Thursday I woke up feeling like i just couldn’t wake up.  Feeling fairly hungover, actually.  Was is that soda (Cherry 7Up- yum!) I had shortly before bed?  I’ve experienced sugar hangover before, and maybe that’s what it was.  But the feeling never wore off, not even after the usual amount of time (and coffee) my brain/body require to wake up in the morning.  My head and lower back ached, only slightly, too. 

By dinner time I realized that maybe going to bed super-early would help the situation.  You will understand how seriously I felt about this when I tell you I went to bed at 9:30, when I knew Project Runway was coming on at 10.  Yes. 

I expected to feel great the next day, but woke up still feeling … not awesome.  I’d almost prefer a few days of actual sickness, which would justify sleeping all day.  But instead, I’ve felt stuck in not-awesomeness for several days now.  And just when I think it’s gone, and that after I’ve really “woken up” for the day, I realize it’s not gone. 

Steph told me about an old home remedy she read about:  Before bed time, dip a pair of socks in cool water.  Soak your feet in really warm water for fifteen minutes or so, then pull on the wet socks.  Put a pair of warm wooly socks over top, and go to sleep.  I tried it.  Not sure if it helped at all, but it was less weird feeling than I expected. 

And I’ve really stepped up the preventative measures:  plenty of water, the occassional nap, vitamin C, neti pot-ing and gargling salt water (flushes bacteria from the nose/throat), and now have really gone full-force by sprinkling (2!) sliced-up raw garlic cloves over my lunch, and then drinking a cup of cider spiked with a generous amount of ginger and a bit of honey and lemon.  Intense. 

Now i’m sipping more water, working (well, I was at least) and wishing there was time for a nap, and hoping that out of all that, something kicks in and brings me back to normal soon.

An excerpt from what I’m reading this morning:

“Most evangelicals I know see what they eat and drink as the last bastion of self-control.  Many wouldn’t drink even a little bit of wine and confess to it.  They feel that while it might have been alright for Paul and Timothy, it would weaken their own reputations in the church….

Gluttony, however, is a rare subject of spiritual discussion.  It is the sin kept on reserve, a more legitimate indulgence.  If you need a certificate of moral permission for a real whopper of an iniquity, you can pile up your plate at the Sunday school potluck, and the church will sign off on gluttony.

I have always been struck by the odd inconsistency of obese evangelists preaching against alcohol abuse.  How wicked we become in excusing our own indulgences while excoriating (berating) others for theirs.  Self-forgiveness sometimes forgives the preacher while calling the audience to task.  No-where is this truer than in how many believers handle gluttony.

This permissible gluttony is an odd allowance, since the Bible condemned it so often… “

-Calvin Miller, in Self-Control: cultivating Spirit-given character (a six-week Bible study guide).

I read this and say A-men.  It is detrimental to separate these sins, reducing things to a do- and don’t- list without seeking to purge our hearts of the underlying issues.  Can I sincerely claim that I seek to “do all to the glory of God” ?

As you can see, i didn’t trouble myself too much to pass that information on to you by blog.  This is because either i probably saw you, corresponded with you by facebook or twitter, OR you could just read my tweets over there on the left side of this page, so you could clearly see I am still alive.  OR it is possible you thought it utterly ridiculous that i was afraid of not surviving to begin with, and assumed the very best.  (and therefore didn’t worry a bit for my safety.)

Well, last Saturday night, I had a scary dream.  I woke up feeling unnerved.  In the dream, it was 6:30 am, the set time for my running partners to meet up at my house, and i was making coffee.  I kept making it wrong:  forgetting to grind the beans first, forgetting to add water, accidentally pouring the water into the grounds instead of into the machine… Funny how the scariest dreams are sometimes of the silliest things.  I seriously woke up with my  heart pounding.   And when 6:30 rolled around, sho’ nuff we were fresh out of coffee beans.  Fortunately i was not the only one in need of some caffeination, so we all made a coffee run before heading down to the Battleship.

