Lorrie’s Blog

To my community, IndyChurch:

Tonight I built an altar. I did. My own little altar. Old Testament genre, rocks piled up on top of each other, commemorating a place where God did something of significance to or for the builder. I’ll get back to that in a minute.

I intended to blog on Sunday immediately after my run, but I didn’t. And I have intended to do it every day since then, but I haven’t. I could give all kinds of reasons why, one of them being that I have been operating in a haze of pain all week as I try to recover from Sunday’s run. It’s nothing to be alarmed about — the pain is all part of the process. Nevertheless, it has clouded many things for me over the past few days.

My primary emotion this week, if I were to sum it all up in one word: terror. Pure, unadulterated terror. Terror that threatens to take over my mind and spirit with reckless abandon. I’ve tried to figure out how to communicate this in words and here’s the best I can come up with. I liken it to someone who is climbing Mt. Everest. Sure, it’s scary to even think about attempting something like that. But the first few steps, the first few days, aren’t all that bad. I’m not saying that they’re something that any old human being could do, but really the difficulty of scaling Everest would not be discovered in the first few sections of the mountain. I think the part that has to be the most intimidating, the most daunting would have to be the day you make that final camp and look up at what you still have to conquer before you can say that you climbed Mt. Everest. That would be terrifying.

I find myself with a similar sensation. I would surmise that anyone who has ever climbed Everest or even attempted it for that matter would scoff at my terror over running a mere marathon. But for me, this has become larger than life. I don’t know if you’ve ever had a dream, decided to go for it, started down the path to achieve it and all of a sudden stopped short and thought, “What if I fail?” Suddenly it looms like a formidable monster in your path. You start to question yourself and wonder if you should turn back. You get scared. I’m scared. I ran 22 miles and yet, in less than 3 weeks, I have to run 26.2.

This has been a rough training week for me. I’m struggling with motivation to run — I put it off each day as long as I can. Even though the weather has been glorious, it’s been really hard for me to put on my running shoes and get out there. Today was no different. I only had to log 4 miles, but it might as well have been 100.

I was running along and came up to Shelter C where we were on Sunday. It made me smile as I rounded that corner and pictured you all standing there, cheering, clapping, encouraging, supporting. I thought to myself, “I won’t ever run by here again without picturing my community being here for me.” And then Jeff’s blog from awhile back (Rocks) popped into my head. I looked down at the gravel drive leading up to the shelter — at the rocks that Hayes was so joyously throwing into the woods on Sunday. And I stopped. And I knelt down and I made a little altar. One stone for each person who was there on Sunday (plus a few extras in case I forgot somebody and for those who couldn’t be there). And as I stacked them up, I thanked God for each and every one of you and for what you mean to me.

And then I started running again, but my mind kept going back to all the little kindnesses that you all showed to me on Sunday. They were probably things you didn’t really think much about, but to me they were huge. Teresa coming by my house at 7:30 to pray with me and my family; Mollie stopping on her way into the park when she saw me to see if I needed water; Neil, who I’ve only ever met once coming to run 4 miles with me; Jeff, who is not a morning person, arriving before I finished my first loop; Rhonda, Emily and Bill helping me slow down so I didn’t wear myself out too early; Ryan driving in that morning from northern Indiana just so he could run with me and then he and Mike encouraging me, cheering me on and making me laugh on that last circle when I didn’t think I could make it. There are so many other examples — I could go on and on. The more I thought about it, the more overwhelmed I became until I had to stop running. (That’s one of the reasons I hate to cry. Crying supersedes many of your body’s significant vital functions — breathing, for example. It’s hard to run when you stop being able to breathe.) I sat down at the playground and I cried so hard, I was sobbing. (Thank goodness the playground was vacant.)

I’m so amazed at the hand of God orchestrating the events of our lives to bring us all to Eagle Creek Park last week. For me, no “meeting” we could have had would have been more significant than that time of just being together. And even though we didn’t “officially” have church, Jesus was there. I experienced His presence by being there with you and by what you did for me.

For some reason, I used to hate running around that circle. But for the rest of my life, when I pass by that place, I’ll think about you and about my altar and it will be a tangible reminder of God’s faithfulness to me. Thank you for participating in this journey with me.

Pressing on,
Lorrie

My first running coach told me something very wise: for every bad run, there’s a good run just around the corner. (I try not to think about that when I’m having a good run, but it sure does help when I’m having a bad day.)

My new theory of equilibrium: for every blog that is dripping with discouragment, there is one brimming with hope.

