A Theory, That is to Say, Which is Mine.

This is another entry about running.  You will be tempted to skip it, as most people probably find reading about running boring.  However, this is building up to some other more interesting commentary (in theory).  It takes time to develop these things.

 Running, like any sport or ambitious endeavor, involves a great deal of mental gymnastics to keep at it.  Perhaps you are wondering what those gymnastics feel like while training for a marathon.

Last week's long run was 7 miles, and went relatively smoothly.  This week called for another long run of 7 miles. I could tell before starting that it would be difficult.  Before any run, there is usually a feeling of either "this is going to feel o.k.", or "I don't feel like doing this at all".  It's the result of the current level of physical energy and your mental state.  Saturday, both areas were working against me. And it was hot.  But if the plan is to succeed, there is no choice to skip a run because you simply don't feel like it.

So:
Mile one... I felt like crap.
Mile two... Normally by this time, your body settles into a comfortable pace, any stiffness is gone, and it's starts to feel good.  Instead... I felt like crap.
Miles three through five... Crap.
Miles six and seven... As you add mileage to the long run, the last couple of miles are obviously more difficult.  Your legs begin to ache some - aches that normally don't come until the next day or two after a shorter run.  This started to occur, but also just plain exhaustion set in - not in the lungs (I rarely feel out of breath) - but an exhaustion in the legs.  Your stride shortens, and you begin to shuffle.  At the end of mile five, I had concerns that I'd end up walking at the end.  So I slowed down some to avoid that event.

I have a theory.  My theory that I have, that is to say, which is mine, ... is mine.*  Here it is:  The level of difficulty when you add miles to the long run increases exponentially in the last couple of added miles.  In other words, running 7 miles does not just require an extra mile of energy compared to running 6 miles.  Rather, the curve goes straight up.  So, in my estimation, it takes about twice the energy and effort to run 7 miles as it does to run 6.  Of course, as you continue to add miles to the long run, the effort to run 6 miles vs. 7 miles levels off.  It's very complicated, isn't it?

Here's a chart for my theory.  I'm a visual sort of person.

The whole premise in training is to push the blue line of the graph farther and farther to the right.  It retains its shape, but just shifts.  That is the theory that I have, and which is mine, and what it is, too.*

Back to Saturday.  I finished the run, not thoroughly bushed, but fatigued.  Not a pleasant run.  It reminds me of how far I have yet to go.

That's what it feels like.  Now, keep in mind that the idea is to progress to long runs of 8 miles, 9 miles, 10 miles, 12 miles, 14 miles, 16 miles, and 20 miles.

The whole point is this.  It's a little like the Christian Life.  But it isn't anything like the Christian Life.  More on that theory, which is mine, later.

*These are quotes from a Monty Python skit aired on Monty Python's Flying Circus.  The skit can be viewed here. This was a skit my friend Dave Brown used to love to repeat.  I met Dave after basic training in the Army, and we were assigned to Fort Hood, TX, where we grew to be better friends.  I don't know where Dave is now.

Flat-footing with The Homegrown String Band

I got home from work, and hurriedly looked at the concert schedule for Stango Park in Lewes, DE for that evening.  I thought it said that "The Rogues", a Celtic band, would be playing.  So we headed off the Lewes.  When we got settled into our chairs, we soon realized that I had apparently made a mistake.  Instead of "The Rogues" playing, it would be "The Homegrown String Band". 

The band is a family, and plays music "inspired by the rural string bands of the early 20th century".  We took a liking to the band, and were glad we had mistakenly stumbled into their show.  The father, Rick, commented that later in the show, the girls would be doing some flat-footing.

Coincidentally, we had just been talking to my mother about my grandmother flat-footing.  Mommom used to talk about getting together on the weekends with her family and playing music.  Eventually they would end up flat-footing.

I regret that I don't recall seeing Mommom flat-foot.  I remember her talking about it, and for some dumb reason, I never asked her to demonstrate it for me.  Perhaps she never did because there was no one left to play the music.

So near the end of The Homegrown String Band's performance, the mother and two daughters flat-footed.  I pulled out our digital camera and recorded a small portion of each woman's dance in video.  They all have a slightly different style.  I picture Mommom Timmons flat-footing in the style of the last daughter.

