Why? Sometimes I’m still not clear on that topic. I don’t really think it was because it was necessary. It certainly wasn’t the minimum we could get by on. It was the extravagant heart of a lovesick God.  There was something irrepressible in his very nature, something that didn’t just push the Son off the cliff of heaven into a war-torn earth. No, I can see him dancing off the clouds, the angels holding their wide-eyed breath. He is going, He is increasing His government, because of a terrible drive inside His Spirit. It’s something we feel a twinge of, I think, when we see the beauty of Christmas lights and Santa reflected in the eyes of a 4-year-old. Or when we take a bite of peppermint cheesecake with oreo crust and wash it down with the silkiest decaf. Or when we put on something beautiful and catch sight of our transformed self in the mirror and resonate – yes, that’s really me. That’s the real me.

That’s the real you.

Did you know? Did you know He came ugly so you could live pretty? Does that sound blasphemous? It does to me. I literally recoil and want to erase the words. I live with a firm grip on my budget, a deer-in-the-headlights approach to life even when there aren’t any headlights for miles around.  I research the lowest prices for ingredients for homemade Christmas gifts before an early bedtime on a Friday night then spend my Saturday mornings with the treat of black coffee from a coffee shop surrounded by strangers with screens. Sometimes on Saturdays, little innocent ones toddling by me on their day off from daycare, I feel like the ash tray of the world – the leavings of someone else’s stress-reliever. But then – today, anyway, not always, I remember. Christ the Savior is born. The Savior.  And I still need saving. Not just from hell or from sin, but saving. Rescuing. Someone, Someone with real power, caring enough to preserve the me that has gotten so totally obscured by the fake print-outs of people I love but don’t even know. Distant goals I attach so much weight to – run this fast, wear this brand, have this experience, work this hard, live in that neighborhood, marry that man – that, when I hold them, turn out to be so weightless that they do nothing to anchor me down.

It isn’t a weighty anchor I need. It isn’t a mansion or a man or a medal. The directive of my life is (unfortunately) more ethereal and (blessedly) more tactile…so feel-able, in fact, that it makes me squirm. The soft skin of a baby. In the rough scratch of manger straw. That’s my hope.

Happy Advent.

• One of thankfulness.
• One of art.
• One of laying down my life for Jesus’s poor.
• One of letting Jesus open the door for me. Like a Southern belle, I will stand by the door until He opens it.
• One of community.
• One of returning to desire.
• One of slowing down.
• One of believing I am loved.

I know I have shamefully neglected this blog, and a huge reason for that has been that I’m not back to running yet, so the blog has just been a painful reminder of that fact. But I also just haven’t had the time or energy! I feel like I got on a train with broken brakes when I moved to Austin, jumping full force into a busy full time job I love, tons of opportunities to be with my family hanging out/meeting for coffee/going to church/helping them renovate/cohosting garage sales/etc., trying to plug into church stuff and build some community, and living with four girls I had never met before. And it’s not that I never get time to myself or couldn’t spend a few minutes on the weekend hacking out a blog post. It’s that when I have those minutes, I find myself just needing to recover.

I’m reading a book right now called The Introvert Advantage and oh my goodness. I am apparently what is known as a “highly sensitive introvert.” I get so frustrated with this about myself. I am sure many people (my poor roommates) must think how anti-social I am. I just cannot be on “go” mode nonstop without serious alone time frequently interspersed. As of now (I’m moving next week), home is not super restful. My house is basically a nonstop party, with people in and out, two types of music going in different rooms, people wanting to talk, any clean surface turning into an opportunity to make it a dirty surface. Am I complaining? No, because I would so love to be one of those exuberant people who can just absorb it all and get energy from it and live large.

But I am not.

And it’s a realization I’m coming to that I’m not sure I’ve accepted yet.

Still, I want to, and a part of that acceptance, I think, will be a renewal of my creativity and the ability to just be. In a moment of being I had yesterday, walking the city block from Whole Foods to my office, I was thinking about a conversation I had with an older man who came to a party/concert/bbq we had at my house on Sunday. He had been raised on a farm and has a vision to raise crops to feed the homeless. My heart.

