A Little Crazy

Fourth Sunday of Advent

When I mention to people that I run outside through the winter in New England, most people tell me or look at as if I’m crazy. Certainly I run inside if its icy or slippery or snowing (although I have run with my Yaktrax when it was snowing), but, for the most part, I’ll do all I can to avoid the monotony of the treadmill. The way I see it, I have two choices, well maybe three: not run in the winter (not really an option), let the weather completely dictate and curtail my running, or, embrace and adjust to the weather by wearing proper attire and equipment.

And the thing is, with the right attire and equipment, running outside in the winter in New England is not as bad as people seem to think. Of course, you sometimes get surprisingly warm days like these last several days, but even if its bitterly cold, you warm up a lot and really quickly, you get some needed fresh air, get to enjoy the sunrise or other beautiful sights you otherwise wouldn’t be out enjoying, and, at least for me, it keeps the winter blues from turning me into a zero-energy blob. I think more people should try it!

Crazy indeed!

And maybe I am a little crazy. But then again, it seems to me that it takes a little craziness to be a Christian, since, when you really stop to think about the foundations of our faith, they can sound a little crazy. Take the Incarnation, which we are in the midst of celebrating: God becoming human. Think about that for a moment! And not just a human being, but being born into the most humble and challenging of circumstances. If God had consulted a committee of the smartest, most educated and savviest among us, I doubt this is the plan they would have proposed. I can imagine the questions: "but how are you going to get your message across to the world if you’re born into some backwater country?" "If you’re not going to be born into the kind of privilege that will give you a world mike, at least wait until a time of mass-communication." "And why this Virgin thing? Can’t you see the added danger? What if Joseph has her stoned (he could have you know)?"

Yes, when you stop to think about it, the Incarnation is a little crazy. Its not just the thought of God becoming a lowly human being, but of God placing such trust on people: on Mary to say yes, on Joseph to accept her and the child, on Jesus’ disciples and those who first heard the message to carry it forth, on the evangelists to write it down for future generations, on every ensuing generation to continue to embrace and proclaim this message. Such faith and trust in us! Us! Who can be so selfish, self-centered and clueless, so impatient and irritable towards others, so flawed and blind… How can God have such faith and trust in people like us?

I love Easter and the whole paschal journey from death to new life. But there is something uniquely moving about the Incarnation and the sense of hope and possibility the Christmas narrative communicates and inspires. God is placed in our weak hands to be cared for and nurtured; God’s message of unconditional love, faith and trust, is given to our insecure, wounded and sometimes distrustful hearts to proclaim with courage and passion to the world. I suppose the question is whether we have a little of that crazy in us, to say yes and do as God asks?

Hitting A Brick Wall

Third week of Advent

On Saturday I ran the Jingle Bell Half Marathon in Atkinson NH. I had been looking forward to this race, hopeful, as I suppose most runners want to feel going into a race, that I would do well, that I would beat my best time. You can probably guess where this is going and I’ll spare you the suspense: it wasn’t my best half marathon.

If you live in the area you know that it was freezing—in the teens. But that was ok by me. I figure, you dress appropriately and you should be fine. And I was. I knew there were numerous rolling hills but it turns out I underestimated how many and how challenging the cumulative effort made the course. But that was ok as well. By mile 5, after a tough, long, uphill, I figured my best time was beyond me on this day, this course. But, I could still try for the best I could do today.

And then, something unexpected happened. I was running and doing fine, and all of a sudden, pain on my side. I tried to ignore it and kept going. But it was hard to ignore as I could barely make myself go. I slowed down, I stopped, I started back up, I pressed my side, but the pain persisted. I had 7 more miles to go and I didn’t know how I could possibly finish in this condition. Yes, I began to think that maybe I wouldn’t finish—I didn’t see myself walking the rest of the way in the bitter cold and running didn’t seem to be working for me. The phrase “they shall run and not grow weary” (Is 40:31), which I had heard at Mass on Wednesday and which had been coming to mind here and there in the early miles, now seemed to mock me: who cared if I didn’t grow weary if I didn’t finish! 
 

