Category Archives: Running

by | June 13, 2021 · 8:46 am

An Unexpected Friend

“The brain is considered to be the primary generator and regulator of emotions; however, afferent signals originating throughout the body are detected by the autonomic nervous system (ANS) and brainstem, and, in turn, can modulate emotional processes.”[1]

There were blue patches between the clouds as the sunrise sought to find a hole through which to shine. As my footsteps reached the landing behind Anne-Belk Hall to start my morning run, raindrops began to fall. The warmth of the season was still distant, but the air, humid and close, was welcoming, so the sparse rainfall was likewise a comfort.

Belk Library – Appalachian State University

Running on campus is not one of my favorite locations. It is much more visually rewarding and inspiring to find oneself on those trails leading up our nearby mountains. Yet, today was a short day, so the pavement and sidewalks of the urban jungle were my forests this morning. As is my new tradition, I began quoting the Gospel of John as my legs began to propel me forward. Yesterday’s run was still lingering in these old joints, but the joy of finding oneself welcoming the dawn while in the Word is something to behold. So, pushing on, the words began to overwhelm the pain, and soon it was more of an emotion, the spirit, if you will, carrying me onward.

The sentences laced together like a vine weaving its way up a majestic oak until these words escaped my lips, “Then said the Jews, Forty and six years was this temple in building, and wilt thou rear it up in three days? But he spake of the temple of his body.”[2] At that moment, just before me, was a young man running in my direction, smiling broadly. At first, it appeared that he might know me, so welcoming was his smile. My eyes searched the face but could not place it. As he drew close, he said, “Mind if I join you?”

“No, not at all,” was my reply. We were just opposite the street from Stick Boy Bakery.

He turned around and began running alongside me on the sidewalk. I quickly introduced myself, and he said his name was Max. I mentioned to him that he caught me in chapter 2, and so I repeated the verse in which he had suddenly appeared. When I got to the line, “But he spake of the temple of his body,” my new friend literally leaped as if he had just hurdled over a log in the path. “Wow, I was just meditating on just such a philosophical aspect of training; how the body and the mind are connected. Keeping the body fit helps the mind remain active, alert, and able to grow.” He looked at me with wild eyes in amazement at the confirmation and the rarity of occasion that someone had spoken of something upon which he too had been thinking.

Likewise, as he spoke, my mind was trying once more to wrap around the Godly coincidence to which I had been afforded. “Where does that come from,” my new friend asked, with regard to the scripture.

“Chapter 2 of the Gospel of John,” came my measured breath as we made our way up the hill toward Daniel Boone Inn.

“What’s that,” he asked?

In my mind, the words, “OH MY LORD,” were screaming, followed by, “Thank you, Jesus, for sending me someone to whom I could share this morning.”

At this point, I want to stop and make a point.

No matter where we go, no matter what our course of trajectory the day’s plans take us, we should always be ready to give an account of the Gospel. 1 Peter 3:15, “But sanctify the Lord God in your hearts: and be ready always to give an answer to every man that asketh you a reason of the hope that is in you with meekness and fear.” Earlier in the week, it became apparent that I was going through one of those despondent episodes of sanctification; whereby, you find it challenging to remain in the spirit, and God seems to be ignoring you. This sense of being alone seemed to convey something I recently read about what C.S. Lewis wrote, “The real thing is the gift of the Holy Spirit which can’t usually be—perhaps not ever—experienced as a sensation or emotion. The sensations are merely the response of your nervous system. Don’t depend on them. Otherwise, when they go, and you are once more emotionally flat (as you certainly will be quite soon), you might think that the real thing had gone too. But it won’t. It will be there when you can’t feel it. May even be most operative when you can feel it least.”[3]

And so, as my new friend began to chime in with his interpretations, it became apparent that God had created the calm before the storm. How much more remarkable is the dramatic production when there is a sequence of acts in which little to nothing happens before the climaxing scene? For in these moments, the tension slowly builds so that it has a greater impact upon the senses when the dramatic conclusion erupts. The same was the case on this particular day so that as the sun was slowly rising above the distant mountainside, in the dusk of those shadowed roadways, a day full of fellowship, sharing, and evangelism had just begun.

As we continued our way up King Street, heading south, Max mentioned how Rappers, with all of their gold jewelry, were saying that, yes, all of this was nothing compared to being here and now, to the legitimacy of life regardless of wealth and pleasure. Some of the things he related to scripture were very strange, and repeatedly I had to ask him what he meant. He would then reword his comments until they were along the same lines of language that I could follow, for it seemed as if we were from different planets regarding how he spoke and to what I could comprehend. The voice of today’s youth, imparted upon by the worldly attributes of music, social media, and video, lends to another realm of interpretation that I never cease to stop learning – it is ever-changing. To reach this generation, we must learn to speak in their voice, as strange and foreign as it may sound.

The farther we ran, the more it sounded as if my new friend was speaking from a background of faith, but it was difficult to fully know, so relegated were his words in that alternate word speak of his. When he got to the point where he mentioned how we were like beings surrounded by dark forces, it triggered my thoughts, and from my mouth, like a well springing up into eternal life, the scriptures of John 1 began to flow, “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. The same was in the beginning with God. All things were made by him; and without him was not any thing made that was made. In him was life; and the life was the light of men. And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not.” Max remarked how what he just heard was so powerful and true. He went on to continue to speak in his own words the scripture he had just received. Knowing that this was his way of comprehending, I remained mostly silent and listened, correcting by suggestion only when he had completely fallen off track.

