where waves grow sweet

And let us run walk with perseverance the race marked out for us. Hebrews 12:1b

Sandi & a fave sign around mile 12

There was energy and excitement in the atmosphere last Sunday as thousands of runners and walkers gathered by Pacific Coast Highway in Huntington Beach for the Surf City Half Marathon and Marathon. (Does that sound like the beginning of a cheesy local newspaper article to you too?) I felt zippy myself, which may have had to do with the pot of coffee I drank beforehand, the anticipation of talking to someone I was eager to see, or maybe just being part of something bigger than my typical solo walks.

My friend, Sandi, met me at Edison High School where we were shuttled to the coast in a big yellow school bus. Making sure to avoid seats with the hump underneath, we settled in and I launched into the incessant chatter of a schoolgirl. Not my normal morning personality, I can assure you. Before long, we were gathered together with other half-marathoners of our estimated time of ‘slowpoke,’ including an animated 84-year old woman named Dorothy who had been written up in the OC Register and Shape magazine. For the record, she beat us. (I think she was just angling for more attention.)

When it was finally our turn to start the race, it was pretty anticlimactic. I mean, hundreds of walkers being released is about as exciting as loosing hundreds of turtles for a mad dash. Might be a curious sight, but not quite the beauty or shapely explosion of the stallions running at the front. But, hey, at least we were out there and moving and would – eventually – traverse 13.1 miles.

You probably know by now that I love walking and sometimes feel like I could do it for centuries. But this was, to be honest, not that satisfying. Sandi was great company and a complaintless adventurer, so my experience is no poor reflection on her. But the miles kind of dribbled down, like drool on my chin, and I knew almost immediately that I needed a greater challenge. The only excitement after the race had begun was running to catch up with Sandi after using the port-a-potty, which completely winded me, and seeing the finish line 3 1/2 hours after we began, which Sandi blessed me to run across. You’d think the next challenge might be running a half marathon. Maybe. But I don’t really like running and suspect that it may not satisfy either. I think the mountains are calling. And I think they have something to offer.

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On a separate note, the situation I was feeling fearful about has turned out quite nicely for the time. The two weeks of prayer and surrender produced something good, I think. Still so cryptic. But a little mystery never hurt anyone. Well, except those mysteries my parents watch where someone always ends up dead.