Midwinter, but this is not the end of me

Darkest day of the year.  Exactly 3 months post op.  Exactly 3 months to go to my first day back running, Lord willing.  So, this is the bottom, and it’s been dark sledding lately.  The Lord has been merciful with His reminders of how blessed and rich I am.  I try with varying fervor day after day to repent of my ingratitude, and probably years from now I’ll read this over and it will seem completely silly.  I mean, it’s only running.  Come on.  Feels like there is more to it, though.  Over the last several years running has become so much a part of my identity that I feel pretty empty without it.  Here I’m 5 years from 50 and I don’t really have anything to show for my career.  I haven’t accomplished anything noteworthy and every large endeavor I’ve undertaken in recent years in my work has pretty much failed.  Getting out on a track or a set of hills and pushing hard, that’s when I feel the most alive.  I can run pretty fast.  Not world class or anything, but faster than most folks.  At least I got that going for me, or did have.

There was a time when I was known by my peers for my faith in Jesus Christ more than anything else, more than academic achievements or running or other relationships.  There was a time when I said, “100% for Jesus,” and I meant it with all my heart and made choices according to that passion the very best I could.  For sure my faith has grown deeper and more mature in many ways over the last three decades.  In many ways I am a better, more complete follower of Jesus than I was as a teenager.  Over the last few months, however, especially as the Lord was taking my running away from me, I think the passion in my heart for the Lord has cooled.  This is not a good state of affairs, I think.  If I read the Scriptures right, the Lord is a lot more concerned with my heart of passion for Him than He is with the knowledge in my head.  These days, the lows are not as low, the spiritual failures are not as black or frequent as they were then, but the highs are not as high, either.  Sometimes it just feels like the love is not there as it once was.  I think I feel the Lord stirring revival in my heart, though.  Amen, come Lord Jesus.

One of the unforeseen side effects of adopting Lulit has been meeting Ethiopian people in our community from time to time.  I think all international adoptive families are encouraged to try to keep in touch with their child’s country and culture of origin, but I honestly thought that with our busy lives with three other children the chances would be about nil that we would actually do anything in this regard.  I have to give Kay credit, however.  She has tried to find these kinds of opportunities for us.  Meeting Kassa’s family, however, seems extraordinarily and especially orchestrated by God Himself.  We met them because our 5^th grader is in class with their daughter, and finally in recent weeks we have been getting to know them better.  They came over to our house recently.

Kassa was brought up in an Orthodox home in eastern Ethiopia where he was taught to stay away from evangelical, protestant Christians.  They had a “different” Jesus, he was told, and he should just hang on to the traditions of the Orthodox Church.  Nevertheless, as his acquaintances again and again turned his attention to the Scriptures he finally could not escape this Jesus who was not distant, was not hidden behind layers of priests and traditions, was not unknowable, but in reality is active and present and personal.  In more recent days he has heard the call of God to move his family from San Diego to Olathe to plant churches on both sides of the state line.  And he is one of the warmest and kindest souls I have ever met in addition to being absolutely uncompromising about the truth of Christ’s gospel (his bumper stickers say, in English and Amharic, “Ignoring Jesus is choosing hell.”)  Salty!

My wife was telling Kassa and Tigist some of the hard struggles we have had with Lulit the last 2-1/2 years.  As wonderful as it has been to bring Lulit into our family, it has also involved a significant amount of sacrifice.  It’s been especially hard on Kay, and she has had some tough days.  Ever the preacher (very much in a good way), Kassa said, “When I have been up against struggles and disappointment in my life, I have told myself, ‘This is not the end of me,’” reminding us that Christ has already won the victory.  No matter what happens, the outcome of this story is known.  We win because Jesus won.  This is not the end of me.

Kassa’s words ran through me with new hope.  A great reminder.  I’m still struggling with not running, doubts about whether or not I’ll ever run the way I want to ever again, worries about my career future and how I will continue to provide for my family in the years to come, and general feelings of disappointment with myself as having amounted to not much.  All this is balanced on the other side, of course, with wonderful things happening in the lives of my kids and the rich relationships I enjoy with them, and above all with faith.  Probably not very good faith, but some faith.  The racing shoes will stay up high in the closet for some time to come, but I gotta believe:  in faith, in family, in work and even in running, this is not the end of me.

A Wonderful Season Ends

Probably I had too much invested emotionally in Wyatt's Cross Country season this fall since I was hurt and not running myself.  I was also very heartbroken for him that he had such a bad run in his final race of the season Saturday at the Regional meet.  I am sad, sad, sad.  Sad that I won't get to see anything like this again until the spring.  Love watching that boy run.  Now on to ordinary days through the dark, bleak winter.

A Note About Friendship

Waiting for surgery this summer felt like a cloud of darkness over me.  By the time September rolled around I was finishing up the best running year of my life since 1984.  I entered the Plaza 10k just because I didn’t like that handful of slow 10k times, and no fast ones, staring at me in my running log and I decided I’d try to go out and nail one more PR, a big one I hoped, before the trip to Chicago to get my knee worked on by the cartilage super-doc of America two days later.  I’m now about 22 days post-op and that race was the last time I ran.  Between October 2, 2010 and September 18, 2011 I’ve been blessed to set personal records, exclusive of high school efforts, at 800m, 1600m and 3000m, and lifetime personal records at 5 km, 10km, half-marathon and marathon distances.  Not a bad year’s work, but it really depressed me to anticipate it all coming to an end, especially since I feel that if my knee had been healthy I could have continued to improve.  In all this I’ve found that very very few people really understand how this feels to be a runner forced to lay it all down under the shadow of the possibility that his last race could very well turn out to be his last at that level of performance.  I am blessed that I have at least one friend who really does, however.  Todd does.

Doctor Studly as he is sometimes known has become my runner brother, my comrade and my fellow struggler on the long run.  We met through a mutual friend a few years ago and since then we have forged a strong bond of friendship in the fires of 22-mile runs at 4:30 in the morning, marathons in Boston and Austin, frozen water bottles on 16-degree mornings and humid August thirteen-milers followed by three by two miles at sub-tempo pace, all while sharing thoughts about faith, kids, wives, baseball and dozens of other topics.  We’ve been there to push and support each other, share our running dreams, and see one another succeed and fail.