By now, we were making our way back to my office, moving up Howard Street toward Peacock Hall, the School of Business. Our conversation was moving along faster, especially since that stretch of roadway went downhill, affording my lungs the extra space with which to literally gasp for air. Max continued to seek more of what he had heard, and as time would allow, we continued to cover as much as possible. But before we knew it, we were standing back at the base of Ann-Belk Hall. It seemed as if our train had abruptly pulled into the station, and for a moment, we stood staring at one another, wondering if we wanted to get off or not. Feeling like this was one of those moments where Jesus had said, “Herein is not the saying true, one soweth and another reapeth,” it was difficult to say goodbye so soon. God had provided an opportunity, and it was in that instance of time that He allowed me to share with one that was ready to receive.

So often, when we feel as if nothing is happening in our spiritual lives, God is there, working out something in the background. In times of isolation and quiet, we must remind ourselves that He is preparing a way even when we feel like we are disconnected. When those periods of isolation seem to be a deafening roar of silence, focus on what you can control; like your own being. Like the temple of the body to which Jesus had meant, we must remain mindful of how we treat this vessel. Not only should we think in the manner of things to which we ingest, both materially and spiritually, but how we care for in our physical strength. Not only should our bodies be kept whole through consumption but also through activity. If we care for what God has endowed us with, how much greater will be our ability to focus on Him because of a strong mind and body?

Lastly, keep in mind that seeds are planted at the times we least suspect.

Remember to always carry your parcel of seeds with you, for you never know when God will break the ground and ready the soil for planting.

Continue always in prayer and supplication for that day when the time is right, when those prayers are answered or when you are asked to step up and speak His word.

Thanks be to God.

[1] Jerath R, Crawford MW. How Does the Body Affect the Mind? Role of Cardiorespiratory Coherence in the Spectrum of Emotions. Adv Mind Body Med. 2015 Fall;29(4):4-16. PMID: 26535473.

[2] John 2:20-21 KJV

[3] The Collected Letters of C. S. Lewis, Volume III: Narnia, Cambridge, and Joy 1950-1963. Copyright © 2007 by C. S. Lewis Pte. Ltd. All rights reserved. Used with permission of HarperCollins Publishers. Words to Live By: A Guide for the Merely Christian. Copyright © 2007 by C. S. Lewis Pte. Ltd. All rights reserved.

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by | October 22, 2017 · 7:13 pm

A Light in the Forest

“For ye were sometimes darkness, but now are ye light in the Lord: walk as children of light.” -Ephesians. 5:8

Sitting here in the ballroom “G” of the Hilton hotel, my mind wants to comfort my physical being by taking me to my bench in front of the store in Collettsville. It’s Sunday morning. There was no river to cross. There was no long walk. There was no weight of my backpack to weigh me down. Yet, there is a weight upon me, a burden that washes over me even now; the knowing that what must be done to make it back to those mountains; the long lonely drive. There will be time to think, time to reflect. How much have I gleaned from this weekend’s training, I’m not sure? There have been moments of frustration, feelings of patience being tested, and questions within myself of if this is really where I need to be. Yet, there have been awakenings of what must be done to carry on.

There have been inspirational moments, and as always, God-like moments.

A pastor and fellow teacher, with whom I will be meeting shortly, stood up to share how one of his roles in life was that of being a pastor to a church for the past 21 years and what that meant, with regard to commitment and him becoming an educator.

Then there was yesterday, in response to my question to the returning beginning teacher panel where I asked them to name what one thing that they would have asked their coach if they were given a virtual “Blank Check,” with regard to help. The first three were pretty much as expected, vague without detail, even though I had purposefully asked for detail; but then came the fourth speaker. The young lady that responded spoke in a calm, measured voice almost as if she was wise beyond her years. She began by referring to scripture from the Old Testament, how King Solomon was given a “Blank Check” by God when asked what he needed or wanted. In his wisdom, he responded with, “Knowledge.” It was an “aha” moment for me. In front of a room of a multitude of personalities and unknown backgrounds, this young lady spoke from the truth, from the Word of God, unashamed to speak her faith, and with that, testified to many.

We were all blessed in the moment. I was literally blown away.

In the darkness, in the chaos, there was light.

Just a few hours earlier on the day before, the scene was much different.

Through the darkness, I ran alone seeking the light, yet there was none.

It was long before dawn when my car reached the gates of Umstead Park. The barred gate was across the road stopping anyone from entering the park after hours. I was not the first car to arrive. Several others had already parked on the shoulder of the road and were preparing to disembark on their morning exercise. It had been a while since I had risen this early in the day to run, so my mental clock was off a bit, knowing that eventually, the dawn would come. The time on my device read 6:00 AM. The man in the car before me said they rarely opened the gate before 7:00 AM. “Too long for me to wait,” I mused silently. A couple of runners with headlamps took off before I was done preparing to leave my car. “Looks like I’ll be carrying my phone the entire time,” I told myself, “I’ll probably need it for the light at least.” For once, I engaged the running app on my phone and took off. Before long, the pitch-black forest enveloped me, and the light from the screen of the device was my only means of keeping on the road. For the next four miles, until the light of dawn began to slowly fade into view, the weak beacon led my path. Each footstep was measured, each stride was reduced for fear of twisting an ankle or cracking a shin into some unseen obstacle. Like our faith, when we stray from the truth, the light, we stumble and fall. We are forced to slow down for the fear that envelopes us. Step by step, we carry on, even when that light is barely visible for to stray from the path is to give in to the darkness.

