Friendships have been the subject of several conversations lately. It’s given me food for thought. But first, a running story.
Running in Naperville, IL., last October, race two of the weekend, we were somewhere around mile 7 of the half marathon. I had just taken a left turn on Ewing St and came upon a pack of runners. They were keeping a good pace which I decided to stick with for a while.
“You look strong,” one of the younger female runners said.
I was a little thrown. My awkward response was, “Thanks.”
She looked at me like, “Seriously. Good job.”
I don’t talk much with other runners during a race, but I decided to engage. I told her I’d ran a half the day before in WI, on my quest to run a race in all 50 states, so I was happy to be doing decently. For her to encourage me about how I was doing was a boost. She seemed to get a boost from a guy who could probably be her father sharing his journey.
We ran probably less than a mile together to the next aid station. I stopped for a drink, and she moved on. She was in my sight for most of the remaining miles. When I crossed the finish line, I found her. We congratulated each other. Our short relationship was over.
I may never forget her. In a small time window, she modeled friendship in numerous ways. The result: now I’m making an effort to be that friend on the race course. No, I’m not a chatter box. But in the right moment, when it looks like someone could use a racing friend, I’m trying to be that friend.
On the clock of our lives, it would be nice to have friends who stick with us for the entire journey, all the miles of our lives. But that’s not how it happens. For reasons of all sorts of nature, friends come and go. We come and go in their lives, vice versa. Some stay for a few miles; others stay for way more than the average. We develop a great pace together, we encourage one another, we do life together for as long as we can.
It’s sad when friends go. Sometimes we get to say meaningful goodbyes. Often times, we miss it; we didn’t see the end coming, and we are left with a loss that, if we allow it, could sideline us for a long time.
Today, my focus is on two things.
The first is to be grateful for those who are running with me right now. Receive all the friendship has to provide.
The second is to be the friend I wish to have. Gift all the friendship has to bless.
For those who know her, you know. More on that momentarily.
Today I wrapped up a quest to run four half marathons in eight days. These were staged in four New England states: Connecticut, Vermont, New Hampshire, and Maine. And I must say, the folks at Star Racing know what they’re doing. Smooth. Celebratory. Friendly. Leave no one behind. Couldn’t have selected a better series of races to check off these four states. Thank you, JC!
Getting to the race this morning, I wasn’t sure what to expect. One thing was certain: conditions were ideal. 45F, sunny. As for the course, JC had hinted yesterday that it might be challenging. My aches being manageable, I figured I’d use the first few miles to get familiar with the course and see how my legs were responding.
Around mile four, I was happy to realize two things. 1) JC was most likely just trying to not get my hopes up. The course was looking like the easiest of the four. 2) My legs were holding up enough for me to push.
That’s when I decided three mindsets for the last nine miles. 1) Take advantage of the cooler weather…and get done as soon as possible. 2) Take advantage of the easier course…attack within reason. 3) Don’t walk. Unless you’re about to pass out, keep running.
Mile 10. Lord, have mercy! At the aid station, my first thought was, “Three more miles…No thank you! Seriously, 49 miles in 8 days ain’t shabby. I DON’T WANT TO GO BACK OUT!”
Fortunately, another runner who had also ran the last two days was there. We just looked at each other with a “C’mon man…we can do this!”
He walked/ran those last miles. I looped self-talk, “You are not walking! Just because he is, don’t!”
When I crossed the finish mat, I said, “That’s all I had.” True words.
More true words: I don’t get all the credit. I could give credit to many things and people. But on this Mother’s Day, I must acknowledge that without the model of Lola Gregory as my mother it’s hard to believe I’d have the stuff to go after and accomplish something like this. If you know her, you know.
If you know her from the Illinois farm life, you know.
If you know her from the Chattanooga starting-a-family-of-four-with-seminary-student-husband life, you know.
If you know her from the Gadsden let’s-start-a-school-while-growing-a-church life, you know.
If you know her from the Thomasville I’m-going-to-finish-raising-these-kids-alone-in-a-new-town-working-a-new-job life, you know.
If you know her from the Murfreesboro one-daughter-still-home-in-another-new-town-working-another-new-job life, you know.
