reflections from a wannabe Kenyan

As I near my race date (6 days, people), I find myself pondering.

Why do I run? Am I crazy?

And I find that the answer is... Kind of. I'm only half crazy for now. And yet, I'm still hitting the pavement 4 days a week.

A year ago, I was done. I had hit the wall. I was literally burned out on running. And here I sit, a year later, fully excited for my coming race. I'm nervous, excited, and panicked. Can I really run 13 miles?! Of course I can. I've done it before. I'm fully trained. I can do this. But each time, I wonder at my own ability.

If you had asked me a decade ago, when I turned 30 if I'd be running half marathons when I turned 40, I would have laughed at you! And yet, today, I find that laughter is the best medicine.

I've had this theory for some time now: When running still brings you joy, you keep running. When you've lost the fun, you'll quit. So I give you this photo. My gift to you, dear reader. If you can't laugh like this on a race, no matter how long or short, you may have lost your joy. And if you've never found it, TRUST ME, it's out there. Waiting for you on the road to no where.

Lace up, my friend.

he won at losing.

I'm about to toot a shameless horn about my son. So if you're annoyed by proud parents, now's your time to check out. It's okay, I won't be offended.

Yesterday my son finished his first tackle football season. If you don't know much about my last born, he is our athlete. He loves any game that involves a ball and competition. He gets that from The Man. Remember, I'm not competitive (see last blog post).

This game was not only the last game, it was THE BIG GAME. They were one of two teams left, playing for the city title as champs. The only problem with this game was that many of the players on the opposing team were some of his favorite friends. See, G plays competitive baseball and basketball with a team of boys chosen from different schools. And consequently, several of these boys are on the football team we were playing.

I learned a valuable life lesson from my ten year old son yesterday.

G plays both offense and defense on his team. He can throw a ball like a rock star. Seriously, it sails through the air to ridiculous lengths with a beautiful and tight spiral. He can also run fast. He makes some great plays, with the help of his teammates.

But yesterday, the odds were not ever in their favor (a little reference to The Hunger Games if you're wondering). They lost the game. They were shut down.

And do you know how my son reacted? He ran over to his buddies on the opposing team and he smiled with them and laughed with them. He took pictures with them. He told them, "Good Game!!"

He was the picture of good sportsmanship.

It hasn't always been this way. He has had plenty a loss with tears. But yesterday he told me, "Mom, I was sad at first when we lost. But then Ethan made me laugh, and I realized that I wasn't that upset! I mean, we got beat by a GREAT TEAM! It's not like we lost to a bad team! Plus, they're all my friends! I'm happy for them!"

I could not be more proud. Thank you God, that we're doing something right.

This "number 1" and "number 2" thing was his idea, by the way. That's a humble heart, friends. A heart I love.