Eventually, my route met the back gate of the park. Beyond it, quiet residences sat nestled deep in the forest beside the seldom-used paved road that led to the bridge which spanned I40. Several years ago, I took my children to one of my company picnics. After we ate and played a little music for the attendees, we took a bicycle ride this same path and ended up turning around after reaching the bridge. To commemorate the moment, I recall taking a picture with my flip phone. There they stood, in that picture and in my mind, along the side of the road on the bridge, straddling their little bikes while peering over the railing at the blustery traffic on the highway below. We quickly returned to the peace of the forest. This particular morning, the park gate was as far as I needed to venture. Part of me didn’t want to change my last memory of that bridge, but rather, wanted it to remain special, one of those Kodak moments, as we used to say. Another place in time to remain a keepsake forever.

Turning around, I began heading back. The light now beginning to grow, I tucked my device away and was able to start stretching out my stride to a more normal, comfortable pace. Soon enough, I began meeting other runners who had started out later or who had turned around before me and were also heading back. One of those was a sturdy fellow who I easily caught, but something about him made me slow down and match his pace. We began talking about how far we’d gone and the forest around us. It felt good to be able to run and talk. Finally, my legs were returning. We continued chatting about where we’d lived and our military backgrounds but then the most surprising conversation began to ensue. The man’s name was Rick Graves, and his father had been an Independent Baptist preacher in Minot North Dakota. He shared this with me because of my Air Force experience. From that point forward, the miles began to fly by as we traveled in time to places in our memories, pasts that formed who we were and how we got there. “God has a purpose in everything we do,” I said to him as we ran, knowing that our encounter although may seem as chance, was something beyond what we could grasp. Rick became a JAG for the Army and had actually used his faith to help perform his job. He told me he often had to reflect on those moral issues in cases that needed Christian values from which only then could they be grounded. He talked about how our whole society’s thread of moral character is based on those Biblical truths and without them, we would live in chaos. As we ran, my mind thought of the morning’s lesson I was learning, from a stranger I met while running in the forest. Eventually, we came to the fork in the road, the place where our united path finally diverged. We shook hands and repeated one another’s name before saying goodbye.

“I am the way, the truth, and the light,” Jesus told his disciples. “No one comes to the Father but through me,” and so it is.

After we separated, my pace quickened for a bit, but soon the old legs began to tire. I wasn’t certain, but my body was telling me today’s run was much farther than I had been used to in these recent weeks. When I finally reached the car, the device read ten miles. Although the pain from the long run was fresh, the feeling of accomplishment was worth it. The combined joy of meeting a fellow believer deep in the forest on a dark, misty morning made it even more complete.

As my mind returned to the moment at hand, the pastor walked in as several others had been gathering during my focus on the previous morning’s run and we were about to begin. We moved to make a large circle about our end of the ballroom. The other end, workers were preparing the morning buffet bar. The preacher began to speak about how the morning’s service came to be; how the Lord had spoken to me and then I to him. Before that, he had waited for confirmation, and through that meeting of ours, his command was confirmed. We opened with prayer, and then the pastor asked some of the ladies if they had something they had prepared for us to sing. They looked at each other and said, not really, but they immediately knew of something else, something better. With no church organ, no grand piano, simply the voices of the multitude, they began to sing an old-time spiritual. I closed my eyes and felt the presence of the Lord around us. There in the grand ballroom, chairs, and tables covered white tablecloths scattered about us, we came together as one people, believers in Christ, a multitude of backgrounds, races, and cultures gathered together as one, worshipping as one, believing in one true God.

The preacher went on to speak about how we had been led to this day by the hand of the Lord. His sermon was perfect for the day, as his pulpit was the table before us. His scripture for the sermon was Romans 8:28, “ And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.”  He shared how as educators, we all are called to a higher purpose. The moment resonated with everyone in the room.

I knew from the way he spoke, he had many years of preaching experience. His eloquence was matched only by his deep devotion He then went on to share his personal testimony. The powerful story and his salvation, it’s anniversary the day after my own Birthday, October 13th, had just passed. The story of his salvation was as moving as any I had ever heard, and then again, I had heard so much in the past few hours, but this surpassed it all.

Before the closing prayer, the ladies led us in another uplifting spiritual number, another one I had never heard before this day, but another one I’m certain I’ll hear on that far distant shore. Pastor Michael prayed us on out as the assembly behind us had grown. There was silence in the room where many had now amassed, but in reverence to our group, had remained silent.

We had found one another in the darkness, in the deepest part of the forest, and united as one.

The truth once more was told, Christ was upon our lips, and the will of God was with us.

Strangers hugged tearful goodbyes as we wrapped up our meeting. We soon would join the growing numbers in the room to finish out our teacher conference but this morning, on this last day, one of the most memorable moments was had. We may forget the speaker’s names at the conference, we may forget some of the programs taught, but one thing those of us who met on the morning may never forget is that memorable service, unannounced, unplanned, but created by the Master’s hand.

Many times, in this life, we find the real reason behind the event we attend is something greater than we had planned, and in this manner, once again, the God was there.

Thanks be to God.

 

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by | November 28, 2014 · 1:37 am

Cold Rain of Warm Memories

rain“The magnitude of any one day is compromised by its passing quickly into the next, a mere moment in time which soon fades into the collective memory of our past.” – T. Tron

Today as I ran in the chilly forty-degree drizzle, thoughts of past times would come to me as momentary glimpses afforded me when the passing cars would allow. Knowing I had to be aware of my surroundings, I couldn’t just drift off into deep thought, so safety was of the essence and thought was only of consequence.

My training was an easy ten mile jaunt over hilly terrain along the main vein of travel that connected our countryside with the link to Hwy 421 and Siler City, known as McClaurin Road. I don’t like to run the route, which it is probably one of my least favorites of all the places I’ve run because of the traffic, but it’s easy and convenient. Its ease of access reminded me of one of my first routes; another country road back in Indiana.

