What I Think About When I Run

Today I ran 19 miles. It took me a little under four hours of time all by myself.

Some people have asked me "What do you think about when you are out running for hours at a time?"

Sometimes I listen to music, a podcast, or an audiobook. But other times I focus on becoming aware of my self -- I am practicing being 'self-conscious' in a good way. It is another angle on my perspective of 'running into my self'. In those times, I just let myself think whatever comes into my head, and play around with those thoughts.

Sometimes the thoughts are 'good' (read: creative and hopeful and positive) and I dwell there and see where they take me. I get energized and excited and uplifted by these trains of thought.

Other times the thoughts are 'bad' (read: destructive, defeatist/fatalistic, and negative/hurtful)...and like with 'good thoughts' I also dwell there, and see where they take me. I allow myself to dwell there for awhile in the hopes that I'll get to the root of those fears or angers, etc -- and by allowing myself to 'go there' I'll let those things out of me instead of keeping them bottled up inside me like I have done for so much of my life before now.

And sometimes after a train of thought (good or bad) finishes, I just. Stop. Thinking. For awhile. I like it when that happens too. My mind gets to rest so infrequently that I treasure it when it happens.

And recently, in that place of solitude and openness, I have begun to contemplate. Not just in the sense of turning an idea over in my head and looking at it from a variety of directions, but I mean 'contemplate' in a more spiritual sense.

Dr. Warren A. Kay, in his book "Running -- The Sacred Art" says

"Contemplation is the activity of self-consciously living in the presence of God."

And in "New Seeds of Contemplation", Thomas Merton says

"Contemplation...is spontaneous awe at the sacredness of life, of being. It is gratitude for life, for awareness, and for being. It is a vivid realization of the fact that life and being in us proceed from an invisible and transcendent, and infinitely abundant Source. Contemplation is, above all, awareness of the reality of that Source. It knows the Source, obscurely, inexplicably, but with a certitude that goes both beyond reason and beyond simple faith."

When I am running contemplatively, I am learning to see things I might not otherwise see -- in nature, in others, and even in myself.

Today I saw an outcropping on a tree which seemed to point to the sun‬ so I paused to express my own reverence.

I reflected that even in the midst of the ‪fog‬, there is still a right ‎direction‬ to head; a way forward even if the future is unclear. I just need to keep looking for the ‎signs‬.

And later after I got home and reviewed my run I realized that outcropping in silhouette also looks like Rocky Balboa at the end of his epic run -- also very inspirational!

~ Keith

Loving the Me I Used to Hate

This is a link to a very powerful video about body image and self acceptance

For those (probably very very few of you) who have never struggled with body image, please watch this video and learn what it is like to feel fearful, shameful, and even unlovable in your own skin.

And for those of you who DO struggle with body image; especially those who may read my (seemingly constant) posts about running and fitness and perhaps get discouraged -- please watch this video and if you shed some tears know I shed some too when I watched it. And know you are not alone.
I have struggled with self-acceptance and body image for most of my life. It is only in the past 7 years that I have learned to be OK in my own body...and it is NOT because I am thin and run a lot. I don't love my body because I am a runner. I am a runner because I love my body. And it has taken me a lifetime to appreciate the important difference between those two perspectives.
When I was in grade school, I was called 'skinny' and it was a negative term. People (family and friends and classmates alike) laughed because my belts were always so long the end of them wrapped around to my back belt loops. They laughed in the locker room and swim class because you could see my ribs and my knees were bony.
The summer between 6th and 7th grade I went to a football camp and learned how to workout and eat. But I really wasn't very good at it, so I only played (read: sat on the bench a lot and watched the acceptable people play) my 7th grade season. In 8th grade I ran cross country and at every. single. race. I was either last place or 2nd to last. Running was not fun, but I was trying to be acceptable; trying to make my body do what others' bodies could do. But I couldn't. So that was my last active sports season. I stopped working out. But I still remembered how to eat.
By late 8th grade I was no longer the skinny kid. I was the chubby kid; the fat kid that the Jocks and the Socs and the Hoods laughed at (and bullied) in the locker room and at school assemblies, etc. And I stayed that way all through high school. Aged 17, at 5'9" I graduated high school at just under 200#. By that time I had learned deeply the lesson that I was fat, and laughable, and my body was not OK.
In the Navy, in my 8 weeks of basic training, I lost 35# and at 165# I had learned my body could do things I never thought it could. That skinny was OK, and certainly better than fat. Or so I thought. Family and friends I hugged said I was too skinny, that I was bony and it was not OK. I should gain some weight.
I learned there is a narrow window between "too fat" and "too skinny" and the size of that margin is arbitrary, in constant flux, and the bottom line is my body is never "OK" the way it is.
My weight went up again as I went to various naval schools. Then down again just before I got married. Then up again after I got married. Then down again when I went to Jenny Craig. Then up again when I stopped following someone else's predetermined meal plans. Then down a little, and up a little more, yo-yo-ing over the years. By 2002 after my mom died I was 230# and a few months later tipped the scales at 250#. I hated my body and hated that I couldn't change. And I hated that others seemed to be able to control what they ate, and have svelt bodies that were acceptable and sexy and lovable.
In the fall of 2004 I went through something of a crisis of faith and came out the other side with a perspective I had not had since I was a little kid: I realized that I not only loved myself, I actually LIKED myself. Just. The way. I was.
Over the next 2 years I grew to understand that my body was not as physically healthy as it could be, and that is when learning to love it enough to make changes to protect and heal it became a priority. I tried a few things but nothing 'stuck'.
But then in the spring of 2008 at age 42, weighing around 220#, something just clicked inside me and I decided to start taking care of myself. I looked into eating for hunger (instead of all the other emotional reasons there are to eat). And as I lost a little weight I started walking. And as I started walking I added a little running. And as I lost more weight I added more running and learned that if I run slow enough to stay within my breath, I may not win any races but hey -- I can actually *enjoy* running!
So fast forward to today. I am 49, and am still 5' 9". I weigh around 165# and while many people see me as 'skinny' or 'thin' or 'in good shape' etc, what they don't know is I have man boobs, and loose skin folds. These are leftovers from when my body was 85# heavier. And since these are not medically concerning, I have decided there is no need for me to seek surgery just to make my body look different.
My man boobs and loose skin in my abdomen will never really go away. And I see those in the mirror every. single. day.
Some of the time I am able to look past them and look myself in the eye and love myself for who I am today, loose skin and all, with faults on the inside as well as the outside.

