Going Slow *OR* Dad's Night Off

This is my running blog, in case this is your first time here. And I'm addressing this post as though it is to all-new readers because, since it had been so long since my post, I assume all my old readers have headed off for greener pastures. 

Just so you know, I post lots of pictures, and lots of links. 

So, for old time's sake, I'll begin by talking about my most recent race: The Iron Horse Half Marathon in Midway, Kentucky, two weeks ago. Hillary ran it with me. And if this is your first time to this blog, as I assume, then you need to know that she is my wife. And the two of us went along two long, bumpy roads before we made our ways to each other. 

Was that enough links for you? I'll try not to use any more. 

The Iron Horse was a particularly good race for me! I ran my first sub-two-hour Half since 2010! And, though the MapMyRun picture shows slightly more than 2 hours, I'm taking into account that I was at the back of the pack, and that I ran slightly farther than the 13.1 miles (which can happen, because of bends and twists in the road). 

Since that race, I've only managed to run twice. It's party because my new responsibilities as stepdad to two awesome little girls take up a lot of my time. And it's not that I'm sorry for this! Far from it! Hillary and I are simply still learning to balance one another's schedules, plus getting the girls to school and daycare. 

Also, I've been sick lately. 

But, the other day, Faith made a card for me to help me feel better. 

I warned you: lots of pictures 

Since Wednesday night (it's currently Sunday night), I've had something that has left me feeling like the victim of a hit-and-run. Headaches, sore throat, coifing, chills, night sweats, dizziness. I realize the phrase "the whole nine yards" is overused, but I feel like it applies here better than more situations. 

But the weather was nice today. And I was sick and tired of feeling sick and tired. So I went for a run, sore throat and all. 

I did get a nice reward for my endurance. 

For the first time in quite a while, I am alone tonight. Hillary and Zoe, our youngest, are on their way to Nashville for Zoe's annual spina bifida clinic. Faith is spending the night with Hillary's folks, whom live waaaaaaay across the other side of our yard. 

So, for the first time in under a year, it's just me and my thoughts tonights. Which is partly what the run was for. 

Anyway, I did the first thing that came to my mind: watch Fellowship of the Ring on Blu-Ray and write a new blog post. 

Me and Strider. 

Right now, Hillary just checked in at a hotel in Nashville. Staying here, at our home, tonight without her feels like the loneliest place on earth. Even lonelier than arriving at the Prancing Pony and realizing Gandalf isn't there (sorry, still watching Fellowship). 

A year ago, I knew I wanted to propose to Hillary. I just hand't planned they when, where, or how. 

The last time Hillary drove to Nashville, in May 2013, her life had taken a terrifying turn to divorce that had left her a single mom. She and I had started communicating at the time, but we weren't dating. I probably can't imagine the fears that swirled around in her mind.  

As she was driving and I was heading to Kroger to pick up antibiotics (pharmacy was closed, blah), I kept her company on the phone. We talked about all the usual things we talk about when discussing our story: the sheer improbability of it, how we never could never have written a story so perfect even given the opportunity, and how much God's done in our lives. She drove by the old two where she lived with her ex-husband for almost a decade, and passed it by silently. No more crying for her when recalling her shattered former life.  

None for me, either. 

So here I am, writing and watching Lord of the Rings, still very much that geeky kid I've always been, but with far more than I deserve and having come through far more than I would have thought possible. Maybe all that flowery language comes from hearing too much elvish, but it's true. And, when I think about it, this house really isn't that lonely without all my girls in it. It's still got the life in it that they provide; it's simply quieter for one night. And, down two cups of tea, several Tylenol (to get rid of the chills), Motrin (to help the body aches), old antibiotics that I found on my side of the bathroom (finishing antibiotics is for chumps).  The nine companions band together to take the One Ring to be destroyed at Mount Doom. And I've been sitting here in my running-filth for a few hours. I need to shower, although I'll probably break into night sweats and have to re-shower in the morning. 

I'll edit this post tomorrow. 

Until then... fly, you fools! 

A Common Thread - OR - How Running Saved My Life

After a hiatus of not blogging about running on my running-themed blog, I'm finally back at it today. Give me a break; it's been a hectic summer!

Earlier this month, I was contacted by someone from Fanatics.com. If you've never checked them out, they're pretty much the unparalleled word in sports gear. A representative from the site mentioned that they'd heard of my blog, and wanted to know if my life (or the life of my family) had been significantly impacted by sports.

Oh, has it.

If you're a faithful follower of this blog, then you know that Hillary Smith and I were married two weeks ago.

Just by sheer volume of pictures, it may be the most documented wedding in history. 