I was also remembering a woman Sarah and I struck up a conversation with the other day at the Whole Foods bakery case. We were all three admiring the enormous, golden kolaches oozing with cream cheese and fruit and chocolate chips and the woman said (unbelievably),

“But, you know, at least they’re healthy.”

Sarah and I made indiscernible noises intended to sound agreeable, if not in agreement. The woman went on: “I mean, I’m sure they’re still full of calories, but at least they’re not fat calories.” Smile and nod. Smile and nod. Walk away.

These are the topics that light my fire – food, health, the poor, the American diet, agriculture, sustainability, whole living. And I don’t think I know enough about them to write about them. I didn’t get my master’s in anything ag-related. I don’t work in healthcare or on a farm. But I want to write about these topics, even just to process them in my own head. So stay tuned. The blog may be evolving.

No stress fracture!  I feel like I’ve told so many people that, but I keep forgetting to tell the blog.  Normal bone scan and very steady improvement in pain level for the last week.  Praise God.  I’m still not running and there’s really no way I could even take a step of a jog without some major pain, so Pilates, the bike, stairmaster, and free weights are where it’s at for me these days.

Cryptic life update:

I’m back in Austin!  For good!  I am ecstatic about this and feel so much hope about the next phase of life.  I am actually starting a potential job today (kind of on trial) and so I’m writing this blog post to calm my nerves.

I think I’m about go change my outfit…again.

The last few weeks have been kind of nuts with injury worries, finishing school, moving, finals, my dad coming into Baton Rouge, other family drama, etc.  I’m ready to just be settled!

And I’m ready to get back to running.  It’s been over 3 weeks since I ran a step.  But during this time, I really haven’t gone stir-crazy or felt like I’ve lost a part of myself or anything.  It’s helped me realize that I am more than just a runner and it’s been fun to have extra time to pursue some different creative/fitness outlets.

Sorry this is brief and discombobulated, but just wanted to pop in and say I’m still alive and have unbroken bones.  God is good.

These guys have become my new best frenemies. Glad to have them so I don’t have to limp around but boy, they are exhausting. If you, like me, have ever thought crutches seemed kind of glamorous (am I alone in this?), let me just tell you right now…they’re not. Bright side: I get a major upper-body workout using them, which is handy since otherwise I’ve just been doing a lot of sitting lately.

The doc yesterday told me my X-rays were normal, which I expected, and referred me to the orthopedist. I see him Friday. The day before, I’m getting a bone scan and the story behind that is pretty amazing, but that’ll have to wait for another post.

I’ve got to crutch in to plead my case to the parking people.

Thanks so much for your prayers!

The implications of this are kind of hard for me to even grasp right now, so I’m taking it one day at a time.

Make that an hour at a time.

I wanted to write and just ask anyone who reads this to please pray for me.  I go back to the doctor tomorrow for results of my X-rays, but FNSFs are notorious for not showing up on X-rays, which means I may need an MRI or bone scan to accurately diagnose the problem.

Thanks so much for all your support and sweetness…and thanks ahead of time for praying.

Here are the three.  Prepare yourself.  They’re small.

1. The nurse didn’t care.

The pain in my hip, I am sorry to report, is not better.  I won’t go into it, but suffice it to say, I wound up at LSU’s Student Health Center first thing this morning for triage so I could try to get in to see a doctor (who would hopefully refer me to a specialist, to get X-rays, and maybe for physical therapy).  The nurse, not looking at me as I limped into the room, said, “Alright, what’s wrong with you?”

“I hurt my hip–”

“Birth date?”

I gave it.

“Are you on any medicines?”

“No. I’ve been taking two Advil in the mornings.”

“Birth control?”

“No.”

She looked at me for the first time, peering skeptically over her glasses.  I stood my ground.  I wasn’t lying.

“What’d you do?”

I told her I’d hurt it running.  She asked when the pain had started.  I told her a week before I ran in a marathon and had to drop out because of the–

“Where’s it hurt?”

