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.
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