Coping Rather Than Complaining

In the days when graduate work brought me to Texas, I also worked part-time for the federal government. Each worker was allotted a prescribed number of hours per year.

Put in all your hours before your anniversary date and you found yourself looking for some kind of work to tide you over until your hours renewed. Of course, the government also had to look for workers to replace you during the time you were away (which doesn’t make any more sense to me now than it did then).

The father of a close friend was an industrial arts teacher who roofed houses during his summer vacation to make extra money. Necessity caused me to accept the invitation to work with them. After the first day of tearing off shingles it became apparent to me that roofing in the Texas heat is no way to spend one's summer vacation.

One of the guys who signed on the crew was a former football player who was twice my weight. He generally threw himself into the work and by noon was exhausted. I instinctively paced myself so as to be able to work at a steady rate throughout the day. This was a constant irritation to my well-muscled coworker.

There was a short period when I found myself feeling sick shortly after climbing back on the roof after lunch. We were dining at a local cafeteria for most of our mid-day meals. One day as we reached the end of the serving line I realized there was as much food on my tray as on his. The subsequent decrease in my noon nutritional intake resulted in a proportional increase in my wellbeing in the afternoon heat. Sometimes less is more.

There have been a few weeks of less than stellar running of late. There was the week before my daughter’s wedding when I missed some runs. There was the week after her wedding when we were in recovery mode. The week after that, some time was spent in a local emergency room with a family member (and yes, everything is fine).

I still managed to run a couple of times each week. To tell the truth, when the regular schedule was resumed the body didn’t feel any worse for the short mileage. The light weeks may have actually done me good.

Back to back days of 100+ degree weather are proving to be a challenge. The bad part is not just the in-your-face blast furnace of afternoon heat. At night temperatures only get down to the mid 80’s and morning temperatures rise quickly. This time of year there’s not much relief to be found no matter when you lace up the shoes.

On one recent night the temperature was still around 97 degrees when I left the cool comfort of the house at 10 p.m. I haven’t had the heart to check the temperature since. There will be one terribly disappointed Texas runner if the cool front predicted for this weekend does not arrive.

I’m currently running a route that allows me to log 5.8 miles each evening. Like in my roofing days, I’ve found it necessary to pace myself so as not to overheat on the “out” portion of the run. The prevailing breeze in these parts is at my back. My meager pace is sufficient to negate its cooling effect. Who knew?

As the turn is made on the “back” portion of the run I’m able to pick up the pace considerably. By that time I’m drenched and running against the breeze feels heavenly. Miles in summer’s heat leave me less interested in writing after my return to the house. I’m also slightly more fatigued the next morning than when running winter miles.

Like back in my roofing days, I eat a light supper most evenings. The earlier, the better. Otherwise my stomach feels heavy and uncomfortable the whole way. I find myself looking forward to a full dinner on the nights when no run is scheduled. Running determines whether each evening is feast or famine.

The CamelBak has been a constant companion. Hauling more water than you think you need is a good thing. The extra weight can only make you stronger and you can always pour out what’s unused at the end of the run. Wishing for water you do not have is not the least bit refreshing.

Texas summers are not my favorite time for running. Even so, learning to manage discomfort is not a bad thing. The realization that you can do something you thought you couldn’t is a bonus.

My goal is to hang out at the 5.8 distance through these dog days. When the blessed coolness of fall arrives the miles of summer running will serve as a solid foundation for longer runs. I’m feeling stronger. A few pounds have been shed. My doctor and dentist tell me how amazing my blood pressure and heart rate are “for a guy your age.” That’s still a plus. I think.

My energies are focused on coping with summer’s heat rather than complaining about it. So far, that philosophy is proving productive. You can’t change the fact that it’s summer. You can only change your response.

I have.

Runner's Prayer VII

Our Father,

We rise each morning to face many challenges. Some are freely chosen. Others arrive uninvited.

We come to this event seeking the best that is in us. Because of our faith in you and the abilities you provide, help us to run this race and all of life with an overcoming attitude. Teach us to confront adversity with diligence so that we may emerge victorious.

As we face the challenges of this day, relieve us of all that is wasteful. Free us from negativity and pessimism. Remove from us anxiety and fear which would sap our energy and burden our spirit.

Give us vision to see your purpose and plan for our lives. Grant us wisdom for the decisions that lie before us. Help us to run with determination and resolve. May there be nothing half-hearted about the personal investments we make in this endeavor.

Neither this contest nor the journey of life is easy. We do not ask you to make our way free of difficulty. Instead, we ask you to supply resources adequate for attaining difficult goals.