I showed her.

“And no trauma?”

“Well, no, it just got worse when I was in Boston, trying to run a –”

“And you’re not on birth control?”

That’s when I felt tears. No, lady, I’m not on birth control.  I just have a hurt hip.  That’s ruining my life.  Help me out here.

            2.  I’m saying good-bye.

I am so crazy-excited about the next step in my life, which I’ll write more about later.  But it means that I am leaving some people I love dearly behind.  I was texting with one of them today, my friend Matt who has done so much for me and has been such a true friend to me even when I basically have done nothing for him.  Suddenly, I found myself with full-on tears streaming down my face.  I felt so sad about not seeing him anymore and not being in and out of each others’ lives (even though we don’t really hang out that much as it is).  It’s just hard to say good-bye.   I hate it.  So I cried.

3. This American Life

On my local public radio station, they play last week’s episodes of some shows on the following Friday. Today, I caught a little bit of This American Life in the car.  It was Mike Birbiglia telling a story, first explaining that he didn’t believe in marriage and then describing how he had gotten obsessed with bringing to justice a drunk driver who had hit him and totaled his car.  Then one night, on a date with his girlfriend, he was scribbling on a napkin an idea about his case and how he could prove himself right.  His girlfriend, Jenny, suggests he do that the next morning.  From the transcript, here’s how it plays out:

I say, “This is serious. Which part of this napkin don’t you understand?”

She says, “I don’t know what to tell you Mike because you’re right, but it’s only hurting you. And I’m just so glad that you’re alive, and I think that we should focus on that.”

She only has to say it once, and I dropped the case and I pay for the guy’s car. And a few months later Jenny and I go to City Hall and get married.

I still didn’t believe in the idea of marriage, and I still don’t. But I believe in her–

That’s where I started crying.  The thought of someone else giving up their case, their need to prove something to the world, because of love–it just got to me.  I want to believe in someone like that.  I want someone to believe in me like that.

So…there’s my sappiness.  May your Friday and weekend be joyful and full of smiles.  But sometimes I think tears are okay, too, in the midst of all of that.  Tears tell me there’s something in me besides just toughing it out and laughing it off.

Running may make you happier–and I definitely think it makes me happier–but days without it have something to say, too.

But the post disappeared.

The Internet gnomes were hungry, I guess.

And now I don’t have time to rewrite it…

Abbreviated version:

I have 2 and a half years before I turn 30. There’s a new book out by the publishers of Glamour magazine called 30 Things Every Woman Should Have and Should Know by the Time She’s 30.   And for once in Glamour‘s life, its basic premise aligns with a lot of the thoughts I’ve been having lately.  Like, Should I shoot to run Western States 100 before I’m 30? Or, instead, should I shoot to become a more creative, relational, balanced individual?

I have a lot of changes coming up — big moves for me that I haven’t really publicized yet.  While I’d love to be superwoman and take on these changes with gusto and excellence while at the same time re-qualifying for Boston and becoming an ultramarathoner…and, incidentally, authentically investing in my relationships with God and people…I’m not sure that’s really feasible.  Actually, I know it’s not.  I’ve been trying to be superwoman for a while.

So far, no bueno.

Maybe by the time I’m 30.

Until then, I have a lot to do and to live for that doesn’t involve running shoes or the numbers on my Garmin Forerunner 205. I plan to run many more marathons and other races in the years to come, but that’s one thing the article said women need to realize: there are years to come.  I don’t have to cram it all in now, at age 27.

There will be more Bostons.  There will be more weekly mileage goals and speed workouts and gorgeous mornings to explore on foot.  In the meantime, where is my focus?  Where am I offering value to people around me?

Just thoughts.

Also: watching Prison Break.  Michael Scofield, folks.

I’ve decided I really want to get into trail running, possibly starting to run a couple of times a week with a trail running group like this one and eventually training for an ultra (maybe Bandera?).  I have always loved hiking and being in the wilderness, so I think trail running could be the perfect combo for me.  Plus I hear it helps with injury prevention.

