There's no WE in RUNNING

Lately I've been thinking about how different people are. Not in the "man, she's really strange" different; rather, in the "he likes this and she prefers that" different. Just in personality and preferences alone, the range of diversity among people is staggering. Consider, for example, the vast contrasts between my husband and me: He loves all things meat (I'm convinced he'd order the beef-flavored ice cream if Ben and Jerry's happened to come out with one); I tend to stick with the green, leafy stuff. He thinks that merging into the lane of exiting traffic just prior to the lane's end helps with flow; I tend to be a bit more conservative and politely merge well ahead of time. He never takes things at face value and will question things to death until he understands; I accept things as they are without asking why.

And then there is the matter of sports. Kevin loves organized sports. Ultimate Frisbee, soccer, basketball, you name it: if it involves running with others and focusing your collective attention on a round, inanimate object, he'll play it. And, indeed, I can see why: the man is good. Quick, agile, and coordinated, he takes what could be considered a primitive, sweat-filled group activity and turns it into an art form. Okay, so the sweat is still there, and the sports he plays technically qualify as group activity, but you get the idea: he has a natural inclination and talent for team sports.

I, on the other hand, am not quite so gifted when it comes to throwing, kicking, or catching. Add a team full of people into the equation and you get a nervous, uncoordinated, relieved-to-sit-the-bench non-athlete. My saving grace is that running happens to be a solitudinous sport in which I am free to be as reclusive as I choose. The fact that I run on a one-person team (Go, Team Sara!) frees me to run whenever I want, wherever I want, as fast as I want, and as long as I want. Which is what running is about. Or so I thought.

Apparently there are other ideas about running. Last week I was talking to my sister-in-law, who made the outrageous claim that she prefers to run in (gasp!) GROUPS OF PEOPLE. I know! If you are anything like me, your first thought landed on one of two w's: either you thought weirdo! or you asked yourself why? Why on earth would anyone want to inconvenience themselves by planning their run around someone else's schedule, running faster or slower than they would ordinarily go, and forcing conversation during what should be a sacred time of silence, interrupted only by one's own exhalations and inhalations that mark a steady run? Does she not realize how much talking throws off your breathing?

Once I recovered enough from my shock to reflect on the reasons she might prefer running with others, I realized that my sister-in-law has got it right: she runs with people in order to experience community. Community can be defined as: a unified body of individuals; a group of people with a common characteristic or interest; a body of persons having a common goal; fellowship; relationships..also a pretty good TV show on NBC Thursday nights. Whatever definition you choose, the Bible is brimming with passages that command us to live in community with one another and encourage each other. This is our calling: to build relationships with those around us.

For some, the task of building relationships--of living in community--may be more difficult than it is for others. This is especially true if you are introverted, and thus prefer the company of yourself to the company of others. If you are anything like me, a perfect evening is one in which the kids are in bed, the hubby is off playing basketball, and you are curled up on the couch accompanied only by a cup of coffee and a book. And the dog. He doesn't talk, so he's okay. Just the thought of getting together with a large group of people causes you to break out in a sweat.

This describes me to a tee. While I've gotten better at socializing (at least in my mind's eye; perhaps I should check in with those I've been in contact recently), my preference still lies on being alone. Fortunately, for all our differences, my husband has similar preferences, although he is certainly less introverted than myself. Despite this, we both realize that as Christians we are called to be in fellowship with others. Thus, we've gone so far as to join a church community group (there's that word again).

We've been with this group for about three years now, and I will say that our community group has easily been one of our live's biggest blessings. The four families of which our group is comprised all live in approximately the same area and are in similar stages of life. That is to say, we all have young kids which pretty much dominate our lives at this point. Between the four couples, there are ten kids under the age of six, five of which were born close to within a year of one another. In fact, I think this is the first time in a while that one of the ladies is not pregnant or lactating (or both). Suffice to say, we don't have much trouble relating to one another.

A few weeks ago we decided to take the idea of community a step farther than the usual Sunday night get-togethers and rented a lake house for the weekend. You wanna talk about community? How about eighteen people--that's eight adults and ten kids--living under the same roof, sharing the responsibilities of cooking and cleaning, and dealing with each other's kids as though they were our own (sort of). The kid noise alone--the screams of delight, the endless giggling, the intermittent whining, the crying of the overly-tired, the bickering--was constant, save for the few precious hours of nap/quiet time and the blessed bedtime hour, (and even that didn't guarantee a child free period). Additionally, the workload required to prepare food for and clean up after that many people somehow grows exponentially when compared to the work required to feed one's own family. Add to that the fact that, unless you were born with the gift of being able to sleep through anything, if one of the other children deemed it necessary to wake up at 6:15, everyone else woke up at 6:15 as well. Which, as we all can agree upon, is a dreadful time to be up on a Saturday. Although I enjoyed myself, it took me a few days to recover from our weekend "getaway".

