Monumental Marathon Re-cap

I've had a few days to process the marathon. If running bores you to tears, this isn't the post for you. I usually write out what happened, what I learned, and what I could improve upon. I just went back and read it all and it dawned on me that I never really cheer myself on. Every time I attempt this distance, I lament how I could have done better. I'm constantly disappointed for a time after the race which I think is just bananas. When I PR'd on the hilliest course in my hometown, I was really proud of myself, but I'm beginning to understand it might be because I know I'm not alone there. I knew teachers, coaches, familiar faces, and friends were all along the route. I knew my Loudon Lacers were nearby running, too. My family was waiting for me at that finish line. My body was in constant motion toward them.

Something broke in me at Indianapolis. It was my slowest marathon out of the five I've attempted. Admittedly, my plan was not thought out. I had a lot of other stressors on my mind and when I showed up to race this flat course, I thought, "I'll just hold around a 9'06 pace for as long as I can". In order to PR, I just needed to be under 9'45. I kinda thought I had that in the bag. My training had consisted of a half (13.1 miles) at marathon pace and I was able to hold that at 8'54 at 9,000 ft of elevation! Then later, my 20 miler was done at a slower pace of 10'15 but I felt totally fine. Although I cut corners for sure due to travel and laziness, I thought I was ready to race. The marathon is a beast, though and I was definitely unprepared.

I stayed on task miles 1-14 with my pace at or well below the mark to PR. I had planned to dedicate all my miles to my children. The first five miles I talked to God about Ari Jo. I felt in control of my body. I felt good. I ate my first Gu at mile 5-6 at the completion of that segment and moved on to praying for sweet Saylor girl. Those miles also felt good. I was well ahead of the 4 hour pace group and feeling on track to PR. Around mile 7 or 8 I decided to throw off my top layer so I took my shirt off and tossed it. Unbeknownst to me, I also took off the headphones that were around my neck. One hundred and sixty dollars just thrown away. When I started to slow around mile 11, I noticed they were gone and just felt sick that I had done that. There was nothing I could do about it, though and so I ran on.

In the past, I've made the mistake of starting off too fast in marathons so I wanted to back off a bit even though I felt pretty good so I hovered around 9'40 for miles 11-14. I had moved on to praying for Merit and slipping a few desperate prayers in there for me, too. At this point, I had crossed the half way point just under two hours which was perfect for what I wanted to do for the rest of the race....

But my wheels fell off. Mile 15 is when I started to pray for Abel. The crowds were starting to trigger me for some reason. When I would run up and see a big group of people looking for their people, I was reminded how alone I was in this race. In NYC, I knew my family was around these miles, looking for me and when I saw them, it literally gave me strength to go on. Not in Indy. I saw these crowds and started struggling to breathe. The pressure I put on myself to do well was crushing me. I didn't have any strength to draw on from anyone else. I was gasping for air and not the way I might if I was physically tired. No, I was having a panic attack. Afraid to stop, I dizzily kept on making deep, loud gasps for air. Multiple times, the medical tents tried to help me, but I knew if I stopped, I wouldn't start back again and I had to keep moving. Miles 15-19 were around 10-11 min paces. At mile 20, I took my fourth and final Gu and started whispering prayers for Kinley. The prayers allowed me to focus on something other than myself for a bit, but I'll be honest in saying I felt absolutely terrible and while my mind was breaking down, so was my body. I couldn't seem to propel myself. My legs weren't going. I wanted to sprint and I could hardly walk. I had completely fallen off and watched sadly as the 4 and 4:15 pace group passed me. As always, I reached out to the running group from back home and tried to put a smile on my face as I checked in with them. They told me they were proud of me and to keep going and so I did. I was run/walking the rest of the race and it was truly difficult for me to even finish. As I hit mile 26, I ran as hard as my legs would carry me which happened to be a 10 min pace and crossed the finish line, nearly passing out. I found my friends, sat down, and was so relieved it was over.

Days later, I'm still not sure where the disconnect was, but I'm sure several things went wrong. I learned that:

- I can't cut corners on training

- Sleep and nutrition the day before is way more important than I knew

- Stress is a factor and I can't treat the marathon like it's no big deal- not ever

I truly never wanted to do this again. As the days have passed, though, I know I can't let this performance be my last. I will keep running and I will try again to reach my goal. I will simply be more prepared next time. 

I felt so sad after the race but then I read the words my Papaw sent that said, 

Kacy,

You may not have met your expectations but you have exceeded ours your entire life! 

Congratulations

 on completing another marathon!