If you know her from the Tallahassee let’s-finish-this-work-thing life, you know.
Before I knew anything about determining mindsets mid-race, she’d become an expert in it. Although she thinks this week’s feat was a tad crazy, she gets the most credit for instilling in me the determination to cross a finish line saying, “That’s All I Had.”
To the best model I’ve had on finishing the race set before her, Happy Mother’s Day!
I’m not sure what’s going on. Maybe God is just saying, “I see you.”
I altered my plans for tomorrow morning by leaving for Vermont this afternoon. Tomorrow will be much better survived because of it.
I booked an Airbnb in Tunbridge, so I only drive 40 minutes to the start line in the morning. Bearable. What I didn’t know when I booked it and started on my drive was the following:
I’d pass signs for the birthplaces of two notable religious figures.
When I stopped for gas and food it was 5PM. The Congregational Church bells across the street started playing the hymn Softly and Tenderly. The lines of the chorus start, “Come Home, Come Home.” Again, it was 5PM.
My Airbnb host is a college track coach. He lives in the mountains. I can hear water running down the mountainside from my room window.
God is probably saying something more like, “Good thing I gave you common sense, and you decided to use it.”
Just for you, SharonCoach Bob’s yardMaybe these guys can “run with me” in the morning (Photo in the room).All the sounds of the mountainside
It’s that time of year. Early morning running means mostly running in the dark. And in Florida that also means avoiding sprinkler systems. These days my runs begin anywhere between 4:30 and 6:30AM. No matter what time I leave, if my route includes around the neighborhood somebody’s sprinkler system is doing its thing.
It was around 5:50 this morning as I ran down a block where it’s hit and miss. Some houses have systems; some don’t. For some reason this morning my eyes caught a clear contrast between two neighbors, one with one without. As if the sun was at high noon, there couldn’t have been a clearer sign. It almost looked intentional, as if a hairstylist stopped halfway through the dye job right at the top of the head.
Got me to thinking. It’s not news here that 2023 has started with a rain shortfall. So if you want your lawn green, it’s on you. And that means at least three things:
You need a plan. That may sound like a no brainer, yet somehow the neighbor with the dead grass missed it. How many sprinkler heads, which direction are they covering, when does it come on, how long does it run-the plan can’t miss any details if the yard is going to be HOA prizeworthy.
If you’ve done your job right, you can sleep well. You won’t need to get up every morning at 4 to check it out. It’s like that current TV commercial for tax preparations-“Bring it to us, and don’t water your lawn.”
You cannot assume once it’s working your job is done. Two blocks west from my front door someone has made this assumption. Guess what? Half their water is going into the street. None of the sprinkling shoots out more than three feet. I wonder when’s the last time the system was checked.
These thoughts apply to many areas of life. Marriage. Parenting. Management. Eating. Exercising. Finances. Career. Education. Faith.
When people ask when I started running, I make a distinction in my answer. The distinction occurred in 2007 at age 39.
The fifteen years prior I ran, but there was no structure to it. I wasn’t following a plan, didn’t set any goals, had no purpose outside random decisions to go for a run. At best, I ran three times a week for less than 10 miles; I didn’t track it and wasn’t concerned about it. The thought of registering for a race never crossed my mind.
Around 2004 I began running more frequently. Still not tracking or challenging myself to add miles or distance. Just random jogs around the neighborhood. I don’t recall how I started getting considered a runner, but apparently folks around me got that impression. At that point, I wouldn’t have told people, “I’m a runner.”
Two things happened in 2007 that shifted everything. The first one was that I finished my masters degree, which I had started in 2003. While working fulltime, I had kept an average of 11 hours of classes each semester for four years. I had been going at a pretty intense pace. I distinctly remember sitting in my hotel room in New Orleans the week I was completing my last class and saying to myself, “I’m about to have a void in my life. I need to find something to fill it.” When I got home, I created intention to my running. No more randomness.
The second thing really propelled my running forward. And I didn’t see it coming. Two of my work colleagues entered triathlons. They decided they wanted to do a relay and invited me to be the runner. I remember pretty vividly the emotions of waiting at the stage exchange for the swim and bike legs to finish before I took off on the 5k. At that time, a 3.1 mile race seemed long. I had no idea about pacing, even if I could run that far without stopping. And God knows, I wasn’t going to be one of those walk/runners. I had so much to learn.
