Fatigue

I’m tired. This past week I’ve just weezed my way through running every morning. I’m supposedly in great shape. I was doing speed work 8 days ago--no problem. I was running 10 miles in heat. No problem. Now getting through 6 miles is tough. My legs feel weak. And I’m feeling fatigued early in the day. Jan told me, “So take a nap if you're fatigued,” which I did…at 8:00 am! I’m tired.

I’ve been studying Psalm 62 which is on rest. At first this little obtuse hymn sung by Jewish people in their worship service meant very little to me. I only studied it after a younger staff member suggested we work on it together, and then write a sermon. It was a training opportunity, so I sort of went along with it all and was incredibly surprised. In the Psalm, the writer David, is in the middle of something dreadfully wrong. He’s not come through it, but he’s in the middle of it. And he begins by saying, “My soul finds rest in God alone…” NIV. Other translations use the phrase “waits in silence” and there in is the intrigue. The Hebrew word means “wait” as in rest so it's actually describing a spectrum. There are times when “rest” means you’ve done everything possible to deal with an issue so you stop, wait, and do so in silence. And in doing so you leave the results up to God alone. You’re in a place of rest. At other times, you are working at a frenetic pace but still doing so from a place of absolute rest. Again, the results you leave to God alone. But you are working from a place of rest, and not just resting from your work. The writer of the Psalm actually moves closer to a place of rest while writing the Psalm. He’s experiencing this “rest” at a deeper and deeper level while penning those words of hope. “I find my rest in God alone….”

This whole idea of rest has come home to roost with me this week. After an intense weekend at a church in another part of the country, I find myself deeply fatigued. Is it the heat? Is it the possibility that I’ll be that church’s next pastor and it's a tough assignment and I’m fearful? Is it just ordinary emotional fatique from a year of transition (everything is changing: where we live, Jan’s retiring, our ministry is moving away from the parent organization, our finances are not the same, etc.)? Is it physical and I need to see a doctor to counteract some medical issue? Is it chronic fatigue syndrome, which a friend currently has, and now its my turn to experience that lovely condition? I don’t know.

But this I do know…..

The God who redeems my soul through the work (hard work at that) of Christ on the cross also invites me to a place of rest. The God who reigns over my life because he’s the real king, also invites me to a state of repose as I submit to his will for my life…even if this is the start of the end of my life! That God says through the writer of Psalm 62, “Find your rest in me alone. I am your hope and your salvation.”

In that, I gain a great deal of strength. Because in spite of the incivility of our national dialogue, and in spite of the hand wringing over the way our modern cultures have destroyed planet earth, and despite of the reality that sin devastates people, and families, and marriages (I just had lunch with a friend whose marriage is falling apart and he’s contributed and admits it), and in spite of the difficulty of pastoring churches in transition or crisis, that God promises a salvation--and a place of rest--that’s real and not humanly contrived. Down throughout the ages, says philosopher Luc Ferry, salvation has been the goal of every culture. Something will save us. This is our hope, even for those who don’t believe in God. Something will save us! But in Christianity, that savior doesn’t just promise it, he becomes it. He is our “hope and our salvation.” Jesus is our rest. Christianity isn’t a set of moral principles to believe, but a person to trust. I’m banking on it. And in that, I’ll rest.

Time for a nap.

The Philly Marathon, Life, and Ministry

The long wait is over. After five years, I’ve returned to sub-three hour marathons, something that was, at one time, so predictable I didn’t even think about it. What a reality check! Injuries, age, and circumstance (heat, hills, and food poisoning to be specific) beat me to the finish line on more than one occasion. But on a cool day (it was 41 and partially cloudy at the start) on November 23, 2014 we did it. I mean “we” because Jan and some family friends, Dan and Mary Beth Wilkinson, were all part of it. The time 2:58:10 was better than I anticipated and sold me on the new training method I’ve been using. I’ll save an explanation of that for another post.

