The “M” Word

DSC_0055-XL“There are a lot of crazy people here today,” I thought as I ran past the Danville mental hospital. What sane person gets up at the crack of dawn on a cold, rainy May Saturday to run thirteen miles to the middle of nowhere and back? Well, at least I was in good company, with couple hundred other runners in the 2017 River Towns Half Marathon.

The day didn’t exactly get off to a great start. First, I misplaced my Philippians 4:13 dog tag that I wear when I race. Then, when I arrived in Danville, I discovered the contact solution had drained out of my left contact as it was soaking. After trying to rehydrate the crispy disk, I decided I’d have to wear my glasses, or go as One Eyed Jack. As if that weren’t enough, I lost the cover to my earbud as I stood at the starting line! Fortunately, my friend just happened to have an extra pair of earbuds, which saved my day.

Needless to say, I wasn’t feeling very confident as I started the race. I went out much faster than I should have, causing ankle pain in the first mile. The sky was an ominous black, and the air was a little chilly, but humid. I started to question why I was doing this race in the first place–or even running at all.

A few miles in, the sun came out, my leg muscles warmed up, and my outlook brightened. I thought, “ A smooth, easy road never makes an interesting story.” Even this well-maintained rural road wasn’t the easiest to run on, given the sloping pavement. Every couple minutes, I’d have to change my position on the road to find the most even spot. Otherwise, as I learned last year, my hips would be out of whack when I reached the finish line.

Thanks to a moderate pace and frequent walk breaks, I was able to hobble over the finish line a good half hour before last year’s finish time. My third half marathon was in the books. Now what? Do I even consider the “M” word?

Thirteen (point one, to be exact) miles is a long distance. Double that, and you have the “M” word. Do I dare to even THINK about training to run 26.2 miles? If my muscles can barely do a HALF, how would I survive a FULL?

This is the mental battle I’ve been waging for the past year.

When I trained for the Danville race last year, I’ll admit I was scared, but felt pretty confident that I could at least finish. I felt the same way at my first triathlon. But as I lose weight and get stronger, my athletic performance improves. I feel like, although I never may see a podium, I am a champion because of all that I’ve conquered. So what if I try and fail? Failure is inevitable in each of our lives. What is important is that we have the courage to get off the couch, turn off the TV, and make the attempt.

This year will be the first Williamsport Marathon in October. Lord willing, (and legs willing) I will be ready!

A Fool’s Homecoming

Ah, April Fools’ Day…that one day a year where child pranksters and the less-than-mature adults among us plot to get the best of their unwilling victims. In my humor-loving family, we’ve had a few memorable April Fools’ pranks on each other over the years. Sorry, Dad.

This year, I think the joke was on myself.

Back in February, my friend and I saw an ad for the Fools’ Run in Kutztown and decided to sign up for the 10-miler. I was ecstatic to be back in my beloved college town once again, since it had been four years since my last visit. We decided to drive down the night before and book a room outside Allentown instead of making the two-and-a-half hour drive Saturday morning. We loaded up a cache of bottled water, two pizzas (for the traditional carb load), and our running gear and spent the night preparing for our race.

This race was very important to me for several reasons. Since my last visit in 2013, I lost almost 90 pounds! I wasn’t there to merely complete the race, but to get the best finish time I possibly could. This was my homecoming, and it felt like an important milestone to me.

When I studied at KU, I could only imagine being the fit athlete I am now. Back then, I was just relearning what it meant to be “normal” without the chains of CIDP. I was ashamed of my body, and the rejection from the guys I liked didn’t help. I figured they thought I was only this imperfect, fat body, and I didn’t deserve to be loved because I wasn’t skinny. Who I was inside didn’t matter…only what I looked like. And if Christian guys were like this, then there was no hope for me.

I wish they could see me now.

With all of this on my mind, I readied myself for the start of the race. There were probably at least 200 people there of all shapes, ages and sizes. I took off running, and quickly learned that a mile in southern PA feels slightly longer than a mile in the Susquehanna Valley. Maybe it was the hilly terrain, but then again, we have hills up here too.

The sky was overcast, with the sun peeking out for a few minutes at a time. The temps were in the 40’s and it was pretty windy. I wore my neon green nylon windbreaker, which I ended up taking off less than halfway through the run. The roads were wet from Friday’s rain, so I made sure to watch my footing on the tricky, tight downhill curves. Even though I hadn’t been training much outside, all of my cross-training at the gym had really paid off. My only injury was a shin splint on my left leg, which didn’t really bother me until after the race.

