What If I Don't Finish

There is a half marathon that has been on my bucket list for the past several years.  Yes folks, there is a half marathon that starts and ends at a covered bridge!  Can you put any other two things together so perfectly?  The only problem ~ it's like over four hours away and the race starts at 7:00 a.m.

I'm sure there's not any great bling or swag or anything over the top flashy like the big Minneapolis and DesMoines races have for their eight thousand plus runners that they have register.  But irregardless, I have been thinking and talking about this forever it seems.  The thought of combining my love of all things covered bridge and my odd current obsession with health and running ... yeah, no words :-)

Last year I wasn't able to make it work, it's just too far away.  This year has not been looking favorable either.  I've gone back and forth in my mind if I'd be able to get up at 2:30 a.m., drive myself there, run it, take a ton of selfies, and then drive right back.  Sneak in, sneak out, all by myself.  With my driving skills and knowing how sore my hips are going to be after, I'm pretty sure this is not the best option to try tackle... at least for the half marathon distance.  They do also have a 5K and 10K option.  Perhaps I could just do the 10K since I'd be low on sleep and maybe not quite as sore driving home.  10K.  Yes... half the distance, half the training needed, half the time... but would it then only get half a check mark on thee 'ol bucket list as well? Would I walk away at the end disappointed in myself that I didn't do the half? (Yes, my brain is indeed neurotic, I know [insert eye roll]).

If I'm honest, I also have a secret wish that the hubs would join me just once at a big race I'm doing.  He's come to a few of the small local ones I've done, but he's never gotten to see me at the finish of any of my bigger, longer distance races.  Don't get me wrong, it's actually ok - because he's allowed me to go away for a moms weekend away twice now for a run, and a massage, and just some time away and off the mom clock. :-) #bonus #greatestgiftever.  But sometime I would just really like him to take in just a little bit of this crazy thing that I've come to love doing.

I recently trained and completed the Minneapolis Hot Chocolate 15K (in a blizzard non-the-less) and I've found myself not signed up for anything big until October.  I'm not officially training for anything, and I unexpectedly am in the middle of a huge job transition.  Not training and being in transition aren't bad things, but bookended together, and well ~ I could very easily see myself off track, off course, tired, exhausted, emotionally eating, and just get lost again in my life and health journey.

I did not come this far to only come this far.

Three nights ago I found myself google searching and talking about that covered bridge race again.  I looked through prior year photos and stats, I looked at registration fees and options, I looked... I dreamed... and decided that I really should just sign up and make it happen.  We have no guarantees on our tomorrows.  I may not have the opportunity next year if I don't do it this year.

The following morning I received a text from the hubs.  He said he would drive me to the race but I had to sign up for the half marathon, not the 10K.  Go big or go home.  No regrets.

In that moment, as I read the words on the phone in my hand, the permission granting me two major things I've been talking about forever - signing up for the covered bridge half AND having the hubs along to watch me finish, and suddenly my heart and mind collided.  I suddenly found myself afraid to actually sign up for it.

As I type, I still haven't officially registered for the race.  I have called their small local hotel and reserved a room with a late check in request.  (It's less than $60 a night, if that give you any indication as to what kind of hotel it is ~LOL).  I have also printed out monthly calendars through October and filled out my training schedule all the way to the date of the covered bridge race in June, attempting to best shift my workouts to the days that will hopefully work best in my new job schedule.

So, why the hesitation all of the sudden?   I think it's bucket list fear.

This "little" half marathon has been on that really big bucket list of mine for a long time.  I've thought and talked about it for so long, that now that it is finally almost within reach, I'm afraid that I won't be able to actually do it.  Registering for the 10K would be a safer, shorter distance to train for and run the day of.  Safer.  The possibility of crossing the finish line has an easier and greater achievement possibility in my mind than the half marathon. Easier.  What if after all this time, and after all the training I'm hopefully going to be able to have put in, what if I start and can't finish?

What if I can't even make it through all the training and I can't even run it at all? What if I finally get my hubs there to watch and he doesn't get to see me actually finish, and instead has to come find me and pick me up somewhere part way through the route?  What if I drive all the way there, and have to drive all the way back afterwards a failure?  No finish time, no race stats online, no metal around my neck. What if...

