State Track 2025

Today, we leave for the state track meet.  It is one little girl's, I mean one young woman's final trip.  Last year, we talked about if she wanted to try to be back there one more time.  There were so many things that could have stopped her including a really, I mean really rough cross-country season.  She has battled through coaching changes, health issues, crazy work, school, and life schedules, but through all of it, she has had a joyful spirit of loving her teammates and pouring her life into them.  She has turned every hard thing into a positive because that is the woman that God is making her to be in the midst of things that might have been too much for people twice her age and experience.  Her track season has had ups and downs like all seasons, and we are thankful that God has given her one more chance to love "her girls" as she calls them and one more chance to show that running can be worship.  

This season, she has fallen in love with the 800m.  She has mastered the quick thinking, hard running, and total self-giving that the race requires.  It doesn't hurt that she is quite scrappy.  Her personality perfectly fits the 800.  Her passion and fire explode on the track, and it is beautiful to watch! 

And as I reflect on these truths today, I'm excited to see her run and love her team, but more than that, I am grateful to the LORD God of the universe, Maker of heaven and earth that He made her and that He so kindly gave her to me to be my daughter.  She is a blessing that I didn't know that I needed or wanted.  She is the most beautiful of women, and I am so blessed to be her mother.  It is joy to see her run, but more than that, it is joy to see the beauty and wisdom that God is building into her.  

 Our youngest son is a teenager who has been taller than I am for several months now, but it is still tempting to think of him as a little boy.  So, when he got a sever case of road rash this week, I almost suggested that he sit out the last minute trail race that the boys had planned for this weekend.  After all, he couldn't bend his knee without breaking open the wound.  How could he run 5+ miles on gnarly trails without reinjuring himself?  Well, he didn't.  He fell and tore open several wounds on knees and hands, and added some new ones.  Then he got up and finished the race.  Then he didn't even think that he needed a bandage to stop the bleeding.  He had run two miles with blood running down his legs.  Who needs bandaids after that?  As my daughter and I were talking about the situation, she very wisely observed that this race and the fall in it, were exactly what her brother needed.  He needs to do difficult things that hurt.  He needs opportunities to crash and burn and get hurt and decide that he can still run when it doesn't feel good.  Why have we taught our children that running trail races with bandaged hands that get torn open again is a good thing?  It isn't about the racing or the placing.  It is about building a life of character that says when life is difficult, when I don't want to do the right thing, when I have to stand alone for my faith, I can endure.  We know that God has to be the one to preserve his people, but we also know that he tries the faithful in furnaces to purify their gold.  One way that our family has started to learn the skills needed to endure suffering is to practice on the trails and in the mountains.  After the race, he still wanted to play in the river.  He isn't all grown up quite yet!

"Poor cow."

Due to some teaching that I was doing late last year, I had spent much time pouring over an already dear passage of Scripture.  I have loved Romans since high school, and the years have just deepened my love for the truths that Paul lays out there for us to wrestle with.  For the topic of hope, the eighth chapter of Romans, was our jumping-off point and summary statement all rolled into one, so the echoes of it are still bouncing around in my head.  The children are currently reading ten or more chapters of scripture a day for their 2024 Bible reading plan, so we have had many mealtime conversations about "the long lobe of the liver," and it's role in the sacrificial system that God gave to the people of Israel as outlined in the book of Leviticus.  Those sacrifices were the topic of conversation with our eighteen-year-old son as he and I walked around the dog park just yesterday.  Last night, he picked up the hand-carved cow from our manger scene, (yes, we still have our Christmas decorations up) and said, "Poor cow."  He was thinking of the part that that cow had to play in the story.  At the time of Christ's birth, that cow had a very high chance of being made a sacrifice in the temple.  That kind of a death isn't what God created that animal for.  Our son has always had a tender heart and loved animals dearly.  He was seeing even that wooden animal with eyes of Biblical understanding and compassion.  But then, God brought to mind Romans 8:18–22 where it says, "For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us. For the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the sons of God. For the creation was subjected to futility, not willingly, but because of him who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to corruption and obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God. For we know that the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now." (ESV)  In that same nativity scene, just to the left is a wooden figure representing the Incarnate God who came to be the Lamb of God who would restore the entire creation and remove the need for any more of God's good creation to be subjected to futility or given over to any other purpose other than the ones for which they were created in God's good world.  So as you put away this year, or get out next year your families' nativity, remember that our Lord came to set all of his creation free from the curse and bondage of sin.  I hope that your nativity has sheep and donkeys and cattle. Because after all, the sheep had as much reason to celebrate as the shepherds gathered around the manger.   

The Light of the World

Storm cloud-filtered moonlight makes the gray gravel almost distinguishable from snow and ice as it curves between white banks guarded on either side by dark pine-shaped shadows.  In the east, the sky lightens and the emerging sun lends its hues of red and orange to the landscape.  Then as the sun bursts into the sky, all the colors of the landscape rush to be seen.  In much the same way, Jesus the Light of the World, makes sense of all that is.  He lends his beauty to all of his creation and makes it shine with all the glory and purpose that it was made to reflect.  

