Top 10 Reasons Why I Run Long Distances

Less than two weeks to go until the Wineglass Marathon, and I am now happily in my taper. Yesterday’s long run was a comfortable 12 miles on a beautiful, sunny day. With the support of many friends and family members, I’ve also raised just over $2500.00 so far for L.A.C.E.S. — a process that’s been exciting, humbling, and full of so many delightful surprises. I am counting the days till the race, and eager to get out there and run it. So this seems like the perfect time to offer my top ten reasons for running long distances. So here goes!

10. Because I CAN—I think the ability to run is a blessing and a gift.

9. Because it motivates me to get healthier in other areas, like diet and sleep.

8. Because I get kicks out of driving someplace that’s 10 or 15 miles away from home and thinking, “Yeah! I’ve run here!”

7. Because it gets me outside to engage with nature and enjoy it in all seasons.

6. Because it clears my head.

5. Because I like the challenge.

4. Because long distance running teaches me much about living the rest of life.

3. Because I love the racing culture and the friendships that I’ve formed because of it.

2. Because I love being fit.

1. Because I love how it feels when I STOP! :)

Outrunning Negativity

Motivation has not come easily for the past couple of days. Today is Monday, and I just got back from a 16 mile run. Sunday mornings are usually reserved for long runs, but on Sunday I was still sore from Friday’s workout at the gym. That, plus it was overcast and rainy yesterday and I just didn’t feel like getting outside to log the miles. I told myself I would go later in the day, and when it was later in the day I told myself I would do one hour of yoga/Pilates instead, and after doing a bunch of stuff that wasn’t yoga or Pilates (talk about avoidance—I even cleaned out the refrigerator!), I finally just told myself I would go to bed.

So this morning’s run was laced with the guilt associated with procrastination. The negative voices in my head were quick to remind me that starting today doing something that should have been done yesterday throws everything off balance. Now I will not be able to have that recovery day between runs to cross train and rest. The race is now less than five weeks away, the voices continued, as they questioned my ability to complete 26.2, if today I am struggling to finish 16.

Thankfully, as I finish my miles, the more positive voices in my head get louder, drowning out the others. I have completed 26.2 — three times over. And I did finish 16 today, even if technically speaking this run belonged to yesterday. I am not a quitter. I am not a failure. I had an off day. Now I’m getting back on track. I can’t really ask for more.

The whole thing reminds me of one of my favorite Van Gogh quotes, which says: “If you hear a voice within you saying, ‘You are not a painter,’ then by all means paint, boy, and that voice will be silenced!” Ah, these negative voices… If I cannot always shut them up, let me at least call them out for being liars.

How Do I Love Thee, My Darling, My Deer? (Part I)

This Sunday morning's run will definitely go down as one of my strangest and most magical runs ever.  I had just finished mile 15, and my cell phone was about to die. Having a phone means running with extra weight, but it also means Pandora and RunKeeper, not to mention quick access to help if something goes wrong. But if the phone is dead, what's the point? I was thinking these thoughts when I heard some rustling in the bushes to my left and then something was running behind me. I turned, expecting to confront a loose neighborhood dog or something, but instead I saw an adorable fawn, trotting along behind me!! Something must have happened to its mother because it was all alone and seemed anxious for company. 

I whipped out my phone to snap a picture before it ran off, but as it turns out, there was no hurry, because the fawn had apparently decided that I was its new mother. I whistled and it came close, letting me stroke its head, pat its back, and snap as many pictures as I wanted. And all the while I was thinking: This is unreal! How many times in my life will I get to pet a wild fawn? I hung out with it for a few minutes, then said my goodbyes, and tried to point it towards the woods. But when I started running again, the fawn was right there behind me, running too! It would have been hilarious if I hadn't been so worried that it might get hit by one of the oncoming cars on the narrow strip of road we occupied. We trotted along for a bit together until we passed a man standing in front of his garage. He took one incredulous look at us and said, "You have a pet DEER?" I assured him that I didn't, explained the situation, and roped him into helping me get Bambi back into the wild.