The road back then was also paved, but rough from wear during the winter months of freezing, the ground being forced to and fro from the tumultuous upheavals of freezing and thawing. It was also one large loop that was almost exactly three miles in length, perfect for the beginning runner. The only problem with the course was the traffic, it too being a little narrow country road. Of course thirty years ago, traffic was much lighter than today, almost everywhere and especially out in the countryside of southern Indiana. There was one major hill on the road, one we called Oak Hill. I don’t know where it received its name, but it was quite possibly an island many eons ago when the world was in its infancy and that area was covered with water. However, towering above the fields of corn, it was in a sense an icon of sorts, standing tall above the sea of green below, one that would become golden when the tassels atop the corn would come into bloom. On those summer days, the smell of the tar on the road would mix with the smell of the endless rows of corn, one I can still remember even today. The air was so thick with the smell of corn you could almost taste it.

Here in this area of North Carolina fields of corn are rare.

So as I ran along watching and listening for the next car, my mind would search for the next trigger to take it off into another void of thought and recollection.

I passed the home of one of the local newspaper writer, Bob Wachs. Evidently some of the cars passing me had been some of that family that had just gathered on his front porch and were being greeted and welcomed in the door as I passed by. I wondered how many of them noticed me just then, or if they had no idea I even existed as they had reached their destination and the joyous family reunion was just beginning. I was the onlooker, like the cattle lying in the pasture nearby, watching the humans carry on as if in some big celebration of sorts that kept them inside and out of sight. The thought came to me, “I wonder what they’d do if I just ran up and invited myself in for dinner?” I began to drift off to Thanksgiving Dinner’s past when suddenly another car tore around the curve ahead forcing me off the road and quickly searching for safe footing as the blast of fury and wind passed.

I continued on, thankful that I wasn’t tied to any table and was free to immerse myself in the cold, fresh air of outdoors this dreary overcast day. It’s funny how days like today make you want to stay inside and hide from the raw embrace of the outside air, but once you step outside and take the plunge into the elements, you find it’s not all that bad; in fact it’s almost refreshing. However, as I neared the end of my run I noticed the wind changing direction and the temperature seemed to dip even farther. If I hadn’t already had a full steam of body heat created, I would’ve certainly found myself colder than I could already gladly entertain. Thankful to find myself trudging up the last big hill toward our farm, I watched as my own herd of cattle lay in repose, chewing their cuds and watching another being trot by, uncaring, unfazed by my presence. Their nonchalant attitude gave me comfort, for they were at peace, and with that knowing, so was I.

After I had reached my stopping point, I walked a bit and soon found myself in the rocker on the back porch with my shoes and socks off for a few brief moments. As I cooled down I thought of the times I would wade in the icy waters of the pool at my mom’s house in Florida the last time I was there for her funeral a couple Decembers ago. I thought of my pond down below the house and wondered how cold it might be today and if wading in it would also bring me back to that pool in Florida. My thought was broken by the hunter’s truck driving back down the hill, obviously taking a break for lunch as it had just passed noon after I returned home. The mist was heavier now and again, I was thankful to have the shelter of the porch upon which I sat to cover me as I sat resting in the rocking chair. The handrail of the porch gleamed proudly with the new coat of paint, another task completed, and another step closer to the sale of the farm.

There would be no turkey dinner for us today, but that’s okay.

Both of my children had oral surgery yesterday and both are on liquid diets. Their ordeal was precipitated by the fact that they wouldn’t miss school after the surgery if done during the Thanksgiving break. Meanwhile, my wife is sick with a head cold and I have to work tonight; fun I know. Yet even with all this, I know there is a purpose for what we do. There will be other Thanksgivings; there will be other dinner tables to gather around, all this I know and with that I can also take comfort.

Yes, today was a good day, and for that I was thankful.

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by | September 8, 2014 · 11:57 pm

A Runner’s Eutopia

The rain that began as a gentle patter upon the roof of the car had become a steady driving rain by the time Pastor David pulled up imagesFAZ8NPIKin his little red truck.

“You sure you want to do this,’ he said with a challenging grin as we both emerged from the warm, dry vehicles dressed to run?

“Sure, why not,” I replied, “I’ve can remember running in worse.” And it was true; like the rain pouring down from the gray sky, so too did the flood of memories come roaring into my head while I had waited for him to arrive.

It was all good.

My first recollections took me back to when I was just a toddler. The brown water swirled beneath my father’s legs as he waded through the flooded waters of the Wabash River in southern Indiana on the outskirts of the little town of New Harmony. Due to heavy rains and ground already saturated by melting snows, the river had spilled over its banks and into the lower pastures of K.D. Owen’s farm, where my paternal grandfather lived and managed. I watched in amazement at the fluid patterns passed beneath us, me safely on dad’s shoulders. I begged and squirmed to get down, wanting to become one with the moment, but he refused; the water was too deep at this point. It wasn’t until we had reached higher ground that he gave in and allowed me the chance to set my feet down into the cold, frigid chocolate-colored water. I held his hand as we trudged together under a gray sky, much like today. I would later come down with double pneumonia, my second time in as many years of my young life. The time in the hospital is another story, another chapter. Looking back, I’m not positive if the cold, wet feet preempted my illness, but it was evident that the event was significant enough to register a memory so distant, so deep that it came to mind today.

