Grab Your Ugly Socks!

With a clatter and a crash, the phone slipped off the treadmill dashboard, careened off the moving belt, and skidded to a stop in the carpet behind me.

I glanced left and right. Lithe joggers ran in precise form, their arms knowing how to cycle in smooth arcs, not flailing wildly like mine.

Photo Credit: Flickr user, E'Lisa Campbell, Creative Commons cc license

Grinning and red-faced, I jumped my feet up to straddle both sides of the still-moving treadmill, scooted backwards and retrieved my music player/husband's old cell phone. From a stair-stepping machine a row back, Mark arched an eyebrow at me and smirked.

Plugging headphones back in, I straddled the swiftly-moving treadmill belt again, gathered my courage, caught the gait, and jumped back into the jog. Staring at a smudge on the wall ahead of me, I breathed in four-four time, bouncing legs in rhythm to Superchick's rocky Beauty from Pain album.

I'm five weeks into jogging again and I'm loving the satisfaction and joy of meeting a goal. I've learned that I need a plan, and I need to make it as easy as I can to choose well. A black cloth bag hangs on a hook behind our bedroom door with an easy-to-grab work out t-shirt and comfy black shorts to run in. Crumpled green and red ankle socks wait in teal and coral tennis shoes on a handy shelf, and my headphones lay on our dresser. Mark and I have chosen days we work out, and we're trying to stick to them.

Panting and huffing, I watched the odometer click to a number I was waiting for. Hitting the cool-down button, I slowed my pace, heart racing, sweat dripping. Grabbing a sanitary towelette to wipe down the YMCA machine afterwards, I was stopped by an older gentleman.

"You're getting an early start. Are those Christmas socks?" he asked, smiling at my green and red socks.

I laughed and blushed. "Um, yes, Christmas bears, but they're comfortable ankle socks," I grinned back.

It helps to have a plan, I'm learning. So whether you're working towards fitness goals, writing word counts, business dreams, or end of summer plans, make it easy for yourself to say yes, and to feel joy in that moment. For me that looks like carving out mornings to write, setting aside afternoons to study for upcoming speaking sessions, and choosing times to grab my ugly socks and run!

What goals are you chipping away at? What helps you feel good about victories along the way? (Those reading this in email, can click here to join the conversation.)

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To the Jennys and Jasons and All Who Chase Joy

Photo: Brenda Anderson, Creative Commons, cc license

Dear Jenny,

You would have laughed this afternoon, and I think some did. With a bundle of purple lilacs in one hand and a bulky walkman cassette player in the other, I awkwardly flipped open the machine to turn my tape over. Slipping around under the black walkman in my right hand, two extra cassettes waited their turn and, in the confusion of closing, a lilac leaf became trapped in the cassette player. Green leaves bunched harmlessly as rocky nineties ska music blared in my headphones. I strode in sweaty cool-down mode, sniffing lilacs, grinning madly, and singing along in nostalgia.

You had wanted to join me in this, you said? This novice foray into jogging consistently. I thought of you today as I ran, panting in two-stepped breathing, willing the side-ache away, and wondered which route you would choose. I penned this email to you in my head, while breathing in deeply through my nose. My delight at being outside in Minnesota's newly-arrived summer had intoxicated me, causing me to forget all traces of ordered breathing. I sucked in air, pausing to count and slow my lungs. Quickly the side twinge dissipated. So, be careful of the beauty, my friend. It may catch you off guard too.

There was nothing hip or cool about my run today, despite the flashy green and teal sneakers. Starting partway into a Couch to 5K-style fitness program, I alternated between running and walking, pony tails bouncing off bare shoulders in the summer heat, purple tank top and black athletic pants looking nothing like the stylish runners I've seen.

It didn't matter. The sun poured down, cars roared by beside me, and red-winged blackbirds flapped their wings to stay steady on swaying cattails and tipping prairie grasses.Water gleamed translucent at their feet, mirroring a wide blue sky. Brown and black birds skittered from shallow hollows in the ground around me, jumping several yards away before turning to peer one-eyed at my approach. Freshly-mowed grasses lay long and withering across the pavement, their fragrance a heady sweetness on the breeze.

