Reporting from over the edge.

After being faithful to posting regularly for several months, I fell off the planet. I know. I know. Lurkers and curious people who contacted me off blog know that I’m alive.

I want you to know it too.

Prophetically in my last posting, I noted that for everything there is a season.

I am writing this little entry from Hospice, where I’m sitting vigil for a beloved who cannot stay here with us anymore. Her winter season draws to an end.

This journey began exactly three weeks ago with a trip to the emergency room. I continued to run (sort of) and post (scattered thoughts) throughout the first two difficult weeks in the hospital, but when we headed toward Hospice, I dropped away from my morning keyboard and stopped pretending that I could cling to normalcy.

The past weeks haven't been about me, but since my blog is about running, I tell you honestly that running has been dashed on the rocks by grief, long days and longer nights at bedside, lack of sleep, meals that have been eaten out of vending machines, work that’s not getting done, birthday cards I forgot to mail, a garden overtaken by weeds, wet laundry molding in the washer because I can't get it to the dryer, and a household falling apart from neglect.

There will be time later. Another season.

In the irrevocable face of death, I am suddenly clear again on The Essential. Guys, when it’s all said and done, all that matters is love.

Just thought I would remind you too … in case you’re like me and forgot that life is too damned short.

As for running, it will wait a little longer.

I’ll post again when …

Update on actual training and diet. Finally.

Several of you have asked how I’m doing with my running and my never-ending battle with weight. You want details. Okay, okay. Here’s the official update.

RUNNING: My running was going fairly well until ten days ago when a critical life-event in our family yanked me right down to the floor, where it still has its boot on my throat. It’s going to be this way for a while.

“For everything there is a season” (Ecclesiastes 3:1). The past couple of weeks have not been the Season of Running on Schedule. They’ve been the Season of Trying to Run Every Day and Failing Pathetically.

But just so you don’t think I’m a lost cause, my power as a runner and the disciplines I’ve developed in overcoming fatigue and keeping my emotions in check come in handy as I grapple with real life. When everyone around me is imploding and I’m tempted to cave in, a familiar feeling comes over me. I’m digging down into that wellspring of resolve that we discussed a while back. It’s the Mile Twenty Marathon Miracle Moment, when we learn first and forever to hunker down. "Quitting is NOT an option. We’re runners, doncha know! BRING IT ON!"

WEIGHT: More discussion in April. But for now, know that I’m trimming down right on schedule. I’m not rail thin. I’m not plush and Rubenesque. I’m unremarkable, longing to be remarkable ... but in a good way.

Because my running is now erratic, I’ve dropped caloric intake. Because my psyche is under intense assault, I’ve made sure that my diet supports sanity. In fact, I brushed up on my research last week when I could see bad juju coming down.

There are the obvious dietary suggestions: Easy on the caffeine. Lots of water. Fresh fruit. High quality protein. Frequent, small meals. And chocolate.

What’s this you say, Bev? Chocolate?!? Part of a Stay Sane Diet?

Oh yah. Research indicates that to stay alive in times of extreme crisis, chocolate needs to be in your lunchbox. Chocolate contains tryptophan, an essential amino acid that plays a key role in producing serotonin in your brain. Serotonin reduces anxiety and modulates mood. Chocolate also releases endorphins, the runner’s well kept secret for that inexplicable, happy grin at the end of a long run. It reduces pain and triggers the perception of extreme well being. I did the math, buddy. Chocolate emulates some of the benefits of running surprisingly closely.

And I’m having no trouble buying it. It’s Easter. If you want to find Bev, just look for the woman with a milk chocolate rabbit in her pocket. If both ears are gnawed off, things aren’t going well, but I’ll be fine.

See ya on the trail. Maybe tomorrow.

Only Bev could combine Russian and Zen.

It is said of Russian author Dostoevsky that he played a little bar game with this friends. Each man would hold the palm of his hand over a candle flame until he could stand it no longer and pulled away. The one who could hold it the longest, won. Dostoevsky was renowned for his ability. When admiring competitors wondered if he didn’t feel pain, he said something like, “Of course I feel pain. The trick is in not minding.”

Running a marathon hurts. Maybe the trick to running one is not minding. “Yah, it hurts. So? Say, could you help me shove this bone back through my thigh and reach that duct tape for me? How’s your momma?”

One of the benefits of maturing as a thinking runner is learning how to plow through killer stuff that would cause a mere mortal’s knees to buckle. But not a runner’s. A runner toughens up on the road, and best of all, is able to carry tolerance for pain of all sorts into real life. Unflinching, we win “candle games” every time. Why? Because we don’t quit.

So how do we actually eliminate the word “quit” from vocabulary? Not easily, but oh so naturally!

First there is DECISION: This is the passive part, where the intellect is engaged. It lays a plan. The runner decides that no amount of exhaustion or pain or despair is sufficient to call a halt to the run. “I won’t quit.”

Then there is CHOICE: This is the active part, where the decision is put into gear. The runner follows through … and runs no matter what. “I am not quittng.” And later, “I didn’t quit.”

The distinction between decision and choice is subtle and Zen-like. But understanding the differences will keep you from looking back on a run that didn’t go your way and wondering, “What just happened?”

