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.

Stop Digging !

They say that the first thing you need to do when you find yourself in a hole is to stop digging. I am into my third day of no training whatsoever. It has been a while since I have been in this kind of hole. It doesn't look like it is going to get any better unless something changes; unless I stop digging. Oh, I could blame a variety of things besides myself, but I think it is time to stop blaming and digging and climb out of this hole. Is there really any other good choice? What happens if I just keep keeping on like this? Given time, this hole I am digging for myself could change my identity, my own self-image, degrade my own self-respect. I could be buried in this hole.

Multisport has been chosen as my lifestyle, and though it wears me out at times, I love all that goes with it. I am not ready to change identities. It is what I am called for and who I am called to be. So, throwing this shovel down, and climbing out of this hole into the light again.

Wading Ashore/Going Home

Wading ashore, I was exhilarated. The first leg of my half-ironman distance event complete; no problems. I thought of my brother-in-law, fighting cancer and thought to myself, "Johnny, I wish you could see this, feel this." The event was being done in his honor, and it just felt right to wish he were there.

Midway on the bike course on a long uphill spiral, I thought how much this part of the road was like his struggle: long, uphill, lots of turns and switchbacks. When I reached the top, I thought to myself, "This is what I want for you, brother-in-law."

Late on the bike, on a tree shrouded lane, the autumn sun shot beams through the brown tree tops down upon the road. It was beautiful, a beautiful place to be. And I wished Johnny could have been there at that moment to see, revel in the moment, and appreciate.

Despite any honoring I may have done, it made no difference to cancer. Johnny went to meet God about 10:17 AM today. But --- maybe now, Johnny CAN see and appreciate what I could not share with him? Maybe now, he can feel the exuberance of being cancer free, and wading ashore home? Maybe now, he has reached the top of the long spiral climb on his course? And, maybe now, he can feel the blessing and beauty of the tree shrouded road, and see the Son beaming through to rest upon him.

Perhaps he now sees the beauty, and feels the joy I would have liked to have shown and shared with him. It makes me smile when I think he is probably saying, "Marv, all that was really great, and really pretty. But, wait until you get here. You ain't seen nothing yet."

Fluid Power

When it works right, it is like a well oiled machine, only better. When it all comes together, there is something in the fluid integration of the body, that makes me smile. It has been felt in shooting baskets, in the perfect swing of a baseball bat, the perfect golf swing.

Today, I did a 61 mile bike tour on the rolling hills in and around the national forest near Huntsville, Texas. It went really well, validated my training and peaked my motivation for more. There were times during this ride that it all seemed to flow together in the pedal stroke; it was smooth, coordinated and complete. My legs seemed to be on auto-pilot, during these times, as if it knew what to do all along, if freed to be itself. And in riding in the wind with this fluid power going for me today, I felt especially blessed, and freed. It seems sometimes that training isn't about becoming as much as it revealing what is already there.

Dawning Moments

It is not going well with my brother-in-law. The cancer treatments have stopped and life is a downward horrific spiral for he and his family. Every day, it seems to be something worse.

The updates have had a sobering effect on my own life. Every day, every moment seems more precious. Petty problems get less attention. It is so much easier to forgive, pick up. and move on.

The ability to swim, bike and run seem so much more a blessing. To be torn down, worn out from a tough workout: how wonderful ! Today, this moment, I have ability, opportunity, and the good sense to realize the value of it . The moments seem to slow like the illumination of the morning; to be fully absorbed, and in the face of the end of it all, is the beauty of dawning moments taken inside: stairsteps to eternity.

"Only that day dawns but to which we are awake. There is more day to dawn."

Henry David Thoreau

If I Want Doors To Open

"If you want your boomerang to come back, first you've got to throw it." If I want doors to open, I must first turn the doorknob.

This idea is not original with me, but a pearl gleaned from being a follower of a blog called The Doorknob Chronicles. http://thedoorknobchronicles.blogspot.com/ Thank you Steven.

Getting out the door is that first step to overcoming procrastination, lack of commitment, love of creature comfort. I have found that life is nothing like going into a supermarket with automatic doors. In my own life I have found that anything truly of value comes from turning the doorknob, and opening the door for myself. Can it be said that the door to the outside of ourselves is the barrier that appears to keep us safe, but in reality keeps us hostage to our lesser selves? The door we hide behind just might be to our jail cell.