And then, as suddenly and mysteriously as the pain appeared, it began to recede and get better. I continued to press my side for a while and was able to pick up the pace and recover. By mile 11, I had caught up to the people who had passed me when I stopped and slowed, and I admit it made me feel better to pass them all as I climbed those last hills to the finish line. (Click here for a full race report)

 

As I think back to that moment of pain, I can’t help being hard on myself—what a wimp, couldn’t even take a little pain. But I know in that moment, it didn’t feel like ‘a little pain.’ Plus, I didn’t know how long I would last. The worst case scenario was that it would it last the remaining 7 miles (it was possible), and of course, that’s where my mind immediately went.

 

It seems a pattern that plays out in life as well—in my life anyway. I find myself in bad place and in that moment, it feels the worst its ever been. Not only that, but I don’t know how long it’ll last, how long I’ll feel that way, and the not knowing makes it worse. And I don’t wallow in this; I try to improve the situation, try to do things to make it better. And sometimes I’m successful and things do get better. But other times, nothing I do helps the situation and I start feeling as if I’m beating my head against a wall. And finally, after banging it long enough, I stop. I give up trying. And I pray: “well God, I’ve tried. I’ve done my best and I don’t know what else to do; and even if I did, I just can’t anymore. So it’s up to you now. Do something.” And strangely enough, in that moment when I give up and pray in that way, things already feel better because the burden of trying so hard is gone. And then, eventually (sometimes it’s been really soon after), things begin to actually improve and I wonder why I tried so hard on my own for as long as I did rather than ask God to take on the case. I suppose I’m just that kind of stubborn person who thinks she can do it all on her own until life and God insist on proving otherwise.

 

This third week of Advent, as we hear Jesus’ words about what the Incarnation is all about—“the blind regain their sight, the lame walk, lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have the good news proclaimed to them” (Mt 11:5)—might be a good time to ponder whether, as we strive to give our best effort in the situation we’re in, we are making enough room for God to reach in and bring about this promised vision to our lives.

 

When you find yourself in a bad place, how do you respond? Do you insist on going at it alone? Do you turn to others for help? To God?

Apples to Oranges

The Second Week of Advent

Setting out for some hill work, for long runs, for more interval workouts, I’ve continued to ponder this question of effort in running and in the spiritual life and why it is that I seem more willing to go for it and push myself when it comes to running, but seem to content myself with only small baby steps when it comes to my spiritual life and being a better human being overall. (read last week’s entry)

As I thought about this more, I started to realize I was comparing apples to oranges. Yes, it is true that when I set out to run intervals as I did this week, I find it challenging and need to work myself up to it and push through and keep going when my legs start to ache from the effort. But after I finish the mile, I can stop, rest, recover before setting out again. And after I’m done with all the intervals, I’m done for that week. Sure, there might be another challenging run that week, sure, there’ll be another round of intervals the following week, but these bursts of intense effort are just that: bursts.

But, when thinking about the spiritual life, I was thinking about efforts that meant undertaking or pursuing spiritual practices such as prayer, or improving such desirable qualities such as kindness, generosity, thoughtfulness, all of which require persistent vigilance (good to do in Advent I admit), ongoing dedication—not bursts of effort here and there.

Apples to oranges.

So, I thought, what in the spiritual life would be more comparable to those bursts of intense effort I pour into my interval runs or hill repeats? It would be akin to those flashes of inspiration that prompt us to act to act with extra kindness, or generosity, or thoughtfulness, etc, for that one moment. Its akin to me sitting at my desk and thinking “it’s Wednesday. There’s evening Mass today. I could go.” But, I hadn’t planned to go, and had been looking forward to spending my evening doing something else. This unbidden thought persisted, so I re-arranged my evening, and went to Mass. And it was a good thing. But it was a spur of the moment, burst of effort—I didn’t commit to going to daily Mass every day of Advent; I didn’t commit to anything more than just going to Mass that day, just making this one effort, this one day.