It was packed– 1,300 people.  And it was so exciting– the nervous tension in the air, the anticipation, the starting line and waiting for the crack of the starting gun.  I was very careful to keep the pace nice and easy– i knew starting too fast would be a sure downfall.  I was separated from my girls at the start, and thinking they were somewhere behind me, hung back a bit.  By the time i realized they had actually passed in the crowd, i was too far behind to worry about it, but thankfully, was running with a friend.  We stayed together for the first five miles (she knew– and warned me about– where the photographers were on the course!  amazing!)

After five, she decided on a little walk break.  I, on the other hand, don’t do walk breaks;  I’m pretty sure/terrified that if i break my rhythm I’ll never get back into it.  So on i went.  This is as we’re starting a long lap around the lake– birds are chirping overhead, there is the sound of so many feet pounding the pavement, the sound of my own breathing, and i’m feeling pretty good.  I’m just thankful to be alive and moving.  I’m on my own until about mile eight, when i run into another friend.  He’d also lost his ‘pack’ and was feeling stifled by the (80 degree!) heat.  ”Talk to me about something happy,” he said, and we talked about his upcoming wedding.  Then at the water station, he stopped for a walk break, and I kept going.

At mile nine, i spotted two of the girls ahead, and picked up the pace just enough to catch them.  We exchanged “Where have you been?” and “i never thought i’d find you,” and ran together until mile ten.  Serious mind games are going on at this point:  on the one hand, I’m telling  myself, “Hey, ten down and just a measly three (.1) left!  I have so got this.”  While on the other hand, i am aware that my longest training run was just nine.  I don’t know what to expect from my body at this point, and especially with that godawful humidity.  Nonetheless, what do you do?  Don’t stop, that’s what.  At this point, I pulled out the music– which I’d saved for just the right moment, and cranked it on up.

After mile eleven, there are no more mile signs.  And you know you’re close, but it feels like there should be a marker every 100 yards, because it also feels like forever.  People are walking, trudging even, left and right.  There are three hills close together:  an on-ramp to get onto the bridge, the bridge itself, and then another ramp off to the road where the Battleship (and finish line) is.  I am determined a) to not stop running, and b) to not fall on that bridge.  ”Pick up your knees!”  I tell myself, as i run over the metal grate of terror.  There are two ambulances ahead.  ”I’m trying,” replies a guy just in front of me.

On the way up that final hill, no one around me is even jogging;  everyone’s slowed to a walk.  I am desperate for someone to pace off of, to push me.  Finally i catch and then fall into step with a girl who’s at just my pace.  ”You’re pushing me,” she says, “thanks.”  I tell her no, it’s the other way around.  We are in the drive just in front of the ship now, but suddenly I am panicked.  I thought the finish was right back where we’d started, but I can’t tell if it is.  I don’t see any signs, and it is possible that we have to turn a sharp corner to get there.  I see a sign that says “1 mile” and become truly panicked– there is no way i have another whole mile in me.  I contemplate stopping and dropping right then and there.

And then.

Then suddenly i notice a guy in a bright red shirt, and around waist level, another red shirt.  And a yellow shirt.  I had scanned spectators throughout the course, hoping to see my family, and now it takes a moment to register that here they are!  ”Go, Mommy!” I hear Oliver and Stella cheering.  Asher’s arms are flailing with excitement.  I want to cry.  As I pass, they cheer and Brian high fives me.  I hear friends cheering my name.  Oh my goodness, I am really going to finish this thing.  And here’s the finish line right there!

I sailed through the last few meters, grinning.  I finished in 2:13, beating my goal time by two minutes, beating my doubts soundly and feeling so grateful just to be alive.

In about twelve hours, I’ll be crossing the finish of my second half marathon.  I am nervous.  I am excited.  I’m wavering between the two frequently.  I’m still mystified as to how those two can co-mingle so freely.