 Nearly a week ago now, we attended my grandmother's funeral.  It was a cold day with snow flying at the cemetery.  Grandma was ready to go home.  She was ready to be done with her fight.  She had finished her course.  That isn't to say that there weren't tears.  There were many.  We will miss her.  I will miss her every time that I mix a batch of her sweet cream biscuits, watch someone play the piano in church, or smell lilacs.  But this year, when we raised the final cup in our Sedar meal and proclaimed, "Come, Lord Jesus!"  We smiled, because Grandma spent this Easter in the New Jerusalem.  

Last year, when Grandpa died, most of my immediate family was unable to attend the funeral.  That was a blow, and I was discouraged.  My musings on the subject directed me to Romans 8 and the comfort of God's Word.  Being able to be at Grandma's funeral was a blessing, but it also meant that I was asked to participate by giving a tribute to her.  It was probably one of the most difficult speeches that I've ever written.  How do you sum up a life in moments?  With mere words?  I attempted to picture her through my lens as that is the one that I see through most clearly.  Here is what I shared:  

Most of you don't need me to tell you how wonderful my Grandma Claire was.  You each have your own reasons for loving her and that is why you are here today.  But let's take a few moments and remember some of those reasons together.  

Grandma loved to play the piano.  I remember as a little girl, sitting at the piano and running my fingers over the keys hoping to make music come from it as she did.  Her playing was never about drawing attention to herself but about highlighting the abilities of those that she accompanied.  

If Grandpa was the dynamite, Grandma was the glue.  She held our family together with her wit, her humor, her kindness, her love for beauty, her work ethic, her faithfulness, her quiet strength, her neat, tidy house, and her yummy pies.  

Grandma was present.  In Mexico, in Alaska, in Bolivia, in Florida, in Arizona, in Colorado, at track meets, at soccer matches, at wrestling tournaments, in the hay field, in the sheep barn, at the branding corral, at the dinner table.  She was goofy; she was smart; she was wise.  She was a good listener; people felt like they could talk to her.  She smiled; she laughed; she rarely got angry, but when she did it was often about Grandpa's "selective hearing."  She was fierce:  fiercely loyal and a tiny bit stubborn.  

And Grandma loved God.  She walked faithfully with him, and her love for him and her faithful service to him showed in her complete love for each of us.  She is the reason direct, and indirect that many of us know and love Christ.  Countless times she told me of how she and Grandpa prayed for each of us everyday in their morning devotions.  Oh, how I have treasured those prayers!!

Grandma was a servant.  Many in our family learned to play pinochle making up a foursome with Grandpa and two others while having Grandma looking over our shoulders and coaching us.  She was always willing to do what would help or promote someone else.  She made us all, especially Grandpa, look good!  

In a world where success is often measured in accolades and awards, in job titles, or in degrees earned, Grandma's measure would seem to be small, but even without knowing it, when we look at Grandma's life, we recognize that there is a truer measuring stick.  We all know how valuable to us her life was, and we say, "Here is one whose life mattered more because it was poured out in love and service to others."

When I was younger and more foolish, I used to think that I would like to live a life that someone might want to write a book about.  I've since grown up a bit, and I realize now that I'd much rather live a life of faithful love and service to God like the one that my Grandma Claire lived.  

Grumpy

 

I grew up on the edge of my grandparent’s ranch.  When we were little, we spent time playing in the fields while mom hayed.  We played in the junk pile, while the adults branded, then as we got older, we helped sort and manage the calves.  We helped grandma and mom care for the new lambs each morning.  We got lambs ready for market, drove the truck while grandpa fed, watched as twin calves were born, moved pipe, and watched C-sections on cows.  We helped in the milk barn, the cow barn, the sheep shed, and the hay fields.  We played in mountains of grain and got wounded by aggers.  We climbed in the trees in grandma and grandpa’s yard, and sailed boats in the huge puddle that was always between the yard and the milk barn.  I learned to love hard work and the life of caring for animals and the land.  I learned to love the seasons and the order that God built into his world. 

                We ate at least one meal a day with Grandma and Grandpa, sometimes more.  We went on vacation with them to Alaska, Mexico, and on countless camping trips in the mountains around our home.  We spent time cutting wood, hiking to lakes, snowmobiling, and fishing with them.  I learned the names of wildflowers, and the lore of rocks.  I learned to love and enjoy the natural beauty of our world.

                They came to every race that I ever ran.  They came to visit me in college and took me clothes shopping.  They came back when I graduated and went to Disney World and Cape Canaveral with us to celebrate.  They were at my wedding.  I visited them in Arizona with my first son.  Grandpa took my eighteen-month-old son for walks and when they came back, he told me what I needed to do to cure the crying.  When they were eighty, they came to visit us in Colorado.  Grandpa helped dad fix my fence so that the deer wouldn’t be able to eat my garden.  I learned to be present, and to love and serve others.