When I crossed the finish line of that 5k, I had become an intentional runner. My instincts to grow and challenge myself took over, and the rest is a history still unfolding. Another fifteen years have passed. I’ve ran dozens of races, raced in 26 states on the goal to run them all, and have averaged over 1,000 miles per year. These results reveal the power of intentions and invitations.
On this first day of 2023, what intentions would move your life forward? In your career, your family, your relationships, your finances, your spirit, your hobbies, your passions. What invitations you accept or extend would give those intentions a pathway taking you and others toward new heights and depths? A year from today, how would you like to reflect on your 2023 intentions and invitations?
(A series on lessons learned from running this year)
The second first-time experience this summer was less concerning but equally worth learning.
Two weeks after the shower incident, I let another “but” lead me to another result even more frustrating on a personal level.
I wanted to get in a 12-miler with two friends. The challenge was, they wanted to run early. Really early. Like 4AM early. They do this all the time; me, never.
So not only was I going to get up and run 12 miles in Florida humidity with my crazy friends, I was also going to pretend to be a morning person.
Unfortunately for me, not only that night but also the night before I got less than six hours of sleep. One night might be okay; two, not a recipe for a successful 12-mile run.
The alarm sounded at 3. And I said to myself, “Why am I doing this? But I want to get in 12 miles. Just have fun with it.”
True to our form, we actually started at 3:40AM. We were up; might as well hit the pavement.
I knew I was in trouble after the first mile. I learned several summers ago that my first mile on a long run needed to be easy. Something like a 10:30 pace. There was no doubt we were running faster than that. When I looked at my watch, we’d ran mile 1 in 9:26.
So not only was I pretending to be a morning person, I was also pretending this pace was doable. I told myself, “Just relax. Back off when you can. Stay with it.” And I did, as every mile got even faster.
In December, that’s fine. This wasn’t December. It was 75 degrees, hours before the sun decided to wake up.
At the mile 6 stop, I knew I had to tap out. Pretending gave way to reality. Twelve wasn’t going to happen. Too fast…too tired…too humid…too early. They went on to get in six more while I did two slower miles to get back to my car. Eight miles done; four miles short of the target.
On the drive home, it hit me. I hadn’t been pretending. I had been lying to myself. All the “buts” of why this was a good idea and that I could get in 12 miles hid the truth. I don’t run at 4AM. I don’t run long runs in humidity at a 9:15 pace. I missed my target because I lied to myself about who I am.
Lesson #2: “Buts” lead to lies. Lies lead to unrealized potential and missed targets.
(A series on lessons learned from running this year)
I’m sure I’ve made it clear before, but I’m okay repeating myself.
Running in the Florida summer is dreadful. This summer, however, I did much better than any summer prior. But that doesn’t mean all went well. Looking back, two particular days stand out…and they’ve got clear takeaways, both having to do with self talk where a “but” led to a problem.
Both happened on Saturdays. Both happened when I drove to run with friends in a running club. Both involved first-time experiences.
The first Saturday experience happened actually back at home after the run. That morning I decided to add a few miles for my long run of the week. And, surprisingly, I managed the run quite well. In fact, I was feeling pretty good about myself. So good, in fact, that I veered away from my normal recovery routine.
My Saturday long run routine is pretty well set.
Hit the pavement by 6
Minimum 8 miles
Recovery starts with a banana and water
Stretching while running an Epsom salt bath
More water and half a bagel while letting the salt do its thing
Shower
More fluid and food
Nap usually follows within an hour or two, if possible
On this Saturday, I broke routine. I was feeling so good, so surprisingly good, that I let a “but” lead me to break routine. And it led to a personal violation.
“I can’t believe how well I feel. I killed that run. Normally I drink more water while in the bath, but I’m feeling quite good. No water today. I’m mean, it’s only like 8-10 ounces. What’s that matter?”
Did I mention the bath is as hot as I can make it? Which means even more sweating. Which I don’t mind at all…until it’s time to stand up to shower. And this time, my body had something to say.
