(Holy) Saturday Between Death and Resurrection

The Saturday between Holy Friday and Easter Sunday is usually a day I spend wondering what exactly Jesus’ death on the cross means for us. Does it mean that God was “dead” for a day? Or does it mean that Jesus, the human, was dead for a day? Does it mean both? Does it mean neither? Did Jesus descend into hell? Does hell really exist? What did the disciples, both the men and the women, do for the day? What does anyone do when they are mourning the loss of a friend, a mentor, a love, a son? Did any of them anticipate what was coming? Did any of them have any foresight of the resurrection, since all the clues were  there? What does it all mean for us as Christians? What does it mean for anyone else? Basically, I usually spend Saturday worrying myself into a mess of emotion by the time Easter comes and I can celebrate the risen Christ.

This year was no exception. However, I found several meaningful distractions for myself, which took the pressure off of this Saturday.

By 7:30 in the morning I was picking up a couple of my students, so we could go run a trail race at Mounds State Park in Anderson. Neither one of them had ever run a trail race before, so the car was all full of nervous energy and excitement, as we discussed the possible layout of the course and strategies for running longer distances (they were running the 15K). We talked about all types of other things, too, which always makes driving more fun. When we got to Mounds, we registered, got our bibs, and went back to the car to change. The weather was freezing. Literally. The race started on slick, frost-covered grass. They started at 9AM, and my race, the 5K, started at 9:10.

By the time I made it into the woods and off of the grass, I was wheezing and coughing. So much for the honey helping with grass allergies, though it has worked wonders for the tree and flower allergies, because I haven’t been nearly as congested or wheezy as I was last spring. So, I ran coughing and wheezing into the woods, and I realized that everything I told the boys about the race was wrong. The race organizers used every hill at the Mounds, which is a lot of them, and the course was really challenging. The end of the 5K went up the 80 steps to the pavilion, and my legs burned and my heart felt it might explode by the time I crossed the finish line. But let’s go back for a minute: somewhere in the middle of the race, I decided I should walk up the hills and careen down them, which is a tactic I’ve never used before, but I thought it might be helpful in this race. Then, I thought, if I am going to do that, why not be playfully contemplative. So as I ran, in my mind I thought about the Jesus questions, while using my body to respond to my fears and doubts in a playful way. I had more fun and learned more about myself in that race than in any other I’ve ever run. And, I used the time to do my usual Holy Saturday reflection. As I crossed the finish line, the clock read 00:52:53.0. I had finished this grueling race in about 17 minutes a mile. I was pretty excited.

Fred, Me, Logan: We Pretty Much Rocked

I cheered for Logan and I cheered for Fred. And then I realized, after they finished, that the time clock was set for the 15K. I could take 10 whole minutes off of my time. I had finished the 5K in my my best time ever—00:42:43.0! I considered this a pretty decent accomplishment, since that meant my average time per mile was 13.68 minutes, and I hadn’t run a mile in thirteen and a half minutes in about 9 months. And this was on crazy terrain! Now I was elated. I was more elated when I realized that Logan came in second and Fred came in fourth in their age group. At their first ever trail race. I was really proud of us. You can see our times by following the links here.

Sierra Nevada Porter: The Beer of the Personal Record

I also distracted my self from thinking too much or too seriously about the death of Jesus by going to some friends’ house for a bonfire. We drank some beers, ate some wieners, and roasted some marshmallows. We also burned a stool, talked about theology, sports, and life, and decided to attend the outdoor Easter sunrise service together. The evening was a usual amazing night with two great friends.

This was one ridiculously hot fire.

More Things I’ve Eaten, and Some Cider. Sports. The Light of the World. Opening Day.

More Things I’ve Eaten

I don’t want to turn into one of those people who only posts pictures of the food they eat, writing endlessly about how amazing their cooking is and about how fantastic the food they eat is, but I love food, I love cooking it, and I love eating it, so it only seems right to post pictures of my first love. Lots of pictures. I promise, though, that I won’t brag (too much) about my cooking skills.

Along with my love of food, my second love used to be beer, but it doesn’t make much sense to me to avoid grain products all week long, just to inundate my body with them on weekends. In fact, many people who follow a paleo or primal lifestyle eschew alcohol all together. Instead of completely abstaining, I’ve switched to ciders, but the sad part of this scenario is that there aren’t nearly as many ciders available to try as there are beers, especially in the Midwest. My brother and I are hoping to visit some cider breweries this summer, so I’ll make sure to keep you in the loop about that.

