I literally sat down about 3 hours ago to start this blog when I heard blood curdling screaming coming from the garage. XS was screeching and sobbing. I waited about 3-4 minutes and realized it wasn’t dying down. I opened the door to find Brian comforting a bleeding XS: ear bleeding and small bruise behind said ear.
They said they wanted to play with a real baseball and now we know why those little t-ball sluggers wear batting helmets!
Ah, life is never boring around here…
I had wanted to write about training.
I had just been reflecting on my stinky shoes. I had removed them from my gym bag in preparation for my swim work out tmrw. I actually got a little sad: tmrw will be my last “workout” at the Y before the marathon Saturday.
These shoes carried me during a 1/2 marathon last September and were my shoes at the Y for a lot of the winter and spring. Good shoes. Second pair (first pair was Grandma’s Marathon last year…)
How can shoes bring such emotion?
Well tonight it might be b/c a 20 minute trip to the library took 60. Because it’s day 2 of summer vacation. Because I am a girl. Because it’s been grey, cloudy and cool all week.
It might also be b/c these shoes represent what I have been training for since January. The risks with heavier weights. The noon classes I shoved into my Wednesdays after work and before momming. The conversations with friends about magnesium, avocados and eggs (friends: some people eat a LOT of eggs…) The push-ups, lunges and renegade rows that still make me cry.
I wore these shoes when I met my friend who lost a nephew to cancer and struggles with faith. I wore these shoes when I found out a long-term relationship had died. I wore these shoes when I cried with a friend who cried for unknown reasons – sobbed really. I wore these shoes when I found out Isaac died. I found these shoes in my gym bag later that day, tied together by an unknown friend who wanted to make sure I didn’t lose one that day as I rushed out of the building.
I put the shoes aside and thought: Trust Your Training. There’s literally nothing else I can do at this point to help me run this race.
And isn’t life like that? Stuff comes up and you just have to take a deep breath and tell yourself to trust your training.
When you’re sitting holding your kid and you’re debating on an ER visit, you call your friend the ER pediatrician. I trust his training.
When you’re stuck alone on Mars and you’re Matt Damon, you’re glad you’re a botanist and trust your training.
When you get a call that your friend has been diagnosed with breast cancer, you sit down and trust Mayo doctors’ and their training.
When you don’t know what to do during a taper week, you trust others ideas about tapering and their training.
When you get kicked in the teeth by life, aren’t you going to wish you had trained for moments like this?
I won’t run (many or any…) more marathons. (Don’t look now but she’s dreaming of another race in another city… not sure which one but dreaming.)
But I’m sure I’ll face challenges in other ways. Death. Sickness. Offensives that will run deep. Friends that will move. Heartbreak with teenagers. More national tragedies. Christians who will live in such a way that make me and the world hate our worldview. Drama that will overwhelm.
And I want to be ready. When the gun goes off, I want to be able to run the race with perseverance. One more race. One more day. Surrounded by such a cloud of witnesses. Cheered on by dear friends.
“Have nothing to do with irreverent, silly myths. Rather train yourself for godliness; for while bodily training is of some value, godliness is of value in every way as it holds promise for the present life and the for the life to come.” 1 Timothy 4:7-8