Also on my mind has been how to BQ again (qualify for Boston 2013).  I have to do it, if I’m going to, by September 25.  Yikes.  My dad and I have talked about Missoula on July 8.  It looks pretty sweet.  Not sure I’ll be ready.  I’m also planning to do Marine Corps on October 28, which should be a blast and a half.

In the meantime, I literally am just forcing myself to rest.  A lot.  I have my second appointment with Ian tomorrow, and I’m hoping he’s going to show me some exercises and strengthening techniques that will get me off the couch and into more active recovery.  My aunt Lez has also been coaching me about resting and listening to my body and she seems to think I’ll be up and at it again next week.

I sure hope so.  Resting is exhausting.

1. Jason the Paramedic, Dr. Jennifer, and Luke from Oklahoma

The first guy in the Mile 18 med tent, Jason, was so soothing and reassuring.  He was completely on my side.  He wanted me to finish the race.  I was falling apart and he was not.  I wish I could find him and tell him how huge that was for me.  When I was wheeled into the finish line med tent and laid down on a cot next to a guy who was having severe calf pain, a bespectacled girl came over and introduced  herself as Dr. Jennifer.  She smiled the entire time she was with me and had such compassion in her eyes.  I wanted to be her.  I couldn’t believe that out of the entire tent, she was giving me her undivided attention, letting me use her iPhone, asking me about every point of pain, and all without any sense of condemnation or finger-pointing.  Just total caring.

After about 30 minutes of some massage and stretching, I was about to have a nervous breakdown.  I knew my dad was looking for me and I had no idea how he was going to find me. I had called him from about 5 different phones, talked to him twice, and left a voicemail the last time, telling him to come to the med tent.  But I found out I was in a restricted area.  We were supposed to catch flights at 6:30 and we still had to go back to Brookline to the hotel to get our stuff.  I was alternating between praying and panicking.  Finally, I told them, “I think I’m ok. I can get up now.  I have to go.”

They filled out the paperwork and signed off on me and I stood up, took two steps and crumbled.  I couldn’t even make it to the walkway in the middle of the med tent.

Anyway, long story short, I ended up in a wheelchair being pushed by a guy from Oklahoma named Luke.  They told him he wasn’t allowed to take me anywhere outside of the restricted area, and he broke all the rules and pushed me all the way down to the baggage bus, two blocks away, letting me hold his phone and repeatedly call my dad.  In the baggage area, someone came up to him and chewed him out for bringing me down there.  I was like, “I’m so sorry!” And he said, “Oh, I don’t care.  I’ll never see that guy again.”  ”Yeah,” I said, “but you’ll never see me again, either.”  Heart of gold right there, people.  Luke from Oklahoma.

2. Dad

After Luke dropped me off, I stood clinging to a rail that separated the runners from the spectators.  I had talked to my dad and he was at a subway station somewhere close by.  Suddenly, I looked up and there he was in the crowd.  I’m tearing up thinking about the moment I saw his face.  It was like I had caught onto a lifeline.  I screamed, “DAD! DAD!”  And he saw me and ran over and held me.  From that moment on, I knew it was going to be ok.  I didn’t cry again until after I left him that night at the airport. I just literally felt giddy to be with him.  He half-carried me down the steps of the subway so we could try to catch it to our hotel.  On the cement stairway, somehow there was a sturdy branch just laying there.

(I took this picture from my wheelchair at the airport just before security, where they {understandably} took it from me.)

I used the  branch as my cane for the rest of the day, which helped immensely.  Dad’s bedside manner kicked into high gear, as he gave me the very best of his attention, preempted every need I might have, made sure I was comfortable and taken care of, and was just very present, calm, and cheerful, telling me stories about his morning and spectating and giving me the space I needed some of the time just to be.  We had to rush to the hotel, where I gingerly rinsed off, put on compression tights, took some Advil, and stuffed a few peanut butter crackers in my face.  Then we caught the subway to the airport.  Dad had to stand the entire time while I sat comfortably.  We met a beautiful and gracious woman, Diane, who happened to be from Louisiana but had lived in Boston 12 years, and we talked her ear off the entire ride.  She told us a shorter way to get to the airport than we had been planning, praise God.

