My leg had been hurting and I hadn’t been able to run all week. I was afraid that I’d end up walking the entire thing. I wanted to run–much less run fast. And though I didn’t sleep hardly at all the night before, I woke up ready. Eye of the Tiger, baby.

I knew I would run. I knew I was strong. I knew I’d be fast. (Relatively speaking of course.)

And it was so cold. Terribly cold. But once the race started, it was fine. I didn’t use my ipod, even though I had spent time making a playlist just to race to. I turned it off and listened. Listened to my breath. Listened to my feet pounding the pavement, and listened to God whispering words of encouragement to my heart. Not words really, but feelings.

And I’m even more convinced that my spirit was made to run. And that the body is God’s creation and it is magnificent.

I ran. Me. Me! The wimpy little girl that couldn’t hardly run around the bases in P.E. and always got picked last ran a 10K and finished. And finished well: faster than I have EVER run before.

I loved it.

And I’m getting faster. And stronger. And healthier.

All my hard work is starting to pay off.

So, here is a little song. I like it. I like thinking about what God wants for me. And life. I hope you enjoy it.

I know. I know.

Several of you have offered to run with me. “Call me and we’ll run” you say. Or “Let me know, I’d love to go running with you.”

But, I never call. I never write. I never come to visit.

Well it’s not that I don’t like you, my fellow runners. Or that I wouldn’t want the company.

I just can’t seem to mix running with socializing. Because when I’m around people I have this STRANGE need to TALK to them.

And I just can’t talk and run. I’m not only out of shape, but I need time to think. To be ALONE with my thoughts. (And my leg cramps and my sweat. You know.)

That’s why my runner partner is so great.

He never talks: There is no need for senseless banter. Or witty remarks.

He’s not faster than me: unless I give him permission to be. I’m not embarrassed about slowing him down. In fact most of the time I kick his trash. It’s very gratifying. (I don’t think I could outrun anyone else at this point.)

He’s fatter than me: No need to feel self-conscious about my butt or anything. He has one of those unassuming, expressionless faces. The kind that always make everyone else around them look good.

He doesn’t sweat and stink. In fact, he’s quite pleasant to be around. (That rules out my husband.)

And the best part is that my husband doesn’t care a bit. In fact, he likes my running partner. I think he’d probably like to borrow him sometime.

Oh, and my partner has an excellent memory and sense of direction. I could never get lost with him around.

No commitment. And if he gets on my nerves. I can shut him down.

He also keeps track of the state of my heart–not an easy thing for a guy to do.

I’ve named him Garmin.

He fits nicely on my wrist.

I think it’s a perfect match. I love you, Garmin. (Don’t tell Cowboy. It’s our little secret. Mainly because you can’t talk!)

PS- In case you are wondering, there is a virtual partner feature and a little guy runs along side of you on the screen. You set his pace and then try to stay ahead of him. I love it.

It felt good. Not a I-am-so-happy-go-lucky-and-life-is-dandy type of good. But an angsty bring-it-on type of good.  The cool air soothed my frustrations and the drops of rain pelting my skin brought needed distraction.

I’m not really angry. It’s just that every once in a while everything builds up and I need to work it off. Anger is my secondary emotion to anything negative. So, today I ran. About a mile into it, the rain stopped. I didn’t. I ran harder. I pounded out every frustration I could think of.

• My friends are at a writer’s conference, probably signing book deals even as we speak, er, type. How will I deal with my close writer friends getting published before I do? How will I keep the green-eyed monster at bay?

• I sent my first few chapters to a great friend for critiquing. She is awesome. She totally kicked my trash. How will I fix my own manuscript?  How? How? How? (Those very words pounded in my head in time to my feet pounding the pavement, er, asphalt.)

• My husband has been self-employed since September. How do I clear the tiny nagging doubt of what if?
• Doubt can be a constant friend. Don’t let it fool you, it’s your worst enemy.

So, I took all that doubt and anger and frustration and I put it where in belongs. Trodden under-foot and left behind.

And then the rain started again. I had only a mile left to go. I felt good–the clean, refreshed everything-is-going-to-be-okay kind of good.

I choose to be happy for my writer friends. I refuse to be envious.

As far as my novel goes. I’m not alone. I’ve never been alone. I just have to reach for the outstretched hand.

And as for my husband, well, we are meeting all of our needs and then some. Worry won’t change a thing.

And as bonus material, I realized more fully why the human body  is God’s greatest creation.

And now for what I really planned on blogging about:

Blogging is a funny thing. It does strange things to your brain. For instance: today when I ran I thought, “Today I ran in the rain.” I didn’t think, “I am running in the rain.” You see, I start to see my life in past tense. I start to see my life as a potential blogpost. Weird. Now, onto the subject at hand: the extra mile.

So, when I was a little girl in Sunday School class, I was taught to “go the extra mile.” I don’t think I understood what that meant. We would sing the song, “Sing your way home at the close of the day, sing your way home, drive the shadows away, smile every MILE . . .” I thought that was perhaps how you went the extra mile. By walking home the long way, or something. I see now, that I was closer than I realized.