"The little guy might be hungry," I suggested. "I don't know what these things drink, but do you think you could give it a little milk or water before you set it loose in the woods behind your house?" The man said that he would, and I went back to the business of running my miles. Last I saw of my four-legged little friend, it was trotting through the man's open garage door and heading into the kitchen to get that drink (I swear, I'm not making this up!).

By this time my phone was dead, but those few minutes with the friendly fawn had provided more than enough entertainment to get me through the last five miles. As soon as I got home, I logged onto Facebook and posted a shorter version of this wild encounter, but I really should have showered first—gross! ;). 

The Man in the Wheelchair: Thoughts from Tuesday's Run

I was running my fifth mile when I passed him—the elderly man in the wheelchair. He was sitting at the top of the hill in front of the Lorien Health Center, watching streams of cars and people hurrying north and south. Our eyes met for a second, so I raised my hand and waved hello. He didn’t wave back or smile. I kept on running, but I felt almost guilty about the fact that I could.

What was he thinking as he watched me run by? I will never know. But if our hearts had been bare in that brief second when our eyes met, here’s what I would have said:

As you sit there in that chair, I believe you understand things about life that I often take for granted. I believe you understand how time flies and how much things can change—and how quickly. I believe you understand what a gift and a privilege it is to simply move.

Running can be an exhilarating, freeing, and empowering sport. It can also be a grueling, painful, and sweaty challenge. But whichever form it takes, it is a gift. The man in the wheelchair reminds me.

Running for L.A.C.E.S.

Well, the Running for a Reason Campaign officially kicked off on August 1 so for the next eight weeks I'm trying my hand at fundraising. Honestly, it's a little nerve-racking for this chic who still considers herself an introvert at the core. But I'm doing it anyway and it'll be an adventure to see what happens next... L.A.C.E.S. is the first of many organizations I hope to support through my running (don't worry, they won't all be fundraisers!). Below is the letter that I sent out to some of my friends and family.

 ..................................................................

I can never guess, when I first meet someone, how that person will change my life. It was summer 2009, and I remember seeing Kevin Fryatt walk up the sidewalk and to the path that leads to my door. It was his first time attending the weekly small group that meets at my house. From the beginning, he fit in as if he’d been with us for years. It was Kevin who brought the DVD that first introduced us to L.A.C.E.S., the organization founded and operated by his then-fiancée-now-wife Seren. My heart was on fire as I watched the DVD—the kind of fire that warns me change is coming.

L.A.C.E.S. stands for Life And Change Experienced thru Sports; it’s a soccer league that uses biblical values to provide mentorship for Liberian children and strives to combat the various effects of the unsupportive upbringings and environments many of those children have endured. The organization is Seren’s heartfelt response to the needs she witnessed while living in Liberia for six months in 2006. The country was then just three years into the process of picking up the pieces after a long and bloody civil war that left more than 200,000 people dead, and a generation of children with no fathers to raise them. Since its beginnings in 2007, L.A.C.E.S. has impacted more than 700 people in Liberia, and its influence continues to spread.

A lot has changed since my first introduction to L.A.C.E.S. in 2009. For one thing, Seren and I have become friends. We’ve shared road trips, bonded over the ups and downs of self-employment, and enjoyed several outdoor adventures together. I’ve also had the chance to participate in a couple of her fundraising events, to learn more about Liberia, and recently, to met James, the L.A.C.E.S. Liberia director who was visiting the U.S. for the first time in April 2012. At every turn, I’ve been impressed with L.A.C.E.S. and the people who support it, and I’ve witnessed firsthand the difference just one person can make in the lives of so many.

So I am excited to make L.A.C.E.S. the first organization that I’ll be supporting through my running. My next marathon takes place on September 30, 2012 in Corning, New York. My goal is to raise $2,620.00 by race day—get it? 26.2 miles = $2,620.00! :), and I’d be thrilled if you are able to help me reach that goal. You can sponsor me for a full mile by donating $100.00 or you can just give what you feel impressed to give. 100 percent of the proceeds will go directly to L.A.C.E.S., as I am covering the entry fee and travel expenses of the race out-of-pocket.

Donate online at http://www.lacesport.org/gracebrown or write a check payable to L.A.C.E.S., with “Running for a Reason” in the memo and mail it to L.A.C.E.S., 4319 West Clara Lane # 193, Muncie, IN  47304. You can also find out more about L.A.C.E.S. by checking out their website at www.lacesport.org.