What you may not be aware of is the role that running played in our lives individually and as a couple, and how we overcome great personal struggles by lacing up our shoes and hitting the road. 

I was married for the first time in 2010. My now ex-wife moved out of our house at the end of May, 2012. The months that followed were, without a doubt, the darkest of my life. You might remember a post from earlier this month in which I recapped that season, describing the pattern of self-loathing, depression, and destructive habits I picked up during that time.

I wasn't constantly looking for answers at the bottom of a bottle, though. I was still running. 

I had been a runner for years before that fateful time, so I was already pretty serious about the sport. But when my wife moved out, running became something more than an excuse to get out of the house and a reason to eat far more calories than I needed. Running became a form of therapy for me, the only way I could express the confusion and frustration and anger in a way that was healthy. Later in 2012, I ran my first marathon and completed my first Tough Mudder, two things I never thought I'd be able to do. 

I had just emerged from something called 'The Arctic Enema', if the blue lips didn't tip it off. 

Rock and Roll Las Vegas Marathon. I look way more enthusiastic in this picture. 

Running, probably literally, saved my life. 

Fast forward almost a year. An amazing girl that I had barely known in high school was going through her own personal version of hell. She, like me, was recently divorced, but after a decade of marriage instead of less than three years. 

I'm still not sure why I messaged her that day in April of 2013. But I'm lucky I did. She and I, it turned out, each needed a listening ear for the struggles our lives had thrown at us. And, coincidently, she was preparing for a 5K race the very next day. 

Hillary had barely run before her divorce. But she, like me, had chosen to pick up the sport as a way to wear away the edges of rage and sorrow that her life had recently gained. At the very least, the activity made us feel good about ourselves; something neither of us had felt in a long time. 

We spent more time together. We started dating. And our best, most involved dates were races we ran together. 

Run the Bluegrass Half Marathon: Lexington, KY, March 2014 

Shamrock Shuffle 3K: Lexington, KY, March 2014 

Kentucky Derby Festival Mini-Marathon: Louisville, KY, April 2014 

When I decided to ask her to marry me, it only seemed fitting to ask her in our favorite running shop. I made sure it was okay with the people at John's Run/Walk Shop, and they were thrilled at the idea. One of their awesome employees was even nice enough to video it for it. It can be seen on their Facebook Page. 

We were finally married two weeks ago. The post before this one is dedicated to it, so check it out if you'd like.

Sometimes when I think about my life before the divorce, I feel as if I'm looking at a different person. He had no idea just how wrecked his life could get until it happened before his eyes. However, if I share anything with that past version of myself, it's my love of running. For a while, that thread was more like a lifeline; and, luckily, I met someone else who was on that lifeline, too. Now, it's a common thread that unites us and keeps us motivated, strong, and, most importantly, invested in each other's lives.

Oh, and I've already turned her into a Denver Broncos fan. As if I could possibly love her any more!

I'll have her in one of these this season. Just you wait. 

7-23-14: "The Long Run", OR "Beginning Again"

Well, it finally happened.

For the first time since I started judiciously blogging, I am a married man.

Yeah, we were pretty stoked. 

 I started this blog not long after my now ex-wife moved out, around summer 2012. I had a few good posts that summer, but then fall rolled around. With both the summer sun and my wife gone, I lapsed into a series of unhealthy habits and unfortunate decisions, things that didn't reflect who I truly was. I suppose, looking back now, that they were all actions of a man trying to figure out who he was outside of a relationship he had invested nearly seven years into; someone trying to figure out how to "Enjoy his own company", as a therapist put it (and yes, I saw a therapist for a while, with absolutely no shame). 

One of the most moving moments during that time is recorded in cartoon form on the wall of Side Bar Grill, one of my favorite places in Lexington. Someone was nice enough to take a picture of the cartoon and Tweet it to me.

During that dark time, I wrote a lot. It was pretty much the only outlet I had for all that depression that didn't involve a bottle, and it was a heck of a lot more healthy. Many of those writings are only now seeing the light of day. Two of the pieces, titled "Storm Clouds" and "Smash", have been posted on my short story blog, Cut and Dry, if you'd like to check them out. Fair warning: they're pretty dark, because it was a pretty dark period in my life, "Smash" in particular.

Spring 2013, I reconnected with a girl named Hillary Smith that I had been sort of acquainted with in high school. We definitely hadn't been friends; I couldn't recall even one conversation the two of us had shared the three years we were at Belfry High School together. Though she'll deny it now, back in those days she was WAAAAAY out of my league. She insists I should have asked her out, that high-school-me and high-school-her totally would have been an item.

