Who moved my cooler?

Million Dollar (maybe Gazillion) Moment #15

My running partner Jen and I are training for the Detroit Marathon this October. This past weekend we reached a new milestone for us – 16 miles. It was a gorgeous early evening run and the best I have felt in a few months.

When we run that many miles, we’ve discovered that we need a drink about every 2 miles. We planned ahead and dropped coolers with drinks, banana slices, sports beans and power gel (a refueling substance) every 2 miles along our 6 mile loop. Our route was out in the country on dirt roads. We rarely rarely see cars on these roads, but we still stashed our coolers in the tall grasses so they weren’t visible from the road.

After we had finished the run, stretched and showered, we headed out in the car to go pick up our coolers. That’s when things got interesting. It was dark by this time, and we could not find our second cooler. We hunted and hunted and shone the headlights on the corner where we were sure we had left it. About the time we gave up and decided Jen would go back and look for it in the morning, the young Amish man from across the street came over and asked us if we were looking for a lunchbox. He then told us that the neighbors down the street had picked it up. They had seen it on the corner and saw that it was full of stuff and just couldn’t understand why it was there so they took it home. Jen explained to him that we were training for a marathon and need drinks every couple miles so we had left it there to use during our run. The conversation had a hilariuos loop to it because he just kept saying over and over that they didn’t understand why it was there. Finally, Jen got out of him which neighbor had picked it up, and thankfully she happened to know who they were.

The next morning she headed down to the neighbor’s house to get the cooler, and sure enough they had it. The lady said they saw it sitting there and that it looked like someone had put it there and not like it had fallen off a car and she had picked it up because it didn’t make any sense to her. Oh my. So Jen explained to her about our training for a marathon and asked her that if she saw anything like that again to please leave it because it would be ours. The lady smiled and said she would.

That same morning Jen was unloading the other coolers when she found a surprise in one of the larger ones. She opened it and on top was a note that read “Sorry I got your cooler greasy. I wanted to see what was in it and had been working on a tractor. Put some extra goodies in there for ya.”

Now if you found a cooler full of drinks, banana pieces, sports beans and sports gels, and if you decided to leave treats for the athletes in said cooler, what might you put in it? Cookies? More water? Or how about a package of pink peeps, a bottle of A-1 steak sauce, a packet of hot chocolate, a McCormicks Grill Mates Hawaiian Luau spice packet, and an onion? That is exactly what she found in our cooler. She called me, and I have been laughing all day long.

We’ve decided that we’d better start hiding our coolers better. We had no idea that her country neighbors would be so creatively nosy.

And in case you are worried about us, because I know some of you are – we always run in daylight, with a cell phone, and most of the time with pepper spray.

I have a picture of the cooler and its contents, but I can’t get it to upload. So sad!

Sunset Run

The Narrator tried to get me to run with him after we first got married. He tried again a few years later while we both worked at the University. I should have listened. But no, I waited until we have two kids and schedules are complicated to decide to run.

When I started running a year ago, The Narrator would run with me occasionally to help me get to my next mile goals. He’s a chipper runner, all energetic and upbeat, the endorphins giving him a Batman Jokeresque smile. He seemed like the Joker, and the joke was on me, and my legs, and my lungs. I huffed and puffed to keep up, knowing even when I did keep up, he was still keeping a slower pace on my account.

A year of consistent running and I’m a much stronger runner. I’m still not fast, and probably never will be, but I have endurance. Lots of endurance. My parents were visiting this past weekend, and I needed to get in a run to keep up with my marathon training schedule. Since my parents were here, the Narrator threw on his Five Fingers, and we had the rare chance to run together. It was so different from a year ago. I knew that while my pace was still slower than his, it was only slightly slower, and I was able to carry on a conversation rather than constantly gasping for air. We ran a route I’d never run by myself. We headed out of our hood and through our new little town dodging shoppers catching an evening deal. Our path ran along the river, the evening breeze cooling us, and the fireflies flitting along beside us. The sun gradually set taking the humidity with it. We continued our seven mile trekk, sharing a love of running, a love of being in touch with our bodies – even the aching knee (his, not mine), and a love of just being together. We chatted about our kids, our lives, our running strategies, and just how content and blessed we feel at this point in our lives.