And sometimes when I look in the mirror I still see 'the fat kid'. And sometimes I look beyond that and see 'the skinny kid'. Either way I see a kid who is not happy with himself and wishes he could be something else so people would like him; so he could like himself.
I wish I could say that when I see 'the fat kid' or 'the skinny kid' I choose to feel love for that kid; that I choose to embrace him wholeheartedly and in that place of love and acceptance allow him the space to be who he is and feel love right there. And sometimes I do feel those things, and it is healing and wonderful.
But sometimes I just see a fat kid who feels unlovable, and I feel like an unlovable fat man.
And sometimes I see a skinny kid who feels unlovable and I feel like an unlovable skinny man.
And sometimes it still really hurts to not be svelt and muscular and toned. And in those painful moments, the fact that I can run marathons and ultramarathons and am 49 but have the metabolic fitness of a 34 yr old doesn't mean a thing because all I see is that I am not (and will never be) that unreachable ideal that I think I need to be to become acceptable; to be lovable.
So if you struggle with those same things, please know you are not alone.
I may not have the courage or the creativity to stand half-naked in a public place and allow people to mark my body -- but I can write from the heart and tell my own story here on my own blog.
I can tell you that it IS possible to come to the place were you love yourself and even like yourself. And sometimes when that happens, your body does begin to change, but not all at once. And even if and when the number on the scale or the body you see in the mirror becomes a more physically fit and healthful body, you know what? The ideal body you were chasing stays fleeting. So please, please, please: just learn to love yourself right here and right now. And let the rest come (whatever it looks like), if and when it ever does.
And like the video linked above, and like this blog post, please spread the word in your own way to let the world know that when courageous vulnerability is met with compassion and acceptance, something amazing can happen. It is called love.
Love yourself people. And love others. It really is that simple.
~ Keith

I'm Still Just Me, Even After 'After'.

Recently an acquaintance gestured toward me and said to someone I was with: "Look at him, he's so fit! I hate him!" and we all laughed.
...but it made me think, and ponder. And then my courageous friend Darcy put this blog post on Facebook. It is a wonderful snapshot into the life of a young woman whose weight loss experience has brought her to a new perspective. I can totally relate.
I used to think "I hate myself, because I'm fat." but then somewhere along the way I realized I had it backwards. I was overweight because I used food as a comfort...because somewhere deep inside I was unhappy with who I was as a person; considered myself of no value to the people or world around me; of no significance. (cue pity party theme music and clips of George Bailey stumbling through town.)
And once I realized that I really could like myself, even love myself -- not just in spite of my flaws, but BECAUSE of my flaws (the strongest reasons for needing to experience love and acceptance from others and from myself!), then the weight began to come off, and I began to exercise and even discovered I liked that too, for various reasons.
And today, being at a healthy weight is sometimes a really scary thing for me, since my identity as a "fat guy" and even a "guy who used to be fat but who is now losing weight" took up so much of my life that to be "the guy who is not overweight" is frighteningly new sometimes and I don't know HOW to be 'that guy'. That guy who is "...so fit!" that someone else says (there's often a little truth in every jest) "I hate him!"
Yeah, me too, sometimes.
Because while it is true that as I lost weight and have kept it off, the use of food as a comfort and a run-from-the-internal-pain-of-the-moment tactic has sometimes been easier to avoid, sometimes it has been monstrously difficult.
Some days I experience freedom and I can just sit. And just. Be. With myself. And I look in the mirror and see past weight and height and body image stuff, and I can look directly into my own eyes without shame or judgment or guilt or condemnation. I see the work I've done to get free, while also acknowledging the inadequacy to have done it on my own. Creator and those placed around me have upheld me in this and so much more. And I feel connected and alive and vibrant and strong.

Other days I look in the mirror and I see the fat guy inside the thin guy. I may not have as much excess skin as the courageous Matt Diaz but I have enough 'sharpei skin' to make taking my shirt off in public an embarrassing thing still, sometimes. So that extra stuff is what I see. The stuff that will never come off; the 'hard lard'. And in that place of guilt and shame and condemnation and self-judgment, I sometimes experience a return to the slavery from which I was set free, and I eat without thinking and without really being present, and then I feel shame and guilt so I want to eat more, and then I feel worse, and so then I... Well, you know.
Vicious cycle.
These days instead of running away from myself I most often run into myself, and I do the work of digging deep and praying and asking hard questions of God and Cathy and close friends and even paying a professional counselor from time to time. And I do the even harder work of actually receiving their love for me. I allow them to love me when I can't love me, and in that space I allow them to teach me how to love myself in healthy ways. Because here's a little nugget for you to chew on:

Healthy self-love is sometimes just as elusive at a healthy weight as it is at a morbidly obese weight -- harder even, since there are no outward signs that I or anyone else can point to (like a big gut, or a number on a scale) and say "See!?!?!? UN-LOVABLE!!!! ...because of THAT!"

And I'm learning to move past the fears and the doubts and I can see so much love and hope. And I love to eat good food, especially when I am really present to the sensory experience and enjoyment of it at each bite. And with each bite I try to remember how it used to be, and be grateful for who I am today. Who I *AM*, not how I look, or what I weigh. I may be grateful for those too, but that is ironicaly immaterial.
Today I weigh 170 and my goal weight is 158. But whether I'm 158 or 170 or 258 or 370, I am still me, and I am still worth loving, and I'm the only me I can be -- so I am me, unapologetically, flaws and all. In process, yes; always. But I don't think I'll ever reach "After".

As the blogger in the linked article so eloquently says:
"There’s no pot of gold at the end of the rainbow of weight loss because the rainbow has no end.
There is today. There is now. There is during. There is life."
Today, I'm living life.
During.
~ Keith

Running (Further) Into My Self

Here's a link to the run I went on today:

The hills were pretty difficult at times, but overall it was a good run and I tried to just enjoy myself and not think about pace.

As I was out there, I thought about a friend who is a new runner. I've been running about 6 1/2 years, and she's been running about 3-6 months. She'd asked me recently when I started trying to get faster; how long had I been into running before I started trying to increase my speed (note I said 'increase', not 'improve' -- my high school English teacher would've called that foreshadowing). =)

It has been a week or so since she asked me, and I've waited awhile to respond since it is something of a lengthy and complex answer -- and so I pondered that today as I ran.

The short answer is: It was probably around 6 months or 1 year into running, maybe 18 months -- whenever I ran my first bibbed race and wondered if I could do it faster.

And now, here is the long answer.

I had this impression that as I got more fit, my speed would naturally increase. And it did. I set PR after PR after PR and it was intoxicating. And while I knew at some point to 'get faster' would mean more work and cross training and etc etc, I somehow thought that if when I started a 90% effort gave me a PR then over time, that same 90% effort would simply yield more and more speed. In essence I thought I'd get faster without 'feeling' like I was working any harder. And that was true for a time.

I've hit a peak now, though, where I don't know that I can get any faster. I mean, if I think about it, it makes sense: If I started at a 12:00/mile pace and then later for the same effort I was running an 11:00/mile pace and then 10:00/mile pace etc... at some point there *has* to be a limit, right? If I just keep running and working harder, can I hit an 8 pace for a 10k? a 7 pace for a 5k? -- then a 7 pace for a 10k and a 6:30 pace for a 5k? Will I ever run a 5:00 mile? Where's my lower limit?

