I have an obsessive personality, and I know I'm not alone. In fact, I think all runners are born with an extra OCD chromosome. It's why we set the alarm to rise before the sun for 3 or 4 quick miles before work, why we lace up our sneaks when its the last thing we feel like doing but our training program calls for 6 miles at tempo, and why we keep running when our legs would much prefer that we stop. Immediately.
Somewhere in training we must develop the ability to keep running beyond the point where our lungs feel like an over-inflated balloon about to burst. Having a power song or mantra helps. Starting at about the 20th mile of the NYC Marathon in 1992, when I started to really struggle, I sang the second verse of Wild, Wild Life by the Talking Heads over and over. The next thing I knew, I was heading into Central Park.
So, happily, my obsessive thinking had a positive use that day.
Unfortunately, however, this same thinking can be used for my own destruction. A thought can get stuck in my head for hours, even days. And do I have to tell you that the thought usually isn't something like, "Wow! I look positively fabulous today!"
Nope. The thoughts that I ruminate on are pretty much entirely negative. For example, I used to practice law. Even though its been close to 5 years since I stepped foot in a courtroom, I can still recall, ever so clearly, getting royally and painfully chewed out by a bankruptcy judge in 2005 before a client and about 20 of my peers. Ouch. The briefest reminder of that incident can cause my mind to quickly pull up that tape from the archives and replay that incident for hours. I can be momentarily distracted, but my mind will quickly return to that unpleasant loop of painful thinking. It's a mental flogging.
We've all said unfortunate things, lost control of our bodily functions, or just plain acted like an idiot. For those of us who are obsessive thinkers, however, these instances can haunt us for years.
Fortunately, I found something in the Bible to virtually eliminate this, at least for me. In Psalm 103, David writes about the Lord's mercies. Specifically, in v12, the Psalmist says, "As far as the east is from the west, So far has He removed our transgressions from us." Now, many of the thoughts that haunt me are not transgressions. No matter; the point is that we are as far removed as New Jersey from California when it comes to those unfortunate things we've said and done. And if God is capable of putting that kind of distance between us and our sins for which He died, wow! How much more geography would He be willing to put between us and simply an unfortunate choice of words or actions?
Clearly, God is not in the hostage-taking business, and neither should we be. He is able and 100% willing, to overlook our wrongdoings because He loves us. And if God is willing to offer us that kind of forgiveness, who are we to refuse it by not giving ourselves a break from destructive and disparaging thoughts?
So today, is there a thought or memory that haunts you? Does it keep you from feeling really good about yourself? If yes, isn't it time to send it westward? Ask Him to remove that painful or uncomfortable thought that holds your thinking hostage.
What's a Dance Competition, Anyway?
I haven't posted in a while. It's summer, for one thing, and for another I was recently away from home having quite a unique experience. Actually, this experience has become pretty familiar to me over the last eight years, but once upon a time, I had no idea that an entire subculture exists that revolves around...Irish Dance.
For those not "in the know," the words, "Irish Dance" may conjure up a rather pleasing image of young, red-haired girls folk dancing in peasant-like attire, hand in hand, in a green meadow, their bare porcelain-white feet accented against the lush Irish grass. Maybe you've heard the words Irish dance from a friend who has a cousin whose oldest daughter used to be an Irish dancer. Or maybe you work with someone who knows someone who has a child who is an Irish dancer. However you have come by the knowledge that a sport called Irish dance exists, if you don't know much more than that about it, consider yourself blessed. You will never purchase a costume that cost the equivalent of a modest mortgage payment on a four-bedroom house in a northeastern suburb. Check back in on my blog later in the week when I'm back to writing about Running With Jesus.
However, today I need to say just a few things about the secret, underground world of Irish dance competitions. My daughter, Kelly, and I, were introduced to the sport in 1998, when she was in kindergarten and a classmate asked if she wanted to take some dance lessons. It sounded harmless enough to me, so I paid the fifty dollars, signed a permission slip, and us parents alternated dropping them off and picking them up from the studio. As far as I was concerned, it was something to do one afternoon each week. Plus, in my attempt to grow her into a well-rounded individual, she also at various times took swim lessons, gymnastics, ballet, and soccer, none of which produced disasterous results. But my luck had run out. Clearly, I had no idea I was walking headlong into a land mine.
