Moments Worth Mentioning

This past Sunday was a day that I will always remember.  I ran 13.1 miles, in the rain, without being chased.  The one word that comes to mind: Insane.

Since November I have been training for this half marathon.  It all started with a discussion over dinner one night when one of my friends mentioned that she wanted to run this race.  I remember telling her she was crazy.  I explained that although I had run Cross Country in high school, I had no intention to ever race again.  And then…. during a week moment… just like that, in my next sentence I agreed to do it with her.  Before dinner was over that night, three of us had agreed to train for the ING Half Marathon.  As the days and weeks went by, some of our guy friends heard about our challenge and decided it would be a good idea to have a little competition.  Girls vs Guys.  There were talks of bet stipulations, spread sheets comparing mens and women’s running times and endless banter.  It was an exhausting few months of early morning runs and aching muscles all while trying to prove to the boys that they were going to see nothing but the backs of our shirts during the race.

About two months ago, as the race slowly crept up on us, another one of our friends was involved in a terrible accident. The injuries were extensive, and in all honesty, should have been fatal.  As Richard continued to improve and impress the doctors with his determination, this race took on a different meaning.  I couldn’t possibly complain about the pain and soreness involved with running a few miles while my friend gave everything he had to survive.  I sent out an email to my runners, and within a matter of minutes, all bets were off.  Instead of competing with each other, we were now coming together in honor of the miracle that was Richard.  I loved the new attitude that it brought out in each of us!

After a homemade meal Saturday night to carb load on some spaghetti, the six of us were up and on a Marta train by 5:30am.  The day was finally here.  I was giddy with excitement, and the energy on the ride down to Centennial Park was amazing.  It was a crazy site to see so many people all with the same destination.  We all were runners, we all had trained for months for this day.  I was in awe of the crowd.

The race itself was nothing short of life changing.  The gun went off promptly at 7am before the sun had even come up.  18,000 of us charged down the dark streets of Atlanta.  Once the adrenalin wore off after about mile three, there was nothing left but me, the pavement and the sites and sounds of downtown Atlanta.  There was lots of praying over the next two hours as I ran out of Centennial Park and made my way through Five Points, Midtown, Little Five Points, Virginia Highlands, Druid Hills, Piedmont Park and Georgia Tech.  My legs screamed to stop the insanity.  Despite the drizzly rain, the crowd was there to cheer us on with signs, noise makers and costumes.  It was truly an experience that cannot be explained in words.    And don’t get me started about the moment that I actually crossed that finish line!  Overwhelming!

I have to be honest and tell you that I had not trained nearly enough for that race.  I had only reached about 8 miles during my training, and 95% of that had been done on a treadmill.  Any runner will tell you that that was not nearly adequate.  What occurred during those 2 1/2 hours can only be described as a God Thing.  I can’t explain to you how I was able to run for 13 miles.  I can’t explain why I never felt winded.  I can’t explain how I never cramped up or felt the nagging pains that I had been dealing with during my training.  I can’t explain how I was able to move the day before and wake up on the day of my race without one sore muscle.  I am in total awe of the strength that I found within myself.  I would be doing a disservice to not acknowledge God’s ability to get me to that finish line.

The race was not without its consequences.  Sunday night my legs throbbed in pain, I was choking down Advil every four hours like clockwork and was moving at a snails pace.  But, I can honestly say, pain has never felt so good.  I’m so proud of myself, but even more impressed with the six of us.  All of us rose to the occasion to train and prepare for a goal that seemed so far out of reach.  And in the end, as all bets were set aside, we can walk away…. eh, limp away, knowing we honored our friend in a way like no other.

18,000 people.  26,000 steps.  13.1 miles.  6 friends.  4 months of training.  2 hours 26 minutes of running.  1 day that I will never forget!

My amazing running partners after we crossed the finish line.

I’ve mentioned over and over again about how much I am in love with my city.  As the end of my one year lease at my Atlanta apartment quickly approaches, I am more in awe of how amazing city life is then ever before.