And for a few years, I had no idea where that limit was, so when it started to get harder to go faster; and PRs started to get less and less common, I just worked harder. I tried new training plans and different stretches and speed drills and different shoes and different fueling techniques. And sometimes it paid off. I saw a few more PRs and that was fun. 

But now I realize that the increased work and effort and stress to eek out a 2-3 sec/mile gain is just not worth it. In reaching for the prize of a reduced time on my watch, I paid the price of losing the joy of just being out there reveling in the movement and sights and experience of running just for the sake of running.

And couple that with this: seeing someone who has been running less time than I have, who is older than me, run faster than me! That's one of the main reasons I stopped reading RunnersWorld magazine. There's a section called "What does it take to..." and it is meant to be motivational, I suppose. This section has a few mini articles, with catchy headings like "What does it take to run a marathon on one leg?" and will tell the story about a soldier who has a prosthetic leg and ran his first marathon, for charity. "Yea! How inspiring! If he can do it so can I!!!"  But there's also the ones like "Jeff McSpeedy had a heart attack at age 54, weighed in at 285#, and started running 6 months ago. Today he weighs 152# and he just ran his very first marathon in 3:15, qualifying for Boston next year!!!" and those would actually DE-motivate me. I'd see person after person on those pages who was improving WAY faster and WAY more than I was. "What does it take to...?" Apparently, it takes a hell of a lot more than I have inside me.

And it is not just in magazines. A personal friend is about a decade younger than me. He was not overweight, but also not very active. He was a pretty aggressive hiker, but did not have a chance to go do that regularly. He said I inspired him to start running. Yea! I felt special! Until, after 3-4 months of running, he ran his first half-marathon...at around a 7:30/mile pace. Now, after 1-2 years or so, he runs 10 mile training runs at a 7:15 pace just on a routine day. And yes it's not all sour grapes. I'm happy for him, I really am! But somewhere inside, my heart whispers: "How come I can't do that?" and that points me back to the gaping hole inside me with a neon sign that blares out "NOT ENOUGH! NOT ENOUGH! NOT ENOUGH!" over and over and over.

So between the 'motivational' articles in magazines, & the real-life stories of people I know, suddenly I was no longer as special as I thought. At least not on paper, looking at numbers.
I was just a below-average-improvement-rate guy facing the fact that I was never going to be as fast as "that person". And yeah, maybe someone else will never be as "fast" as I am, but somehow that doesn't ease the pain of knowing I've plateaued and the goals I once thought were realistic (a 4:00 marathon, or a 1:45 Half, etc) may be unattainable. Or the work I'd have to put in would not be worth the result. Especially since once I hit *that* goal, there would be yet another carrot out in front of me and it would be a never-ending procession of trying and failing...and that became hurtful to me.

And it all came to a head this January when I ran my favorite half-marathon, for the 5th year in a row. I had my sights set on a PR, and was well on my way at the 6.5 mile turn-around. Then at the 9 mile point I was hanging on...and around mile 11 "the wheels fell off" as we say, and while I finished faster than some people, I didn't finish as fast as I had hoped, despite hard efforts. I was demoralized, demotivated, and depressed.

So I had a choice.

So now instead of being upset by that, I've given myself grace. We are, all of us, faster than someone else, and slower than someone else. And instead of trying to be someone I'm not, I'm trying to just be who I am -- knowing some days I'll set a PR that will feel really good, and other days (MOST other days) I won't. And while I understand the value of always trying to 'be a better me' I now understand that speed or distance are much less important to me than they once were.

"Better" means something new to me now.

I've entered a new phase of my running where I set my super-fancy GPS watch to just tell me total time. I have no idea how far or how fast I'm going. I have to have a general idea, so I know when to turn around and come home, etc -- but I resist the temptation to do the math in my head of figuring out "Well, I know from my house to here it's about x miles and if my watch says I've been running Y minutes, then I must be averaging Z minutes/mile"

Instead, I really just try to just stay within my breath, and take in the experience; enjoy the time. Some days I put out a little more effort and some days I take it real easy. I vary things to spice it up a bit and play around. And when I get home and synch my watch, it'll tell me the data. Some days I'm faster than I thought I was -- and some days I'm slower, and while the former is still quite fun, the latter is no longer as upsetting as it used to be. 

Some day I may 'try for more' again, but I hope if that happens I'll be more gentle with myself.

So if you are reading this and are new to running or have been running for ages and are at a plateau, I encourage you to do the same. If there is a 'biggest' mistake I've made along the way ('cause there've been a few!) it's the above.

The most amazing aspect of becoming a runner is this: I get to spend time "Running Into Myself" over and over again. I now know that no matter how deep I dig, there's always a little bit more inside. There's always more inside me than I think there is: more muck to clean out, and more goodness and light to reveal and share. And that translates into every other aspect of my life and has given me confidence and courage in many ways.

But I've focused too much on the rush of the "I'm getting faster/thinner/stronger/etc!" aspect of the "I had more inside me than I ever thought I did" feelings. And each of those has a limit.

Now, I am trying to stay in the realm of "I have more inside me than I ever thought I did" but from the perspective of "Let's see how many minutes of this run today I can spend actually *enjoying* myself and spending time with God and creation and whatever I'm listening to, whether it is my thoughts or an audio book or music or whatever."

No matter what my time or distance, letting running stay "funning" is what will keep me getting out there again and again and again.

That simple joy is where it is at.

And there is no limit to that joy.

~ Keith

Freedom and Flying

I read this quote recently (from a friend on facebook) and realized how strongly I identify with it!

I can't speak for anyone else, but at a certain point the experience of running surpassed in value, and by a pretty wide margin, my desire to make sense out of it. 

I don't know why I run. I don't know why I race. I don't know why I compete. I don't need to know. Because running means more to me than curiosity. It goes deeper than knowledge. I run. I compete. I move on down the line. I'm a runner. 

For us runners, the question of “why” is pretty moot. Not because it may not be interesting, or important, from a certain point of view, but because we’ve left the question of the meaning of running behind. 

After all the questions have been asked, and all the answers given, in spite of the disagreement on essences, physiology, rationales, training strategies, trail running, road racing, i-pod wearing, mid-foot striking, turnover cadences, arm carriages, Jack Daniels, Arthur Lydiard, 20 miles a week or 100, 5k or the 50k, whether it's really the Miles of Trials or the Trial of Miles, after all the words have been spoken and keyboards have been pounded, meanings given and ideologies subverted... 

After all this, we runners bend down and tighten the laces, open the door, brace for the cold and are renewed: another godawful, glorious, and meaningless 8 miler. 

- Jeff Edmonds The Logic of Long Distance

and accompanying this post was this picture:

I love that idea - "Aristotle's featherless bipeds" and how Edmonds goes deeper than that, since we are more than just "rational animals" -- or perhaps less-than; simpler.

