The Dawg Run: On The Run

3.67 mi(ish) / 44 min(ish) / 12 mpm(ish)

I really have to find that widget that counts my time and miles. I think I actually might be running a little faster than 12 mpm but there is really no telling.

It was run day - but we also had a Physical Therapy appointment at 8am and an Occupational Therapy appointment at 8:30am. And I needed to be in the office first thing in the morning to get everything off on the right foot . . . so.

I got up at 2:30 am - dressed for my run and went into the office. Worked a couple hours and then headed to Balboa Park (sans dawg). After that it was rush home, change - off to the appointments.

It was pouring rain. Sheets of rain. (so much so that I couldn't manage a photo - the one above is off the web)

One of the things that I noticed on my last run in the rain is that your nice swishy running shirt (you know, the one you bought because the friction from your old cotton t-shirts was giving you a rash?) Well, that swishy shirt becomes a lot less swishy when it is soaking wet. Things start to rub and chafe that you really don't want chaffed - two spots in particular on your chest . . .

I got home after my run on Saturday soaking wet and told my wife about it. She offered me some of her Lanolin. "Yeah, right." Was my response . . . Until I changed into some dry clothes and then . . . well . . . let's just say I am surprised at how thick and sticky the stuff is.

This time around I used a couple of band aids the way I had seen people at marathon races use them and it helped a little . . .

So I ran in the rain. It was fun - but not as fun as last time. Funny how the rare experience can make you euphoric and then the second time around you're thinking, "Hey! It's raining! Yippee! . . . but . . . this, this is A LOT of rain . . . . maybe too much rain . . ."

And it was. Water was sloshing out of my shoes by the time I was half-way through.

Since I don't have the widget for the gizmo, I have been setting my stopwatch and watching the time. My goal was 44 minutes this time and I wanted to be sure to do a cool down walk during the last 5 minutes - which meant I would stop running at the 37 minute mark . . . . or so I thought . . . .

By the time I was approaching the end of my 37 minutes, I was checking my watch every 30 seconds . . . FINALLY I saw the longed for "37:00" on my watch and then it hit me . . . . my math was off and I still had another 2 minutes to go . . . .

I realize that 2 minutes might not seem like a lot to some folks . . . but when you are at the very end of as far as you can run . . . 2 minutes presents quite a challenge . . . for that matter, navigating a curb or a large seam in the pavement presents quite a challenge . . .

I took a deep breath, rolled my shoulders back and said, "Well, waddya gonna do? Quit . . .?" So I kept on truckin'.

As so often happens, the Ipod gizmo kicked up a little audio inspiration in the form of "Seasons of Love" off the Rent soundtrack. I realize that a Broadway musical about bohemian artists with AIDS has a very limited audience - but this song is a great one:

525,600 minutes, 525,000 moments so dear.

525,600 minutes - how do you measure, measure a year?

In daylights, in sunsets, in midnights, in cups of coffee.

In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife.

In 525,600 minutes - how do you measure a year in the life?

How about love?

Measure in love.

Seasons of love.

525,600 minutes! 525,000 journeys to plan.

525,600 minutes - how can you measure the life of a woman or man?

In truths that she learned,

Or in times that he cried.

In bridges he burned,

Or the way that she died....

It's time now to sing out, the story never ends

let's celebrate! remember! a year in the life of friends.

How about love!

Measure in love. Seasons of love!

Seasons of love.

The first time I heard that song I didn't know its origins. Some friends of ours had used it as the audio for one of their "Year in Review" videos.

As I slogged through the rain I thought about those friends and how this past year has been one of the toughest of their lives and yet, they have recommitted themselves to the task at hand and walked the hard road. I thought about how they were heroes to me.

Then I thought about other friends of mine - small business owners and parents. Making a life of it through the boom and bust seasons of our economy and how they give so much of themselves to others. Heroes.

I thought of a couple of friends I talked with years ago before they were married. She confessed that she was struggling with debilitating depression and was worried that she could never be the wife her fiance deserved. I thought about how he immediately looked me in the eyes and said, "It doesn't matter - I love her." Heroes.

And from there it just cascaded . . . . I hit "Replay" at the end of the song and continued my reverie . . .

So many heroes . . . all around us . . . .

It made me think, what was it that they all had in common? What makes these people heroes in my eyes? It wasn't strength - although many of them are strong, they have faced down challenges and obstacles for which their strength was no match . . .

It wasn't courage - as I have seen friends face difficulties utterly terrified of the possible outcome . . .

It certainly wasn't money although there is much to be said for generosity - it isn't necessarily heroism . . . .

I think I decided that it was love that makes a hero . . . not just the warm fuzzy feeling that masquerades as love . . . but the type of love that loves even in the face of utter hopelessness . . . when you can't see how you will make it through . . . when it would be easier to walk away . . . and yet you embrace the baleful of pain and suffering for the one thin straw of love that lies within it . . . a love that is an agonizing choice of will . . . a love that chooses to love when you don't even feel like loving anymore . . . a gut-wrenching choosing of love at the end of all things because otherwise what is it all for . . .

Maybe true heroism is a Good Friday sort of love - which is why the cross of Christ is so compelling . . . When all is lost and all have forsaken . . . when emotion is gone and you only have the strength to make one last choice you choose to love . . .

I know heroes in my life that are still in that dark and lonely period between the Good Friday of their circumstances and the Sunday morning resurrection of resolution and triumph . . . it is a strange and cold place to be - devoid of much of the passion of Good Friday . . . hope is there but it is a prayerful hope as opposed to the triumphant hope of Sunday morning . . . a hope of the not yet . . .

But I also don't think you have to have your world turned upside down and shredded to be a hero - there is another love beside the love on the cross - let us not forget those who stood at the foot of the cross keeping vigil - the ones who continue to love those around them even when they don't fully understand the inner crucifixion their friend or family member is facing.

These heroes love in the midst of total uncertainty and confusion - they just know they will not abandon the one on the cross - they are the last ones you see when you feel the breath escape you - they stand watch quietly, patiently, prayerfully through the cold darkness from Friday to Sunday. They are the first faces you see when the blinding light of God rolls the stone away from your darkened tomb that you must occupy for a time . . .

So many heroes - if only we will open our eyes and see . . .

Not a bad way to spend an extra two minutes in the rain, eh?

Oh, and my run was good too - still injury free so far as I can tell!