I was hoping to finish the race in an hour and 45 minutes, but the steep hills on the way back made me slow to a walk for a few intervals. Fortunately, I had enough energy to barrel down the final stretch and finish just before two hours. It was a really good time for me, and I felt so amazing afterward!

A few hours later, on our ride home, the muscle soreness started to kick in. Stretched quads are never fun, but they are a badge of honor. After all, there was a time when my legs didn’t work.

Some people say that runners are foolish. We willingly risk muscle pain, shin splints, side stitches, bad knees, and the chance to be hit by cars. We leave our warm beds to wake up at crazy times, brave the cold wind, and step out into the unknown. Are we fools? Probably. But we’ve also experienced the thrill of the finish line, the pride of a job well done, the runner’s high, the cheer of strangers and volunteers, and the comradery of other crazy fools doing what we love. And for me, 90 fewer pounds on my frame. That alone is worth more than any medal I could ever earn.

At the same time, I am learning to love and accept my body the way it is. Because nobody’s body is perfect. And because I’ve earned these beautiful calf muscles…and nobody can take that away from me!

Burn Out Bright

If you only got one shot

If you only got one life

If time was never on our side

Before I die I want to burn out bright

One of my favorite Switchfoot lyrics resonates with me today as I log another hour on the treadmill. I just learned a few years back that the term for my (permanent) CIDP remission is called “burnout.” I have no idea where the term came from, but I suppose it means there are others like me who have recovered. Needless to say, I am determined to burn out; to shine my light as a witness to my faith. To use my body to glorify the One who healed me-who gave me another chance.

Looking out at the snow-covered mountain that I’m always running toward, but never catch, I’m happy to be training inside today. Winter has come back with a vengeance, and I need to get in some miles before my first spring race in April. At least I only have to do a few today.

A few months ago, one of my racing buddies asked me to do the One City Marathon with her in Newport News, VA. That race was today. The thought of long runs in the Pennsylvania winter just didn’t sound appealing enough to sign up for a 26.2 mile race in the spring. Actually, the thought of a full marathon intimidates me ANY time of the year…but that’s a story for another blog post.

I finished my slow 4.5 miles, swam laps for a while and picked up a few groceries before heading for home. As I glanced back to the aforementioned mountain, I saw a flash of white fly by. Although I’m not certain, I thought it could have been an eagle, headed toward the river. Yet another reminder of how much I’ve been blessed. I’ve been given wings to run and not grow weary!

Upon my return home, I received some sobering news: the 36-year-old daughter of my childhood neurologist suddenly passed away. I didn’t know his family…in fact, I was unaware that he had a daughter my age. He had relocated to New Jersey years ago, and his daughter lived in Brooklyn, but her obituary had made the Sun Gazette. Even though I felt sorrow at the news of his loss, I was glad to read that he was still practicing neurology. He is definitely one of the reasons I am still alive.

None of us know how long we have left on this planet. I’ve had several friends and loved ones pass way, way too soon. I’ve also seen others beat stage 4 cancer, and are still alive and well. Life is unpredictable.

The future is a question mark

Of kerosene, electric sparks

There’s still fire in you yet

Yeah there’s still fire in you…

When you reach life’s finish line, can you say you’ve given the race all you’ve got?

Off the Deep End

In the process of cleaning out my gym gear yesterday, I found several sets of swimming ear plugs and nose clips. I laughed to myself, thinking about how much I hated those nose clips. They never stayed on my nose, although they did keep me from snorting water. For some reason, I decided to keep them, because they remind me of how far I’ve come as a swimmer.

Ever since I was little, I’d jump at every chance I got to go swimming. I was terrified of deep water, so I’d always stick to the shallow end. Even in junior high, when we were required to learn to swim in gym class, I stayed in the shallow end. I did learn to swim, with not exactly the best technique, but I could propel myself through the water.

As I got older, and my body recovered from CIDP, I realized that I would need to overcome my fear of deep water if I was to ever realize my dream of diving or snorkeling in the ocean. The local YMCA opened in 2008, and I joined with the anticipation of swimming all the time. That’s when I decided I’d need those nose clips.

Obviously, I had no clue what I was doing. The freestyle I had learned in junior high was not very efficient because I was afraid to put my head in the water. Swimming laps was really tough, and quite frankly, I didn’t enjoy it. Eventually, I developed my own form of breast stroke that allowed me to feel more comfortable and graceful in the water. And yes, I did swim in the deep end…but I was terrified that I was going to sink somehow.

