"Cool Runnings", *OR* "Learning to Disconnect"

I never would have thought that forcing myself to disconnect and relax would be so difficult.

Yesterday was mine and Hillary's three year wedding anniversary. This day is extremely important to the two of us, but not in the standard "Everyone's anniversary is important to them" way. As many readers know, our wedding was not the first wedding for each of us. We'd each been put through the proverbial wringer when it came to past relationships, each having our previous marriages crumble around us despite our best efforts to keep them together.

Our relationship began with each of us in a place where we didn't know if we'd ever have back the lives we'd lost. Little did we know that God had even more in store for us, and what He was preparing us for was greater than anything we were leaving behind. After dating for less than a year I asked Hillary to marry me, and we tied the knot on July 18th, 2014.

It was a Friday, because every Saturday at the venue was booked solid for the entire summer. We rehearsed that morning in the summer sunshine, but then it rained for the rest of the day. The rain caused accidents on every major road leading to the venue, causing many guests (and even our cake) to arrive late.

But, like so many things in our lives, despite the apparent flaws on the surface, it was absolutely perfect. I won't go into much more about our wedding day now, since many readers have heard the story often. If you'd like the play-by-play of that amazing day, you can check out this post. 

Since our wedding, Hillary and I have made it a priority to take a week-long vacation every year, just the two of us. Our days consist of getting kids where they need to be, cooking for kids and adults, cleaning, work, exercise, and entertaining three kids with three very different sets of interests. With the break-neck pace of our life, Hillary and I will sometimes go days without ever having a conversation. The week-long excursion is necessary time to recharge and reconnect our marriage, to invest in each other so we can better invest in our family when we return home.

Last year, we broke our tradition of traveling to Key West, Florida, and traveled to Banff, a ski town in Alberta, Canada. It was a fantastic trip, and the cool weather and relaxed pace was exactly what Hillary needed, being seven months pregnant. It was such a fantastic experience that we decided to return to Banff this year.

And that's where I sit now, writing this post.

When we decided to return to Banff, we knew we wanted to do many of the things we weren't able to do last year, Hillary being pregnant. Even though yesterday was our first full day in Canada, we wanted to make the most of it. So we drove to Lake Louise, one of Canada's hidden treasures, and hiked the Plain of the Six Glaciers trail.

That's the Upper Victoria Glacier, front and center in the background. 

Fun fact: when something is very large, it destroys your ability to judge just how far away it is. And the series of glaciers in the background of the above photo is very, very large. It LOOKS like the Lower Victoria Glacier (the little snowy bottom of the big glacier) touches the back of the lack. In actuality, it's nearly a mile around the lake to the trailhead of the Plain of the Six Glaciers, and then nearly three more miles to the base of the Lower Victoria. Isn't "depth of field" interesting?

The hike was maybe the most difficult hike of my life. The trail was uphill the entire way (even to the base of the Glacier, which also doesn't look that high. Yay, perspective!) and covered with broken shale and rocks, which had eroded from the glaciers over the course of millennia of glacial ice melting and becoming the headwaters of the lake.

We also hiked over SNOW. Huge mounds of hard-packed snow, in the middle of summer. And it wasn't cold on the trail; the temperature was in the low 70's, and we worked up a healthy sweat over the miles. Still, snow found a way to survive.

Of course, I had to investigate. 

After neatly four miles of hiking, we finally arrived at the Plain of the Six Glaciers Tea House. Originally built in 1927 by the local railway company, the Tea House still operates to this day. It has no electricity and no running water. But to two extremely tired hikers, it was an oasis. Hillary ordered a bowl of hot vegetable soup and a cup of coffee, and I had tea with homemade biscuits. I probably would have preferred coffee, but how can you go to a 90-year-old tea house and not order tea?

Reading the story of the Teahouse from the upper patio. 

Once we were refreshed, we stretched out in my parachute hammock and took in the view of the glaciers. Soon after, we hiked a little further to get a better view, but we didn't go the entire way because we had to make the last shuttle bus down the overflow parking for Lake Louise. (Not pictures in any of the photos: the massive crowds of tourists that surround the lake area). 

The glaciers normally don't look so hazy; there are some brutal wildfires burning in British Columbia (one province to the west), and the smoke is blowing into Alberta. Everything smells like a campfire. 