That first step outside just might challenge me to overcome; to be all God would grow me to; and it begins with turning the doorknob, and passing over the threshold of my fears and weaknesses to be brave upon the world I was created for.

Exhilarating Excess

Taken too far: legs have no snap and feel they have the strength and consistency of Jello. Fatigue slumps my shoulders, shuffles my walk, postpones my runs. Yeah, did it again: too much.

The "hair on fire" gleam in my eye eventually leads to some degree of overtraining. This week I try to get my stuff back. Invariably, when I tell folks this, they say something like, "you're not getting any younger, you know. You need to practice moderation." Right ! Whatever ! You don't have to practice moderation. To me, it is sort of a fearful gravity pulling one toward burying life to keep from losing it.

But the truth is: I had a great run of it, getting tore down; had a great time. Will I do it again? Just as soon a I get over the last time. "The going up was worth the coming down."

"Excess, upon occasion, can be exhilarating, because it prevents moderation from acquiring the deadening effect of a habit."

Somerset Maugham

How Old Would You Be If You Let Go

A story goes that a young boy asked his grandma how old she was. She answered, "39 and holding." He thought for a moment and said, "Well then, how old would you be if you let go?"

How old would I be if I let go: if I took to heart every time someone said, "pretty good for someone your age," or if I believe the "take it easy" scripts society seems to have written for folks my age, or if I exercise all the horrendous caution it seems I am supposed to have about doing things. I got this much figured out: you only die once. So, why die to day after day beforehand, letting go, trying to put off that one day that is going to happen anyway?

Yeah, I am 39 and holding; ain't letting go: that's my story and I am sticking to it.

Pushing My Rock

It is fading in the mist. Various considerations are being stacked against my goal event. Eight weeks into training and fruit seems to be drying the vine, unpicked. This has happened before while training for other events with consequent episodes of despondency. This time, there is very little. Seems as if I went into this on the chance - slight chance - that it might work out. I wasn't picked to win this one anyway.

So now, there is nothing left to do but go get lots of unhealthy snacks and inebriating beverages, crank back the recliner, limber up the remote, and slump into couch potatoeism (a new word??)

Doesn't even sound like fun. Besides, I don't even have television here. No, this training is too much fun in its own right, for its own sake to quit now. I have always felt like I have been called to push against this rock, not necessarily to move it. So, I will keep pushing against the rock God gave me, and the pushing will keep me strong; ready for the event He has in store.

The Best I Want To

"Are they really doing the best that they can?"
"Yes, I guess so."
"Or, are they doing the best that they want to?"

Sometimes the answer is pretty obvious in observing others, but turned inward, the question is confrontational, demanding that I either ignore it, or explore the possible self-revelation. Am I really training the "best" that I can, or the best that I want to? When it gets to the event and "dig-down" time will I have experience in going past "want to" to get me to the" best I can?"

And in life, in dealing with, in caring for others, how am I doing? Am I just getting to "want to" in my relationships, and not doing the hard work of relationship, to get to my "best."

Time to go get my training in and meet that decision on the road, and on the road of life:
"Am I really doing the best I can or only the best I want to?"

The Sum of My Days

Hard to believe ! What a journey this has been, indeed ! Some time ago I embarked on a project to write a piece on all the things, or adventures, I have had in my life. In doing so, I find that the training for triathlons is just the latest in journeys. It is not an original. The big question is: how did I survive all that?

Another question is: why am I writing all this down into a collection? Who knows for sure? But I so enjoy reliving all those miles of this journey called life. And, sometime right down the road, when I have nothing left but time to reflect, I can still read these stories and get a smile. Even now there is a certain satisfaction reading this stuff, and seeing, and knowing, that the sum of my days, my years, is not as great as the sum of my life.

Preparing for the Fatigue Storm

Am I intoxicated? I think so - (TIS) Training Intoxication Syndrome. Somewhere in all this, my training hit a stride, volume ramped up, and I seem to be carried along by it. The energy level is good. Mental acuity is fine...well, as good as it can be - has ever been. This won't last though. Today I woke at 2:20 AM and could not go back to sleep - ready for daylight and the training day. This mental thing will carry me only so far before the crash. Then it will be hangover time. I have been in the eye of a storm, and this feels something like it. Just a few more days, then transition - a little backing off, taking in the lawn chairs, boarding the windows, and preparing for the fatigue storm.