Now back to the Sunday morning of the Plaza 10k, my last hurrah.  I left my racing flats in the car and took off for a two-mile warm up in the rain without expecting to see a single familiar soul.  Turning the corner onto Ward Parkway there was my comrade wearing his 2006 Boston Marathon jacket, carrying his umbrella.  I could hardly believe my good fortune.  Here the dude had come all the way to the Plaza from Lee’s Summit on a rainy morning not even to run the race himself but only to watch me run and cheer me on to take my crack at breaking 35.  There are so many kindnesses I have received in my life from people who love me that I wouldn’t even know where to start if I were to try to count my blessings.  On that important morning, however, there was really nobody else on earth who could have ministered to my spirit in the way Todd did just by showing up and being there. 

Now I just need him to go out and smoke a fast marathon this fall, and I’ll feel better about hobbling around on these crutches.

Here is the man after one of his favorite races

Thoughts about September 2011

My thoughts are all a jumble.  After about four months of spiritual struggle I now feel like I am mostly at peace with the state of my body.  The surgery is now behind me and there is no way to know my running future without going there, but that’s going to be a slow one-day-at-a-time kind of thing.  I feel like I am mostly at peace with God’s will for my life in this regard and mostly surrendered under His mighty hand.  In faithfulness He afflicted me.  May His lovingkindness now comfort me.  I hope He restores my fortunes, but if he does not I will continue to move through the grieving and accept it.  In the end I might end up weighing 300 pounds if I can’t ever run at my best again.  Maybe not.  I don’t know. 

Not running (not walking without crutches!) kinda bites.  I actually feel remarkably well for only being 6 days post op, and I’m in pretty good shape, although I’m sure a little bit is slipping away every day.  I feel like I could go out and rip a 4:50 mile, but that would be unwise!  I already miss it a lot.

Meanwhile, God bless me, I have been filled with joy watching my boy run.  He’s had a couple of great races and a couple not as good, but just watching him race on cross country courses has been a balm for my soul.  He is beautiful to watch.  I appreciate his healthy knees and his slender form covering the ground, and I find his determined face amazing as the wind parts his dishwater blonde hair.  Right now he has absolutely no idea what he is capable of as a runner.  I guess I don’t either, but he seems to love it and I know that if he feels joy from it then the sky is the limit.  It’s funny.  I want, deeply from the bottom of my soul, for him to run well and to continue to improve and to stand out on his team and in competition, but if he doesn’t I am totally okay with that, too.  Really.  After his couple of races where he didn’t perform as well as he had hoped I was disappointed, but disappointed for him because I empathized with him that he had not met his goals. There has been no part of me that has in any way felt disappointed in him. 

So, I feel I am in a healthy, “good dad” place with respect to his running.  I am fully invested as his most passionate fan, biggest supporter and occasional advisor, but I am not pushing him.  I don’t want to push not only because that’s what’s best for him, but I also don’t want to in the sense that I don’t feel the desire to do so.  Literally, it’s all good.  He could soar this year and end up at State, and I would be as proud as I could possibly be.  Or, he could flounder and end up running the rest of the season on the JV team.  Either way or any way in between, I’ll be proud of him as long as he is having fun at it.  Either way, I am having the time of my life watching him run, and if it worked this way in God’s economy (which it doesn’t) then I would definitely trade what’s left of my middle-age running career for his youthful rise in the sport.  You fall in love with your kids when they are born, and then you just keep falling in love with them over and over again through the years.  How rich is that?

Quite A Seven Days

Started Sunday with a fine race

Reached a nadir on Wednesday

Ended on a fine note in Ottawa Saturday

Psalm 119:76

O may Your lovingkindness comfort me,
According to Your word to Your servant.

10 km today in 35:36.  Good for 1st old geezer over 40.  6th overall.  Last race this side of knee surgery.  See you on the other side, old man.

Old picture from my first Boston Qualifier (Oct, 2003) that moves me.  Maybe it's just time to pass the torch to the next generation.  The boy is looking good.  We'll see what the Lord has in store.  It's pretty much in His hands now.  I suppose it always has been.

Here he is in more recent days, qualifying for the high school varsity team as a freshman, a spot that he would subsequently lose, but he's pushing those upperclassmen.

Psalm 119:75

I know, O LORD, that Your judgments are righteous,
And that in faithfulness You have afflicted me.

Tomorrow I have my last race on this side of surgery.  It's a 10k.  I'd like to run under 35.  I think I am capable of it, but I haven't really raced a 10k in many years. I hope my finish face looks better than this one that I just discovered on line from the Lenexa Freedom Run July 4.  Still, I'd take an ugly finish picture for a good finish time such as this one (16:37, 5k).

Psalm 16:2

I said to the LORD, “You are my Lord;
I have no good besides You.

(I wrote the following over a month ago but didn't post it. I've come along a bit from this point in my recent spiritual journey, but decided to go ahead and post this as a "record").

I began my search for comfort and some resolution of God’s sovereignty over my injury through the Psalms beginning with Psalm 1:1. It took reading through 15 Psalms to get to this one. This was the first verse that I came across that hit me because it’s just so radical. I don’t know how comforting it is, really, but it struck me. Every good and perfect gift comes to me from God, no doubt about that. So every good thing that I ever had or will have has its origin in the LORD, and so it’s logically true that “I have no good besides” the LORD. But somehow I think the meaning here is just the opposite. I think “no good besides You” is meant to express exclusion rather than inclusion of “all good things” and contrast all of God’s gifts with God Himself. Thinking this through, it’s very very radical. My wife and kids, house and livelihood, talents and achievements, healthy right knee and injured left knee are “no good” to me, at least not compared to having Him. He is the supreme value. At least I think that’s what it means, and it seems to correlate with Philippians 3:8. In my heart that came to Jesus fully almost thirty years ago I think somewhere down deep I hold to this truth, too, but with my running on the line, which seems so precious to me, it is right now hard to confess that “I have no good besides You.”

