R.P.P. The Relentless Pursuit of Perfection. We have all known it at some point in our lives. As someone who gets paid to be photographed, it’s a hollow pursuit for cellulite cream, wrinkle erasers and frizz free hair.

Since I’ve started this blog, the most asked questions I get from both friends and followers is about my health and beauty routine. (Sometimes they ask about exercise but, considering this is a running blog, that’s fairly obvious.) I haven’t had any botox or fillers or injectables yet. Yet. (For the record, I don’t get paid to advertise these things and I bought them at my favorite store – the drug store – like everyone else. Suck it, Kardashians.)

1. I run. Some days I lift. Sometimes I do work out videos on youtube. I tried Cross fit… once….

I just ran. It was fine. Nothing special happened. It was a beautiful day, an easy jog. Sometimes it just matters that it gets done.

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2. I wash my face with L’oreal Revitalift cleanser. When I travel, I wash my face with hand soap because anything is better than sleeping in makeup. Hey, 20 year old with perfect skin – time is a bitch. Start now. Your 40 year old self will thank you.

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3. I slather on a heavy amount of Bio Oil. That’s right – the stuff for scars. I’m currently using the generic CVS brand because it was on sale. Deep, thought provoking stuff, I know.

4. I use Lancome Genifique. It’s really, freaking expensive but the entire line is worth it. They have an eye cream that is sublime but i’m currently out of it. “Dear Lancome…”

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That’s it. I don’t wear foundation unless a professional make up artist comes and paints the crap on me for three or four laborious hours. I always wear mascara and when I’m in Florida, sunscreen. Ultimately, and I mean this with all sincerity, it doesn’t matter what you do on the outside if you neglect what’s on the inside. That means your health and your heart. Learn what to feed your body for peak performance (life is a race and we’re running to win!) and what to feed your heart (faith, family, friends, etc.)

Now for the inside. First, I know you’ve read about “A” list, 20 year old models like Gigi and Bella eating McDonalds and pizza. That’s because they’re fetuses. All models know that, after 30, every calorie counts. Do you think Cindy or Elle eat pizza and fast food? No. They count every single calorie and they practice calorie restriction. I was at a shoot recently where the food table was carrot sticks and Marlboro lights. I’m not kidding. Models will go to all sorts of extremes to fit into society imposed images and a Gucci sample size 0.

Victoria’s little Secret is out – those girls haven’t eaten in fourteen years.

Here’ the big one that has changed my body in a real, healthy way:

I gave up all sugar. (That includes wine and most alcohol, too. But not you, Titos. Not you.)

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I follow a strict Ketogenic diet and I aim to drink an insane amount of water.

My modeling agency said I needed to lose weight before fashion week. I had to do some serious evaluating. This is my journey and “everything in moderation” doesn’t work for me because I’m an emotional eater. I had to separate my emotional response to food. It’s been a long process that won’t ever end. Being thin enough for sample size clothes is necessary for me to be in this business. Being a healthy weight is necessary for me to live a healthy life. I’m trying to find the balance.

When I was a child, my mother would bake. All The Time. (she still does!) She’s a fantastic baker. She’d show love by feeding half the Corps of Cadets her blueberry muffins. Pancakes. Birthday cake! Who doesn’t love birthday cake?! Brownies on your promotion, donuts on casual Friday. I had to remove the emotional component from food. Would your birthday be any less, err, sweet if you celebrated with a juicy steak? Or what if you didn’t use food to celebrate at all! What if your gift to yourself was a long hike in the woods? Take a mini vacation or try rock climbing. Would it make the accomplishment or milestone any less enjoyable?

Would removing food from a celebration make it less celebratory?

Think about that.

Some people are naturally lean. I am not one of those people. When I remove the emotional component to food, I can actually focus on my long term health goals. Food becomes a source of energy – of fuel – not of joy or comfort.

I’ve been thinking about my long-term goals. I’m traveling a lot between Europe and USA and that causes immense stress. I’m trying to support my aging parents, run races for my dad and for Parkinson’s disease, work from home, manage a long-distance relationship and care for a six year old child every day, wherever I go. Sometimes I really want to just eat the cake. Eat the bowl of pasta. Eat the bag of chips. Drink the box of wine. But I’d rather wear the skinny jeans, run AND FINISH the road race. I’d rather eat to live.