As we started off, the gravel road was covered in standing water which caused us to look for carefully chosen footholds of higher ground. The standing water reminded me of mud-filled trenches covered with barbed wire. My mind flashed back to basic training at Lackland AFB in Texas, nearly 30 years earlier. Another overcast day, another deluge that buried the obstacle course we were imagesZ2OJWIWKscheduled to run that morning in several inches of water. Our Drill Instructor, the epitome of being “Gung Ho”, Sgt. Smith, whipped his troops into a fury and with the spirit of Rough Riders charging San Juan Hill he roared a rebel yell and cut us lose as we attacked the course through the driving rain; our only enemy, the weather. My government issue horn-rimmed glassed, also known as “BC” which was short for Birth Control, referring to how much attraction you could expect from the ladies when you wore them, immediately began fogging up to the point they were useless. Trying to wipe them clear was futile, so I stuck them in my pant pockets and charged onward. Being nearsighted, the obstacle course immediately became ten-fold more difficult; especially considering the fact I could no longer discern distances. This became evident when the leaping from one slick horizontal telephone pole to the other found me planted firmly upon my groin, a severe pain to which any man can attest and the crack of the BC’s snapping in my pocket; despair one can only imagine. From there, the course only got worse. The image came to mind again of crawling face down under barbed wire, through a rain soaked trench filled to the brim with water the color of the contents of a newborn’s diaper. Needless to say, holding your breath and forgetting how cold and nasty you felt were the only options to passing this most uncomfortable part of the course. Compared to other branches of the armed forces, I’m sure this is quite humorous, but at the time it seemed quite unnecessary; but then again, we had Sgt. Gung Ho leading the way, and so it was.

But I was back, and we were now well on our way down the American Tobacco Trail, enjoying the day, regardless of the weather that continued to fall from the sky. “Hey, at least we weren’t crawling through the mud puddles'” I thought to myself.

As we ran along, talking and sharing stories, it became quickly apparent to me my running partner was in much better shape, since he was able to breathe and talk while I felt as if I was turning blue. My lungs gasped for air and my legs sought redemption, but my mind pushed onward. Drifting off again, I was once more training with the Southern Indian cross country team, myself soon to be only a junior in High School. It was a privilege our coach, Steve Edwardson had arranged to help get his team in better shape. During the summer, before the season started, we were allowed to run with the college team at SIU. Although their endurance and strength surpassed my own, it didn’t stop me from trying to stay with them. They joked, laughed and told all sorts of tales while they ran. They explained to me that if you could converse while running, then you were running at a good long distance pace; one that wouldn’t overtax your body. Today, it didn’t seem to take long for my old body to quickly become overtaxed. To be totally honest, the 13 hours of working the night before and the five miles from the day before on two hours sleep was just a little much; but to forego the chance to run with another person was too great a reward to surpass, so here we were.

Onward we splashed.

By the turn around point, I knew I was getting tired when I no longer avoided the puddles; plowing straight through them now, taking the most direct route without care of how deep or cold the wetness felt on my backside. Comfort had giving way to efficiency.

As we ran, Pastor David and I talked and discussed topics close to the heart and we shared stories that I will carry with me forever. Those thoughts becoming one with the past, the places my running had taken me before.

It was then I began to rekindle the spirit of the wind.

The flood of memories were non-stop now: the forests of ages ago, the dog by my side, running as one; each watching out for the other passed through my head; struggling across the steel swinging bridge on the Isle of Palms into a freezing cold rain, as we fought to return on our long run the day of the Boston Marathon, 1983; countless quarters of pain around the track at the Citadel in Charleston SC; hot-steamy long runs down the middle of McGregor in Ft. Myers, FL., reveling in the smooth road and royal palms micanopythat lined the grand boulevard; those first few runs with my children on the beach at Oak Island, as if we could run forever, their little feet whirring as quickly as they could go, me floating alongside, as if in a dream; then those countless runs, when at ten miles, I could no longer feel my legs as I floated on the air of the earth as if tides of unknown seas, racing logging trucks down back roads of uncharted forests; tree lined oaks of Micanopy draping over the road as we trained in a runner’s heaven on earth.

Yes, they all came back and more.

I shall return to those long vaunted trails where spirits join and the past becomes one with the now.

And yes, it was most definitely a good run.

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by | September 7, 2014 · 8:03 pm

A Shadow in the Mist

images281A76P4What I am about to tell you is totally true, beyond a shadow of a doubt and undeniably without any thread of exaggeration.

I was on the last leg of my Sunday morning run; the sun had just managed to reach the horizon while I had still yet to see its morning glow. The air was thick with humidity and any trace of coolness had long ago evaporated into the sweat that now poured off my tiring body. I turned the last corner of the gravel road, the last mile of my run and was about to head into the thickest part of the forest which made the road upon which I ran a living tunnel. Overhead trees draped across the lane, blotting out the sky above. The recesses of the darkness seemed to go on forever, the air cooler, whispered voices of beings therein. I was well within this domain when the thought of coyotes came to mind. Just as the thought entered a small dark figure of a squirrel raced across the road ahead of me, momentarily causing my heart to jump. I went back to the idea of the wolf-like creature and wondered how I might have reacted had the carnivorous being I had imagined actually passed before me. “Where they watching me even now,” I asked myself, my eyes searching as I ran the inner depths of the forest that lay to my left. The blur of vegetation passed as a movie as my body moved forward, one foot plodding before the other, the taste of salt on my lips. Not long afterward, I turned my focus forward again as I emerged from the wooded section of the road and came out into the growing brightness of the morning, running past the pond and up the last hill of my run, soon to put the images of primeval forest behind me.

After my brief cool down, I found myself on the back porch, looking out upon the pond and road from which I had just emerged. My glass of water in hand, I sat down upon the rocking chair and allowed my bare feet to breath in the cool morning air. I leaned back and closed my eyes, the air, my body becoming one with the world around me, drinking in the moment, blood pumping, my breathing relaxed, all was good.

The sounds of the earth serenaded my soul.wolfinmist

Then suddenly, from the depths of the darkness came the bark and howl of a lone coyote: its voice so close, so clear; so haunting.

