Set Your Own Pace, Run Your Own Race

In January of this year, 2016, I ran my first half marathon.

It was supposed to be my second.  I had been training last fall for an event in November, a half Ironman distance triathlon.

A couple of weeks before the event I had a health concern.  I called my doctor on a Monday.  They saw me on Wednesday.  And again on that Friday.  At Friday's appointment words like "biopsy" and "surgery" were brought out.  A biopsy was done. 

It was all very quick, and very unexpected.  Surgery was required, the extent of which to be determined by the biopsy results.

I sat on the table, somewhat dazed.  I had not brought anyone with me to the appointment because I really thought it was "no big deal" kind of thing. 

But one thing I did have the presence of mind to ask was whether or not I could do the triathlon the next Saturday.  The doctor gave me a look that I'm sure others have received when asking a seemingly ridiculous question.  Sure, I could participate but under the circumstances he didn't really think I would want to.

Ultimately, I didn't.  Too much had happened in too short a time.  I knew that mentally I was not in the right place.  (Especially dangerous if you are looking to swim 1.2 miles in open water.  Must be focused on the task at hand.)

I waited the next week for "the phone call".  What would that biopsy show?

In the end, I got the best news.  No cancer.  Still had a health issue but the surgery would take care of everything and it was scheduled for December 1.  The Tuesday before Thanksgiving I was pre-admitted and the Tuesday after, I went under the knife, except it was all done by lasers.

One month to six weeks recovery.  No driving.  Limited exercise.  I worked from home starting the second week so I could work when I could, and rest when I needed.

On December 23, 2015, I was released from the doctor.  I had done exceptionally well with my recovery and, yes, I was free to drive myself to Arkansas for Christmas.  Great!

But, I had another question.  Could I still do the half-marathon on January 17 that I had registered for months earlier?  Different doctor's office personnel, but same quizzical look.  No reason that I couldn't, medically.

Only issue was an obvious lack of recent training.

I arose very early on that Sunday morning.  Several times that preceding week Billy had questioned my sanity.  In a very rare act for me, I asked him not to go.  I wasn't positive that I could do it, and I didn't want him to watch me fail.  But I knew I had to try.

My trip to Baton Rouge was not without its bumps and, in the end, I arrived at the start 5 minutes too late.  With tears running down my face, I asked the race director if I could still run but just not receive an official time.  He paused for only a second (the race is on public streets after all) and not only told me I could, but after the race he would get me my shirt, bib, swag bag, etc. 

And off I went.

I had been very nervous leading up to this.  I was nowhere close to be physically fit for this event.  Mentally, I was not confident, either.  I knew I'd have to walk most of it.  Could I finish in time?  I'd checked the rules and I had about 7 hours to complete the course.  I could do that, right?  What would people say about me walking?  Would that be frowned upon?  Would I be embarrassed at the back all by myself as others took off running?  I hated the thought of the poor policeman that would have to tail this poor, lone "runner" as she struggled through.

If I hadn't already dropped $20 to park I might just have well turned around and gone home as to take off on that run.

But I started.  I was a ways behind the pack but I was trying.  Run, walk.  Run a little, walk a lot.  Run a little more. 

Slowly, I made ground and I actually started closing the distance.  Soon, I was passing others that were walking.  As I walked, I could hear other participants in conversations.  To my amazement I heard one lady saying she couldn't believe people ran these things.  She had no intention of running one step.

She registered for a half marathon with NO intention of running it!  Whoa!

Maybe my walking wouldn't be so bad after all.  Hmmm.....

Soon, I was up with the others.  Two miles passed.  I texted Billy.  "Just passed two miles."

"4 miles, 55 minutes."

"Halfway!"

"Just five more to go!"

"10 miles? Done!"

After all those texts, I got this response: " You got it now.  Just think of how far you've come in all this athletic stuff.  And think of all those that thought you couldn't ever do this."

That day, I learned a lot about myself, and others.  I saw young and old, men and women, all shapes and sizes.  Some just walking, others pushing themselves. 

All doing the best they could.  Bettering themselves and furthering their journey to a better them.

We were all running our own races, at our own paces.

I have always known that I don't race others.  I only compete with myself. 

Me, myself and I.

Together, we did it.

I pushed myself, but not too hard.  I made certain that I ran part of every mile, if only a few hundred yards in some.  I didn't want to go all out at the beginning, exhaust myself, and possibly damage something. 

I stayed inside my head.  Drawing encouragement from cheerleaders lining the streets, signs in yards, volunteers at the water stops making sure we had all we needed.

It was a proud drive home.  And much easier than the journey there early in the morning.  Maybe I subconsciously sabotaged my drive because my head was talking louder than my heart.

But the heart ultimately won.

It will, when allowed. 

Never compare yourself to someone else.  In anything.  God made us all different, and I am the only Me there is.  There is no set mold for a runner/doctor/teacher/mailman/CPA/minister/nurse/any other profession.   All we can do is our best.

Whatever your goal, run your own race at your own pace.  Finishing is all that matters.

For the Love of Law Enforcement

"9-1-1, what is your emergency?"

"Do you need an ambulance, fire or police?"

"Where are you located?  Can you see a street sign, a landmark?"

"Is the victim breathing?  Is the victim conscious?"

"Is there a weapon anywhere?"

"Can you move?"

"Are you safe?"

All of the above are questions posed by emergency dispatchers.   You'll notice not a one of them asks of the caller their race, gender, sexual orientation, religious affiliation, educational background, political party preference, social standing, economic status, or any one of the other myriad topics that divide and label us daily.

When officers are called to help, they go.  There isn't a discussion of  "do we have an officer available that doesn't mind helping a white/black/Asian/Jewish/Christian/Gay/Republican/Atheist"?