We've had an amazing day of hiking already, and there are still many more days of vacation in Banff left. But, even though we're having a blast, we've been toying with the idea of leaving early and returning to Kentucky. This surprises even us, because we've never considered this on an anniversary trip before. We've always been happy to be back when the trip was over, yes, but never entertained the idea of actually cutting the trip short. 

But things back in Kentucky are much different now than they've been on any of our other trips. 

HOW DID SHE GET THIS BIG ALREADY!?! Someone tell me how to slow it down!! 

I didn't take this picture. It was sent to me by my mother and father, who are watching Ellie Kate while Hillary and I are out of the country. 

Mom and Dad came to Lexington to pick up the baby last Sunday, before Hillary and I had to drive to Cincinnati to stay the night to catch our early international flight Monday morning. We hugged, we kissed, and then they left with the baby. 

Hillary and I cried for ten minutes in the car and seriously considered cancelling our trip, then and there. 

We've left Faith and Zoe for three consecutive years, for a week each, as we left on our anniversary trip. It hadn't been this hard with them, because they're older and can understand that, even though we're gone, we will be back and our life will go back to normal. They're comfortable staying with various sets of relatives. And we promised we'd bring them back some souvenirs, which sweetened the deal. 

When we'd been to Canada the summer before, we hadn't even considered the possibility that it would be this difficult leaving the baby. She's so small... how can she understand that mommy and daddy will come back? What if she doesn't sleep well? What if she gets upset that we're not there? 

What if she forgets us? 

Of course, this is all nonsense. Ellie Kate remembers people she's met after much longer than a week's separation. She's sleeping pretty good (as well as can be expected, and better every night) at my parent's house. And she's generally a happy baby. 

But when you're used to kissing those squishy, little cheeks... when you're used to hearing that infectious laugh when you toss her into the air... how can you justify leaving that, for any period of time? 

I'll never understand people who are satisfied with seeing their children for one or two days every week. I'll never understand why someone would want to barter away those scant few days for extra weekend time. For Hillary and I, the struggle isn't in forcing ourselves to spend time with our kids, but forcing ourselves to spend time AWAY from our kids: to disconnect from them long enough to make sure they're not becoming the center of our universe. 

How does anyone have a child and not be forever altered? How can you simply return to the old mindset of doing everything for yourself? 

It's more difficult than some might realize, finally having a few days of "freedom" after spending so many months having to constantly look out for the interests of a helpless little person. Hillary and I, at first, were afraid we were becoming one of those couples that finds it impossible to have a life outside their children. We quickly realized this isn't the case: we still love to talk, have adventures, share our thoughts and ideas and dreams, and enjoy each other's company. But, honestly, it took us a day or so to fully take in the fact that we weren't responsible for any little people for a while. 

We haven't rescheduled our trip home. Yet. Hillary and I recognize that this time is crucial to our relationship with each other. Christ has directions for a strong marriage, and we recognize that keeping our marriage strong is at the core of keeping our family strong. And we know our baby, who may or not remember us when we get back (joking!), is in good hands with my parents. But you can bet, when the flight back to the USA boards, she and I will be first in line. 

Until then, I guess I'll keep re-watching this video. I took it the morning before my parents picked up Ellie Kate. 

"Bun In the Oven", OR "Back-Up Plans"

So now, the world knows.

Hillary and I have known for almost two months, now. Our closest relatives and friends have known for a month, maybe longer. But, for the most part, we've managed to keep it a secret from the rest of the world until earlier this week.

In case you missed it, this was Hillary's Facebook post earlier this week.

It took some people a little longer to get it than others. But pretty much everyone realized the news. Hillary and I expecting a baby this October. 

We waiting so long to tell everyone because we wanted to make sure everything was okay. We got our first ultrasound a few weeks ago, and everything looked fine. But we wanted further testing, just to be safe. 

He/She is the little gray lump inside the dark gray lump. 

Last week we finally got back the blood tests that eased our fears. All the possible genetic abnormalities that could be detected by blood test were pretty much out of the question. Whether boy or girl, we're hopeful for a healthy baby. 

This is a triumph, for Hillary and I. For years, even before we were married, we discussed the possibility of having a child together. We decided the time was right to try, what with both of us already in our thirties. And, last March, signs began to point to the truth that God had blessed us. 

It was the best possible news. But it was bittersweet, because this wasn't the first time we'd gotten our hopes up. 

