When I Run

[I was cleaning up some old computer files and I found this thing I had written 5 or 6 years ago.]

When I Run

When I run I do not feel good in any way similar to physical pleasure. The ‘runner’s high’ is like Alice’s white rabbit, always out of my reach. I do not feel good. I sweat and that makes me too hot in the summer and chills me in the winter as it freezes to my skin.

When I begin running my legs are stiff and when I end they are sore. In the cold my lungs hurt. The hair in my nose crinkles and my ears numb. In the summer heat my throat dries out so I must gasp my words. Spitting is a chore.

But, when I run I feel more deeply. I know my body. I know it in a way that I don’t otherwise know it. Muscles and joints, feet and toes, aches and bruises all tell me where they are. My face maps itself out with roads of wind, rivers of sweat and cities of biting cold. When I run I feel the ground push up and the sky push down, holding me in my place. I feel pain and in a morbid way, I know I’m alive.

I can travel so fast and effortlessly in my car, so running slows me down. I can’t just press on the gas pedal; it’s not that easy. I can only travel as fast as I can run. When I run I must think about moving forward, not tripping, not stopping. A good hunk of my brain is taken up doing this, so I can only think about one or two things rather than the two dozen that I normally bounce around in my head.

When I run I know things. I know that I am more than what people think of me. I know that I am more than what I think of myself. I know that I am full of potential. I know that I may get hit by that car, but I also know, one way or another, I’ll be alright. I know that some people will never understand who I am and why I run. When I finish my run I get a sense of accomplishment, but I know that it will only last until the start of my next run.

When I run I pray. That I will make it home both safely and without collapsing. I pray for my wife at home. I pray for myself. I pray that the dog who runs along side me will find her home. I pray for people I pass and people I see in windows (I think that all runners look in windows). I ask God why he picked to create me. I think about the different paths my life could have taken. When I run I am more of who I want to be.

10 Years Together

Today is my 10-year anniversary. My wife is, objectively speaking, the absolute best.

I know that everyone says that their wife is the best, but they are wrong. I understand how they might believe their wife is the best, but there can be only one "best", and sorry, you aren't married to her, I am.

And if you are a woman striving to be the best wife, stop now. It isn't worth your effort. The best you'll be able to hope for is 3rd place, because my wife has so much bestestness that it spills over from best and fills up second best as well.

But in all seriousness, my wife is wonderful and she is so much better than any other wife out there that it makes all other wives look like husbands in comparison. My wife is a good listener, talker, mother, cleaner, organizer, event planner, cookie-baker, and photo-taker. She's slow-to-wake, takes-the-cake, never fake, smile maker. She an excellent mother, sister, daughter, aunt, and friend. She should have songs song in her honor by trained ponies who prance around a statue of her. She is the best.

She will win a Grammy when they introduce the category of Best Lullaby (Performance). And an Oscar for her role as "Awesome" in the move "Awesome" (based on the novel "Awesome" by "Awesome"). She has already taken home the Nobel Prize in Loving and Caring for Kids, but it will still be cool to win the Emmy for Best Director on the Series "Home" a show about a family who solves mysteries and drives around in a dented van they bought off craigslist but is really too small for them because the kids feet don't have enough room.

I love her because I can do no other.

Quote from Anna Karenina

I love when I read things written long ago that could have been written yesterday. This is one example that I read last night in my ever-on-going quest to finish Anna Karenina. 

***

“I have met him. But he's a queer fish, and quite without breeding. You know, one of those uncouth new people one's so often coming across nowadays, one of those free-thinkers you know, who are reared d'emblée in theories of atheism, skepticism, and materialism. In former days," said Golenishtchev, not observing, or not willing to observe, that both Anna and Vronsky wanted to speak, "in former days the free-thinker was a man who had been brought up in ideas of religion, law, and morality, and only through conflict and struggle came to free-thought; but now there has sprung up a new type of born free-thinkers who grow up without even having heard of principles of morality or of religion, of the existence of authorities, who grow up directly in ideas of negation in everything, that is to say, savages.

"Well, he's of that class. He's the son, it appears, of some Moscow butler, and has never had any sort of bringing-up. When he got into the academy and made his reputation he tried, as he's no fool, to educate himself. And he turned to what seemed to him the very source of culture—the magazines. In old times, you see, a man who wanted to educate himself—a Frenchman, for instance—would have set to work to study all the classics and theologians and tragedians and historians and philosophers, and, you know, all the intellectual work that came in his way. But in our day he goes straight for the literature of negation, very quickly assimilates all the extracts of the science of negation, and he's ready. And that's not all—twenty years ago he would have found in that literature traces of conflict with authorities, with the creeds of the ages; he would have perceived from this conflict that there was something else; but now he comes at once upon a literature in which the old creeds do not even furnish matter for discussion, but it is stated baldly that there is nothing else—evolution, natural selection, struggle for existence—and that's all.”

[Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina]

Can We Really Change?

I have decided to be a more positive person. I am going to look at situations with hope rather than with fear. I am going to give people the benefit of the doubt. I am going to trust God, other people, and myself. I am going to smile at strangers. I won't sweat the small stuff. I'm going to keep things in perspective and not lose my cool. I will be optimistic all day long.

That is what I tell myself.

I want to be all those things. I wish I could shake the overly-critical, over evaluative side of myself. I want to fully enjoy the joys that life brings without feeling the need to inject a dose of "healthy" skepticism. Sometimes, I don't want to see both sides of an issue, be reasonable, or exercise caution.

I want to change.

Yet, unless I'm really focusing my energy, I fall back into the same patterns that I always do. It is so much easier for me to focus on what needs to be improved, changed, or tweaked, than to accept people (or worship services, or jobs, or books I've read, or my body, or my house). But in reality, each of these things in my life are wonderful gifts and however much I may believe they are not "perfect," the truth is, I am missing out on a lot of joy by over thinking things.

This is what I want to change. I want to stop missing out on joy.

What Are We Doing?

Sometimes I am struck by the silliness of human activity.

Yesterday, I was at the gym and thought to myself, "What are we all doing on these machines? How did we get to the point that this is how we humans spend our time?" Part of this is driven by the fact that the Riverbank Run is over and I haven't settled on another training goal. This means that my exercise is being done just for...health? weight loss? fun? routine? to deal with stress? I looked around at everyone else at the gym I wondered about their reasons.

I have been doing a lot of thinking about minimalism, and one of the blog posts that has stuck with me talks about making exercise part of your time with your family: walk, play, wrestle, chase, throw, anything that can break a sweat. I think there is something to this and now that the weather is getting warmer it is something that I'm working on. It seems to place exercise in it's proper place: we exercise to build relationships. I stay fit for my kids.

I like running. I like working out at a gym if it helps my running or helps me de-stress (and thus be a better dad/husband). But I don't like exercising because it is recommended by a panel of researchers that I get 30 minutes of cardio three times each week. That doesn't feel like a good way to live a life. So many people take vitamins and medicines when they really need eat more whole grains, fruits, and vegetables. Similarly many people view exercise as a pill they need to take to compensate for an unhealthy lifestyle.

To draw out this metaphor even further, I feel similarly about attending church. Church is seen like spiritual exercise. Something to be done once a week to keep yourself healthy. But what is really needed is to live a healthy spiritual life all the time: give, pray, thank, help, see, hear, touch, smile, laugh, rejoice, sing, cry, read, breath. This is not something that should be segmented into certain times of our week, just like we can't segment times of exercise as the only times we "work on our health." We are always living, choosing, thinking creatures and so many times our actions are at cross purposes with each other.

We are silly, silly people sometimes.

Didn't Go as I Planned

My 2011 Riverbank run didn't go how I hoped.

In the week leading up to the race, I began to cough. I told myself that, in spite of the fact that my entire family had undeniable colds, this was somehow a passing thing for me. I was sure that I could use my mental powers to will away any sickness that dared to enter my body. This was something that I maintained though the entire race. I know this was denial, but it was the only way I could keep my hopes alive.

The day of the race was rainy, but not cold enough to make things really unpleasant. When the race began I felt good, a feeling that lasted for about 7 miles. After that, my wheels came off, my tank ran dry, it wasn't my day, the train jumped the tracks, my legs turned to rubber, I hit the wall, or whatever other metaphor you could use for having no energy. I don't know if it was because I was sick, the humidity, or just an off day, but I was not able to meet any of my three goals for the day.

However, I take some comfort in the fact that it was not a great day for many runners. I saw probably a dozen people staggering, laying on the side of the road, and needing medical assistance. Even more people were taking walk breaks. Sadly, one 37 year-old father of three young children even died while running. So, I really have nothing to complain about. I get to plan for another race. His family gets to plan a funeral.

I am grateful that I was able to run the race. Several of my friends and family are suffering injury and were unable to run. Many more don't have the drive, discipline, or interest in running and are unable for those reasons. I am grateful for a healthy body and mind, for a supportive family, and encouraging friends. So while I am disappointed, I am happy too.

I'm Tired of Trying to be Right all the Time

There is too much emphasis on being right.

We are encouraged to make the right decisions. We are told to believe the right things about God. We need to be right and when we encounter someone who thinks differently, they must be wrong. Being wrong is the greatest sin we can commit.

Which is ludicrous in the extreme.

Not only are we certainly wrong about many of our decisions, beliefs, and opinions, but our obsession with our own rightness will run roughshod over our ability to be kind, to love, to hold, to feel with, to enter into a moment, to communion with another person. Being right separates us.

I am going to do my best to let go of being right and try instead to be kind, joyful, and loving.