Here are the deliciously luxurious food photos:

Coconut Crusted Catfish; Dandelion Green and Spinach Salad

Beef Stir Fry with Srirachi; Woodchuck Spring Cider

Grass Fed Sirloin; Mixed Green Salad; Samuel Smith's Organic Cider

Charcoal-Grilled Sockeye Salmon; Mixed Green Salad; Strongbow Cider

 Sports: Racquetball, Swimming, Barefoot Running

The more time I spend playing or participating in other sports, the more I agree with the idea that physical conditioning just prepares us to play more and better. I know myself well enough to know that I will never be a fast runner. In fact, I’ll probably never finish in the top two thirds of any race I run. Likely, I’ll finish in the last quarter, if not in last place, but I don’t care. I don’t care because I don’t run to be competitive; I run for the fun of it. I don’t swim to be competitive; I swim for the fun of it. I love the sports that require lots of stamina and that make my body sore and achy the next day because I’ve worked hard to have fun and to finish. I consider swimming and running to be the building blocks for every other sport. (I’d consider cycling to fill this purpose, too, but it’s not summer and I don’t generally ride my bike when it freezes my face.) These sports exist to prepare our bodies for more.

For example, I realized last night that I signed up for two races that I probably won’t finish, because they’ll cut the race off before I will make it around the course the second time. I don’t care. I’ll just keep running and cross the line after the awards ceremony, but at least I will have finished. I didn’t look at the times before I signed up and they didn’t list a cutoff time, but last years times are posted now, and I will run it in about 15 to 20 minutes longer than the longest time listed. I assume this is because lolly-gagging, fat, barefoot or Vibram-clad, pushing-40s, running-for-fun women don’t generally sign up for 15K trail runs. I just hope my time doesn’t go down as a DNF because it took me too long to cross the line. I’ll just have to time myself with my watch and be unofficially proud of myself for finishing.

You see swimming and running are sports I play to finish, but racquetball, disc golf, basketball and those types of games are sports I play to be competitive. I don’t by any stretch of the imagination mean that I am exceptionally good at any of these sports, but I love to be competitive in them. I play hard. I win hard. Or, I lose hard, but I always have fun. I played racquetball with my friends Celeste and Sarah yesterday and had a blast! To me, the grueling workouts of running and swimming serve only to prepare my body for playing hard and having fun, not that I don’t have fun swimming or running—if I didn’t, I wouldn’t do them—but I don’t swim or run to play or compete. On second thought, maybe that’s why I am so drawn to trail running, because it’s fun, and so much more like playing than road racing could ever be?!?

Opening Day

Speaking of playing, baseball’s opening day is just around the corner! Go REDS! Their home opener is April 5 against the Florida Marlins. I hope to make it to several games this year, but we’ll see how the funding works out. If anyone wants to donate Red’s season tickets to my summer fun basket, let me know. I’d appreciate the dugout box, or the infield box seats. They’re reasonably priced. Ha!

The Light of the World

Today at church, Matt spoke about being the light of the world. He mentioned that we are “set,” or systematically placed to be the light of the world. Matthew 5:14-16 says, “You are the light of the world. A city on a hill cannot be hidden. Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven” (TNIV). We are intentionally built as a city on a hill. We have God’s light inside us. We are to share that light in intentional ways.

St. Paul Cathedral at Night from MPR News

I have forgotten that I am supposed to be the light of the world. Instead, I’ve been spending a lot of time being the opposite of the light, repeatedly putting myself under a bowl. I’ve been the harbinger of pessimism, sadness, and anger. Lots of anger. How can I be the light while I am being angry? Matt showed us a video about Bob Goff, and in it, Goff said you can’t be angry if you keep your palms up. It’s easy to get angry when your fists are clenched or your hands are facing down, but it’s very difficult to get angry when your palms are facing up. Yet another example of the ways in which God designs our bodies to worship and not to harm: the physicality of our bodies guides the emotionality. I need to remember that.

My challenge to myself is to remember that I am where I am for a purpose. I need to ask myself everyday, “How is it that you are going to let God use you today?” And I need to make sure I face my palms up when I am meeting with colleagues. Does this mean I will do it all right? No. I am sure it doesn’t. But does it mean I will be a little more intentional about trying to be the light of the world, about trying to show God’s love to others? Yes. I certainly hope it does.

Winter Trail Run. Frittata. Swimming and Grading.

Winter Trail Quarter Marathon

Last night I ran my first race of the year, the Planet Adventure Trail Quarter Marathon. It was 4.55 dark miles of pure bliss and 2 miles of hell, but the whole 6.55 miles was an amazing experience I’d sign up for again and again. After the first two miles, one of which snaked along an icy narrow trail on the edge of the Eagle Creek Reservoir—and I mean right on the edge, one misstep and you’re in the drink, down an eight or ten foot drop—I got into my groove and thought to myself, This isn’t so bad. I will kick this race’s behind.

Little did I know that mile three would be one of the most spiritually beautiful, yet one of the most physically grueling miles I’d ever run. I had heard some other runners talking before the race about running across a land bridge between the two lakes and was pretty excited about that prospect. However, I had no idea that the land bridge would be covered in railroad rocks, the big jagged pieces of limestone that had nothing better in mind than to macerate the bottoms of my feet with their pointy little edges. My VFFs, though they performed amazingly well throughout the rest of the trail, were no match for those tiny torture devices. In short, I walked the almost mile across the reservoir to keep from making hamburger of the bottoms of my feet, and they still bruised a bit. While I was walking—and stubbornly sometimes jogging—along the land bridge, I turned off my headlamp and relished the pitch blackness. It doesn’t get pitch black by my house, and I can’t see the stars for all the streetlamps. So I was in awe when I discovered the heavens were arrayed in their full glory, and I could see Orion and the Big Dipper, along with all of their individual stars. I walked along worshiping, meditating, and feeling blessed.