And for the millionth time, I have to shake my head and tell myself "Sara, it doesn't really matter!" None of this really matters to anyone but you, and I have no idea why it matters so much to me to begin with.  For some reason satan has found his way into my mind and over and over again filled me with the irrational reality that I am not enough, and never will be.  But I am... I am enough, have I not already proven that over and over again over the last forty-three years?

Why is it so hard to accept and love myself as I am, as God intended me to be?

Hmmmmm, human nature, filled with it's insecurities and sin and moments of weakness, all things attempting to merely keep us from trying, from believing, from overcoming, from accomplishing.  They try hinder, and hide, and hold us back.  They diminish our bravery and limit our strength and perseverance.

We need to not listen to the lies in our heads, we need to listen to the loves and desires driving us forward in our hearts, propelling us upward and outward through our very souls. We need to not let the fear of possible failure keep us from fully grasping the desire to even go out and try. Ahhh, all of this is so much easier said than done, oh I know.  We just have to keep reminding ourselves over and over again that we are enough, we are worth it... and even if we don't finish something we've started ~ we are not failures!

I'm reminded of a song in my running playlist... Listen To Your Heart by Roxette

Sometimes you wonder if this fight is worthwhile.
The precious moments are all lost in the tide, yea.
They're swept away and nothing is what is seems,
The feeling of belonging to your dreams.
Listen to your heart...

Listen to your heart and let your dreams drive you to start, to try, to train, to change, to grow... to accomplish!

Previous blog post { Eve of Double Digits } here

Next blog post {Feeling Lost} here

The Eve of Double Digits

Tomorrow when we wake up our guy will be ten years old.  Double digits.  3,650 day of life already lived. Wow, I admit I am having a bit of a hard time wrapping my mind around that reality.

I realize I don't post a lot about our youngest middle child, and it's not that I'm not crazy about him and I'm not out of this world proud of him... it isn't anything like that.  But here's the deal - he is adopted, and that ultimately is his story to tell, not mine, and there are parts of his story that we don't even even all know yet, or may ever know.  And it's my job to honor that, protect that, and help him best process and live that all in a time frame, way, and manner best suited for him.

I decided long ago that that curtain is a little more closed and a lot more protected than most of the other parts of my life, which I do openly write and share about often. This part of my life is often hard, jaded, and jagged.  The good that is there, is often surrounded by hard and ugly.  I have to be on, I have to be my best me possible at all times.  It's a struggle, a challenge, and a blessing.  I cannot have babies of my own, and someone else choose me, choose our family, and gently handed over her crying baby, her own DNA coursing through him, into my arms as the tears streamed down her cheeks.  In that moment, she allowed me to become a mom, and the strength and sacrifice of that woman changed the trajectory of my life, my family's life, that child's life forever.  There will never be words that can fully and properly express and encompass that reality.

But that day, that moment of placement also wasn't the final chapter to our adoption story.  That was only the very very beginning.  Adoption does not end at placement... adoption does not end when you drive away from the hospital or adoption agency. There is a lifetime of ups and downs just beginning on that emotional day.

Yes, we brought him home from the hospital, yes our home was the home he was brought home to first... but that does not change that my womb was not where he spent the first nine months of his life.  His first 270 days of life were within the secret and sacred recesses of his birthmom.  He had a bond to her physically and mentally, he was entirely dependent on her and her choices.  He would suffer grief and loss after being placed in my arms.  He would deal with attachment issues amid a myriad of other causalities that he would be affected by and need to process and work through, both good and bad, through the remainder of his days. All adoption is bittersweet, as all adoption comes through some form of loss.

Ten year ago today we were in the peak emotional stages of waiting, of wondering, of worrying.  Ten years ago today we knew there was a mother in labor, soon to give birth to a baby boy, and we knew that both of our worlds potentially were at the precipice of great change.

Ten years ago.  Double digits.  3,530 days ago.

The last ten years have been a wild ride for me.  An intense game of life - extreme highs and lows, ups and downs, trials and rewards.  Of trying to get ahead while simply always being five steps behind, of never knowing what to expect, of never knowing what was going to be thrown at us next, of never knowing how deep and wide and endless a love and bond could be with a child who does in fact not have any of your own DNA coursing through him.  And yet, he is mine.  He is very much mine, ours... and the intensity of the mama bear that comes out from within me sometimes when that is challenged or he needs protecting almost scares me.