And as all these thoughts percolated in my mind, I came to a new realization. Just as those bursts of efforts have a place in my training and are one of the factors that are helping me become a better runner, these bursts of effort can also have a place in the spiritual life and help us become better human beings. Because I admit, maybe I didn’t commit to going to daily Mass in Advent, but, going this one time did get me thinking about it and I know its very likely I’ll end up going every Wednesday of Advent. And I’ll benefit from it. Because just as those bursts of speed are meant to gradually translate into increased speed at every distance, those bursts of positive responses, those impromptu ‘yeses’ to the promptings of the Holy Spirit, also in time translate into an overall disposition that is more likely to say ‘yes’ than ‘no’ to all God’s invitations, both big and small.

What small, impromptu invitation from the Spirit have you experienced this week? How did you respond? How do you wish you had responded?

Setting the Bar

Genesis

The beginning of Advent (and beginning of a new Church year) seems as good a time as any to start a blog on spirituality and running—two topics I try to refrain from boring people to death with, and I hope not to do that here either. But I must confess that even though we’re only in Advent, my mind is already looking to Easter. Why the jump? I’m training for the 2014 Boston Marathon and it falls on the Monday after Easter which seems Providential to me (although last year I ran the Cleveland marathon on Pentecost Sunday which I also thought Providential and I pulled my calf really bad with 2 miles to go—this led to several puzzled journal entries about Providence and makes me wonder what this run will bring).

As you can see, running and spirituality are inextricably linked in my mind and experience and as I set out on another marathon training journey I thought I would share some of my running inspired reflections on the spiritual life with any interested person, runner or not, with the hope you will find them interesting and maybe even beneficial on your own journey to Easter (after all, although Christmas is great, its really all about Easter).

First Week of Advent

Saturday’s long run wasn’t what I consider a particularly long run—13 miles—but, it was supposed to be a challenging one as I was supposed to start out an easy pace and increase it aggressively throughout, never slowing down. I had hoped to do really well, which would be a needed confidence boost as I’ll be running a half marathon in a few weeks. But, when I woke up that morning, I knew I should rein in my expectations because I could hear the wind howling outside and could imagine the added challenge this would pose.

But I couldn’t help myself—I still wanted to do well. So even though I knew I should start out easier than planned, that I should probably increase the pace only slowly so as to last the whole run without slowing down, there I was, charging along early and ignoring that voice that said ‘slow down!’. What was I thinking! With the wind, by mile 8 I was struggling to keep up let alone go faster. As I pushed to finish that last mile at a good pace, I was sorry I hadn’t adjusted my expectations at the start.

Or was I? In the back of my mind, when I set out for such runs, I remember something my coach told me about pushing yourself (paraphrasing here): so you push and you either find you could do it or you fail; if you do it, great, and if you fail, so what? You’ll never know what kind of potential you have unless you push and stretch yourself.

As I reflect on this, its interesting to me that I am so willing to set high expectations for myself when it comes to running, that I push through when I want to quit, that I rally after miles in which my effort has lessened, yet, when it comes to the spiritual life… its not that I don’t try, but, I tend to go for what I know I can do rather than try to stretch myself the way I do with running. And I know why I do this—I have this philosophy that, when it comes to the spiritual life, its better, smarter, to go for those theoretically achievable goals which, when reached, offer that boost and encouragement to set the next goal or at least keep trying.

That’s all well and good, but, isn’t there a point at which we should also go for it in the spiritual life? A point at which its time to set the bar high, expect the best, give it your real, best, effort, even if you end up failing? And what is failing in the spiritual life anyway? Isn’t it not trying? With Christ as our guide and our strength, how can we fail?

I don’t know. There seems to be a dozen other questions, thoughts and arguments back and forth coming to mind. And maybe its not a bad thing, to sit with a question, take the time to ponder it. After all, it is Advent and such pondering seems appropriate for the season.

What thoughts and questions are you pondering and sitting with this Advent season?