Safety First

Happy Feet

I took a week of forced rest from most everything. (Is anyone really surprised I was sick in bed all week after my last post?) Rest is so hard for me! I know it was much needed, though, because I'm still recovering.

My family is on a beach vacation this week, and Ty and I snuck over for the weekend. While I knew my long run wasn't happening, I felt good enough to do two miles down the beach and two miles back.

The view was splendid. My feet were so happy to get moving after a week of rest.

The following day, this guy came with me. 

Matching shoes!

This was the view from the condo. If pictures could speak, you'd hear this one calling my name.

That's right. That glassy water was the perfect greeting after our beach run. It made me miss my very short triathlon career! Cross training is so fun! Sadly, I don't have a Gulf in my backyard. But one of these days I'll get back to road-biking.

There were some other happy things going on, too! And you can bet these little feet kept moving all weekend!

Noodle fights!

Sandcastles!

And now that we're home...

Some happy paws.

The end.

Running on Adrenaline

Literally.

Friday evening I attended a limited-time event at Disney's Hollywood Studios. In honor of Friday the Thirteenth, it was entitled, "Unleash the Villains."

We all should have guessed that it would be packed. HS parking was full, and the bus transportation was so crowded that I was having flashbacks (nightmares?) of my RunDisney experience. 

Thankfully I was with my Disney pro friends. They knew alternate routes and such. We ended up parking at Epcot and walking the 2.5 miles through the back entrance and through Disney's Boardwalk just to get to HS. Beats sitting on a bus for 1-2 hours any day! (Did I mention I'd already spent 4 1/2 hours in the car driving to my teacher's house and back?) 

The special fireworks show was truly incredible, and I was in even better company. But it certainly made for a late-night. It was so late, in fact, that I only snuck in 3 1/2 hours of shut-eye before my long run with this girl. 

Post run! Happy, happy!

I'm fairly certain no professional would ever recommend sleep deprivation as a part of marathon training. Nonetheless, I ran my farthest yet - 14 miles! Without Mollie's accountability, I know I would have skipped out on my long run. It truly makes a difference knowing someone is up early on a Saturday and is expecting you! (It also makes a difference when you take an out-and-back route; there's really no option to quit when your car is still seven miles away.) 

Of course, the monkey was fully rested and anxious to play. I took this while trying to squeeze in a 30-minute mid-morning nap.

I was a little busy squeezing in much more important things - like family time with my sister! 

Photo Credit: MVL Photography

And the rest of the crew. 

Photo Credit: MVL Photography

Photo Credit: MVL Photography

(And one of Ty and me, just for kicks...)

Photo Credit: MVL Photography

Julia left this morning to head back to Laos. It's hard having a part of your heart so far away, but it makes time together all the sweeter. Last night I had the privilege to perform with her - much like my last night in Laos. Our church hosted the annual variety show, in which we showcased my sister's songwriting talent. Once again, it was a joy creating music together!

Did I mention we arrived at the airport around 5am? Late nights and early mornings are enough to make me turn from my morning habits. Clearly there was good reason for such shenanigans. It's not every day you can snatch a few more hours with the best sister ever. 

On that note, it's past my bedtime. Officially out of adrenaline. 

Why I'm Not a Fitness or Food Blogger...or Facebook User

Not to worry, this post is not a slam again any who may indeed fall in the above categories.

As I have grown in my walk with the LORD, I have come to better know myself.
I have learned - through trial and error - that some perfectly acceptable things are not good for me.

I'd love to have a running blog. But I know I'd strain myself to keep a perfect record with blog-worthy race times and workouts. I'd feel guilty for enjoying a rest day, and therefore work until injury.

I'd love to adhere to a strict diet and tell the world about my health successes. I'd tell myself it was all for my family's well-being while actually weaving my own web of control and simultaneously finding myself tangled.

I tried Facebook for a while, after many years of outright avoidance. I found that it, too, was not good for me.

I am too intense for some things.

No, really.

I am driven. Competitive. Regimented. Anal.
I am a perfectionist. I am a control freak. I know few failures.

I am not to be trusted. When left to my own devices, I will nearly always take a good thing and bow down to it as an ultimate thing.