Before my run yesterday morning, I posted this on Twitter and Facebook:

The cold dark morning-quiet streets call to me: 

"Come away, play, discover again you are body and soul"

& I'm reminded running is play

Not long after I started running, a friend (and very experienced runner) sent me a Nike postcard with a sentiment which has become something of a mantra for me:

Run.

Not because you are in a hurry,

or because you are being chased.

Just run. 

Back in 2010 as I was preparing for the Portland Marathon (my first, I ran it on 10-10-10) I read a poem by Charles Hamilton Sorley that literally moved me to tears because I so identified with it.

The poem still moves me to tears to this day, as I marvel at the person I've become, and truly enjoy the process of discovery as I am still becoming.

Song of the Ungirt Runners

We swing ungirded hips,

And lightened are our eyes,

The rain is on our lips,

We do not run for prize.

We know not whom we trust

Nor whitherward we fare,

But we run because we must

Through the great wide air.

The waters of the seas

Are troubled as by storm.

The tempest strips the trees

And does not leave them warm.

Does the tearing tempest pause?

Do the tree-tops ask it why?

So we run without a cause

'Neath the big bare sky.

The rain is on our lips,

We do not run for prize.

But the storm the water whips

And the wave howls to the skies.

The winds arise and strike it

And scatter it like sand,

And we run because we like it

Through the broad bright land. 

I am a runner.  And oh the joy & freedom I often feel when I run. It grounds me and releases me at the same time. I am a featherless biped, yet I am flying and oh-so-alive. Especially in the rain and wind!

~ Keith

Asking For Help

Asking for help is not always easy. Especially when it is help I know I don't really need. It's about not being lazy; not shirking. It's about integrity. Anyone who has a 3 year old child (or has been one!) has learned this lesson: sometimes it is important to do something just by myself, just to prove I can. Not to prove it to anyone else; simply to prove it to me.

That's what running has been like for me. I started running in June of 2008 and the changes I've seen within myself have been nothing short of remarkable. Miraculous, really.

When I set out to run the Portland Marathon in October 2010, and various people asked if I would be running for charity I knew it was something I just could not do. As noble and good as it would be, it just did not feel right in my heart. Running for a cause would certainly add motivation to my training, but it would also cloud things somehow. Selfish as it might sound, I didn't want to run for anyone else.

I had to do this for myself.

Once I'd run the marathon, and began to think about running another, I was surprised to find the idea of running for charity was still something I did not want to do. I was really hoping to get in to the 2011 NYC Marathon via their lottery system ('cause I'm nowhere near fast enough to get a guaranteed entry based on skill/timing!). Wanting badly to run in NYC though, I told myself I'd run for charity as a back-up plan: something I'd resort to as a way to get a guaranteed entry only if I had to. I felt that way right up until the drawing on Wednesday 27th April, when the website confirmed my fears: I had not been selected via the lottery.

I knew there would be perhaps 100,000 people or more who would be swooping down onto the official charities so I'd have to be quick. I took a break at work and began to actually look through the various charities I could apply to run for. That's when my heart began to change.

I realized there's another reason asking for help is difficult for me: it feels like an admission that I am not good enough, not bright enough, not strong enough. Reading through the charity webpages reminded me that, well, I'm not! I'm not good enough alone! No one is. I'm not bright enough to figure everything out on my own. No one is. And I'm not strong enough to get through this life alone. No one is.

Once I embraced that next-level measure of my own weakness, and allowed the humility to clear my perspective, I realized something else: Asking for help is sometimes easy:

If I have dropped a heavy load, it is hard to ask for help to pick it back up and carry it onward.

But If someone else has dropped a heavy load, and I stop to help them pick it up and carry it onward -- and in doing so realize that this load is so heavy I can't be the only one to help, then asking someone to help me as I help another...that comes easily.

So here I am. Asking for your help.

As I browsed through the charities, one stood out to me. the Multiple Myeloma Research Foundation (MMRF). As a Home Hospice RN by profession, I see the impact of this disease in my day-to-day work. But it is also personal for me. Cathy's mom died of multiple myeloma. She was only 68. Everyone who knew her tells stories of what an amazing woman she was. Vibrant, playful, compassionate, loyal, and loving to all. I wish I'd met her, but I never got the chance. You see, I met Cathy in May 1987, but multiple myeloma had already taken her mom's life in February of 1986. Her name was Josephine Mary (Fanucchi) Thompson -- and I'm running in her honor. I'm running so MMRF can help others beat this disease, get the chance to live to meet their family, and enjoy a full life.

Nearly 90% of every dollar donated to the MMRF goes directly to research!

Will you please support my participation in the 2011 New York City Marathon benefiting the MMRF? Your donation can help make the difference! I have made a commitment to raise at least $3000 by the race on Sunday November 6th. I need your help to get there! Please help as you can. It all adds up! On the right-hand side of my donations page you can select a suggested donation amount, or come up with whatever you feel comfortable donating. For those interested in a per-mile sponsorship, here's the math for you!

• $1/mile = $26.20 total donation (x only 115 people = $3013!)
• $2/mile = $52.40 total donation
• $3/mile = $78.60 total donation
• $4/mile = $104.80 total donation
• $5/mile = $131.00 total donation

Would you please consider sponsoring me? It is as simple as following the link above.

For more information, to make sure your money is going to a good cause and a reputale charity, you can follow this link to the MMRF site, and there's an NBC Nightline interview and article here, a reprint of a New Yorker article discussing the creative business model of MMRF here and the ubiquitous Wiki link is here.
Thank you in advance for your support!
~ Keith

Two Halfs (Almost) Make (Me Ready for) a Whole

In June, 2009 I ran the Helvetia Half Marathon in Hillsboro, Oregon. That was my first "Half" and I'd followed the training programs in Marathoning for Mortals. I was ready. I came, I ran, I conquered. It kicked my butt, but I did it. I was proud of my accomplishment (and still am), but was not done. That Half was just one short-term goal on the way to a larger goal of running the Portland Marathon in October 2010.

Another milestone will come tomorrow when I run the Cascade Half Marathon in Turner, Oregon (featured in the Jan 2010 issue of Runners World Magazine!). Unlike last time, I have no specific mile-marker dedications. Tomorrow I'm just going to run.

I started training back on Monday October 12, 2009. Since then I've run over 200 miles, which amounts to a total on-road time of over 36 hrs. I also cross-trained some by cycling -- almost 100 miles in a little over 8 1/2 hours total. It would have been more but I lost motivation for road-cycling after the first 2 months. But that's better than my last Half where I only cross-trained for one month. And, if you've followed me on FaceBook or you know me IRL, you know almost 95% of those 300 miles and 45 hours was in the dark, before sunrise.

Again I've been following the training plans in Marathoning for Mortals, and I feel strong. I feel ready. I'm hoping for a PR. I'm hoping to break the 2 hr mark. But really I'll be happy if I finish.