We rounded the corner towards home and I started to sprint. So different from a year ago. So many things are so very different. So very good. So very blessed. Like the year of running and developing endurance, that’s how our lives together have been for the past few years, building endurance and patience and all those hard character qualities that can only be built over time and through conscious effort.

It was a beautiful night for a run with the one I love.

#2 Million Dollar Moments.

Summer Berries

I read in the book of Genesis in the Bible that God spoke things into existence. He said, “Let there be Light.” And there was Light. But I’m not sure He spoke everything into existence.

I was pondering this thought of God speaking Creation into being as I traipsed through the woods behind my in-laws house today chasing  a trail of ripened black raspberries. The raspberries grow wild through the woods and down the ravine along a small gurgling stream. It was an expedition that left me a bit scratched up and mosquito bitten, but intensely satisfied. As I chased the trail of berries, calculating each step to ensure I didn’t break an ankle, I felt a bit like a pioneer in the wild west, with the exception of the sound of cars passing in the unseen road above me.

As the berries stained my hands red with juice bursting with intoxicating scent, that’s when a new thought hit me. I think when God created summer berries, He didn’t speak them into existence. I think He laughed, and the brilliant sparkles of His laughter landed on the ground and up sprang berries on luscious plants and bushes of green. Berries of brilliant colors and vibrant taste, berries that would make us close our eyes and sigh in pleasure. I think He laughed and then laughed again when He thought of the the first explorers stumbling across berries in the wilderness, desperate for food, and finding the tastiest sustenance they’ve ever known. I think He chuckled as He thought of  big brown bears, ferocious, muscular animals known to bring terror to man and beast alike, brought to their knees by tiny little bursts of berry flavor. He might have snickered when He thought of birds feasting on berries and then SCATtering the seeds where ever the wind takes…um…them.

I think God took great pleasure in all His creations, but with summer berries, He may have had a bit of extra fun.

Hidden Costs of Running

When I started running a year ago, I started to in part because 1. I lost a bet with the Narrator and 2. my doctors told me to get active again and 3. I thought running would be a cheap and easy way to fulfill #1 and #2. After all,  you only need  shorts, a tshirt, shoes and a road right?

After I got over the sticker shock of getting new shoes to accomodate the miles I was putting on my feet (finding a bunch of cute running clothes on clearance helped!) I began to realize that beyond the shoes, clothes and energy gels (necessary for most runs beyond 10 miles) there were some hidden costs to running.

1. Laundry. Runners go through a lot of clothes. It seems to be that once your body gets in the sweating mode, it just doesn’t want to stop. The other night, I ran a nice 5 miles, took a shower, and got into my pjs. By the time I was ready to go to bed, I was freezing. It was then that I realized that the back of my shirt was SOAKED. I had just taken a shower, and I was covered in sweat again. This phenomenon takes place not just after a run. It seems that once you open that floodgate of sweat, whether you have run that day or not, those pores just…pour! I guess I can’t get after my kids for changing clothes 3 times a day anymore.

2. Deodrant. So along with the pours, I mean pores and sweat comes the need for deodrant. No longer can the average deodrant take the case. I actually bought one called “marathon.” No lie. I don’t remember the brand, but it seems to help. A little. Just don’t take a close look at my pits if you see me. Not that you’d want to, but if you get curious….I warned you!

3. Advil. I should buy stock in advil. After a 10 miler the other night, my running partner said her knees were complaining and The Narrator offered her some advil, and as an afterthought asked, “Do you take advil?” She looked at him with a duh expression. Enough said.

4. Clothes. And by clothes I’m not talking about running clothes. I’m talking regular clothes, because when you run 20+ miles a week, the pounds naturally drop no matter HOW much chocolate you eat (insert hallelujah chorus here!).  I learned once at a sewing seminar that for every 10 pounds you drop, that equals about 2 inches as well. So far, I believe that theory to be true, based on the size of my shorts.

5. Bandaids. I went through a phase this spring where I got blisters every time I ran. Fortunately, a new pair of shoes took care of the problem (I pity the sales man whose face I stuck my blistered feet into and said – please tell me what I need to not get these!). However, before the new shoes, I went through at least a dozen bandaids with every run. I had a blister on one foot that took 8 good size bandaids to cover. It was nasty! I think that spot will forever be scarred.