“Why would you do that?” people have asked. “I mean really?! Why go out and run like that or train like that? It seems a bit extreme.” I suppose it is extreme—like surfing in the winter is extreme and rock climbing is extreme, etc. But its more than just an addiction to extreme sports. To me, running marathons is like life. And to be specific, its like the Christian life. People in our culture don’t train for life, and consequently, we don’t stick it out when tough times come, etc. We give up on marriages, on relationships, on jobs, and other things way too easy. Dan captured some of my thinking on this in a coffee shop downtown the day before the race. Check it out.

Losing Weight--Again!

I’m losing weight, again. An elbow injury is keeping me from lifting weights, my schedule is keeping me from physical therapy that would put me on the path to elbow recovery, and my marathon training is cranking up the mileage and I’m burning thousands of calories at a time (Last Saturday I estimate that I burned 2200 calories in three hours). I’m having a hard time replenishing. I’m so busy I just don’t eat enough. One lady at church looked at me Sunday and said, “When you get back here, I’m going to fatten you up!” Hmmm. For what?

So I’m going on a see food diet. If I “see food” I’m going to eat it. I’m also going to put fasting on hold—something I did for a number of weeks. (I’d preached on it so decided to practice it leading to the inevitable loss of even more weight)

Here’s the plan: I’m going to eat smaller meals more often, and get physical therapy to get healed up so I can start to lift weights again. But the challenge to keep weight on when in serious training for marathons is really interesting. In High School and College I competed as a wrestler where I had to lose roughly fifteen pounds to make weight. The struggle to keep the weight off was sometimes brutally painful. I remember stepping on a scale once and weighing 140 lbs. I had to cut down to 118. The fear of losing 22 lbs in a short amount of time put me immediately on a diet. Now, I can’t keep weight on for the life of me. Not sure why. Wrestling practice in college was twice a day and was considerably more difficult than what I’m doing to train for marathons. I don't get it! 

Oops. Got to go. Time to eat. And for those of you who read this post and struggle to take weight off? Please don't hate me. When people don't like me, I lose weight.

Exercise--the West's New Religion

In the front of his book, The Reason for God, Tim Keller notes that both orthodox Christianity and Secular irreligion (Atheism in some cases) are gaining footholds around the world. This sets us up for a philosophical and political clash of the Titans which we experience in a variety of ways. What I never expected, however, was to experience it in exercise.

Behold, the new religion of exercise. This religion has all the makings of a cult with its stringent orthodoxy (training with sledge hammers and tires), its well spoken advocates (coaches and workout instructors), and its more than willing participants (normally younger men and women). This is of interest to me since in the past ten years of my life I’ve dabbled in the extreme sport of marathon running. Now it would appear that training for marathons, and even running them, is really no longer extreme. It’s something people do to check off their “bucket list.” However, the new paradigm of exercise has taken things to another level. It’s not conditioning to accomplish a sport but conditioning for conditionings sake and often in the most extreme fashion. What is valued is the exercise for exercise itself. Instead of preparing us for some athletic competition, it drives the one exercising to what is ultimate, provides protection for a future apocalypse, and seeks to provide answers to life’s real meaning

New York Times writer, Heather Havrilesky, in an October 14, 2014 article entitled, Why Americans are so Fascinated by Extreme Fitness says this about this new tendency towards physical fitness:

“…our new religion has more than a little in common with the religions that brought our ancestors to America in the first place. Like the idealists and extremists who founded this country, the modern zealots of exercise turn their backs on the indulgences of our culture, seeking solace in self-abnegation and suffering. ‘This is the route to a better life,’ they tell us, gesturing at their sledgehammers and their kettlebells, their military drills and their dramatic re-enactments of hard labor. And in these uncertain times, it doesn’t sound so bad to be prepared for some coming disaster — or even for an actual job doing hard labor, if our empire ever falls.