My eyes flashed open and noticed the horses standing below where I sat on the porch, their images visible in the gray pasture shadows. Their actions confirming the sound I had just heard; their ears perked and alert as they turned to face the dark woods from which I had just passed moments earlier on my run.

Something from a repressed memory of an ancient time reached my consciousness, something unbelievably real, yet unbelieving in its existence.

“Had I known of their presence while through yonder dark woods I hath traveled,” came the voice in my head? “Surely it was just coincidence,” I replied, “or was it?”

I waited to see if there were another call but none came; only the sounds of predawn chorus continued.

My eyes scanned the lower horizon, watching for any signs of movement, but there was nothing.

The padded paw left no trace, its breath a mist upon the morning air and then vanished like the beast from whence it came; nothing left behind but the memory of its passing. A shadow in the mist.

Then I began to wonder to myself, “Was this the way we suppress so many other things in our world, things we recognize but then dismiss when they our outside the realm of our belief?” If nothing more than a physical image can be brushed aside, then what else is there that we understand as truth yet knowingly pass on its belief until we form the space in which we can comfortably exist, one we know and are familiar with, yet one that scares the hell out of us should we venture beyond its borders; the howl of the wolf, the connection to a world beyond our control, one where we are no longer the masters. The padded paw of silence follows us waiting for our minds to stray from the path, ready to pounce upon our unbelieving weaknesses and use them against us before we recover and scamper back to the safety of our predefined borders. How many without faith find themselves in this predicament everyday as they succumb to the evils of the world in which we live, finding themselves trapped in a darkness they cannot control or emerge; lost to the clutches of its demonic fanged breath.

Without the armor of light to protect us, the Word of God, we are mere babes in the woods. It is up to those of us who know better to prepare those who are without; salvation through God’s grace and thus become children of the light. Otherwise, we leave them to become prey to the claws of the world’s clutches.

How many only wish it were just a dream from which they could emerge, or a morning’s run through the early morning mist? How many can we reach before the fangs of this world pull them asunder?

What will you do to escape, what will you do?

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by | August 17, 2014 · 10:44 pm

A Message in the Clouds…

Clouds tell us a lot.

This morning as my son and I went out for our morning run, we had just passed a particularly challenging uphill section of our route and as I gasped for breath, I looked up to the sky and notice a nondescript cumulus hovering overhead. It made me think back to how many more times I had done the same, looked heavenward while running. The act of looking skyward in some instances was from a need for silent prayer to get me through the day or at least to the end of the run, but in this case it was simply to enjoy the beautiful day that God had made.

Then the thought came to me, “How many times had I had passed this point of exhaustion in my younger days, only to have no idea that someday I would be performing the same feat, but with a son at my side?”

I listened to our rhythm of footsteps, his matching mine even though his stride could easily be half as great as my own. He now stands six foot tall and his loping pace seems too easy for his slender frame. He barely breathes as I struggle to gasp in anything that would ease my burning lungs. Yet, as we continue onward, we move as one; father and son under a pale blue sky, the sunrise at our backs. In my earlier days, I would push the pace when running with someone so that we might achieve a greater return from our workout, yet this morning I neither desired to push the pace nor shorten our time together; this was more than just exercise.

As we trotted along, we talked of many things. My mind ran parallel, looking down at the two images flowing along the green backdrop of countryside. My own father never dreamed of running with me, or at least if he had, he never said so. One summer when I was in high school I began increasing my long runs. On one of the first attempts, I asked my dad to check on me while I tried running an 18 miler. He agreed and became my support vehicle of sorts. He would drive by in the old Chevy Suburban while drinking a beer. He even offered me a drink, realizing I was probably in need of fluids, and then he was off, driving away in a cloud of dust down the gravel road as I plodded onward. Those were solitary runs, something I became to understand were part of the territory. Having someone accompany you was a treat, as was today. We had by now turned and were on the return leg of our run with the sunrise now facing us, as ominous clouds blocked its rays; precursor to potential rain I told my son. He nodded; the pace was finally catching up with him.

The last mile of our run is up the hill to our home; one of the most challenging climbs I’ve known in all the years of my running. As we approached it, I kept talking, sharing not realizing the strain the incline was taking upon my body. Not until we nearly reached the summit did I have to stop speaking and search for oxygen to feed my starving limbs. The scene of cross-country runners passing the finish line and bending double to catch their breath came to mind, hands on hips, heaving chests. One young man from Oregon had joined our high school team, a boy who could have doubled for the late Steve Prefontaine. He walked up to me and told me putting my hands on my hips was cheating, that it was making it easier for my body to recover, not allowing my chest cavity to build strength which was part of the training. I dropped my arms at the time, trying to achieve the effort my teammate mentioned. Today, I hugged my hips and sucked in air, thinking of whatever happened to the young man and where he might be today, if alive at all. The greenness of the shade we had reached at the peak of the hill made me think of Oregon and what running in that place might have been like in Pre’s time; magical for sure.prefontaine

The whinny of Sugar, Mary’s pony broke my dreamlike state as we walked through the front gate and into the inner yard. Sugar stood waiting for her breakfast, which we soon took care of as we walked our cool-down to the barn. Kittens danced and spun in the early morning light; happy to see us approach knowing breakfast was soon to be served for them as well.

Then my son asked, “Dad, did you notice there wasn’t one car?”

I thought and he was right, we hadn’t seen one car on our entire time out.

“No, you’re right,” I said in response.

“Is it always like this in the morning?”

“Well, if you get up early enough on Sunday morning it can be,” I replied, “but if you go far enough, there will eventually be at least a couple cars.”

