"When I Run I Feel His Pleasure"

Eric Liddell - 1924 Olympic Gold Medalist

I ran the St. George Marathon yesterday.  There is a lot that I could say about the experience.  Running for 26 miles gives you a lot of time to think about things and to ponder.  I appreciated and am grateful for many things about yesterday and I feel like it is important to note them so that I can remember them and remember the experience.

Weird as it may seem, running the marathon yesterday was a spiritual experience for me.  And I don't mean "spiritual" in the sense that I felt closer to nature because of the scenic beauty along the course.  (And it is spectacularly beautiful--red cliffs, white rock formations, volcanic cinder cones, and wide open desert vistas.)  For me it was spiritual because I feel like it helped me feel closer to my Heavenly Father.

At about Mile 11 or 12, the following quote popped into my head from the movie "Chariots of Fire:"

• "I believe God made me for a purpose, but he also made me fast. And when I run I feel His pleasure." --Eric Liddell

I'm not saying that I'm fast.  In fact, I'm not.  There were 2,789 people that were faster than me yesterday.  But I did feel like I felt loved by my Heavenly Father.  We all faces trials, challenges, and adversity in our lives.  At times, it may seem overwhelming.  Certainly a marathon is a microcosm of life in that adversity can be crammed chock full into the 26.2 mile course, but it is a blessing to feel a confirmation that we are literally children of a Heavenly Father, that He knows us personally, that is aware of our individual circumstances, and that He loves us.  And I am grateful for that experience yesterday.

My Brother

My brother and I at the starting line...brrr...it was cold!

I also did the race with my brother.  This is not the first race that I've done with him, but as we get older and are now farther apart geographically, I've realized how important it is to treasure these opportunities.

S. was not even going to do the race.  Neither one of us was prepared--although he was a lot more prepared than I was.  As I drove down to the race, by myself, I placed one last call to him.  I got his voice mail and told him that it wasn't too late to come and that I hoped that he'd do it with me.  I told him that I had a hotel room reserved and that he was welcome to share it with me.

S. was concerned that one or both of us would get hurt and that we would not be able to finish the Ironman Florida (IMFL) race next month.  I admit it was a valid concern and it did worry me a bit, but I wanted to do the race and committed to listen to my body.  I pledged to myself that I would stop if it felt like my body was telling me that it was in trouble.

Well, miraculously, S. had a change of heart.  I was certain that he was not going to make the 5 hour drive to the race, but he did!  Unfortunately, when the packet pick up line closed at 9 p.m., S. was still en route--nearly 2 hours away.  I somehow managed to persuade the race officials to let me get his race number (which saved us some time the next morning) and I was excited when I heard him opening the door to the hotel room--even though I had just gone to bed!

The next morning, I saw S. for about the first 30 seconds of the race.  The runners thronging the start line left quickly shifting gaps and very little room to maneuver.  S. went right, I went left.  And then he was gone amongst the sea of runners surging over and beyond the finish line in the pre-dawn darkness.  I knew I had to run my race and hope that he could run well.  For the entire race, I looked for him in case he had to drop off the pace or got hurt.  I never saw him.

At the end, I just hoped that I hadn't missed him somewhere along the way because he was hurt (or hurting).  Turns out he had a spectacular time--finishing in 3:41 for his first marathon ever.  I'm proud of my brother and that he did so well.  And next time, I'm going to be motivated to keep up with him!

Relieved to be finished!

The Volunteers and Spectators

The people of St. George are wonderful.  They come out and volunteer in droves.  They line the roads along the route and cheer for us.  The ring loud cow bells.  And their kids stretch out their hands to give the runners five as they zip on past.

The volunteers and the spectators inspired me.  They held signs in the cold--many of them wearing parkas, hats, and gloves.  I'm not sure that I could do it!  The signs were great--many were funny most were inspirational.  I really enjoyed the signs cheering on grandma or grandpa.  One of the funniest signs that I saw simply said: "Worst parade ever.":  We were a motley crew!

I saw Ryan Cuff handing out water at one aid station.  Ryan Cuff was one of the best high school basketball players in the history of the State of Utah.  But he is also a good human being and consummate teammate.  He had no idea who I was, but I was proud to tell him that I remembered him and that I had played hoops with him.

I also saw my niece Elizabeth L. handing out water along the course.  I think that her high school cross-country teammates were helping to support the event.  I was really happy to see her (even if she was surprised to see me there) and told her to say hi to her parent for me.  Her family has always been so kind to me and I was grateful to see her.