It makes sense that for those segments of humanity who aren’t fighting for survival every day of their lives, the new definition of fulfillment is feeling as if you’re about to die. Maybe that’s the point. If we aren’t lugging five gallons of water back from a well 10 miles away or slamming a hammer into a mountainside, something feels as if it’s missing. Who wants to sit alone at a desk all day, then work out alone on a machine? Why can’t we suffer and sweat together, as a group, in a way that feels meaningful? Why can’t someone yell at us while we do it? For the privileged, maybe the most grueling path seems the most likely to lead to divinity. When I run on Sunday mornings, I pass seven packed, bustling fitness boutiques, and five nearly empty churches.” 

Did you get that? People rather suffer the extreme pain of “hard labor physical fitness” than the emptiness of religiousity. Very interesting. Truthfully, I agree with them. Churches are empty for a reason and exercise boutiques are full of people for a reason. Maybe we should consider why. After all, while exercise may prolong your life, it never promises to save your soul. If anything, it delays the inevitable. So why are churches so empty and exercise facilities so full? Maybe its because churches have lost their way, like everyone else, and haven’t figured it out yet. Check out the article. It will be worth a read.

http://www.nytimes.com/2014/10/19/magazine/why-are-americans-so-fascinated-with-extreme-fitness.html?module=Search&mabReward=relbias%3As%2C{%221%22%3A%22RI%3A8%22}

Boston Strong

I participated in the 118^th running of the Boston Marathon last Monday (April 21). Last year I dropped out due to injury and was sitting in a restaurant with Jan and family friends when news of the bombing interrupted our meal. We got up, paid what we owed, dropped our friends off at the airport so that they could head back to Seattle, and drove as fast as we could out of the city. There was nothing we could do. But having experienced 9/11 first hand I knew that if we didn’t leave quick, we probably wouldn’t be leaving at all, at least not for while. The pictures of the bombings horror are now enshrined in our national memory. It was a sad day in American history.

But this year was different. This was marathon number eighteen for me. I’ve run in Athens, Greece and done New York City five times and I’ve not experienced anything like this. For one, my qualifying time of 3:05 put me in the last third of the first of four waves and in coral seven. Usually that time will put you way up towards the front. This year, just to get into the first wave, you had to run a 3:12 marathon. That's pretty quick for most people.

Second, the race and logistics was the best I’ve ever seen. It ran like clock work. The transportation logistics alone were astronomical.

Third, this was the most secure race I’ve ever run in. Between miles 23-26 I saw clothed police officers roughly 25 yards apart, all facing the crowd who screamed at levels I’ve not heard ever. The Wellesley girls seemed muted this year in comparison.

I ran a 3:11—not the fastest time in the world and certainly not what I wanted. I only trained, again due to injury, roughly two months for this race. My legs were on the verge of cramping from mile 17 on but they didn’t. In the end, it was one of the smartest races I’ve run as I didn’t have the conditioning to run like I’d have liked so when I got close to cramping, I just slowed down and had fun. What an experience. I hope to it run again next year—God willing.

The VooDoo Onion

I went down hard. My right foot rolled right, my body fell left. I nearly did a face plant on the pavement. It had rained all night, and a pile of silt had collected over a pot hole. It didn’t matter how fast I was running, I would have gone down even if I was walking! I was on mile 12 ½ of a 17.3 mile speed run in preparation for the Boston marathon. It was clear I wasn’t going to run anymore that day, and it was almost a five mile walk home. However, as providence would have it, I was ¼ mile from the home of my trusted friend Lou, the Greek. Though it was only 7:15 a.m. I hobbled to his home, woke he and his wife up (They’d been out dancing and had gotten home at 4:00 a.m.), and asked to use their phone. “Forget the phone,” he said, “I’ll drive you home.”

Lou immediately set out to fix the ankle. Actually, all I wanted was a phone or a ride but Lou insisted. “We’re doing VooDoo,” he sang while dancing in the kitchen as he cut up, of all things, an onion. He then put it in saran wrap and placed the raw onion on my ankle and the saran wrap around the onion and ankle. “Shouldn’t we put ice on it?” I protested. “Not yet,” responded Lou. “So is this some kind of Greek thing?” I asked (Lou is Greek and if you know any Greeks you’ll know why I asked the question). “No,” he said, “It’s a soccer thing and I’ve used it myself. Works every time.” Apparently there is something about the onion that limits the swelling and immediately begins the healing process. Lou had stolen the idea from some soccer players who had used this remedy regularly. After two hours I switched to ice then Advil, ice, Advil, ice, Advil for the rest of the day. 