In 2015, I started thinking about doing my first sprint triathlon, but I knew my swimming needed a lot of work. Fortunately, the Lewisburg tri has a pool swim (as opposed to open water), so I thought it would be possible for me to complete it. A friend from my Weight Watchers group who was an experienced triathlete offered to critique my swimming and give me some pointers.

Let’s just say I needed more than pointers.

For starters, I wasn’t kicking from my hips, my breathing was all wrong (even though my head was actually IN the water), and I was basically a freestyle mess. I left the pool feeling as if my swimming would never be good enough to compete.

Did that stop me? No!

From that chilly spring day up until the date of the tri in August, I worked really hard on my swimming. I started training with a kickboard, which I absolutely hated, because I kicked and kicked and didn’t go anywhere. I did the drills that my friend gave me. My endurance was still terrible, but I started to feel a little more confident in my swimming ability.

Needless to say, the swimming was the easiest part of the triathlon for me that warm August day. The water was cold, but I was able to warm up in the dive (like 12 feet deep) pool before the race started. The fact that I was comfortable in such deep water was a testament to how far I’d come. Yes, it took me a while to swim those 6 laps, and I did have to rest because I was breathless. But when I climbed out of that pool, I think I’d felt the greatest sense of accomplishment ever!

In 2016, I discovered a technique called Total Immersion. It has changed my swimming completely! Now, I feel so much more graceful in the water, and my endurance has improved tremendously! I also learned that I can breathe every 4 strokes and be comfortable. My tri swim times have been slowly improving as well. Oh…and TI swim training requires NO kickboard! Did I mention my hatred of kickboards?

One of my dreams when I reach my goal weight is to get my SCUBA certification. Ever since I was a kid, I wanted to dive the Great Barrier Reef, and someday I hope I get the chance. For some strange reason, I’d also like to learn to surf (first, I’ve got to improve my sorry boogie boarding skills). Sometimes it takes a while for us to reach our dreams, but we should keep on pursuing them! Never give up, and don’t let fear keep you from trying new things. You might just find a new passion!

The Art of Being A Misfit

I’ve never been popular. Ever. In fact, I’ve always been kind of a…geek. In elementary school, when everyone else was playing with Barbies, I was obsessed over rocks and seashells. I proudly wore my Petra Unseen Power tour shirt to school in junior high, to be incessantly mocked for my faith and choice of music. As I started to feel inadequate, I became more withdrawn and afraid of people. I didn’t really care about style or fashion until my mid-twenties, and of course, being overweight didn’t help matters. Even in the church world, I couldn’t fit in–never in youth group, and definitely not as a single, 30-something female with no kids.

It is a strange feeling to never have a true sense of belonging. But yet, it is liberating to march to the beat of my own drum. Maybe that’s the artist in me. I don’t even really need to TRY to be original…it just happens. Unfortunately, the new or different isn’t always accepted, and others try to push me into their mold.

This is for those of you who feel like you never fit in. Don’t try to be like everyone else, because you’ll never be happy being anyone but yourself. Be creative, and don’t worry if your work isn’t accepted. The right people will be blessed by your being true to who you are.

Goal!

Goal!

When I was 9, I played AYSO soccer on a team called the Rockets. Since I wasn’t the most aggressive kid, the coach put me on defense. One particular game, an opponent kicked the ball toward me, and in trying to stop it, I somehow spun it into our own goal. That’s right–I scored a goal for the other team. Needless to say, despite our winning the game, I didn’t get to go out with the other kids for ice cream that day.

Unlike that display of, um, athletic coordination (or lack thereof), most of us don’t accidentally reach our goals. In fact, sometimes it takes a lot of hard work.

In 2009, I was about 28 pounds away from reaching my Weight Watchers goal. I had lost 70 pounds over 4 years, and thought I could make it the rest of the way on my own. Why not? That goal was so close…I could almost taste it! I had the knowledge and experience to get me there. But I was very wrong. I reverted to my old way of eating, and when depression hit, I buried myself in food. Without the support of others on a weight loss journey, and the accountability of the scale, I regained everything I had lost–and then some.

I once again had become that person that I had tried so hard to leave behind.

In January of 2014, I realized that I couldn’t be fat and miserable anymore. I set out to change my lifestyle and attempt to lose the weight for good. Before me was a daunting task–I had 115 pounds to lose–practically another small-framed person!