I Am Dad

What is my son going to think when I get older, and my athletic performance drops dramatically? Right now, I believe he sees me athletically, as someone he has to work to keep up with on the bike. His vision of me is of one who is capable: I am dad. He hasn't got there in his thinking yet, that I am aging up.

I can just see the future. We are on a bike ride and taking a big hill. He looks back when I can't keep up and says, "What's wrong, dad?"

"I don't know. Maybe being 96 has something to do with it, but I am not sure."
Maybe I haven't got there yet in this aging up business either?

I Can!

Just done ! After doing indoor bike workouts for the last several days (cold weather) I just don't have much left in my legs. This feel is reminiscent of my finish at the olympic distance triathlon (Wool Capital Triathlon) in San Angelo, Texas in August. The 6.2 mile run of this event is mostly over the aptly termed, Dirt Road From Hell. The picture is how I looked after finishing. That is sort of how I feel, today.

So, am I ready for all this? Am I sure? Perhaps, I am just too old and have too many miles on the odometer to keep this training up, and do another half ironman distance event?

Perhaps.

But, perhaps, this is simply an acquired lethargy from too many easy days inside? Perhaps, this is the mental/personal game being played out here that I must win, or hang up my spandex for good. Perhaps, there is still fire buried in the ashes-fire waiting for the winds of commitment and determination to blow the coals to flame? I can! That is what I chose to believe and what I believe about myself. There is no other good option.

A Good Day

With the downturn in my brother-in-law's fight with cancer, every now and then, he has what is called a "good day." It might be a day with a few confusionless hours, or a day when he eats something, or is not as restless.

Lately,with all the cold, the ice, the snow, every now and then we have a "good day." This past Sunday, it was warm enough for my son and I to go on a road ride. Ah, how great that was, soaring down the hills on our bikes, the woods and streams, the air, the sunshine, the feel of liberation in my body.

It was a special day, a special time, possessing a vividness, an intensity, that I don't remember a day having in a while. The cold weather and the indoor confinement have ramped up my appreciation, I supposed-perhaps only partly so.

There has been much sadnesss over the past few weeks, and I have taking in all of my brother-in-law's reports. Few are the "good days." However, for all cancer has taken from him, it has given me a heightened appreciation for each and every moment, in foul weather and in fair. Life, health, and capability are precious. They are priceless and I want to treat these "good days" like the precious, priceless gifts they are.

A Prayer for Stray-Dog Hungry

Missing a few meals in earlier days made me hungry enough to eat, and now enjoy, all kinds of different foods. It wasn't that much fun at the time, and being hungry made me determine, like Scarlet O'Hara, that I wasn't going to poor and hungry again. However, being hungry - passionately hungry - seems to turn life loose to take on a vivid intensity, that merely being ready for dinner does not afford.

I was hungry to complete that half ironman distance event last year, and now my fear is: I won't sustain that gnawing hunger I had before that event. So my prayer won't be to be stronger, faster, more enduring through this training. No - I will pray, "Lord make me stray-dog hungry." The stronger, faster, enduring, will come in the package with the answered prayer for hungry.

Ageless and Cageless-Freedom in the Snow

Get me out of here"! Snow is on the ground and I have read until my eyes watered, written a couple pens dry, and ran the battery down a few times in my laptop. "I feel the need for speed"! Snow is still falling. It is frozen outside, and I am thinking how much I admire those triathletes who live in a more northern climate. How often must they look beyond the cold and snow, and be compelled by a warmer vision of the approaching season?

But the cold, bleak days come with learning too. Incarceration has reminded me of what I have already known and accepted: I am not a parlor animal. Without activity, without the outdoors, without a challenge, however meaningless, I will die to who I am.

As a boy in the city, I just had to trap a sparrow, just to see this wild creature up close and hold it. So, I did. I marveled at the complexity of the colors and the texture of the feathers, while the terrified bird's eyes darted back and forth, only knowing it was helplessly incarcerated by this larger animal. I put the sparrow in a cage, and went on to school. Upon returning home, I found the bird stiff and very dead. If the bird would have just tamed up, I would have fed and watered it in that cage from then on. It would not have to do much but just hop around within the cage and get fat. Why did it have to die?