Last September, Hillary and I also though we'd succeeded in getting pregnant. Like this time, all the signed pointed toward the blessing we thought we were ready for. 

A few weeks passed. The date of Hillary's first ultrasound approached. She wanted me to go with her, because she was nervous. She said that she felt uneasy, nervous; like something wasn't right. I chocked it up to the nerves of a newly pregnant woman.  

I should have listened. 

There was simply nothing there. No baby. We didn't have a viable pregnancy, after all. 

(If this comes as a shock, it should. Hillary and I didn't tell very many people about it. In fact, only a select few of our closest friends and relatives even knew we were pregnant in September/October.)

The timing for a baby would have been perfect. Hillary would have been due at the first of June. I wouldn't have had to spend any sick days to spend all the time I wanted at home with her and the baby. Our baby would have been born within a month of my cousin, Cory Rayborn, and his wife Lindsay's daughter. The two would have been able to grow up together, nearly the same age. Hillary wouldn't have to spend her summer pregnant. 

Everything was perfect. All was as it should have been. 

Except that it was not meant to be. 

The following weeks and months were a roller coaster of emotions for the two of us. They were met with lots of questioning, anger, and confusion. God knew our situation. He knew our lives. He knew our willingness to have a child, to lace our family together. Why would he do this? And why, in this way? Was God cruel enough to dangle what we desired in front of us, only to pull it from our grasp like some cosmic game of keep-away?  

The months of questioning stretched into 2016. 

As soon as Hillary and I were able, we started trying again. Hillary went to her doctor often, to see what more we could do to increase our chances.  All the while, we wondered why it simply hadn't "taken" the first time. 

One night in January, Hillary and I had to drive separately to a church function. I'm not sure what it was, or why we had to drive our own vehicles. What I do remember is how hard our seemingly fruitless attempt to conceive again was weighing on her. And as I drove home that night, I thought about my wife, and what she'd personally been through over the last few months. And I said a desperate prayer, aloud, as I drove on the Bluegrass Parkway back to our house. 

God, if Hillary and I are meant to have a child together, let us have that child soon. If we aren't, then ease mine - and especially my wife's - hearts about the subject, and instead show us how to focus our energies on you and how much you've already given us. 

I wish I could say that it only took me saying the prayer once to believe that God heard it, but I must have repeated the prayer three or four times before I got home. I told Hillary about it, because I believe there is not only power in prayer, but power in prayer shared with others. 

A few weeks later, while the two of us were volunteering at our church's Wednesday night youth Bible study, the topic was raised of the annual Guys/Girls Retreat. Sarah Bailie, the youth minister, announced the dates of the trip, and asked for adult volunteers to serve as chaperones. 

The Guys/Girls retreat is one of mine and Hillary's favorite retreats. We had never missed it. But the dates fell upon the weekend in March in which Hillary had calculated as our prime conception time. If we missed those dates, we'd have to wait until April to try again. 

At this time, it was late January. We'd already missed our opportunity for the month. February was coming up. And if nothing happened in February, waiting until April to try again felt out of the question. 

We hem-hawed around the topic. I prayed about it, unsure of what I'd hear. Yes, youth retreats are extremely important in the spiritual development of the youth of our church, and could impact a student's life in ways I can't understand. But was there anything wrong with missing it just this once, to try for what our hearts had desired for so long (and had already been denied once)? 

The response to the prayer was pretty immediate. 

For some context, God did not grant me with an abundance of discernment. In fact, when it comes down to it, my skill at discerning the will of The Spirit is downright anemic. So when God spoke, he must have known that a nearly-audible voice was what I need. 

Believe I AM capable of this. 

Of course, this was ridiculous. I believed God was capable of helping Hillary and I conceive again. 

But did I believe He would come through? 

Faith is a weird thing. The Bible continually says that not only is Faith believing that God has the power to do what He says He'll do, but living our lives as though He WILL do the things He says He'll do.  Jesus himself said that, even with a tiny speck of faith, we can tell a mountain to throw itself into the sea, and it'll be done. 

Jesus doesn't say that we have to simply believe God can throw a mountain into the sea. It requires action on our part. We must change our words, thoughts, and actions to reflect the reality that God not only CAN do what He says he will, or WILL do what He says He will, but that He has ALREADY GONE BEFORE US, HAS ALREADY DONE WHAT HE SAYS HE WILL DO. 