                My grandpa died a week ago.  I don’t get to be at the funeral today.  In thinking about death and the death of my grandpa who my brother and I called Grumpy, I turned to Romans 8.  I think that I first thought of this passage today, because I want to be at Grumpy’s funeral.  I am having to remind myself that all things work together for good to those who love God.  God is good in his not letting me be at the funeral today, but as I was reading this chapter, I was also considering verses 18-25.  My Grumpy, was a follower of Christ, a believer.  He lived his life caring for the creation.  He was a true son of Adam and he spent his life caring for the garden that God put him into.  He knew first-hand the groaning of this creation.  He saw it in calves not born right, in lambs rejected by their mothers, in drought, in blight.  And yet, now, today, he has experienced first-hand the setting free of creation from the “bondage to corruption” and he has obtained “the freedom of the glory of the children of God.”  Today, my Grumpy is glorified.  He is perfected and is present with the good God who works all things for good.  I get to imperfectly join with my Grumpy as he perfectly praises our God.  To God be the glory; great things he has done!

Christmas: Joy and Sorrow

     "Joy to the World, the LORD is come!"  Christmas reminds us of many things that bring joy.  When we think about the birth of God on earth, the coming of Immanuel, we can't help but rejoice that God keeps his promises and that he will eventually redeem all of his creation and set it all free from sin and death.  Christmas is joy!  

    Maybe because, I am a visual learner, I can't help but close my eyes and imagine the place of Christ's birth.  Maybe because, I grew up helping care for newborn lambs, my picture of that event smells and sounds and feels an awfully lot like the sheep barn that I remember as a young child.  It is cold but warmed by the animals; it smells of dung and sheep but also of hay and earth; it sounds removed from the bustle of the street, and full of the noises of animals shifting, chewing, breathing.  What better stage on which the Lamb of God should make his entrance into the world for which he came to die?  He is right where he belongs with shepherds, whose job it is to watch the sheep, to gaze first upon his holy face.  

    In my mind's eye, after imagining the place of his birth, I can't help, but try to imagine a bit of what Mary must have been thinking.  As a mother, I think that Mary must have been marveling that this was the Seed of God.  Surely, she must have held other infants.  Maybe she looked him over to see if he was different in any way from other infants that she had seen.  She must have like other mothers, counted fingers and toes.  She must have gazed into his tiny face and thought, "So this is the face of God."  

    It is then that my own emotion takes over and tears blur my vision.  I have held my own children moments after their births and marveled at their perfection and their imperfections that make them unique.  I have counted fingers and toes.  I have held five of my children after birth and looked into their tiny faces and loved them as Mary must have loved Jesus, God born in the flesh.  And that is what causes my tears.  One of my own children held after birth was born too early.  He was born because he had passed away in my womb and needed to be born so that he could be buried. When I picture God the Son as a tiny child in the arms of his loving mother, and I meditate on the flesh that God the Son took on to be born, I remember that flesh is weak, that flesh dies, that we cannot overcome our flesh, but that God has conquered it for us by taking it on and dying too.  

    There is comfort in knowing that Jesus, Immanuel, God's Anointed One, didn't stay buried.  He rose, conquering sin and death, and flesh.  And there is comfort in hoping that one day, I will get to know the children that God chose to give for only a short time.  Christmas is joy and sorrow mingled with hope that is founded on the faithful promises of a God who is powerful enough to keep each and every one.  

sleep

I am tired. Probably because life here seems to be crazier from day to day. There always seems to be more to do than there is time and more to think about than I have brain waves to devote. So sometimes, I find it difficult go to bed at a reasonable time. Sometimes I find it difficult to go to sleep when I do get into bed. I think that if I just get one more thing done. . . or if I just can sort this out in my head before I go to sleep. . . But one recent night when I turned off the light and turned over on the pillow, I remembered the promises in the Psalms that say that God gives His Beloved sleep. Strange gift. Except that sleep isn't possible when one is afraid or working or thinking. Sleep supposes resting in safety and labor finished or set aside. In order to sleep, one must submit to the need to rest, the presence of safety, and a certain level of completeness or at least an admission that I can't get it all done. In contrast, God is described as the God who never slumbers or sleeps. He needs no rest. He is the provider of safety, and He is constantly working for my good. So frail human one, gratefully take your rest and let God be God. He is better at it than you are.

Jazz not Waltz

Life has been full, full to the top and overflowing. We have been busy with people, and traveling, and work, and sports, and school, and serving, and living. We have had days that have rhythm, and weeks that seem to be more jazz impromptu and less waltz. We have had much time together to experience new things and learn more about each other. These days are wonderful gifts with the people that I love and cherish. I am so very thankful to be right here in this place that God has wisely set me. He has been quietly teaching and shaping my heart, whispering lessons and unfolding new ways to see. In the middle of this insanely busy and intense time in our family life, I pray for wisdom to see and hear.

On Being Mommy

"For you formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother's womb. I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well. My frame was not hidden from you, when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed substance; in your book were written, every one of them, the days that were formed for me, when as yet there was none of them." Psalm 139:13-16

While there are a myriad of ways to apply these verses, they became especially dear to me when we were working through the loss of several children to miscarriage. It was a comfort to know that while I did not have any way to know if a child that I was carrying would be delivered and if that child would be healthy, God did. He had already written the number of days for each of my children delivered and undelivered. In the quiet of another night, God has added to that lesson. I am often tempted to despair that the days that I have to spend with my children are fast being spent and to wonder if I have invested well in the time that I have already had with them. This is especially true when something like looking at old photographs reminds me of how quickly the days have been speeding by. Last night, God again whispered those words from Psalm 139 to my heart. Instead of despairing at the lost time, I need to rejoice in the chances that I have had to be a part of the lives of my amazing children for even a heartbeat. Each one of the little ones that I carried for only weeks, had a deep impact on my life, my faith, my understanding of the goodness of my God. How much more have the lives of my living children taught even more meaningful and delightful lessons and brought much of God's goodness and joy to my life. I have been blessed to be their mother for a few moments of their lives and mine. It is a joy that I do not deserve and that I will always treasure and thank God for, beginning today.