This time tomorrow I hope to be in the second-half of my 2nd "Half".

But I know a longer road lies ahead of me:

Running 13.1 twice in 6 months
is great, but it doesn't mean
I'm ready for 26.2
yet.

But it isn't October 2010 yet, so I don't have to be ready yet.
One day at a time, one mile at a time, one step at a time.

And first things first -- I still have a race to run tomorrow and I'll be out there rain or shine...

Pickin' 'em up and puttin' 'em down,

~ Keith

Reality

On Monday August 27, 2007 I started my job as an RN Case Manager -- a home-visiting Hospice RN taking care of around 10-15 patients on a weekly basis. One week later, my dad died.

On Monday January 4, 2010 I will start my new job as an RN Clinical Manager -- supervising around 20 staff including RNs, Social Workers, Hospice Aides, and a Spiritual Care Coordinator who will collectively care for around 40-60 patients.

As I type this our 16 year-old cat Jack is sleeping next to me on the couch, but he is not well. He has declined rapidly over the last few weeks, and may not have more than a week left to live. We're hoping for more, of course, but also don't want him to suffer.

As I reflect, I can't help but see the parallels. Life is so good, so full of promise and potential. But then suddenly events outside my control converge and conflagrate, and life seems so much more tenuous; so fragile and mysterious, and all my questions go unanswered. Problems go unsolved. "Conclusions" seem, at best, elusive -- and at worst, evasive.

While sitting with Jack I've been reading a book recommended to me by my good friend Dave Kellogg. Dave was the High School Sports Editor for the San Jose Mercury News and for the past few years has been the Sports Editor at the Monterey Herald. He ran the Big Sur Marathon and blogged about his training. As a journalist and athlete, he's encouraging and upbeat...but he's also a realist. I'm enjoying the book he recommended: What I Talk About When I Talk About Running by Haruki Murakami, who is a Japanese novelist (I'm reading the English translation of his book) and a long-distance runner with the experience of multiple marathons, triathlons, and even an ultra-marathon (100k = 62 miles).

With all that being said, here's the quote I want to share with you which ties it all together. Mr. Murakami is speaking of not finishing the New York City Marathon in his planned time -- how on race day his plans fell through and he never heard the Rocky theme song like he'd imagined. But he's also talking about life when he says:

At certain points in our lives, when we really need a solution, the person who knocks on our door is, more likely than not, a messenger bearing bad news. It isn't always the case, but from experience I'd say the gloomy reports far outnumber the others. The messenger touches his hand to his cap and looks apologetic, but that does nothing to improve the contents of the message. It isn't the messenger's fault. No good to blame him, no good to grab him by the collar and shake him. The messenger is just conscientiously doing the job his boss assigned him. And this boss? That would be none other than our old friend Reality.

He tells the story of his race training, and race plans, and race-day plan-execution...and has no clear answer for why he didn't reach his goal-time. But He doesn't let the failure or setback effect his stride in life. He doesn't let the lack of an obvious solution or "Conclusion" keep him off the road for too long. He keeps on running.

There's one thing, though, that I can state with confidence: until the feeling that I've done a good job on a race returns, I'm going to keep running marathons, and not let it get me down. Even when I grow old and feeble, when people warn me it's about time to throw in the towel, I won't care. As long as my body allows I'll keep on running. Even if my [race] time gets worse, I'll keep on putting in as much effort -- perhaps even more effort -- toward my goal of finishing [my next] marathon. I don't care what others say -- that's just my nature, the way I am. Like scorpions sting, cicadas cling to trees, salmon swim upstream to where they were born, and wild ducks mate for life.

I may not hear the Rocky theme song, or see the sunset anywhere, but for me...this may be a sort of conclusion. An understated, rainy-day-sneakers sort of conclusion. An anticlimax, if you will. Turn it into a screenplay, and the Hollywood producer would just glance at the last page and toss it back. But the long and the short of it is that this kind of a conclusion fits who I am.

What I mean is, I didn't start running because somebody asked me to become a runner. Just like I didn't become a novelist because someone asked me to. One day, out of the blue, I wanted to write a novel. And one day, out of the blue, I started to run -- simply because I wanted to.

I look up at the sky, wondering if I'll catch a glimpse of kindness there, but I don't. All I see are indifferent summer clouds drifting over the Pacific. And they have nothing to say to me. Clouds are always taciturn. I probably shouldn't be looking up at them. What I should be looking at is inside of me. Like staring down into a deep well. Can I see kindness there?

Mr. Muraki goes on and says "No" to his own question.

But I say "Yes" to mine.

I didn't become a Hospice Nurse because someone asked me to. One day in nursing school almost 15 years ago I watched a brief video on hospice care that has ended up changing my life -- because out of the blue I decided I wanted to help people facing the end of their lives stay as comfortable as possible, feel as loved as possible, and maintain as much dignity and self-determination as possible. So when I look inside -- into my well, I do see kindness: not only for others, but also for myself.

And, like Mr. Murakami, I don't run because someone asked me to become a runner. Today I am a runner because one day back in late May of 2008, out of the blue, I decided that I wanted to run. And as I've become a runner I've discovered another well inside me. This one has determination; stick-to-it-iveness I never knew was there. I found faithfulness that, like the kindness, can be for me too.

Jack has just hobbled up onto my lap, laid down, and started to purr.

And right now Monday morning's training run and new job responsibilities are an eternity away.

The mid-January half-marathon is past the horizon and the early October 2010 Portland Marathon (my first) is just a hopeful gleam in my eye.

Right now, for today, a warm purring cat on my lap is enough. I'm content. I really really am.

~ Keith

Plate Spinning

I had a sort of epiphany this morning while running. I like it when that happens. I'm running along and my mind is clearing out, and suddenly an idea pops into my head, so I start to play with it. Then, before I realize what's happened, I have a whole new outlook on something, because my perspective has been turned inside-out, in a really good way. These moments seem to happen more often when I run than at other times of the day.

This morning I was thinking about being stressed at work and had an inside-out-turning of my perspective that was really great. Before I share that with you, I have to let you a little deeper into my world so it'll be more meaningful.

In my job as a Hospice RN I have to stay flexible with a host of shifting priorities and that constant shifting is a major source of stress for me. I know many people face similar challenges, so let me share my unique situation.

My perfect day at work is when I am scheduled to see Mr. A, then Mr. B, then Ms. C, then Mrs. D, then go home, and that is exactly what happens. But it is rare. Usually it is very different.

Let's say it is Tuesday and I am scheduled to have the perfect day. But if Mrs. D calls in the morning saying she is having a problem, maybe I can help her over the phone, but maybe not -- I may need to see her first and reschedule the other patients. Or what if Mr. G calls and is having a problem? Now I need to see him today instead of Thursday, and that may mean bumping one of my other patients to a different day. Maybe I come to work and find that Mr. B died last night. I may not need to go to his home today, but maybe I will. At least I'll make a phone call, and offer emotional support. Or maybe I come to work and find a message on my Blackberry that Ms. N is going to be a new patient and it is my responsibility to introduce her to our services -- which means I'll need to dedicate 4+ hours to this process, which means shuffling other patients around...

