Things To Do

I cannot believe that May 2007 is over. It was a wonderful month. My boys are finished with school, my husband was able to attend a much needed retreat, and we are getting lots of big projects marked off our "to do" list. I've had several great runs too. My hip is finally feeling better and I'm very excited about that. I'll just maintain throughout the hot Texas summer and then start training for the White Rock event this Fall in Dallas. I've had two friends verbally commit to completing the half-marathon with me so it should be a fun weekend ahead.

As I was working some of the smaller projects off our "to do" list - cleaning the wood staircase - my youngest asked me "Who's coming over?" When I answered "No one" he look perplexed. Later, as I dusted the living room, he questioned me again. I told him again that no one was coming over. He asked "Then why are you cleaning up?" As I pondered this dialogue, I realized that our family has a habit of "cleaning up" only when friends are coming over. We do whatever we need to do to make ourselves look organized and tidy. It's not that we're slobs or anything, we just don't make ourselves a priority. We are willing to go the extra mile for others, but not for ourselves.

While that line of thinking isn't entirely a bad thing, it did make me a bit sad. Our family should be top priority. We should want to stay organized and ship-shape just for each other. And if that isn't enough, we should do it for our Savior, who we invite to dwell in our hearts and in our home. He's a God of order and beauty and since we are all made in His image, we really long for that too. Waste and caos are of the evil one - just one more way to keep us from God. And if order becomes routine, it gives us that much more time to do other stuff - fun stuff - stuff that is enjoyable and exciting.

So I've challenged my family to make clean our routine. We always have a guest invited and his name is Jesus Christ.

Happy Number

Recently, I celebrated my 44th birthday. For me this number held little meaning other than my father used to tell me it was his old high school football number. I’m ashamed to say that’s all I remember. I don’t know the name of my father’s high school, I’m not clear what position he played, and I have never even seen a picture of my dad from those teen years. Maybe that’s why I cared so little; it just didn’t seem real. When I played volleyball and basketball in junior high, Dad always told me, “See if you can get number 44.” Try as I might, it was not to be – 42 was as close as I could get. Oh well, no big deal.

I decided to check Wikipedia.org to see what I could find out about my new age. I’d like to say it was due to my unquenchable thirst for knowledge and understanding, but it was mostly because I was trying to avoid doing any actual work or chores. I figured I could stall about 10 minutes if I appeared busy on the computer.

Did you know that 44 is:

- a poker game
- a name in a Mark Twain novel
- the number of famous running backs in football
(Hey, maybe Dad was a running back.)
- the name of a popular cough suppressant
- in mathematics, a happy number

Since I didn’t understand the technical definition of a happy number (snore), I decided that for me, 44 would have a special meaning. It’s not just a happy number, but also a year of life that I don’t want to take for granted. I want to take time to cherish each day; take time to listen to my sons and pay attention to what they are sharing with me. Certainly I can stop washing dishes for a minute or two as my 8 year old describes his latest Lego invention or my eldest talks web design lingo that is way over my head. I want to take time to listen to my husband and remember that he’s putting in long hours managing his firm in order for me to have the pleasure of managing our home. I want to listen to my body and be proud of my abilities to run and be active. It doesn’t matter that my figure isn’t, and probably will never be, perfect. Most importantly I want to listen to my Savior, who is preparing a place for me in His kingdom come. I want to dwell in His promises to deny any lingering doubt. And, if Dad were still alive, I’d give him a call and I’d let him know, “Hey, I’ve got your number.”

Running Out Of

Time - where has it gone? I'm still here; taking care of my boys, my husband, myself. I've been running, walking, biking - just a little bit of everything. My left hip area is still giving me trouble. I'm trying to stretch, massage the area, some home hydro-therapy, but all I really want is for it to just go away and stop hurting.

Today is one of those "I just can't get going" days. I'll be back when I can.

Food, Glorious Food!

Since I was a young girl, I’ve had issues with my weight. Some of it was in the genes. My mother, at eighteen years of age, was 5’1” and over 200 pounds. Also, my parents were in their forties when I was born. Back in the sixties, this was unusual. It was very much liked being raised by my grandparents. They did their best to spoil me, which in most cases meant I could eat whatever I wanted. No green vegetables for me, I liked French fries and mashed potatoes. If I wasn’t hungry for breakfast, I could eat a couple of homemade frosted brownies instead. The absolute worst “food” I was allowed to eat on a regular basis had to be grease bread. This was the white bread that my mother used for draining her fried chicken. I didn’t care much for the chicken meat, just give me a plate of skin, corn and my beloved grease bread and I was happy, happy. As the old song goes, “Mama’s lil’baby loves shortenin’ bread!” Actually, I think shortenin’ bread is spread straight from the can. Grease bread is the term post-frying. Needless to say, I was an overweight child. Now I know my parents loved me, they just didn’t know much about nutrition and they didn’t realize the damage being done, both physically and emotionally. I suffered mercilessly at the tongues of my peers. Now over thirty years later, I still have memories of their hateful taunts. Satan still brings them to life, trying almost daily to undermine my confidence and happiness.

