Fuel

I had a dream. Not an MLK, change the world, move you to your knees dream, but a profound dream that may have well changed my life.

There's a man. I can't see his face, but he's holding a large block of paraffin wax (bear with me). He has a super fancy sports car. Red. Cherry. Possibly classic. Like maybe a Mustang or Camaro. I don't know. Unimportant. He looks at me and he says, "I'm gonna use this wax to fuel my car." My mouth dropped open. "Are you kidding??" I say. Clearly shocked. "That isn't FUEL." He turns the block over in his hands, examining it from every possible angle. "It's close. It's oily. Oil makes gas. Gas makes cars go. I'm gonna try it." I'm dumbfounded. He has to know you can't use wax to fuel a high-performance sports car. Idiot. "You can't do that to your car. You'll ruin it!" 

He turns away from me and goes over to an oven, heating the block in a stockpot. After it's fully melted, he uses a funnel to pour it into the gas tank. I'm aghast, but this crazy man has made up his mind. All I can do is stand there and watch. He climbs into the front seat, turns the engine over, and gives me a thumbs up and a cheesy grin. He's proud of himself. He's impressed with himself. Hell, maybe he's even figured out a way to use cheap, over-processed wax to fuel cars. Could be the next big thing! I'm still standing there, watching and waiting for . . . I don't know. Something terrible to happen.

He drops her into gear, eases off the brakes, and idles to the edge of the driveway. Still all smiles, he signals and turns onto the road. I can see him smirking at me in the rear view, as if to say, "Told ya so." Half a mile down the road, the car sputters and dies, utterly ruined. He gets out, furious. "But it LOOKED like fuel! It even ACTED like fuel! It should have worked!"

And it hit me - full in the face. This is what I do with food. Now my mouth is agape and I really am aghast. I was so worried about his precious sports car, his high-performance machine. What if he ruined it?? What if it killed the motor? Doesn't he know you can't put wax in a gas tank??? But how am I any different? It looks like food. It seems like food. It should work, right? It's close. I should try it! Why am I not worried about my own engine? My own high-performance machine? What if I ruin it?? What if I kill the motor??? 

In an instant, I got it. I'm not 100% sure what to do with this sudden realization, but man. What an eye-opener! I'm suddenly motivated to monitor every little thing that goes in my "tank" and my family's tanks. I've been motivated to eat cleaner lately, but this takes it to a whole new level. What am I doing - what have I done - to my body? What have I asked it to run on? How can I possibly expect to reach physical and athletic goals if I'm feeding myself wax of all things? What am I doing to my children. . . ? What am I setting them up for? Time to clean out the pantry, restock the fridge, and fuel with purpose. If I can get that fired up about a car in a dream, I should most certainly get that fired up about my own body and my family's bodies. We only get one. Let's not burn up the engine.

Weekend woes

This weekend was a TON of fun. Swimming, deer, fireworks, telescope views of Saturn and the moon, family, fun, and more fun. I missed my Saturday morning run due to a mishap with a rogue electric blanket that robbed me of my sleep. I opted for a few laps in my father-in-law's pool. My kids were up and in the water by 7:30, so I was able to knock out a few hundred yards before the rest of the house awoke. Better than nothing, yes?

Sunday I was up with the sun and quickly laced up my running shoes for a planned 7 miles. Ha. Yeah right. Half a mile down the road, I encountered 3 farm dogs who were none too pleased about my presence in their little slice of Heaven (aka, the Texas Hill Country). All three of them barreled their way under the gate and came after me. I used my water bottle to keep them at bay and quickly retraced my footsteps back to the house. After refilling my water bottle, I set out in the opposite direction. 

This part of my run was spectacular. The sunrise to my right, a nice downhill in front of me, and a family of deer off to the left. After battling 90% humidity at home, the 45% humidity and 77-degree morning felt like fall. My run was, again, cut short when the road ended. I picked my way down a dirt road, hopping over small boulders and tiptoeing around potholes until I discovered that the road really did end, seemingly on someone's private property. Sigh. I turned around and picked my way back along the dirt road, hoping to avoid trespassing and the boulder/pothole combo. As I neared the end of the dirt road, I noticed another couple of farm dogs, nervously stalking me along their property line. The road I was on would take me within 20 feet of them, so I crossed over to the golf course and picked my way across someone's pasture.  

At this point, I decided that Sunday was not my day for 7 miles and decided to call it. A cool 5k later, I was back at the house and in the water with my kids (again). It definitely wasn't a good training weekend, but there are other things in life that are more important - like seeing your kids with their PopPop and Granny, cannonball contests, star gazing, and stuffed jalapenos. 