He nodded.

I would save the stories of countless miles I had once run on the logging roads in the Weyerhaeuser forests of South Carolina and not seen one human during an entire summer.

Today was about us, not about the past.

Later, after our cool-down, I sat on the porch sipping my morning coffee and noticed the sky a perfect blue. All the clouds had vanished and the pasture grasses before me echoed a richness of plush moisture. My son walked up to the porch after having checked the chickens and I noticed he looked as if hadn’t even broken a sweat. I told him to come on up and take off his shoes and socks so his feet could breath. He obliged and we sat side by side, once more sharing and watching the world before us come alive with the days dawning, our bare feet cooling in the breeze.

Off in the distance, clouds began to loom once again as a hummingbird flitted by.

angelcloudThat afternoon on our way home from church, I looked up in the sky and saw a cloud with the perfect face of an angel looking down. The image was so perfect, it looked almost appeared man-made. The angel had wide outstretched wings and seemed to be floating across the sky, a vision of comfort and peace from above. I felt a certain confirmation inside, knowing that we were being watched from above and that somehow, someway, no matter what life had in store, God would see us through; so said the image in the cloud.

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by | September 8, 2013 · 8:47 pm

Zen Miles…

webThis morning I ran ten miles, which in German would be “zehn” miles. It made me think of the Eastern philosophy of “Zen” and how my exercise had a lot to do with the “Zen” of life. I thought of this homonym on the return route, since my zehn miles is an out-and-back course.  A colleague at work and I had discussed this past week how running seemed to cleanse our minds from the stress and chaos from work; thus the Zen.  I didn’t initially plan to run ten, but rather eight miles. As I went along, I eventually found myself willing and able to continue farther with a memory that would spur me to go the extra two miles I hadn’t planned; but that part I will unfold later. The first few yards of my run each day take me down a gravel road through a deep wood, where this morning I happened to pick up several spider webs that had miraculously stretched across the roadway during the night. I could feel these nearly invisible strands of fiber trailing behind me, like the tail of a kite and with the thought of Zen, they became as memories in life that I recall on my run, often invoked by an image or sound along the way as they floated behind.raincrow

This morning my first recollection was of a sound; a Rain Crow.

The rain crow is actually a “Yellow Billed Cuckoo” native to this area but according to an old wives tale,  its call often signifies the prediction of rain by the next day. I first heard of this while visiting the gathering that use to occur at Reno Sharpe’s Store, down the road from where we live. In those days, mostly old men would gather and sit on the porch when weather would allow, sipping on bottles of coca-cola or spitting chew off the porch while sharing the news of the day. It was here I leasharpestorerned of the rain crow and its ability to foretell the weather among many other things in life that are passed down orally; history told in a manner in which it comes alive.

The prediction of rain made me think about the day before when I had just disked up the garden plot, so today would be the day to get the seeds planted. My daughter, Mary and I, would most likely be the ones to do this later this day. We shared in our endeavor to raise a garden. Bringing in the fresh produce was a rewarding to us as anything, especially when it enriched our dietary pallets. This reminded me of the days we would go to my paternal grandmother’s house on Sunday. They were Seventh Day Adventist, so their Sabbath was on Saturday. So when Sunday rolled around in late summer, we would go and help her set out the fall garden, preparing for the hearty plants that would last well into the cold winters of southern Indiana. It would be a family event, one that would get us all out working in the dirt with our hands, then returning to the front porch to drink cold water from the old tin cups she had saved and sharing stories. Telling tales and passing down family history was something we had always known. The trips to the local store only made North Carolina seem more like home.

A trail of web dropped off as I plodded along, the sun rising behind me as I headed westward.

The cool mist of the morning was heavy in the lower valleys today, opening another chapter of life. There was a day when I was a very competitive runner and ten miles was merely medium distance in my training, unlike today wherefog it was definitely my long run. I remembered running on the back roads of Ocala Florida under wide Oaks with drapes of Spanish moss hanging down where misty mornings were common. On those runs along the Turkey Bridge road, a hilly section near my house, I could literally run down into a fog bank so thick the ridge behind me would disappear and the temperature would drop ten degrees. It was an eerie feeling to run up and down this hills that were like islands in the sky separated by white lakes of floating mists.

One more web loosened itself as I rounded the next bend in the road.

My morning Bible study at been all of 2nd Peter. It was written telling people the faults of following false prophets and how retaining hate in your life was unhealthy. The image of all the media and the threat of war in Syria came to mind. People fed a daily ration of hate, people stockpiling weapons, fear growing of government invasion of personal privacy; all of it compounding upon what 2nd Peter foretold of a nation that lost their way and became ignorant of their faith. But here I was flushing this vileness from my mind, not retaining it, so I took in a deep breath of the pure country air and let it go, relishing in the beautiful morning before me as I could hear a flock of crows calling off to my right, another thought another memory I left with them.

I passed the mailbox of Clyde McClaurin; I happened to be running on McClaurin road, which had been named after Clyde’s family many years before. Clyde passed away over ten years ago, so his name on the mailbox stands as somewhat of a memorial to him. The name on the box also reminded me of a time gone by when people weren’t afraid to put their names on their mailboxes. Today, in the world of instant communication and Google Earth, I find people hiding more and more behind numbers and false names in order to hide their true identity, thus allowing them to continue the conversation of hate which I alluded to earlier.

Wanting to stray back to the moment and get away from the world in which we live, I focused once more on the open road ahead.