She is far too kind. Anyone I was friends with in high school will verify just how far out of my league she was.

We had been Facebook 'friends' for several years, though there had been zero correspondence between us. I did know, though, simply from her posts and pictures, that she was married to another guy she and I went to high school with, they had two daughters, and they were still living somewhere in Kentucky. But in the spring of 2013, I started noticing a few changes in her posts. She was using pronoun phrases like, "A change in my life", and "My latest adventure", and "My new apartment." It was a change that I had noticed in my own moody Facebook posts and short writings.

I'm not sure why I messaged her that day, and asked her about her life change. Call it fate. Call it destiny. I'm calling it God getting fed up with me making poor decisions and nudging me in the right direction.

Fast forward, a little more than a year later. I'm stepping off a plane onto a tiny runway in the Florida Keys, honeymooning with that acquaintance I messaged out of the blue.

She's still out of my league. As long as she never realizes that, I'm in the clear. 

I normally use this blog to describe my various exploits in running, athletics, or anything else I'm doing that could possibly injure me in some way. I mean, the blog is called "Runner Confidential," for crying out loud. But this post has nothing to do with running, exercising, or being active in any way. Unless you count that we've been riding bikes to get around the Key West, which I totally am. Hey, I haven't ridden a bike in, like, twenty years! It's hard! 

No, this blog post is simply to celebrate how far God has brought me and Hillary over the last two years. In case you hadn't heard, she's had a harrowing year or so, herself. If you're curious, one of the many links above goes to her blog. If you're both curious AND lazy, then click here to check it out. 

For those looking to hear more about my exploits on running, I promise I'll get back at it as soon as I'm out of the Florida humidity. Until then, I'm going to be snorkeling, deep-sea fishing, and peddling around an island with the love of my life. 

In case you're desperate for something to read/look at until I get back to running, you can check out 'A Man's World', where I post silly rules for maintaining my manliness while living in a house filled with women. I post there pretty frequently, because my phone makes it easy. Thanks, technology!  

Also, sorry for the sheer number of links in this post. You should click on all of them; they all go to cool stuff. Well, all of them except this one. 

7/2/14: "Early to Rise" OR "Alone Time"

I love waking up before everyone else. 

Waking up early allows one to see a version of the world that few others ever will. In the early morning hours, when the world is just waking up, everything feels different. It's like the world is being born all over again, and you get to witness it firsthand. 

What I like best about waking up early is the time alone I can have before the rest of the world catches up. For me, it's a time to be still and quiet, take in the world that my God created and think about what today might bring. 

And to blog, of course. 

It's THUMY Senior High Beach Retreat 2014. This year our condo isn't as close to the ocean as in years past, but it does have this amazing view of a golf course. 

Plus, the ocean is less than a mile away, so that helps. 

My morning run was short today, because I didn't know the area well enough to know that the road dead-ends at the end of this development. Still, I got to see the ocean, emerald-green and barely a soul in her. 

Though I'm much more at home with some solid ground under my feet, the ocean is a welcome change, and was always my favorite vacation as a kid. 

When I got back from my run, I was still the only one awake in the condo. I was able to make a cup of instant coffee without waking any of the youth sleeping in the living room, and I snuck onto the balcony by way of going outside and climbing going through the gate. 

I wasn't alone for long. Soon my friend and fellow youth worker Tim and his inant son James were awake. Tim left James with me so he could fix the baby some breakfast, granting me and James a great opportunity to feed some bagels to the local wildlife. 

And it's awesome experiences like this that make it worth relinquishing some of the solitude of the morning. That, and ducks are awesome.

Also posting my running stats, because if I don't I'll never keep track of it all. 

Good morning, Destin. Good morning, world. 

6/28/14: "Endurance"

If there was one aspect of running that was the most difficult for me to learn, if was definitely endurance. On the plus side, it's the one area of running in which I feel I excel. I may be as slow as molasses some mornings, but once I get moving, I can go a long way. 

My endurance hasn't only been tested by running, as of late. On Sunday, June 22, I returned from a nine-day mission trip to Guatemala with my church. While nine days doesn't sound like a long time, it felt like I was gone for months. Mainly because I had to leave these girls behind. 

It's okay if this picture made you tear up. Just let them flow. It's freeing. 

Yes, it's sort of an old picture, and she'll ask me to take it down when she sees it, but it's one of my favorite pictures of Hillary. 

I mean, I just got this perfect little family: why do I suddenly have to fly 10,000 miles away? I mean, other than the fact that I'd paid a huge sum of money and that I'd been part of the planning process of this trip since before I met them. 