And just when fatigue was settling in strong enough, the blue house appeared. At the imaginary driveway line, I swiveled, turned, and made my return. All that remained was a calm cool-down saunter the two miles back. (Cue the lilacs. Their stage-right-entrance is a block away...)

The joy poured in, and maybe it was the endorphins, but I doubt they exist on this small of a running scale. Summer's sun was brilliant, tantalizing. Singing along to nostalgic favorites, I thanked God for health, for lilacs, and for his world's beauty. Pressing purple clustered lilac blossoms against my lips, nose, and cheeks, I inhaled as long as I could, and grinned giddy in the sunlight.

Joy feels so different than a life on auto-mode. Joy stands out from complacent carpooling and humdrum habits, but I forget. There is always cause for joy, despite the gasping, the side aches, and the sweat dripping down my face. There is always cause for joy, despite the frenzied last weeks of school and the science test that looms. Joy is always a choice, despite uncertainties that rise and shimmer unbidden in the background. And I remembered this immediately after the blue driveway where I swiveled, turned, and stopped running. Stumbling in wobbly weariness, I gasped, grabbed air, and shook my head, feeling silly to have forgotten.

There was a baby name book I found years ago when I was seeking namesakes for my firstborn. The title boasted proudly, "Beyond Jennifer and Jason," and who could have known they would be so right? Joy is only found when I look beyond myself, when I see Him and his beauty, when I step wonderingly into realization of his presence and breathe fully in.

Only after the run did the sense of it fully settle in. Joy came as a result of stepping in determined perseverance, choosing to breathe and continue, breathe and continue. Joy floods in, and humble thanks.

Slipping off my shoes and guzzling from a green water bottle, Jenny, I'll close. Thanks for joining me in this, and letting me wax philosophical.

Jennifer

Photo: Liz West, Creative Commons, cc license

In the Aftermath of Mach Two Speed

Photo: Adikos, Creative Common, cc license

 "Learn from my mistakes," she wrote vulnerably. "I wish someone had shared this with me years ago."

I dished up a slice of sour cream lemon pie and poured the last marginally-hot dregs of coffee into my yellow and brown striped mug. Setting them beside the Ipad screenshot of a "Couch-to-5K" jogging plan wasn't incongruous to me.

It was the jogging that was hard. Getting back into running after a year of not looked different than I thought it would. Determined at first to just practice mind over matter, to simply tie up shoes and make myself run the prescribed amount twice a week had some surprise setbacks mixed in with success at smaller goals. After a week of rain, some offset schedules, and a discouraging half-run in the mist, though, I returned home Monday afternoon soaking wet and disappointed.

My sister's email arrived early Tuesday morning, with no knowledge of Monday night's run.

"Learn from my mistakes," she'd said and gone on to speak of injuries. "Our bodies need time to ease into running in order for the ligaments, tendons, and joints to get into shape. I never realized that before. ...Running can be enjoyed for years and years if you get into it wisely."

She attached a schedule interspersed with running and walking, growing incrementally over six weeks. It was wise and true, and I find myself pulling up the email again today and looking for similar running plans.

My husband and a teaching colleague from church have been working on a three-sermon-series on the effects of an immediate-gratification society. In a world with instant internet searches, fast food drive through's, microwaves, no-wait theme park lines, on-demand products, and quick-fixes to most problems, we have been conditioned for speed and efficiency. And I love the ease of these modern conveniences.

If immediate gratification is the notion that anything can and should be had now, and that waiting is unnecessary, tiny questions begin to gnaw at me. What dangers lie in unconsciously applying this concept to other areas of life? More important than the effects of immediate gratification in my exercise life,  

How might the expectations of immediate gratification:
- affect my relationships?
- affect my approach to sin struggles? 
- affect my character?  

How does this expectation of immediacy impact my interactions with God? 

Resisting the desire for a tidy wrap up, I'm going to instead let the questions hang in the air here with us, and go lace up my sneakers.