Love Papaw

And I truly started to remember that what I had accomplished was no small feat and I needed to remember how grateful I am that I can even run. I love this sport for all it teaches me. Grit, grace, gumption, gratitude...Thank you all for your texts, calls, messages, and love on race day. I felt them all!

Let us run with endurance the race that is set before us-

Where is my brain on this third day of November? It's in a minefield. 

I've managed to squish two major life events into this month and I thought one would help the other and I may have bitten off more than I can chew. Well, I definitely did, but I'm hoping the Lord will just keep moving me in the right direction. In three days, I'll be running another marathon out of state. Nevermind I haven't properly trained. Nevermind my knees are feeling wonky after a two mile walk. I have to run 26.2 miles very soon. Mentally, I am elsewhere.

I spent the day-- no, literally all day-- filling out paperwork so that we could get our emergency visas to India to go pick up our daughter who is officially ours on paper! The process was tedious and time consuming and very involved. It was hard to focus with the children running around, tending to piano lessons, meal prep, and trying to do school in some way today. I have no idea if I did it properly, but I turned it in and now I wait.

It feels like that time I signed up to take the GRE on the very weekend that my other half deployed to Iraq. Spoiler alert: Not the best decision.

Tomorrow we'll have a call with our agency regarding travel and timelines and all of this would be so much easier if we miraculously got her birth certificate, passport, and our visas in the meantime. These are our last obstacles in being with our fifth child.

When I close my eyes to sleep at night, I picture holding her for the first time. Will she be scared? Indifferent? Will I feel like home to her eventually? 

I've never seen her smile. In all the videos and pictures we've been sent of her life, there have never been visibly happy ones. We have a lot of firsts ahead of us. Tomorrow is her birthday. She will be two years old. Obviously, I wanted to be with her before this day. I want to know her. I want to be the one who meets her needs. The only reason this is all possible is because of a whisper that I heard from God back in college that got stronger and stronger until the message was loud and clear and I could hear nothing else. It has been two years since that day. It's almost as if on the day of her birth that God was letting me know she was out there and I better get started trying to find her. That's what this girl means to me. She is a good and perfect gift that James 1:17 references. I know we're embarking on hard, messy times but we're walking with the God of the Universe and there's nowhere else I'd want to be.

My race. Our adoption. Let's go finish what was started!

"...Let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus..." (Hebrews 12:1-2)

Honor to Wait: Adoption Tales

I'm reviewing the files in my head and coming up with very little that's working. How to stay sane in 2021? I don't know. From the devastation in Afghanistan, Cuba, Haiti, and our own backyard to the fights over the vaccine to the lack of word from India about our daughter, this week feels heavy. For me, upping my water intake, lessening caffeine, working out, turning off social media, and writing always seem to help.

And so here I am.

I wanted to give you a peak into the adoption process as I see it now. I have no update. Weeks go by without a word from India or my agency. I reach out for bread crumbs and there are none. How many times should I check the court app? Maybe if I refresh my email one more time, I'll see her face or read good news. I was warned that hardships were coming when we started this process, but I knew it was where God was leading. Right now, it feels like it will never end or never begin, I should say. I see people bringing their Indian babies home and while I'm happy to see another orphan find a loving family, it feels so foreign to me- like how did you do that? It's impossible. You can jump through the hoop, you can hop on one leg while juggling, you can get three hundred papers notarized, certified, and apostilled and it's still not enough. You can raise up four awesome kids and still have to prove that you can parent. You have to get one person, a stranger, to determine whether you can care for a child better than a group home housing many, many of God's little image bearers. And that one person can take as much time as they want. I get it, but it's maddening.

I want to help her learn to walk, to communicate, to take her to appointments to check on her heart, to have her know what it's like to be loved-

Children belong in loving families. That's the answer to much of our problems around the world today yet it is so hard to do financially, spiritually, emotionally, and physically.

This past weekend, we finally told many of J's coworkers about our plans to adopt Ari Jo. I could talk about her forever. The words just spill out and my excitement over another precious child is evident. I can't shut up. It has cost me "friends" but maybe that's what is meant to happen. Perhaps we're called to sing the praises of this little girl we don't even know, to notice her, to love her because He first loved us.

It is so hard in every way, but it's our honor to wait.

Ode to the small town-

Happy 4th of July, friends. I'm writing tonight with many thoughts floating through my head. I knew I'd feel a certain longing when the this date rolled around. It happens that way with most holidays. Most of my adult life, I've lived away from those I love. And as I approached this day, I tried to place a bandage on the wound, like perhaps it wouldn't hurt as bad because I'm surrounded with 14ers and beautiful views. Just this morning, I ran a 5k through the mountains of Colorado. Anyone would be lucky to live the life I have. Still, my roots are strong and when we moved back to Tennessee, I hoped it would be forever. I love adventure, but I love deep connection, too. 