It is this kind of thing that creates a connection that attracts me to people.  After the concert, our families chatted with each other.  As I spoke with him, I realized that Rick was not as old as I had thought, but rather was probably about my age. We bought a cd, and wished them well.

A few days later, I checked the schedule of the Delaware International Speedway in Delmar, Delaware, found when the Little Lincoln cars would be racing (a club of racers who drive 50's era dirt track cars), and invited my dad to join the boys and I for a Saturday night of racing and talk of fast driving.

WMDT 47 News at the Delaware State Fair

During the summer, I sometimes ask if the boys want to go to work with me.  Recently, Elias accompanied me to a job in Harrington.  Every year, I construct a temporary set for WMDT Channel 47 TV, where they do an on-site 6:00 p.m. newscast from the Delaware State Fair.  The boys have been with me in the past.  This year, Elias expressed an interest in going back.

I construct the walls and floor of the set.

We use the same set every year.  It was built in sections the first year, which could be disassembled and put into storage.  Elias and I trooped up to Harrington for the assembly.  He worked all day with me, steadying wall sections, toting lumber, handing me screws, and covering scratches with a marker.

On the way home, I opened my wallet and fished out a 5 dollar bill.  I handed it to Elias and said "Here son, you were a big help today."

He responded "No, I don't want it."

"It's o.k. son, you worked hard all day long.  You were a big help to me."

He responded "I don't need it.  You don't have to pay me.  It wasn't like work - it was fun."

Decision Making by a Ponderer

Decision making is one of those things that defines what kind of a person we are.  There are people who are poor decision makers as a matter of routine.  There are people who routinely make good decisions.  I'm more of a person who, on occasion, makes a really bad one, but is convinced it's a good one.

Some decisions aren't that important in the big scheme of things.  But nevertheless, you have a choice to make, so you waste away lots of brain power and energy to choose a path that, in the long run, doesn't really matter much.  This is especially true of a ponderer (see below).

So I'm still working through whether to run the Rehoboth Beach Marathon on December 8.  Part of what I'm doing right now is increasing mileage, and watching to see how this 51 year old body is adjusting.

One thing working against me now is that when I ran the marathon in 2003, I was running an average of 19 miles/week for the 30 weeks prior to the start of the training (which is 20 weeks itself).  Yep, that's about a year of solid preparation. I haven't been doing anywhere near that 19 miles/week of preparation for the actual training. 

The problem is twofold.  There's the difficulty in increasing the mileage as the training goes on, which I think I could work through.  But the real issue is the risk of injury, which would most likely be shin splints for me.  It's the kind of injury that sometimes forces you to take time off from running for it to heal.

So here's what I'm thinking.  I'd like to give the training a shot, and see what happens.  If I develop shin splints that force me to stop, then I will.  I can always find another marathon in the spring.  Oh, and I've also decided to run a half marathon in Salisbury, MD on September 9.  That will involve a slight adjustment to the weekly long run, increasing my mileage even more radically than just the marathon training would.

This is the decision making process of a ponderer.  With all respect to a previous comment from a reader, a ponderer can't "Just do It".   It isn't his style.  He wants to feel like once he makes his decision, it will be one he can stick with.  There are plenty of "Just Do It" people in the world who don't waste a lot of time pondering on decisions, and I feel no need to be another one. 

Things Boys Do With Knives

Two Christmas's ago, we gave both boys their first pocket knives.  They asked what they could do with a pocket knife.  "Whittling is a good thing to do," we answered, "as opposed to throwing them at each other."

So, on our anniversary, Elias presented us with this creation.  The large chicken is about an inch and a half tall.

Elias's two chickens.

 


We had my dad over for dessert for his 79th birthday.  Elias gave him this.  The canoe is about 6 inches long.

Elias's canoe, paddle, and fishing pole.

I was never this creative.  He must get it from his mother.

20 Years of Building

Our room was on the second floor, 
behind the deck towards the right.

Tina and I wanted to go on a short get-away for our 20th Anniversary.  We narrowed the location down to the St. Michaels, MD area, but couldn't decide on a bed and breakfast.  Finally, the day before we were to leave, Tina called the one place that stuck out, The Oaks Waterfront Inn in Royal Oak, MD, just a few miles before St. Michaels.

