After 42 kilometers

It's been almost a week now, and my legs are almost back to normal. I still have one blister that just doesn't want to go away, but hopefully soon, it'll be gone and I'll have a wider selection of shoes to choose from (currently, I can only wear a specific pair of sandals).

Sunday May 20th I ran my first marathon. May 20th is also my wedding anniversary, this year celebrating 17 years with the same, wonderful man - Hasse:

He challenged me last November to run the Copenhagen Marathon with him, and though I doubted my abilities, I began training for it. When the day came, I was both wildly excited and terrified, but joining in with 12000 other excited runners does something to you. I found myself anticipating the run with great joy and enthusiasm, and as we started out, I was touched by the cheers from hundreds of spectators.

We ran 42 km (26 miles) through the streets of beautiful Copenhagen, enjoying the bands that played for us, the beautiful architecture, the sun and the people cheering us on. I flew. I was on fire. My entire system was working beyond comparison - my breathing was good, my legs strong and I felt a surge of energy flowing through my veins. Kilometer after kilometer passed, and as we reached the half way mark, I was so optimistic that I was smiling.

25 km down the road I was still optimistic and had lots of energy. When we hit 30 k, I began to feel a heaviness in my legs, and a dull sort of pain started pulling in my left thigh. People around us began walking, quitting, lying down and several puked. I was determined not to walk, to only slow down long enough to drink. The sun was hot and there was little shadow, but Hasse had planned well and coached me not only by setting the pace, but also guiding my intake of fluids. His plan worked. We had a really good pace and neither of us dehydrated like hundreds of others around us.

When we began running the last 5 k, I was working hard to keep up the optimism in my head, continually telling myself I was almost there, that quitting would be too bitter now, and that I still had the energy I needed. Strangely enough, I never once had the feeling that I ought to quit. I was exceptionally tired, yes, but so determined to actually complete that quitting simply wasn't an option. Neither was walking.

As we hit 40 k, the asphalt was sticky from all the sugar people had been drinking and spilling. We dodged numerous walking runners and saw 3 or 4 people who had collapsed and were waiting for ambulances. The weather had surprised us all, being the hottest day of the year yet, and the ambulances were not prepared for the amount of dehydrating patients. We were later told that they ran out of IV fluids and had to bring in extra from surrounding hospitals.

The last 800 meters were incredible. I am so awed. I am awed by the fantastic crowd lending us strength through their cheers. As we passed yet 100 meters, they counted down for us... "only 700 m to go!!" As I saw the blue finish line loom ahead of us, I wanted to let go of everything and sprint across it, but Hasse kept placing his hand on my shoulder, reminding me to save energy for the remaining distance.
People cheered us on. Two little boys broke out of the crowd as their daddy sped ahead of us, grabbing his hands and running the last 200 m with him.

Hasse and I clasped hands as we ran the last little bit, crossing the finish line together after 4 hours, 35 minutes and 12 seconds of continuous running. My free hand shot up in the air as I roared, feeling victorious, and suddenly the emotion overwhelmed me, and I cried as I was awarded my medal.

Here, several days later, I am still in awe. I am amazed at what a body can do, with the right training, the correct food and the right attitude. I am touched the crowd cheering on people they didn't know. I am grateful that my husband went through it with me (he run a lot, is in better shape and much faster then me - but he slowed his pace to help me through. Isn't that love?)

When I think about the last 800 m, tears still find their way into my eyes. It was huge. It was amazing, and honestly, I am so happy, so excited and also somewhat proud. I surprised myself completely. When I started this project, I didn't really believe in it. I have several times declared that I would quit and not enter the marathon. But somehow, I kept at it, I worked for it, and I went through with it.

Would I do it again? Maybe. I haven't decided yet. It's a huge feat. Would I recommend it? Absolutely! If you love running, you ought to try a marathon. But make sure your debut is in a big event with people there to cheer you on - the crowd makes a really big difference.

Go, run!

Watch this - Copenhagen Marathon 2012

Friday... at last or soon enough?

It's friday morning  - the one morning during my workweek where I don't start classes till 9:50. I love this morning. I sleep a little longer, and Johanna gets to play for a while before I drop her off at kindergarten. This is my morning. All other mornings, my husband drops her off, but fridays are mine.

The last week has dissappeared incredibly fast. I spent monday being very tired, recuperating from last weekends conference for leaders for the Nordic Vineyards. We had visitors fram Finland stay with us, and every evening, after the last service, we'd speed home and have coffee and snacks before going to bed. All very fattening indeed, but the conversations we gad were interesting, deep and of very valuable character to Hasse and I, I believe - as we spoke about our God and his power, our thoughts for the immediate future and plans we'd like to make. It was a blessed weekend, although it left us quite sleep derived!

Wednesday I was almost back on track, and very blessed to visit a cluster of small groups in the Copenhagen Vineyard, sharing my thoughts on being called to serve. My dear friend Grace came with me, supporting me the whole evening, which was very needed and much appreciated.

Yesterday went by with work and parent-teacher meetings, and here I sit now, friday mornig over breakfast, recounting the details of my week with you. Well, not all my details - perhaps just an outline.