Today I had a good run. The weather was beautiful — the temperature was ideal, the sky was the most amazing shade of blue, and there were these intensely white, puffy clouds that dispersed by the time I finished so that there was only blue sky and late summer sunshine. I saw lots of my “regulars” at the park today — people whose names I don’t know, but they are fellow exercisers that I see regularly (cute old guy with the hat, skinny blonde girl who I think lives at the park, guy who runs way faster than me even though he has some really funky problem with one of his legs, just to name a few). After my first half mile, I was running pain free and I actually had some of my best times in several weeks (3 of my 4 miles were around 8:30’s). Today’s run blocked out Saturday’s run. That’s a good thing. It also gave me confidence that I can get through 22 miles on Sunday. That’s also a good thing.

See each run is a snapshot. It’s like having an EKG or a cholesterol test — they only really give you a picture of what was going on in your body at the moment the test was being performed. (Side note to self: next time you’re having a cholesterol test, don’t eat at Long John Silver’s the day before.) Saturday my run started out bad and went downhill from there. Sunday was not bad. Today was pretty darn good.

Here’s a thought. Maybe I should start charting my emotion at the end of each day’s run. Create an Excel spreadsheet to somehow graph the ups and downs of my running life. This huge goal which consumes my life neatly and succinctly plotted out in colored lines and dots. Maybe that would make it less emotional somehow; more pragmatic. That’s what I’m comfortable with.

Here’s the negative:
I’m taking lots of Advil (I hate taking medicine).
I’m tired and prone to tears (I hate to cry).
I’ve had to change what I eat, what I drink, when I go to bed and what shoes I wear — and not just when I’m running (I hate being told what to do, even by experts) (I hate choosing shoes for comfort rather than the fact that they look great with my outfit).
My life and that of my family revolves around my running schedule (Did I mention I hate being told what to do?)

Here’s the positive:
I have a highly supportive web of people around me who love me and encourage me and worry about me (I love you guys).
I can run faster and farther than people younger than me.
I’m in better shape than I was when I was 20.
Having to control my diet and my sleep patterns have made me healthier overall.
I have the world’s most flexible children who almost never expect me to cook for them.
I’m learning to increase my tolerance for pain.
I’ve learned that what I thought my body was capable of has been blown away! I thrive on living on the edge, testing the limits and this has certainly done that!

Paul used sports analogies occasionally in his letters. Several passages have been playing over and over in my head recently. I Corinthians 9:24-27 says, “Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one gets the prize? Run in such a way as to get the prize. Everyone who competes in the games goes into strict training. They do it to get a crown that will not last; but we do it to get a crown that will last forever. Therefore I do not run like a man running aimlessly; I do not fight like a man beating the air. No, I beat my body and make it my slave so that after I have preached to others, I myself will not be disqualified for the prize.” And here’s a jewel from Phillipians 3:13 & 14. I realize it’s taken a bit out of context, so I apologize if that offends you. I need to have it printed on the shirt of the person who’s running directly in front of me in Chicago. “Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal.”

I guess what it comes down to is that I’m luckier than most — the good in my life far outweighs the bad. The ugly runs are overshadowed by the breathtaking ones. The encouragers in my life drown out the voices of the naysayers. What this experience has taught me about myself has made it worth the journey.

Keep pressing on, my friends.

It’s now less than one month until the marathon. I’m tired. My legs hurt. I find myself close to tears frequently for no good reason. The question I’m asking the most these days is not “Will I be able to do this?”, but “Why am I doing this?”

In Mary Kay, we talk a lot about having a clear cut focus. How it’s critical to know what your “why” is. Otherwise you’ll just flounder around and never really accomplish anything. So what is my why for running this marathon? Mostly it’s to prove to myself that I can do it. Four years ago, I couldn’t run 2 miles without stopping. Today I ran 13 miles and considered it a “light week”. I think that’s cool.

I must admit though, that at this point in my training, I’m mostly just ready for it to be over. There are a variety of things that keep me motivated right now. For one, I am a motivational/inspirational quote junkie. I get a daily inspirational e-mail that really helps me start the day with a positive thought. There are a couple of songs that pop into my head when I’m having a hard time keeping my feet moving. One of them is the song “Stay On” by the BoDeans and the other (you’ll love this) is the song “Put One Foot in Front of the Other” from the movie “Santa Claus is Coming to Town”. The problem with both of those songs is that I don’t know all the words to either one, so I find myself repeating phrases over and over again until I get annoyed.

I continue to be amazed at how much of a mind game this whole process is. I can talk myself into almost anything. (Mind: Come on, if we can make it to that next mailbox, then we can walk a little bit. Legs: You’re crazy! I need to stop right now! Lungs: I gotta say I’m with the legs this time. Mind: No, no, no! We’re fine. It’s only a little pain.)

I got a mailing from the Chicago Marathon people this week. It’s pretty cool and I hung it up on my kitchen door as a visual reminder. It says, “Nobody said it would be easy. They just said it would be worth it.” Whoever “they” is — I hope they know what they’re talking about!