My body decided it had had enough. And the first-time experience was finding myself waking up on the shower floor not long after wondering, “What is the deal with my head?”
The problem with this scene was I ignored what I knew was wise, common sense, and established. I allowed my mind to accept a problematic “but.”
Lesson #1: “Buts” lead to violations. Violations lead to fetal positions in the shower.
I left town for Ian; technically, I left the state. Even though I don’t regret the decision, there’s a weird sense of guilt that comes with it (that may be for another post).
I got back to West Bradenton Thursday evening. Electricity on. Wi-Fi working. Cul-de-sac cleaned. It was like nothing had happened. But all you have to do is open any social media platform and be brought into the reality that something most certainly had happened.
Friday morning, my church sent out an email stating that the Sarasota elementary school where we meet isn’t able to host us today. So the challenge was issued to, instead of attending a service, serve the community. Here’s the challenge:
Even though we may not be gathering as a church this Sunday, we can still BE THE CHURCH. This Sunday, we invite you to join us in a SERVE SUNDAY. Would you get out and serve the people around you? Imagine the church in action spread throughout our neighborhoods and our city. What a beautiful thing that will be. Serve Sunday doesn’t have to look like just cutting debris and clearing yards, although it might be. This could look like making a meal with your kids for families still without power. This could look like taking some cookies to the local fire department. This could look like simply walking the neighborhood and checking in on each home, asking if they need anything. Let’s do this, if we see a need, let’s meet a need.
My guilt was already driving me to do something, which I managed to do on Friday and Saturday. I could have let that be it. But something was telling me that wasn’t enough.
This was supposed to be the first Sunday of my serving in a role that had me showing up at 7AM. With that off the table, I decided to drive to the beach to run, of course, but also to find answers to “enough.” Three hours later, God had given more answers than imaginable.
Before heading to the beach, I stopped to fill up the car. I overheard normal conversation about how other customers had fared the week and how challenging it was to have to keep generators running. AWARENESS #1: Not everyone has power yet.
I always park on the Gulf side of Coquina Beach. But not today. The main public parking was not open. Across the street, however, is a smaller parking lot where boat trailers park and have water entry access. And across the street is where you get a great view of sunrise. I arrived just in time to get this shot.
AWARENESS #2: The sun always rises.
I took off north to head back to Cortez road and cross the bridge to Cortez Village. I had just come to the first bend in the sidewalk and this is what I faced (I took pictures after my run for better lighting).
AWARENESS #3: Ian didn’t respect age.
Few people were moving about as I made my way to the bridge. Honestly, I’m not sure how many people are back. Other than cars on the road, it felt mostly abandoned. When I got up to the bridge, I was thinking about just running up to the draw bridge and turning around, but I felt the urge to continue over. As I ran down the other side, my left shoe felt loose. At the foot of the bridge was a slight right turn into a mobile home park that I have never explored. I saw a sitting bench, so I paused there to tie my shoe. That led me down a further exploration of this park and Cortez Village, which was a first.
All along my run to that point, my “enough” was to pray for the residents, visitors, store owners, and businesses of Coquina Beach. As I continued that as I ran through the village, out of nowhere sat this little neighborhood church.
Photo from their Facebook page
At first, I ran by it. But then I knew I was to pause and serve this congregation by praying for them. I walked the parking lot. Nothing seemed damaged. It didn’t even look like there had been any debris. Either they’d already cleaned it up and disposed of it, or this little spot had not been touched. I counted the parking spaces; only 15 spaces, four of them handicapped. I thought about the pastor of this congregation. How unique his service is. How alone he may feel. How tempted he may be to believe the lie that his work doesn’t matter. AWARENESS #4: All service to others is service to God.
As I started back over the bridge to head back to my car, I still was asking God to show me what else I could do besides pray. The line “let’s meet a need“ from the email was my focus. And then it was clear. I had already heard the need. The folks buying gas beside me earlier illustrated a clear need people have. That was the final “enough.”
So back to the gas station I went. And I’m thinking, this is going to be a little weird-walking up to strangers and offering to pay for their gas. And my counter to my self talk was, “It’s only weird if you make it weird, John.”