2011 KC Corporate Challenge -- Volume 3

June 9

The 800

Andy was not very demonstrative with his encouragement as a coach when I was a high school kid.  I’d pass by him on the track or the cross-country course and usually he would just say, in an almost inaudible voice, “Go, go, go.”  That was it.  No yelling, no screaming, no cajoling us to pass the next kid or anything like that.  I think he pretty well understood that generally speaking the race was already accomplished in the days and weeks of practice leading up to the event itself.  I liked it, too.  His subtle encouragement to “go” was more motivating to me than a whole lot of yelling.

After the mile two days before, the pressure I had put on myself subsided quite a lot, so when I got to the stadium for the 800 I wasn’t so worried about my warm-ups and spent some time before the race talking with Andy.  We talked about some of his travels and his grown kids, Ryan and Alysun.  He said that his opportunities to travel in recent years had really broadened him but that he felt like he still had “one foot in the furrow.”  I believe him.  Besides teaching me how to run fast, Andy also taught me to appreciate literature like Nathaniel Hawthorne and Shakespeare, but most of all he was a model of integrity who took seriously his work as an educator and a role model for kids.  He is the salt of the earth in the best possible sense.

I took off from the inside lane at the gun and immediately took the lead.  It was a warm windy evening again, like it had been for the mile on Tuesday, so I wasn’t too optimistic to get a great time, but I thought if I ran a 62 or 63 second first quarter I could maybe manage a 2:08 or so.  As I approached the 200m point and ran through it Andy announced on the public address system, “29…30….31…….. go.”  And then I was really inspired.  I raised a mysterious “thumbs up” as I powered into the curve to acknowledge a connection that nobody else in the stadium understood.

I pushed especially hard through the first homestretch because I wanted to ensure a gap between me and second place that would ensure that he had to eat the wind as much as I did.  I think I managed to do that and came through the 400 in 63.  I ran the second half of the race just as hard as I could, but the best I could manage was about a 68 second quarter for a total time just barely under 2:11.  As I rounded the final turn my boss was there yelling at me that I needed to GO.  I confess that she had me scared to death that second place was right on my tail, which was probably good for my time.  She told me later that she hoped I could break the record (just under 2:10) which was why she had been so urgent in her cheering.  I guess I was pretty close.  With a little less wind I might have done it.

Anyway, I won by at least three or four seconds and had a lot of fun doing it.  This time the old coach knew it was me running and we got to share the race, too.  Magic.

The Distance Medley

By virtue of running the fastest mile time in the company tryout (a darn fine 4:51.0 1600m, if I do say so) I had the anchor spot on this relay consisting of Jeff running 800m, Sara running 400m, Rebecca running 400m and me running 1200m.  Jeff had run a 2:14 800 in his age group race earlier in the evening so I hoped he could manage at least a 2:20 doubling up.  I hoped the ladies could each go under 75, and I hoped I could manage a 3:30 on my second race of the night.

Sara, Me, Rebecca, Jeff

I sized up Sprint and was worried.  They had their own young Jeff running the 1200m leg who I knew could run 5k under 16:00 and I also knew it was very unlikely I could stay with him.   Before we took the line I told him that if I happened to get the baton before him I would appreciate it if he would at least make it look like a contest before he crushed me.  He chuckled and we wished each other luck.

Our Jeff ran an absolutely stellar 800, putting up a 2:14 for the second time that evening.  I was really impressed with his ability to recover and perform equal to his open race.  Sara and Rebecca then ran good quarters, but the field was tough and it turned out that I took the baton in 4^th place a good 20 meters or more behind Sprint’s Jeff who was in third.  Second place DST had at least that much more on Sprint, so I figured the best I could do was run for fourth place.  This decision turned out to be a disservice to my teammates.  Had I run my leg the very best I could have for time we would have moved up one place in the medal points for sure and I might have even chased down DST in our division.  Maybe. 

Still, there is one fun story left to tell about this relay.  I am usually a pretty good sport, but when I came through 200m I asked a co-worker standing by the track what place we were in.  He told me 4^th, but as he did so an opponent started to pass me and said, “You’re in 5^th.”  A bit cheeky.  Maybe all in good fun, but I decided to sit on him and see how he would hold up.  I disallowed my opponent to pass and forced him to the outside of the turn.  We came through the first 400 in about 71 and I forced him to the outside of the next two turns before allowing him to pass going into the headwind of the second homestretch.  Because of my cat and mouse game the second quarter was slower than it could have been, only a 76.  When we came to the post at the end of 800, though, I exploded around him and said, “Bye”, as I went past.  OK, so that wasn’t really good sportsmanship and I feel a little bit ashamed of myself, but like all of my sins it can’t be changed now, just forgiven.  I finished off the final 400m in 71 for a total time of 3:38.  Ah… it was a so-so effort.  By mentally conceding that I could do no better than fourth place I made a mistake in judgment about the race to be sure and in retrospect I didn’t perform as well for my team as I should have done.  But nevertheless, it sure was a lot of fun for me, and I hope it was for all of us.  This relay was the last event of the night, run under the lights.  I always loved running the 3200m in high school near the end of the meet, under the lights.  It was nostalgic.  It was a blast.

2011 KC Corporate Challenge -- Volume 2

The Mile
June 7

This race was just wonderful.  I lost the race last year by a couple of seconds and it really bothered me.  This year, on the other hand, a couple of weeks before the race itself, I ran a 4:51.0 1600m in the company tryouts and I felt ready to take on anyone who might show up.  I was right.

I led out the first quarter plus nine meters in a reasonable but aggressive seventy-one and one half seconds and really never looked back.  The wind was blowing strong.  According to the National Weather Service reporting station nearby it was seventeen miles per hour out of the south (headwind for the homestretch) with gusts up to twenty six.  It’s pretty hard to run a good time leading a race into wind like that, but I felt that it was the right decision to take charge of the race regardless.  By the time I came through 809 meters in 2:27.5 it seemed I had several meters on second. 

I tried to push hard into the third lap.  I figured if anyone was close, this was the time to shake him.  Last year I waited until 400 to go to make a move and that cost me because the guy who beat me took me with a wicked kick that he started at 300m out.  I figured if anyone could beat me by going with me with 800 to go then he deserved to win.  But it turned out to be moot.  With the wind all I could manage was a 75.8 third quarter, but going into the gun lap I had opened a decisive lead.  No one was nearby.