She spoke to Joanna and told her what we had planned, who informed her that yes, they had plenty of space, and would reserve two nights in a moderately priced room.  When we arrived the day before our anniversary, we discovered that Joanna had upgraded our room to literally the best accommodations in the Inn.  It was a huge second floor room, the only one with it's own balcony overlooking the cove.  It was an upgrade of about $90 per night.

View of the sunrise from our deck.

The Oaks specializes in events.  As we sat at breakfast, we talked about having our girl's weddings there.  Perfect if you are having a lot of out of town guests.  Of course, it was only talk.

We took walks, swam in The Oaks pool, explored the cove in a canoe before breakfast, and rode bikes to the one intersection in Royal Oak.

Just like the rest of the world, I make decisions all day long - decisions about which job I need to go to in my work, decisions about what to do on that particular job, decisions about our family, decisions about how to spend the limited amount of time I have.  Tina is faced with her own set of decisions to make.  And we make those decisions in the midst of the noise that a big family makes.  So our anniversary was exactly what we needed.  We intentionally limited the decision making, enjoying the quiet environment and the quieting of our minds.  Quiet is hard to come by at home.  Everyone knows that.

I tend to focus on buildings and architecture wherever we go.  I look at what other people build. This affection for old buildings even had a role in our decision to dine at 208 Talbot on the evening of our anniversary.  And as we strolled through St. Michaels, I thought of what Tina and I had built over the past 20 years.

We have a plaque on our wall with the words of a song by Reverend Dan Smith.  The song in entitled "It Takes God to Build a Home".  It hangs at the end of our hallway, and reminds us that as much as we may be tempted to take the credit for the building in our lives, we believe that there is One higher than us Who quietly does the real work of building.  We are just privileged to participate.  And we were reminded on our anniversary that we busy ourselves with making plans, and then He gives us what we really need.

We have four children, and as much noise as they make, we wouldn't have built our family any differently if we had it to do over again.  And as much as we enjoyed the quiet, we gladly live in the midst of the mild hubbub our family makes.

Docks in St. Michaels

Running in 93 Degree Heat

Running in the morning has never been my thing.  I roll out of bed stiff, often with a slight back ache, and have absolutely no desire to go out for a run.  (Note to self:  The morning is a terrible time to make any decisions about future running events.)  So I typically run in the afternoon.  The other day it was 93 degrees when I did a 5 mile run. It felt good.

Assateague Island National Seashore 7/7/12

How can that be, you ask. It's simple anatomy, or physiology, or something. I had listed 4 specific reasons why I can do it, all of which would have been boring (well, more boring) to read. So I'll spare you the details.

Why would anyone want to run when it's that hot? (I also did a short run last week in 98 degree temps.)  Isn't that just plain stupid? I run when I feel most like running, mentally and physically, and that typically happens to be in the afternoon.

There is something satisfying about being able to do it.  My ability to run like this will eventually come to an end.  I want to enjoy it while I can.  I have an acquaintance at a local lumber store who broke his hip (he is younger than I am.)  He would probably do anything to be able to just walk without pain.  I have another friend who would be thrilled just to do anything without pain as her body fights cancer and cancer treatment. I have people close to me who have had strokes, and have broken bones.  I could be walking in any of those shoes one day.  So for now, I run.

Incidentally, while I did feel great during that 5 mile run, about two hours later, I felt like crap.  Not sore, just spent.  And the next day during the short scheduled run after that, I also felt like crap.  (Note to self:  The day following a long run is a terrible time to make any decisions about future running events.)  It is a feeling that will gradually diminish as I begin to regularly do long runs.  But it is a welcome feeling.  I'll take it any day over the alternative.

"Old Ladies"

I have been doing work for my first grade teacher since December of 1998.  We have done major projects on her home, including a new roof, new siding, new windows, a remodeled bathroom, a remodeled kitchen, painting, various maintenance issues on her property, and most recently, a new out-building.

Years ago, after writing her a thank-you note for a tip she once gave me, she encouraged me to write more.  I took that encouragement to heart.  I give her much credit for why I pressed on into writing.