My nerves were somewhat soothed by remembering my first 1/2 marathon, eight years ago.  At that point, my lifestyle wasn’t entirely conducive to running.  I was still  bingeing frequently on junk food, compensating by running (and also the occasional laxative pills or detox diet), sleeping weird and irregular hours.  AND, obviously, that was before I’d experienced childbirth.  Which reinforced the productivity of purposed pain, and the fact that I can make it through more that I think i can.  But I ran it, and it was tough, but it was good.

So, for tomorrow:  I’ve got the shoes, socks, running tights (capri) shirt and sports bra, race number, and iPod (loaded w/the perfect playlist) at the ready.  I’ve got the knee taped way way up.  I’ve got the clocks set for the non-Daylight Savings time (thank God for gain-an-hour tonight!), and I’ve got friends (the “team”) set to meet here at 6:30 a.m., and before they do I will have had my 1/2 cup of coffee and pb-honey concoction.  I’ll have trained almost just like the schedule said for over two months.

But man, i am nervous.  I’m afraid I’m going to slip on the bridge and get all cut up.  I’m afraid it will be like that one really tough 9-miler (i told you all about it) where everything feels just blah.  I’m terrified of the sound of the starting gun, and the sudden rush of footsteps from thousands of competitors.  I’m afraid of the stitch that will be in my chest around mile 1.5, and in my side around mile 3 or 4.  I’m afraid my blood sugar will go low, and i’ll get all spacey (oh, and then, again, fall on the bridge.  That metal grate stuff!)  I’m even slightly afraid I will drop dead.

I am excited to run through some beautiful parts of the downtown I love.  I’m excited for the rush of that starting gun:  something I once heard so frequently, but have not experienced in those eight years!  I’m excited to set my mind to do it, and to just do it.  Excited that I am able to move, to run, to enjoy the effort and challenge of it.  I’m still amazed that after having babies, my body is able to recover and go on to do other difficult things.  I’m excited I actually did the training plan.

God willing, I’ll be done 12 hours from now.  I’ll be re-hydrating, and enjoying the feeling of all the hard work fading into the satisfaction of completion.  I’ll let you know how it goes!

We took a family bike ride to the park today.  Brian and the kids played while i ran the Loop.  Quality time with daddy, good outdoor playtime on a beautiful day, and good heart-rate raising/energy burning/mind clearing for me.  Win-win-win!

When I finished the run and met up with the fam, Stella and Oliver wanted to show me their ‘treehouse,’ and of course i wanted to see it.  The directed me to climb up the playground with them.  ”He’s Dark Vader,” Stella explained, “and I’m Mrs. Vader.  And he’s my husband.  See, (pointing to imaginary treehouse wall) here’s a picture of us on our first anniversary.”

“Yah!” Oliver concurs, “I Dark Vader!”  They have absolutely no idea who they’re referring to.  (They both stop to pull an imaginary drink off the imaginary shelf.) “Let’s go, Dark Vader!”  Stella calls to Oliver.  And off we go– down the slide, and onto bikes and back home.  They also have no idea how much they make me laugh.

Things i learned today:

1) What i thought was a knee injury is actually not. (What is is is my ITband, and tendons connecting hamstring & quads (a classic strong quad/weak hamstring situation)).  This means i can keep running on it, and start doing things to correct the weak muscles.

which leads to 2) got taped up by physical therapist this morning, to test whether that would help the pain during/after running.  That stuff really helps!

and also 3)Having that athletic tape makes me look (and feel) way tougher than i really am.  I mean, this is Olympic athlete stuff.  And I am basically a weekend warrior.

4) running with music is awesome!  (No, i had never done it before!)

but 5) It is less awesome when you are trying to run while listening to a song with a quicker tempo than your pace… but effective for increasing pace!  (or at least attempting to.)

6) Nap time is awesome.  Ok, yes, i already knew that.  But some days, i put cranky people in beds, and then a while later get sweet ones up out of bed, and on those days, I am reminded again of how awesome nap time is.