Sometimes (a lot lately) my stress causes me to create this unrealistic fantasy world where everything is fine and great and I don’t need to take time for self care. Read that sentence again because I know you do that, too. We focus on our kids or our job or our love lives or material things and stop doing the hard self work that ultimately brings peace.

AND WE ALL NEED SOME FREAKING PEACE THESE DAYS.

Whatever you do on the outside, what matters most is what we do on the inside. Beauty fades. Your soul is eternal. Trust that the Creator who made you can heal and sustain you.

For me, that means having friends and loved ones snap me out of my “fantasy fog” back to reality where things aren’t all high heels and cocktails and that’s ok! It means admitting when you need help. It means developing a prayer life that goes beyond a meal blessing and becomes a running dialog with God. It means mentally emptying your giant bucket of responsibility and only putting back in the things that are essential for that day. It means removing yourself emotionally from other people. This is a big one for me. Never search for other people to validate you – to make you feel loved, accepted, worthy. You have to get that from the deep well within you. Know your worth.

Inner peace is beautiful. Confidence through accomplishment is beautiful. Self love is beautiful. Self acceptance is beautiful. Knowing you are fearfully and wonderfully made is, indeed, beautiful.

NOW GO BE BEAUTIFUL.

and Run to Win.

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All the things that truly matter, beauty, love, creativity, joy and inner peace arise from beyond the mind.”  ~Eckhart Tolle

 

 

 

 

 

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London, England.

2am on a Sunday.

Thanks to my awesome modeling agency, I was given the opportunity to attend London Fashion Week this year, culminating in a community fashion festival weekend. I had gone to Milan Fashion Week last year and it was pretty fun. This was an entirely new level. First of all, I was excited to sit between Anna Wintour and the Queen at the Prada show until I remembered I’m a “D” list 40 year old model with cellulite so I’ll actually be waiting in line at the Gin bar in the back of a warehouse filled with size 0 sample clothes that cost more than Oprah’s house hoping I’d be lucky enough to sit on a chair stuck with gum that had once been chewed by Yasmin Le Bon.

 

 

My amazing friend and travel buddy came with me, as did her lovely daughter. As a perk, she did my makeup. Without her, I’d either look like a drag queen or homeless. I’m not skilled enough for anything in between.

We were living in London, feigning my greatest Patsy and Edina moments from the morally questionable British show AbFab. It was glorious. We lunched at Harvey Nich’s and took big black taxi’s whenever possible. “I thought a little mosey down Bond Street, a little sniff around Gucci, sidle up to Ralph Lauren, pass through Browns and on to Quags for a light lunch.” (Patsy on her kind of day out.)

 

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After being fabulous with all our fabulous clothes, fabulous friends and fabulous fake eyelashes, we headed home. Our plane was scheduled to leave Gatwick Airport at 5pm. We had read on our way in that there was going to be train track work and we’d need to give extra time to get to the airport. We gave ourselves 3 hours to go 26 miles.

WE WERE WRONG.

We took the subway half way with no problems. Then we were dumped at a tube station and told busses would shuttle everyone the rest of the way to Gatwick. 1 bus every 5 minutes. For about 5,000 people. In a parking lot. In sub freezing weather. With no taxi service.

 

MASS CHAOS.

Four hours later, we arrived at the airport and joined the line of all the other disgruntled travelers sidelined by the transit tragedy. Once we made it to the help desk, we were told there were no more flights to anywhere in Germany. We researched every option from renting a car and driving to Paris to taking a 30 hour bus. We settled on new tickets to Munich at 6am the following morning, the first flight off the island.

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Feeling Absolutely Fabulous and with no where to go, we found the airport bar.

Thankfully they decided to stay open all night to accommodate the hoard of displaced voyagers.

And so, being that our fake eyelashes weren’t yet between our toes (they soon would be…) we decided to drink. A bottle of wine and a few gin’s later (who knew Londoners loved gin?) We crashed for a long winters nap… err… 3 hours in a booth under electric glowing lights and insanely loud club music.

9 PM

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10 PM

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10:07 PM

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2 AM

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3:30 AM

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At day break we flew to Munich, then bought train tickets to Bavaria.

But first we had to ride the train for an hour from the airport to the Munich central city train station.

Half way there, our train broke down.

One more time for the Peanut Gallery –

THE TRAIN BROKE DOWN.