The trouble began in 1999, when the teacher decided to launch her first ever "Champion Development Class" and sent me a letter inviting Kelly to join. Innocently, I of course signed her up. How could I deprive my daughter the opportunity to experience her full potential as a champion dancer? Plus, I reasoned, surely the teacher must have seen in Kelly some incredible raw talent that would one day have my beautiful daughter's "feet of flames" flying across a Broadway stage as the female lead in Riverdance! Blinded by the prospective of her dazzling future in the performance arts, I happily paid an increased fee for two classes each week and started to shop for a dance dress.
Here, here is where the story takes an ugly turn. I was blindsided by a $350 used velvet fuschia dance dress adorned with Swavorski crystals, and a matching headpiece. The dress had obviously never been dry-cleaned. To me, $350 seemed quite a bit to pay for something that showed signs of several years of wear, but the teacher encouraged me. "It has a history of success," she beamed. Why, her own daughter had danced in that very dress the first time she got first place. I was an easy target. Sold! I wrote out the check, trying to ignore the grimy underarm stains and fraying around the cuffs.
That was the first of six dresses I purchased, each increasingly expensive. Kelly's most recent dress was darned near the cost of a year's tuition at the state university from which I graduated in 1985! I admit it, I am envious of the mothers whose daughters run track; they have grocery money at the end of the month. I'm on a payment plan by which I will finally own this sweat stained treasure by 2015! When I first ventured into the world of custom, handsewn dresses, I imagined an elderly Irish woman in a small stone cottage, smoke billowing from the chimney into the cold, gray night air, while inside she sat rocking in her creaky chair sewing the crystals on this dress by hand with only a dim candle lighting the room. Now that I've had three dresses made, however, I'm pretty sure this little old woman has made enough money from just the dancers in Kelly's school to hire the Irish equivalent of Michael Graves to redesign a 5th century Irish Castle where she can live with a full staff of servants to wait on her!
While the dress is, by far, the most important and most costly component of the entire Irish dance outfit, the wig, shoes and makeup cannot be overlooked. My daughter now dances as a blond, even though she is brunette, because blond hair looks better with the dress. So before she puts the wig on, she spray dyes her hair blond. You don't know about this wig of which I speak? Google it. It's too much to go into here.
Kelly's preparation time before a competition runs approximately two hours; that includes inserting about one thousand bobby pins into her wig to secure it in place tightly so it stays on while she dances. (Once you lose that wig on stage you never overlook the importance of all one thousand bobby pins again). The wig should be fastened tightly enough that hair is pulled taut along the hairline and a headache developes after about twenty minutes.
Once the wig is on, there's an amazing amount of make up to go with it. The dancers' rule of thumb is that if you look good, you aren't wearing enough! Contrast this to my preparation to run. It takes about thirty seconds to gather my hair into a ponytail; I wear no make up whatsoever. In fact, if I was wearing makeup from earlier in the day, I wash it off to avoid the Alice Cooper look at the finish line.
Since this entire dance thing is so incredibly expensive, its fortunate for my family (who likes to eat meat a few times each week) that running costs next to nothing. For example, I've graduated from cotton t-shirts to tech material and do treat myself to moisture wicking fabrics in the summer and the very warmest Polartec, Microfleece, Thermafleece in the winter. But I dare say that over the course of my entire life I won't spend anywhere near as much on running gear as I spent in 2010 for my daughter to compete in the World Championships in Glasgow, Scotland!
For those not "in the know," the words, "Irish Dance" may conjure up a rather pleasing image of young, red-haired girls folk dancing in peasant-like attire, hand in hand, in a green meadow, their bare porcelain-white feet accented against the lush Irish grass. Maybe you've heard the words Irish dance from a friend who has a cousin whose oldest daughter used to be an Irish dancer. Or maybe you work with someone who knows someone who has a child who is an Irish dancer. However you have come by the knowledge that a sport called Irish dance exists, if you don't know much more than that about it, consider yourself blessed. You will never purchase a costume that cost the equivalent of a modest mortgage payment on a four-bedroom house in a northeastern suburb. Check back in on my blog later in the week when I'm back to writing about Running With Jesus.
However, today I need to say just a few things about the secret, underground world of Irish dance competitions. My daughter, Kelly, and I, were introduced to the sport in 1998, when she was in kindergarten and a classmate asked if she wanted to take some dance lessons. It sounded harmless enough to me, so I paid the fifty dollars, signed a permission slip, and us parents alternated dropping them off and picking them up from the studio. As far as I was concerned, it was something to do one afternoon each week. Plus, in my attempt to grow her into a well-rounded individual, she also at various times took swim lessons, gymnastics, ballet, and soccer, none of which produced disasterous results. But my luck had run out. Clearly, I had no idea I was walking headlong into a land mine.