Utah's Governor Gary Herbert came out to support the marathon runners

The groups that lined the course were so cheering so loud that I turned off my iPod so that I could appreciate the moment.  I tried to make a point of thanking the spectators for coming to cheer for us and thanking the volunteers for handing out water, Gatorade, Clif bars, vaseline, bananas, Gu shots, and other essential items.  It was inspiring to see volunteers raking up empty cups that had been thrown to the side by the runners.  It made me try harder to hit the trash can!  ;-)

But beyond a general "feel good" sort of inspiration, I drew tangible strength and energy from the spectators.  As I ran along the rope line at one point, I looked down at my watch and saw that my pace had quickened by nearly 30% as I ran along the line giving high fives to all the little kids.  It made me worry that I might have expended too much energy--but the fact was that the spectators made me faster.  Literally.

Post race with one of my favorite missionary companions

One of the spectators was an old mission companion of mine.  I hadn't seen him for nearly 14 years!  After the race, he graciously invited me to his home in Diamond Hills and to dinner with his cute family.  Renewing this friendship was yet another thing to be grateful for that came out of the event.

I've blogged about St. George and its volunteers in the past.  They did not disappoint today.  What a great city and what great people!  I'm certainly grateful for you!

My Fellow Runners

Snow Canyon along the route

I'm also grateful for my fellow runners out there.  I felt like you "pulled" me along even when I didn't know if I could keep going myself.  The list is long and distinguished, but here are a few that I remember:

• Daniel. R. and his brother - An attorney colleague from back home.  You inspired me by actually doing the run with your brother and I'm glad that I kept up with you for a bit.  We talked jobs, families, and running.  I hope I get to bump into you at another race in the future!

• Varls - This may have been your first marathon and you bounded past me with a surge of energy and enthusiasm.  Thanks for tapping me on the shoulder.  I didn't see you when I past you, but congrats on finishing!  And I hope to see you in San Clemente or at a BYU game soon!

• David Tanner and his daughter Cheyenne - David was running while carrying a large American flag.  I looked up and saw his flag and was inspired to catch up to him.  We ran together for a few miles.  His daughter was doing her third marathon in 3 weeks!  I thanked him for his patriotism and for his willingness to inspire his fellow runners.  I saw him at the finish line too and thanked him again.

• Ken Duke, Andy, and Richard - Ken is blind and was running his 56th marathon!  Richard and Andy were his two guides that ran alongside him.  I noticed Andy at about Mile 14.  He had pulled out his cell phone to take a call and said: "Hey, I'm doing a marathon.  I can't talk now, but I'll call you later!"  Andy was on his 18th marathon, I think.  He was also wearing a BYU hat.  I knew there was a reason I liked the guy.  It was fun to run with Ken and his guides for a few miles.  I had to push myself to catch up to him.  Once I did, I thought that if I blind guy could do this, so could I!  How could you not be inspired by someone like Ken or by his guides?

There were many more that I haven't mentioned, but I really appreciated the comaraderie of my fellow runners.  Thank you for pushing, pulling, and inspiring me!

The Result

I'm also grateful for the result.  I had people (beside my brother) tell me to skip the race and not to do it because I really have not had much time to train.  There a lot of reasons for that, but they are all excuses.  If I were to do the race, I had to do it and not make excuses.

I'd love to say that I lowered expectations, but I didn't.  I honestly did not know what to expect.  I really could not start training for this race until literally two weeks ago.  The longest run that I have done in the past month and a half was only 6.2 miles.  I really did not have any business starting the race--much less have any expectations for it.

I started the race and was still unsure of what I could do.  At one point, I was about ready to drop back when Daniel R. pulled up beside me and kept me on pace.  I walked for a brief half mile stretch on the big hill just past Veyo.  My thought process was to conserve my energy and not be a hero.  This was Mile 8 and I was still just hoping to finish in less than 6 hours and not get hurt.

By the halfway point, I was still feeling strong and starting to realize that I had a lot left in the tank.  My 13.1 mile time was 2:04--not great, but not terrible either.

Every finisher medal is unique

Mile 18 was where the wheels came off the train for me two years ago in this race.  There is a long hill just after the aid station and it can be discouraging and demoralizing.  In my case, it was two years ago.  This time, as I approached that same spot, I got a little emotional.  I realized that I still had enough left in the tank to finish and to finish strong.  I think it was at this point that I finally realized that not only was I going to finish, but I was also probably going to PR (set a new personal record).  My Garmin data actually shows my heart rate spiking at that point.  It was exciting to realize that I was going to meet my goals for this race and set new marks to shoot for in the future.

With about 3 miles to go, I realized that I had a chance at breaking 4 hours for the race.  I've always wanted to run a marathon in less than 4 hours and I tried to push harder.  Unfortunately, it was too much.