Short of riding a donkey out of the city, we were pretty desperate. When the conductor came on the PA system, I leaned to the well dressed business man next to me and, in an effort to learn more about the delay, asked, “sprechen sie englisch?” He said “I do speak English but I do not speak German.” We voted him our travel guide anyway and followed him through the city from metro to metro until we all arrived at the main train station for our varied trips home.

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We had missed our train but another soon followed and we had a few hours of respite on the final stretch home. We arrived home 24 hours after our initial return flight tired, puffy and poor.

We ran out of money days ago (have you seen the exchange rate lately?) and we hadn’t eaten in weeks preparing to compete with the anorexic tree branches walking down the catwalk. But all in all, it was a GREAT trip.

It was meant to be fun and frivolous and it was.

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While in London, after the fashion and before the travel catastrophe, I ran a race. I didn’t want to. I was hungry from perpetual starvation and it was very, very cold. However I had a plan to honor someone I cared for very much and keeping that commitment was a priority. He was a 4 year letterman on the Army Football Team, the coolest guy I knew, yet always kind to this awkward teenager. He was someone who never missed my birthday or a milestone. He called me just enough to keep us connected and we always tried to be at one football game a year together. He made the effort for me. And then he died. He was 46 years old.

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When I read all the posts and notes from people around the world after his death, I realized he made the effort with everyone he knew. Family, friends, classmates, colleagues of all walks of life. He led with kindness and commitment. He was cool AND kind. (Read more about him Here.) I couldn’t make it all the way to Southern California for the funeral but I could run, where I was, to show MY commitment to him and to our friendship. So I ran London, over the bridge, for James.

 

 

When you know someone who lives and loves big, their loss takes your breath away.

Be the kind of lover and friend that take people’s breath away.

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Like Patsy and Edina in my fictional London or my friend James in his commitment to kindness,

GO BIG.

BE BOLD.

LIVE HARD.

and Run to Win.

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My name is Kathy.

It has been three months since my last road race.

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I have a million excuses. Three months of excessive transatlantic travel. Three months of reunions and events and work all with my tiny tot in tow. I’m tired. I’m not motivated. It’s hot in Florida. Blah Blah Blah rough life just do it already!

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Florida. 8am on a Saturday.

The night before a race, I start to wake up every hour after about 3am. I get anxious about little things like missing my alarm, forgetting to pick up the race packet, is my Ipod charged? Will these panties chafe? Is my GOOD sports bra clean? Do my shorts have a pocket for my keys? Where are my keys? How much wine did I really drink last night? Then I do the countdown: “if I wake up at 5am I can have 2 cups of coffee, a glass of water and be able to flush it all out before I get in the car.”  Then an hour later, “if I use the Keurig, bring a travel mug, drive 20mph over the speed limit and tinkle in the bushes, I can sleep until 7:15am….

When I look in the mirror to pull my hair into my very unglamorous pony tail I focus on the giant bags under my eyes and the trail of yesterdays wine err mascara down my face and think,

“this is ridiculous.”

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Today was no exception.

The race itself was at a popular park for road races. I’d completed several there before and was familiar with the out-and-back along a man-made lake. Very pretty. Mostly flat. Paved road. No cars. Chip timed, actual bathrooms and two water stations. All necessary for a very fast, easy and enjoyable race. And it was.

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My time was horrible. I’m not sure what I expected considering my daily runs had turned into thrice weekly jogs, the occasional paddle board and a power walk through the mall. Did I think I was suddenly going to set a state park record?

In the time before the start, I stretched. I don’t do it often or enough but I know as I approach 40 like a Mercedes on the autoban, my body needs more and more prep work. I found a quiet spot away from the crowd on a little hill to bend and twist. I noticed a few ladies make their way down to my grassy knoll and join me. Before I knew it, I was leading some sort of dysfuntional tutu wearing “i run for wine” cheering soccer mom yoga class. Kill me.

A group of very ripped cross fit ladies passed by and looked me up and down like I was loosening up for a 5k hostel takeover. Little did they know I was legitimatly afraid my thighs would cramp up at the sound of the gun and last night’s sushi would make a guest appearance by mile 2.

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Road Race Rule #1:

Don’t judge others. Don’t worry about what people think of you. Don’t do crossfit. (ok, kidding. but really don’t.)

