Repeating the sounding joy

“...Repeat the sounding joy,
Repeat the sounding joy,
Repeat, repeat the sounding joy.”   

   “Joy to the World” by Isaac Watts

I'm normally a pretty upbeat guy encouraged for no reason in particular. Ask my wife, who isn't so naturally perky, and she can attest how annoyingly optimistic I can be. But not this week. On Saturday morning, during my long run, I strained my hamstring in my left leg and have been unable to run on it since. At first it just felt tight and I kept hoping I would work through it but fifteen miles later it was no less taut. By the afternoon when it was painful to sit down or get up from my desk I knew something more than lactic acid buildup was at work in my leg. And by Sunday morning when it felt no better I knew something was amiss in me. Despite the blizzard that blew in here Sunday afternoon dropping more than a foot of snow in our area, Monday morning I attempted to try out the leg on our snow-covered roads. I made it about 20 feet and realized I would not be able to just work through it, especially if I was having to run through small drifts of snow. So I stopped and walked back to the house. For the first time in months I would not be heading down the road for my early Monday morning run. In fact, I've had to rest this last week simply because to try and run would be certain to injure my leg worse. And that fact alone has got me discombobulated.

Somewhere in the general vicinity

Why? Well, to put it in perspective 2012 will go down in my book as my best running year yet in the 13 since my return to running. In April I crossed the 10,000 mile threshold and a week before Halloween I recorded my third 1,000 mile year since 2000. I am on pace to log nearly 1,400 miles before year's end. Since the beginning of Cross Country season I have lost 20 pounds, dropped one pants' size and have felt the difference in my daily runs. Honestly, at 50 I feel like I'm just hitting my stride and now...this. My plan has been to run the Tuscobia Ultra at the end of the month with hopes of recording a sub-8 hour 35-mile run. Missing a few days won't necessarily hinder me from doing that but missing much more could really screw my training up. And thinking about all this doesn't make it any better.

This is how I have felt on the inside

It's pretty simple: when I don't run, I don't feel right. My inward equilibrium is off and being sedentary makes me vulnerable to “crazy-think.” What I call “crazy-think” is the habit of reading erroneous messages in the happenstances of daily life. Someone doesn't return your “good-morning” in the hall and you take it personally. That's crazy-think. On Sunday I felt I did a poor job leading worship and preaching and read all kinds of things into people's body-language (mostly the glazed-over look that most preachers are accustomed to seeing as they do their work except this time it bothered me.) Only two high school students showed up for early morning breakfast and devotions on Wednesday morning – and one of them doesn't count because she lives at my house – and no kids were signed up to help lead the annual gathering at Knapp Haven, our local nursing home on Wednesday afternoon and suddenly this perky fella is feeling rather “loserish.” This is “crazy-think” but I think I can say that for ministers its a vocational liability from time to time.

How it has looked in years past

In Wisconsin, Wednesday was officially Aaron Rodgers Day. Wear #12 and win a Super Bowl and an MVP title to boot and I guess you deserve a day named after you. But on 12/12/12 I found a solution to pull me up from my emotional nose-dive I felt like I was rolling into. At lunch time I asked my 22-year-old autistic son, Charlie, if he would help me lead the gathering at Knapp (Linda has been sick lately and it would not be good to have her there coughing all over the residents.) He said “sure” and an hour later I returned to the house to pick him up. Our tradition is to serve pie and sing Christmas carols for the residents while they're enjoying their birthday dessert. And while we didn't have any kids to help us on account of school, I had plenty of help on hand from Refuge to cut the pie in slices and serve it while Charlie and I led the singing. There is something about singing carols for nearly 30 minutes straight that causes evil spirits whatever form they manifest to take flight. And to sing them to such an appreciative and accommodating audience warms your heart and makes the world seem right again. A slice of home-made apple pie afterward helps, too.

So at week's end my leg isn't much improved but I'm feeling myself again. Granted, I'd be better if I was heading out on my weekly long run tomorrow morning. But since that's not likely to happen I'll keep humming some bars of “Deck the Halls” and “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing” and reach for another slice of pie.