You get the picture. Now let me complicate it further by telling you that on average I care for 10-13 patients at a time. And patients are people. And people who are facing life-shortening illness sometimes have changes happen quickly, and they need me to help them in those times.

I love helping people, but I hate it when my perfectly planned day gets tossed out the window -- whether that happens at 1:15pm or 8:15am.

When my schedule changes, I often grumble and complain inside, but then I feel bad about it because after all these are PEOPLE who are DYING I am dealing with, and I should be a better sport about the whole thing (especially since, HELLO!, I intentionally CHOSE to go into this line of work). So not only am I stressed about the shifting priorities but I feel bad about being stressed. Then I cut myself some slack and remind myself I'm human too, and as such I get the grace to be imperfect and have needs and faults.

So my priorities get shifted every day, and that stresses me because it feels as if I am being pulled in 15 different directions all at once. It feels like this:
Do you notice how he looks like he is having fun?

I don't get that.

Maybe that's because if he drops a plate all that happens is people laugh and he says "oops". But in my job the plates are people so if I drop a plate it is a much bigger deal. I don't like that possibility, so I'd rather deal with fewer plates at a time. See, if I could just have 4 plates today, then 4 plates tomorrow, I think I'd be OK (I'm probably wrong about that as well, but I digress...).

But I don't just have 4 plates today and 4 plates tomorrow. I have 13 plates all at one time. I can do my best to figure out which plates to help on any given day, but my reality is one of constantly being called upon to run from plate to plate keeping them all spinning.

Because of the nature of my work I know each patient will die, and on average this happens just about every 5 days. So every 5 days or so a plate is removed from my responsibilities, but that is hard on me because it usually happens just when I've grown fond of that particular plate and also just figured out how best to keep it spinning. And it also means that when I least expect it I will be told "Here you go -- another new plate to go figure out."

I have to pause here and say I really hope I don't sound callous. Each and every patient I care for has tremendous worth as a human being and I treasure the moments they allow me in to share their lives with them as they finish their journey here. Each patient is very special to me and referring to them as "plates" may seem discompassionate or even cavalier and I'm sorry for that. But I'm trying to help you understand my human heart and frailty as a person and how stressful my job can be. Because the more you understand how stressful my job can be, within the context of the spinning plates analogy, the more sense it will make to you when I go on now and tell you my epiphany.

There I was running along in the pre-dawn wondering what to do with the stress I feel from spinning plates, and in my mind's eye the imagery shifted, and turned all inside-out and bass-ackwards.

It went from this:
to this:
And suddenly I felt peaceful about it all. See, instead of me being the guy who is running from plate to plate trying to keep them all spinning...what if in reality I am. Just. One. Plate?

What if all I need to worry about it is keeping myself spinning by staying centered on that stick?

And that would imply each of my patients has a measure of responsibility for their own spinning. Yes, I have an important role to play, but really it is their journey, not mine.

It turns out I'm stressed because I take on a responsibility that is not mine to take!

Wow.

And then as I was reeling from that "A-ha!" moment, the image shifted a bit again...to this:
And it was another "A-Ha!" moment. See, the idea of keeping myself centered is good but horribly incomplete because,

the reality is
plates don't actually
have the ability
to spin themselves.

I don't have the capacity to keep myself centered. If I am the plate, then any "responsibility" I take -- any wiggling motion I do make to try and "keep myself centered" usually just makes things worse and the best thing to do is relax and choose to trust The One whose hand is down there keeping me spinning.

That removes a ton stress, and I can just be me and help people and not sweat the other stuff. And that is good for me, but it is also good for my patients, and my coworkers and my wife, and everybody! =O)

A guy from the 1st century called Paul understood this pretty well and wrote some stuff about it, if you want to read it here. I've read his comments before and thought I understood them, but today I got a personalized example and word-picture. Pretty cool huh?

~ Keith

Running Into Myself

John "The Penguin" Bingham describes allowing running to change him into the person he wants to be, one step at a time. He calls this "running into myself".

I have seen this in my own life over the last 16 months since I started running in June 2008. My running shoes are now somewhat sacred to me, and I wear them only for running -- nothing else. When I lace them on, and head out the door, each kick-off is a step behind me and each new foot-plant is a new me, becoming. I've lost over 50 lbs, and my resting heart rate has gone from the high 70s to the mid- to high-40s. I just feel better. But more than that I feel more...

...myself.

I have to acknowledge that a part of it is the weight loss. When I look at my picture from 7th grade, I see a normal-weight kid who is happy and healthy and looking forward to life ahead. My 8th grade school picture is a photo of a pudgy kid*. I've spent most of my life looking into the mirror at the man who grew up from that pudgy, patently nonathletic, insecure kid from 8th grade. Now when I look into the mirror I see the man who grew up from the 7th grade kid.

Another nod to The Penguin: I'm an "adult onset athlete" and it feels good to be healthy. A friend (who will remain un-named -- but I've known him since 7th grade and looked up to him as an athletic person) recently said something like "I hope when I'm your age I'm that healthy. Wait...I am your age!"

That felt good, but wasn't as meaningful as it would have been 2 years ago. The 8th-grade pudgy kid in me would have given his left arm to hear someone say that. The 7th-grader in me today, though -- not so insecure -- laughed and acknowledged it, but moved on...and THAT felt good. Does that make sense?

So running has given me the benefit of becoming more the person I want to be. But insecurities and faults and flaws still live deep in me. Running is only one way to change me. There are others. Some of these can be pretty scary, but becoming a runner has given me the confidence to face new challenges more hopefully.

One other way to become more myself is to spend time alone in a small space -- where every time I turn around I (quite literally) keep "running into" my "self".

It was for this express purpose I recently went to a place in the Silver Falls area called CRC. I stayed in a tiny A-frame building called the "Prayer Hut".I took my bible and my journal and a couple books that have been helpful recently in digging into the depths of my self -- maybe that sounds narcissistic, but here's a story:

When I was a kid sometimes my dad would drive me places. I'd turn on the radio and he would turn it off. I'd turn it back on and he'd turn it back off. This would repeat a few times and finally he'd tell me to leave it off and then say something like:

"What's the matter?
Are you afraid of your own thoughts?"

And, well...I guess yeah I was, and still am sometimes. I look in the mirror and while the body is that of the grown-up 7th-grader still sometimes in the corner of my eye I see the lost-ness of the 8th-grader peering through and I wonder what it is like to be whole. Mark twain once said

"The worst kind of loneliness is not to be comfortable with yourself"

So once in awhile I think it is important for me to turn off my cell phone, leave my laptop at home, and just get away from it all to be alone And. Just.