It took many years for me to eat green foods, broiled items, fruits that weren’t drenched in heavy syrup or pudding. I’ve gone from eating everything fried and overly processed to being a lacto-ovo vegetarian, a vegan, and now finally a flexitarian. I understand that term stands for someone who is mostly vegetarian, eating whole grains and fresh produce with an occasional piece of poultry or fish added to the mix. I guess that’s not entirely true either. Since I’ve lived in Texas forever, it’s a requirement to eat an occasional piece of brisket. I’m not kidding – it’s in the State Pledge: “I vow to eat cow - smoked to tender, juicy perfection – as my carnivorous cravings shall allow.” So, I won’t turn my nose up at a BBQ plate if it’s placed before me.

All in all, I’ve come a long way since my grease bread days. I exercise regularly; running and biking and keeping up with my boys. I eat healthfully; avoiding trans fats, high fructose corn syrup and using as many fresh ingredients as possible. Most importantly, I understand that I’m wonderfully made. I’m a work of art designed by the Master of the universe who looks upon my heart. And in heaven, there will be no cellulite.

Link and Read

As a member of a local non-profit organization, I volunteered to write one of the monthly devotionals for our website. I felt inspired to write about my half marathon experience and Easter. Seems like an odd combination, huh? Check it out at www.liveitonline.org.

More later...

Worried Anticipation

No – not in completing the Austin American Statesman Capitol 10,000 or not in besting last year’s 6.2 mile time – I’m worried about the pins; that’s right, safety pins. Last year I was a complete nervous wreck before the Cap10K. It would be my first official event as a runner. Imagine my disappointment while picking up my packet, I was given the heart-stopping news, “We ran out of safety pins. Sorry.” What, no pins? How in the world will I be identified, how will my number remain attached, how can I possibly run now? Every safety pin available in the entire city of Austin was gone; the whole lot of silver and gold fasteners depleted from our state’s capitol. This however was not true. There were still safety pins available – I just had to go out of my way and purchase them for myself. And buy them I did, 300 of them, from a Michael’s store somewhere across from the Arboretum. My boys and I only needed a dozen. I was tempted to tear the corner off the plastic baggie they were in and just palm a few, but, thank the good Lord, I was able to overcome.

Now I’m sure that planning the largest 10K run in Texas is no easy feat. There are so many minor details to consider - but no pins? It’s not as if they have no earthly idea this need is on the horizon. Come on, every entrant needs four. Someone at the Statesman could have been buying a couple packages every month, throwing them in a drawer and they’d be all set for packet pick-up day. Now I’m no Rhodes scholar, shoot, I’m not even a college graduate but I can multiply 20,000ish by four. Take this year for example; they are hoping to have 30,000 entrants. So I’d start with at least 120,000 safety pins. Throw in an extra five thousand and they’ll be good to go. I’m hoping it’s not too late; I hope somehow, some way, someone at the Austin American Statesman gets this message: Please, for the welfare and security of our bibs, don’t run out of pins again!

Switching Gears

It’s been a little hectic at my house lately. Event planning, weekend trips, school, and work have all kept me from writing. I’ve had several good runs this week, getting ready for the Capitol 10K in Austin this weekend. Even with a still slightly sore hip, I’m looking forward to Sunday. My boys and I decided to register in the Fun Run category. We’ll time ourselves with our own watches and just enjoy being a part of something bigger than a chip attached to our shoe. No pressure – lovin’ that!

To add some variety to my cardio workouts this week, I went for a bike ride with John. Of course he wanted to take the mammoth uphill incline that I usually take a pass on. He told me he’d teach me how to switch gears. So that’s what those circular number thingies on my handlebars are for! I had no idea of the noticeable difference they make. My leg muscles contained the vigor and brawn of ten men. That hill was no problem. I was feeling so self-confident I decided to try the last lap without changing to the easier gear. My husband wasn’t switching gears; surely I could get up the hill once too. So much for my ten men - I made it – but it was a painfully slow climb.

As we headed toward home, my husband stretched his arm toward me as if to hold my hand. I steadied my front wheel and put my hand softly in his. It was such a sweet, romantic moment; just the two of us spinning wistfully through the early morning dew. When I commented to John about his charming gesture, he responded with a laugh, “I just wanted to make the blog again.” At least somebody is reading this thing!!