In the fourth lap as I came into the turn for the final 200m I heard Andy Deckert, the P.A. announcer, my old high school Cross Country and Track coach, and one of the biggest positive influences in my life, announce, “This runner has an excellent chance of breaking five minutes if he can stay on pace.”  At that point he didn’t yet know it was me.  I hadn’t seen him for a couple of years, and I hadn’t talked to him before the race.  Because this, of all my KCCC races, was the one I wanted to win the most, I intentionally didn’t talk to him before the race because I wanted to focus on my warm-ups.  Also, a long, long time ago, Andy used to say something that really made me mad sometimes.  It was wise and it was right and it has had wide application in all areas of my life since then, but it still made me mad.

“Coach, I’m going to run a really fast time today.  I’m going to break 4:40 today,” I might say.

“Show me.  Don’t tell me.”

I figured today I would just show him….

I won the race by 40m or more in a time of 4:57.95; let’s call it 4:58.0.  I was kind of disappointed with the time since I figured I should be capable of at least a 4:45 on race day after a 4:51 tryout, but on the other hand nobody really pushed me, and that Kansas south wind really made things tough.  Besides, as I told my boss later, I couldn’t be too disappointed because the point of a race is to win, not to time trial, and I had done that.  It was sweet.  It’s always good to cross the string.

After the race I cooled down a bit and made my way up to the announcer’s booth at the top of the stadium, and how blessed I was to spend a few minutes with Andy.  He seemed pretty shocked to see me!

“Hello, Coach.”

“Well, Joe, how are you?!”  Disbelief in his expression.  “Were you in that race?”

“Yes, sir.  I won it.”

“You won it!  Well…. Why didn’t you tell me you were running?  Why didn’t you let me know?”

“Well, Coach, I figured I would show you rather than tell you.  Besides, I kinda figured you might recognize me out there.”

Now that last comment really wasn’t fair of me at all.  Not at all.  I should have never said it.  Poor Andy pointed out that it had been many years (27, in fact!) since he had routinely recognized my stride from a distance on a hilltop.  Of course he was right, but I think he really felt badly, at least a little, that he hadn’t recognized me.  And then I felt bad, too, because it was really completely unreasonable that I should have ever suggested that he should do. 

In spite of this bit of awkwardness, though, we spent a few good moments re-connecting between his announcements, and I relished every bit of it.  Who gets to win a mile race at 44 years of age in front of his old coach and mentor?  What a huge blessing.  It was wonderful. Even though the morning was not so good, what a perfect evening it was.

2011 KC Corporate Challenge -- Volume 1

Before too much more time goes by and my journaling descends down into the depressive abyss of injury, loss, surgery and rehabilitation, it would be good to write down my thoughts about KC Corporate Challenge, putting together some race reports about my personally very meaningful victories in those events.  Last year when KCCC rolled around I was just turning the corner after a year of recovery from my ACL reconstruction in 2009 and the running was just starting to really come back to me.  I raced the 5k and finished (17:46) second in my age group to another Garmin guy and felt pretty good about that.  Then two or three weeks later I raced the 800m and the Mile, finishing second in those races, each to a different opponent.  It was satisfying to medal in all those races and put up some ostentatious points for Garmin in the process, but afterwards I concluded that I just wasn’t running to win like I should.  I was wimping out at the ends of races, not closing the deal, and I made it a goal shortly thereafter that in 2011, God willing, there would be no more silver medals.

Fast forwarding a year through five personal records at three distances I came into the KCCC events this year with a pretty good level of fitness and a fierce desire to win my races in spite of my fairly significant knee injury, the extent of which I would only learn the morning of my Mile.  I’ll start these reports with a quick one about the 5k.

May 7.  KCCC 5k.

The KCCC course is pretty darn tough.  The first mile is almost all downhill, but that is more than made up for by the fact that the second mile is predominantly uphill and the third mile is rolling and finishes up a hill that has to be a good 600m long with 100 feet of gain.  I ran under control the beginning of the race and felt pretty good, but I was surprised to still be in contact with the leaders after 1200m or so.  Then they took off!  It was okay because I didn’t expect to be able to stay with the guys who would be running under 16:00.  As we made the big hill climb in the second mile I used the opportunity to power past three guys.  A couple of them made moves to go with me but faded back as I continued to surge.  But then there was that next guy!  By about the halfway point I took him, but he went along.  Then he took me back.  Then I took him back.  Then we settled into something of a truce by the time we came through the 2-mile point.  We pushed each other through most of the second mile, but when we reached the final uphill I gave it up and let him go.  Or maybe he took it from me.  Either way, I finished in 7^th place overall behind my fellow duelist by about 3 seconds in 17:06 (gun time).  Later, in the track meet, this same guy (9 years younger than I) would run a 2:01 800m, and I think he ran his mile race in the 4:30s.  Wow.  I guess I don’t understand why he wasn’t under 16:00 with the other fast guys where he belonged – maybe he was having a bad day.  Maybe he’s just not a distance guy and I would have buried him at a longer distance.  Who knows?  Anyway, he beat me by a smidge.

In the final analysis I am a little disappointed that I didn’t fight harder and beat that guy.  My race was still enough to win my age group decisively and make me the fastest guy in any over-40 age group.  It was fun, too, and I had my first Corporate Challenge gold – one third of the way to my goal of no more silver medals.

Just Show Up

The race this morning was basically an experiment in how to do everything wrong.  A little beer (but just one) the night before.  A terrible night’s sleep punctuated by a violent thunderstorm after staying up way too late.  Sleeping in 25 minutes past the alarm.  I really only barely made the decision to get up and race – I nearly decided to just lie there and screw it.  Stopped quickly in the 7-11 for some coffee and a pure simple-carb pre-race breakfast, a package of six chocolate-covered mini-donuts.  By the time I got to the race I didn’t have time to do anything really resembling a proper warm up; maybe I ran a mile at best and no strides or anything of the like.  But sometimes it turns out that all it takes is showing up.  I ended up winning anyway in 17:18, which isn’t stellar, but was enough to win by a wide margin this morning and it felt like a gift from God to win another one.  My streak of pretty darn good races that started last fall in Minneapolis continues, even though it is about to come to an abrupt end.  Sadly, the experience was kind of joyless this morning.  That magic feeling that usually comes with running hard and winning wasn’t really there today.