Now I’ve learned that going the extra mile, means to put extra effort into everything you do. Do more than is expected.

Today while I was running, I saw that very clearly.

My house sits on what I call, “the big block.” It is 1.8 miles around. Close enough to being two miles that I’m tempted to round. So, let’s say, I wanted to run two miles and I figured that 1.8 is close enough. And, admittedly it is very close.

But, what if I was getting better at running and getting stronger and was ready to go farther. I normally go around twice. Do the math. That is 3.6 miles. Which is not very close to four. Today, I went around three times. That’s not six miles, but only 5.4. That would round down to five, not up to six.

My point being, that the farther you go, the more obvious the deficit is.

However, let’s say, I wanted to run 2 miles and I found a course that was 2.2 miles. If I worked up to running around it three times, I’m ahead! I’ve gone 6.6 instead of the 5.4 of the earlier track.

(Is this making any sense? Because it all make sense to me as I wrote this blog in my head while I ran in the rain.)

So, what if I cut corners in my writing. What if I tell myself that this plot or this character, is “close enough” to where they could be? As time goes on, there will be problems.  The small gap will become a gaping plot hole, and the weakness in construction will result in paper doll characters. And I’ll have to go back, and do it the right way. I’ll wish that I had put in the extra effort to make it all tight and whole in the first place.

Granted, sometimes even when we are doing our very best and more, we still have plot holes and flat characters, but at least we can feel good about doing our very best.

So, today I rain in the rain. And I learned a lot.

The end.

So, when I graduated from the treadmill and started to run out-of-doors, I felt a little self-conscious. I mean, I ran around my neighborhood and who wants their neighbors to see them running (or wogging) by with their fat jiggling. Or with sweat dripping off them like they’d just landed head first into a mud puddle. Warning: Please do not try to picture these disturbing images in your mind. Kindly move along to my next thoughts.

So, I was a newby runner and that’s when I made a big mistake. I wondered what I looked like when I ran. Okay, that’s not the mistake. The mistake was that I looked at the ground at my shadow to see what I looked like when I ran. Why was this a mistake?

1. My shadow has a very skinny head and very fat ankles.

2. My shadow cannot lift its legs off the ground. It must have something to do with the angle of the sun. Not with me.

3. My shadow runs like a freak. (Not to be rude. Just honest.) My shadow looks like it is running away from an asylum.

Can you imagine with me the horror I felt when I  imagined that I resembled this shadow, this extension of me, if you will.

I almost ran back to my basement. To my beloved treadmill, where I can run without the world gazing on in wonder (or pity).

But running outside was much more interesting. So, I tried to run without looking at my shadow. And I got over it, sorta. (Who cares what I look like when I run, because I’ve lost 10 pounds now from running. TEN. Pounds. People. So, if I look good in my jeans and bad when I run, who cares?)

Anyway, I came to a realization this morning when I again made the mistake of looking at my shadow as I ran. My shadow is distorted. The morning sun is at an odd angle. And my shadow doesn’t seem to be going anywhere because it’s always with me. It takes every step I take and never seems to move forward at all.

So the realization was that I need to stop looking at my shadow and look at the big picture. Look how far I had run (almost four miles) and look how far I had to go (I was almost to my goal.).

Then, I thought of my writing. Sometimes my writing is distorted and weird to me. Sometimes I’m afraid of other people seeing it and I’m tempted to hide it in the basement of my laptop. That’s when I need to look at the big picture. Look at far I have come. I have improved immensely in the past three years. I’ve made wonderful friends, published an essay and even if I’m slow, I’m steadily moving forward. I don’t know how close or how far my destination is, but it doesn’t matter. I’ll make it.

Even with a freaky shadow.

Almost every day.

Averaging 3.5 -4 miles.

Yesterday’s run felt amazing. The first mile was tough. It always is. Like I’m treading water and my legs are heavy and I think of the elephants at the zoo and hope that is not what I look like because that is how I feel.  After one mile, I stretch and then it happens. I feel like a machine. And I run. And I feel no pain. And my breath is easy and feet are light. I may still look like an elephant, but I don’t feel like it.

My easiest mile is mile 3. I get my rhythm. I feel the rush. Yesterday, I loved it so much that I cried. I was so happy that I could run. That I was strong. That the world is green and alive. That I’m alive. I breathed a prayer of thanks.

Today:  a different story. I’m told that’s how it is with running. Ups and downs. I still made it 3.5 miles and every step was hard. Every. Single. One. Hard. Heavy. Steps.

Maybe I over-thought it.

Maybe I had pushed too hard yesterday.

Maybe I have no idea what I’m doing.

But still . . .

I ran.

I’m not a sprinter. I’m slow. Very. Slow.

But I can go the distance.

And today I saw how my running mirrors my life.

I’m not a sprinter.

But I can take it slow and steady.

And I get there.

And I’m not afraid of things that are hard. (Particularly if it is self-inflicted: getting a degree at age 37, homeschooling my children, natural childbirth, writing, and now running.)

I love to run.

I thought I’d never say that.

I love to run.

There I’ve said it again.

What do you for a challenge? What do you do that is hard?