Okay, so this was sort of a self-chosen pain. And I know that God intended for me to be a part of this mission team. Still, watching Hillary walk away after she dropped me off at the Bluegrass Airport will always remain one of the most painful moments of my life. 

The trip was good. We did wonderful things for very poor people in a very poor part of the world; things that, without out our help, these people would never have access to. It was a life-changing experience, and I am very thankful that I had the opportunity to go. 

But that doesn't change the fact that I was very, VERY ready to be back in the country with my family. 

Speaking of endurance, waiting for the wedding is beginning to wear on both of us. Confession time: me and Hillary were literally about to drive to Louisville and have my brother, Aaron, marry us this weekend. Don't worry, dear readers who have already returned their invitations; we didn't do it. But mainly because we didn't make it to the county clerk's office in time to get a marriage certificate before they closed on Friday. 

It's hard, waiting for what we want. But we figured that ours is a story already more than a decade in the making. What will three more weeks matter? Besides, things are meant to happen in this world on God's time, not our own. And before someone tries to get into a theological debate, yes, I realize that Hillary and I chose our wedding date. Stop being contrary and let me finish this post. 

Back on the topic of running, I did my first long run since the Flying Pig yesterday. Over 11 miles, which is pretty good considering that I'm still in the process of finding running routes in Versailles. 

That night, I launched my Sleep Cycle app, which I use to judge the quality of sleep I get before and after long runs. For the first time ever, my sleep quality was 100% 

I guess being back in the country, with the people I love, doing the things that I love, makes me sleep like a baby at night. 

I write this from the check-out line at Old Navy, where Hillary and I have come to look for summer clothes to wear on the THUMY (Trinity Hill United Methodist Youth) senior high beach retreat next week. This will be Hillary's first beach retreat, so we're both pretty excited. Again, it's something exciting we're finding it difficult to wait for. 

As if knowing I need my metaphors on multiple levels, God has seen fit for Hillary and I to come to Old Navy on $1 flip flop day. Needless to say, the store is a madhouse, and we find ourselves... 

... waiting. 

Thanks, Big Guy. I got the message. 

If you'd like to see other snippets from my adventures in learning to live in a house with three women of various sizes, you can check out my Tumblr page, simply titled, 'A Man's World'. 

5/21/14: "Good Morning, Old Friend," *OR* "Two Lessons"

Question: What's the best part about summer?

Possible correct answers: Warmer mornings, warmer evenings, suntans, grilling, cold drinks, no school, road trips, longer evenings, earlier mornings, more comfortable clothing, and a general better quality of life.

Most correct answer: Early morning runs!

Not surprisingly, I didn't go on very many morning runs during the winter or spring. And by 'not many', I mean absolutely none. It's difficult to make myself do anything before the sun rises, and when it came to pulling myself out of bed when it was just as dark as when I went to bed, I couldn't manage it.

Tuesday was primary election day in Kentucky, and, lucky me, there was no school (an item on the very short list of perks of being a state employee). So, being as there was no pressure of getting to school on time, I decided to have my first early run of the season.

As frequenters of this blog have probably come to know, Hillary Smith and I are getting married this July. I'll be moving into the house she built last year in Versailles, a town ten or twelve miles southwest of Lexington, my current home. Though I can't wait to officially be her husband and stepdad to her two amazing girls, I have to admit that leaving Lexington is a little bittersweet. Especially when I remember my old running routes.

In particular, during the summer, I'd always hit the road around 5:30 AM and see how many miles I could clock before the sun finally got over the row of houses in my neighborhood on Tates Creek Road. I'd always tell the sun, "Good morning, old friend. I beat you this morning."

I know, it's dumb. But I looked forward to it every morning.

Yesterday, as I was running through Versailles, a town I had never run this early in the morning, the sky was thick with clouds. As I prepared to head home, my old friend finally broke through the murk.

It was then that I realized two things. 

First, it isn't the town or the road or the landscape that makes a run worthwhile, but who's waiting for you when that run is over. Before, it was just my cat, Samson. Now, I'm going to have a full house to come home to: three beautiful ladies, a rambunctious kitten, and yes, even my old cat, Sam. 

Second, I realized that my old friend had beaten me to the punch that morning. And that it's time to start lacing up earlier, because I'm not going to let the sun beat me all summer just because I'm changing locations. After all, he's still in the same place he's always been. 

5/8/14: "Running in the Queen City" OR "If I Had a Time Machine"

Warm weather... is here.

And my brain is already done with teaching. 

Okay, that's not really fair. I'm still giving each day in the classroom all I've got. I think I just have less to give, these days. The sun is high in the sky when I leave for school at 7:30, and all I can think about is all the morning runs I'm missing out on! But I have less than a month to go. I will survive. 