I can’t capture in words how majestic it was to be moving along between two bodies of water, under the beautiful night sky, with my breath steaming out in rhythmic puffs, and my body reveling in the physicality of the experience. Just when I thought I couldn’t feel more joyful, I looked up around the shore, and I realized I could see the headlamps of everyone who was running the race bobbing along the trail circumnavigating the water. At that moment, I gained a better understanding of what humanity is, and I was overwhelmed by the feeling. I got a lump in my throat that could only be an Emersonian revelation that we are all one. Though we are many individual people, we are one humanity, and every one of our hearts vibrates to the same iron string. I tried hard not to let the water come into my eyes, because I was afraid it would freeze. But I couldn’t help it. Surely that must be what life is all about. Beauty, grace, joy, and camaraderie.

Once the land bridge ended, we were off and running on a wide road, which eventually headed into a double-track trail for most of the rest of the race. I much prefer double- or triple-track trails to single-track. The single-track trails make me very self-conscious about being a slow runner, and I feel like I have to move over for the faster runners to get by. I swear my times would be better if I could just get over moving over and let the speed demons figure out how to get around me. I don’t suppose that’d make anyone happy though. And since I am not competitive, running for fun than times, I will probably continue to move over so they can get by. Some even say thank you.

Everything was moving along fine until mile six, which was just pure hell. I would say a good half to three-quarters of mile six was just mud. A thick, goopey, cold, muddy hell. There was nothing majestic about mile six. Although I am sure there is some good theological metaphor buried there beneath the dark, wet dirt.  In spots, the mud was up past my ankles, and we just had to make do. My VFFs were two to three times their normal size and weight, and I am not sure if my favorite (a.k.a LUCKY) socks will ever be the same color they once were. So much for white and rainbow. Running this mile reminded me of running the Mudathlon, only the weather was slightly, okay drastically, colder and more oppressive. I thought at one point when I stepped in a puddle up to mid-calf that my toes on my left foot were just going to freeze off, but I kept running and they eventually warmed up.

Luckily I didn’t fall at all. I blame my ability to stay upright on all the recent plank work I’ve been doing. I saw a guy slip on the ice on the narrow, treacherous path and  nearly slide into the reservoir, save for grabbing onto the tree that happened to be next to him. My friend Teresa—who had planned to run the half marathon, but stopped after the first ridiculous lap—fell three times. She was covered in mud, wet, cold, and miserable enough to stop. We both agreed this race was one of the most difficult we’d ever done. Even though it was ridiculous, it was amazing, and I’ll likely do it again next year.

My Finisher's Medal: Made From a Fallen Tree at Eagle Creek

Sunday Morning Frittata

This morning, because I was starving from my workout last night, I decided to try a new recipe. I won’t try it again in the same pan I used today, because it stuck like glue, so if you try this one, make sure to use a very nonstick pan. Aside from sticking, it was pretty tasty. I’ll probably add some onions and some garlic next time, too.

10 eggs
a bunch of spinach
a bunch of mushrooms
6 slices of bacon
a splash of heavy cream
a bit of butter if necessary
salt and pepper to taste

Fry the bacon to your likeness. Remove from pan and crunch it up. If you need a little extra grease, add some butter and then saute the mushrooms. While they are doing their thing, whisk together the eggs, salt and pepper, and the splash of cream. When your mushrooms are the way you like them, add in the spinach and bacon, then pour the eggs in on top of them. Cook at medium-low, or low, heat until the eggs are done all the way through. I put the lid on for part of the time, because I think it makes the eggs fluffier.

Deliciously Eggy

Swimming and Grading

Later today, I am going to swimming at Ball Pool where I finally have a locker, so I don’t have to lug all of my stuff back and forth with me every day. I need to work out my sore muscles, so I can sleep better tonight. (And I probably won’t drink three or four cups of caffeinated coffee right before trying to go to bed, like I did last night. Dumb.) I find that swimming, especially in the warm waters of Ball Pool, really helps my mood, my blood pressure, and my fatigued, old body. I am hoping that today it will loosen up my back, which is a little tense from running up and down those slick and muddy/icy hills. I know it will relax my mind and prepare me to grade.

After swimming, I am going to Starbucks for the great grade-a-thon. My high schoolers have turned in two reflections and a couple of other assignments, so I need to get them graded and returned to them. Likewise, I am sure my 8th graders would love to have their book reviews back. They were supposed to be their last grade for first semester, which ended two weeks ago, but they are going to be their first grade for this semester instead. They are gracious. They don’t mind my getting a little behind. Besides, they’re too busy reading Anthem to care about their old papers.