Life in the Fasting Lane

I am hungry. For the past two days, I have been scaling down on food consumption leading to today's fast. Tomorrow, I am having a procedure done (a medical test) that requires this. It comes at a good time because fasting has been on my mind as something I should so again. In the past, I have fasted and been in prayer for someone going through illness or surgery or before really life-changing decisions. In earlier years, I have been hungry for extended periods of time, but I didn't volunteer for it like in fasting. For me, the fast sort of settles things out, and gives self-denial and personal discipline some well-needed exercise. Things just don't go rocking along, business as usual; I see through "hungry eyes." It gives me some idea, however limited, of what some in this world go through on a regular basis. It brings me to believe that self-denial, is within my power, and gives personal endurance a refresher course. And how about a workout, an event, anytime we push ourselves beyond ourselves: isn't that a sort of self-denial; a fasting; a fasting built on faith toward a purpose? I have found that the platform of prayer and fasting is good place to make good decisions, because it ultimately brings me closer to God. With the liter of the world stripped away, it is easier to see more clearly His plans and purposes. And, I have grown larger by making myself small.

Struggling to Grow in the Shady Ditch

It was trying to grow in the shady ditch along the highway without success. The wisteria was just a scrub plant, an offshoot of the larger, looming parent wisteria climbing through the trees above.

Dug up, cut off from the parent plant, planted in the open in another soil, it somehow survived. Then watered and fertilized, cut back somewhat, it began to grow. The branches were trained, the weeds were kept away and it flourished.

This spring, the beauty that was always possible in the plant in the shady ditch, burst forth to enjoy its day in the sunshine at last.

Are there lessons in that or what?

Are the Waves Really That Bad?

That morning the flag at the hotel was stretched out, flapping vigorously in the wind, and it wasn't even daylight yet. Oh my ! Still in the dark at the race site, the wind blew vigorously and I could hear the waves on the lake shore. Am I going to die today? If the waves are too bad, I am not going out there. If I get out of the water alive, I could get blown off my bike: scary, intimidating, the sounds in the dark.

Somewhere between dark and full daylight, I began to come to myself. Did I come this far to fail without trying? Are the waves really that bad? The wind will be rough on everyone out here, not just me. As soon as it was light enough I was in the water; just had to know.

It wasn't that bad. Yeah, there was a little rolling here and there, some bi-lateral breathing here and there, sighting wasn't as easy as on smooth water, and the belly of the waves took me down occasionally to the weed bed, where I snagged on a few weeds.

Getting out of the water, I was on, and probably had a smile so big that all anyone could see of my face was teeth. Yes ! I can do this! Looking back, I realize that right there, I won my race

Thankful for the Chance to Fail

For me, a continued state of mindless mediocrity is a living hell. Of course, what might be exciting and challenging for me might be pretty boring to lots of folks. This is to say, I know I don't have all the answers, the perfect life, the only right and true way to live. But I do know what is right for me. I just know there is more to all this than performing life's chores and responsibilities in a prompt, timely manner; to always be the good soldier in this campaign called life. The "restless warrior" down there, yearns for more, and I guess that is where endurance sports helps fill the void. Sometimes I think I have let myself get too tame. Over the years I have had some great adventures, done all kinds of somewhat risky, crazy things and I have written about them. When I go back to read or edit these pieces - yet again - I get the urge to take it outside once more; to get that picture back. I really like that person that was a little crazy sometimes. A line from my personal mission statement reads: The life God has chosen me to live is to be an adventure. I know that is true as surely as I know I am here. Yeah, I think I am ready for the season. My first triathlon is May 7Th, and I have already decided to line up in the middle of the front of my swim wave: knock it about a bit. I have already decided to bust my lungs for a bike PR on this fast course where I set my previous PR. And if I take a beating on the swim and blow up on the bike course, I will be so thankful for that chance to fail. And if I succeed? Ah, I am smiling already.

The "Direction of My Dreams"

The hills on the bike course; the hills in life can beat us up mentally, before we are even close to being whipped. Yesterday, biking uphill and into the wind, I decided to analyze how I ride hills. Sure, I have read everything I could find about how to ride hills, before I went out and did it my way anyway. Sometimes the same hills seem hard and sometimes easier. What's the difference? There are lots of variables to consider but in my amateurish research with a sample of one, I came to this conclusion: it is about where I are looking. Sounds too simple, doesn't it? When I look far up the hill and as I pedal, I can be intimidated by the length and steepness. Intimidation says, you are already tired; the hill goes on forever, and gets even steeper. You are toast. When I look at the next 10-20 yards as I pedal, I only see what is under my control at the moment. Sure, I can go that far, at least. The hill doesn't look that steep. My legs are feeling fine. I can do this. Of course, I can't ride bikes and go through life with blinders on. I have to stay on the road and go the right direction. But, I don't have to climb the part of the hill I haven't' arrived at yet. There will be a moment for that. I only have to go the right direction: the direction of my course; the "direction of my dreams" which was determined before this ride began. And so I live this day, knowing that I am pedaling on, climbing, this hill called life. And the "direction of my dreams" is vested in riding God's course for my life, this day; and this day: I am feeling fine; I can do this. --"if one advances confidently in the direction his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours." Henry David Thoreau

The Somber Hill

I love coming down that hill on my bike and I love to do hill repeats on this curving three-quarter mile incline. Today, I found out a friend of mine was killed on that road: got off the road in a turn, over-corrected and rolled the vehicle. He was not wearing a seat belt and was thrown from the vehicle.

I didn't know where on this road he had had this accident, so I took the course slowly around the turns, trying to identify some sign of the aftermath of the wreck. There it was at my hill. The spray paint was still there on the grass, on the pavement, telling the sad story of my friend's last moments on this earth. And there was one spot circled in orange spray paint, that may have been where his body had been.

My hill is littered with markings of orange spray paint, but even after it is gone, I doubt I will ever traverse this hill without thinking of my friend. He had come a long way back to be the person he was. I taught him in Sunday School and he became so good as a student, I let him teach.

Remembering the last time I saw him: I was running by his house, and he was out working with his tractor. He stopped. We talked. When I began to leave he asked me how far I had come. I told him. He said, "Marvin, I believe you are the toughest man I know." I laughed.

Times like today, standing over my bike, looking at the footprints of his death on the road, I really don't feel all that tough.

Nothing Was Impossible: A Tribute

No one could get me more angry than he could. I once jumped off the roof of a house I was working on to confront him about something he said. He could drive me that far. We were so different in so many ways, and yet, in certain central areas, we are much the same. Only some one that I loved so much could make me jump off a building. Today, is my Father's birthday. He has been gone for over twenty six years and I still miss him.

He would have been great at endurance sports. Like me, he had absolutely no natural talent to do anything, but the guy could hang in there, and hang on like no one I have ever met. We did a lot of fishing, hiking and camping together. We carved the place I live on now, out of a proverbial wilderness. I smile at the adventures we had together, getting in and out of predicaments; great times. Nothing was impossible withI us, it seemed.

It was hard to know how bad he really felt because he just didn't complain that much. During his losing battle with cancer, I saw him take an incredible amount of pain. It is my regret that endurance sports did not come along for us during our time together. He would have been great at it, I know, because as I see it, my father was an Ironman.