It’s been several days now and the ankle hardly swelled up. I ran a hard 6 miles last night—a little more than 2 ½ days after injuring it—and then another 9.8 miles this morning. No pain. No problem. VooDoo or just good home cooking, I don’t know, but try it. You have to chop the onion up into little pieces, and apply it directly on the affected area soon after the injury is sustained for it to be effective. The saran wrap simply keeps the raw onion pieces on the injured body part. It works. Hope you don’t have to use it but if you do, try it. And you can even use the onion in a stew afterwards! Who knew?

Slowing Down to Speed Up

I changed my training regiment in mid-October. I slowed down my longer runs in order to avoid injury, but increased my speed work to up my speed. It hasn’t worked. In three months I’ve injured myself more times than I have in the previous three years. I’m not sure what I’ll do but I’m nursing another hamstring injury and can’t start to train in earnest for the Boston Marathon. Late October I ran 8 miles at 6:30/mile pace. Figured that would put me sub-three hours in a marathon pretty easy if by late February I could run 16 miles at at 6:30 pace. That ain’t happening. Not sure what to do but I’m going to have to change something. Those races are expensive and to waste the money by hurting myself—something I seem to have a penchant to do—is unwise.

The Mirror

I looked in the mirror the other day. It’s something I do pretty much every day. I’d run six miles and was pretty sweaty. Hair all over the place, sweat dripping down my forehead, shirt discolored around the neck and armpits; you know the look. You’ve had it too. But then I looked again--I looked old! Yeah! I mean, real old. “If this is what running is doing to me, maybe I should stop,” I thought.

My mind went back to the book by Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray. If you remember the story, Dorian Gray was a handsome young man who somehow found himself painted in a picture that captured not only his outer attractiveness, but his inner soul. Over time, while he retained his good looks, the picture became increasingly distorted. He kept it locked in a room to which there was only one key—a key he went to great lengths to guard. He didn’t want anyone to see the picture. On the outside, he seemed to never age regardless of the abuse he put his body through. The picture, on the other hand, not only aged but over time, grew grotesque. With each passing year, and each degrading action, the picture of Dorian Gray grew more and more ugly. I’ll not tell you the end of the story. But its really interesting.

Aging is a fact of life. So while my physique shrinks and becomes eventually becomes infirm, I hope my soul grows stronger. In fact, is it possible that in a room in some far off place there is a picture of Dave Miles under lock and key, that grows ever more handsome, ever more beautiful, ever more debonair as I become more and more like the One who is most beautiful? It’s the opposite of Dorian Gray! It’s described in some ancient literature, “…though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day…So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.”

You Have a Torn Labrum

2009 Boston Marathon--Time: 2:57:06

“You have a torn labram. The MRI says you have a torn labrum in your right hip." 

 “Spell it,” I said cryptically. The voice on the other end of the phone was my friend and physician. I trust him but the connection was bad and I wanted to get it right. “L-a-b-r-u-m. Labrum.” He said. “It’s called a labral tear.” I paused, thanked him for the news and ran up to my computer to Google “labrum.” It’s the cartilage in the hip. Somehow I ripped mine. Its not an irreparable injury. Frankly, physical therapy and maybe easy surgery will correct it. Its not badly torn—at least I don’t think so. But its torn and it took me out of the Boston Marathon. It would have been my 9^th in a row. My friends shake their heads and say, “Overuse! You train too hard.” Maybe. Or maybe not. I like to be focused and running hard—and surfing in the winter—forces me to do that. I want to read a lot and work my body hard because it forces me to have physical and mental integrity—something people seem to lose as they get older. But its disappointing. Truth is, I’ll probably trot the first 3.1 miles and, after crossing the 5K line, stop. Jan will pick me up. We’ll drive to mile 21 and I will watch the rest of the race with her as a spectator. A family friend from Seattle will be with us. Her son is trying to break 2:30! He’s one fast dude.