You Are Sooo Close

Photo Credit: Benson Kua, Creative Commons, cc license

A lovely foreign-accented dark-haired woman with pale complexion and red lipstick clips words with a heavy tongue beside me, while an American businessman converses with her. They mention churches, the Basilica, nieces dancing in Hopkins, and a local pontoon party.

I've finished my Sunday School lesson outline and refilled my coffee. It scalds my tongue, and I spill two drops of golden tan onto my page.

I wonder about this morning's blogpost I need to write and stretch my legs that, miraculously, are not as sore as they could be after yesterday's run. Successfully getting back into jogging, I ran one and a half miles without stopping Friday afternoon. Saturday and Sunday, I groaned and clutched my legs in pain but proud accomplishment sustained me.

Yesterday (Monday) I forced myself to run again, knowing the second time is always the hardest. Making yourself set out down that marked path when the memory of agonizing weariness is so fresh and your legs are still sore from the last run is the hardest time to run. No endorphins ever set in, and my run looked more like a limping pitiful jog, but I did it. My husband's cell phone I was using as my music player had a battery line in the red, warning of only ten percent life left. I willed and prayed it to last to my mile and a half marker, a blue house that seemed absurdly far away.

Cars passed me going north and south, and far-off hollow hammer falls echoed across the valley. Mountains of black dirt behind an orange plastic construction fence hinted at future retail areas, and a blue porta-potty boasted "Fresh Air" across its walls. I panted and willed myself to keep going.

Green-glinting mallard duck and his demure brown mate floated on a vast rain pond, mirroring a massive blue sky. I wheezed and tried to train my arms to circle in tight arcs and not flail wildly.

The blue house loomed far out of sight and I felt my resolve flagging. Breathe. Don't stop. Breathe. Don't stop. Breathe. At least to the next driveway, at least to the next driveway. And the words became a mantra in and out of my double-rhythmed breathing. Don't stop. To the next driveway. 

Intersection lights blinked far down the road and I knew the blue house should be appearing soon.

You're so close now, Jen. Don't stop. Breathe, don't stop. Breathe, don't stop. Breathe. My legs screamed, my breathing was labored, and my arms flailed unchecked, but the blue house appeared. The driveway line was so close. I pounded step in front of step on the asphalt stubbornly, until the line came. At the obscure chosen mark, I was spent and limp, spinning a triumphant 180 degrees. Everything in me grabbed air and rejoiced at not running, as I walked weakly back down the path. Gasping, wheezing, I sucked air and tried not to collapse in view of passing cars. Step, step, breathe. 

Smile. Accomplished.

My chest and breathing slowed, the valley extended wide, expansive under a blue May sky, and the spiritual and metaphorical implications hit me.

Whatever you're persevering towards (raising kids, a book contract, marriage growth, an art piece, sin victories), keep going. You're so close. Don't stop. Breathe. Don't stop. Breathe. You are so close...


(Linking too with gentle Ann in thanks.)

5 Sure Signs You Haven't Been Working Out Consistently

1.) You have to introduce yourself to the new childcare staff when you drop off your son.
2.) The baby diapers in your work out bag are two sizes too small.
3.) Your locker lock is still at home in your "Let's go to the outdoor pool!" bag alongside sunscreen bottles. 
4.) Counting laps around the track involves sheer determination and internal bullying. ("No, you can NOT stop! Yes, I know you are dying. We are going to 30..."
5.) During cool down after the two miles, you seriously fear your legs will give out and send you toppling over the railing to the gym of basketball players below.

Grab your workout clothes and join me in the wobbly, sore legs feeling! It's a great sense of accomplishment. (For those who were with us last week, we were talking about persistence. This is me starting to be more consistent in working out.)

How about you? What do you wrestle with in being consistent? What victories have you seen this week? Spending time in God's word is a big thing too that Christians wrestle with in being consistent. Let's spur each other on. Where are you reading in God's word today/this week? 

The Romance in the Moment to Moment winner from this post is Britni. Britni, email me at douganemail@gmail.com with your address so I can send you a tailor-bought gift card for your town. Thanks.