"Why are you afraid?"

Not being able to sleep thinking about all I had to do the next day, I picked up my Bible to read in the gospels. Reading Matthew eight, I ran across a verse that I have often read and wondered about. Jesus and his disciples were crossing the Sea of Galilee in a boat. Jesus was sleeping. The storm rose, and the disciples were afraid for their lives. When they woke Jesus, his response was, "Why are you afraid, O you of little faith?" The text goes on to say, that he, "Rose and rebuked the winds and the sea, and there was a great calm. And the men marveled, saying, 'What sort of man is this, that even winds and sea obey him?'"

Again, I wondered why Jesus seemed to be rebuking the disciples for being afraid of the storm, before he calmed it. I guess it always seemed unreasonable to expect them to know what he was going to do, before he did it. But that night, as I meditated on the text, something occurred to me. Maybe, Jesus wasn't rebuking them for not knowing what he was going to do, but for not trusting in who He was. After all, they had been seeing him work all kinds of miracles. Maybe, he was rebuking their fear, because fear is the opposite of trust. If I know that a good God controls everything that touches me, then there is never cause for fear, even when the waves are crashing over the sides of the boat.

In the dark of that night, those thoughts rebuked me somewhat like Jesus' rebuke of the disciples. "Why are you afraid? Don't you know me? Don't you trust that I know what tomorrow holds, and that My strength will be enough?"

When the dark passed and the day came with all of it's work, His Spirit continued to remind me of His watch care and power. He did give strength for the day sufficient for the work of the day. And when the night came, he gave rest. Lord, please, help me to rest in Your love and power. To not borrow trouble from tomorrow, but to rest in you today.

Mantra

"God is good. He is enough." Running coaches often suggest that their runners find a mantra to chant to themselves in the difficult stretches of a race. Lately, in our life race, there have been more uphill struggling stretches than easy ones. Today, even the mantra seems worn. I am weary. I am not trusting, submitting, leaning into the suffering for the good that it will do for my soul. Instead, I am, like a toddler, shaking my fist, and screaming that I don't want this!! I want my own way. But even in the shouting, I know that my way is not His. My way is not good. My way does not bring joy and blessing and rest. And so, like a worn out child, I will choose to rest in His wisdom and strength. I will submit, yield to the One who is good and is enough even though I cannot see the way. Did I mention that He is enough; He is good?

Running toward my desire

Saturday morning I was running before the sun rose while the thoughts that had wakened me continued to occupy my mind. As the painful push up the hill faded with the view of Christmas lights against the pink mountain miles away, I turned east toward a sky overflowing with colored clouds. Even while I marveled at the variety in front of me, my mind turned back to the major changes that are approaching our family. The list is not short. The list is very long and very scary to one who enjoys patterns, plans, and order.

I'd turned east on purpose at the top of the hill. It seemed a waste to run with my back to the light show unfolding as I ran, but eventually I came to a fork in the road. I wanted to keep going in the direction that I'd started in, but duty called back at the house, and I unwillingly turned to the west to wind my way back to the house. It was then that I saw what had been happening behind me. The sky over Pikes Peak glowed pink. What had been behind me, where I didn't want to go, took my breath away when I finally submitted to turning around. It was like God was shouting to me that when I trust Him, when I look at Him instead of the uncertainty around me that He will do something beautiful. It doesn't mean that He wrote the answers in the sky. But He brought to mind David's words in Psalm 73, "Nevertheless, I am continually with you; you hold my right hand. You guide me with your counsel, and afterward you will receive me to glory. Whom have I in heaven but you? And there is nothing on earth that I desire besides you. My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever." He seemed to be saying, love me more, desire me more: more than order, than answers, than security. I think that the answer is in learning to know my God and being satisfied in Him no matter what deep waters He is calling me to walk through. He is asking me to keep my eyes fixed on Him and not on the waves lapping at my feet.

Run, Rabbit, Run 50 Mile Race Report

I have often remembered the whiteness of the snow flurries that filled the window the day that I pushed the button to sign up for the 50 mile Run, Rabbit, Run race. I also remember thinking that I was afraid to say, "Yes," but also a little bit curious too. Curious to see if I really could train for and run a 50 mile race. Sometimes that distance seemed so impossible, and at other times, it seemed completely possible.

When we arrived in Steamboat, I was dealing with the excitement and anticipation of the race as well as the questions that always seem to be present at the start of something big. "Am I ready? Can I do this? How will I respond when it seems impossible? Am I mentally tough enough to keep going?" I was able to put off thoughts of the race until Friday when it was time to check in and go to the pre-race briefing. The race director talked about how this wasn't a beginners race and asked for our word that we wouldn't quit. I didn't say anything. I guess that I had already determined on some level that I would finish and didn't feel like I needed to tell him that for it to be true. I say that knowing that I couldn't know what would happen the next day, but I did know that I intended to do everything possible to finish while admitting that any number of things could happen to change my plans. The other point of emphasis by the race director was that it is dangerous to blindly follow the runners ahead of you when trying to follow an ultra course. At the start of the race, that would come into play. . .