I enjoy running the Boston Marathon more than any other race. In fact, if I could just run one race a year, I’d choose Boston. The leaves aren’t out yet and there is a freshness in the air that’s unusual. Running through beautiful New England towns is exhilarating. Its honestly delightful. For me, it brings me into the presence of God. Beauty and loveliness should do that. They are pointers to God. “How lovely is your dwelling place, O Lord Almighty” (Ps 84:1) says the Psalmist. He’s referring to the temple described in the Hebrew Scriptures, but as a follower of Jesus, that loveliness is seen in Gods common grace reflected in sights and smells of nature, people, and activity. An ocean wave that crashes, wind that blows the trees, a good meal, laughter, fun, even running 26.2 miles can be worship when centered on a creative God who gives hints of his glory in the joy of living. More than that, it even points to the sacrifice of Christ in the cross—a very ugly thing in a very beautiful world.

I’m grieving the loss of this race. But the disappointment is a reminder that life’s short, we are broken, and yet God is good. He does what he does for his glory and our good. "No good thing does he withhold from those whose walk is blameless" (Ps 84:11). Hard to accept that isn’t it?! Hard to understand, isn’t it?! Think about it. What's it mean?

A torn labrum is a minor inconvenience, that I suppose could turn into a major problem. But that’s a very temporal problem. I’ll probably heal up and I’ve already qualified for the 2014 Boston Marathon thanks to running Yonkers and Athens in the fall of 2012. If you think about poverty, racism, school shootings, and war—all major reminders of a broken world—an injury that’s unintentionally self inflicted is pretty minor. But it sure can seem big when life in the greater scheme of things is forgotten. Sin is ugly. Life is short. People are small. God is big! There is a solution to the evil in this world. If you mix that all up and are either forgetful, or incognizant, of the solution, life becomes very dark."No good thing does he withhold from those whose walk is blameless!" Whose walk is blameless? How do we become blameless? Think about it!

Addendum: I ran the first four miles then dropped out. The issue seems to be more an abdominal hernia than a torn labrum. At any rate, it has all paled when considering what happened at the finish line with the bombings. 

Athens Marathon

“Nike!” he yelled. He then dropped dead.

The legend of Phidippedes has it that after victory in the plains of Marathon, the said runner ran approximately 25 miles to Athens to announce the victory. His announcement was his last.

Last week (Nov 11) I ran the Athens marathon with several friends. There is a book on WW2 called The Longest Day. Its on the D-Day invasion of Europe. At the Athens marathon I ran into The Longest Hill. At the top, my legs died. They totally rebelled and said, “Uh, you are not doing this to us any longer.” The legs gave way at mile 20—something unusual for me. But the experience was great. I’d do it again. I got food poisoning before the trip to Europe. Ate at the wrong place at Kennedy Airport!

I fell in love with the Greeks. I think I’ll adopt the Greek family I stayed with as my own. They were wonderful. 

(I write these posts then forget or just fail to put them up so I'm doing it all on one day)

Team World Vision and the Chicago Marathon

Rick Warren once said, “The purpose of influence is to speak up for those who have no influence.” With that in mind I’m taking a simple step to do something about the AIDS crisis in Africa. I’ll be running the Chicago marathon to raise awareness of AIDS pandemic and to raise sponsorship for children in the countries affected by it. I’m also raising money to provide clean drinking water for a village in Zambia. Through World Vision, over the last five years my wife Janet and I have sponsored several kids in underdeveloped countries. This year I want to invite others in the running and surfing communities to literally take on a child from one of these countries. It costs about $35 a month to sponsor a kid. For most of us, that’s dinner out. For the kids its clothes, an education, and food on the table! It’s an easy way to take our wealth and use it to help someone else.