With his aging of course comes my own aging, and the progression of my own journey, my own story.  Ten years ago today I went home from lunch from the corporate america job I was at, received a message our birthmom was in labor, and I decided not to go back to work that afternoon.  I called in sick the following days as we waited and wondered what was going to become of this grand tale that was basically falling apart in front of us, unraveling at a pace we couldn't keep up with or process completely.  Days later, official papers finally became signed, and in time the ticking hours closed and the timetable for change was officially over.

My intent never was to not return to work, but as I was on my unpaid leave I found myself increasingly overwhelmed and weary as we worked to adjust to life with this colicky fussy crying little one now in our lives.  In time it was quite clear that I needed to at least attempt to stay home for a while with him...  I said goodbye to my corporate america job that I'd had for fifteen years.  I launched into motherhood and a small cake decorating business now turned full time with gusto and desperation.

After five years we would enroll him in kindergarten and God would open a door at our church to join the staff as a part time Communications Manager.  In time I would add on the responsibilities of Facility Manager as well.  During that time my husband would have major back surgery, we would lose Faith, my husband would start his own business, and our oldest would head to college, move out, and enter into adulthood.  We found a campground we fell in love with, invested in a new camper, and unexpectedly found a community of friends who would surround us with love and support like we had never known before.

And now on the eve of this not-so-little ones double digit birthday, almost ten years to the day later, I find God has granted me yet another unexpected opportunity to return to that corporate america job back into that same quirky and gloriously loyal and talented art dept.  It was a whisper I wasn't expecting to hear, but one that I did decide to faithfully at least be open to listening to.

Ten years, minus two days I walked back into the building, back up to the third floor, around the corner into the art department.  Home... it was almost like returning home, and I couldn't help but smile.  So much had changed, while so much had stayed the same.  So much in my life had changed, so much in the life of the company had changed, and yet...  it all still felt so natural and so good to return to.

I'm always a little sappy and nostalgic on days like these... remembering the waiting and the wondering and the emotions of all that went along with the adoption process - the two years of waiting to be chosen, the days and days of waiting after he was born and not sure what would actually happen, the emotions of seeing him for the first time, holding him, having him placed in my arms, attempting to thank a woman for this gift of life, gift of motherhood, gift of family.  Remembering the days and months that followed and the transitions that would also follow...

And of course we would be full circle ten years later - that is just exactly how God works isn't it?  I look over as he sleeps snuggled on his dads pillow next to me, his dear dear blankie wrapped around his neck, his energy and anxieties all resting soundlessly.  I smile at the life I've been given, the gifts I've been blessed with... the story and journey granted to me.  Life has not always been easy, and will continue to be filled with rocky bumpy roads, I have no doubt.  But if given the chance, I would not change a thing.  Every day, every situation, every loss, every gain, every celebration, every moment is a building block in the staircase of my life.  Ever so slowly I am continuing to climb higher and higher, closer and closer to my final day when I will finally say my earthly farewells and turn and take one last step upward ... right into Heaven.

Of course I don't hope this final step is any time soon, but I am grateful for the firm foundation beneath me, the ever growing staircase my journey is building, bringing me higher and higher, closer and closer.

It's easy to get lost in the day-to-day.  I'm guilty of it myself, almost every single day in fact.  Which is why again I am so grateful for these big moments like this one, to give me time to pause, reflect, remember, rejoice and simply give thanks.  

Double digits little man - wow!  I sure am glad it is our family you've gotten to spend the last 3,648 days with!  And I can't wait to see what the next 3,648 will all bring us!

{ Previous blog post "Grace Race" HERE. }

{ Next blog post "What If I Don't Finish?" HERE }

Grace Race

It’s April, in Iowa. We are in a blizzard warning. Our third winter storm this month.

Months ago my friend and I excitedly signed up for a 15K spring race. We began training, both looking forward to warmer spring weather, excited for race day, sure it would filled with sun and spring and fun.