My question after I pulled into a parking space was, how do I determine who to approach. I decided to just watch and see who might look like they had the most need. And as I watched and waited, it became clear.
I ended up approaching two customers. The first one was an elderly couple in an older car with a handicap license plate. He started walking toward the store with cash in his hand. When I asked if he’d allow me to pay for his gas with my card, he paused to see if I was serious. I let the silence speak. He said, “I have the money.” I replied, “I see that, but how about you keep it for something else.” And that was it. Nothing weird. Just mutual gratefulness. AWARENESS #5: Generosity is a universal language.
The second customer I suspected was serving others himself. He opened his truck’s tailgate and started taking the caps off of three 5-gallon gas cans. When I walked up and asked him if he’d paid for his gas yet, he said no. I asked then, “Will you let me pay for your gas?” Too bad we haven’t figured out how to take photos just with eye contact yet. He looked stunned, and his mind was swirling. Again I let the silence speak. The first thing he could say was, “I’m usually the one offering to help others. No one has ever asked me something like that.” My search was over. Customer #2 was enough. Those gas cans were to keep the generators running in his neighborhood. AWARENESS #6: Seek and you will find…God honors those who serve their neighbors.
Thank you, Hope City, for the challenge. The Sunday after Ian will always serve me as a reminder of the many ways God gives us enough.
The other morning I woke up before the alarm and decided I might as well get up and run. Out the door before 6, it was still dark. Roughly 3/4 of a mile out, running in the bike lane through my neighborhood, I approached a clump of something in the lane. As I got closer and a passing car’s lights lit up the lane, I figured out it was a dead possum. Roughly 20 yards later I stepped over a dead armadillo. Then within just yards I had to maneuver around two huge palm branches crossing the lane. Within that same patch, cars timely passed so I could see and not do something stupid.
Thinking about it later, I remembered this verse I’d read and journaled about recently from I John 2:11.
“Those who hate a fellow believer are in the darkness and walk around in the darkness; they do not know where they are going, because the darkness has blinded them.”
Ever noticed how hate makes you do stupid things. Even while you’re doing them your mind is saying, “What is going on? I don’t want to do this. Where is this coming from?” Sometimes it’s not until much later, after you’ve totally blown it, that you figure it all out. Then you have to humble yourself, or at least you have the choice, and admit what was driving your outrageous actions.
Thank God for the light of love. It reveals the dead stuff, guides you to a better path, and helps you avoid roadkill and debris.
Choose it. Run in it. The alternative – running blind – can be quite costly.
I just googled the word journaling and got 40,900,000 results. Guess another result can’t hurt.
These six journals contain my entries from Dec. ’99 to March ’12
In an effort to keep shrinking my library, I discarded six journals today. Hard to do? Not really, particularly since they are more than a decade old. And as tempting as it is for me to flip through the pages, instead I dwelt on the value of what was on the pages versus the exact words.
If you journal, you know the value. If you don’t journal, well there are 40 million web results to consider its value. As for my experience, here’s why I value journaling.
Spiritual. This one is first for a reason. In those six journals, my guess is 95% of the content was from the discipline of journaling while engaging scripture reading. During that time frame, I mostly used the acronym SOAP, written about in The Divine Mentor by Wayne Cordeiro, to complete my journaling discipline. My engagement with God and the Bible took on new depth through the words penned on those pages. Pretty sure there’s not a price tag I could put on that.
Emotional. A lot happened in those twelve years including working at three different churches in various roles, moving to a new city, completing a four-year masters degree, handing off a successful piano competition, becoming an intentional runner, and many other personal and family experiences. Allowing pen and paper to process the emotions of such events is beneficial to the one journaling and to those in their world. The value that is most surprising is how those emotions surface more quickly and more healthily due to the writing discipline.
Mental. As one who believes our minds should be in constant growth, the discipline of journaling is a tool that aids that growth. When united with spiritual and emotional focuses, my mind is transformed. After twelve years of journaling, I know things I didn’t know before, I know things I didn’t know I needed to know, and I deepened my value of knowing both of those things.
How I journal, how often I journal, and how it impacts me continues to evolve. That’s reason enough to keep journaling.