A few hundred people lined up, the gun went off and before I knew it we were at the half way turn around point. I was in the middle of the running pack, a comfortable place for me to be. But then things got interesting. First, as we made the U-turn, we now faced the sun. A blaring hot Florida in August sun. The kind of sun that makes you question your life choices. The kind of sun that will horrify your dermatologist and change your makeup base from “creamy beige” to “Punishment For Past Sins.”

Race Rule #2:

Wear sunscreen. Pack aloe. Lips can burn, too.

Thankfully I was preoccupied with the 9 year old kid that kept passing me like Buzz Lightyear then WALKING RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME.

Road Race Rule #3:

WALKERS TO THE RIGHT!

None of that ultimately matters. What matters is doing it.

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I need to reestablish my commitment to running road races at least once a month. I need to reestablish my commitment to pushing my body farther, harder, faster. I need to reestablish my commitment to encouraging YOU to join me in our endeavor to be the best versions of ourselves. (That’s way too new-agey-touchy-feely for me but Oprah said it and I can’t get it out of my head.)

I’m out of excuses. I need to get back to running consistently and with conviction. I can’t talk about physical muscle if i’ve gone soft or spiritual muscle if I’m not putting in the time to pray and reflect. We’re running to win! There’s no time to over think it, over analyze it. There are plenty of reasons NOT to do something but when has that made you better, healthier, happier?

I kept the sushi down. So can you.

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Until next week.

Run to win.

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It’s fashion week in Milan, Italy. That means 3 things for me.

  1. I wish I was still young and thin and wrinkle free enough to walk a runway or pose outside Jimmy Choo with a pair of shoes three times my income.
  2. I wish I were wealthy enough to buy said pair of shoes
  3. I wish I had picked a different week to visit the city – because at this time in this city, I had to stay…

IN A YOUTH HOSTEL.

For those of you who have never back packed across Europe, visited NYC on NYE or ran out of money a week before pay day, let me enlighten you to the realities of hostels.

  1. You’re sharing a kitchen, living area, bathroom and sometimes bedroom with complete strangers who sometimes lack the finances (and possibly hygiene) to stay at the Four Seasons or even the local HOJO.
  2. Strangers can be a gift from God. They can also be s&m dungeon masters who rock the bed from 11pm – 12am, 2:15 – 3am, 4 – 5am? pausing for a smoke break on the shared terrace 2 feet from your bunk bed.
  3. see “bunk bed.”

Thankfully, I was traveling with a good friend and 3 children so we had a private room and I had someone to commiserate with at 1130pm, 230am, 430am….

Italian drivers are insane. Mopeds will hit a pedestrian for sport. But I take my hat off to this local. Because the birthplace of modern fashion means getting home from the runway …. on a bike …. at night … in 3 inch pink heels.

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Italy is beautiful. The architecture on the main roads is lovely but most captivating are the tiny archways tucked between store fronts that expose incredibly beautiful courtyards – hidden gems that are mostly missed by the greedy millennials racing around looking for the best bargain Prada to impress their friends back home.

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The expresso was invigorating but the cup so small I felt less glam drinking it and more like I had taken the blue pill and gone down the wrong rabbit hole. The food was incredible. Smoked meats, artesian cheeses, crisp, local vegetables soaked in home grown olive oil plucked by Sophia Lauren. Heaven.

I didn’t run in Italy. Partly because I couldn’t find a race in the area and partly because I was so sleep deprived I would have finished some time the following day.

Enter Switzerland.

First, I have been shocked by how close the countries are. I drove from Germany to Italy in less than 5 hours and went back to Germany via Switzerland in the same amount of time. The Alps are incredible. St. Moritz is probably the most beautiful part of the world I’ve seen thus far. The mountains climb so high they disappear into the soft, fluffy clouds. The alpine water below is the most captivating color of blue/green I’ve ever seen up close.

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The villages are full of stone and plaster cottages heavily adorned with detailed mosaics harking a time of skilled artists and craftsmen. Every mile was a chapter from a fairy tale and the children were awe struck at every mountain switchback turn.

On Sunday I ran. It was less than 3k but it felt like a marathon. Partly because I was exhausted, partly because it was all hills – IN THE ALPS. My friend and I were trying to find any excuse why it was so difficult. Altitude? Only 5,000 feet. Distance? Ridiculously short. Sometimes I run and finish first, other times my legs feel like lead and I think back to all my past sins for fear of an impending stroke. I do it all to raise awareness for Parkinsons Disease but sometimes it sucks.