Fast forward several months and suddenly it’s race week, and as I look at the forecast there is snow… lots of snow… and wind… really strong wind… and cold cold temperatures (and I do not run outside if it's under 52º and no wind). My anxiety starts to rise, and I allow it to start to consume me. 

I start to worry about traveling conditions getting there. I start to obsess over my performance. I am already feeling unprepared and undertrained going in. I haven’t done much outdoor running because the weather has been so cold for so long this spring. Even through I always say I never really have a finish goal time - deep inside of course I know I do.  Truth be told, I’ve set my race day goal weight and my goal race finish time long ago. Without wind and snow I was already worrying about not achieving this secret inner goal (because of course I’m not really a “real” runner) - add a forecast that belongs in mid January and not mid April, and it’s leaving me stewing in a recipe for absolutely self sabotage and falling apart.

As my anxiety rises, so does my reality and angst at myself because I know better than to place my identity on a starting number on a scale and an ending number on my garmin gps watch. I know I know better, and yet here I am completely flailing around amid an inner drama over things I’m not in control of.

Things I am not in control over. 

The very core to the entire issue. Control. Performance. Perfection. Those things I have spent my entire life battling for, chasing after, racing towards, and never reaching, never winning, never actually accomplishing. 

Never enough. I am never enough - at least for myself I have never allowed myself to be enough. I try with manic obsession to try control everything I can within me - my willpower, my strength, my determination, my performance. And when I’m grappling with failing that which I’ve been working so hard to achieve (because of course I’m actually not in control of any of that), mix in that which I know I have absolutely no control over - such as the weather, the wind, the elevation and terrain of the running course, and the seven thousand other runners registered that will be surrounding me (have I mentioned I’m an introvert, get sightly claustrophobic in large crowds, and don’t actually consider myself to be an athlete)… It is all starting to become a tornado-like force of flying debris and shrapnel within me.

I begin to wonder if I need to start looking for a paper bag to do some deep breathing into.

As I sat there attempting to corral the utter chaos within me, a silent voice simply whispered… “It doesn’t matter.” I doesn’t matter ~ I know it doesn’t. It doesn’t matter to anyone, but myself. No on else really cares if I run or walk the entire course. No one really cares if I weigh in heavier that I want, or finish slower than I want. It doesn’t matter to anyone, but myself. Yes, I have people in my life who love and support me and want the best for me - but they are not the ones placing the expectations that I have set for myself within my own mind. They are there to love me and support me and celebrate me - no matter how I do, how I finish, or if I even finish at all. They love me for who I am, not for what I achieve. Why do I have such a hard time granting this same thing to myself? 

I need to let it go… and for some reason that can just be so hard. I need to let. it. go. 

Grace Race.

I breathe in and close my eyes. Grace Race. I need to allow this to simply be a grace race. A race that I allow whatever happens to just… happen. I need to allow myself the grace to open my tightly clinched fists and let it go - all of it. The expectations, the hopes, the goals, the validation, the obsession, the perfection… I am not in control of any of this, and wrestling with myself like I am is only causing angst... no peace, no joy, no excitement.

I read my devotions.

Acts 3:
2 “Now a man who was lame from birth was being carried to the temple gate called Beautiful, where he was put every day to beg from those going into the temple courts. 3 When he saw Peter and John about to enter, he asked them for money. 4 Peter looked straight at him, as did John. Then Peter said, “Look at us!” 5 So the man gave them his attention, expecting to get something from them.

6 Then Peter said, “Silver or gold I do not have, but what I do have I give you. In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, walk.” 7 Taking him by the right hand, he helped him up, and instantly the man’s feet and ankles became strong. 8 He jumped to his feet and began to walk. Then he went with them into the temple courts, walking and jumping, and praising God. 9 When all the people saw him walking and praising God, 10 they recognized him as the same man who used to sit begging at the temple gate called Beautiful, and they were filled with wonder and amazement at what had happened to him.”