I’ll run the Chicago marathon as a visual way to give people the opportunity to consider this opportunity. Maybe some of you would like to run it with me? Or maybe others would consider sharing this blog with a friend or perhaps sharing the opportunity with a friend. It won’t take a lot of time or energy and most of all it can make a difference in someone else’s life. Go to the “comment” section on this post and check “open ID” and post me your responses. Or you can click on the “Dave Miles and Team World Vision” link and consider what you might do. Thanks for reading this post.

What's Driving Dave?

“What is driving you?” I’d said the words before. They sort of slipped thoughtlessly out of my mouth. I’d said those words to my wife, Jan, when she seemed to never take a break. I’d said them to friends whom I self-righteously thought were giving their lives to insane schedules or harried existences or ridiculous endeavors. I’d said them, frankly, to quite a few people. But this time the words, spoken to a friend while running, boomeranged around and hit me back in the head. In my mind the thought came back, “Well, what is driving you, Dave?” I’d slowed down my training for marathons after Boston but remained pretty intense in my regimen. I’d done this on top of an insane travel schedule and a very difficult work and ministry environment. “What’s driving me?”

The flippancy of my comments and the thoughtlessness behind them rattled my cage. “What’s driving me?” Another friend recently admitted that maybe he’d bitten off more than he could chew when it came to training for a half iron man triathlon. My response was muted this time because the thought keeps coming back, “What’s driving me?”

Blaise Pascal wrote a book many years ago entitled Pensees (or reflections/ponderings). Pascal was a brilliant mathematician but what he’s actually best known for is his writings on Philosophy and Theology. In Pensees he has entire section answering the question, “What’s driving Dave?” or to put it another way, “What is diving us?” The section is entitled, Diversions. Pascal, like Augustine, believed that humankind did what they do because they want to be happy. As a matter of fact, according to Pascal, mankind cannot help but want to be happy! He was created to be happy. But still, when pondering life’s difficulties, humankind becomes unhappy. To overcome this people involve themselves in diversions. These diversions, says Pascal, keep our minds off of the difficulties of our existence and the realities that we face daily. Pascal believed that to be truly happy one has to rest: “They have another secret instinct, left over from the greatness of our original nature, telling them that the only true happiness lies in rest and not in excitement.” (Pensees Section 136) But where does this rest come from? Augustine, speaking of a relationship with God through Christ, put it like this, “Our heart is restless until it rests in you.”(Confessions Chapter 1)

I believe that I get involved in diversions because I still don’t find my rest in Christ—at least not like I should. I still believe, erroneously, that I’ll be happiest when I am active. I don’t want to believe that I believe that, but I think I still do. I am finished with my ministry in Hawaii. I’m tired. I need a break but still I drive myself. Last week my body shut me down for several days. I couldn’t work. Yesterday I ran a half marathon and substantially missed my target time in spite of being in good condition. I need to take a break. I’m going to take a month off and during that time I’m going to extract myself from some of my diversions. I’m going to go to a monastery and be silent and rest. Who knows what I’ll find. I’ll let you know in future posts.

The picture on this post was taken at Volcano National Park near Hilo, Hawaii on the big island. It was a time of rest in a very difficult time of ministry. It is instructive. Life can be very barren, like what is left over from an irruption. But in the middle of that barreness, we need rest.

Boston Marathon 2008

I’ve been trying to think of something philosophical to write about the Boston Marathon. But it just ain’t happening! Actually I measured this years Boston by the people I ran into rather than the running itself. So here goes:

On Saturday I met Randy, a homeless guy, in Connecticut. Randy was hanging out at local rest stop pan handling. We started talking story over lunch and he noted that he was an ex-con, that he had no family, and that he had a few more months of living out behind the rest stop before he had a room in a half way house. I was struck by his candor and commitment to make life work. He had the tenacity of a marathoner, that’s for sure. Then there was Keith, the guy I stayed with on the North End of Boston Saturday evening. Keith is Irish—really Irish with the cool accent and everything. Keith’s hospitality and charitable personality embodies much of the spirit I’ve experienced in running marathons. Everyone on the North End seemed to know Keith. He exudes warmth and acceptance. We went to a concert in a church located in a back alley somewhere and heard a band called Ineloquent. That was Saturday.