Speaking of running... 

Last weekend (May 3rd and 4th), Hillary and I drove to Cincinnati for the Flying Pig Marathon. Although, it was more like a running FESTIVAL, since there were races going on for two whole days. Seeing as how we're both notorious procrastinators, we waited until the last minute to book a hotel room. We shouldn't have been surprised to find not a single hotel room in the city (there were around 40,000 runners for the five combined races, and apparently they ALL needed their own rooms). The only place we were able to find with a room available was a 130-year-old bed and breakfast called The Parker House, near the University of Cincinnati's campus. 

We were not disappointed. 

This place was cheaper than the downtown hotels, and less than 2 miles from the starting lines! 

We lived like royalty on Friday night, then woke up early on Saturday so Hillary could run the Flying Pig 10K. She could have totally handled the half marathon (my lady is a beast), but we were concerned that, having only been 2 weeks since she ran her very first half, she hadn't had adequate time to recover and risked injury.  

But she still looked pretty happy to be running the 10K! 

Those are my sunglasses she's wearing. Don't let the smile fool you. Born clepto. 

That night, I had a difficult time falling asleep. In a mere few hours I would be running only my second marathon, a physical feat I hadn't attempted in over a year and a half. The last time I had run a marathon, I had barely been able to move the following day. With the terrible winter we'd faced in Kentucky, and the lackluster training season that had resulted from it, how could I possibly finish? Forget setting a personal record!  

What was I getting myself into? 

But it was too late. I had already paid for it, and by jove, I was going to get $85.00 worth of pain out of it. 

The race started at 6:30AM, and, of course, I was running late the next morning. Parking was, of course, a nightmare, and I hadn't even found my corral (or Pig Pen, as the Flying Pig referred to them) by the time the pistol sounded to start the race. I was forced to hop a fence, meander into the nearest Pig Pen, and start running. No stretching, no breakfast, no nothing. 

As you can see, I got off to an awesome start. It was time to just run and hope for the best. 

I decided to chronicle the event by taking a snapshot every three miles. That way, even if the race turned out to be a total bust, I would still have evidence that I attempted to finish the darn thing. 

Mile three found me on a bridge, heading back into my Old Kentucky Home. Check out those clouds. 

At mile six, I was having flashbacks from my first marathon, in Las Vegas. 

At mile nine, the road was narrow and crowded with people. To avoid a shot full of strangers, I took this one from the side. 

It was at this point that I really hit my stride. Once the 13.1-ers and the 26.2-ers split, I found my legs aching less, my breathing easing, and me caring less about the time I was going to make. 

Best part about the Flying Pig? Running through there residential neighborhoods. The people of Cincinnati really know how to make a runner feel welcome. Their cheers and support kept me moving. 

On the highway. It was shortly after (before?) this sign that I saw the Cincinnati Parrot Head League, The Queen City's premiere Jimmy Buffett fan club. 

At mile 21, I had begin to walk a few minutes every mile. I also realized that, during my last marathon, I had started walking around mile 9. Which was encouraging. 

When I could see the city in the distance at mile 24, I realized that I wouldn't be taking another picture until the finish line. 

Me, at the finish line, newly knighted as a Flying Pig Marathon finisher. 

I finished the race in exactly 5'12"00'''. Which, for anyone keeping score (and I totally am), is one minute and thirty-nine seconds faster than my Las Vegas marathon. To further fuel my encouragement, I felt like this course was much harder than the Vegas course (Cincy hills versus Vegas flatness), and the weather was far more hospitable in Vegas (May sun and heat versus December cool and nighttime). 

And, as further icing on the proverbial cake, I didn't feel like I wanted to die the next day. In fact, yesterday (two days since the race), I did a two-mile tempo run with Hillary. 

So I'm already looking for at least one fall marathon - maybe two.  The more I do this, the better I'm going to get. Heck, it's the only way I'm going to get better. 

Have you ever wanted to go back in time to tell something to your past self?  You probably do; I imagine everyone has some things they wish they could do differently. Unlike Kang the Conquerer (from Marvel Comics) or Biff Tannon (from Back to the Future), I wouldn't use time travel simply to remake the world in my image. There's not much I would undo in my past, simply because those events, no matter how difficult they make have been, have molded me into who I am today. And, for the first time in a while, I like who I am. And yes, included on the list of "difficult things I wouldn't undo" is my divorce. 

So, after I acquired a time machine from a wild-eyed old man, I'd go back and have a talking-to with my fifteen-year-old self. 