I changed my eating habits and started exercising again. In April, I started racing again, even though I was well over 200 pounds. As I lost weight, I ran more, and my 5K times gradually got better. My energy and endurance improved, and I started to feel better about myself. My progress was slow, and I had setbacks, but I kept pressing on toward my goal.

Now, it’s January 2017. I’ve lost just over 81 pounds, and I have 34 more to lose. I feel like I’m in the last couple miles of a half-marathon. I can’t see the finish line, but I know it’s there, and I’m getting closer to it. I know the reward waiting for me is greater than the struggles I face getting to the finish.

The problem is, the finish line isn’t the end. Once I hit my goal weight, I would like to maintain it for the rest of my life.  I will have to continue the pattern I set in motion three years ago. Sure, there may be days when I feel like I can’t eat one more apple. There might be the occasional lapse in judgment when I can’t control a craving. But I have to remember why I started this journey in the first place. I hope that I will always recall how awful I felt at my heaviest when I’m tempted to binge.

It’s going to be hard work, but it’s going to be worth it.

Speak Life

“I wish I could wake up every day with the energy and joy and enthusiasm that this girl has.”

I was stunned. Not often do you get such an unsolicited compliment from a total stranger. But this wasn’t just some total stranger. This was the lead singer of my favorite band.

Of course, being so floored, I responded “Green tea pills,” because, well, they give me energy. And it was the first thing to come to mind.

It all started on a rainy, 40 degree day in February, 2014. My favorite band was performing that night in Williamsport, and I had a VIP ticket–my family’s Valentine’s gift to me. I had taken the day off from work, because I knew I wouldn’t be able to concentrate. Plus, I was scheduled to be at the concert around 2 to meet the band.

Let’s back up a bit. The month before, I had restarted Weight Watchers, and had lost a little weight. Even though I was still “morbidly obese,” I was starting to feel a little more confident about my body. I knew I would be getting a professional photo with the band, so I wanted to look good. I even went to get my hair done.

At the same time, I had been struggling with my ability as a songwriter. For some reason, I couldn’t get inspired, and I felt frustrated. With this weighing heavily on my mind, I wanted to ask the guys for any advice they could give me. Little did I know I would walk away with something far greater.

In the end, I decided not to ask about songwriting…maybe I was too nervous. It didn’t matter anyway. I had just been given the greatest compliment of my life.

How could Jon Foreman have known my struggles with self-worth? I don’t know. But it didn’t matter. I felt validated. My life…my spirit…my personality…it all meant something. Maybe I did have something worthwhile to offer the world.

That one sentence changed my life.

Today, I have lost a total of 81 pounds. I have completed two half-marathons, two sprint triathlons, and a ton of other races. I am rediscovering myself as a songwriter and musician with a new YouTube channel. Now, I’m finally getting the confidence to put my work out there, even though it’s scary.

You don’t have to be in the limelight to have an impact on another person’s life. Speaking words of hope and encouragement to someone might have a greater meaning to them than you may ever know. In the same turn, discouragement can have a far-reaching destructive effect. Proverbs says that “life and death lie in the power of the tongue.” We have the power to speak life–to cultivate the good, the hope, the joy in someone’s spirit. When that happens, it creates an amazing chain-reaction in the world, and people notice! That will win far many more souls than fear and cold-hearted religion ever will.

Speak life into someone’s soul today.

Here’s Your Sign!

I have a small sign on my desk at work. Actually, it’s a magnet, but none of the magnetic surfaces on my desk are in my line of sight as I’m looking at my Mac. So, I have it propped up against my monitor.

It reads “Nothing tastes as good as thin & healthy feels.”

Across from me, in my peripheral view, are a Pepsi machine and a snack machine. Thanks to half a year of drinking almost purely water, the soda machine doesn’t bother me. My temptation lies within the chocolate-coated, cream-filled, cheesy triangular goodness next door. And I won’t even go into when some well-meaning co-worker delivers a box of freshly-baked, glazed-to-perfection circles of dough.

Is your mouth watering yet?

Anyway, lately, with the holiday season, I’ve been ignoring the sign altogether. Looking at it only makes me guilty as I fish out another quarter to feed my “sugar monkey” from the vending machine. It reminds me how I SHOULD be tracking what I eat. I SHOULD be training at the gym. I SHOULD be ignoring the Christmas cookies and candy that are accumulating everywhere I look. I SHOULD be packing healthy snacks to reach for instead of letting my emotions and sweet tooth control what I eat.