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I was completely alone after the first 400 meters. The cobblestone hurt my knees and I was grateful when I got onto the trail up the mountain. Then the fear set in. The fog was thick and the rain started to fall. Mist – Rain – Huge mountains – Quiet – Hillside… Lions? Tigers? Bears? Loch-Ness Monster? SHIT. I’m totally going to die up here.

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Then a thin elderly man wearing a grey hat with a green feather (can’t make this stuff up) ran past me. THANK YOU JESUS! As soon as he appeared he was gone into the mist but I instantly felt better. Sometimes a good friend calls just when we needed to hear their voice. Sometimes it’s the break we need at work or the cash you find in an old pair of jeans. Sometimes the serial killer runs past you with a stupid feather in his hat because it’s just not your day today.

Sometimes, God shows himself right when we need a reminder that we’re not alone. Maybe it’s a friend that grabs her kids and sleeping bags and says, “hell yes i’ll road trip with you!” Maybe it’s the accolade that comes when you were feeling unappreciated at home, a hug from a partner you felt drifted, a note from an old friend. We all need to be reminded to keep the faith, keep on keeping on, Run to Win.

“I lift up my eyes to the hills– where does my help come from? My help comes from the LORD, the Maker of heaven and earth.” Psalm 121.

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Memorial Day is not Veteran’s Day. Confusing the two is like eulogizing Grandpa when he’s going in for a dental cleaning. Right audience, wrong occasion.

For the most part, holidays are joyful. (Enter tacky reindeer theme sweater here.) Living near DC is especially fun during major holidays like Veteran’s Day, Forth of July, and when Congress is in recess. I took my tiny tot to the parade to cheer for the men and women marching in the humidity, sweating shoulder to shoulder with thousands of strangers eating mysterious meat on a stick from the rows of food trucks nearby.

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But first I went for a run. It was a 5k in Baltimore. I came in third in my age group. Not bad for having to wake up at 5am and drive 75 minutes in the humidity. (I hate being hot.)

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I always run for my dad – for Parkinson’s – for people struggling so in the 26, 27, 28 minutes it takes me to run a 5k, I’m carrying their burden. This run was my 22 push up challenge. I get it. A bucket of ice water, 22 push ups for 22 days, posting a cancer awareness post on social media. They’re all ways that we can feel like we’re doing something. And it is something. I’m not sure people covered in ice water saved a life from ALS but I’m sure it made them feel – however briefly – lifted up. I don’t think a veteran will seek help with PTSD because they saw their neighbor in his yard doing 22 push ups. But perhaps it reminds us to look out for one another, to put others before ourselves, to sacrifice a little bit of our time and talents for our community.

Nate Self, USMA ’98 wrote a book called “Two Wars: One Hero’s Fight on Two Fronts – Abroad and Within”. (grab a copy on Amazon). The book is an interesting first hand account of a battle in the Afghan mountains and Nate’s internal struggle back home with PTSD. I have never been to war. I have struggled with depression from time to time like the typical teenage angst, going through a divorce, my father’s disease. We can all relate to anxiety, depression, fear.

On the 9th of July 1990 one of my all time favorite people died. West Point class of 1988, the biggest person at the Camp Thanksgiving kids table, my quiet champion. My daughter is learning to play the piano on the same baby grand he taught me. I have boxes of music – some he has played, some he wrote – that I can’t bring myself to open.

On the 4th of July he left a message on our answering machine. He said, “I can’t reconcile the person I am with the person I want to be.” A few days later he took his life. I was 12 years old.

I don’t think running a road race or doing push ups or dunking myself in cold water would have saved him. He was a thousand miles away in Texas and we were all busy doing our things – unaware of the extent that he was suffering.

16 years later I still think about him every time I play our baby grand. There have been other people I’ve lost – other friends that have died in the decade of war our nation has endured.  Their loss is a reminder to be vigilant and intentional in our relationships with one another. In this age of social media and video chat, we don’t have any excuses not to stay connected. Friends, colleagues and classmates have the ability to know what is going on in each others’ lives and have the resources to meet needs in real-time.

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So do the push ups. Run the road race. Come alongside someone. Lace up your sneakers and run with me, virtually, even if we’re thousands of miles apart. And if you’re struggling, reach out. Have hope. God isn’t through with me and He isn’t through with you yet. Run to Win.