Fifteen-year-old Graham was an overweight, socially awkward, never-been-kissed band nerd, and he didn't think much of himself, either. His days were spent playing Magic: The Gathering, listening to bad 80's hair metal (I didn't discover it until around 1998), and wishing he had the guts to ask out one girl or another. He was self-concious about his weight, never knew how to fix his hair, and was terrified of rejection. 

Maybe I'd be a substitute teacher for him at Belfry High School. And, just after class let out, I'd call him to the teacher's desk and explain who I was (fifteen-year-old me had enough understanding of science fiction to believe me). I'd tell him to keep his chin up, to keep doing the things he loves, and to never give up on a dream. 

I'd tell him to keep fighting the good fight, because he was going to be looked up to by dozens of youth group kids one day. 

I'd tell him to not give up on his fitness goals, because one day he was going to run for five hours straight and actually feel pretty good afterward. 

I'd tell him to not worry about his poor luck with high school girls, because one day, after some ups and downs, he was going to marry Hillary Smith. 

(At this point, his eyes would get as big as silver dollars, because he know's she waaaay out of his league. Just like she's still out of my league today, even though she won't admit it. ;)  

So, fifteen-year-old Graham, if time travel is ever a thing, and I go back in time and tell you all this stuff, and you're one day able to write this blog post while remembering the things I said... if we haven't unraveled the very fabric of reality, I'd like you to know that you turned out pretty good. Even if you still have some areas to improve upon. 

"The Long Run", or "Local Wildlife"

It's been just about a month since my last entry. I don't mean to have such a large hiatus between posts. It's not that there's been nothing going on in my personal life and running life; far from it. It's just been difficult to convince myself to make time for blogging. 

Here I am again: King of Excuses. All hail. 

As anyone not hibernating will be able to tell you, this last winter has been pretty much the worst winter in memory. When I was in middle and elementary school, circa 1994-96, eastern Kentucky was routinely buried under two feet of snow at a time. But the snows weren't as frequent, as cold, or as long-lived as this year. That's put a real hamper on my training for what is shaping up to be a very active spring season. 

Last Saturday, Hillary and I ran the Run The Bluegrass Half Marathon at Keeneland Race Track. Well, she did the 7-miler, and I did the half. But we shared the common thread that the race distance was the longest distance that each of us has run in months (since the weather turned foul, as a matter of fact). 

Despite warm weather earlier in the week, the high that day was 42 degrees F. And it rained. For pretty much the whole race. 

And, despite this, here we are, smiling like lunatics when all was said and done. 

The picture quality is so poor because my hands were shaking from the cold. 

I posted a time of 2' 16", a full two minutes faster than I did last year, despite the strong headwind pushing against me, the old, worn-out shoes I was wearing (didn't want the rain to ruin my good shoes), and, of course, the cold and driving rain. Even Hillary said she felt like her time on the seven-miler was her best racing time in months, even though the crappy weather had kept her inside, too. 

So we both are optimistic about our future spring races! Take that, winter! 

But we're also both still sore, six days later. 

Let me make one thing clear: I'm the least responsible runner ever. I run simply because it's fun. I rarely record my speeds and distances, NEVER keep training logs, and never follow training plans, even though I want to do better at longer races. And very rarely stretch before races. 

So, when I left on Monday morning for a mission trip with my youth group kids, I may have still been feeling the pains of the race. And then I maaaaay have worked all week around Aldersgate Camp in Ravenna, KY, further exacerbating these pains. 

It was a good week, thought. Without going into too much detail, we spend the week helping the camp catch up on some maintenance projects that needed done to prepare the camp for its upcoming week-long summer activities. Many of my youth kids have had intense spiritual experiences at this camp (some of the even gave their life to Christ there), so being able to give back in a meaningful way was a great experience for them. Not to mention that it got me off my lazy butt during spring break. 

Yesterday, we finished our work a little earlier than expected, which resulted in a little extra free time. My back and right ankle had been killing me all week, and I could think of no better panacea than some road therapy. So I laced up the beaten pair of shoes I had brought, put on the shorts I had worn to pain a fence two days prior, and hit the rural road. 

There was no ATT signal this deep in the mountains of Appalachia (big surprise), so my GPS couldn't create a map of the road. However, the GPS satellites were still able to track my speed and distance. So I ended up with this haunting path, through the middle of nowhere. 

It was a good distance, and I even made a pretty good pace (a little slower than 10min/mile). I was chased by dogs at two different places on the trip (almost no one deep in the mountains of Appalachia ties up their dogs, much to the chagrin of runners). At one point the road wound between two cow pastures, and every one of the beasts watched me as I ran by, which was more than a little creepy. 

And, after about two miles, I saw this big fellah. 