On Sunday morning Keith and I went to watch the women’s Olympic marathon trials. Watching Dena Kastor, the winner was amazing. She came from behind and took the lead at about mile 23—talk about negative splits!! Check out Keith's YouTube video of the trials. Its terrific. That evening we ate with the Quantum Feet Road Runners Club in the North End. Eating with Jim, Ken, Chris, Lisa, Jose, Andrew, Jaime, Karen, Karen’s daughter, Sue, and Darlene was lots of fun (did I forget anyone?). Vince, my surprise roommate for the evening, was icing on the cake for Sunday. Vince has an opinion about everything! Ask him, he’ll tell you. He’s been fun to get to know. I've learned a lot about running from Vince and I've learned to text message at his expense.

On marathon Monday I got up early and took a cab with Charlie (a guy from Michigan) to the race. He’d been a hell raiser early in life and found Jesus. The cab driver was a Haitian guy named Francis. He sold “food” supplements on the side. Was food supplement spelled s.t.e.r.o.i.d? I didn’t ask. He didn’t drive like a New York cabby and he spoke English--no turban either. On the bus to Hopkinton I sat next to Eric, a guy who told me he was sick (as I shook his hand and sat down about 5 inches from his face). He was from Portland, was in his mid-30’s, and he got this, “Oh No!!!” look on his face when I was honest with him about being a pastor. I worked hard to quell his fears and soon he was opening up with me about breaking up after being engaged to be married, his family, his job, and his dreams for the race. He was a fun guy. I just wish he’d have stopped saying, “Gee, my throat feels awful.” It freaked me out.

I was alone at the athletes village for a while until my buddy Sue and Darlene got in. Sue is a blast, always fun to talk with, and she has a great son. Darlene is intense. She brought papers to grade. Can you believe it? She was going to grade papers while we sat there trying to talk with her. I ran into my "friend" Lance again while running. Lance Armstrong (the Lance Armstrong who won the Tour de France over and over again) and I have run marathons together twice--we don't talk. He always passes me at mile 16 and finishes about five minutes faster (he's also 15 years younger). But this time he didn’t have a television motorcycle driving in front of him spewing exhaust in my face or honking its horn. As we ran it was like watching the crowd do the wave with arms raising in the air people would yell "Lance, Lance." I kept saying, “No it’s Dave, Dave.” But they didn’t pay any attention.

Other notables include the screaming girls at Wellesley college (mile 13). They had all sorts of signs that read, “Kiss me I’m a Vegan” or “Kiss me I’m a Mormon” or “Kiss me I’m Single.” I kept thinking, “What would your dad say?” I don't think they cared! One of the workers at a water stop wasn't paying attention and dumped an entire cup of Gatorade down the front of my shirt around mile 10. It was real cold!! Towards the end of the race a guy pulled up next to me and waved his arms beckoning the crowd to cheer. I think he'd been doing this for several miles. They cooperated and he did this until we crossed the finish line. Where did he get the energy??!! And then there was the finish line male race volunteer who proudly informed me that it was he alone who was responsible for getting us coed post race changing tents! He apparently thought I'd appreciate that. "Great," I thought, "I can hardly walk and I have to go change my clothes in front of some woman." I don't think he'd ever run a marathon in his life. And of course there was the usual displays of earthiness--people putting Vaseline on their private parts in front of everyone, people urinating out in the open, etc. I don't think I'll ever get totally used to that stuff--but it is funny to see!

Monday evening was punctuated by dinner with my Alley Pond Road Runner Club friends--Nella, Fran, and Andrea and a few others. It was enjoyable, though I wasn't walking too well. And finally, the day after the race there was Margarite from the Corrib Irish Pub. She was from Ireland and we had a great conversation about life.

My right leg cramped up at mile 19 but I never really hit the wall. I had to slow down, but nothing else. I ran a personal best of 2:55:49 in spite of having a migraine headache for the entire race. Everything else hurt, why not my head too?! I think I can break 2:50 but we’ll see. At this marathon, the people were as much fun as the race!