And yet, my sugar monkey squeals in delight as I tear open a bag of mini Oreos. The stress of the day melts away, for only a moment. But that stupid sign is still there.

This week, I somehow managed to renew my focus back to a healthy lifestyle. I’ve been to the gym the past three nights. I track every bite I eat. I munch on fruit and lean protein for snacks.

Today, as I was peeling an orange, my eyes were drawn to the sign…and I realized that what it says is true! My body feels so much better when I fuel it with good, healthy foods, and spend more time being active. In fact, I feel wonderful!  And that sweet, fragrant orange tasted great!

So why do I regress sometimes? Why do I choose to ignore the progress I’ve made, and lose my focus on attaining a healthy weight and a higher level of fitness? I don’t know. But I do know that it starts with only one little decision. I choose to skip the gym and binge-watch My 600 Pound Life (ironic, I know) while eating whatever’s lying around. I choose to take that peek into the donut box…and then a whiff…and then a bite…and then a whole donut. Or two. Or three.

Maybe that’s why it’s so vital to have a reason why you want to make a lifestyle change. Everyone’s reason is different, and you may even have more than one. Whatever that reason is, it has to be important enough that it keeps you from going too far astray. That cookie seems insignificant compared to completing a marathon, or avoiding a potential hereditary health problem, or fitting into a smaller size of jeans.

Maybe I need to reexamine my motivation when that sign starts to become invisible.

Standards of beauty

Ever since I was little, I’ve loved animals of all shapes and sizes. I especially liked drawing them. I loved to capture the grace of a galloping horse, the flight of an eagle, or the detail in a butterfly wing. Animals are still my favorite artistic subjects.

However, I am NOT a fan of spiders. Let me rephrase that. I HATE spiders.

Yes, I definitely consider myself an arachnophobe…probably without good reason. It’s true, most of them are harmless to us. And they do good things for the environment. But I ask God time and time again…”Why do they have to be so UGLY? Even scary-looking?” A big enough spider will send me screaming in the other direction until someone vanquishes the hairy beast. Deep inside, I know the thing isn’t going to hurt me, yet it LOOKS so menacing. Maybe it’s because they have too many legs. Then again, I don’t run screaming at the sight of the Rockettes in the Macy’s parade.

What if a spider looked more like a butterfly? Would they be more or less hideous? Granted, the thought of a flying spider sounds absolutely horrifying. But a pair of gossamer wings wouldn’t change what the spider is on the inside…a bloodthirsty predator.

The one positive attribute I can give to a spider is the astounding construction of its web. A web can be a beautiful tapestry, with dewdrops gleaming in the sunlight. I do like looking at webs…as long as their creator isn’t sitting there.

Most people can agree that spiders are ugly (no offense to the 3% of you who are spider-huggers). But when it comes to judging the perfection of the physical attributes of our own kind, we humans have far more complicated standards. Some of us, myself included, always feel like we can never measure up to our society’s standards of beauty.

Somehow, it doesn’t matter if you can spin a web, paint a masterpiece, write and sing a song, or perform a successful brain surgery. It doesn’t matter if you spend your life helping the poor, inspiring the weak, or tending to the sick. Our culture deems us unsatisfactory if we don’t look like they want us to.

This twisted thinking has not only dominated the secular worldview, but has also made its way into the church. How many gifted people with willing hearts get passed over because they aren’t models of physical beauty? How many kids get ostracized in their youth groups because they are perceived as “different”? And how many single women get turned down for dates because they aren’t “hot” like an actress or model?

But here’s the thing…regardless of what our society says, God doesn’t make junk! We are all human, and we ALL have flaws and imperfections. Even models have to be Photoshopped to attain their cover status. So what can we do? Well, we can’t change our culture’s attitude toward beauty, but we CAN embrace who we are and what we have to offer the world. We can keep trying to better ourselves–our health–both physical and spiritual, our relationships and our abilities. And we can remind people that inner beauty is what really counts, even if they don’t believe it’s true.

Maybe next time I see a spider, I’ll be more considerate. Maybe I’ll even pull out a sketchbook.

Try tri again

On August 8th, 2015, I did the gutsiest thing I have ever attempted. With a crappy mountain bike, minimal knowhow, and a ton of determination, I entered my first sprint triathlon. Weighing over 200 pounds, I figured I’d be the heaviest woman there…and I was right. But, I was there to prove, among a sea of doubters-including my own doctor, that I could finish the race.