My final time was 4:03 and I couldn't be more thrilled.  It beat my time from 2 years ago by about 23 minutes.  I know that I gave it my all on that course.  I also know that there is room for improvement if I am willing to put in the training and time in the future.

Thank you St. George Marathon for such a fun event!  Hope to see you next year!

La Isla Bonita

A typical view in the D.R.

This post is dedicated to my former babysitter whose son just got called to my exact mission--the greatest mission on Earth.  So if you don't have a kid going on a mission to the Dominican Republic or aren't going there yourself, feel free to skip this post.  :-)

The Dominican Republic ("D.R." for short) is a beautiful country, but it is (or was) very different from what I had grown accustomed to as a kid growing up in the U.S.  I got my first taste of what the D.R. would be like when we flew there from the MTC.  The last leg was from Puerto Rico to Santo Domingo and I was shocked when some of the passengers boarded the plane with their chickens--yes live chickens!

Your friendly neighborhood "huelga"

The next adjustment that I had to make was to the vocabulary of the D.R.  It was not what we had been taught in the MTC.

First of all, Dominicans have an unspoken language.  They don't point with their fingers--they point with their lips.  If they don't understand something or don't know something, they will wrinkle their nose.

I got more than a few odd glances when I came home from people who didn't understand why I was wrinkling my nose up at them.

Other words are more Dominican specific:  a bus is a "guagua".  A bench on that bus that might seat 3 in the U.S. will accommodate about 7 in the D.R.  Not because Dominicans are any smaller.  Just because you will get squished in that tight.  Not so much fun.

Forget supermarkets.  You will get all your food from the neighborhood "colmado".  It's like a convenience store or 7-11 if 7-11 decided to start opening up shop in people's dirty garages.  I still have some nightmares about some of the food I saw there.  (Don't think I can ever eat "Bacalao" a "specialty made from mummified codfish.  Colmados don't bother to refrigerate most things like butter and eggs.  Think how much energy we could save here in the U.S. if we stopped needlessly (and wastefully) refrigerating such items.

A "huelga" is a riot.  You will know that a huelga has been called when the aromatic scent of freshly deployed tear gas wafts into the church parking lot or when you wake up in the morning to the acrid smell of burning tires in the middle of the intersection.  The "huelga" is enforced by the burning tires in the middle of the street and by spikes that are thrown into the middle of the highway/street.  All commerce grinds to a halt in the face of a huelga.

Note the picture above.  A typical Dominican neighborhood out in the "campo" (campo = anywhere outside the capital).  Yes, it's the middle of the day and no it's not P-Day.  I'm in my spiffy attire because you're not supposed to work during a huelga--it's not really safe.  (I know, I'm walking on the wild side by daring to get that shot.)

Speaking of safety, get used to military checkpoints and soldiers who look like they're about 16 years old handling M-16s.  It won't phase you.  My mom still hasn't gotten over the shock from when they came down to pick me up and take me home.

Note the word "Mormones" on the basketball

Dominicans love sports.  Everyone thinks that they love baseball and they do, but basketball is actually much more popular in the southwest portion of the country.  Even the tiniest towns have an outdoor basketball court at the center of the town.  Usually with a Michael Jordan "Jumpman" silhouette drawn on center court or the backboards or both.  MJ was very big down there. I remember watching one Bulls playoff game, but not because I was slacking off and watching the game instead of tracting.  I was able to watch it because as I walked down the street every house had the game on in the front room with the windows open.  The ratings to see MJ playing must have been astronomical.

One of the scarier moments of my mission

Some towns had had little contact with cars or white people.  My companion thought it was hilarious to snap this shot.  We had pulled into some little tiny town to get some directions or something and our truck was almost instantly swarmed with these kids.  I don't think they had ever seen an American before.  One of them actually reached into the truck to touch the back of my head.  Needless to say, it was very disconcerting and I got out of there as fast as I could.

P-Day in the jungle.  I'm sure I was having a very deep doctrinal discussion in this picture...

The beauty of the land is off the charts.  These pictures really don't do it justice.  We worked hard and on P-Day we would play hard by going to visit some amazingly beautiful locations.

Seatbelts anyone?  The whole district in the back of a truck.
This is how we usually got around.  It's a lot safer than it looks!

Exploring the D.R.

District meeting under a mango tree

But I digress.  Despite the natural beauty of the D.R., the people are even more beautiful--spiritually speaking.  They are a humble people of faith and accepted us into their homes on a daily basis.  I literally had people share their last bowl of rice and scrap off chicken with us.  I felt guilty many times knowing that I had so much and gave so little, yet Dominicans were willing to give so freely despite their humble circumstances.