Though you can't tell from the picture, this guy was more than a foot long, from beak to tail. After I showed the picture to my youth kids, many of them asked why I didn't pick up this massive snapping turtle and bring him back to camp. 

Bear in mind: these are city kids, who have never seen what a snapping turtle can do. 

As I've mentioned in previous posts, running is a form of therapy for me. It gives me a few moments to be alone, mull over the events in my life, and put things into perspective. I also consider it an act of worship, because it puts me out in a beautiful world created by God, and gives me a while to simply focus on Him and my own footfalls. 

I realized how short life is, and how my youth kids are, one day, going to look back on that mission trip with very different eyes than I will. I hoped I was able to be a good leader to them (this week, and every week), and I hoped I did something that week that really showed them who God is. 

I realized how much I actually missed Hillary and the girls. Having no cell service all week killed my connection to them, but keeping busy almost every minute of every day had distracted me until that moment. Then, on the road, I realized how much I ached to hold her in my arms again, how much I wanted to curl up with Faith and play Adventures Ponies on the My Little Pony website (it's a real game: look it up), and how much I missed Zoe's tight little hugs and simple requests for more milk or another fruit bar. 

And, after that, I once again realized just how amazing and faithful God is. Memories of the past few years sometimes return when I run, but lately they've been coming in the form of thankfulness instead of regret. Thankfulness to God, for all He has brought me (us!) through in the past two years, and thankfulness for His ability to create beauty from a complete mess. And, of course, thankfulness to Hillary, for being willing to listen to the inklings of the Holy Spirit. Because if we both hadn't been listening at just the right time, I doubt our amazing present (and amazing future) together would have ever happened. 

As I was finishing the run, storm clouds were rolling in over the mountains. I said a fast prayer, asking God to hold off the rain until I was safely back at camp. It seems He was happy to oblige, because the real downpour didn't start until after I had been back in the cabin for around fifteen minutes. 

It has rained for two days straight. I don't really mind. Because there are going to be more sunny days to run, more races to train for, and more days when God holds off the storms until I've found cover. 

"New Roads"

I've been engaged for three whole weeks.

No, it's not the first time. And as such, it's much different than the last time I was engaged. I'm a full five years older, now into my thirties. For Hillary, it's been more than a decade since she had to worry about the details of a wedding. Though we have both agreed that this is going to be the last wedding we ever have to plan, we have agreed to err on the side of simplicity in as many areas as possible.

Yesterday, we booked Equus Run Vineyards for Friday, July 18th. So, to everyone out there, this is date you're going to have to remind me every year to buy flowers and presents. (Kidding, kidding! I'm never going to forget this date)

We were going to go with Saturday, the 26th, but someone literally booked it the day before we got to the vineyard. So, to cut down on time spent planning and researching, we decided for the Friday, since all the other Saturdays were either booked at the venue site, or we had other activities going on.

So far, this doesn't quite seem like new territory for the two of us yet. We have each, of course, done this before.

But remember, circumstances are far different for each of us now than they were the first time.

And yesterday night, I found myself with a feeling of being surrounded on all sides by decisions to be made, and a rapidly closing window in which to make them.

Colors.

Photographer.

Groomsmen and bridesmaids.

Wedding bands.

DJ.

Honeymoon.

Guest list (then save-the-date cards, then invitations)

And I'm sure a half-dozen things I haven't even bothered getting stressed about yet.

Suddenly, something I thought was going to be simple and low-key was becoming very complicated. Wow... come to think of it, even the act of making that list sort of stressed me out all over again.

This weekend, Hillary and I are in Louisville, visiting my brother Aaron and his wife, Rebecca. Hillary's ring has been resized at Merkley Kendrick Jewelers, to minimize the risk of it slipping off while she saves the world on a daily basis. I've had the majority of the day to myself: Aaron has been with the middle school kids from his church's youth group on a mission project all day, and Hillary and Rebecca have been taking care of all the feminine aspects of wedding planning (UPDATE: I just heard that Hillary's found and bought her wedding dress!).

So I took time today to go for a nice, long run through the unfamiliar streets of Louisville, Kentucky.

Running is my coping mechanism. When I'm pounding the pavement, things tend to drift into a new, fresh perspective. I suspect that I have adult ADD (my twin brother has just come to the same realization about himself, which you can read about in hilarious cartoon form), and the physical activity helps me get my thought organized. 

Plus, I'm actually learning my way around L'ville. At least the area around Aaron and Rebecca's house. 

Somewhere along either Eastern Parkway or Bardstown Road, things started to gain perspective. 