Winning, but not looking too good without a shirt!
Photo Courtesy of SeeKCRun

“I thought I was flying like a bird, so far above my sorrow

But when I looked down I was standing on my knees.

Now I need someone to help me, someone to help me, please.”

I had thoughts of running some good fast races this summer before bowing to the knife, but now I don’t know.  Maybe it’s just best to get on with the surgical misery and start the long, hard road toward an attempted comeback.  It’s all hanging over me like a dark cloud and I don’t even seem to be able to enjoy the running I am capable of doing, not on a day to day basis nor even on race day.  Anyway, I can tell my fitness is not where it was 5 months ago.  It’s not even where it was a month ago.  Visions of running a really fast 2-mile this summer are evaporating and probably realistically completely out of reach given my state of body and mind.

Bad Bad Bad News for a Runner

Got the following report on the morning of June 7.  Ironically, perhaps mercifully, I won the Corporate Challenge Mile race for my age group the same evening in a respectable time of 4:58.0.  But the following has really been sinking in hard this week  I guess it explains a lot about my running (pain) this spring.

Exam: MRI of the left knee without contrast.

Indications: Recurrent left knee pain with joint clicking.

Technique: Routine MRI of the left knee using standard image sequences.

Findings:
Comparison is made with the prior MRI from St. Joseph's Medical Center dated 1/27/2009. There are surgical changes of an ACL reconstruction. The graft is intact.
There is attenuation and irregularity of the posterior horn and body of the lateral meniscus. Previously the meniscus appears intact. Although the findings may reflect a partial lateral meniscectomy, a recurrent tear is a consideration, particularly if there had been no prior meniscectomy. There is high-grade partial-thickness chondral irregularity along the weight-bearing surface of the lateral femoral condyle and lateral tibial plateau. On the cartilage sensitive sequences there is an unstable appearing chondral flap along the lateral margin of the lateral femoral condyle. There appears to be fluid undercutting of the cartilage in this region. The chondral abnormality measures approximately 11 mm
anterior to posterior x 12 mm transverse. There is reactive marrow edema signal involving the lateral margin of the lateral compartment with early arthrosis and subchondral cyst formation in the lateral tibial plateau. The medial meniscus is intact.
The posterior cruciate ligament is preserved. The collateral ligaments and extensor mechanism are intact. There is mild chondromalacia along the lateral patellar facet.
There is a physiologic amount of joint fluid. The muscle signal intensity is normal.
The proximal tibiofibular joint is intact.

Impression:
Development of irregularity along the inner margin of the posterior horn and body of the lateral meniscus since 2009. The findings are most suspicious for meniscectomy changes, however, if a meniscectomy has not been performed then this represents a lateral meniscal tear. Moderate lateral compartment arthrosis. There is a 12 mm high-grade partial-thickness chondral flap involving the lateral margin of the lateral femoral condyle. There is fluid undercutting this chondral defect suggesting an unstable chondral tear.

Electronically Signed By: Xxxxx, M.D., Xxxx
Signed on: 05/20/2011 08:15:38

Running with the Cows

Wyatt ran his first half-marathon Saturday in a (chip) time of 1:42:19 officially placing 15th overall.  He ran really smart, taking it very easy in the early miles and then when he found he had a lot left hammering the last few.

Olathe Middle School City Track Meet

I got out of my car at the track meet just as they were announcing the final call for the 1600m run.  When I found Wyatt he told me that he wasn’t feeling very well.  He said his stomach was upset and he felt nauseated.  I told him it would be OK and that it wouldn’t affect his race.  He didn’t seem convinced, but I reassured him a couple more times.  I didn’t want him to worry about it, and also I thought it was true. 

After 3 other mile races they finally lined up the 8^th grade boys.  Wyatt started out in control of himself.  A few boys took off a little fast and he let them go, which was the right thing to do.  By 200m in he was gaining on the lead pack of 4 boys or so, but unfortunately he didn’t quite reach them to duck in behind by the time they turned into the first homestretch and a pretty significant headwind.  He ran that stretch mostly alone in sort of a no man’s land between the leaders and the mid-packers.  Fortunately he was able to gain more ground and get solid contact with the leaders by the backstretch of the second lap and held that position through 800.

Strong move taking the lead in the 3rd lap

In the third lap he made a really bold and strong move, one that I am really proud of.  Going around the first turn he surged and took over the lead.  He continued to push the issue in the backstretch and only one kid stayed with him as they began to separate themselves from the remainder of the field.  Going into the second turn, though, he had some doubt and it messed him up a little.  Before the race I had pointed to the flags and tried to caution him about the wind, and he told me later that this made him nervous.  At this critical juncture of the race, I’m afraid my voice in his head did not help.  He had great momentum going into the turn, but decided not to keep the lead and instead slowed way down and ducked behind because I had him worried about the wind.  In retrospect I wonder if he had maintained his momentum and aggression if the end result would have been different.  It certainly did seem that after the far turn of the third lap he kind of lost his fire.  I think at a minimum he and the kid who was trying to stay with him might have further separated themselves from the field and he might have guaranteed himself a second place finish.  It’s hard to say, but regardless, the kid ran a smart, tactical race with few mistakes and he was in the hunt leading the City championship in the third lap.  That’s pretty cool.  The third lap was only an 89, but it was a well run lap, and would certainly have been at least an 84 if Wyatt had maintained the attack.

Fighting for 3rd

The fourth lap got tougher.  In the end he ran an 82 final lap trying really hard to hang on to a podium spot.  He lost third to another kid from Frontier Trail by only 0.05 seconds and finished the race officially in 5:31, although I had him 3 or 4 tenths under 5:31. 