Stay in the race,
Grace

Running for a Reason

I used to say that I had only one marathon in me—maybe two, if I somehow managed to pull off my highly unrealistic goal of qualifying for the Boston Marathon with my first marathon. But people who know say that among the things you learn when you run a marathon is whether it will become a one-time bucket list event or whether you’ll get sucked into the culture and become a serial marathon runner.

When I crawled into bed on October 31, 2010 after finishing my first marathon, I knew—despite swollen knees, stiff legs, and mixed emotions (I missed Boston by 24 minutes and 55 seconds, but who’s counting?)—that I had become a marathon runner.

But running takes time—lots of it. Last year I ran 868 miles. Assuming an average pace of 10 minutes per mile, that’s almost 145 hours of doing nothing but running. Not so earth shattering in isolation, but as I consider how short life is, these hours begin to mean more.

I was reminded of this recently when my friend Seren and I attended a panel discussion in D.C., hosted by Vital Voices. The panelists were women who advocated for “Girls, Not Brides” in places like Liberia and Pakistan. Samar Khan, the Pakistani woman who is fighting to give girls in her country a chance to have a childhood and an education instead of being forced into marriage at an early age, made a passing comment that stuck with me. The challenge she faces is great and there are many fronts on which to fight it. In response to this awareness, she declared: “I wish I could live for 200 years!” This, so that she could accomplish all that she knows could and should be done. But she can’t. So she strives to inspire the next generation and she works with the time she has now. It is the best she can do. It is the best anyone can do.

If there is anything the last few years have taught me, it’s been “do the best with what you have.” This is a practical principle, and a spiritual one that I see echoed repeatedly in the questions that Jesus asked needy people, right before they experienced something amazing together. The assumption is that we all have. We just have to decide what we’ll do with it.

There is so much goodness in the world… I engage it every time I step outside. I find joy in motion, beauty in nature, and power in cadence—it all moves me. But there is much that isn’t right with the world, and that moves me too. When I am confronted with the pain, oppression, ignorance, and injustice that others are forced to endure, I often feel small and powerless to make a real and lasting difference. But then I am reminded of that other line of thinking—the one that encourages me to focus on what I have, small as it may seem, and make the best with what I’ve been given. Invariably, as I do this, I always discover that I have more—surprisingly, delightfully more than I first thought.

So what do I have? Well… I have health. I have these legs that seem to be built for running the distance. I have a flexible work schedule that bends to fit my running. I have an amazing network of friends and family who support me in every aspect of life. I have a comfortable relationship with words, which I can string together to tell stories that inspire and are true. And I have this strong desire to live a focused and purposeful life—to align all the seemingly random elements of my life behind a singular and driving mission: to live well.

Until now, running has been a sport that takes me away from the rest of my life, but now I am looking for ways to bring all of life with me when I run. I want to run for a reason—beyond all the meaningful things that running already contributes. I want every race to be an opportunity to do something I enjoy, but also a chance to make a positive difference in the world.

The possibilities excite me, because there are so many amazing things that others are doing! In the next few weeks I'll have more to say about the first of many organizations I am running for, but for now, this is what I have, so this is what I offer.

Good Morning

There is no one else on the track this morning. RunKeeper tracks my progress in the background and my Imogen Heap station plays on Pandora, easing the monotony as I round each lap. The rising sun coats me with the warmth that my running gear doesn’t quite provide, and the naked trees with the hope of spring.

Just overhead some geese flap their wings in rhythmic formation, calling out to each other as they rise. They fly so low that for a few brief moments I can smell their musty scent. Their elegance and beauty is tempered by the geese that remain on the ground, pecking at the grass and looking so ordinary. The minefield of their droppings reminds me of the complex duality of beauty and Grace.

The stillness is intimate and comforting. To be alone and yet feel so peacefully surrounded; to wake up with the dawn and be captivated by beauty that is common and familiar; to find joy in motion and simply in being—these are the gifts that this morning offers. And as I drink it all in, my gratitude becomes my offering.

God With Us

Earlier this evening I posted this piece to Marcel's Lent Experiment blog, but it seemed fitting to cross-post it to my own blog.