Yes, wedding planning is stressful. Yes, weddings are expensive, and always end up twice as expensive as one expects they will (anyone who has ever paid for a wedding will vouch for this). But, holy cow... I'm getting married again!  After my divorce, I wasn't sure this would ever happen!  And I was convinced that, if I did decide to get married again, I would simply have to settle for someone, to marry the first woman who showed the mildest interest in me, simply for the sake of not being alone for the rest of my life. 

I never dreamed what God would make of the rubble that was my life. And I surely never thought that he would send someone as awesome as Hillary (and, bonus! Two beautiful, wonderful little girls) into my life. 

God not only has built from the rubble: he has taken the rubble, rearranged it into an avant-garde masterpiece, and handed it to me on a silver platter. And I'm complaining about wedding planning? That'd be like winning the lottery and complaining that I couldn't think of enough ways to spend the money. 

The day of the wedding is going to be a rushed whirlwind, no matter what we do. Ten, twenty years from now, we're not going to remember what parts of the planning were the most stressful. All we're going to remember is how much fun we had on the day that we joined our lives, closed two chapters of "God has brought us through turmoil", and began a chapter of "What God is doing for us now". 

So bring on the planning. When it's finished, it's going to be totally worth it. 

And on a side note, Louisville is my kind of town. 

Seen outside a coffee shop. As if you needed me to tell you. 

"Running Therapy" OR "Bolding Going"

This is my first post since the first day of February. It has been a very eventful month for me.

First and foremost, if you're a consistent follower of this blog, you've probably heard me talk about my girlfriend Hillary (you might have even checked out her blog, which I link to fairly often). She's also a runner, though she's only been at it for around a year. Despite this, she's LEAPS AND BOUNDS above where I was after my first year of running, and at this pace she'll start lapping me in a year or two.

Yes, I said a year or two. And I'm confident of this timetable because I asked her to marry me. And she said yes.

Running is one of the paramount hobbies that we share; more importantly, running was, for each of us, a way to deal with the frightening turn our lives had taken after our divorces. So, it only seemed fitting to make running part of our engagement.

I talked to the awesome people at John's Run/Walk Shop, Lexington's most amazing local store for all things running. When I told them my plan, they were elated, and said they'd be thrilled to help. So the following Saturday (February 8th), I took Hillary to the store, where she picked out a new pair of running shoes. When she went to give them a spin around the block (which John's insists everyone do before buying, to get a feel for the pair), I prepared myself with the ring.

When she came back into the store, I popped the question.

One of the dedicated John's employees captured the moment on her phone. The video is on John's Run/Walk Shop's Facebook Page

Our friend Sarah created this image for us, and I can't think of anything more fitting that she could have captioned it with.

Even if I look exhausted and/or impaired. 

So the last two weeks have been me trying to get back into the flow of a five-day school week (we've only managed that TWICE since Christmas break), and Hillary and I deciding all the things that come with planning a wedding. 

Today, I had a few hours to myself: Hillary's been off to a women's retreat at church, taking the girls with her to play in the kid's room for a few hours. I decided to try to get in some much-needed milage that the crappy winter weather has robbed me of. 

As I was getting ready, I received a text from the person I would have least expected. 

My ex-wife. 

In case you're new to the blog, my now ex-wife moved out of our house almost two years ago. It's been since August 2012 that I've even laid eyes on her, and it's taken me nearly every minute since then to get over her.

She still texts me sometimes, over small stuff. To tell me Kroger now carries my favorite brand of coffee. To send me a funny picture she found on the internet. And, surprisingly, to congratulate me on my engagement. Those texts, I don't really mind. But this particular text message, without going into too much detail, was asking for my help.

I don't know if you (dear reader) have ever had a loved one willingly distance themselves from you, but there is nothing that hurts quite as much. And watching that person go through hard times, knowing you're unable to help, is heart-wrenching.

I have a new life now. I'm about to become part of a wonderful family, with a wife and two wonderful little girls that I love more than I ever thought possible. It would be the definition of irresponsibility to help my ex when my current family needs all my resources. But how could I deny helping someone I used to care so much about?

To clear my head, I went for a run. My longest run in months.

I may have had some thinking to do. 

Even before my head was clear, I knew my responsibly was to my new family, not to her, and creating a new thread between us wouldn't be healthy for either of us. So, after my run, I sent her a respectful text in return and told her I couldn't help. 

And now, her I sit on a Sunday morning, watching Faith, the most amazing four- year-old in the world, playing My Little Pony games on her mom's laptop. I couldn't be more affirmed in my decision to dedicate myself to my awesome little family. Yeah, the road getting here was tough and painful, but all that's behind me now.  And it was well worth the trip. 

I think she has the pony fashion game memorized by now.