Provision #147: Let Go, Let God
LifeTrek Provision
I just returned from running the race of a lifetime in Las
Vegas and I want to turn my reflections on the experience into the LifeTrek Provision
that never happened over the weekend. For those of you who have no interest in
running, I apologize. Rest assured, however, there are lessons to be learned
here for us all.
A quick reconnaissance of my running "career." I ran a
couple of marathons in the early to mid 1980s (both in Chicago) but I did not
run them competitively. They were fundraisers for a local low-income housing
development group that I had been instrumental in founding. People made pledges
per mile, and I finished both marathons in more than 5 hours: approximately
5:15 if my memory serves me correctly.
From there I got lazy and fat, at least when it came to
self-care. By the time I left the pastoral ministry more than 2 years ago, I
had mushroomed up to 232 pounds with borderline hypertension, blood chemistry,
and BSP. "If this doesn't change in six months," the doctor, "we're going to
start trying medication."
That's when I got serious about losing weight and running,
although I never thought of running marathons at the beginning. At 5'10" and
232 pounds, marathons are not an appealing thought. But as I changed my diet,
supplement, and exercise regimens, the lust for running began to grow. I
finished my first competitive marathon in November of 1998 in about 3 hours and
56 minutes.
That's when the dream began. Running could become a
lifestyle rather than a passing fad. And with a little effort (OK, with a lot
of effort), I could maybe, just maybe, improve my time enough to qualify for
the legendary (at least in runners' circles) Boston marathon. So I set out on
the journey, not really believing I would ever reach my destination. But I knew
there was only one way to find out: one mile at a time.
Since then I have run some 2,000 miles including 4 more
marathons. Each marathon was faster than the next: 3:46, 3:28, and 3:26. But I
needed 3:25 to qualify for Boston. During the Columbus marathon in 1999, one
year after my first competitive marathon, I ran with great determination and
intensity. I was wired, literally. With my running watch controlling my pace
and my heart rate monitor giving me constant feedback as to when I was in the
zone, I felt more like a robot than a runner. It was fun but not exactly free,
and I didn't exactly make my goal of a sub-3:25 marathon.
That's when tragedy (OK, I'm being melodramatic) struck. 5
hours after the Columbus marathon, I injured my left foot while walking up the
stairs to my backdoor. It never hurt enough to make me stop running, but it was
a deep bruise and one thing led to another. Running on a sore foot led to
muscle problems and eventual knee problems. My dream of running a sub-3:25
marathon in Las Vegas was fading fast. By the end of 1999, I could tell that my
constant pushing was proving to be counter-productive and the exact opposite of
what I needed.
In consultation with my mentor coach (thank you,
Christine!), I made the decision to let go of the push. In fact, I decided to
let go of running the Las Vegas marathon altogether. If running was to become a
lifestyle rather than a passing fad, this one race was not that important --
regardless of what it might mean or might not mean to Boston. (One thing that
made decision that easier was Boston's decision to let me in on the basis of my
3:26 marathon -- there is still grace in the world -- but that was still not my
internal goal and I still felt the internal pressure to beat 3:25.)
Once I let go of Las Vegas I could begin to do what I needed
to do in order to heal. I began an intensive massage-therapy regimen (thank
you, Nick!). I took time off from running (the hardest letting go of all). And I made the decision to run Las Vegas, if
I ran it at all, without my watch, without my heart rate monitor, and without
expectations. This race, were it to happen, was to be run from within. I
decided, as my coach reminded me, to let go, and let God.
In the 10 days leading up to the race, I could tell things
had begun to shift. I still would not have put my foot or my knee at 100%, but
subtle changes in pace and effort began to make me think the race could happen
and happen well. My only anxiety? Was my cross-training enough to handle a full
marathon? The only way to find out was to start at the beginning and run like
the wind -- one mile at a time.
Race day came and everything was perfect. Perfect weather.
Perfect wind. Perfect course. Slightly up hill for the first 9 miles. Slightly
down hill for the next 10 miles. Then relatively flat to the finish. The only
struggle was my commitment to run without my watch. I had never done that
before and the thought of it made me feel a bit naked. "What are you really
afraid of?" my coach asked the week before. "That I'd run the race of my life,"
I answered, "and not know how I did it after it was over." All we could do was
laugh about my answer.
But during the week before the race it became apparent to me
that that really was the issue for me. It was not about running the race from
within. It was about losing the joy, after it was all over, of looking back on
the race mile by mile and savoring the moments. So I came up a new solution
that worked perfectly for me: I decided to wear my watch with the face covered
over with gray tape. That way I could record my miles, and have my fun later,
without becoming enslaved to the fears and fantasies of running too fast or
running too slow mile by mile.