She is one of those people who are faithful to express to me her thanks when I work on her home.  This note came in the mail with her payment for work we just did to make some of her routine tasks easier.  Her handwriting is deceiving.  She is much more spry than it would indicate.

Translation:

Thank you so much

for the many things you

do to make "old ladies' "

lives more comfortable.

Until next time...

She is the one who deserves my thanks.  She is on the long list of people who make my life the joy it is.  And I look forward to caring for her for years to come.

Created to Listen

The morning’s worship was led by a young couple, the husband leading and playing guitar, and his wife singing backup, playing the keyboard.  I sat behind the sound mixer, listening, just two voices and two instruments to blend and balance.  Taking a few moments to focus on each one, I tried to judge its level in the midst of the others.  It needed to sound perfect, at least to my ear.  The guitar needed a little boost.  

Then it dawned on me in an instant.  To mix sound well, you should be a good listener.  And while it doesn’t always translate to good mixing, I am a good listener.  It isn’t something I have worked to be.  It is just a fact.  It has been my natural preference my entire life.  I can recall sitting among adults as a child, listening to their conversation, with virtually no desire to enter into the discussion.  Listening was what I wanted to do. 

So here I sat, listening, happy as a clam.  I don’t recall being asked to do this task of operating the sound.  It simply became available one day.  The young boy who normally did it went off to college.  I walked into the church building, and sat down in his vacant seat.  At the time, we had a much simpler system.  Only the microphones were amplified.  I cut my teeth on two fader adjustments and a master control knob.  Then one day we upgraded to a larger system.  The mixer is a combination of 130 knobs, 15 slides, 30 buttons, and 30 led lights.  Sitting beside it are digital and cassette recorders, adding more buttons to push at just the right time.  It is a boy’s dream come true. 

Sitting behind that system is a pleasure every week.  I sit next to the person operating a laptop, projecting songs onto a screen, or perhaps a Power Point for the speaker.  That job requires a different set of skills, more visual in nature, usually operated by one of two builders, coincidentally.  One day a friend walked by and said “You brothers are faithful to do this every week”.  It isn’t that way at all.  I don’t do it because I am “faithful”.  I do it because it is fun, and it feels right.

It occurred to me that morning that I do it because I was crafted by God to do it.  He is The One Who made me the listener I am.  He is The One Who made it a pleasure for me to listen.  Which is all good, as I do not play any instrument, yet, and I don't even really sing.  I have a good ear, but an awful nasally voice that I often question God about, so my singing is just … well… noise, and only moderately joyful.  By nature, I love to support others in their work.   So I get to do those things here, sitting quietly in the back.  While obviously it isn’t my only role in this local church gathering, it is the perfect task for me on Sunday mornings.

Listening has served me well throughout my life, not just on Sunday mornings.  You listen in school, and you learn and do well on tests.  You listen to authority figures, you learn what not to do, and you stay out of trouble.  Often people cannot find anyone to listen to them.  You listen to those people, and you become their friend.  The last several years, I have done a lot of work for older people, and find that they especially appreciate an attentive ear.  This sounds completely obvious, but the people for whom I work appreciate someone who will listen to what they want done, and then do it according to their desires.  This is true of not-so-old people as well.

Sometimes, to be a good listener, you need to keep your comments to yourself.  This is difficult for some.  It is not so difficult for me.  Sometimes you actually need to comment.  This I find is more difficult.  We are hand crafted by The Lord.  While not a hard fast rule which I always follow, I was crafted to mostly listen, and to comment if absolutely necessary.  This can be annoying to some.  They should be annoyed with God instead of me.

I was reminded as I listened to this young couple lead beautiful worship that The Lord had brought me to the exact place He wanted me to be at that moment.  I had often recognized what a pleasure running the sound was for me.  And on this morning, I recognized how, at that moment, in a very small and relatively insignificant way, I was right in the middle of God’s will, listening.  And who knows how many other areas I have been placed in to do that one thing… to listen…to listen, sincerely interested, as people pour out their stories, their joys, their concerns, their problems, their needs, and perhaps their heartbreaks.  There was no striving or labor to get to this place.  No pressing The Lord for a ministry.  But as is so often the case when you walk in simple faith, trusting Him to exercise His Grace, it just happened.

 This story first appeared in the February 2010 edition of the Manna. http://readthemanna.org.