"Choosing Not to Share", OR "Butter"

"I feel thin, Galdalf... like butter, scraped over too much bread."  - Bilbo Baggins

This has been the theme of my life, as of late. And I hand't actually realized it until very recently. Within the last week, to be exact. 

Two weekends ago, Hillary and I went to Cincinnati for the Flying Pig Marathon weekend. Among the festivities were a 5K, 10K, kid's 1 mile fun run, 2 mile "run with your dog" jog, half marathon, and full marathon. For the truly insane, the Flying Pig offered the Skyline Chili 3-way and 4-way challenges: to run the 5K, 10K, and half marathon or full marathon, all in the same weekend. 

I was registered for the 4-way challenge, plus the 2-mile dog run; a grand total of almost 38 miles. Because I have a death wish or I want to start hating running or something. 

We might have gotten up a little early for Rory's tastes. 

The races on Saturday (10K, 5K, and dog run, in that order) went off without a hitch, pretty much. I had some minor hamstring pain because I didn't stretch properly, but Hillary and I wound down that afternoon by watching The Avengers: Age of Ultron in the Newport, KY theater. Sitting on my butt for 3 hours watching superheroes knock each other senseless was just what the doctor ordered. 

Not to mention a late brunch at First Watch. Rory sat in the booth like this the entire time. He ate bacon. 

Sunday morning found Hillary running the half, me running the full. I didn't see her after out separate corrals split, but I managed to snap some pretty good pictures. 

And yes, I took pictures of many of the other mile markers, but this was the one that mattered most. Mainly because of how much pain I was in when it was taken. 

When all was said and done, I finished the marathon in 4:51:39; more than TWENTY MINUTES faster than when I ran the same course last year. I felt much worse after this race than I did the last one, though, which I guess is a side effect of pushing myself harder. If "no pain, no gain" is a universal truth, then the flip side, "have gains, have pains" is also true. 

Hillary was long finished with her race by the time I crossed the finish line. Because I was sore, tired, and more than a little sick to my stomach, I wanted nothing more than to find my wife and begin my recovery. 

She had set up camp in Panera Bread. A mile from the finish line. So, medals jangling around my neck, I trudged one more mile through downtown Cincinnati to find her. 

What feels like an bajillion agonized steps later, I turn the corner to Panera Bread. As I make my final approach, a voice calls out to me: 

"Hey, what're those?" 

I stop and turn. There's a homeless man, whom I must have overlooked because my sights are set on the restaurant that contains my wife. He's sitting against a road sign and pointing at my medals. 

"Oh, they're medals," I say to him, gesturing. "There was a marathon in town today." 

"Oh," he replies. "Can I see?" 

I am in an unfamiliar city. I am physically exhausted. And I have no idea who this guy is. Why does he want me to come closer? Is he going to stab me and try to take my precious, coveted medals? The things I worked so hard for? 

"Sure," I say, against my better judgement, and take a few steps toward him. He approaches me, but I stay outside his arms' reach and display the medals. 

He looks at them with interest. "What do they say?" 

I'm not sure if he actually can't read, or I'm just standing too far from him. But I read the inscriptions to him anyway. Then, as quickly as possible, I step away from him and toward Panera. My wife is a mere few dozen feet away. 

"Hey," he calls to my back. "Are you going to be here this evening?" 

I have no idea why he would ask this. But I hastily reply, "No, me and my wife are going back to Kentucky in a few hours. I'm a youth group leader at my church, and we have a meeting tonight." 

It wasn't until I was inside the restaurant that I realized I had said the worst possible thing. 

It wasn't a coincidence that the homeless man spotted me where he did. Cincinnati is a huge city, and it has more than its fair share of homelessness. When I was running the marathon, and thus during the trek to Panera, I didn't have a dime to my name. But God chose to have the homeless man cross my path right when he did: when my wife was mere feet away, with my wallet, inside a restaurant. It was literally the only point in the day when I could have purchased a meal for this man, shared some testimony with him, maybe learned a little about him. 

Instead, I let the opportunity pass me by, fueled by excuses of "I was filthy, exhausted, hungry and sick to my stomach". But those things were temporary, because a shower, a soft bed, a good meal, and time with my wife were in my near future. It would have taken no time at all to invest in that man. 

Instead I chose to tell him who I worshipped, who I represented, and then did the exact opposite of what my Master would have me do. 

Needless to say, this experience (or lack thereof) has had me examining my spiritual walk over the last few days. No doubt it's not where it should be, or else I would have been much more ready (and able to  hear) the Holy Spirit's call to the opportunity. So where is the disconnect? 

Aside from the needing a long holiday from which I don't intend to return, I really identify with Bilbo. Lately I have spread myself over so many tasks that none of them are really getting the full attention they deserve. 

Husband. 

Dad.

Runner.

Teacher. 

Assistant youth pastor. 

Amateur Writer. 

So many hats, and so little time. Literally. So much of my time is eroded that my personal spiritual walk has suffered. I rarely make time for scripture or study. My prayer life has suffered. And when my spiritual life suffers, all of the aforementioned pursuits go with it. Wash, rinse, repeat, in the same vicious cycle. 

It's very clear to me that something has to give. But what? 

The fact is, I'm not going to be able to tell where my energies need to be directed unless I fix this problem at its source: my walk with God. He knows much better than I do where I'm going to be most effective. And, until I clear up the communication issue with Him in my heart, I'm not going to be able to hear his prodding. Missing my opportunity with the homeless man proved that. 

So, it looks like my next, great adventure lies in lots of prayer, quiet study, and patiently listening for His voice. 

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!