I don’t know where I am, but I know I’m not lost

Looking at the date of my last blog post makes me sad. I can’t believe I just put down my pen and walked away for three long years.

I was hiking (by myself) last week, and realized that I had no idea where I was. I looked around, found the trail markers, and just kept putting one foot in front of the other until I got someplace familiar. I might not have known where I was, but I knew I wasn’t lost. That seemed like a very real description for my life right now.

Not long after that last blog post, I had a pretty significant injury that derailed running or even walking for a bit. Every time I thought I was better and ready to hit it again, that injury, or a related one hit me again. And, I’ll admit, it kind of sent me into a spiral. Couple no exercise with a busy (and sometimes stressful) life, and it’s not long before anxiety and depression come riding up on their infernal black clouds. And set up camp.

Needless to say, those black clouds brought on weight gain and lethargy, which made getting back to daily exercise seem like a hill I couldn’t climb. No movement and iffy nutrition led to thirty pounds and a Type 2 diabetic diagnosis.

2019 has been about taking back my life. Ten months in, but I finally feel like I’m making progress.I’m eating well, moving regularly, and taking care of my mental health again. Baby steps, but in the right direction. My A1C has dropped to a normal level, and my energy is back up and motivating me to move.

Regaining my mental health rests not just in the movement of my feet, but in picking that proverbial pen back up and writing again. I probably won’t be sharing this to my other social media feeds for a while, but I might after I’ve dusted off my computer and worked some of the soreness out of my writing muscles. We’ll see how it goes. This feels very raw to me, and not something I normally share, but it also feels necessary.

I don’t know where I’m headed, but I’m definitely on the right road. I hope running again lies in the not too distant future, but I’ll take walking and hiking right now. I just have to keep reminding myself that I am Here now and to be present in this moment. There’s a lot to be learned Here, and it’s time I started paying attention.

Digging In

It’s going to take a little longer than I thought.

I’m struggling.  There’s nothing like a good training plan to let you see with crystal clarity just how far you are from your goals. Week 9 finds me stumping along; making the mileage (mostly), if not my pace times; and feeling like I’m pulling a 10,000 pound weight along behind me. Sigh…

There’s a fine line between transparency and whining, so I’ll try to toe the line on the side of truth. Forgive me if it occasionally sounds like whining. I’m tired. And, I have to run 9 miles in a few days. AND, I have a lot of doubt about my ability to do that.

Turns out, all that foundation I thought I was pouring during the six months leading up to this training plan wasn’t building my base after all. It was the excavation under the base. Just the digging. Not the footings, even.

When I asked God to help me rebuild, He just handed me a shovel and said, “Start digging. I’ll be over here watching. I’ll let you know when you’re there.”

I have to know, is that the way He teaches everyone? Or, is it just me? Hmmph. It’s like He thinks I’m a little hardheaded or something.  As though He knows that I have to put in the work if it’s going to have any lasting impact on my life. Maybe He’s onto something.  Still, after two weeks of epically bad runs, I sure wish He would come down from the peanut gallery and grab a shovel to help me dig.

This I know about myself.  I won’t quit digging. I still haven’t even gotten to the foundation part of my base, and won’t before my fall half. But, one thing He has taught me through running is that persistence always trumps talent and ability. That’s why He handed me the shovel.

But, it’s going to take a little longer than I thought.

Keeping On

The race is not always to the swift, but to those who keep on running. Unknown

My twenty-four year old daughter was digging around in one of our junk piles recently, and came upon what she thought was a treasure.  It was a beautiful hardcover book entitled “Our Christmas Memories”.  She very excitedly sat down to reminisce, only to discover that just the first couple of pages had been completed.  It had a few sad little pictures, a few notes on Christmas from that year (maybe 1993?), and the rest of the book was blank.  She brought it to me, and we both had a laugh over it.  One of the many projects I’ve started and stopped over the years.

The truth is, I’m not particularly crafty.  And, as sentimental as I am, I’ve always had a hard time following through with a project, even one started with such good intentions as passing down to the next generation a record of our Christmases together.  I think the current generation calls that an “epic fail”.

One of the many reasons that I hold running so dear to my heart is because successful running requires commitment and discipline.  If your goal is to cross a finish line after running  X  number of miles, you better make a plan, and stick to it.  Particularly if your goal is endurance running.  You have to respect the distance, putting mile after mile on your legs, preparing them for race day, making sure they know that giving up is not an option.

Running has taught me perseverance and that has carried over into my life.  I’ve learned to be mindful of the projects I select, choosing them with care, then following through to completion.  Training my mind and body to never quit has given me a mental discipline that I’ve sought my entire life.  God gets all the glory for that, He alone powers my legs, guards my mind, marks my path.

Running has taught me that persistence trumps talent.   I always thought that to succeed, you have to be genetically gifted in whatever area you were pursuing.  Now I know that I sometimes have to adjust my definition of success.  If my definition is to always come in first, then yes, I need some genetics on my side.  However, if my definition is to be MY best, to do MY best, to give MY all, then genetics don’t really matter.  Putting my head down, putting my eyes on God,  and moving my feet forward will get me where I’m going.   In my 52 years, I’ve learned that what I really want, what really matters to me, is to be MY best, not looking to the left or right, just making sure that I run MY race, no one else’s.

As a new year approaches, my plan is to keep moving forward.  To keep seeking my path, the one God laid out for me before I was even born.  To plod along faithfully, seeking my best and His will.  Knowing that, if I keep moving forward, if I keep on keeping on, He will bless my efforts, guide my way, and allow all my efforts to bring Him glory.  Amen and amen.


I am a Christian, a wife, a mother, and an Old Broad Who Runs. I began blogging as I trained for the 2011 New York City marathon in an effort to keep myself accountable. I discovered that running and writing completed me in a way nothing else ever has. I am a professional photographer by trade and have discovered a love of writing that I pray carries me through the autumn of life, all the way to the end.

Mile 3  of the New York City Marathon, November 6,  2011

Mile 3 of the New York City Marathon, November 6, 2011