Wyatt ran hard.  He ran well.  He ran to win.  Then he turned around an hour and a half later and ran the 800m to the best of his ability with what he had left in a very respectable 2:33.  I am certain if he hadn’t raced the mile he would have easily contended for the win in the 800.  The winner was around 2:25-26, and fresh, that would have been easily within his reach.  In every way, even though his placement wasn’t as high, I was just as proud of his 800 effort as I was of his mile.  He ran that race as hard as he could.  He surged at 500m to attack the lead pack and started closing on them, but he just couldn’t hang on.  He ran out of gas, but he had not surrendered willingly!  He showed me one final time this season that he is a fighter.  I love that about him.  He totally rocks.

Boston 2011: Race Report

I haven’t felt like writing this race report.  Since Monday I’ve felt a little lost and unsure now what to do.  It’s been at least 5 or 6 years since I have poured so much of my heart into a race (probably the 2005 Boston Marathon was the last race in which I invested so much mental and physical energy), and now that it’s over I’m a little numb.

What a beautiful day to run a marathon, though.  Fifty three degrees with a tailwind on a point-to-point course is about as good as it gets for a marathon runner.  On the bus ride I was very fortunate to link up with Tom and some other good guys from Chicago who knew somebody who knew somebody who had a house in Hopkinton where we could await the start of the race.  Now that’s good livin’ – beats the snot out of sitting outside on damp muddy grass for two hours.  The hostess, Liz, was wonderful and warm and didn’t seem at all to mind being invaded by 20 runners.  On the contrary, she had all kinds of food and drink set out for us to take as we wished.

With only about fifteen minutes before the gun the Chicago boys and I made our way over to the corrals, said our good-byes and good-lucks, and broke up for our individual corrals.  I walked toward the starting line and found myself admitted to Corral #1 for the first time in my life.  It was cool to be up there in front, especially when Ryan Hall came out high-fiving us and bouncing his way to the very front with the elite runners.

Picture Courtesy
of Jim Rhoades

When the gun came I was ready to go.  I just sort of moved with the crowd and tried to run easy.  When my first mile split came up 6:32 I was pretty happy with that because it was about how fast I wanted to go out and hadn’t felt hard at all.  It was a good sign.

I had finally made up my mind the night before to go for the PR, to pace for about 2:46.  I struggled a lot to come to this decision.  The alternative was to play it relatively safer and pace for 2:50 or 2:52, but in the end I made my decision totally irrationally (but not wrongly) based on considerations of the heart rather than the mind.  At Park Street Church on Sunday the preacher taught about Moses’ disappointment at not being allowed to enter the promised land.  This discipline from the LORD was bitterly disappointing to Moses and indeed, he went to his grave on the wrong side of the River Jordan.  However, the sermon climaxed with the observation that even though Moses was bitterly disappointed at the time of his death he would later enter the promised land in the most glorious way at the transfiguration of Christ.  Moses could not have possibly imagined in his wildest dreams this blessing God ultimately had in store for him.  I took courage in the message.  It was a good reminder that disappointments of all sizes, including little ones like poor performances at the Boston Marathon, are ephemeral and that truly, “…no eye has seen, …no ear has heard, … no human mind has conceived the things God has prepared for those who love him.”  Finally, as I lay in bed Sunday night trying to go to sleep I was reading Pre.  My eyes were getting heavy as I turned the page to this, “To give anything less than your best is to sacrifice the Gift.”  At that I clicked off the light and my mind was decided to take the risk and run for the PR.

The early miles went by easily as they usually do in a marathon, a couple of them surprisingly fast at about 6:06, which worried me a little but still the effort didn’t seem too hard.  Throughout the first half my chronic left knee pain did come and go in little waves, along with some related tightness in my left hip flexor, but fortunately it never got serious enough to completely stop me in my tracks which was something I had feared.  I think in the end my left knee is indeed what did me in, but not on race day.  In the preceding months it kept me from running those critical quality miles, and those chickens came home to roost in Newton.

Long before then, however, in Framingham, I was cruising along and heard the crowd going nuts all around me and just ahead of me.  At first I couldn’t figure out whom they were cheering for, but then I came up on small grandmotherly looking woman with an odd gait and I realized the crowd was cheering, “Joanie!  Joanie!  Joanie!”  Pretty cool, I thought, to run for a short while next to an Olympic gold medalist.  As I passed her I understated dryly that she seemed to be something of a local celebrity.  I guess she was smart enough to stay focused on her race and didn’t reply as far as I could tell.  I gave her a thumbs up as I went by.  Unfortunately I would see her again before the finish.

The Wellesley girls were about as loud as I can ever remember.  I stayed to the left, which is my preferred way of running Boston.  It’s fun hearing the girls cheer and all, but in my empirical experience I run Boston better when I don’t high-five people or get too “involved” with the crowd and just stay in the private race in my head.  I don’t know if that helped me Monday or not, but I just seem to run better that way.  I know other guys like to stop for a kiss, and that seems to help them run better…

Sadly, by the half marathon point I started to suspect that I was getting into trouble.  I came through the half officially at 1:22:26, my third fastest half-marathon ever run, which was OK and not way too much faster than plan, but by the 14^th mile marker I knew I had to change some things or the wheels were going to rapidly fall off.  For the next couple of miles coming into Newton Lower Falls I intentionally dialed back the pace about 0:20 per mile and hoped the race would come back to me.  Unfortunately it did not, but it was still the right thing to try.

Familiarity with the course helped me immensely at this point, I think.  As I started the climb up out of the bottom at mile 16 I could envision reaching the firehouse and turning the corner, and this was a good milestone to shoot for.  In my mind’s eye I pictured Kay along the route there after the I-95 crossing, cheering for me as she had done several times before.  Unfortunately she wasn’t there really, but she told me later that she had felt more invested in my race this time than she had in any of my marathons for a long time and that she had prayed for me a lot during the run.  She was certainly there in spirit, and she helped me along.