Despite the (many) trials that accompanied this particular living situation, however, the weekend was host to many precious highlights, most of which would not have come about independently of a weekend such as this one. Throughout that weekend we witnessed trust develop between our kids and other adults in the group, to the point where some were willing to leap off a dock into the water with them, hug certain fathers every time they saw them, and eagerly wait for the awakening of certain parents in order that they begin their next adventure together. Relationships among the children progressed as well, as some of the less socially inclined kids began preferring people to inanimate objects. The moms had huge chunks of time to engage in deep conversations about seldom discussed issues. And the dads did whatever dads do to deepen their relationships with one another (Foosball? ping pong? PlayStation?). It was a precious weekend that helped form and crystallize relationships.

So what does this mean? Given that we are called to live in community with one another, are we all to sell our houses and move into one large estate together, commune style? Maybe I should start running with other people, or better yet, join an athletic team. It might take a while, but I suppose I could learn how to catch--and throw--a Frisbee. Or to talk while I run.

Fortunately for me (and for the relieved ultimate Frisbee players out there) God knows that I am an introvert. He knows because He created me to be this way. He doesn't want me to sell my house and move in with a group of other people (yet) and He allows me my solitary runs because He knows that those runs are my way of filling myself back up. Look at how many times Jesus (who I believe was secretly introverted as well) stole away from the crowds to be by himself, to talk to his Father and thereby get refueled. Jesus needed this time away precisely so that he could deal with the crowds and their heavy demands on his time, patience, and healing powers. I don't have the power to heal (although don't tell this to my son, who still thinks that I can make all hurt vanish just by a kiss), but I do have two needy children and a husband to whom I must pour out my time. I have a community group that expects me to contribute, and I have neighbors with whom I must socialize. The very reason I am able to do what is difficult for me and purposefully build relationships with others is because I take that time for myself--I pray, I read, and I run. In no particular order.

And as for those people with preferences that differ from my own--the meat-eaters, those folks who are able to strike up a non-awkward conversation with anyone, or even those fine folks that have the capability to run and talk at the same time--carry on. I will celebrate our differences, even as I put on my headphones, bite into my tofu power bar, and proceed to run in the direction opposite your running group.

Death while distance running

My stomach took a roller coaster-like plunge this morning as I read the headline of today's paper: "Fitness and Fatalities", an article that looked to address the question: Is running safe? Ironically, I saw this article right as I was finishing up a grueling four-miler that combined speed with hills. While I felt as though I might die at the time, I was fairly confident that I would stick it out...until I saw the article.
Due to the recent death of a 27-year-old runner at this year's Rock 'n Roll Half Marathon, thereby raising the death toll of this race to three runners in five years, the paper felt the need to "investigate" the suspect activity of running, to find out if it is really the healthy activity everyone claims it to be, or if it is a murderer in disguise. "Surely, with a headline like Fitness and Fatalities, running must be wrought with danger! Too risky," I declared, as I hurried to the garbage to throw out my running shoes. Minutes later, though, having actually read the article, I sheepishly retrieved the discarded shoes from the trash, brushed them off and apologized. "I'm so sorry, old friends," I soothingly whispered. "It's just that the article looked so scary! And if they made it a headline, well, then, I thought it must be true! Can't you see how I might have been misled?"
While my shoes didn't want to hear it at the time, even they would admit that the media in general can be a bit misleading, both by its headlines and by what it considers to be "news". I mean, in light of this country's obesity problems, does the writer of this article really think it prudent to link running with death, even if she sort of (in a very nebulous, round-about way) clears it up toward the end? I can not think of a better way to motivate people to start working out than by hinting around that in doing so they may just be asking for an early demise. Oh, and don't think you can avoid the big D (death, not divorce) by biking or swimming: the death rate for triathletes is actually HIGHER than it is for marathoners--1.5 people per 100,000 as opposed to 0.8 per every 100,000. Hmm, you cautiously think, that really doesn't sound like too big of a risk. Well, it isn't, as the INSIDE headline (page 9) lets the good reader know: "Rate of deaths quite small".
Seriously, folks, is this news? I think we can all agree on the fact that running, in fact, is not harmful in the "it will kill you" way. If you are sensible in your approach to running (i.e. if you do not one day decide to get off your couch, put on your old 1984 hiking boots and attempt to run 26.2 miles), it can be a very safe, rewarding, and healthy activity. We hear about unexpected deaths in every faucet of life--the accountant who doubles over dead at his desk, the soccer mom who suddenly dies on the sidelines, and yes, the runner whose as-yet-undetected heart abnormality causes him to perish during a highly visible race. These things are tragic, but they happen. We should not let chance events like these prevent us from going to work, attending our son's soccer game, or running a race for which we've been training for months.
While I think this article is silly and I shake my head at the Pilot not only for running it, but for putting it on the front page, I think it is indicative of the issue I have with media today. Whether due to declining readership, owner interest, or their own creative needs, newspapers and TV stations seem interested in something other than reporting the news. In an effort to snag readers and watchers, they feel the need to make up news stories that have the most appeal to their audience--human interest stories that make us feel good, shock and awe stories that scare us into inactivity. They do not report, they create.
Is this what we want--to be entertained by these media outlets? Shouldn't we want to be informed? As a citizen with voting rights, I want to be educated so that I can make decisions on things that matter to me and to my friends and family. I can read books if I want to be entertained, and I can listen to talk shows if I want a spin put on things. When it comes to the news, however, just give me the facts, please. And for the sake of my running shoes, no more articles on the dangers of running, okay?