7)I get nervous sometimes about embracing the roles/positions God has put me in.  There are a confusing realm of reasons, but among them, the fear that i will become proud or attempt to glorify myself, when that’s not my intent.  And also the fear that i will fail.

But i realized with new clarity today (while thinking, “geez what’s up with the nerves?  where’s the peace?”) that if I believe God is leading me to do what I’m doing, and if I’m doing it with the gifts and the strength He supplies, then I don’t need to worry about the outcome, or get caught up in the what-ifs.  I just need to enjoy the opportunity to be part of what He does and do my very best at it.  This helped bring things into perspective, which is always good.

I was describing to Brian today about my warring desires (ooh that was so unintentionally James 4:1 ish.  check it out– it’s good.) mid-run the other day.  Which you already know all about, of course, since i had already written about it (sadly, this happens not infrequently in a home where we are often talking about schedules, plans, kids, and not frequently just chatting it up).

I was telling him the part about wanting to quit so bad and then telling that temptation what was up.  ”That’s called discipline,”  he says.  Oh yea, that’s what the foreign thing I was feeling!  Obviously, he’s an expert.  I mean, of course he’s not perfect, but sometimes it drives me crazy that my husband makes the things that are so tough for me look so easy!  And that’s part of the beauty of “opposites attract,” i think.

I swear, some days it’s like i’ve got no heart at all and things go by just fine and fairly boring.  Then other times (ahem, perhaps this week, for example) I’m all tortured artist-y with angst and things to say and crying at songs on the radio.  Oh yeah, it’s weird. Yesterday, I was meditating all during that run on my decision to ignore feelings (which was, in that situation, a sound one).  But I forgot all about the feelings of victory and relief and accomplishment and gratitude that came rushing in in those last couple miles.  

I remembered the wonderfulness of feelings yesterday mid-morning:  

I may or may not have told you 1,000 times before that Oliver sometimes seems to be an expert at aggravation.  He’s totally the little brother who will walk up to Stella and take her toy or wallop her over the head just for the fun of it (or attention).  He is just. so. loud.  Which is a power that can be used for good or for evil, but at almost-3-years-old, well he’s dealing with some feelings issues too: when he’s not happy about something, he likes to make his discontentment known, loudly, frequently, persistently.  

Mornings are rough sometimes.  Waking up with an empty stomach and groggy head is a tough way to start, so Ollo picks fights or just yells, loudly, for no real reason at all.  Some days this goes on, off and on, for our first two to three hours.  Those are the days naptime comes earlier than usual… and that i’m afraid one of us will not survive.  I might kick him out at age almost-3–  Just send him off with his tricycle and a little knapsack with snacks and some fresh Diego briefs.  Or i might actually be consumed by the feelings of anger I’m trying so desperately to work through in the moment, and expire in a steaming heap in the kitchen.    (You see again, why sometimes i’d rather be rid of emotions.)

With that in mind, you can imagine my delight when yesterday mid-morning i found him playing happily, singing “Jesus Loves the Little Children,”  (which he calls “Blue and black and white, precious in His sight).  When Stella came in, he looked at his big sister and said, “Your hair looks so nice, Stella.”  He wanted to help when I asked him too, cleaned up his toys while singing the “clean up” song, said please and thank you, and asked me to sing and dance with him. I wish i could recall the funny stuff my boy kept saying, but suffice to say there was a moment i just stopped and looked at him, and felt like he even looked different with that sweet attitude.  I was so thankful for a while to just enjoy my oldest son being himself, to laugh and have fun together, apart from our discipline/teaching struggles.  

The joy of those moments, the renewed purpose I had for the day (rather than already feeling worn out and on-edge), are feelings i don’t think i could live without.

I practiced the pre-decide tonight:  I took the kids to Chick-fil-a for dinner– a treat for all of us, since I strongly dislike cooking dinner when Brian is gone.  (Though 4/5ths of us are still here, it feels so different!)  