Suffering at 30km
Photo Courtesy of Jim Rhoades

After rounding the corner at the firehouse I presently hit the first big climb.  It wasn’t too terrible, really, but at this point I started feeling like everybody and his dog were passing me.  My 19^th mile split was over 7 minutes and at that point I determined to stop looking at the splits.  Heck, there was nothing I could do about them anyway.  I was hitting the wall and I was running right at the redline where if I tried to speed up a calf or hamstring or quad would threaten to cramp up completely and stop me cold.  No, the only pace decision I was in control of from that point to the finish was whether to run (the best I could at diminished capacity), walk or stop.  Around the 20-mile point I knew we were coming up on the base of Heartbreak Hill and I determined that no matter what else happened I was not going to walk up that hill unless my body just openly revolted.  So, I just put my head down and putt-putted up the hill the best I could.  While doing so the crowd around me got louder again and this little grandmotherly gray-haired lady with a strange gait went right on by me like I was standing still.  My second and final brush with Olympic greatness for the day.

I should add to this story that, even when I was not in near proximity to Joan Benoit Samuelson, the crowds at Boston this year were absolutely electric.  Maybe they’ve always been that way and I had just forgotten since 2007, but as I hobbled my way up Heartbreak Hill the good people lining the course deserve some of the credit for why I didn’t give up and walk.  The cheering was almost like a jet engine – no kidding – and the energy of the crowd helped me in a very tangible way to keep pushing on when it was really starting to hurt.  I have never run anywhere like Boston.  It’s runner magic.

The remainder of the race can really just be summed up in one word, suffering.  I kept making the decision over and over again to keep running.  I felt like I was running 9-minute miles, but I knew that even if that were the truth 9-minute miles are a whole lot faster than 15-minute miles walking.  So I just kept plugging on looking for the next mile marker and feeling like the whole Boston Marathon field was passing me.  I caught a glimpse of the mile clock at 24 and noticed that it read about 2:40 and some change, and I thought and prayed, literally, “Lord Almighty, surely I can cover 2.2 miles in less than 20 minutes and still bring this one in under 3 hours.” 

Once I reached the 40km marker just before Kenmore Square I finally felt like I would make it.  I wasn’t sure I’d keep it under 3 hours, but I felt I could finish this blessed race without walking.  From Kenmore Square to the finish the crowds were amazing again, except for that brief stretch where the course now crosses under Massachusetts Avenue, and their energy again carried me.  I rounded the turn onto Hereford and looked ahead to the turn onto Boylston and life surged into me.  A little tear came into my eye (no kidding) and I was thankful, so thankful, to be a part of this race one more time. 

The clock overhead said 2:57-something as I finally crossed the finish line having given this race maybe more than I had ever given any race in my life.  I later told Kay on the phone that it wasn’t the fastest I’ve ever run a marathon and it wasn’t the fastest time I could have run in this marathon if I had run it differently, but I decided to make a run for the very best result I thought I could possibly get, and in the end I had run the gutsiest, grittiest, unprettiest 10 miles ever.  For these reasons, it was still a PR, although a different kind of PR.  I am thankful for the ability that God has given me to run, and I am proud of everything I poured into and got out of this race.  It was the Boston Marathon, after all, and for me this race is always the mountaintop of my running year when I may run it.  Thanks be to God.

Why Does It Matter At All?

This is the question I have been asking myself about my performance.  It is very very important to me in my heart, but on a rational level I have been struggling to answer to why.  I’m just some middle-aged mid-level manager in a mid-sized company grinding out a living for my middle school kids in our medium sized Midwestern town in the middle of America, and if I run a 2:42 marathon or a 3:02 marathon tomorrow it matters not at all in any way.  I’m not contending with the winners.  Heck, in this race I likely won’t even crack the top 20 in the Master’s category.  I am the very definition of the “also ran.”  So why is my performance so important to me?  Should it be?

Literally there are kids in Africa who don’t have clean water to drink, whose parents have died of AIDs, who are struggling to keep their younger brothers and sisters alive for another day.  In light of reality like that the whole Boston Marathon and this avocation of mine seem entirely trivial, even more so the number on the clock when I finish the race.  Still, in my heart, that number matters.  Why?

 

This year for the first time I will start the race in Corral #1.  In this corral are not the real big boys, the Greek gods of the elite group, but the very best mere mortals lined up immediately behind the elite runners.  In the 2^nd Corral, where I have three times before started the race, the pressure is off completely.  In the 2^nd Corral you will find runners who have qualified with times roughly from 2:53 to 3:03.  These are good runners for sure, but there are a thousand of them all clustered together fairly closely in ability.  This is not so in Corral #1 where the normal distribution really starts to tail off.  Here are runners like me at the bottom end who barely made it into this semi-elite group with times around 2:50 and runners capable of running 20 to 25 minutes faster, sub-2:30 guys who are not very far away from being fast enough to qualify for the Olympic Trials.  Being in such company makes me feel both proud and sheepish because I know that in this group I am a pretender.  Certainly I will be found out; I have snuck into an exclusive private club and they are going to spot me and kick me out at any minute.   Indeed, maybe my performance at Twin Cities last fall was a fluke, a one-of-a-kind.  Sure, I have my ticket to Corral #1, but the boys in this club, so I think, are looking at me to prove that I belong here.  Do I?

The whole God-blessed world, so it seems, is watching me run this year.  This is at least in large measure my own fault.  Although I think it was God’s call on me to fundraise for World Vision for this race, naturally creating a lot of extra attention, I have also probably drawn a lot of attention to myself about this race at work, in my online running community and elsewhere that I needn’t have done.  If I fail and blow up tomorrow a lot of people will rightly conclude, like the guys in Corral #1, that I’m not as good as I’m cracked up to be.  Many will be compassionate and a few will secretly rejoice in my failure, but all will know that I didn’t measure up.  Many others won’t care and don’t appreciate the difference between a 2:10 and a 3:10 (which is the difference between a Mozart opera and “Chopsticks”), but even so, and most importantly, I know.  My oldest son, thank God, has this ability to rise to the occasion when it counts, when he is on the stage and everyone watching.  He gets very nervous.  He makes mistakes in practice and is sure he will fail to perform, but then, whether it is a saxophone solo in front of the whole school or a mile race on the track, he puts forth his very best and usually nails it.  I have never felt that I possessed this ability nearly as much as he does.  With this fantastic sense of external pressure I sure could use it tomorrow.

In my heart I know that it is not really the imaginary voices of the Corral #1 runners or family or friends or coworkers or rivals putting the pressure on me to prove that I belong, that I measure up, that I’m a “real” runner, that the Twin Cities race was not a fluke.  Of course, it’s me.  Even if some of the voices are real they have no power over me at all unless I allow it.  It’s all me.