Be

With my self.

So recently I spent 3-4 days reading and writing in my journal and praying and really connecting with God on a deep deep level.

I sensed
The Maker of the Universe
look at me and smile
in simple unbridled
filial
and fraternal
and friendly
affection
and a sense of
life-purpose
and positive destiny

And you know what I re-learned? Far more than any person's complimentary remark, that love of God burning deep in my heart -- this is what makes my day.

On a bad day this is what lets me know everything will be OK. And this is what, on a good day, makes everything seem brighter and clearer and more alive.

Now I'm home again and re-plugged in. Life and work and community all go on and challenges and stresses have a way of rebuilding themselves. I can't live as a hermit, and so I run. When I run, I sometimes catch a glimpse of that love in my heart.

Some days running is just habit. Other days it is an exercise in self-denial. But on other days, it's like Eric Liddell says in Chariots of Fire: "When I run I sense God's pleasure".

To celebrate one year of running, in June 2008 I ran a half-marathon. It was preceded by 14 weeks of training, which was brutal but fulfilling -- and made the race itself less brutal and more fulfilling -- exhilarating, even. My goal is to run the Portland Marathon in October 2010. After that maybe someday I'll run a longer distance. It is symbolic of my race through life. Life is not a sprint. Things, like becoming myself, take time -- likely, the whole rest of my life.

So I run. As a Nike ad puts it, I run not because I am in a hurry, or because someone is chasing me.

I run just because.

I'm running a half-marathon in mid-January and my 14 weeks of training begins this Monday. I can't wait to get out on the roads at 5:30am, before the sunrise. Just God, and me, and my shoes hitting the pavement;

pickin' 'em up & puttin' 'em down.

Running into myself.~ Keith

* Sometimes I wonder "What happened to me between 7th and 8th grade?" I have some answers on that one, but that's another story, and really just for me and my journal. But here is a song that struck me today, and the overall message is right in line with how I feel inside when I wonder that wonder, and also right in line with why I run:

The Love That you Give
by Jeff Searles

These days I find myself
Wanting something that I lost
A long long time ago
Ghost of a memory that haunts me
The way that it was
A long long time ago

The Love that You give
Is the Love that I need
The Love that You give
Is the Love that I need

Lately I feel so empty
Trying so hard to fill up
Something inside of me
But I always miss the mark
And end up breaking apart
Something inside of me

And the Love that You give
Is the Love that I need
The Love that You give
Is the Love that I need
The Love that You give
Is the Love that I need

Dedications

That's me. I'm the blurry guy in the orange shirt and bright-yellow hat in the left-edge of the picture. I'm finishing my final kick in my first ever 5k race.

I've been running for about a year now, and tomorrow I'm running my first ever half-marathon. 13.1 miles. They say the 13 miles are easy -- it's the 0.1 that's the killer. I started running partly to get in shape, partly as an exercise in self-denial, but mainly I did it for me. I've done so many things for other people -- and I'm not talking altruism, I'm talking people-pleasing for wrong reasons: trying to earn the approval of others. But running? I started that for *me* -- as a way to love and take care of myself.

Following tradition, at tomorrow's race I'm dedicating my miles:

Mile 0 --> 1: Me for getting there in the first place
Mile 1 --> 2: My wife Cathy for supporting me
Mile 2 --> 3: My friend Tom Bartel for inspiring me
Mile 3 --> 4: My Dad
Mile 4 --> 5: My Mom
Mile 5 --> 6: My sister Bobbi
Mile 6 --> 7: My sister JoAnn
Mile 7 --> 8: My sister Marilyn
Mile 8 --> 9: My sister Leslie
Mile 9 --> 10: Me for getting there!
Mile 10 --> 11: My friend Tom for inspiring me!!
Mile 11 --> 12: Cathy for supporting me!!!
Mile 12 --> 13: Me for getting there!!!!
and that last little bit from 13 --> 13.1: My final kick is for God who has created me and is giving me the ability to continue "running into myself"!

~ Keith

Effortlessly

Sister Hazel is one of my favorite bands. Their album Chasing Daylight is classic. And this song is just about my favorite of all right now. It is where I'm at in life and loving it.

Effortlessly

I won't be so hard on me today
I start to take myself so seriously
Shouldn't be so hard just to be effortlessly
It shouldn't be so hard to keep it together
It shouldn't be so hard to say the right things to you
It shouldn't be so hard just to be effortlessly

Weightless worries fall away
Wasted pools of energy
I want to know I want to breathe

Effortlessly - just be
I want to be effortlessly
I want to be

It shouldn't be so hard to be inspired
It shouldn't be so hard just to write this song
It shouldn't be so hard to be wrong or to agree
It shouldn't be so hard to change the world
It shouldn't be so hard just to change your mind
It shouldn't be so hard just to be effortlessly

Weightless worries fall away
Wasted pools of energy
I want to know I want to breathe

Effortlessly - just be
I want to be effortlessly
I want to be

I won't be so hard on me today
I start to take myself so seriously
Shouldn't be so hard just to be effortlessly

Effortlessly
I want to know
I want to breathe
I want to simplify my needs
I want to live inside this moment
And just be effortlessly
Just be
I wanna be effortlessly
I want to be

~ Keith

True Discipline

I just finished week 1 of a 14 week training program preparing me to run the Helvetia Half-Marathon on June 13. It was cold & windy -- drizzly. Today I felt faster, but also felt I was running harder -- maybe it was more difficult to slow down due to the wind and drizzle? Plus, this current week has been 30 min workouts (2 running, 2 cycling). Today was my "endurance" run of only 2 miles. Yet when I think back to a year ago, the idea of running 2 miles at all was out of my imagination, let alone running it @ a <9:30 pace! Was I running too hard? Maybe.

A book I recently read and thoroughly enjoyed is The Zen of Running by Fred Rohe. It is (c) 1972 and very hippie trippie -- but I liked it. A lot! Fred says:

your creation of you
as a runner
will be more pleasurable
as you progress
by running less

the key to the "progress by less" method
is always to do
less than you think you can.

if you think you can gallop right away
just take a walk.

thinking you can run around the block,
just run down to the corner.

you have the rest of your life
to progress into long distance running.
why strain, make pain?
why not lope along,
free and easy,
doing it like a dance?
when you start doing it
you'll see that running
is naturally hard enough
all by itself
without you creating
additional hardship for yourself.

This got me thinking about following my training program. I know I can run farther than 2 miles. But today I disciplined myself to only run 2 miles.

I used to think discipline was hard; doing something difficult because it is the right thing to do. But now I see true discipline is even harder; doing less because it is the right thing to do.Week 1 of 14 down. 13 to go -- one more week for every mile I'll run on June 13th.

~ Keith

Personal Best

In this post I blogged about my first-ever 10 mile run. It was awesome -- a 43rd birthday present to myself. It took me almost exactly 2 hours. That's a 12-minute mile. Since that time I've finished the 3rd 10-week Podrunner Intervals program and have progressed to running 10k (6.2 miles) in approx 60 minutes. I finished the book Running for Mortals.