It doesn't make sense to some and that's okay. Who would know that my great grandfather sat on the same porch for years and viewed the fourth of July parade in the exact same pants every year? Who would know that after traveling around with my Army brats that one day we would return and gather candy thrown out by a hometown police force or fire squad? I certainly couldn't have guessed that my deaf child would hear fireworks for the first time in the place that I call home. Every year at this very time, I snap a photo with my best friend. It's made extra special that the last three of my children have maternity/one year photos with her. It's even more so when you see the progression of battle photos- last year fighting cancer. This year, beating it. 

I feel disconnected and a part of something great all at the same time. Here's to the small towns, the families that make them, and the people who have made them possible by defending our nation's wars and ideals. Onward and upward! To a more perfect union-

Home Sweet Home

I've had writer's block for a couple of years, I think. I've countless posts started and unfinished sitting in my drafts. Ten years ago, the Internet was a different place. People didn't see every single meal or workout or happening in real time. There were still some folks who would enjoy sitting down and reading a post with several paragraphs about nothing at all. Now, we're all so busy we think, "Just give me the bottom line." So, it's likely that no one will read this, but I still want to write because my happiest times seem to be when I have catharsis working in my favor.

Happy Sunday, y'all. I'm looking out my large picture window from my chair on the opposite side of the room and I have already seen deer, squirrels, and an array of Fall colors revealing themselves. I have a single cup of coffee, all that could be scrounged up here at the house. My phone sits beside me where a book should be. I think we would all be a lot happier without that constant notification and distraction. There's a chill in the air because I refuse to use heat in October. Our house is sitting around 62 degrees and I wouldn't want it any other way. The room I'm in is clean and nothing makes me feel more cozy than a tidy space with a hot beverage and words to consume or pour out. Home is a good place to be.

Had you asked me this some months ago during the time when we were told to stay home, my reaction might have been different. It has been a brutal year for so many. Some of those people don't have a safe place to call home and that's not lost on me. It's something I've had on my brain in some form or fashion all year long- whether it was the adoption or the pandemic or creating a loving home for my own family. Also, what is home? Can I truly build a home anywhere and stoke the fires of education, spirituality, and connectivity wherever we go? We've been home in Tennessee for seven years now- in this house for five years. It is the longest we have been in any home or any other state during our marriage. It has been good to us. We've had family down the road. His and mine. We've had a real sense of community as our kids have grown, faced a diagnosis, battled infections and illnesses, and figured out what life was like outside of the army community. We've made friends here and lost friends, too. It's almost been a refining process this year. When life is really really good you recognize it because at one point it was very very hard. 

I guess that's all I mean to say today. If you're in the midst of a storm right now, please keep pushing. Joy comes in the morning. If you just got out of a storm, celebrate. Let's not be so busy in this life that we forget to intentionally prioritize and savor a slow morning at home curled up in a blanket with our people around us. Life is too short to ignore your blessings and not shout them out when you see them and today I'm thankful for this day that the Lord has made.

NYC Marathon Recap 2019

I am home from New York City and while I should definitely be folding and putting away laundry, instead I'm thinking about my latest journey through The Big Apple. The best way to see the city? The NYC Marathon, of course!

I have a lot of thoughts, possibly some excuses to share with you regarding race day. I'm super proud that I got to do this, but as with every other time I've run a marathon, I feel a little regretful of my performance at times, too. I've talked a lot about marathon running as a formula that I haven't been able to figure out yet and that still rings true for me. Admittedly, I didn't feel prepared for this distance leading up to the big day. It's very hard to fit in all the training when life happens. I haven't been able to find the balance of homeschooling my kids, being a good wife/mother/friend/whatever, sickness/injury, travel, other interests, and trying to train hard for a time I'm really proud of. I run because it helps to manage my anxiety. It's difficult to decide how much emphasis I should give to this sport in light of all of that. In the very same breath, I wasn't ready this year and there's no one to blame but myself. Still, I wouldn't trade this experience for anything. I got to run a major world marathon again and that is not lost on me.
I couldn't wait to start, but I had a late start time. There was plenty of time for my nerves to build up and bubble over especially as I watched my step-dad and my husband's start times come and go.