First, I wasn’t sure if I could swim 200 yards without my lungs caving in. Swimming even one length of the pool freestyle left me out of breath. Would fatigue get the best of me after the first leg of the race?

Second, I was pretty clueless about road racing on a bike. I had always dreamed of doing such a thing, ever since I pedaled my one-speed Huffy down the grass and tar-chipped roads of my youth. Now, I had a 16-speed Roadmaster mountain bike, which was great for navigating the River Walk, but terrible at climbing hills. Even the guy at the bike shop mocked me, but I told him I couldn’t afford a better bike.

The only thing I knew I COULD do was the third leg of the race…the run. After all, I had enough 5K race bibs to plaster a wall. Okay, maybe a dog house wall. For a Yorkshire terrier. Maybe a toy poodle.

The previous year, I was paddleboarding on Lake Chilisquaque with a group tour and Canoe Susquehanna. There was an older fellow there who was an Iron Man triathlete, and we struck up a conversation. I told him how much I’d dreamed of attempting a sprint tri, and he encouraged me to enter the Lewisburg race. I was only in the beginning stages of my weight loss journey at that point, but I began to consider entering the race the following year.  After all, training would definitely help me to lose more weight!

That evening, I returned home to find my bike had been stolen from my garage. Granted, it was old, and probably worthless, but I had ridden many miles on that bike, and I was devastated. Fortunately, I was able to get my new Roadmaster by the end of the summer, and I was back to training.

When race day arrived, I knew I had prepared the best I could. I had the support of my friends and family. My boss and another coworker friend had come out to cheer me on with a gigantic sign. They stood at the edge of the pool spurring me on as I made my way up and down the lanes. The swim wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be, although the water was cold, and I felt a little intimidated with these big guys passing me.

I started my bike ride in confidence that I COULD do this. Until I saw ahead of me a small hill, then a big hill, like the back of a sea serpent rising up from the pavement. Instantly, I felt demoralized. There was no way a woman of my size on a heavy-framed bike could make it up the little hill, let alone the big one! Especially in the hot August sun!

I remember dismounting and walking my bike up the larger of the two hills. Another woman pedaled up behind me, and we walked our bikes to the top together. She and I did the majority of the course together. There were a lot of hills, and I ended up walking my bike a lot. It was great having someone else there to push and encourage me.

As I finally made it back to town, I saw my family waiting on the sidelines. At that point, I knew I had to finish the race.

The run was harder than I thought it would be. I was already exhausted. My thighs kept cramping up every time I tried to pick up the pace. The sun was beating down on me. I had no music to keep me going. Not to mention that I had a feeling I was in last place.

But I finished. With my family by my side, and tears streaming down my face, I had done what others had deemed impossible!

After that, I knew I wanted to pursue this sport.

Fast-forward to 2016. With another year of training under my belt, an awesome bike, a 25-pound weight loss and experience in my favor, I decided to, well, tri again.

Training was going great, until mid-way through July, I started experiencing a lot of lightheadedness, and just feeling “off.” I took a break from training, hoping the feeling would subside. I wasn’t going to give up, though. Maybe it was just the hot, humid summer taking its toll.

The week before the tri, I garnered a PR at a 5K in hot, muggy conditions, so I knew I could handle whatever Mother Nature decided to throw at me.

Almost.

I spent the majority of my second triathlon wishing it were December. In Barrow, Alaska.

The swim was a piece of cake. The water was a little warm, but I thought it felt great. As I sped out of town on my Cannondale hybrid, I knew what I was in for on this course. Hill, after hill, after hill. The downhill sections were amazing, and I climbed all but three of the hills with ease. With the sun beating down, I felt like I was a roasting turkey in a greenhouse. I figured, in these conditions, there was no shame in taking a rest and walking a bit.

By the time I got to the run, this turkey was cooked. And nauseated. I carried my little handheld sprayer fan in one hand and my cooling towel in the other. Neither did much good. Even though my legs felt great, I knew running was out of the question. Breathing was a chore. Still, I knew I could race walk. After I was able to catch my breath, I did jog a little in intervals. I wanted to save my energy for a great finish, which I did! In fact, I finished a whole half hour quicker than last year!

There are many variables in this life that we have no control over. We can’t control the weather. We can’t govern the thoughts, actions or intentions of other people. There is no way to predict whether misfortune or bad circumstances will come our way. We can, however, choose to take those bad experiences and learn from them. We can choose to be positive, to believe in ourselves and others, and to find, and follow a passion.

As my favorite band would say…”Life is short…you gotta live it well.”