Not far away I passed a mailbox numbered 1805 and thought of how it might be interesting to write a story about someone that went for a run and how each mailbox number became a date So, as they ran along a road with decreasing numbers, they would find themselves going back in time. I thought of this mailbox next to the barbed wire fence and how it was likely that there wasn’t any barbed wire in 1805, something I’d have to look up before writing that story. I knew from my experiences visiting historic sites in that time frame that split rail fences or rock walls were common, so it was that it was very likely I’d find myself running along old rock walls if I had been transported to the early 1800s. Thankfully the barbed wire fence continued as did my run.

As is often, I thought of the sequel to my book that I was writing and where I might go with it. I’d fixate on the image of each twist and turn and before I realized it, I’d be a mile or two down the road. This mental writing while running is something new to me but its quite rewarding to be able to write and run without worrying about pain or discomfort. I know when I first started back running last summer this was not at all possible because the pain was too great. Thankfully a year later I’m able to run nearly pain free for all of ten miles.

Then it dawned on me, I hadn’t run ten miles since before my mother passed away last December.

darknessThe flood of memories with her death and the visits beforehand came rushing back. I remember the day of her funeral, I went out to run, to try to leave it all for just a few minutes, but it would go away. Her passing was the finality in my life that I knew would eventually occur. Her release from her battle with cancer was a relief in itself, but just knowing there wouldn’t be another time I could hear her voice on the phone; those would be the times that would be missed. That day I ran ten miles and felt like I was in a cloud, but it was a dark one. There had been a dangerous flu going around, one I would eventually become ill with. I wouldn’t be free of the sickness for a couple months; thus the reason my running stopped that winter, and my long runs. It was a dark time and without a way to shed the pain, the months crept along. Today was my chance to put it behind, physically and mentally; ten miles it will be I decided, Lord willing.

One by one, mile after mile,  I left the strands of web behind like the memories along the run until I wasuphillrun approaching that last final hill, the one leading to my house; here to the present. My daughter wanted to run a couple miles with me this morning in order to train for her cross-country at school. This was something I enjoyed and would endure no matter how tired I had become from my long run. Our children are our future. This was the here and now, as the last final cob web fell to the side of the road; this was the creation of new memories that I would reach back for someday.

My mind clear, my soul refreshed and zehn miles under my belt; once more, I was home.

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by | July 18, 2013 · 6:59 am

Life on the Run…

Today I looked back in my blog journal to see what was going on last year at this time. I had just started writing my first blog and was still finding my legs, so to speak. It was July and we had just begun the 100+ temperatures, which would become known as the hottest summer on record. I also began running again, even in the heat. I read what I wrote at that time, which can be found in the following link:

https://timothywtron.dreamhosters.com/the-thief-called-time/

It was obvious that I was struggling both with my out of shape legs, which had not known this type of physical runningactivity in nearly 20 years, and with the heat. I was determined that if I could run in that heat, I could run in anything if I didn’t kill me first; I was nearly correct. I made it all the way to December of last year before getting extremely ill with the respiratory illness that was going around. I had been increasing my mileage each week up to that point until I was able to run 10 miles on my long run. It was a far cry from the days when I trained for marathons, taking in an 18 or 20 miler on the long days. Yet, along the way, my body had become healthier. I felt better and had more endurance which certainly helped on those long nights at work; I work the night shift.  Sleep is too often sacrificed in order to keep up the daily schedule my life creates. Yet, the more I got in shape, the further sleep I did get seemed to go. In other words, my recovery rate also increased.

Lately, I’ve been running with my daughter who is trying to get in shape for her attempt to run cross country this year. Today, she was still mourning the loss of another cat, so I was on my own. I went out for a couple miles, just to stretch my legs and wound up running four instead. It just felt too good to stop. It was still in the mid 90’s temperature-wise, yet I had now been running off and on for a year and my legs are now in much better shape than last July. Now when I go run, I don’t think about dying and the pain; I’m once again free to allow my mind to wander and take in the scenery while thoughts randomly pop in and out of my consciousness. Sometimes I find myself writing verses to songs, chapters to my book’s sequel, or just making plans for an upcoming event. Either way, it’s a freedom of thought, to become one with nature, to experience the feeling of movement without thought of doing so.

I now enjoy running once more.

buckI now get to experience on a personal level the world around us. This past week alone I saw two majestic bucks, antlers in full velvet; the likes of which I had never seen in pictures or in person. I’ve seen beautiful butterflies float in the sunshine, with the azure blue sky for a background. I’ve been escorted by Red Tail hawks as they cross my path, two and fro, looking for prey far below. I’ve seen neon green caterpillars, so bizarre in color that they appear man-made. Then there are the forests themselves, the full bounty of a summer rich with long deep rains. The leaves so full, they appear to pull the canopy down with the weight of their abundance. Yes, the humid warm air might be uncomfortable on the surface but inside, the lungs are enriched by the comforting fullness filling every tiny brachium with oxygen and life.

Yes, I’m enjoying my runs once more.

Last year at this time I didn’t know if that would ever be possible to run pain free ever again. I still have a long way to go. I’m not in the best shape I could be in. I lost a lot of ground after stopping when I got sick last December. It took a while before I got started again. Yet, I now know that all it takes is consistency and patience; two things age teaches you very quickly.

Some things in life we can never go back too, nor would we want too, but sometimes, with the blessing of the Lord, we are able to once again achieve that level, physical or mental, we once knew; this is feeling is greater than any earthly reward.

Here’s a question for you: What is something that you’ve neglected for some time and then gone back to and either regained your former level of ability or was able to raise above that level?

I liked the scripture that I used in the previous blog so much that I included it here again. Enjoy,

“I have seen something else under the sun: The race is not to the swift or the battle to the strong, nor does food come to the wise or wealth to the brilliant or favor to the learned; but time and chance happen to them all.” – Ecclesiastes 9:11

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