No, they just go.  They.just.go.

They don't know what is on the other end of that phone call, just that their dispatcher gave them an order and they are the closest responders.  They go where needed, thinking only of helping someone, but their training is there to keep them safe.  Like a natural instinct they arrive with a sense of urgency, tempered with precaution.  They assess.  They decide.  They make things happen that need to happen.

And all too frequently, they die.

Last summer, it was a war on officers after Ferguson, Missouri, Baltimore, Maryland, and New York.  Three deaths at the hands of law enforcement that social and other media deemed "unjust".  None of the officers involved, however, have been convicted of anything in a proper court of law.

Subsequently, it was open season on officers.

We saw officers just sitting in theirs cars assassinated.  Officers who had nothing to do with the deaths in question.  For weeks we were bombarded with stories of officers doing nothing more than their jobs, killed for doing so.  We watched violent protests break out, endangering law abiding residents of many towns and cities.

And this summer, it is happening again.  Last week two young men, black men, were killed by police officers.  One in Baton Rouge, Louisiana and the other in Minnesota.  No one has officially determined any wrongdoing by the police.  In both cases the deceased did have a weapon on their person.

In Dallas, days after the deaths, people took the streets, like they did before, in an effort to make their voices heard in what they believed were cases of excessive force.  The march was a peaceful protest.  The streets were lined with the officers protecting the protesters. 

Yes, the protested protected the protesters.

Because it is the right of all American citizens to have their voices heard.  We express ourselves when we vote.  We can disagree with our leaders without fear of retaliation.  No "off with their heads!" for us.   I can say I don't like the President/Governor/Mayor/Dog Catcher and I don't have to worry if I will wake up in the morning.  No gang of goons is going to slip into my house in the dark of night and guarantee I never see daylight again.

But in Dallas shots rang out.  Reminiscent of the John Kennedy assassination, the shooter holed up in a tall parking garage and sniped the officers from different levels.  His military training working to his benefit.  In the end, six died and six more were wounded.  The shooter was taken out by an explosive-toting robot.

He said he wanted to shoot white cops.  In my estimation he wanted to leave his mark on this world.  He left his mark alright - all over the side of that parking garage wall.

All because he was angry.

Back in Baton Rouge a few days later, another shooter ambushed local law enforcement.  He lured them in on a fake emergency call and then opened fire. Another three officers reached their end of watch.  The shooter said he wanted to effect change in the way officers did their jobs. 

Again, those officers were not involved with death in question. 

Nine officers have lost their lives for nothing more than doing their jobs.  (A tenth in Kansas City yesterday was killed while in his car, looking for suspects.)  They just put on their uniform, like every other day, strapped on their weapons and went to work.

They were killed, in cold blood, for who they were and what they were.  Peace officers.

To me, these killers are no better than animals.  Loss of innocent lives is not necessary to make a point or effect change. 

Last year I wrote about ISIS murdering journalist and Christians for no other reason that what they did, who they were, what they believed.  These killers are in the same category for me.  Innocent lives lost over ideology.

Terrorists.

Plain and simple.

A terrorist is anyone that intentionally acts to elicit terror in the victim.  They don't have to be a radical Muslim or any other specific category.  All they have to be is someone that hates and wants to control and inflict pain.

Someone told me not long ago that the persons that died at the hands of the officers had committed crimes, yes, but nothing that warranted a death warrant.  I say the same about the officers that died.   Officers have to make split second decisions to protect themselves.  If they even suspect for an instant that their lives or the lives of persons in the vicinity are in danger then they must take appropriate action. 

And it is our job to not put ourselves in a position that gives them that opportunity.  Don't rob a store, don't go for the officer's gun, put your weapon away when asked, don't run when they tell you to stop, keep your registration and licenses current.

Just do as you are asked.

Everyone gets stopped on occasion.  I'm sure there are people that don't speed, never run a stop light, always come to a full stop at stop signs and so on.  I am not one of them. 

In July, 2013, Billy and I were able to settle his brother's estate.  When we were finished at the attorney's office I was charged with driving his pickup truck back to Mississippi from Arkansas.  A truck that had sat in one place for most of two years and had expired tags.  We debated on the best way to do it - take the tags off or leave them on - knowing that neither option was good and both ran a risk.  I was stopped just before the state line crossing into Louisiana.  The officer was very nice, and professional.  He explained why he was stopping me and asked for my driver's license.  I did as I was asked, and handed him my license.  I also handed him my conceal carry permit, like I knew I was supposed to.  He probably never would have known if I hadn't, but I know the right thing to do and I did it.

(Yes, I travel with a gun.  I cover a lot of back roads and small towns by myself and we decided a few years ago it would be safer for me.)

He asked where my gun was and I told him it was in my purse.  He requested that it stay right there.  I sat there making perfectly sure that I did nothing that would give him a reason to worry.  That is just plain common sense.  Keep your hands where they can be seen and don't even move toward to the purse. 

To do otherwise could have resulted very differently. 

To make the argument that "death sentences" are unreasonable for a petty theft is certainly true, but to create a situation where the officer is deciding between his safety and your life based on your own stupid actions is just that - stupid.

"The greatest gift a man can give is to lay down his life for another."  I don't know who said it, or if I quoted it correctly, but it is a true statement.  We expect law enforcement officers do be ready to do this every shift, every day.   They deserve our respect.  Our cooperation.  Our support.

They deserve to go home every night to their families, same as teachers, doctors, CPAs, librarians, bankers, ministers, mayors, CEOs, and every other profession.

The men and women in blue deserve to not have their families wear black.