Running by myself was the way to go, though. Part of the difficulty of this marathon is the enormous crowd. I spent so much energy attempting to weave in and out of people to keep a good pace. I'd fall in with someone a lot slower than me and not realize for awhile that I had slowed down. I'd get through the crowd for a bit and then encounter the same problem. The first mile, as usual, was the most crowded one. Runners are trying to set a good pace, others are climbing up on bridges to take in the scenery and capture a picture, and I was just trying to get my mind right. After that first mile, I settled in to a 9:15 pace. I knew I wouldn't keep that, but I wanted to be right there since that is a comfortable pace for me and I didn't want to start off too fast like I did in Napa Valley earlier this year. That plan served me well until about the half way mark. I began to get slower at mile 13 and my legs just would not go. I can't explain it. I didn't feel tired, out of breath, or have any major injuries or pain I was trying to manage. I just couldn't propel my legs. I think the lactic acid build up was a big issue for me in this race. I hardly walked at all, but my times began a downward spiral slipping into 10,11, and even a 12 minute mile. I ran to mile 16 where I thought I'd find my sister and I did. She kept me running to her because I couldn't wait to see a familiar face. I thought once or twice that I would just stop and walk back with her when I got to her. Good thing for that barrier between us when I finally did see her! I was moving, but it wasn't nearly as fast as I wanted to. I felt my mind start to drift..."This is dumb. Why do I do this to myself? No one cares if you just walk the rest of it out." So I did what any Loudon Lacer would do and I sent a Marco Polo to my running pals around mile 18. One of my friends in the group had a stroke a few months ago and it has been a long road for her to have to walk down. I had been thinking of her the whole time. I was imagining myself running for her and for others I don't even know who would love to be able to run right now and those who do run and would love an opportunity to run in this marathon. Who was I to quit?

As soon as I sent my video to my running friends, they responded with so much support. It kept me going. I imagined all of you (who were texting me telling me that I was doing great or to finish strong) were on the streets of NY that day and I couldn't stop. I felt the love all those miles away. At mile 20, you all told me I just had a 10 k left. At mile 23, you told me I just had a 5k. At mile 25, you told me I could do anything for one mile and somehow I busted out one of the fastest miles for the whole race. The finish line felt so good. Thank you all so much for cheering me on. My friends who run with me, my homeschooling group of mamas, those of you who watch my kids so I can do this thing I love, those of you who reach out in support and encouragement--you share in this race with me. It's always an incredible reminder that I'm not alone and I have good people who care deeply.
The biggest takeaway for me was this epiphany I had as ESPN cameras swarmed my face on Sunday. This was my second televised sporting event where I was competing with tens of thousands of the world's best runners. The start of the race was captured on the front of the Wall Street Journal. This marathon is a big deal and a big blessing to me. God has given me so much. I was happy to complete this race another time. I don't even mind too much that it was a minute slower than last time. Lord willing, I'll keep persevering.

It Didn't Even Hurt

I carried his growing body, his lanky limbs dangling loosely around my legs nearly over taking me. He is a lot bigger than last time I made this trek. I positioned his head on my shoulder as I walked him into the doors of our home, careful not to disturb the incision that was made on his head only hours before. His eyes fluttered opened, he picked up his head, and he pointed saying, "Take me to my brothers first."

"It didn't even hurt", he told them and then he went to his room and fell back asleep.

We are home from a nightmarish whirlwind of doctor appointments, diagnosis, CT scans, and a surgery that we didn't foresee having to deal with this year. It has been nearly four years since we have faced this infection. Four years for it to grow inside his curly little head. As you can imagine, it was rampant and his body had made interesting adjustments to compensate, growing bone and pushing the wires from the mostly explanted cochlear implant into the mastoid bone. It was a mess and left no hope to ever implant again, not that we wanted to anyway. The aim of surgery was to extract all foreign bodies and clean out the infection. We were told it was successful, but we've been told that before. I don't want to seem gloomy. We're incredibly hopeful. Many have been praying and that's truly all we needed. Still, through this I was able to see all the good in people, too. People taking off work to help, my sister-in-law watching the other kids while we stayed at the hospital, hundreds reaching out to pray with us, and old friends coming to Nashville with a gift goody bag full of a newly sewn shark pillow case, handwritten notes of encouragement, and cookies. People praying for my son in the midst of their own tragedies. My kindness list is very full. Thank you.

I've been so proud of my little people. Kinley hugged Abel and prayed over him before we left.

Abel never cried as he bravely asked the doctors exactly what they planned on doing and how long he would be asleep. They wheeled him away as he was putting the finishing touches on a drawing he was working on, leaving me with a wetness in my eyes I hoped wouldn't spill over again.

Before he left, I focused on Matthew 8:17-

"He took up our infirmities and bore our diseases."

I believe God did that and He will do that in Abel's life again. God bless this testimony snuggled up in his bunk bed back home with his siblings.