I got as much sleep as can be expected the night before attempting something doubtful. I didn't sleep well, but thankfully the morning came, and we made our way to the start where I said my goodbyes and in a rush joined the other runners who promptly missed the turn to cross the stream and like a herd of lemmings, scrambled to fix our mistake. I just happened to be the last runner across the bridge and up the ski hill. That start put me in a bit of a panic, so I pushed up the small upgrade in the dark past runners settling in for the climb and getting to know the runners around them. There was a fair amount of story swapping that gave me plenty to think about as the sun came up behind us while we made our way steadily up the service road. The lead 100 mile runners were coming in on the down hill. I caught sight of Nick Clark whom my husband and I had talked to at Fish Creek a few days before. He looked a bit dazed. I took off my gloves a few miles up; I was starting to warm up. It took us nearly two hours of hiking to make our way to the first aid station. I ate a bit and failed to take a salt tab. When I left the aid station at Mt. Werner, the trail dove sharply down. I was so excited to finally be able to run that I gave a war whoop and shot down the mountain. I soon had to stop and adjust my shoes and dig in my pack for a salt tab. Those stops meant that I was leap frogging with several runners and groups of runners. Two or three miles from the aid station, I tucked in behind two military men who were running together. The older of the two had finished multiple ultras and was running with the younger guy to pace and help him through his first 50 mile adventure. Their running pace was just what I was shooting for and the conversation helped to distract me from my slightly upset stomach and doubtful mind. I was struggling at this time with the idea of how far there still was to cover and how I was going to get back. That is always the difficulty of the out and back course. It is difficult to trick the brain when you know you just have to turn around and get back from where you run to. The terrain was not too difficult with rolling hills and challenging, but runable single track snaking through high mountain meadows and up and down ridges between the drainages. The view of Long Lake as we broke out of the forest was breathtaking. It was difficult to keep running, as the eyes were drawn to the glories of God's creation. I almost couldn't take my eyes off of the mountains around me. That aid station was busy as there were 50 mile and 100 mile runners. I ate, took salt, got rid of my trash, and headed out. I thought that I would separate from the guys I'd been tailing, but when the markers were missing blue flags for a ways, there were several of us who put our heads together to make sure we were on track and I again attached myself to their group. We ran that way to the next aid station about six miles away, and once again after moving through the aid station, I was able to tail them. My stomach was still not right, but I was able to put it out of my mind except for looking for opportunities and trees off the trail to try to settle it. I kept drinking and was well hydrated the entire race. Base camp aid station was only four miles from my crew, but I was already past the time that I'd hoped on an outside chance to be to them. During this section, we were fighting lots of mud in the low places in the meadows that looked like they were home to herds of elk on quieter days. Again, the views were picturesque. I should have stopped to relish them, but the purpose of the day was urging me forward. At the Dumont Campground, just a bit before the aid station, I left the group of runners that had grown by one and pushed ahead. I was beginning to panic that the pace that we'd been running was just under what made me comfortable about finishing. I caught sight of Joel in his blue shirt and carrying the crew box first. The crew helped me change out of my leggings and traded my pack for a hand held bottle as we'd planned. They also gave me some salt that I took on the road up the mountain. Taking off to touch the rabbit ears, I lost sight of the two men that I'd been running with, but without the opportunity to tuck in behind them for those miles, I don't think that I could have finished. I didn't have to think or mentally fight with myself to keep running for all of those 12 or 15 miles and that meant that I had enough mental strength to fight the battles that were still ahead. I did see them briefly at the turn around and after the race learned that Mark finished, but Michael who was attempting his first 50 didn't make it.

Just after leaving the crew, I turned my right ankle badly. I hobbled on and the pain shifted, but from that point on there was a constant sharp pain across the bottom of my foot with every step. Sometimes the pain also shot across the sides and top of my foot, but that pain came and went. I've never had a sprained ankle bruise before, but this one has bruised. The good news is that the hip that had been making my hamstring hurt painfully, was tight, but I was able to relax it even while running to the point that it never really ached. It just twinged now and then. Mostly when that happened, I was able to lengthen my stride and stretch out my hip. I found that it hurt mostly on the down hill sections, and if I ran faster it hurt less.