I have stopped logging every hour (minute, actually) of practice. I let myself eat sweets. I take training rest days. I don't do all these things perfectly, but I continue to claim the reality that there is nothing I can do to make God love me any less or any more.

I am in need of Grace. Sweet, daily Grace that covers even my "righteous" filthy rags.

"Whatever men expect, they soon come to think they have a right to: the sense of disappointment can, with very little skill on [the devil's] part, be turned into a sense of injury." -C.S. Lewis

"It is not your business to succeed, but to do right; when you have done so, the rest lies with God." -C.S. Lewis

A Child's Memory

Has it really been twelve whole years?

September 11, 2001 is a landmark day that stands out in my childhood.

I remember exactly where I was and what I was doing when we received notification of the first plane crash into the WTC. At this point, we all thought it was a fluke, a terrible mistake. I turned on the news and continued my eleven-year-old life as normal. I sat eating my breakfast and watched alone in horror as the second plane hit its mark in real time. I remember watching the plane's approach and crying out in warning, as if I could stop the unavoidable from happening, as if they could hear through my television.

I grew up some that day and the days following. I learned what horrific evil and violence there are in the world. I learned that family is a gift. And I learned that we had heroes walking among us, some in uniforms and some disguised in business suits and street clothes. True countrymen respond to needs with action and courage. And how many countless stories have we heard of heroism and selflessness?

May we never forget these stories, and may they be exhortations to us now, for today.

She's a Cheeky One

It's been a while since I've flooded my blog with Brooklyn faces, so here goes.

Take a look into daily life with a Weim...and a further glimpse into the thoughts of our Weim.

"You're really just going to sit there and eat when there's all this playing to be done? Lazy humans."

"Always watching you."

"Oh, you mean you were planning to read in bed?"

"What's that fluffy thing on top of her butt?"

"Forget shotgun. I'm driving this thing."

"We run this town, Dad and I."

"SQUIRREL!"

"Now that's a good-looking dog!"

"Ahem. Where are my movie snacks?"

"That's better. Now I can see."

"Oh really, dahhling?"

"I'm having difficulty with my seat belt."

"What are you looking at?"

"Where did you expect to find me? On the floor?"

"Am I bothering you?"

"I don't know what ball you're talking about. Definitely do not see a...BALL!"

"I don't know what all this 'cheeky' talk is; I'm just a docile angel who loves her family more than anything."

Our girl is 8 1/2 months, 54 pounds, and a bundle of energy! Her appetite is insatiable, even with her three meals a day. She loves looking out the window for Ty, playing tug with Ty, squeaking her Wubba, running with Mom (I let her pick up speed once or twice during a walk), visitors, riding in the car, drinking out of the toilet, terrorizing the dog park with her best friend Scout, our bed, running down the street unleashed (errr, working on that), chewing toys to pieces, guarding her house, and family snuggle time.

Mailing Life

When was the last time you wrote a letter?

No, not a long text message or email. A hand-written, addressed, stamped letter.

While I love the convenience of sending a quick text anywhere, anytime, I feel sad that the art of letter writing is passing away. I think of all the letters saved throughout history. The correspondence between John and Abigail Adams alone is enough to cause me to carve out fifteen minutes and write.

On Saturday, I did just that.

Words are treasures to me. That is why I journal, blog, and (try to) send notes. I save every personal card and frequently re-read them. Nothing cheers me more than finding a note left from Ty or a letter in the mailbox with my name across the top. (Yes, I was the child who stalked the mailbox for a month leading up to her birthday!)

There was nothing of great consequence in my letter. It was just a little bit of life, mailed with love. Sometimes being present in the everyday means just as much as sharing in the momentous. Since we are great friends separated by great distance, a stamped envelope from Mrs. to Mrs. will cross the many miles for me and hopefully bring a little joy into Mrs. T's day. :)

Most beautiful bride!
(michaella elliott photography)

Patience is a Profession

True, patience is a virtue.
What you might not have known is that it is synonymous with teaching -- or, at least, with good teaching.