When the distance is covered and the pain is past, we pray that our efforts will honor you and that our joy will be full.

Amen.

A Walk to Remember

She is an absolute vision as the offered arm is taken. But then, as her dad, it’s not an objective observation. We begin the short slow stroll down the aisle with a mutual smile.

Her beauty has nothing to do with the dress she wears, or make-up applied, or styled hair. The loveliness before me is all about who she has become and the joy radiating from within. That’s what makes her stunning.

The church is filled with family and friends. Every eye is on us. Even so, what I sense most is the pleasant pressure of her palm resting in the crook of my elbow. For these brief moments there is no one else but she and me in this narrow space bounded on either side by pews and spectators. I have her all to myself.

A tightrope of emotions must be traversed on this day. Being her father is an inexpressible privilege. A multitude of joys flood the senses and threaten to overwhelm me. Gratitude at being selected for this sacred assignment overflows.

There’s an additional calling to preform. Through the years she is reminded that my most significant role on this day is to be her dad. She responds that I am the only pastor she has ever known. The request cannot be refused.

The task before me is impossibly difficult. In the few moments allotted, how can one celebrate the child who has always been yours and the young man who has become family? How can one adequately communicate who they have been and envision what they will become together?

The few carefully constructed paragraphs shared on this day are the product of late night reflection. An attempt is made to speak personally and from the heart. The minister is calm and collected, while the dad struggles with sentiments that challenge composure.

From the time we learned a child would bless our home, her mother and I prayed for the young man who stands beside her though we did not know his name. When she came home in the second grade talking about this boy in her class, we had no way of knowing that those prayers were already being answered.

The one who stands beside her has become a man of integrity and trustworthiness. In word and deed he exhibits a maturity beyond his years. His full commitment to the One who makes life possible enables her parents to fully commit a daughter into his care and keeping.

There is no hesitation or reservation in a father’s heart as the minister pronounces what the two of them already understand. They are bound as one from this day forward by the Father’s work and their love.

A few months after her birth, I became aware that there are two ways to carry a child. One is to hold them so that they are facing you. In that position, ignoring the little face that looks at you eyeball to eyeball is impossible. You pretty much become the center of their world. It’s an intimate and exclusive kind of experience. In more selfish moments that’s all any parent desires.

Another option is to hold a child so that they face outward. They are still close and secure but can see what’s going on in the larger world around them. I don’t know if the decision has any real impact on either of my daughters, but from an early age the habit of holding them in this outward facing position is adopted. They look and I provide commentary. Things they might otherwise miss are pointed out. Time spent toting them from place to place is transformed into a teachable moment.

Intuition taught me then what is known by experience today. Our children do not really belong to us. They are entrusted into our care for short time. Our assignment while they are on loan to us is to prepare them to embrace life beyond the boundaries of our love.

In the process of fulfilling that task, they bless our lives as we seek to be a blessing to theirs. If we are successful, we send them out to be a blessing to others. We release them into the world to make their own contributions.

I have always considered life’s most significant work to be the children that will remain once I’m gone. My prayer is that the commentary offered while she was young will be beneficial as she travels her own path. I trust a comforting voice will still reverberate within reminding her how deeply a father believes in and admires the capable woman she has become.

Fathers are supposed to be a source of strength and support for their daughters. Comfort is found in the knowledge that when an earthy father has done all human hands can do, there is a loving heavenly Father who will keep her in his watchful care.

In countless ways she has also been a source of strength and support for her dad. Love invested has been returned in fuller measure. In the economy of our Creator that giving and receiving makes life incredibly fulfilling.

So on this day there are no tears. There is only joy for all that has been and all that is yet to be. A sacred space will always be shared between the two of us, bounded on either side by all the other commitments and relationships of life. She will always be my daughter and I will always be her dad.

In that awareness I am content.

Where Have You Been?

Answer:

• One event: Wedding.
• Two roles: Father of the bride and minister (in that order).
• Three runs: May be all I can get done this week.
• Four words: I am incredibly blessed.

Verification

Telling people about a long run is sort of like making a hole-in-one golfing. A witness to verify the event is a huge plus.

Just because you believe you can go the distance doesn’t mean others share that conviction. They smile and nod politely while the information is related. Behind some eyes you see flashes of a dimly discernable doubt. They won’t be true believers until your story can be corroborated.

That would be one good reason for entering a race. Fill out the entry form, finish the course, and the results are posted in black and white. The result is an easily accessible, objective demonstration of your accomplishment on a given day.