This past Sunday, Atlanta finally got some nice weather.  It was that first bit of 65-70 degree weather that makes everyone want to go outside.  People open windows, smile at their neighbors, take their dogs for walks and steal longer lunch breaks.  Spring time in Georgia is my absolute favorite season.  Wanting to enjoy the warm sunshine, a few friends and I decided to take the short drive to Piedmont Park Sunday afternoon.  We were joined by hundreds of fellow Atlantans’ as we ate our picnic lunch, threw a Frisbee and people watched.  Truly a marvelous few hours soaking up the much-anticipated spring sunshine.  

After the park, we all decided some ice cream was in order.  We took a little drive over to the Highlands and found ourselves waiting in line at a oh-s0-quaint ice cream parlor.  The place takes cash only and serves their Italian Gelato in cute little bowls.  The four of us sat out in front of the store and enjoyed our yummy snack as we watched the city go by.  The strollers, the dogs, the couples holding hands…. it was all there.  All making up the perfect backdrop to a perfect day.

Our next stop was the Wouldn’t-Miss-It-For-Anything 6 o’clock service at Buckhead Church where I was once again blown away by the amazing, truthful, perfectly timed message.   My friends and I fill up a whole row as we worship, sing and pray together.  That never gets old.  That is the single reason why I truly love this city and why life is so good.  It’s that church.  It’s those people.

After church, nothing really says “the weekend is winding down” like a booth full of friends at a pizza restaurant.  We laugh and chat over slices of pepperoni pizza, and all can’t quite believe that another weekend is over.

That is what I love about Sundays.  All of that.  I love that my “normals” never get old.  I love that it’s a guarantee that we will run out of saved seats at church.  I love that this city loves spring time as much as I do.   I love that in seven days, I get to do it all over again.

I will forever be amazed by God’s perfect timing.  The last week and a half have left me mentally and physically exhausted.  I am juggling a small group bible study, a leadership training class, a mentor group, training for a half marathon, a singles Fusion group, attending mission trip meetings and trying to find a new place to live.  Most groups have required reading and homework.  All the while, I continue to maintain a busy social calendar.  To say that I have a way too many plates spinning is an under statement.

My mentor group (a different group then I went out-of-town with a few weeks ago… I told you I was busy) had plans to spend the weekend together up in a lake cabin about an hour outside of the city.  We were going to leave at noon on Friday and not get back until Sunday afternoon. I knew the weekend would be amazing.  But, selfishly, the thought of spending 48ish hours away from all of my commitments wasn’t my first choice for a weekend.  I was grieving the loss of those precious hours.

As I sit here on this Monday afternoon, after spending that time getting to know some amazing women and hearing some amazing Godly wisdom, I am blown away about how much I could have potentially missed had I not come gone up there.  Shame on me for wanting to be so selfish with “my” time.

We did lots of talking this weekend about the paths that we are on (or want to be on).  Our dreams, our hopes and our images of the future were all hot topics over these last few days.  We discussed the things in our lives that distract us from those goals.  We had conversations on how being busy didn’t necessarily add up to being productive.  It was basically a hard elbow shove and a “I told you so” from God.  Perfect.

And if that wasn’t enough to get my attention, that seems to be a common theme with several of my groups here lately.  My leadership class is teaching me to release my grip from the other gods in my world (money, jobs, personal appearance, friends etc) and to open my hands (and free my schedule) so that God will fill my life with the things he wants to give me.  The current series at church is entitled “White Flag” and is centered around the thought of running away from what God has for us.

OK, God.  I get it.

My problem lies in the fact that I find enjoyment in every one of my current obligations.  I love the responsibility and thrive within a full, busy schedule.  Most of my groups are Christian based, and therefore good for me, right?  But let’s be honest…. I haven’t blogged in several weeks.  Blogging is my current passion and allows me to de-stress.  If I can’t find thirty minutes to sit down and type, I think there is a problem.

In response to my recent request to pray for all of my spinning plates I was given this advice;  Praying for God to help you prioritize your plates…and allowing you to drop the ones that aren’t as important! Kinda like a Greek wedding right?

Thankfully, a few of these groups are winding down, the housing situation has been resolved and the half marathon is only a few more weeks away.  I am nowhere near Greek, but I will be happy to drop those plates and hopefully a few more very soon!

The lovely ladies I spent my weekend with... Well worth the extra plate!