The hike up to the rabbit ears was on a rutted road that was very difficult to walk/run on. There were runners coming back from the rock constantly passing me in the opposite direction. Having to touch the rock was one of the most fun parts of the race. It made it seem like a race on the play ground when I was a kid. The hike up there was very difficult, but there were people other than the runners enjoying the hike. There were even some guys with their jeep parked on the side of the road, enjoying sandwiches as they sat looking over the valley. I headed back to my crew at Dumont where they gave me back my pack and fed me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and coke. I also reapplied some body glide and gave hugs all around. I asked Justin if I walked all the way back if I could make it. Of course, he told me that I could, but that I'd not be satisfied with that and urged me to run it in. Yeah! Run it in for 23 miles over how many mountains?! Just as he always does, he was in my head, and I couldn't not run after that. I worked hard to run anything that wasn't up hill. Despite running most of the way back by myself, I was able to run a negative split of about 17 minutes. I'd like to say that I had many deep thoughts and solved all the world problems in those six hours it took me to get down the mountain, but I didn't. I worked my way from aid station to aid station with the intention of getting down before it got dark and cold. When I got to Mt. Werner aid station, I was well ahead of the cut offs with only six or so miles to go. I had a very hard time running this steep downhill section. I ran some, but also walked parts of it. I'd been felling light headed off and on since mile 30. So on the way down, when my hand started to tingle and I got light headed again, I told the runner next to me, that I was having a hard time. He suggested that we walk down for awhile together. We did, and I began to feel better. When we got off the service road and onto the trail about a mile from the finish, he suggested that I go ahead. I was ready to run so took off. I saw my dad just a quarter of a mile from the finish, he ran with me for just a bit. I crossed the bridge with the kids all trailing behind and ran up the steps to hug the designated hugger.

That seems like such an anticlimactic ending to such a day, and yet, it was fitting. I was very thankful for those who waited around for me, but for me the day flew by. It already seems like a dream. A dream that I sometimes see very clearly when I remember that I really did cover 50 miles on my own two feet, but helped along by friends, family, and strangers. Mostly, I am very thankful for all the people who helped me in small and big ways. It was sure fun. Thanks.

One more reason that I love running

After four days of nearly no running, I was able to run 10 miles of hill repeats in 1:43.38. Roughly 10:20 miles. I am so excited!! Mostly because I was beginning to think that I am slowing down with all the long running that I am doing and running any miles that fast is really encouraging, but mostly, and here is the reason that I love running, because I was able to do something that felt impossible at the beginning. I started out on the workout with the idea that I'd like to get 10 miles in in less than 2 hours. I ran 11 in 2 hours counting my 20 minute cooldown with the dog. Yeah! Then there were the times on the way up the hill every time, that I wanted to back off, but was able to mentally push into the small task of the next landmark where I'd been recording times each lap. I love the opportunity to set goals and see them met. I love being able to control the outcome by my hard work. I know that there are few things that are in my control, but it is rewarding to me to set goals that are determined primarily by my willingness to suffer and invest. God was so good to give me this positive run at a time when I was struggling with the idea that I could run successfully in September. It is also a blessing to be able to see and feel once again the joy of running and not just the daily grind. Running is so like being a follower of Christ. Most days the road is dusty, long, and unexciting, but there are just enough amazing views and moments of feeling like you could fly that give hope that we keep on going knowing that the reward is worth the work. Thanks God for giving encouragement on the path.

meditations

In Hosea 9:1-4 the prophet is warning of the coming judgement that God will pour out on Israel. It has always been interesting to me the things that God sees as curses that we do not. Here the focus is the production of and enjoyment of two basic foods, wine and bread, but the text goes beyond that. The people will not have an abundance of bread and wine, but also their offerings of bread and wine will not please God. Verse four says, "They shall not pour drink offerings of wine to the LORD, and their sacrifices shall not please him. It shall be like mourners' bread to them; all who eat of it shall be defiled: For their bread shall be for their hunger only; it shall not come to the house of the LORD." It seems to me that the real curse being promised is not the lack of food, but the lack of fellowship. Their bread will satisfy their physical hunger, but it will be a defilement to them rather than a means to fellowship with God. They will not even pour out their drink offerings before God. Today, if God wills, I hope to partake of the LORD's supper with my church family. Interestingly, the elements of the LORD's supper are wine and bread, but unlike the wine and bread mentioned in the text, the LORD's supper represents a sufficient sacrifice. My drink offering, Christ's shed blood, has been poured out and accepted. The bread of his body has been offered once for all, and when I drink the cup and eat the bread, I can join with God in covenant and fellowship. The danger is that I will approach the table with the same disregard and wickedness as those Israelites that Hosea was writing to, that I will come to the table with a heart full of pride, self-sufficiency, and idolatry. May God deliver me from eating only to fill my physical hunger the thing that was meant to be the very life of my soul.

