Craving junk...

I went to the store last night to buy fruits and vegetables. Nice green leafy lettuce, a firm green cucumber, crunchy orange carrots and the like were on my list. Junk food was not. I went to the produce department, picked out a tomato or two, some green peppers, the other things on the list and then I began to roam aimlessly down other aisles. I walked down the drinks row. No problems. I strolled down the crackers and chips row. Big problem.

I love Kroger's Sea Salt and Cracked Pepper kettle chips. A bag of these savory creations "fell" into my cart. I wandered down a few more aisles. Somewhere in the frozen food section, a question popped into my head. "Why am I carrying a bag of greasy potato chips toward the checkout stand?"

Just over a year ago, I finally gave up soda pop. I craved it every day for weeks after I quit. Eventually, though, my desire for fizzy drinks dissipated. I stopped wanting a sip every ten minutes. I turned down offers of Pepsi, my favorite cola, time and time again. Who needs it?

Back to last night's bag of chips. When the "why am I carrying these things" question came to me, I shook my head at my illicit longing for junk. Then I did what I had never done before. I pulled the bag out of  my cart, set it down in the nearby ice cream cone display and walked away.

Can I kick the chip habit? I believe I can. I invite you to hold me accountable. No more chips. And...no more gummy worms. It's time to end the reign of junk in my belly.

I give you my neck...

I watched part of it. I didn't want to, but I was strangely drawn to the video that was purportedly of a priest being beheaded by a mob of Muslims. I listened to the language I couldn't understand being spoken and then to the indecipherable shouts as the man in ropes was thrown forward and the barbarous act of beheading began. I was thankful that the crowd blocked my view as the camera rolled. It was only after the butchering was done that I saw the head held high by the man in black who'd done the deed. I shut down the site at that point. I was sickened enough.

Ever since I watched this murderous act, I've been thinking. Back in the 70s, I watched my fair share of end times movies. I remember one scene in particular from one of the apocalyptic thrillers. A man of faith was walked up several steps to a guillotine and his head was removed in a split second. My heart was in my throat, but I decided then that if I was called upon to give my life for Jesus, I could do it.

The feelings I had while watching what I believed was a gruesome martyrdom were much different at first. The length of time it took from the first cut to the finished decapitation was longer than the quick and relatively painless death of the man in the movie. I imagined how awful it would be to feel the first stroke of the blade across the neck. I wondered how long the pain continued after the vocal cords could no longer scream. Thinking about it made me sick. I felt for the priest who turned out to not be a priest as he lost his life at the hands of evil men.

My perspective has changed over time. The time of the cutting wasn't really all that long. Maybe a minute. While not pleasant, at least not as pleasant in thought as death by guillotine, it would be endurable. I've suffered pain for longer already. Granted, the pain I've gone through hasn't had the additional fearfulness the surety of death must bring, but still I've tasted agony once or twice. It is bearable for a minute or two or three.

This realization has led me to pray a prayer that may sound strange to some. I've been praying, "Lord, I give you my neck." I know martyrdom may never be my lot in life, but I want to make sure the decision is made now to choose Jesus over life. If I wait, I'm afraid I might chicken out when the large knives come out. My heart is in my throat again, but I know I could do it endure even the worst death imaginable with God's strength. It was, after all, his power that got Jesus through the much longer and more agonizing execution he suffered through.

"For the joy set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such opposition from sinners, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart." (Hebrews 12:2-3)

Jesus has had my heart to do with as he pleases for many years. I choose today to give him my neck too. However he can use it. It is his.

I'm a liar...

I've come to that place in my recovery where I am finally ready to start thinking about and dealing with the root of the problem - my character defects. I've got a bunch of them. One of the most egregious is my tendency to not be quite truthful. I am, more often that I'd like to be, dishonest. Just so you understand what I'm saying, here's a personalized definition of dishonesty I ran across on a fellow struggler's blog.

• Dishonesty – Sins of omission and commission. Telling lies, hiding things, telling half truths or pretending something is so that isn't. Withholding important information. Adding untrue details to stories and situations. Stealing, cheating, taking things that aren't ours and that we aren't entitled to. (From Don't Drink and Don't Die)

I've been guilty of everything mentioned here. I'm especially bad when it comes to adding untrue details to stories and situations. I went to the dentist last week and when they asked me if I flossed, I said, "Yes." I don't know why I did it. I have flossed. I flossed regularly after my last exam. I did it for weeks and then I quit. When I said, "Yes," I probably hadn't flossed in over a month. Why did I say, "Yes"?

I am working on this defect of character. With God's help - he knows I need it - I will be honest in all my dealings with others.

Overthinking the Marathon...