I’m trying to make wiser choices with my food intake, so i’d already decided on the chicken strips salad.  The guy asked what i’d like to drink, and I nearly broke down for Dr Pepper but didn’t.  And the whole time they were eating fries and nuggets, and i was thinking of the original chicken sandwich with mayo and a Dr P, I wondered, “Did i really make the best choice?”   But now, feeling completely not gross inside, I believe i did.  

Also on the pre-decide & stick-to:  today on the training plan,  9 miles.  Didn’t seem like a big deal, last weekend was 8, so this is a logical next step. Until i walked out the door:  90% humidity and already warm (almost hot) at 7:30 am.  

Brian needed to get out the door pretty early for an out-of-town wedding, so I skipped my usual fuel (partial cup of coffee and spoonful of peanut butter and honey), and just went for it.  Last week’s long run, while tough, had exceeded my expectations, mostly because i actually completed it.  And it hurt, but it was rewarding:  i was so glad i’d done it. 

In addition to the negative impact of weather and no food, this was also my first long run alone this go ’round.  Somehow running alone was no big deal when i was in tip-top shape, uh, about ten years ago now.  I don’t think i’ve ever wanted an iPod so badly as miles four through six today– dying for a distraction.  And this is what is wierd: i wasn’t really hurting (yet), just feeling sorta dull and so much slower and less good than i’d hoped.  

So i made a note of how i felt, of the nagging temptation to basically curl up in the fetal position on the side of the road there and take a nap, and that little voice inside insisting that whether or not i finished was “no big deal” (“no big deal” is my classic cop out, you know), even the part that kept reminding me that my running wardrobe looked way dorkier (not to mention less moisture-wicking) than the other runners out  there.

 And i decided to deny my feelings and stick to my facts:  I am working to reach a goal, and in order to get there, today’s run was nine miles.  And i know i can do that, since i just did 8. 

So every time they surfaced, I reminded those sneaking feelings that i knew of their deception;  they way they egg me on into taking the easy way out all the time, and that I just wasn’t having any of it.  So i did what i said and intended to do, and finished.

That’s right.  I got back out of bed for this.  Oh, i tried to calm my mind, but maybe that will require letting out some mental steam, rather than hoping it cools.   

The current series at church is on pride– and they’ve played each week on the idea of “getting meeked,” (see here).  Which sort of leaves me anticipating, oh, you know, tripping over a rock and totally face-planting in the gravel while finishing a really triumphant run, or forgetting who i called right as they answer and getting called on my bluff, or my entire inner monologue appearing in speech bubbles above my head, or any other really embarrassing thing i could imagine.  

Because when i think “meek,” or “humble,” i think embarrassed, apparently, or shamed.  Oh, how backwards-ly i think sometimes!

I know i tend to be full of pride.   I see it in

-the way i want my kids to act like angels when we’re with other people or out somewhere

-my tendency to defend myself when i feel like Brian is picking on me (which is usually taking something out of context and blowing something innocent out of proportion, i.e. Him: “Hey, did you get a chance to make that phone call yet?” Me: “Geez, get off my case jerk!  You think i just sit around all day waiting for phone calls to make?  I have been so busy…” [not an actual convo, but you get the drift...])

-or the way i tend to contradict other people’s (perfectly good) ideas or advice because i don’t want to be vulnerable or wrong.

You see where this is going.  I know it.  It’s the change that gets me.

I want to wear sweatsuits (no vanity) and sit around, never attempting to do anything (when is it of God, and when is it on my own strength?  am i humble today, at this moment?) and certainly never attempt anything creative (might draw attention), and not speak (who can tame the tongue, anyhow?). But then that’s ultimate pride– focusing on myself to rid myself of my sin.

After a great small group discussion on the topic the other day, it would appear that maybe that’s a common tendency:  we realize our pride (even if just a glimpse) and set about to fix it, rather than simply setting our eyes and hearts on our Savior who wants to form us into his (perfect and perfectly humble) image.