Appropriately, for our John,  John 15: 12-13 (from The Message)

“This is my command: Love one another the way I loved you. This is the very best way to love. Put your life on the line for your friends”

Sometimes we still say it with a whisper. Things like, “terrorist” or “infidelity” or “hemorrhoids….”  A few weeks ago I noticed two old biddies on the metro look at a young lady with a cute, freshly cropped hairdo and whisper… “lesbiaaaan”…..

I will admit in my navigationally challenged and logistically naive condition I would say “West Virginia” in a whisper. As if somehow I am aligning myself with toothless, mindless, gun-toting, war-mongering inbred relics from a James Dickey novel.

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In fact, West Virginia is beautiful. The drive was beautiful, the run through a pristine college campus was beautiful, the farmers market on the cobblestone streets lined with Civil War reminders was beautiful. The local coffee shop was filled with working college students reaching responsible adulthood and burned out hippies trying to run away from it.

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I kept looking for the “Bernie Sanders Slept Here” sign.

My little family came with me on the adventure and my tiny tot was rewarded with runners dressed as her favorite My Little Ponies. I’m guessing their attire was more creepy than cute but my kid’s future will be corrupt enough without me shielding her from the life sized incarnation of her favorite cartoons.

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Ohio was a very significant run. It was a 1 day run for those killed in action.

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Death is a difficult topic to write about. It’s part of the military experience – it’s part of our human experience. Knowing this, the Army created a Comprehensive Soldier Fitness Program. One of the five components is Spiritual Fitness. I call it Spiritual Muscle but it’s the same thing. Athletes lift, run, squat to build muscle so they can jump, climb, run fast. Soldiers build muscle by hitting the gym, the nearest Crossfit group, through military training like Ranger School and Airborne School. They do it to be ready for whatever comes – conditioning hikes, simulated training, war. Spiritual muscle is reading the bible, praying, getting to know your maker so when times get tough – and they will – you have the strength to get through it.

In my race packet I received a KIA bracelet representing SGT Daniel McCall. He died from an IED blast in Iraq in 2007. His wife is a student at OSU.

I didn’t know Daniel or his wife but I prayed for healing and protection for her as she continues with her life. I could write a lot about the significance of past cadets who have died – the influence they had on me as cadets and the influence their memory still has to guide and inspire. But some things are better left unsaid. Some things are sacred. I thought of them on the run, their legacies, the importance of family and friends, of supporting each other. I said a prayer for them. I sent their names into the wind in a whisper.

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Cherry Blossom 5k in Wilmington, Delaware

9:30am on a Saturday.

This was a blah race. Not because anything bad happened but because nothing happened. I didn’t run faster or harder or grow stronger. I didn’t make friends or enemies or intentionally trip the sorority girl running in a hot pink tutu and “i run for rum” tshirt. Nothing happened.

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This is Easter weekend. On the Christian calendar, today is just a “blah” day – the day nothing happened –  after Good Friday but before the Resurrection. No easter bunnies or candy baskets or empty tombs. Just… nothing. It feels vacant. Hapless. Hopeless.

We all know the feeling of hopelessness. Athletes know it when injury strikes. Pulled muscles, broken bones, broken spirits – wondering if we can get back to where we were or if this is it. I remember when my father was diagnosed with Parkinsons. The first year, he won the gold medal in the masters track and field race for the 70+ year old sprinters. The next year he came in second. Then we called him the “fastest white man” then the “fastest minister” then the “fastest white minister”……  As an athlete, hope is necessary to get better, stronger, faster. When our bodies don’t respond, it feels hopeless.

Greg Gadson was a star football player and co captain of the team at West Point in the late 1980’s. He served as a Field Artillery Officer in the Army for more than 20 years.  In 2007 he lost both legs to a roadside bomb in Bagdad. Col. Gadson used the spiritual muscle he developed as a cadet and in the years to follow to turn his hopelessness into heroics. He has since become a motivational speaker and continues to be a great athlete, competing in races and inspiring others to run to win.

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As Christians, we have hope because the day after, the Son rose. Whatever you believe, you can have hope knowing the sun will rise. Like the daffodils emerging after months of grey and snow, we can come back from rest or injury and blossom.  Tomorrow is a new day – fresh – with no mistakes in it.

Don’t screw it up.

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