I recently picked up and read a copy of Ray Charbonneau’s self-published work, Overthinking the Marathon. From the very beginning, the author’s conversational style grabbed me. Every day as he trained for the 2012 Cape Cod Marathon, he “scribbled” out a personal story worth reading. He made me feel like a friend he was sharing an important part of his life with.

Sometimes his tales were filled with wild animals (mostly bunnies). He considered these to be good omens worth mentioning on dozens of occasions.

Ray often talked about his wife’s training for her third marathon. I appreciated the way he spoke of his wife with great respect. His obvious love for her was refreshing in a world where spouses are so often grumping and complaining about each other. He cheered for her as much as she did for him.

There were also plenty of reports on his running club’s outings. He talked about their regular events and the special things they did together. Sometimes he’d miss a run to judge a cooking contest that the group was putting on. Other times, he’d volunteer at a race with others from the club. As a reader, I almost felt like I was a part of the Sommerville Road Runners when the last page was turned.

Ray running in an event

I laughed throughout the book as Ray described the adjustments he made to his shoe inserts. He changed his mind about what he needed more often than I could imagine anyone doing. He’d add a shim here and a wedge there.

The race reports sprinkled throughout the book were as detailed as anyone could ask for. He talked about the joys and successes right along with the aches and pains and disappointments. He was honest about his mistakes and admitted in the end that he probably raced too much in his lead up to the Cape Cod.

Charbonneau has a knack for making running advice interesting and helpful. In my favorite chapter of the entire book, “This I Believe,” he reasoned with his readers that longer-than-marathon runs are necessary for everyone training for a fast marathon. His logic was clear and quite convincing. Here’s just one paragraph worth of his advice.

“Plan to run the extra-long run slower than usual so it doesn’t take too much out of you. Don’t worry about the time. Your only goal is to put in the distance. Run comfortably; take walking breaks if you want. Stop at a store to get more sports drink, or on a bridge to admire the view.” (Sorry no page numbers on the Kindle. You can look for Thursday, August 16th.)

As a cyclist and runner who loves both sports, I was greatly entertained by Ray’s great dislike of cycling. His tales of woe and of trying out clipless pedals made me smile as I remembered my own plunge into the world of complete attachment to the bike.

The culmination of the book, the high point, was Charbonneau’s post-race report on the Cape Cod Marathon. Throughout the book he’d been working hard to be ready for a Boston qualifying time at the October race. Running with him every mile of the way from the starting line to the finish was a satisfying journey. I’ll let you read the book to find out if he met his BQ goal. I’d hate to ruin the surprise.

Ray and Mike meet before
the 2013 Boston Marathon

Having finished Overthinking the Marathon, I am ready to read another of his books. Right now, I’ve got my eye on Chasing the Runner’s High: My Sixty Million-Step Plan. Just the title makes me want to pick it up and start reading.

(Update: Ray ran in the 2013 Boston Marathon as a guide for a visually impaired runner named Mike. The two of them crossed the finish line in 3:58 (chip time). The time on the clock was 4:05. The pair walked away from the finish area just five to six minutes before the bombs went off.)

GIVEAWAY: Tasha won an eBook copy of "Overthinking the Marathon" on Wednesday, Apri 24, 2013. Thanks to all who read the review. A big thank you goes to Ray for making this giveaway possible.

The ides of April...

Yesterday when I tweeted, "Beware the ides of April," I was thinking about taxes, not the Boston Marathon. I never imagined that I would click around later in the day and see smoke billowing from the buildings near the famous race's finish line. I couldn't have dreamed up the images of collapsed and wounded bodies.

I ran angry this morning. Really angry. My pace doesn't show it. My pace was actually over a minute per mile slower than my last run's. The crazy squiggly lines at the beginning of my run are the only evidence of the ire in my heart. I thought a lot about the cowardly act as I ran this way and that. Then, when I got back to near where I'd begun, an idea struck me. I would run to honor the fallen. The end result can be seen in my GPS map. The mess of angry zigzagging now resembles the smoke from the bombing.

God bless those who have lost loved ones, those who have lost limbs, those who are traumatized. God help those who carried out the bombing.

Exploited towers...

What's the first thing you see when you look at this picture? My guess is you saw a plane about to hit a building. That's not what this picture is about at all. The events of 9-11-01 made you focus on the plane and not on the wire walker traipsing across the void between the two towers.

Philippe Petit, a French man, covered the distance between the north and south towers of the World Trade Center in New York City eight times on August 7, 1974. He spent 45 minutes suspended 450 meters above the ground. He finally stepped off the cable only because the police were going to bring a helicopter in to pluck him off of it. He was afraid the turbulence could dislodge him from his scanty walkway.

Philippe's feat was memorialized in the 2005 film, Man on Wire.