It worked like a charm. I knew something was up the day
before when I ran a couple of warm up miles, and the second one was an
effortless 6:58. Sub-7-minute miles are never effortless for me, but this one
came from a different place. This one came from within. So too was the entire
marathon: an effortless 26.2 miles. It was, literally, a thing of beauty and
wonder. I say that without taking any credit. I was in the race but not of the
race. There were times when I saw myself running more than doing the running.
It was an out-of-body experience.
For many miles I had no idea the pace I was running: they
did not have pace clocks every mile and there was watch to look at. There were
also no crowds and no music. So I looked at the mountains and the sky
instead. It was a glorious day of
bright sunshine and mild temperatures. God could not have painted a more
perfect picture.
When I reached the halfway point, I began to have an inkling
that something was up. The clock said 1:37:45. I found that hard to believe
since that was faster than the fastest half-marathon I had ever run in my life.
But there it was. And I still had another half-marathon to go. Had I known how
fast I was running, had I been running from without (my watch) rather than
running from within (my heart), I would have slowed myself down. But, instead,
I just let myself go.
Megan, my wife, was certainly critical to my success (thank
you, Megan!). Three times during the race she gave me a 20-ounce water bottle.
In addition to the paper cups at the water stops, these water bottles kept me
hydrated as never before. I drank more than a half-gallon of water during the
race itself. And they didn't slow me down. They preserved my energy for those
tough final miles.
As I ran I kept my tongue in the yogic position: on the
ridge in front of the palette behind the front two teeth. This position, rather
than an open gaping mouth, slowed down my breathing and, I believe, my heart
rate. Yogic traditions teach that the yin and the yang of the body, the male
and female energies, come together at this precise point. Touching the tongue
completes the circuit, so to speak, providing untold balance and blessing. I
certainly had that experience on Sunday. As mile faded into mile, I found
myself saying, "This is way too easy." And it was. Energy was flowing through
me that I was not controlling. It was the present perfect.
As we got closer to the city, for we had started 26.2 miles
out in the desert, the race leveled out and we began to run on streets marked
off with fluorescent orange cones. As if my dream race wasn't enough, I noticed
almost immediately that every single cone, every 20 or 30 meters, had imprinted
on them in large black capital letters: TM. Now I don't know what the
department of streets and sanitation meant by those letters, but as a person
who's spent most of his life being called Bob T-M (because people can't or
won't pronounce Tschannen-Moran) I immediately had to laugh. "This race belongs
to me," I thought, as another cone labeled TM went whizzing by.
Contrary to the wishes of Hal Higdon and those who believe
in reverse splits, I did slow down in the second half of the race. Partly I was
just having too much fun. After a 1:37:45 first half, I knew I had my goal of
breaking 3:25 in the bag. And I didn't want to hurt myself for the real prize
come April, the Boston marathon. With so few fans on the street, I took to
thanking those few individuals who did something, anything, special: whether it
was music or some other diversion. "I am eternally grateful," was the simple
thought that passed through my mind as I ran those final six miles. "Grateful
to be alive, grateful to be running, grateful to be here."
I finished the marathon in 3:18:43 improving my Columbus
time by more than 8 minutes. Had anyone suggested that was possible even weeks
before, as I continued to nurse my sore knee and foot, I would have laughed
with wonder and amazement. But there it was, on the clock, as I came sprinting
in at the finish. I had never felt better at the end of a marathon in my life.
It was truly an effortless experience. And it all went by so fast. And yes,
Christine, I have truly enjoyed looking back on my splits and marveling at how
it all happened.
How do we reach our goals in life? There's more than one
lesson to be learned in the story of my race. We need to let go and let God. We
need to stop pushing so hard and to start allowing the energy to flow through
us. We need to see the beauty and the signs that are all around us. Most of
all, we need to be eternally grateful: grateful to be alive, grateful to be
free, grateful to able. We are marvelous expressions of the mystery of
creation. With each and every person, God works a miracle. God expresses and
explores yet another aspect of the divine personality. God makes peace with the
universe.
I hope you will forgive this excessively long LifeTrek Provision.
But, as you can tell, the story is still rich and full inside me even as my
quads ache with the joy of a race well run. Soon I'll be hitting the streets
again, this time getting ready the granddaddy of them all on April 17. I won't really be running Boston with any
particular time in mind. As one person said, "You've worked so hard just to get
to the starting line. You may as well enjoy the experience." Enjoy the race,
indeed. The race of life is no different.
One thing for sure: when the gun goes off in Boston, there
will be a piece of gray tape on my running watch and a song in my heart. It
will be a great day, for sure.
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May you be filled with goodness, peace, and joy.
Bob Tschannen-Moran
LifeTrek Coaching International
121 Will Scarlet Lane
Williamsburg, VA 23185-5043
U.S.A.
Telephone: 757-345-3452
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