I am blessed to study with an exceptional pianist and teacher. She was a child prodigy, she has won awards at international piano competitions, and she has served on faculty at one of the most prestigious schools in the United States for over thirty years. She's kinda a big deal.

And she is one of the most patient and unassuming people I have ever met.

Enter me. (Not a big deal.)
I studied at a small program, I have a lot of holes in my background, I have a lot to learn.

She could simply have told me that she's too busy. (Ain't nobody got time for that!)
She could have taken the easy route and ignored my weak areas.
She could have said I don't have what it takes.

Never once have I heard a comment like this. While she is certainly a most honest individual ("You won't get into grad school playing like that!"), she addresses each of my weaknesses proactively and gives me the tools to be successful. I am never more exhausted than after my hour and a half lesson; it is non-stop mental and physical work.

There have been many times when I have felt like a five-year-old sitting in her living room; this is not because she is degrading or condescending, but because I see the reality that I should have learned this when I was five! Instead of throwing up her hands in frustration, she digs deeper and fights in the trenches with me.

She tells me that I'm not that old, and that I can fix bad habits.
She says it's going to be hard, this whole grad school process, but there's no reason I can't do it.
In no way does she guarantee that I will always be successful or achieve every dream, but she fights for me.

A good teacher fights for his students.
He has nothing to prove, but desires the best for each of his students.

It's hard to be a recipient of such phenomenal teaching without reflecting on my interaction with my own students.

How quickly do I give up on students? (Too bad she didn't learn this earlier.)
How frequently do I tire of repeating the same thing a zillion different ways? (When are you going to get this?!)
How readily do I embrace their weak areas? (After all, I've had a long day.)

While I do love my job, I see that I am prone to impatience in many areas. The irony is appalling. If anyone has reason to exhibit patience, I do, for I have received great patience.

I can't help but think of Jesus' words in the parable of the forgiven servant. A king forgave his servant an enormous debt, but the servant immediately turned around and demanded his own servant repay a trivial debt.

"Then his master summoned him and said to him, 'You wicked servant! I forgave you all that debt because you pleaded with me. And should you not have had mercy of your fellow servant, as I had mercy on you?' " (Matthew 18:32-33)

Shouldn't we, as recipients of Grace, be gracious to those around us? I'm finding this means patience in my job, but the applications are endless. I have been blessed, and I want to be a blessing.

The Little Girl Who Cried Over Fish

I was a very picky eater. So much, in fact, that my sister and her friend made a game out of dinner time; could I swallow each bite without making a sour face? I was known for sitting at the table well after the others had finished dinner, stubbornly refusing to eat. My parents tried the timer trick, and I went without dinner more than once.

One time, I was forced required to finish a plate of salmon and went into such hysterics that the fish swam upstream soon after I had choked it down. Actually, this happened twice. Thankfully by the third salmon-eating experience, I had matured at least a little. I ate it without overdramatizing the situation (though I'm sure I still complained! Yikes!). I was sick again anyway. This is, at least, how I remember it. My family was convinced I had made myself sick again (could I blame them after my earlier antics?), though I surmised I was allergic.

Fast forward eight or nine years. A little culture and a little Pinterest (ha!), and I found myself really wanting to try fish again. (After all, it probably was hysteria-induced vomiting the first three times, right?) Ty and I were out with friends on Sunday, and I decided to try the Mahi Mahi on the menu. I've heard it's a less-fishy fish. Unfortunately, I didn't know that Cerviche was served cold (need some more culture, apparently!). After years of avoiding fish, I was less-than-thrilled about a cold dish. It was served in a citrus juice with fresh cilantro and avocado - delicious flavors, but I would have preferred a hot filet.

Still, I ate a good amount, and we finished dinner. All seemed well. Until I couldn't fall asleep and was suddenly sick all over again.

Well, Mom and Dad, I guess it's safe to say I do indeed have a fish allergy. Can you believe I'm actually sad about it? Guess that's the payback for all my picky years. 

(Editor's note: Jessie is a significantly less picky eater these days, though she is still mercilessly teased about it. She only refuses to eat gluten, fish, and tomatoes. She will, however, eat tomato sauces and salsas.)