Faith lessons, Running lessons

Training for September's Run Rabbit Run 50 mile has picked up again after a few weeks off to recover from the 50K. This week's goal was 33 miles. I only made 32, but it feels like much, much more than that. I ran hills on Monday, intervals on Tuesday, then took Wednesday off to lift weights. Thursday was a bit full so I ran 2.5 miles with some sprints thrown into the middle of the run. Friday, we had an all day homeschool event so the 2 mile hike that we took as a group along with horse chores was all the training that I was able to fit in. I will say that after carrying my three-year-old on my back for part of the way and being on my feet for most of the day, I was feeling it. Not to mention that I was still so sore from the weight workout, that it hurt to walk let alone run. That was Friday night. I had 16 miles on the schedule for Saturday and late Friday night my husband started talking about where I was going to run. We talked about Falcon Trail. I wasn't totally on board as it is a drive and the loop is only 13 miles. I'd have to add three miles on and that type of a workout can really play with my head. I went with it and left the house at 6:20 Saturday morning. I got to the North Gate of the Air Force Academy at 6:50 a.m. They open for visitors at 8:00 a.m. The guard said that I could wait in the parking lot near the gate which also happens to be an access point for the Santa Fe Trail. I had limited time so opted to start running on the trail right away. I headed south as I remembered that the most interesting part of the trail was the portion that went through the south part of the Academy. (I'd run the trail once before as part of the course for the ADT Marathon in 2009.) It was about five miles into my run that I realized that I'd started downhill and would have to run back all up hill. That is also about the time that my legs started to show their fatigue from the week's running. As long as the trail was relatively flat, I was fine. As soon as the trail started to show some grade, the pain in my legs was intense. There were moments when I was distracted enough not to feel it, but those moments became less and less. Usually on an out-and-back run like that, I will be able to run the last half much faster than the first leg. That was not the case this time. I was pushing all the way to even be ten minutes slower for the last half. My legs felt like they had run 25-30 miles before I'd even begun. All in all, it was a perfect training week. I can truly be happy for the outcomes. There is much to be gained and learned from running a long run on legs that don't respond. Practicing the mental game of running when it all hurts will be very helpful late in the 50 mile race. There were countless times when it would have been easier to sit down and cry, or even just walk. Keeping on pushing in those moments was hard, but now that I've done it, it will be easier the next time. This morning when our pastor was preaching on the encouragement for our Christian faith in I John 2:12-14 he mentioned keeping on when you are weary because we have overcome the Evil One. It made me think of running on tired legs. I can keep going, because the race has already been won. Even when my heart is heavy and breaking. Even when the clouds are so dark that I cannot see the light. He has won the victory and by faith it is mine. So I'll put my head down, and keep putting one foot in front of the other. He is my victory! I can't help but draw parallels between the running and the living. So often one gives encouragement for the other.

Good gifts

This day has been full. Full of many good things. Mostly, I am full of gratitude for the opportunity to be a wife and a mother. My children are a blessing. They played beautifully at their recital, but more importantly, I got to watch them serve others. I get to be the wife of a man who loves God, his children, and me. He leads us well. He gently urged me to run away from home today: so I got to have a wonderfully painful adventure, not the one I had planned but an even better one. I am thankful to my God for the heaping of good things that are on my plate today.