Running is about making choices that carry out your decision to tie on your running shoes. If things don’t turn out the way you want, you re-choose—sometimes on a second-to-second basis. Choice is immediate. It’s action. It’s now. You decide to run the marathon—an overarching goal, but you choose to take each step to the finish line. Quitting is not an option.

If you start a marathon with ANY doubt that you will finish, you won’t finish. This comes with an ironclad guarantee.

Okay, enough Wisdom of the Ages, Grasshopper. You’ve thought your running plan over and made your decision. Very nice indeed, but a little too abstract and passive to be truly useful. Now choose, and watch what happens. (You’re gonna love this.)

See you on the trail!

Bev admits the truth. Finally.

The ING New York Marathon lottery closed at midnight last night. For all of you who refrained from entering the lottery or withdrew your names because you just couldn’t bear to add yourselves to the gazillion runners in competition for the one little number the NYRR might draw for ME, God bless you.

The lottery drawing will take place on April 7.

We shall all now return to Bev’s obsession with a key date … beginning NOW. Everyone, synchronize your runner’s watches! Countdown 33,120 minutes. (NOTE: If your watch is on a Polar heart rate monitor, this is 2,318,400 heartbeats.)

The good news is that I can start being completely honest with you about how magnificent the ING New York City Marathon is. I haven’t lied exactly, but I have been deliberately nonchalant to keep from fueling any misguided enthusiasm that might have led a charged-up runner to think, “Hey, maybe I should run New York too! I’ll enter the lottery with Bev!” That would have been a bad idea. Until today. Now I’ll tell ya the truth: Yes, you SHOULD run the greatest marathon in the world … just not this year when I want to do it.

I know. I know. I know. No one in the history of the world has been more self-centered.

BTW, for those of you who have been following the travails of life on Planet Bev over the past little while, I did run last night. No need for you to come get me now. As they were shutting down the lottery in New York at midnight, I was padding down a dark road in Gainesville, thinking quiet New York thoughts. It seemed an appropriate act of communion.

Running in the grip of distraction.

I’ve said too much. A reader did the email version of rolling her eyes, declaring that yesterday’s rant was un-Southern and a betrayal of my inherent belle-ness. (Who knew we had The Belle Code"???)

Mea culpa.

Evidently, I am honor bound to rise from the ashes, dust my crinolines off, sew new running clothes from the velvet drapes, stand in silhouette against the sunset sky with wind in my hair, and declare in my very best drawl, “With Gawd as mah witness, …” and then come up with something optimistic.

No offense meant, but WHAT PLANET ARE WE ON HERE, GUYS???

First, I lack ashes and crinolines, but do have Nike and New Balance. Second, makeshift garments might have been stylish for Scarlett, but chafe a runner. We prefer technical clothes. Third, wind in my hair makes me look like Dog the Bounty Hunter in drag. Fourth, I drawl only when I’ve had a glass of wine and I want something.

As for coming up with something optimistic, I CAN do that. And will. Right after I run. Until then, all bets are off, baby. This bad time is reality as real as it gets.

Until I can work out a way to wrap my unrelenting distraction around running to stay sane, I suggest that you join me here by the fire. We’re going to get into a circle, hold hands, and sing “Kum Bah Ya” in honor of the closing of the ING New York City Marathon lottery tonight at midnight.

And then we’re going to tie on our running shoes and make life oh-so-much better. If I have not been able to run by tonight, I’m going to post my address. Come get me.

Musings of a runner who didn't run today.

New York and the marathon lottery seem very far away tonight. Life here in Gainesville barged in again this week with its demanding, shrieking, clawing, clutching "GET OVER HERE, BEV!!! NOW, MISSY!!!"

Life is like this sometimes. So freaking inconsiderate.

Due to factors WA-A-AY out of my control, I didn't run today.

(I wonder if GUILT is aerobic?)

Say, Bev, you sound stressed, like you could use some healthy on-the-road decompression. Ya think??? It's ironic. When I most need to run, I'm least able. If I could get out there and blow off some of this soul-sucking bad juju, I would be able to stop hyperventilating and start speaking in full sentences. Now, how great and runner-like would THAT be?

The coming week is going to be a bear cat. Without running shoes, it might even be fatal. All runners know I speak truth.

Watched like a hawk ...

They're ba-ack!

It's officially spring in Gainesville. We know because we hear the hawks calling to each other through the treetops. We see them sailing through the air as they hunt.

And when a familiar couple hooks up, as they do every year, we'll have an overflowing nest of puppy-hawks? ... uh ... hawklings? ... uh ... hawklets? high in the tree right across the road. It's so great to watch them grow from demanding, loud-mouthed fuzzballs into powerful, sleek aerialists.

But mating and establishing this year's hawk-families will come later.

For now, their job is to torment me. Every morning around 10, this magnificent beauty in the photos perches just outside my office window on the second floor, reminding me eye-to-eye that spending the day indoors is just plain nuts. There's a time for work and a time for letting yourself soar free. And while I almost NEVER get that right, the hawk knows what's best for us. (Except for the part about hunting rats; while I know rats probably are delicious, I'm leaving THAT to her.)

BTW, Phil Wharton kicked butt at River Run today in Jacksonville! Email ATTABOY here: http://www.whartonhealth.com/