I've now begun reading Marathoning for Mortals. I've set a goal for myself to run the Portland Marathon in October 2010 just before my 45th birthday.

Along the way, I want to run for fun and test my limits -- set new PBs "Personal Best"s. Today I did that. I ran 9.9 miles in 1:41:32 -- shaving almost 2 minutes off my per-mile pace!

Here's my route:
View Larger Map

~ Keith

PS -- for those, like Brett, who are curious: there is no particular significance to the fact that my routes start and stop near a cemetery. It's just where I happen to live! =O)

I Am A Runner

I am a runner.
I never thought I'd say that. At least, I never thought I'd be able to say that with a shred of integrity. I can remember being around 5 or 6 years old, in the loft of our barn, running around. Not running laps, not exercising; just running around. I don't remember what imagination-laden scenario I was playing out. All I remember is running and playing. Things changed after that though.

Growing up I never saw myself as athletic because so many other kids were so much better. I can remember at school in P.E. class and assemblies and sporting events -- especially football and track -- noticing how other kids' bodies were changing. Muscles were growing and kids who'd been puny were now solid, with visible veins standing out on their arms. I wasn't puny any more either. You can see the difference between 7th grade skinny kid and 8th grade pudgy kid.

In 8th grade I wanted to have new friends and have a body like other kids did. I knew I wasn't fast enough for the track team, so I decided to try out for cross-country. We did lots of training runs and stuff. I remember the thrill of being at the end of the line and having to sprint to the front and yell "GO!" so the next back-of-the-line kid would have to sprint forward, and so on. I was breathless and tired, but I was doing something and it felt good. Until we did real races. Against ourselves or other teams, it didn't matter. I was always either last place or 2nd to last. As I watched the other kids' smooth-running bodies I felt "less than" again. Rather than a part of a team, I felt like a liability to the team. Shameful confessions time: At one race, I was tired and didn't want to continue, so I pretended to turn my ankle so I could quit. Another time, I pretended to have lime kicked into my eyes and in my faked blindness/pain I was once again excused from finishing.

That was the last time I ran competitively, unless you count the Navy where every year I had to run 1.5 miles in 15 minutes or less to pass a physical fitness test. I always did it, but also always came very close to puking.

I've never been a super active person, and my all-time high weight is 250# in Feb of 2002. I did WeightWatchers and got as low as 183# in mid 2003. But I put almost all the weight back on. Just like I always have as I've yo-yo'd over the years.

But then a couple years ago when I turned 40, something inside my heart clicked. I finally began to care about myself in a healthy way. Cathy'd been telling me for years I should take better care of myself -- I finally started listening. But it was a rocky start. I tried to run and lift weights and diet and all sorts of things but never really got anywhere but worn out and depressed.

Then we moved to Oregon in August '07 and it is like God brought my heart to life again. In Feb '08 I began learning from God how to listen to my hunger/satiety. By June I'd gone from 220# to 206#, and was feeling good. The way I eat now had nothing to do with what the scale said. The latter was simply a measure of the former -- but not a driving force like it used to be. But I also wanted to DO something active, just for fun and to help my cardiovascular system get healthy. So I started walking and running. I blogged here about finishing a 10-week training program and running a 5K. And then again here about finishing the 2nd 10-week training program and running 8K and then celebrating my 43rd birthday by running 10 miles!

Yesterday I completed the 3rd 10-week training series and can now run 10K in around 60 minutes. But there are no more 10-week training series. So what is next? I bought a book called Running for Mortals and have set my sights on running the Portland Marathon in Oct 2010. Between now and then I would like to run a half-marathon and also run a few local 5K or 10K races. This morning I read the first two chapters and cried 3 times.

The first tears hit me as I read this in the forward:

...we really learned everything we need to know about running before we even got to kindergarten. As soon as we learned how to walk we wanted to run. We knew as toddlers that the best way to get from where we were to where we wanted to be was to run there. It still is!
We knew as small children that running for no apparent reason at all was one of life's greatest pleasures. It still is.
The door would open, and we would run out. We ran around. We chased. We ran to and from. We ran until we couldn't run anymore, and then we stopped. That's still a pretty good plan.

It doesn't matter that I've lost 40# in 12 months. It doesn't matter that I am 43 years old and in the best shape of my life. It doesn't matter if I win any races, or even if I ever compete! What matters is that I have fallen in love again with the simple joy I first learned as that 5 year old boy in the loft of a barn -- just running because I could.

I am a runner.

~ Keith

Miles & Stones

Today's blog post is a milestone. This image calls to mind a story of the ancient people of Israel. They were crossing a border together for the final time before settling in a new land. They took stones and stacked them to form a monument -- a milestone. When future generations saw the stones and asked about them, parents would have an opportunity to tell the story of how God provided and led them to a safe place in a new land. This blog post marks a special day in my story, and is an opportunity for me to give credit where credit is due and thank God for enabling me and leading me safely into a new land, figuratively and literally.Today is a milestone day. It is not my first birthday back in Oregon, but it feels manifestly more significant for some reason. Perhaps because it is my first birthday after really settling in here.

Today is, in fact, my 43rd birthday. I mention the number because to some people (not me!) that seems old. =O) I began celebrating this morning by going for a long run before sunrise.

About 10 weeks ago, I blogged about the Interval Training Program I have been using to reach my short-term goal of getting into better shape and my long-term goal of developing a lasting habit of regular aerobic exercise. I've now been running 3 times a week for the past 20 weeks! I've lost 19 lbs and have learned some things about myself and about running. Yesterday I finished the 10th week in the 2nd series, and am looking forward to beginning the 3rd 10-week series on Monday morning.

Today is also a milestone day in my physical fitness level. When I was in my late 20s (back when fewer people than today thought I was "old") I had begun to run after school, and while I never really enjoyed it per se, I did it. My main route at the time was around 3-4 miles, and once during that season of my life I went for a "long" run and went just under 10 miles -- or so I remembered until today. Here is my route from that day back in 1992:
View Larger MapAccording to Google Maps, that route is only 5.8 miles. Still a good run, but not quite as long as I had remembered.

This is significant to me today because my intent in going for a run this morning was to do another 10 mile-run, 16 years later. Here is my route from today:
View Larger MapAccording to Google Maps, it is 10.1 miles.

This means I am in better shape today than I was when I was 27 and in college. I've weighed less than I do today, but right now is the best physical condition I've ever experienced in terms of stamina and stick-to-it-iveness.

Another year has now passed. This birthday holds a special feeling, having come home to Oregon. Running has become a good habit, and I ran more than 10 miles today (making more than 25 miles for the week!). No surprise to me, then, that today is the 1st of November -- long seen by celtic cultures as a liminal day; a crossing-over day.

~ Keith