Cheyenne Mountain 50K 2014

Last Saturday, I was able to take a run in the park, Cheyenne Mountain State Park. Thanks to my mom's coming to stay with us for a week, my husband and I were both able to run the 50K race. I'd run the same race two years ago. That outing was my first and only attempt at the ulta distance. I'd run several other races on those trails and have a great appreciation for the difficulty of the course that I didn't have three years ago when I ran my first trail race (a half marathon) at the same park. So knowing the course and the difficulty of the trails involved, I was rather nervous about my ability to handle both the distance and the hills. Two years ago, when I finished the 50K, I'd had the opportunity to attend regular exercise classes that had significantly built my core muscle strength. This time around, I'd not been able to fit in those classes so felt much less strong and feared that the lack would show in my leg fatigue on the climbs and downhill sections of the race (that happens to be most of the course.) My husband and I arrived at the park and immediately found a friend who was also running the 50K. We applied sun screen, and deposited our drop bags then waited for the pre-race briefing. The day was warm at the start so though I tied my long-sleeved shirt around my waist, I never needed it. I had two goals going into the race, one was to control my pace early on enough that I wouldn't be suffering through the last half of the race. The second was just to completely enjoy the opportunity to run on trails in the mountains for a day. With those goals in mind, I followed my husband's advice for the first lap and attempted to keep my breathing under control. Any time that I started to gasp, I stopped to walk the uphills, or slowed the pace. The first loop of the race was run on the Cougar Shadow side of the park. I enjoyed the other runners and watching the 50K and 25K leaders sprint past me. It is a joy to watch well trained athletes compete! I even held a conversation with one man who had been running ultras for 39 years. He gave me some great advice before we got separated at an aid station. Because it was hot, I started taking a salt tab at each aid station. I also began pouring large amounts of water on my face and head. That and the occasional breeze kept me from overheating. I also opted to change from my cap to the visor at the drop bag at the end of the first loop. I had started eating a gel about every hour to 45 minutes. There were only a few moments in the race when I felt my energy lag, and I found that the gels were working so kept using those instead of the food. I did eat a PB and J at the first aid station. It seemed to go down fine. At the end of the fist loop, my time was one hour and thirty-three minutes. A touch faster than the last time I'd run this race, so I was a bit concerned, but I was feeling strong. I reapplied my body glide and started the second loop up toward North Talon. By this time, I was running mostly alone, but some 25K runners were still passing me so I wasn't completely alone. I tried to run all the uphill that I could comfortably. At the aid station on the way down, I drank some hot coke and took a salt tab. Something about the combination (I'd just taken a gel) didn't sit well on my stomach, but the queasiness eased, and I was able to push on. The loop took me two hours. I was very excited, but lagging just a bit as we came back to the start area where I once again stopped at my drop bag. I took time to reapply body glide and sun screen and also body glided my feet which felt hot after the downhill sections of North Talon. (The best part of the race is standing on top of North Talon and looking in all directions. I'm always tempted to stop and soak it in!) I started on the third loop which is a repeat of the first loop on the north side of the park. At this point I was all alone. I remembered from last time the mental struggle of running this loop alone after having so much to distract me the first time. God was very gracious to me. Early in the lap, I remembered my goal of having fun. I picked up the pace from the shuffle of the lonely, tired runner, and pushed into the pace of the joyful, playful runner enjoying a run in the mountains. I had such a good time, that even the occasional times of feeling overheated, didn't slow me too much. I prayed, I sang Irish songs that the children have been singing nonstop for the last two months, I laughed, and just enjoyed the day that God had made for me to practice the gift that He has given me to love running. After getting to the aid station, I pushed up the rest of the hill to the downhill and coasted in for a one hour and thirty-five minute third lap. It was just a few minutes slower than the first lap on that side. I was beginning to realize that I could possibly better my time from two years ago by a big margin. As I came through the aid station near the start and the drop bags, my husband who had started the race on a badly sprained ankle, came through the aid station having just finished his 25K. He decided to drop there rather than push on for more punishment on his painful ankle. We talked while I reapplied body glide to my foot then I was off to start the last loop and one more climb up North Talon. I was beginning to feel my quads especially on the downhill parts of the third loop, but my body was responding nicely. I'd had to take time to stretch my hamstrings early and often, but all was going okay to this point. I was also trading hands for the water bottle that I carried, in an attempt to take some stress off of my right side that had been tight from the beginning. I'd had pain in the right hip most of the race, but the stretching made it bearable. It was near the aid station on the way up, that I started to feel light headed. I drank extra water, took salt, and ate a gel. I was also getting small side aches in this section so think that I was having a difficult time breathing deeply on the downhills as my core was tired. If I concentrated on getting deep enough breaths, I felt better and kept the side aches at bay. I knew at this point that if I could run that loop in two hours, that I would beat my previous time by at least an hour and also beat the times that I'd thought were well beyond my ability to run. I concentrated on keeping the average time down with as much running as I could manage on the ups. I even noticed that when I did walk, that my body began running again on the easier sections without a mental decision to start running again. Everything was clicking. It was on one of these downhill sections that I thought to myself, that I'd rather just keep running the extra 20 miles to make it to 50 miles rather than have to do it another day in September. I felt that good, and my mental state was that positive. I was having a blast and was so thankful to God for the opportunity to run and enjoy His great creation. I made it to the top of the ridge once again. I'd been singing out loud this time so that the bears could hear me as I was mostly alone. On the third lap, I'd passed six runners. Usually, I run so fast at the beginning of races that many runners pass me at the end when I just can't run any faster. In my last lap, there was one runner who came up from behind and passed me. We played leap frog down the hill as I ran the down hills faster, but he caught me on the ups. He finally beat me by half a minute. At the top, I knew that there was only a 5k left. I started to push it, but pulled back so that I could run all the way home. I had 30 minutes to break the seven hour mark. My legs were starting to feel the fatigue and so I didn't push quite as hard as I maybe could have. At the aid station two miles out, I ate a gel, and filled my water bottle. I motored in with a way too fast sprint for the end of a 50K. My husband was there to greet m, and a kind young man took my chip. I stretched, and we headed home to the kids and Grandma. My final time was an hour and six minutes faster than last time. The final time was 7:04. I felt sore, but not unable to walk. Looking back, I might have been able to run it a bit faster, but I am super excited to have run a negative split for the course and to have been able mentally to enjoy the opportunity to run. If I can keep that mental approach in Steamboat in the fall, I will be thankful.

Like a Little Child

I've been reading a popular book about learning to give thanks. If fact, I finally finished it last night. I cried my way through most of it. I think because it seemed to lay open my mommy heart more than anything else. The main idea of the book did sink in some too. The idea that thankfulness opens me up to trust God and to let Him be God has been powerfully shown in my own experience. That being said, I don't often practice thankfulness in the middle of a school day filled with a six-year-old struggling to sound out words, a three-year-old not wanting to learn to use the toilet, a ten-year-old needing freedom to make his own choices even when those choices cause me extra work. I don't often practice thankfulness when the work of the day never fits in the day. I know that I should be thankful for the work that I have to do, for the family that I get to serve each day. Maybe that is why the prayers of my three-year-old have caught my attention. He just did turn three, but he has been praying this way almost from the beginning. His prayers often sound something like this,"Thank you for Daddy to be home safe. (When daddy is still days from getting home.) Thank you for Grandpa's knee to get better. (When Grandpa is still in physical therapy.) Thank you for my sister's head to get better. (When the stitches just got put in.)" His prayers ARE hope. There is probably truth to the idea that he doesn't really understand the difference in saying thank you and in asking for his needs, but no one else prays that way. He copies so many other things. Even if he doesn't know that his prayers are out of order, I wonder if they really are. Maybe he has it right? Maybe my prayers should look more like his. "Thank you, God, for the patience to listen to struggling reading, the kindness to help a little one learn to wear underwear, the joy to, without grudging, serve the ones that you have blessed to fill my life." Maybe, I should have faith like my son who knows only that he is loved and that his needs are met. Maybe, I need to rest in the unfailing love of the One who orchestrates each day for my good and His glory.