6. Food. The whole “carbing up” phrase is for real. It is possible to empty yourself completely of all energy you have consumed in the past 24 hours. Energy gels will keep you going until you finish your miles, but about an hour or two after a long run, boy am I HUNGRY! Give me some protein, and some pasta, and potatoes! Yeah! For someone who loves to eat, this may be the best thing about running. I can eat, and not worry about counting calories. Not that I ever really counted calories, but that’s besides the point. I use dailymile.com to track my training, and I love, love, love hitting that little arrow button that calculates how many calories I have burned. 1,100 calories on a 10 mile run? Bring on the pizza baby!

I am in love with running. I’m hooked, and I really can’t believe it. I love how I feel, I love the sense of accomplishment, and I love that it tones my arms just from swinging them back and forth. I. Love. To. Run. So much so, that I’m planning on running the Detroit full marathon this October, just because I’m crazy.

Home

It’s hard to believe it, but our 14 month transition is over, and we’re finally settled into our own place again. We closed two weeks ago today, and the days have flown by in a flurry of paint and unboxing. I feel so blessed beyond words. Our new place is so much more than I ever could have dreamed of 14 months ago. I keep pinching myself, waiting to wake up. Two weeks is long enough to have painted all the rooms except the 2 baths and laundry room, unpacked 90% of everything, found a new running route, and dinged up a handful of walls already – me being the main culprit.

And so, we begin a new routine. A new normal. Trips to our new town’s library. Visits to the farmer’s market. Cooling down at a new -to-us ice cream shop. Learning the aisles at the local grocery store. Finding the best routes to our destinations. All the things that make daily life so routine and familiar and comfortable. Things that I’ll never again take for granted.

Welcome home little family.

The 18 hour journey

I was a self-absorbed seventeen-year-old American girl when I stepped onto a passenger train in Moscow the sumer of 1994. My travel companions and I were disgruntled that the 10-hour train ride our itinerary had boasted from Moscow to Samara was, according to our guide, actually going to be 18-hours. What were we supposed to do on a train for 18 hours? We could only play so many card games, and even teenagers can only sleep for so long. We were fast-paced Americans used to getting our food in under five minutes and zipping about the countryside in our parents’ cars without noticing the scenery. We were about getting places and doing things, and fast – not necessarily about enjoying the journey.

I slept off the travel exhaustion and itinerary frustration to the gentle rocking of the train. Rested and refreshed, I found myself standing in the hallway of my sleeper car staring out the window at the scenic countryside as we lumbered our way to Samara. I was mesmerized. Farmlands rich with dark soil, forests thick with green, and the blue, flowing Volga River wrapped their fingers around my heart. Having grown up in suburbia, I had never seen so much open land – pristine, uncultivated, uninhabited, and most likely as beautiful as the day it was born.

It didn’t take long to realize the 8-hour discrepancy in the trip had little to do with the slower pace of the train or the distance, but that we stopped at every little town along the route. Every couple hours, we felt the rocking train slow. Word traveled faster than we did, and by the time the wheels stopped, it seemed half the town had gathered at our doors to see the two cars full of young Americans onboard. They came not just in hopes of selling us their hand-made dolls and clothing, but to get a glimpse of so many Americans. We, the tourists, became the attraction.

By the time we reached our final destination, we were a different group than had boarded the train the previous day. The journey had transformed us as we took in the beauty of the countryside and the faces of each town. Our disgruntled dispositions had been replaced with grateful appreciation for those 18-hours – for the chance to slow down and view a chunk of countryside we never would have experienced at 30,000 feet in an airplane. We had fallen irreversibly in love with Russia’s exquisite land and friendly faces that greeted us at each stop.

Sixteen years later, I carry the lessons I learned during those 18 hours with me in every journey: Most often the best moments happen unscripted and off the itinerary. Relax, let the moments happen, and savor each one, for you may never get to experience anything like them again.

This post has been entered into the Grantourismo-HomeAway travel writing competition.

Good Reads

In between trying out new contacts, devouring strawberry shortcake (with biscuits), and coming up with creative rainy-day activities for the kids this week, I found some reads that are too good not to pass along. Enjoy!

Sarah Cunningham posted great thoughts on what it means to “give your life to God.”

As I think about entering the world of publishing (yeah…I started a book. Gulp!) Jody Hedlund had fantastic thoughts and advice on how much self promotion is too much. Good thoughts for all of us – not just writers and wanna-be writers.

