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a pep talk for the night before a second marathon

12/5/2015

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these are the words i will need to hear at mile fourteen... and when it's raining... and when it's mile twenty-five.

brain: you are the captain of this bodily vessel. do not confuse mile two with mile twenty-two, and do not be afraid to play "let it go" four times when your heart wants to give out. remember that chasing children around the school was part of your training, so that you would find joy.

legs: you are the power. remind the rest of me that this is when you are happiest, and let that exhiliration melt into the rest of me.

right hip: you cannot give out. you are resilient and you are gritty. you will carry me when my left knee starts to give way. may you remember that your arthritis does not define you.

left knee: you will be the time keeper. may you remember your strength and may you relax. you do not need to compensate for my right hip. 

arms and hands: you're in this too. remind the rest of me to dance and play, and do not be afraid to turn on carrie newcomer when my brain starts to fail. 

heart: do not falter. you must buoy my brain when i want to give up at mile two. cling to the challenge of running along highway one and find courage when the hills in sacramento try to mimic the real cliffs of our ocean. you will want to break open at mile fifteen. remember that all will be well, even when eleven more miles feels like seventy seven more.

feet: oh dear feet. you will catch me. I have no fear. 

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    feet are weird.


    I’m thinking about my own feet, and the stories they tell about me. I was totally that girl in college who went everywhere barefoot—including the cafeteria—so that my feet kind of always had a dirty tinge to them. I pulled all the muscles in the bottom of my feet once-it’s a long story—and spent three months on crutches and in Birkenstocks—in the SNOW—while the tendons healed enough to walk on them. I’ve had surgery on both of my big toes, and I’ve lost two of my toenails from running and I have a weird extra bone on the bottom of one of my toes. Feet are weird but they carry stories about where you’ve been and what you’ve done with your life and who you are.

    Think about your own feet.

    Your feet are probably weird, just like mine, but they’re yours and they tell your story.

    originally preached at first presbyterian church palo alto, march 17, 2013.





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