Hillary and I were trying everything we possibly could to fulfill our dream. But if we really believed we served a God who was powerful enough to do what we had prayed of Him, why were we constantly making contingency plans as though He wasn't going to come through? 

In real faith, there is no room for, "If God does this, great, but if He DOESN'T, then I have a back-up plan." 

So I told Hillary that I thought we should sign up for the Guys/Girls retreat. 

And, before we left for the retreat in March, pregnancy tests started coming up with the little blue line. 

Of course, God owes us nothing. There is nothing I could do that could put God in my debt. And I'm not saying that God is like a slot machine, guaranteed to "pay out" the longer you pull His arm. But even Jesus knew the power of true faith, of faith that doesn't ask, 'What if God doesn't come through?' but instead, 'God has already gone before me; there is no need of a back-up plan'. 

Hillary and I didn't deserve this blessing. We hadn't earned it. And I don't believe my faith made it magically happen when it did. That's the real mystery of faith, I guess. God's got a whole lot going on up there; things that I will never be able to understand. He's still not provided Hillary and I with an explanation why things happened the way they did in October. God owes me no explanation. But he has still promised me, and everyone else, that all we have to do is believe that He is capable of the things He says He is. 

And then to live our lives as if we believe it. 

"Footprints" **OR** "Just One More Step"

When I first started this blog, around two or three years ago, it was intended as a running blog. I looked all over the internet for review of energy products for runner (gels, chews, blocks, etc.), and, finding so such thing, decided to start my own. And for the first few months, that's what the blog was about.

Then came my divorce, and the posts stopped. I had... other things on my mind.

Since my remarriage to a wonderful woman and gaining two amazing stepdaughters, the posts have taken a much more personal turn. Heck, when so much starts going right after it went wrong for so long, how could I NOT write about it?

Running was always a therapy exercise for me. So, these days, when I run, my mind drifts back to where I am now, and what I had to go through to get here. Consequently, so do my posts about running.

And, in case you don't live in the Bluegrass State of Kentucky, there is currently a lot of snow on the ground. Like, a lot. A lot, a lot. Eleven inches of snow in eight hours.

My wife snuck a picture as I was shoveling the driveway. You never appreciate the varying topography of your driveway until you have to shovel almost a foot of snow off it. 

School's been cancelled for two days in a row. Hillary and I have been stuck inside with our four- and five-year old daughters. And, even with as much as we love each other, all of us were starting to get cabin fever. 

Hillary's parents took the girls for a few hours this afternoon. 

Hillary went to get a diet coke. 

And I went for a run. 

I've got to hand it to Woodford County: the roads of our subdivision looked amazing this afternoon. The road crews must have been scraping for hours, because not only were the roads clear, but the sun had even dried up most of the remaining slush. So, for the isolated roads of the sub, the running was smooth. 

Sidewalks, however, hadn't been shoveled at all. On the contrary: all the snow pushed off the road had to go somewhere, making drifts on sidewalks upwards of three feet high. 

So I hit the local bike path, and broke out these bad boys: ice grippers that fit over the bottoms of my running shoes. 

I didn't take into account that they'd be less effective when the snow is past my calves. Still, better than nothing. 

There are a few things about running through deep snow that I didn't consider before lacing up. 

 - The energy needed to lift my legs high out of the snow drifts. 

 - The energy needed to fight the drag from snow, even when only the tips of my toes dragged through it. 

 - The energy needed to compensate every time my feet landed and slipped at an angle other than 'straight forward'. 

- Basically a whole lot of energy factors that wore me down, quickly. 

Immediately, I noticed that I wasn't the only one crazy enough to go for a run today. There was one set of footprints in the deep snow, not very old. I tried my best to stay in them: less snow to haul with my shoes meant more energy I could use for running. 

Despite my best efforts to stay in the established footprints, the run was slow and difficult. And then I came to something I didn't expect. 

The footprints stopped. 

Though there hadn't been anything to indicate such, I had assumed that I could follow these footprints as far as I wanted to go. I trusted that someone else had been ahead of me, had laid a path I could follow. There was something strangely daunting about being the one to blaze on past those footprints, and I'm not talking just the tole it was going to take on my already tired (and cold) legs. 

But I wasn't done with my run. So I pressed on. 

It was difficult. For a while, I wanted to stop and rest. But that wasn't really an option; if I stopped, then I was simply standing in foot-deep snow, getting colder by the second. If I wanted to stay warm, and watched to reach the end, I had to keep moving, no matter how slowly. 