I love fabric. I love to sew. And this fabric these travelers found is AMAZING. I want some for my new home!

And if you only read one thing on this list – read this one. We cannot ignore the issue of human trafficking in our global community. Seriously. Read it.

Oh I wish I were in Florida!

It seems like everyone is in Florida this week, because a) they live there OR b) that is where most everyone in Michigan flees to on spring break. Ok, not everyone. But alot of ones. And there they sit, on MY Florida beaches, enjoying MY Florida sunshine. Sigh. So yesterday, I decided to make the most of our spring non-break and count all the things we have in Michigan that Florida doesn’t.

1. I walked across lush, green grass yesterday in my bare feet. Can’t do that in Florida! So long, fire ants!

2. The kids picked dandelions and brought them to me all afternoon. Can’t do that in Florida!

3. I made a yummy cherry crisp from Michigan tart cherries that I froze last fall. T-Rex begged for “just one more cherry!”

And that was it. Then today it rained. Almost all day. And it was cloudy. So we went to the dollar store. And the grocery. And rented a RedBox movie.

BUT! Tomorrow is another day. Maybe we’ll go to Mooville. You don’t have that in Florida either! Really, I’m grasping at straws here, can you tell? Miss you all in the sunny south!

Let the Record Stand

On March 31, 2010 – I got a teeny sunburn while running 6 miles. In Michigan. In March. This is a rather big deal, my Southern friends.

On April 1, 2010 – and this is NO JOKE. Our house has walls. And a roof. And floors. And stairs. Two days ago, it did not. Today, it does. WOW!!

The Home Stretch

Last fall when I ran my first half marathon, I felt GREAT until mile 11. Something weird hit me at mile 11 that I had never experienced in any of my training. A wave of emotion came over me head to toe, and I suddenly became very nervous and fearful that I wouldn’t finish. My right leg started to slightly cramp, and I knew that if I stopped moving, I would never be able to start again. The crowd was getting thicker, I could hear the noise at the finish line and as the excitement swelled, so did my anxiety. It was the most unusual sensation I’ve ever experienced, and it took every ounce of physical and mental strength within me to finish the last 2 miles. I crossed the finish line and veered for the grass, not even finishing the congratulations line to get my medal (I later went back for it – I earned that puppy, yeah!)

That same feeling has overcome me in the past couple weeks in regards to the final stretch of our move back to Michigan. It’s been a year already, and we have three more months until our home is finished and we will once again box up all the things we  hold dear and necessary for daily life, load it into yet another truck, and haul it 30 miles closer to the city. We will finally start our new life together in our new community, so much closer to church and work, and well, civilization in general. As I see the progress on the house and imagine the finish product, as I see our neighbors moving into their new homes, this same overwhelming emotion consumes me, and I find this irrational fear choking me. It’s taking every ounce of mental and spiritual energy I have to stay focused and calm. It’s like I can see the finish line, I can see the prize and I’m afraid it will be yanked away in front of my very eyes, as if the whole transition has just been a tease in order to let me down.

To top things off, at the same time this crazy, foundationless emotion hit, so did real-life junk. Big junk. Like bad taxes and car engines dying. Weird stuff that is usually pretty rare. Tonight at dinner, I confessed to my husband that I’m discouraged and distracted. If I focus on the numbers, all I can see is how terribly costly this past year has been for us. I mean hello – Florida doesn’t have any state income tax! And that’s just the start of what all I could list.

Then my dear, steady husband reminded me that it’s all a matter of perspective. I can focus on the costs, or I can focus on how God has provided and met each need. One reason of many why I love that man – he knows how to keep me on track – not an easy task! I pondered his words on the way home and had to concede that God’s economy isn’t made of dollars and cents. It’s made up of faith and love and how I respond to the people and events that happen in my life – including those that cost dollars and dollars and dollars.

So, I said outloud – “Satan, you’re not gonna get me. Not this time. I know your tricks. It aint gonna work this time.” And I started to thank God for His faithfulness over the years, and give my new house back to Him, and the cars, and the finances, and ask Him to help me be faithful. I’m sure I’ll go through the process of turning everything over again tomorrow. And the next day. Crazy thing about that homestretch emotion – it likes to tag along until the finish line, creating a big drag resistance. But I’ll keep on running. I know what and Who is waiting for me.