Several years ago I went to a funeral and at the funeral home, I started listening to a group of men (some about my age, some older, some a little younger) talking about their ailments. They were pale, indoor-ish looking men, with spindly legs, thin arms, callous-less hands, and large distended torsos. They were all sharing their medications, operations, ailments, and the treatments they were on. They sounded like a surrendering army.

That was close to the time I had begun doing triathlons, and I can distinctly remember saying to myself: I will never, ever, be one of those men, no matter hold old or sick I get. I will not consent to a life of just hopping around in my cage; fed and watered. I guess I would rather die in my cage on the first day.

Giving What We Want From Others

"What is the nicest thing someone could do for you today? Then go do it for someone."
Perhaps, I should. Why not today?

I live in an area that isn't that much into multi-sport. Seldom do I mention what I love to do to others. When I do their reaction is often a blank stare that can often precede falling asleep.

So today, I would like to be listened to. That is what I want. I would like someone to seriously, actively listen, as I blabber on and on in excitement about my training, possible events, goals, dreams, bikes, courses, and so on. That is what I would like and that is what I need to give. So, today, I will actively listen to someone else, whether I am initially interested in their what they want to talk about or not. Today, I would like to be listened to someone, like I would love to be listened to myself.

And perhaps, in stepping inside someone else and stepping outside myself, I will grow, and gain more from the giving attention than the receiving? Like the words of an old John Denver song: "exactly where it's coming from is where it's going to." The song is talking about love, and I guess I am too. Jesus calls us to love our neighbors as ourselves. Perhaps it is an act of obedience to love someone enough to really listen to them?

Being listened to is so close to being loved that most people can't tell the difference.
David Augsburger

Making a Difference --- or Not

Perhaps, I thought I could make a difference in his fight with cancer. My half ironman distance effort was dedicated to John (my brother-in-law). He got the race shirt, the 1st place age group trophy, and the quilt my wife made. In addition, there was a ton of prayers offered in his behalf. He was moved by it all and bravely faced his treatments.

Now things have taken a downturn and all the good intentions, the high hopes, seem dashed against the rocks of reality. It was my toughest race, my hardest effort, my most fervent prayers, and yet nothing seems changed except for the worse.

Doubtful I will ever understand. Nevertheless, there is no other good choice other than to keep on praying, keep on running my race, holding John close to my heart; believing that love can make a difference, love can span the distance heart to heart, and between this world and the other.

The Perfect Start

I am playing way above my head-Every workout of this training plan, every day-perfect, not a day or workout missed. Three weeks now and still on track. It has sort of grown, and taken a life of its own. I remember the first day; I had to run at night in the cold to get that run in.

The regimen seems easier, since it has become part of the day, and again, part of my life. Sure, I will miss workouts sooner or later. I will have bad patches. But a homing habit is being built in these early weeks, which, when I fall, will take me back to the plan.

At the same time, it seems that other parts of life are beginning to achieve a certain clarity they did not posses before. I seem to be training new eyes with which to sift out the day to determine what truly matters.

I have been here before. At the end of the sifting, at end of the event I am training for, I will find myself left only with the love of my wife, my family, my friends, and a deeper love and relationship with God. It doesn't sound like much, but it more than enough, and all I will ever need.

Thank God for training days!

Being the Turtle Man

"You're the turtle man!" the runner at the post-race activities said.
"What?"
The man introduced himself and began to tell a story of another 10k race several years ago, in which he had been trying catch me for quite a while. We had come upon a turtle right in the middle of the racecourse. Halfway across the road the turtle had retreated inside its shell while runners sidestepped or jumped the hapless turtle. The man went on to tell that I stopped, picked up the turtle, and put it on the side of the road. He seemed so impressed that I would stop my race to remove that turtle-and possible road hazard-from the racecourse. 

It was a surprise to me that he had remembered all that. At the time, I guess I supposed thought everyone was totally into their own race and had paid no attention. I was wrong.

This incident brings to mind something more.  It vividly reminded me that we are witnesses in all we do whether we realize it or not. We are ambassadors for what we profess, what we hold dear, and for Who, and what we stand for. We may be the only Christian witness some ever see and take note of.  