The trouble began in 1999, when the teacher decided to launch her first ever "Champion Development Class" and sent me a letter inviting Kelly to join. Innocently, I of course signed her up. How could I deprive my daughter the opportunity to experience her full potential as a champion dancer? Plus, I reasoned, surely the teacher must have seen in Kelly some incredible raw talent that would one day have my beautiful daughter's "feet of flames" flying across a Broadway stage as the female lead in Riverdance! Blinded by the prospective of her dazzling future in the performance arts, I happily paid an increased fee for two classes each week and started to shop for a dance dress.
Here, here is where the story takes an ugly turn. I was blindsided by a $350 used velvet fuschia dance dress adorned with Swavorski crystals, and a matching headpiece. The dress had obviously never been dry-cleaned. To me, $350 seemed quite a bit to pay for something that showed signs of several years of wear, but the teacher encouraged me. "It has a history of success," she beamed. Why, her own daughter had danced in that very dress the first time she got first place. I was an easy target. Sold! I wrote out the check, trying to ignore the grimy underarm stains and fraying around the cuffs.
That was the first of six dresses I purchased, each increasingly expensive. Kelly's most recent dress was darned near the cost of a year's tuition at the state university from which I graduated in 1985! I admit it, I am envious of the mothers whose daughters run track; they have grocery money at the end of the month. I'm on a payment plan by which I will finally own this sweat stained treasure by 2015! When I first ventured into the world of custom, handsewn dresses, I imagined an elderly Irish woman in a small stone cottage, smoke billowing from the chimney into the cold, gray night air, while inside she sat rocking in her creaky chair sewing the crystals on this dress by hand with only a dim candle lighting the room. Now that I've had three dresses made, however, I'm pretty sure this little old woman has made enough money from just the dancers in Kelly's school to hire the Irish equivalent of Michael Graves to redesign a 5th century Irish Castle where she can live with a full staff of servants to wait on her!
While the dress is, by far, the most important and most costly component of the entire Irish dance outfit, the wig, shoes and makeup cannot be overlooked. My daughter now dances as a blond, even though she is brunette, because blond hair looks better with the dress. So before she puts the wig on, she spray dyes her hair blond. You don't know about this wig of which I speak? Google it. It's too much to go into here.
Kelly's preparation time before a competition runs approximately two hours; that includes inserting about one thousand bobby pins into her wig to secure it in place tightly so it stays on while she dances. (Once you lose that wig on stage you never overlook the importance of all one thousand bobby pins again). The wig should be fastened tightly enough that hair is pulled taut along the hairline and a headache developes after about twenty minutes.
Once the wig is on, there's an amazing amount of make up to go with it. The dancers' rule of thumb is that if you look good, you aren't wearing enough! Contrast this to my preparation to run. It takes about thirty seconds to gather my hair into a ponytail; I wear no make up whatsoever. In fact, if I was wearing makeup from earlier in the day, I wash it off to avoid the Alice Cooper look at the finish line.
Since this entire dance thing is so incredibly expensive, its fortunate for my family (who likes to eat meat a few times each week) that running costs next to nothing. For example, I've graduated from cotton t-shirts to tech material and do treat myself to moisture wicking fabrics in the summer and the very warmest Polartec, Microfleece, Thermafleece in the winter. But I dare say that over the course of my entire life I won't spend anywhere near as much on running gear as I spent in 2010 for my daughter to compete in the World Championships in Glasgow, Scotland!
Irish dance is a curious sport, and, as you can probably tell by now, not the one I would have picked for my daughter. That said, she has learned some really wonderful things from Irish dance. She has danced alone on a stage before five judges and a crowded theatre, and not thrown up before or after. To me, that suggests she won't be even the slightest bit flustered before any classroom, boardroom, or courtroom, presentation. And traveling to and from these competitions has given Kelly and I the opportunity to spend really great mother/daughter time together. We've laughed when she's fallen, cried when she's lost, prayed before she walked on stage, and jumped up and down cheering when she's won . But regardless of her successes and failures on the stage, I will forever treasure the wonderful closeness we've developed as a result of spending time at these competitions.