The fact is, I don't know where time went. This week has dissappeared a little too fast, and while I enjoy the thought of weekend, I wonder why time flies so.

Nevertheless, I wish you all a good weekend. Mine will be filled with a birthday party, friends over for lunch and a lovely sunday service.

Springtime

Spring is always a wonderful thing to me. Every year, I get to a point where I just looong for the sun to break out and actually contain some warmth. I'll search my garden for the first signs of spring, and every year, I am rewarded, first with snowdrops and eranthis, closely followed by daffodils. But I get really excited when I see green buds sprouting, when the sun spreads rays of golden warmth and my garden begins once again to grow.

On the other hand, spring is a tiresome time as well, not so much because of all the garden work, but because I am allergic to birch pollen. The amount of birch pollen in Denmark has exploded several hundred percent within the last 25 years, I am told, and yes, I certainly feel it. It affects all of me - my nose gets runny to the point where the skin around it breaks, my eyes itch and I start wheezing ever so slightly. I have to run early in the morning instead of taking my beloved afternoon runs, and I have to shower every night before bedtime. I have to stay indoor for much of the day, especially around noon, where the warmth sends the pollen spiralling into the air.

So, while everyone else is out soaking in the sun, I am very careful about spending time outside. Which means I cannot tend to my garden quite like a want to.... so now, I've taken pictures of some of my favorite things out there, right from my bird houses, tomato plants to our running shoes by the front door.
This year I am trying to grow tomatoes upside down, I am waiting to see how my blueberries are doing (planted them last autumn), and I am eagerly awaiting the grapes on my vine. I am planning on planting  blackberries this coming autumn, finding them to be amongst my favorite berries of all.

For my love

...you are the love of my life.

Hunger

I am hungry for you

Your touch always fills me

Yet - I am not fulfilled

But hungry for more

I sit… for just a minute,

Inhaling the nearness of you

The heat from your body rises to meet mine

And I am fully satisfied

...more old poetry

from the other secret drawer.

Like two birds.

My heart has stopped beating

–      not just for the moment, but for the time

it takes a life to flash before ones eyes.

For a lifetime.

It hurts, this dead end of emotion, and

I am left with one single question – why?

Who can answer this for me?

No one… not even myself.

Trapped, like a bird in a cage,

the two of us sit, looking at each other.

You have the courage to fly out as soon

as the door to your cage is opened,

but I sit still,

afraid of the unknown,

the vast expanse that I have never tested my wings in.

At first my heart pounded so fast

that it hurt my ribs.

Now it doesn’t beat at all,

and I feel strangled

–      the pressure of missing air torturing my mind.

I sometimes feel confined,

locked up,

forced into a

mold that doesn’t quite fit me.

Dislodged

Lost somewhere in time

Expanded in space that is not mine

I float in time

Dislodged, displaced

Confused, homeless

This is not my skin

My life, my time

Old poetry...

straight from my secret drawer...

I am defective.

Someone vandalized my life

Or was it myself?

Afraid

                     Dull and numb – extremely boring.

Falling asleep, drifting, floating,

disappearing into a fog, a mist, an endless cloud of unconsciousness. Noises drowning softly, a voice humming in the distance,

reaching out but never hitting target.

Wishing to touch, but forbidden to do so.

Wishing to see, but blinded and blurred and not capable of seeing. Wishing to hear, but unable to discern meaning form sound,

unable to detect form from matter.

Breathing slowly, deeply, letting the blood run through the tired blue veins.

Pale faced, rosy cheeked, cold, smooth, almost a dead feeling.

Alone, wanting company, but afraid to reach out,

afraid to call out,

afraid to seek out companions,

afraid to open up, to show, to tell, to ask.

Afraid of rejection, of being turned down, out, left behind.

Afraid of not being wanted, not being seen, not being heard, not being asked.

Afraid of knowing and seeing, of confrontation,

of conformity, of solitude and hermitage. 

So it's sunday evening, and I am so tired after a wonderful weekend. Yesterday was spent in the quiet confines of my own home, after a long morning run with the hubby and the oldest. The two youngest kept each other company, and after a late breakfast, we all kinda did our own thing. It was wonderful.

I love quite days that allow me to slow down, enjoy a sunbeam and stroke my children's hair. Days that allow me to shop at snailpace with whatever kid desired to tag along. Days that let me tend to small tasks in the garden - especially those that combine dirt and herbs...
At 3 in the afternoon, the sky was blue and the sun was warm, so I opened the door to our terrace, and sat down with a snack and soaked in the sun for half an hour. Johanna sat on my lap and played quietely.

Saturdat evening brought friends we hadn't seen in a while, and that sent me to the kitchen, both baking and cooking. And it reminded me of how much I really enjoy spending time in my kitchen, how I love cooking and in general, preparing food. This is my creativity - though I always use recipes, but usually end up confirming them to my own ways anyway.

I cannot paint, draw, sew or knit, and I certainly could never write a song or a play for the theater. But putting together a good, home cooked meal, is right up my alley. I would have posted pictures, but I am afraid we ate it all!

I hope you all had a great weekend too...