Unfortunately, I have never done that. So for now they’ll just have to take my word for it. Or not.

On Thursday evening a debate rages about the best time to attempt another long run. At this point in my development the chances of completing ten miles during the daytime seem slim, what with the heat and all.

I elect to do the extra distance in the dark where the odds of survival are higher. The halfway point does not find me as fresh as on my last attempt. The night is warm and humid. The mind is determined and the body drenched. After massive gulps from the park water fountain I’m off on the second loop.

The car eventually comes into view again. 10 miles are covered in a time of 2:05. That’s around 4 minutes slower than the previous attempt. Considering the difference in temperature this doesn’t bother me.

I finish the week with a five mile run this morning. No walk breaks are necessary though the sun shines brightly and the humid heat increases steadily as the run progresses. Back at the park I stand in the shade near the water fountain taking in liquid as fast as it can be swallowed. It oozes out every pore of my body as if going through a sieve. It’s a fitting conclusion to a 25 mile week.

The previous long run was not a fluke. I’ve proven to my satisfaction that the distance can be covered.

I just can’t prove it to anyone else yet.

Don't Know What Got Into Me

My future son-in-law asks on a recent evening how the run went. I reply, “Felt like I could have run forever.”

The statement was not a lie.

Last week, while embarking on my third run in as many nights, the thought that I could do a 10 mile run began to coalesce. A voice from within whispered, “You could do that tonight.”

Tempting.

But no.

Another option was negotiated. I rested Saturday, took a short nap Sunday night after church, drank a stiff cup of espresso, donned the hydration pack and drove to the neighborhood where runs are conducted.

My goal was to travel 10 miles or run for 2 hours which ever came first. My long runs over the past few weeks have increased to 1.5 hours. I felt pretty sure these goals were obtainable.

After one five mile loop a water fountain at the park with insufficient pressure left me carrying less life-giving refreshment than when I arrived. Confidence that the run would be completed remained undiminished.

There was still some bounce in my step most of the way. I felt good the whole distance. Not until starting the last mile was I ready for the run to be over. I finished in 2:01 with a smile. This equals the longest personal distance ever run.

My legs were a bit stiff that night. They felt a bit heavy the next day. The anticipated aches and pains never arrived. I felt really good.

So good that on Monday that same inner voice whispered, “You could do your regular run. Easy.” This time the mature part of me balked, insisting on taking the night off instead.

What have I learned from this little outing?

Feeling stronger is not a delusion. Another injury has been overcome and running continues. Shoes and orthotics are working well for me (the shoe company will no doubt graciously update their product). Running out of a sense of confidence is preferable to running with a nagging sense of doubt. Attempting that which might seem improbable is sometimes a good thing.

The week ahead is laced with commitments. Getting all the runs in will be a challenge. So tonight, at the end of the run, I elect to go another 2 miles. Having that option is nice. Getting a good start on another 20+ miles is a good thing.

I only have one dilemma.

Who’s the guy wearing my shoes?

Running out of Cool

This spring was made for running. Temperatures for the past few months have been unseasonably low by Texas standards.

Even though yesterday’s high reached 90 degrees, a refreshing coolness lurked in the low lying areas at the bottom of each hill during the evening run. A smile accompanied the sensation.

I’m so focused on getting miles logged that my camera is left at home on a few morning runs. A better blogger would chronicle digitally the time out on the road.

Wild flowers are still blooming. They sprinkle small meadows with an impressive variety of color. A small herd of horses is unfazed as I run along their barbed wire fence close enough to touch them. Part of me wants to pause for that purpose.

There’s the guy push mowing his yard with a toddler perched on his shoulders. Her hands clasp his forehead, legs dangle around his neck. Seems he felt the pressure of marking the chore off his “to do” list but could not leave the child indoors alone. The wisdom of the decision is questioned. Even so, they are an interesting pair making concentric circles across the yard.

If all goes well, tomorrow night I’ll finish another week of 20 plus miles. I’ve tried to make the most of these unusual evenings. Soon the heat will intrude and the coolness will evaporate. I’ve begun carrying hydration in preparation for what is to come.

I resolve to be grateful rather than complain when these mild evenings run out. My running has been unhindered by heat and humidity while reclaiming what was lost through injury. Legs are feeling stronger. Routes are getting longer. Asking for more seems greedy.

When summer’s heat arrives, I’ll remember gifts received in the rare and prolonged season preceding it. In the midst of sweat and labored breathing an attitude of gratitude will remain where the cool used to be.

My plan is to run until the heat runs out. These cool nights will return.

When they do, I’ll be here to greet them.