This couple is getting married so they can get baptized.  I'm making myself useful by keeping the kids entertained.

You will work with people to help them change their lives, repent, be baptized, and become disciples of the Savior.  You may see a marriage to two (see above).

Carlos Cesar, middle, is baptized by his best friend (left) Reino.  Reino was also the ward mission leader.

The Feliz Family (with Hanlet in front) in the town of Neiba

They say that a mission is the best two years of your life.  That may be true, but I also think it's the hardest two years.  You will get out of it what you put into it.  You will be happy.  You will be sad.  You will be frustrated.  You will be excited.  You will share the burdens and sorrows of the people you teach and you will experience joy as you grow closer to the Savior and feel His love.  In turn, you will want to share that love with the Dominican people.

Deanna, your son is going to have an amazing experience in the D.R. I will never forget my time there and hope to be able to go back to visit some day.  I hope that his missionary service among the Dominican people will be as great a blessing in his life as it was in mine.

El evangelio es verdadero!

There's No Place Like Home...

Hermanos Reunidos

My "little" brother came home from his mission yesterday.  He flew into San Diego's Lindbergh Field at about 12:35 p.m.  It was a long flight from Argentina, I'm sure.  My mom and dad and much of my family was there to greet him.  I'm sure it was a joyous reunion.  I had a court appearance and couldn't make it down.

My dad was actually in trial, but the judge was kind enough to give my dad an extra 30 minutes for the lunch break so that he could see his son whom he hadn't seen for two years.  It's a good thing that my brother's flight was on time!  When my mom first told me that story, I kind of chuckled that the judge was "only" willing to give my dad an extra 30 minutes for lunch.  That doesn't seem like much.  But today, it seems like a  lot.  And the important thing was that it was enough.  I really think that it was a tender mercy that my dad was able to be there.  I'm both happy and grateful that he was.

I had a long day yesterday, but managed to make my way down to the old homestead later that night.  I walked into the house holding a bag with two uneaten burritos from Del Taco that I bought intending to eat on the way down.  They didn't get eaten.

As I walked in the door, my brother SLD grabbed my bag and told me I wouldn't be needing it.  My sweet mother had cooked in honor of N.'s homecoming.  I should have realized there'd be food waiting for me.

But first things first, I gave N. a huge "abrazo."  The funny thing is that N. looked like he hadn't aged a day.  I know how hard he worked on his mission and that he was a great missionary.  We also posed for the obligatory homecoming photo (see above).  Unfortunately, neither of us were in our suits by that stage of the day.  I had shed mine after a tragic mishap with a red-frosted, chocolate cupcake.  N. had ditched his at some point.  I guess two years of wearing a suit while tramping through the dusty streets of South America is enough for anyone.

Another thing that you'll notice about the picture above is that I think that I can officially say that even though I'm the oldest of five brothers--I'm also the shortest.  At one stage of my life, that would have been very sad news.  I think as you get older, you get a sense of what is really important and what's not.  I was just glad to have my brother home!

Mom's Chicken Burrito with Rice, Guacamole, Cheese, and Fresh, Homemade Salsa--Yum!

Then it was time to eat.  Mom's cooking put Del Taco and Taco Bell to shame.  I had two heaping servings.

I sat on the couch to recover and to visit for a little bit with my brothers and sisters.  As I sat, recuperating on  the couch, someone walked past and handed me a little mylar-wrapped package.  I looked at it.  It was some sort of Argentine-version of a Ding Dong--but with dulce de leche.  My brother had brought it all the way home from Argentina to share with his family.

I was touched with how sweet and kind my brother really is, but he has always been like that.  He didn't make a big deal about it or brag about how great this snack was that he was giving me or tell me what a sacrifice it was for him to bring it home and share with us. He just quietly did it because he wanted to share and because he has a kind, giving heart.  Even though I physically look up to my "little" brother, I have always looked up to him and admired him for his example to watch over and care for other people.

Guaymallen--direct from Argentina!

I remember a few other things from last night.  I asked N. what was different about being back home in the United States.  He told me that he was shocked at all of the technology like iPhones, Droids, etc. that people carried around!  It took me back to when I came home from my mission.  I remember marveling that the power never goes out in the United States (it went out every single day--at least once, sometimes more--in the D.R. where I served my mission).  I also remember that a little-known, new technological innovation commonly called "The Internet" had gotten huge while I was away!  ;-)

N., it's good to have you back.  Thank you for being such a great example and the type of brother that I can always look up to--in more ways than one!  The Gospel is true!