people who put on the race do a fine job, but the Cheyenne Mountain 50k and 25k is a special kind of event. I think that it had a bit to do with the fact that the 24k was the longest of three races being run. There seemed to be a lot of people running the 5k. It was different for me to be one of the ones going the longer distance. Because of the other races being run, the course was two loops. I think that I felt a bit cheated not getting to run North Talon! My second lap was seven minutes slower than the first lap. I had lots of company on the first lap and ran mostly alone on the second, but the second seemed to pass more quickly than I'd expected it too. I made a mistake and ran with too many clothes on so was hot for most of the race. On the way up the hill the second loop, I remember thinking that there was a reason that I liked the 800 in high school. It was over before one really had time to think about how bad it hurt. There is something very challenging about trying to trick your body into doing what it really can handle when the mind is telling it to stop. It was a beautiful day and a great opportunity to run trails in the park that I'd never run before. Getting to run the loop was a chance to figure out the lay of the land a bit better. The chance to explore with your feet is a wonderful part of trail running, and I was thankful for the opportunity. The worst part of the race was the next day. I had some muscle soreness in the night, but had no soreness the next day. That is a sure sign that I didn't work hard enough. I'm still trying to figure out how to push myself to the level that I know that I can run. I was somewhat pleased with my time as it matched the time, I'd run at Cheyenne two years ago for a half marathon, and this distance was a bit farther. That fact coupled with the lack of soreness means that I need to pick things up a bit in my next few runs. I'm thankful to God for the chance to enjoy the world that He has created and to use the strength that He has blessed me with.

Parenthood

Being a parent seems to be a bit like trail running. There are lots of ups and downs and corners that you can't see around. The trail is littered with roots and rocks that trip you up, but there sure are some amazing views along the way!

Skiing

Last year, I got to take my nine-year-old skiing. He took to it like a fish to water. He had such a great time, that he wanted to share it with his siblings. We finally got a chance to take his brother and sister along a couple of weeks ago. The first day was tough. I struggled to teach two little ones the basics. When we reported to Dad about the day, I was about to throw in the towel, but the next day we hit the slopes again. After a few trips down with the five-year-old, I looked up to see the ten-year-old helping the eight-year-old down the mountain. They were holding hands and it was the most that the eight-year-old stayed up to that point. After lunch, the boys convinced me that they were ready for the big mountain. We loaded up on the four person chair lift and headed to the top. The first run down must have taken forty-five minutes. The next one took fifteen, and the five-year-old was stopping at intersections waiting for Mom and big brother and skiing through tunnels. The eight-year-old wants to be a ski instructor starting with teaching all of his friends so that they can come skiing with us. He is also making plans for his first triple black diamond run. The ten-year-old was skiing ahead of us and making runs down the little hill by himself. My five-year-old daughter wanted to ski with him the last run and make more runs on the little hill with him. Once I read a line attributed to Abraham Lincoln. It said, "This too shall pass." We never know what will happen if we just keep skiing. The darkest days come just before the bright return of the sun. There is reward if we keep going. The faces of each of my children reflected joy and confidence gained from facing a challenge thought too difficult, but overcome. What a gift to be able to give them! I hope that they will each remember that lesson and carry it over to other places in their lives.