Il bel far niente

Let me preface this by saying that I feel slightly silly beginning a post entitled "the beauty of doing nothing" by writing about this weekend's 15 mile run. Obviously, 15 miles is something--a long ways, more miles than we have fingers on which to count (my two-year-old would have problems getting to this number), a lot of work--but if you stick with me on this you will see where I am going.

This Labor Day weekend found us in Nebo, NC visiting some great friends--fantastic people who've chosen an alternate lifestyle of sorts. It would take too long to relate what it is they do, so I'll just say that they are serving as foster parents on top of a mountain in western NC and are living amongst the hills, mountains, valleys, lakes and streams that the state offers. They were gracious enough to allow us to visit them, providing us with meals, entertainment, and our own living quarters.

With a setup like this, the weekend promised to be a relaxing one. The only thing I HAD to do was the 15 mile run--no small chunk of change but something I was looking forward to. The great Hurricane Earl, with it's mighty winds and torrential rains, had prevented me from getting a run in earlier this week (although, given that Earl was more reminiscent of one of those pissy cartoon clouds that follows one person around and rains on them, the lack of a run probably had more to do with the fact that I would have had to get up at 5 in the morning to do it). I was actually looking forward to running in NC, for it would give me the opportunity to see some of the sights the area offers.

And it certainly did not disappoint. Like I said, our friends live on top of a mountain, so on my run down I saw horses and cows who observed me with looks of boredom while they grazed on their food, I heard brooks babbling like it was their job, and I witnessed the waters and cliffs of Lake James, a mighty lake residing in the valley of the surrounding hills and mountains. Going back up the mountain I took in lush forests dense with undergrowth and the distant mountains, which in the crisp early morning light looked like they had been just recently painted there with God's own brushstrokes. It was glorious, refreshing, and gave me clearance to do whatever it was I wanted for the the rest of the weekend.

And we certainly packed it in: swimming, hiking, picnicking, canoeing, and marshmallow-roasting were some of the featured highlights. My favorite part of the weekend, however, was completed unexpected. It came during the boys' nap time. Kevin was away playing basketball so I was keeping watch at the apartment in which we were staying. After my own thirty minute nap (and might I just say, naps might be one of my favorite things in this life. I think I look forward to them waaay more than I should), I grabbed some coffee and a book and sat myself down outside. The weather was gorgeous: low 80s, no humidity, and lots of sunshine. My chair was placed in a Monet-like landscape, and featured splashes of light which danced off the leaves of the trees, sending a glittering cascade of light down on the surfaces below.

I had intended to read, and for a while I did. But then something hit me: the realization that I didn't have to immediately get up and start dinner, or clean the kitchen, or rake the yard, or fold laundry. I could just sit there and do...nothing. And I did. Or, more precisely, I thought. And I napped. And then read some more, thought some more, and dozed some more.

I can not tell you how therapeutic this was for me. Or how revitalizing it was. Or how rare. My schedule at home simply does not allow for me to sit and relax. Perhaps because of the length of my to-do list or my own self-inflicted pressure, I rarely take time to simply do nothing. Maybe I feel like it's something I'm not entitled to. Whatever the case, I'm certainly not alone. A recent poll reported that one-third of its respondents take five or fewer vacation days per year. Of those who are vacationing, one in three stay connected with work during their "time away" via phone or computer. And psychologists are reporting on a new type of disorder, that of PVSD: post-vacation stress disorder.

I refuse to believe that this is the life we are called to live: one in which we squeeze in so much work that time for anything else--family, enjoyment, and downtime included--gets squeezed out. Aside from obvious health benefits, both physical and mental, it can't bode well for one's relationships.

Now, I am a realist. I know that this life here on earth takes a lot of effort. And in today's economic climate, if you are lucky enough to have a job you will probably do everything that you need to do in order to keep it, including working around the clock. But no matter how much money is in your pocket, what type of job you work, or what your family responsibilities look like, I urge you to take some time for yourself and simply do nothing. Just sit and practice the art of being. Concentrate on the air around you, the way your lungs pull it in when you breath, the sound it makes when you exhale. Put your thought processes on pause and focus instead on your senses. Notice the smells of the upcoming season, the differences between morning and afternoon bird calls, the patterns of the clouds. Just sit. And be.

I know this sounds cheesy. I am not big into yoga or meditation, and maybe I felt entitled because I had run 15 miles on what was supposed to be my vacation weekend, but I was so moved by the 90 minutes in which I did this that I can not help but urge you to do the same. Allow yourself the pleasure. Do it not only for yourself, but for those around you. I guarantee you will not be disappointed.