Interval Training

Little things matter. More often than not in our culture, it appears to be the big things that catch people’s eye. But I think that small is often more compelling than big. And in the sport of running, for your average person, nothing could be more true. What you eat. How much you sleep. Even the simple act of a short, disciplined, daily workout are all very small things. But together they are big.

Last Spring a friend gave me a book to read called Daniel’s Running Formula by Jack Daniels. The author had several excellent suggestions one being the importance of interval training. I’d practiced intervals on and off for several years. I hate doing intervals. They are hard work and I usually have to do them alone because I can’t convince my friends to do them with me. This is especially true in the winter—its cold, its dark, its tiring, its lonely. It’s awful!! But it’s a little thing.

A recent New York Times article (NYT Jan 31, 2008) noted, “One of the major determinants of endurance performance is oxygen consumption. You have to make training as intense as you can,” says Dr. Tanaka, a research physiologist from the University of Texas. The article went on to say that if you had to cut back on anything, cut back on volume, not intensity. Running with intensity is what intervals do. It’s a little thing. It’s the yeast in the dough of the sport of endurance running.

Last summer I determined to put Daniel’s ideas to the test. I’d flirted with breaking the illusive three-hour marathon barrier for several years. After doing intervals consistently for four months I did it at New York—2:59:16. I didn’t stop my intervals training, even in the off season, and ran several half marathons this winter, each time breaking my previous personal best and finally snapping the 1:20 barrier. Why? Because I’m a great runner? Nope. While my body does process oxygen and lactic acid better than some people, it is my opinion that it was really the intervals. And the results have been no little thing.

Do you really teach that stuff?

I had an interesting conversation with a member of the Alley Pond running club last Saturday night. We were at a dinner dance and awards ceremony and over the meal I was asked, “So what do you do?” The question comes up often, as in any conversation, but even more often when I tell people that I work in Hawaii on a regular basis. They seem to want to know what kind of cushy job I must have that takes me 6000 miles away in paradise. I don’t like telling people I’m a pastor. They start to treat me differently. They quit swearing in front of me—unless of course I swear in front of them which then gives them permission to be themselves but Jan says it isn’t classy and I agree so I try not to do it. But on this occasion I swallowed hard and told the truth. Part of this was motivated by the fact that I was sitting next to a friend who knew the truth so I couldn’t fudge. “I’m a pastor, and I work in churches in transition and this one happens to be in Hawaii. I work on a team.” The guy asking the question was great and began to philosophize on his religious upbringing. He was incredibly gracious and an interesting person. But then towards the end of the conversation he said, “So, I mean, do you really teach this stuff literally, the Bible, after all this is 2008?” I’d heard the question before and didn’t know exactly how to answer on this occasion, but I said something like this, “Absolutely! We believe that you can’t make up the Jesus of the New Testament. The tendency we have today is to drag Jesus down to our eye ball level so we feel comfortable with him. That Jesus won’t change your life. He’s just like you. We believe in the Jesus who really lived, died, and rose from the dead, the Jesus who claimed to be God. That Jesus will confront you when you screw up and comfort you when you feel bad about yourself. The New Testament is very different from much of what we see in religion today. In the Bible, God moves towards us. He pursues us. And we let that gospel, that good news, inform how we live. It touches every facet of our lives from how we handle racism, to conflict, to our money. We definitely teach the bible literally in the churches we work in.” His response to my explanation seemed to be one of genuine interest and respect.

For me personally as a Christ follower, I can’t pick and choose the commands that I want to keep. If Jesus is who he claimed to be then when he says, “Don’t lie” or “Don’t sleep around” that doesn’t mean I can do it now because it’s 2008. “Don’t murder” and “Love your brothers as yourself” is also something he commanded us. If that hasn’t changed, why have the other harder and inconvenient commands, changed? If Jesus is Lord, it doesn’t matter what he tells us to do or not to do. He has the final say. That’s my take on it.