I’ve heard this story so many times before. And yet I sat there, still, and silent. “Walking, and jumping, and praising God.” And I thought of that season three years ago when I was sick, and even as I think of those moments in bed, of being so tired and worn and utterly broken - and I’m struck with the reality of how little a time that actually was. I was not born lame and unable to walk. I was not in an accident and confined to a wheelchair for the last twenty-eight years of my life. I was merely inconvenienced for a short time, with a very brief taste of a sickness in need of healing. I carried a sick child which needed healing, which was not granted, but in time, my physical healing was granted. My body did slowly begin to heal, my soul slowly did begin to mend and mold into something different, something better, something greater I could have imagined.

I have been again granted the great ability to walk, and jump, and praise God. And run… I was granted a desire to not just walk - but to run. To train, to become healthier, stronger, wiser, both inside and out. I realize I am far far from fully healed, but God absolutely has granted me a gift of “more.” I got the gift of being given a second chance - more grace, more hope, more love, more time to live and share and witness.  And here I am fretting over a frivolous pace in a silly little race.  Humbling.

Acts 3
16 "By faith in the name of Jesus, this man whom you see and know was made strong. It is Jesus’ name and the faith that comes through him that has completely healed him… "

It was my faith in Jesus, finally found through the loss of our Faith MaryJo, that finally began to give me strength and healing. Physical strength, mental strength, spiritual strength.

And that is one of the large reasons I began to run, began to sign up and train for an occasional race now and again, because I could. Because I could and it was a small way to show my gratitude and honor and praise to God through it.

So, here it is race week, and things are spiraling out of my control. Things which really never were even in my control to begin with, but satan merely keeps whispering that in fact they are… while helping me feel lost in my own worth, and my own expectations, when that is not actually the case. But I’m addicted to his lies, his deceit, his ways of turning myself on myself and against God.  It has got to stop.

My body has been allowed, at least for this season, to know healing and health. I can breath, I can walk, and I can even run. My heart, and lungs, my mind and my will, my arms and my legs, my feet and my toes have been allowed this season to know strength and a little stamina. I am fully aware of the reality and the magnitude and significance of this.

It doesn’t matter if I run the entire race course. It doesn’t matter if I walk the entire race course. It doesn’t matter if I don’t even finish it, or start it for that matter. What does matter is that I recognize the gift I have been given, and not take it for granted. I need to remain true to the story and journey God has currently placed me on, for reasons entirely unknown to me, and I need to simply get up, and praise God at the temple gate called Beautiful.

And this week that “gate called Beautiful" will have the name of Allstate Hot Chocolate 15K, and I will go, and I will walk, and jump, and praise God… and I may even run.  And that Allstate Hot Chocolate race is sponsoring the Make A Wish Foundation - a percentage of all our registrations go to gift families with sick kiddos a fantastic gift of a trip together to a location of their wish.  And it also just so happens that my next door neighbors are leaving today to Florida with their daughter on her Make A Wish trip.  Those are the little things that become the big things, and one more reason to do this.

Yes, it's a running race, and I've tried to train to run it - but, I might not run it, I might allow myself the grace (and safety) to just walk. I have decided this is simply going to be a Grace Race. I will open my hands and let go of all fantom control I think I’m holding on to but actually not. I will give myself the grace to go in with zero expectations. I won’t weigh, I won’t count points, I won’t obsess about me vs everyone else also there, I won’t beat myself up anymore before, during, or after it.  I will get there and just go with it, let it all come what may.

Yes, this is going to be my Grace Race. Deep inside I know none of it honestly matters to anyone but me, and deep inside I also know I will not be any less, or any more, of a person if and when I cross the start and finish lines of this one particular moment in time. A moment in time I have been gifted and granted, through my faith and my healing, and I merely want to faithfully praise God and witness by joyfully arriving at the gate of Beautiful ready to walk, run, jump, and simply praise Him on high as gleefully and joy-filled as I possibly can.

Yes, may this be a Grace Race. Bring it on.  Bring on the memories, bring on the friendship, bring on a mom weekend away, bring on my praise and witness to the One who has granted me this gift.

{Previous Blog Post "Grit" HERE }

Grit

It was Easter this past Sunday. Three years ago on Easter Sunday we were days into our grief and loss journey with Faith. Two years ago on Easter Sunday we celebrated her first birth day. We had gone away that weekend for some time just as a family to mourn her and celebrate her.

Holidays are hard for me. Various reasons, various levels of hard. But holidays are hard for me.

