today's recovery run: 3 miles
on the iPod: "chalkdust torture" -- phish
I've reached a particular stage in training for the Nashville Marathon. A good stage. I'm finding myself planning my week, and particularly my weekends, around training runs. That's a fancy way of saying that i'm going to bed on Friday night before 9:00. Sleep is becoming a needed commodity, even on "school nights". Remember that phrase from childhood? Also, my legs are simultaneously getting stronger and sorer. I'm not for sure if that's a real word, but I am for sure that they have a constant level of soreness. No complaints, though, I kinda like they way they feel. And i'm so incredibly happy to be marathon training.
I've also started drinking protein shakes again every morning. I mix them at home and drink them while driving to work, in the still-dark morning on Highway 112. That drive, through the countryside of Benton and Washington counties, is one i've grown to love. It's early enough that there's little to no traffic yet, and I can drive slowly past farms and fields. Interstate 540 travels the same span only a few miles away, but it's frantic speed and lane changing makes it seem much further than that. It's not for me.
My protein shakes make the slow morning commute even better. I rarely deviate from a mixture that consists of whey protein, skim milk, peanut butter, frozen spinach, and one banana. The spinach taste is overtaken by the peanut butter and banana, but it functions in a two-fold manner: firstly, since its frozen, it makes the drink a bit colder. Secondly, it turns the entire concoction a light green color. I really like that. On occasion i'll switch the banana for blueberries, but those mornings are rare. I'm a creature of habit and i've found what I like.
But the real difference, the most significant indicator that i've reached a particular stage in training, are my thoughts. If i'm not running, I find myself thinking about running. I think about my next long run, and how much i'm looking forward to it. Rain or shine, hot or cold. The weather simply doesn't matter, I just want to run. In the coming months I've got two half-marathons and one full marathon. Training for them makes me happy.
Yesterday's long run represented another distance that i've not run since Chicago last October. Sixteen miles. The mileage only increases from here, so most weekends will be a little bit more than the previous. Mrs. Murie and I ran the Lake Fayetteville trail under overcast skies and temps in the mid-40's. After last weekend's weather in the teens, it felt damn near balmy. Everything seemed to fall into place as we ran fairly hard and deliberate, though not without enjoyment of a friendship that has been forged in a common passion for the sport. The Lake Fayetteville portion of the trail system seems to be a quieter section, which lends itself to good conversation while running. A sizeable chunk of it is wooded and fairly remote. And while the trail doesn't exactly border the lake, it's always within eyesight. That's the good part. The not-so-good-part is the elevation. There's one really big incline on the north shore, which almost always makes me forget the long, gradual incline on the east side. If the north side hill is a gentle giant, the east side hill is a sleeping beast. It never fails to kick me in the backside, and yesterday was no exception. And for sure as the day is long, I'll forget about it before I run it the next time.
On Friday night I had an early dinner with my sister and nephew, Charles. Uncle Steph was up from Little Rock with her daughter, Sophie. Just like their mothers, Charles and Sophie are best friends unlike any other. Meeting at one of my favorite places, U.S. Pizza, it was great to spend time with Susan and Stephanie. As i've written before, Stephanie was very much a part of my life growing up. I'm so happy to have maintained that connection as adults and glad that she and my sister have remained friends since first grade. Literally. I'll see Uncle Steph again in a few weeks when we both run the Little Rock Half Marathon. Last year I saw her about 15 yards ahead of me in the corral and yelled her name. With her typical take-charge personality, she demanded that the total strangers around her make room so that we could push forward and all start together.
While enjoying the night and waiting for our pizza, Charles and Sophie ate crackers and ranch dressing, all the while playing and laughing like four-year-olds do. It was sweet to watch them interact with each other so innocently. I noticed an inquisitive look on Sophie's face, which produced the following exchange:
Sophie: You have a beard.
me: I do.
a few seconds of silence, as Sophie is clearly pondering...
Sophie: Where did you get it?
me: Santa Clause!
Sophie quickly grinned. Intuitively, she knew that Santa hadn't brought me my beard, but she was willing to let it go at that, quickly becoming interested again in the crackers and ranch dressing. My amazingly sweet nephew Charles, whom I love so dearly, had been following the conversation between us, anxious to hear my response. He, too, smiled and seemed to recognize my untruth about Santa, but he wasn't quite ready to let it go. He had some thoughts of his own, and this is how they went:
Charles: That's not true, Uncle Gweg. (that's not a typo...)
me: Yes it is, Santa brought it to me!
Charles: Noooo it's not.
a few seconds of smiling and contemplation...
Charles: God made you that way.
The restaurant was packed. It was loud with groups having a fun Friday night. Susan and Steph were lost in conversation. Waitstaff were bringing out salads and beers. ESPN basketball was on the big screen in the corner. Everything was going on at once, and at what seemed like a million miles and hour, but when my nephew looked me dead in the eye, with the sweetest little smile on his face, and said "God made you that way", everything stopped for me. He said it so matter-of-factly, but with love and real joy. It was an emotional moment. With that singular statement, I was reminded of all that is good about life and humanity. I wanted to immediately pick him up and give him the biggest hug that I could, but he was already playing and giggling again with Sophie.
I know why Charles thinks the way he does. It's because my sister has raised him to know and understand that we are all children of God and that we are all unique. No caveats, no exceptions. Though I haven't heard him say it in quite some time, he has no problem talking about his "beautiful brown skin" or how he is an adopted baby and what that means. Of course his understanding of all that is age-appropriate, but it's never been a secret. And one day, when the time is right, he'll learn other ways that God makes people unique. I can't wait to have that conversation with him.
Run.
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