In the dark at 5:30 a.m. a few weeks ago, I was sitting in a parking garage with a very good, sleeping, friend of mine a couple of blocks from the State Capitol of Texas.  And I was enjoying it, just sitting there in the dark, thinking.  We had followed pre-race recommendations and had made our way early to await the start of the Austin Marathon.  As I sat there feeling a tremendous sense of joy at just being there, it occurred to me that I always feel that way on race day, especially on marathon race day.  Staring at the concrete parking structure around us I thought about how there are so few days in my life when I have that feeling, that overwhelming sense of joy.  Marathon race days are among them, and I thought, right or wrong, that it is a little sad to struggle through all other ordinary days to arrive at so few days like these.  I wondered, is it OK to feel that way?  Nothing in my life, absolutely nothing, can come above love for Jesus Christ, which would be idolatry.  But why do I love to run, and especially to race, so much?  Truly, on that morning, I feel like a voice came out of the dark:  because I was made to.  It is not all I was made to do.  Contrary to the t-shirt, running is NOT life.  Not even close.  But it is a part of my life, something God has given me the ability to work at and struggle against and fight for and, occasionally, do very well at.  And when I do it well – maybe even when I do it poorly – it gives God glory because “It is He who made us, and not we ourselves.”

And so it all boils down to really only two voices that matter.  All my fears that are driven by what others think, fears of starting up in the front with the big boys, fears of being found out as a fraud, fears of failing in front of everyone and maybe even small hopes of vain glory, do not matter at all.  At least so I need to preach to myself.  The voice in my heart about what it will mean if I perform poorly matters to some degree.  The voice of God, however, that he has made me (in part) for this purpose and that the results are in his hands matters a lot.  Certainly he has given me this frivolous gift and I think it would be a sin not to enjoy it to its fullest measure.  There is still a wicked, sinful, suffering and hurting world out there that needs the people of Christ to take joy in bringing it light and comfort – that is much closer to the meaning of life than running or any hobby or sport or recreation could possibly be.  But I believe that every good and perfect gift comes to us from God and should be enjoyed as such.  

Even though I have not trained as hard as I would have liked to, I still have logged a sufficient number of total miles to enable a good run.  I am coming off January best-ever performances in the 5k and half-marathon.  And, two and a half weeks ago I ran an 8-mile time trial on the track over a minute faster than I ran it last year before the Twin Cities race.  Finally, weather is looking real real good.  Bill Rodgers said, “You need the perfect-storm conditions, with cool weather and a west tailwind, to run fast at Boston.”  This is exactly what is forecast for tomorrow.  Wow.  It all adds up to a phenomenal opportunity for me.  My knee hurts.  My hill training is fairly weak.  My confidence is not high.  But I’m going to shoot for a PR run because these opportunities just don’t come along every day.  If the LORD shows up, if he strengthens me tomorrow, it could be a great one.  Maybe the best ever.  Or I could end up walking up Heartbreak Hill, heartbroken.  In any case, if I rise or if I fall, blessed be the Name of the LORD.

Oh, and one more thing, After missing this race for the last three years it is really really good to be back.  I am deeply grateful to be here.

“Know that the LORD is God; It is He who made us, and not we ourselves.”

Eve Means Life

I am drafting this pre-race jitters post sitting on the airplane hurtling toward my doom in Boston.  At this point I guess there is no turning back.  I have had a lot of thoughts the past couple of weeks that I’ve wanted to get written down, but life has just been normal-busy with a two year old and a bunch of busy boys.  However, I did waste over an hour of my life the other night working on my picks for the race finish order of a bunch of on-line buddies.  Whoever’s picks are closest wins a running jersey.  I was surprised that my beautiful wife was actually supportive of this activity and not annoyed.  “It’s better than fantasy football, it seems to me.  At least it’s real and related to something you are doing.”  

This woman of mine has breathed life into me at every stage leading up to the race this year.  Although my absence will work a hardship on her this weekend, her support of me has been unqualified and total.  She told me just last night that she hopes and prays for me that I enjoy the whole experience, the whole weekend, and drink it in completely.  She also told me again how proud she was of my fundraising for World Vision and her pleased surprise that I actually reached my goal.  She also knows how I have struggled to train up the level I would have liked this year because of intermittent problems with my surgery knee; she knows how important my race performance is to me even if it’s silly, and she prays for me to succeed and run fast.  Sometimes she jokes with me that she knows me better than I know myself.  Many times she is right.  Years ago when I started running marathons she always went with me.  Okoboji, Wichita, Boston, Minneapolis.  We were always together.  I will miss her very much the next three days, but I am thankful that she sent me off with full blessing.  She is life to me.

I’ve been trying to come up with the right metaphor for the sense of dread I have been feeling for this race.  If I am blessed to make it to the starting line on Monday (in all things at all times I am learning to say, “God willing”) I will arrive there with enough fitness to possibly race my best marathon ever, but there have been enough training setbacks that there is also a significant level of probability that I could crash and burn in a spectacular way.  These facts lead to mixed feelings for me.  I want to be confident and run without fear, but I still remember really well walking up Heartbreak Hill a few years ago.  I’ve concluded that I think I must feel like those bull riding rodeo cowboys right when they are about to sit on the back of that enormous animal.  They’ve got to be a little cocky just to make the attempt, but they’ve also got to know that there is a real good chance that things will not go so well.  I guess you just have to take a deep breath and go.

This also reminds me of my third-born son, who, when he was really little, five or six years old in fact, climbed up to the top of the high dive at the city pool and proceeded to walk right to the end of the board and jump in.  After doing this a couple of times with little notice from the lifeguard he climbed up there again and stood on the board when she saw him and got a little upset.  “He can’t do that!”  She said.  Plop.  “It appears that he can,” I replied.  He’s a little older now, but no less fearless, and he inspires me.

 
There is a whole spiritual side to this year’s quest, too.  I need to write a separate post chronicling this most central aspect of my 2011 Boston journey, but fundamentally the point is that I want Jesus to show up, big time.  Maranatha.