And if they know we are professing Christians, folks will be watching us; without us realizing it.  Folks are following us-to see what we do with the turtles on our course.  May we be found faithful.

"Rising Against the Wind"

My hat's in the ring for another half ironman distance event. I have heard this is a tough one http://www.buffalospringslaketriathlon.com/bslt.php# , but it is also one that I can qualify for the Ironman World Championship at Kona or the Ironman 70.3 Championship in Las Vegas.

Usually, there are not many participants in my age group. Maybe, I thought, I can win a war of attrition here and qualify for something? Check the participant list: 9 other men in my age group have already signed up. My goodness ! Check the names against last years rankings...Yikes ! Some of these guys are really good. One did a half ironman distance event two hours faster than I did last year. That is a lot of time to make up. Looks like qualifying chances are pretty slim.

So why am I so pumped up about it? It is just what I needed to hear. Now, I know that during my training all this will come back at me, and I will push just a little harder, a little longer. I love being the underdog. Against all odds has a wonderful ring to it that fires my imagination, and enhances the whole experience; training and event. Oh sure, It would be nice if I had just a tad of talent, but I don't. It would be nice if I were a razor thin, light weight with thunder thighs, but I'm not. So, plodders like me have to try harder, work harder. That's what underdogs do.

"A certain amount of opposition can be of great help to a man- Kites rise against, not with the wind." John Neal

This Triathlete's Prayer

Standing at the edge of the lake, waiting for the event, the day, and the remainder of my life to begin.  I humbly ask your blessing for Your plans and purposes to be fulfilled in all that lies before me. May I fear not to enter the waters cold, or to climb the steep hills of this course or the course of this life. Help me to remember that I am "beautifully and wonderfully" made, and you have placed all I need within me. Give me courage to step out in faith: to try more, to risk more, to care more, to be more than I am now, that I may grow toward all you would have me be.

And when I push beyond myself; when my steps grow weary toward despair, continue to carry me on, that I might finish this race with grateful humility.

In Jesus' Name---Amen

The Flame on My Shoulder: the Dream in My Heart

I was at a loss. No plans for the coming year? Unheard of for me. What will be the next challenge? Didn't have an answer. The flame had not lit upon my shoulder. There was nothing left but to be still, pray, and wait for direction. All kinds of options were entertained. Quitting endurance sports altogether was on the table. Maybe, age and circumstances should be considered? Maybe I should become a person who does regular things for someone my age? Perhaps, I should invest my time and life force into some good cause and organizations, and not drain myself down this year with this training thing?

Then I remembered that time my grand daughter was on my lap and I had a triathlon race shirt on. She pointed to the figures on the shirt that were swimming, biking, and running and said, "that's you Poppy."

Yes, that's me, indelibly me. The wisdom of a child brought me to realize that planning for the year was essentially: who do I want to be? Who I want to be will determine what I wish to do.

Ultimately, I want to be an ironman, and I want to continue this journey toward it. When I get to the point of absolutely can't, there will be plenty of of time to do regular things and be "normal." From those thoughts, evolved the plans for 2011. Ultimately I want my grand daughter to see my photo finish at an ironman distance event and say, "That's you Poppy." Yes, God willing, that will be me.

For 2011:
CB & I Triathlon http://www.thewoodlandstownship-tx.gov/index.aspx?NID=306

Buffalo Spring Half Ironman June 26th. http://www.buffalospringslaketriathlon.com/bslt.php#

Worthy of the Rescue

Several years ago, I flipped my vehicle and it caught on fire. By the Grace of God, a back window just happened to be down, and I managed to escape the flames. After crawling out of the vehicle, I turned to go back, to try to reach inside to get my planner, but the flames were already consuming the interior of the vehicle. All my plans and contacts were ashes.

There was a heightened awareness brought about through that encounter, and the direction of life changed. As we enter a new year, and I reflect on that incident, I find a certain peace with knowing that no matter who I think myself to be, or what wonderful plans I have, or how organized I can get with my planning, it can all be ashes in a moment. I keep this photo on my wall, lest I forget that God saved me out for some reason, and in 2o11 I want to be found worthy of the rescue.