While I'm bummed my training took a step back, my tank has been refueled with happy memories and country air. After seeing the Iron Cowboy complete his 50th iron distance race in as many days and seeing Meredith Atwood cross the finish line at IMLP this weekend, I'm re-motivated (again) to continue along my Iron journey. As I was stalking the Swim Bike Mom last night, I was reviewing 140.6 training plans, family commitments, and talking to Doug about my hopes and dreams. I've scheduled my first hill ride - August 8 - and made some commitments to myself about diet and training goals. It seems like every time I turn around, something else motivates me along this path. So far, I have managed to STAY on the path and haven't had any reason to "get back on the wagon." I just keep drinking more and more of the Koolaid and recommitting myself to this goal. If I can continue this passion, I'll be IronFit in a few short weeks and I'll be ready to tackle my next 70.3. Until then, onward and upward! The finish line awaits! 

Architecture

When you start to build a dream, it begins with an idea; a nebulous thought with an end in your mind’s eye. The edges are blurred and the details aren’t visible, but you can clearly see the end. Vibrant. Colorful. Joyful. Everything you could possibly hope for.

For you? It’s a house. A screened-in porch. A cup of coffee in a glade, overlooking a bubbling creek. You can’t see the floor beneath your feet and you can’t identify which birds you hear chirping, but you know you’re happy. And maybe you can even smell that Kona roast, drifting from your steaming mug. For you? It’s a job. A corner office, overlooking downtown. A title, emblazoned across your name plate on the mahogany desk. You can’t see the company’s name or identify the skyline in the background, but you know the way you feel when you stand at the window and look out into the city. Accomplished. Fulfilled.

For me? It’s a finish line. Red and black. Dusky sky. Cheering crowds. I can’t see the clock, but I can see a few faces in the crowd. My husband is there, smiling and proud. My children are there, exhausted but so very excited after waiting so many hours to see mama. My parents are there. My mom is crying, joyful, proud tears rolling down her cheeks. My daddy is there, arms crossed, trying to hide a smile, but I know he’s proud. My friends – who are much faster than I am – are waiting with their medals around their necks, sun-kissed and sweaty and exhausted, but cheering the loudest. They know the road I have traveled. They have just gone before me. Maybe we’ve clapped hands along the run course or stopped for a hug and an encouraging word. Maybe we’ve even been blessed enough to run a few miles together along the way. Maybe this is the first time we’ve seen each other since the cannon boomed, so many hours ago.

I can feel the excitement surge through me when I think of this scene. I can hear Mike Reilly’s voice, booming through the air. I can see the red and the black. I can taste and smell the finish line (and we won’t talk about that too much. . . ). I can clearly see the details of the goal, but the details of the journey aren’t yet clear.

Where do you begin? With a piggy bank full of coins? A mind-chart? Perhaps with a list of short-term goals and a strategy to get there?

Last night, I took the first step of making this dream come true. Melissa and I went to swim together for the first time since we dared to speak this dream into existence. She has gone before me. Redman, 2011. She knows the road and has traveled it alone. This time, we’ll travel it side by side, Melissa, Nicole, and me. Words cannot express how grateful I am for these ladies. These friends. These training partners. These prayer partners. I know that we’ll be there for each other, holding each other accountable, challenging each other, supporting each other, cheering each other along.

It somehow feels real now. Before, it was just a dream – a clear picture of a goal with no idea how to get there. This morning? It feels like we have some architecture and a timeline of how to get through the next 20 months. It feels like we have a plan, albeit a loose one at this juncture. It feels like we’ve stopped talking about the journey and have taken the first steps of this journey.

Waxing poetic, am I? Perhaps. But If I can’t be sappy and dreamy about my goals, they shouldn’t be goals at all. Here’s to the next 20 months. Here’s to building this dream into a reality, one day at a time. Here’s to stepping off this weepy soapbox, getting on my feet, and making it happen. 

Finish line? I’m coming for you.

Sometimes. . .

Sometimes, you really question everything. The world around you. The decisions you make in your own home. The words you choose to say to your children. Sometimes, you question whether you're a good enough wife. Or a good enough mom. Or a good enough daughter. Sometimes, you wonder. Did I do that right? Am I doing this right? What have I gotten myself into? Sometimes you think to yourself, "When did I agree to be an adult and carry these burdens and think these thoughts and live this life?" Sometimes.

And sometimes, you lace your shoes up and you go for a run. You have no plan, no goal, no distance, no route. You leave the Garmin at home and don't bother starting RunKeeper. Sometimes, you don't even bother looking at your watch when you start. Sometimes, you put one foot in front of the other and you give it all to God. You leave every ounce of doubt or judgement or uncertainty out there on the pavement. Sometimes, every step makes life a little clearer. Sometimes, in the rhythmic pounding of your feet and the cadence of your breath, you hear from God. Sometimes, He tells you it's alright. Sometimes, He just runs with you. And sometimes? He tells you, "You're doing it all right. You're ok and you're mine and your children and your husband and the world loves you, just the way you are." But only sometimes.