This morning I met my personal trainer at the gym for another of our bi-weekly sessions. I am still sore from Monday, but today among other things, he had me doing lateral lunges: frog-like squats down the length of the room while simultaneously pushing a weight above my head. It’s all good, he tells me; it will build strong hips. But with my arms and legs quivering, in that moment all I could think was: 1.) This is exhausting! and 2.) Why can’t there be an easy way to achieve or maintain fitness?? And even in my exhaustion, it didn’t take long for my mind to bridge the gap between the physical principles and the spiritual. Everything worth having or keeping seems to bring me to a place where I am exhausted or desperately wishing for an easier way. And then I think of God, who’s the author of these rules we work and play by… Couldn’t he have made it so that we live by different rules? Couldn’t he have made this thing we call living more like what we cluelessly thought life was all about when we were children, wistfully (and sometimes defiantly) declaring the ease and freedoms that we would enjoy when we were grown and could finally shake off the hardships of being dependent and under discipline?

The phrase God with us comes to mind. It speaks to me of a togetherness-loving God taking on a human identity and experiencing life on my level to conquer the sins that I couldn’t, in hopes of drawing me into deeper relationship with him.

But today it also speaks to me of partnership. What God did for me and gave to me required all of him—to the point of death. For reasons that were infinitely more agonizing than my own, Jesus asked God the Father the same question I asked myself this morning at the gym. The answer was the same then as it is now. There is no easy way. But unlike Jesus on the cross, as I am confronted by exhaustion and difficulty, I now have the assurance of God with us. And while I still believe that means he’s always with me, I am coming to see that God with us is also an invitation for me to embrace the terms he’s set for living. To live as Jesus lived—recognizing that some days will be better than others, but there are no real shortcuts to fitness or love or anything worth having. In accepting this truth, I surrender my weakness to become his strength, I take up my cross, and I begin the journey of living life as it was designed for me.

God with us.

God… with us.

733 days

733 days...
one sprint triathlon (Culpeper)
two training races (Cherry Blossom 10 miler; Charm City 20 miler)
three marathons (Marine Corps; Lehigh Valley; Dallas White Rock)
six months of weight training
eight weeks of tennis lessons


733 days...
one more new American
two more years of self-employment
immeasurable wonder at God's provision and timing


733 days...
Road trips and wanderings to California, Indiana, Florida, New York, Pennsylvania, Texas, Arizona, Virginia, Georgia, Michigan


733 days...
Discoveries, truth, growth, mistakes, failures, pain, hellos, goodbyes, joy, confusion, love, loss, waiting, questions, faith, doubt, insecurity, confidence, strength, laughter, healing, wounds, fights, forgiveness, creativity, beauty, regrets, anger, fear, struggle, wisdom, courage, hope


733 days of life beyond this blog...
It's been too long.
But I'm here now.
And that counts.

The last day of 2009

The last day—the last hour—of 2009. As I begin this blog it is 11:04 p.m., which means that if I want to log this as a 2009 entry, I have exactly 56 minutes to reflect, type, edit, and post it. Time is of the essence, and this sense of urgency weighs heavily on me now. But more often than not, one minute slips into the next as naturally as breathing in and out. Why is it that so many of the things that are so essential to living well are the same things that are so easily taken for granted? Maybe that’s why we need milestones like birthdays and new years. At times like these it seems natural to ask: what has this year been about, and what do I hope for in the new year?

2009 has been about seeking clarity. 2009 has been about asking better questions. 2009 has been about refusing lesser dreams. 2009 has been about struggle and overcoming. 2009 has been about growth and healing. 2009 has been about facing the truth—in myself and in relationships with others. 2009 has been about rediscovering joy.

And 2010?

2010 is not about moving in new directions—that was last year. 2010 will be about continuing—digging in and going deeper. So I hope that in 2010 I can build on the growth that was realized in 2009 and discover horizons that stretch beyond my current mental, physical, spiritual, and emotional boundaries. I hope that in 2010 I can deepen the relationships that I already have. I hope that in 2010 I can run more, and dance more. And I hope that in 2010 I will keep seeking (and finding!) the more abundant life.

Happy new year!