It was so hard to leave Dad on the bus to his terminal and get off to go into mine.  I kissed him good-bye and limped off.

3. Hope

After the help of about a dozen very sweet security people, airport officials, and wheelchair pushers, I somehow made it onto my plane and collapsed into a chair next to a lovely girl with a finisher’s medal on.  ”Are you okay?” She asked me and for the first time since I’d seen my dad, I broke down.  Then she  started crying.  A total stranger!  I briefly told her what had happened and she goes, “Well, I feel like a jerk,” and took her medal off.  Who does that?!  It turned out we had been running along side each other for most of the race and had both seen each other (she had her name written on duct tape across the front of her shirt and I had mine written on both of my arms in Sharpie).  By the end of the plane ride, I wanted to adopt her as my new sister.  She kept checking in with me, asking how I was, even though she was also in pain and kept rubbing her right knee.  When we landed, she went up to the front and requested a wheelchair be sent for me.

4. Jared, the Knight in New Balances

First, the boy from Ghana who wheeled me halfway across the world to catch my flight to New Orleans is worth mentioning.  I told him I had lived with a girl from Ghana last fall, and he loved that.  I asked if he was a believer and he said, yes and that he had had to quit soccer because he was an Adventist and their Sabbath is on Saturdays, when soccer matches take place.  I told him he should take up running, cause most races are on Sundays.

He pushed me to a seat near a power outlet so I could plug in my phone.  He was worried about leaving me because I wouldn’t be able to get myself to the gate, but I told him I thought I could lean on the wheelchair and get myself there that way.  The guy sitting across from me, who looked like any young traveling exec, said, “Oh, I can take you anywhere.  I’ll take care of you.”

Jared. I so regret not asking for his number.  This guy was raised right.  For the next 30 minutes, he made me feel like I was the most fascinating, beautiful woman in the world.  In a totally non-creepy way.  And bear in mind that I had on compression tights, a long-sleeve tech tee, not one speck of make-up, and I had pulled my hair back without looking in the mirror sometime a few hours before.  Not really at my most attractive.  But he sat there and asked me all about myself, told me all about himself, and then wheeled me to the gate, talked to the attendant for me, gave up his seat for me (because I was originally seated in an exit row), held my bags, let me hold his arm down the walkway, found places for my bags in the overhead bin, and when I said thank you said, “It’s my honor!”

I didn’t know they made them like that anymore.  So thankful for this guy.

6. Countless Others

I can’t even tell about all the others: Ryan, the New Orleans Airport concierge who called the Hilton for me, where my car was parked, and waited over 30 minutes with me for the shuttle to get there.  Or the man in the parking lot where we were waiting who gave me his package of Biscoff cookies.  Or my cousin Kate who I got home (exhausted at 2am) to find a Facebook message from, saying how proud of me she was.  Or my amazing, amazing friend Matt who brought over his crutches and a plate of warm brownies the next night.  Or precious Megan who left balloons and beer on my doorstep while I was napping on Wednesday.

And I cannot even begin to express how supported and carried I have felt by my family and my fellow marathoner and my friends.  Just to let you know–they’re good in a crisis.

These are the people you want on your team.

So thankful.  So filled to overflowing.  Still limping, but truly believing that the power of love is helping heal me.  Tuesday, I was flat on my back all day and couldn’t walk two steps.  Lots of tears.  Wednesday, I went to see Ian for some active release therapy and I could walk very slowly and haltingly.  Yesterday, I made it to class and even turned in my homework on time!  Today, I can tell it’s even better.

And God is teaching me that He wants me to filter every single thing–every event, every person’s opinion, every thought from my own soul–through His deep, deep love for me.

This quote from Helen Keller was the theme for me and my dad in Boston, and it continues to apply:

Life is either a daring adventure,

or nothing.