Sunday was no different. I got myself up, I got myself ready, I got my family to church. We sat down and I looked up at the stage, the cross, the fellow staffers all doing their thing all around me, and I felt my throat constrict.  I felt the tears starting to burn, I felt my chest starting to tighten. The tears began to fall.

It had been a long week. A good week, a hard week, but a long week.

I had celebrated Faith and had completed my long run in her honor and memory. I had intentionally faced the memories, the emotions, the reality. I had purposely not let myself slip into numbing mode. I allowed the emotions, the feelings, the overwhelm to wash over me, prick me, poke me, hurt me, hold me, cradle me, overtake me.

It's so easy to build up that wall around us, to not allow ourselves to feel, to admit, to hurt, to ache, to have to really look within, reach into, delve deep. Life is easier when we can put on a pasty smile and say everything is good, everything is fine, everything is easy-peasy.

But that really doesn't make life easier in the long run, and life surely isn't easy-peasy. Running from ourselves, and our crazy, and our hurts is not always the best solution. It may be the easiest answer for a short amount of time, yes. But intentionally traveling through life being as in tune and as in touch with what you are really thinking, feeling, processing, dealing with, ultimately in the end is so much more rewarding, and gratifying, and healthy... not just for ourselves, but for all through around us.

As I sat in that pew on Sunday, my eyes blurry with tears and running mascara, I was grateful for that place, that moment, that reality.  I was grateful for the opportunity to get to come to work there every day, to get to work with the fellow staffers that I do every day. I was grateful that I chose to feel, chose to intentionally heal. And, frankly, I was physically and emotionally exhausted and left yet again spiritually confused.

Overall I know this journey we're on is for the greater good. God chose us for a reason, for a purpose. God gave us our Faith to help us find our faith, to help us grow, change, model, and share. But it's in defining moments and weeks like this one that there still that part of me that wants to know WHY?!? Why us, why our daughter, why God, why?!? I want to be angry, I want to harbor bitterness, I want to walk away from God and the church and not forgive, not feel, and simply forget. But I don't, I won't, I can't. But yes, there are days I still want to, I can't lie.

We traveled through the remainder of the day and the celebrations. The family, the food, the conversations, the laughter, and a few more tears. Overall it was a good day, a great day, an exhausting day. And as I climbed into bed that night my eyes hurt.

My eyes ached, burned, and I thought the words - "My eyes feel like sandpaper right now." And in my mind the imagery of sandpaper instantly led me to the word grit.

Grit is one of those words you rarely think about, and yet it's a word I really like.  Grit by definition is "small, loose particles of stone or sand." It's harsh, grating, irritating, annoying, exhausting, negative.

But that wasn't the grit I kept thinking about. I kept thinking about the other definition of grit "courage and resolve; strength of character."  And I couldn't help but connect and be in awe of how those two actually completely intertwine together within me. 

Every time I blinked my eyes burned, sandpaper under my eyelids from my day of crying.  My eyes hurt, they were irritated and harsh from a day, a week, a season of exhaustion, a season of intentionally not numbing when I most wanted too, when it would be most easy.  No, I chose to do something purposeful and hard, something I had to daily think about, daily train for, and eventually endure through.  I chose to celebrate the hard way, by feeling and experiencing fully, by not allowing myself to build up that wall and put on that fake smile.  It's ok to not be ok, and I also celebrated that very simply, yet huge concept this week, this bittersweet Faith week.

It's been a long journey, a heavy season of hard for me, but I have stood up time and again with courage and resolve, I have allowed myself to brush myself off over and over, building my strength of character rather than tearing me down and leaving me lost and alone.  

I do still fall down. I do still feel worthless and lost at times.  I do still struggle and hurt and question.  And the grit in my eyes from the tears that I've cried has also been the grit in my soul, in my heart, in my mind that is continuing to grow my courage, my resolve, my strength, my character, my passion, my perseverance.

Grit.  Hustle. Passion. Perseverance.  Grit.  Courage. Resolve. Strength.

Grit. Yes. Grit.  Get up girl and just keep doing the next right thing.  Grit.

{ Previous blog post "Run Mommy Run 25K" HERE }