Finally, I saw a dancer at the National Championships wearing a t-shirt that said "Whatever your 100% looks like, give it." That resonated with my runner self. Whether you give your 100% on a stage or on a track, it's only important that you give it. In that single endeavor, dancers and runners might actually have a single common goal.
So what are you giving your 100% today?
Why do I keep running?
This morning on my five mile run I was reminded of why I so often link this crazy, obsessive physical discipline with my Christian life: in both, sometimes I have to force myself to keep going, for no earthly reason. The Christian life can be tough. We know the way we want to live and the decisions we want to make, but during challenging times our thinking can become clouded by the irrelevant things going on down here in this life. This earthly life. I find that's a really good time to flip to Matthew 7:13-14 and remind myself that this really is a difficult walk to be on: "narow is the gate and difficult is the way which leads to life, and there are few who find it."
That verse never fails to encourage me. But more than anything, I want to be one of those few who pass through that narrow gate and I need to remind myself of that on a regular basis. I need to focus on them, just like I focus on my running goals. Like this morning when I hit that June pavement under the blazing sun - you know, when patches of tar on the road soften and turn gummy? Following my training plan to finish a sub-2 hour half marathon this Fall no longer seemed like a big enough payoff for the sweaty agony of this run. So I had to dig really deep and remember all the reasons why I made the decision to toe the starting line to begin with.
On this particular training run, I thought about a good friend who is a far more talented runner than I. She shared with me that during a 5k race a few months ago she not only set a personal record, but was also the first female finisher overall. Yet, she confided, she ran the entire second and third miles of the course consumed with the idea of faking a heart attack or hurt leg, just so she could stop running! For her, at that moment, the pain of continuing to run a 6 minute mile felt overwhelming and she wanted to give up. She had lost sight of the trophy waiting for her at the finish line, presumably the reason she entered the race to begin with!
So today I'm thinking about how to stay on this journey even when it becomes incredibly difficult. I am humbled by Paul and Silas, who sang hymns and praised God in prison after being beaten in the center of town. Reading those verses in Acts almost makes my heart hurt. I wonder why they didn't feel like giving up in such dire circumstances while sometimes my faith is tested under far more palatable conditions.
I personally have never experienced physical pain as the price of my Christian life, and I truly thank God for that. But I have, sadly, found myself tempted in far less significant circumstances. For example, sometimes I want to spend my money really irresponsibly. Sometimes I don't want to give 10 percent of my income to anyone other than the nice mortgage company who lent us the money to buy a vacation home in Fiji! There, I said it. I daydream about friends lounging on our private beach sipping fruity alcoholic concoctions with parasols mixed by the 2010 version of Fabio.
But my financially irresponsible daydreams don't always have to be that extravagant. I can fantasize about poor financial decisions when the J.Crew catalog arrives in my mail box. After looking at pages and pages of beautiful people in beautiful clothing having a beautiful time, I want to spend 10 percent of my income - more, if necessary - on cashmere cardigans. Dozens and dozens of cashmere cardigans, layered one atop the next. And I want to wear them while standing under the Eiffel Tower, laughing, and holding the hand of a little boy wearing knickers.
When I have these thoughts, I need to quickly reacquaint myself with Jesus's admonishment not to collect treasure on this earth which can be so easily lost or eaten by moths (an especially appropriate warning for those of us thinking of investing in J. Crew cashmere cardigans) but to set our sights on treasure in His kingdom where, Jesus tells us, His father's house has many mansions. Mansions! Did John say Mansions? Yep, you heard right, mansions. But God goes even one step further: He promises us not only a mansion in heaven, but one that Jesus Himself has prepared especially for us! Build mine with a balcony overlooking the ocean, please!
But seriously, sometimes we have to dig deep to stay on this walk, so its a good idea to have a few things you can rely on when the going gets tough. When I was in a 12-step program we talked about having a tool box with phone numbers of people we could call for help, a list of meetings in our area, or some good reading material to turn to if, or more likely when, the urge to use drugs hit. This has worked to keep me clean for almost 8 years now.
Given its successful track record, I developed similar tools to keep me running. I read magazine articles about running and train with a group of women. I stretch out regularly to prevent injuries. I have a sports doctor to call when something doesn't feel quite right. And every day I spend some time reminding myself of why I run to begin with, so when the temperatures go above 80 and my muscles are sore and I don't want to take another step forward, I have something solid to focus on, to remember why I do this.