Eventually I'd had enough, and I came to a cross-road that had been plowed by the persistent Woodford County road crew. I stopped to catch my breath, and when I turned around, the only footprints I saw were my own. 

They took a while to make. They left me tired and sore, and the thought of having to go through them again to get home was intimidating. But they were mine, and someone else could walk in them if they came this way, just like the first set I had used. 

There are a lot of metaphors in this entry for my trials of the last two/three years.  

I eventually made it back to the paved, easy roads of my subdivision. And it, like many subdivisions, is full of large plots of land simply waiting for some enterprising developer to snatch up and fill with affordable luxury homes. 

Someone else got to a particularly large, undeveloped plot today, though, and left a message for all to see. 

I don't know who turned this field into a giant Etch-a-Sketch, but I was glad they did. Because, even though I looked back and saw only one set of footprints, I knew He was still with me the entire way. Sometimes, God doesn't carry you; instead, he simply whispers, quietly, "Just one more step." 

Why I Hate Winter: A Thoughtful Tirade

Why I Hate Winter: A Thoughtful Tirade 

Winter is here, yet again, in case the Christmas lights and Santas on street corners hadn't alerted you. Of course, I've been seeing signs of Christmas since early October, so that's not as telling as it used to be. 

The time right after the holidays always puts me in a certain mood. While I'm normally a very introspective person, looking at a brand new year always makes me examine the Graham that I was in years past. I dredge up old memories, old hurts, old joys, and wallow in a introspective pile for a time. It was during such a wallow when I figured out the real reason I hate winter. 

Let's get one thing clear: I HATE being cold. I would rather be sunburned and drenched in sweat than even mildly chilly. This is usually the part of the discussion where a winter-lover brings up the old defense, 'You can always put more layers on if you're cold, but there are only so many layers you can take off'. This is, of course, a total load. For me, there is a point of being cold when the chill creeps down into my bones. Putting layers on doesn't help; the cold is inside me. Piling more things on top will not get rid of it. 

Though I do hate the cold, it's merely the secondary reason I hate winter. 

Kentucky has very unique weather patters. We haven't had a white Christmas is nearly ten years, but last year my school was cancelled a whopping fifteen days for snow. This doesn't seem like a big deal, but living in it for my whole life has made me resent the entire season. 

Because, you see, winter is a lair. 

Last summer I was married to an amazing woman, gaining two stepdaughters along with her. A time of uncertainty and fear, unlike any I had ever known, suddenly ended. Now, it feels like my life has actually started; everything up to this seems like practice, a scrimmage. Life has begun. 

Today is the first day of a new year. To me, this feels like Year One. I picture what the girls will look like in ten years. I try to figure out who they'll be. I imagine what Hillary and I will have to replace on the house in a few years. I wonder where we'll go on vacation. I'm planning new running routes from the house we live in, where we've planted roots, deep and strong. 

Winter had given me a beautiful day outside, with sunshine and a blue, cloudless sky. It's set my mind alight with possibilities for this year, next year, ten years, twenty years from now. The beginning of January is always like this in Kentucky. 

But winter, like a spoiled child, never knows what it wants. Tomorrow, the temperature might struggle to crest the 30's (for you Celsius folks, that right around zero). Then the sky will turn gray for more than a month. Maybe it will precipitate. Maybe it won't. Maybe it'll be snow. Maybe, sleet. Maybe, freezing rain. Or maybe it'll taunt me with an afternoon in the 60's, only to pull it from beneath me like Lucy with Charlie Brown's football. 

I hate winter for the same reason I hate reality TV and politicians. Winter is disingenuous. It smiles at your face and laughs behind your back. It hands you a cup of coffee, but spits in the cup. Put simply, it is a liar and a cheat. 

I suppose the real reason I hate winter is because it reminds me so much of that cold, uncertain time in my life. There were no visions of the future, because I didn't know I had a future. There were no long-term plans, because I couldn't see further than the end of my nose. Winter, perhaps, strikes a little too close to home. 

That time of uncertainly in my life is over, even if bleak mid-winter is just getting started. There will be cold days. There will be snowy days. There'll be days when muddy sleet makes the garage a mess and ruins the floorboards in my car.

But the winter will end, and spring will come. I'm already picturing what it'll be like. 

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. 

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'.