Doesn't it make sense to have the same tool box to support us on the road with Jesus? You might start by reading His book and writing down, or highlighting, some particularly meaningful verses. Or better yet, memorize them. Find a group of people who are also on this journey and keep their phone numbers handy so you can call them when you need help. I visit some awesome websites for inspirational messages. Find what works for you, but remember to use these tools daily, whether you want to, or not.
So, what tools will you put in your box to keep you running strong?
That verse never fails to encourage me. But more than anything, I want to be one of those few who pass through that narrow gate and I need to remind myself of that on a regular basis. I need to focus on them, just like I focus on my running goals. Like this morning when I hit that June pavement under the blazing sun - you know, when patches of tar on the road soften and turn gummy? Following my training plan to finish a sub-2 hour half marathon this Fall no longer seemed like a big enough payoff for the sweaty agony of this run. So I had to dig really deep and remember all the reasons why I made the decision to toe the starting line to begin with.
On this particular training run, I thought about a good friend who is a far more talented runner than I. She shared with me that during a 5k race a few months ago she not only set a personal record, but was also the first female finisher overall. Yet, she confided, she ran the entire second and third miles of the course consumed with the idea of faking a heart attack or hurt leg, just so she could stop running! For her, at that moment, the pain of continuing to run a 6 minute mile felt overwhelming and she wanted to give up. She had lost sight of the trophy waiting for her at the finish line, presumably the reason she entered the race to begin with!
So today I'm thinking about how to stay on this journey even when it becomes incredibly difficult. I am humbled by Paul and Silas, who sang hymns and praised God in prison after being beaten in the center of town. Reading those verses in Acts almost makes my heart hurt. I wonder why they didn't feel like giving up in such dire circumstances while sometimes my faith is tested under far more palatable conditions.
I personally have never experienced physical pain as the price of my Christian life, and I truly thank God for that. But I have, sadly, found myself tempted in far less significant circumstances. For example, sometimes I want to spend my money really irresponsibly. Sometimes I don't want to give 10 percent of my income to anyone other than the nice mortgage company who lent us the money to buy a vacation home in Fiji! There, I said it. I daydream about friends lounging on our private beach sipping fruity alcoholic concoctions with parasols mixed by the 2010 version of Fabio.
But my financially irresponsible daydreams don't always have to be that extravagant. I can fantasize about poor financial decisions when the J.Crew catalog arrives in my mail box. After looking at pages and pages of beautiful people in beautiful clothing having a beautiful time, I want to spend 10 percent of my income - more, if necessary - on cashmere cardigans. Dozens and dozens of cashmere cardigans, layered one atop the next. And I want to wear them while standing under the Eiffel Tower, laughing, and holding the hand of a little boy wearing knickers.
When I have these thoughts, I need to quickly reacquaint myself with Jesus's admonishment not to collect treasure on this earth which can be so easily lost or eaten by moths (an especially appropriate warning for those of us thinking of investing in J. Crew cashmere cardigans) but to set our sights on treasure in His kingdom where, Jesus tells us, His father's house has many mansions. Mansions! Did John say Mansions? Yep, you heard right, mansions. But God goes even one step further: He promises us not only a mansion in heaven, but one that Jesus Himself has prepared especially for us! Build mine with a balcony overlooking the ocean, please!
But seriously, sometimes we have to dig deep to stay on this walk, so its a good idea to have a few things you can rely on when the going gets tough. When I was in a 12-step program we talked about having a tool box with phone numbers of people we could call for help, a list of meetings in our area, or some good reading material to turn to if, or more likely when, the urge to use drugs hit. This has worked to keep me clean for almost 8 years now.
Given its successful track record, I developed similar tools to keep me running. I read magazine articles about running and train with a group of women. I stretch out regularly to prevent injuries. I have a sports doctor to call when something doesn't feel quite right. And every day I spend some time reminding myself of why I run to begin with, so when the temperatures go above 80 and my muscles are sore and I don't want to take another step forward, I have something solid to focus on, to remember why I do this.
Doesn't it make sense to have the same tool box to support us on the road with Jesus? You might start by reading His book and writing down, or highlighting, some particularly meaningful verses. Or better yet, memorize them. Find a group of people who are also on this journey and keep their phone numbers handy so you can call them when you need help. I visit some awesome websites for inspirational messages. Find what works for you, but remember to use these tools daily, whether you want to, or not.
So, what tools will you put in your box to keep you running strong?
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