Of Marathons and NaNoWriMo

He'd posted an enthusiastic status on Facebook about running the St. George Marathon. We knew he'd trained hard. His goal: cross the finish line in 2 1/2 hours or less.

Our oldest son, Joe, is great at meeting goals. I learned that years before he attempted his first marathon on this course in 2008. When he first joined the high school track team, he seemed to have average ability. But he worked hard, won the region championship in cross country his senior year, and continues to progress.

Fast forward six years.

October 1, 2011 dawned with perfect marathon conditions: mild temperatures and a wide arc of calm blue sky. We arrived at Vernon Worthen Park by 8:30 a.m., a good half-hour before we expected to see Joe pouring his heart and soul into the home stretch. I felt a little concerned about his lack of rest (he'd arrived home late the night before after a stressful 9-hour drive), but he'd pushed through fatigue before.

We cheered wildly for the winner as he sprinted by. Then I started counting the next few runners, keeping an eye on their respective times. At 2:27, we leaned forward, peering down the street, trying to distinguish an athlete wearing bright red racing shoes. The tenth competitor finished to more wild applause.

Still no sign of Joe.

As the clock sped past 2:38, we wondered if Joe had experienced some kind of setback. That was his record time at the Top of Utah Marathon last year.

The runners passed the bleachers in irregular clusters, some stronger than others. I watched for Joe among the top twenty, then the top twenty-five. Huge speakers blared "We are the Champions" and we were swept into another wave of cheers.

His red shoes pounding the pavement, Joe was struggling but he maintained a steady pace. His face wore an expression of pure determination as he finished in 2 hours 43 minutes. He placed twenty-ninth overall and second in his division: quite respectable, since the race now attracts over 7,000 runners.

Camara-ready, we hurried to find Joe. He was in no mood for photos. "That wasn't a good race," he groaned as he leaned on the fence that separated marathoners from non-masochists. He mumbled something about nausea and losing the ability to breathe adequately at mile 18. Then he limped off to commiserate with a friend and fellow runner who'd had to drop out altogether.

Years ago, Joe would have brooded about his performance. I'm sure he felt more disappointment than he expressed as we talked it over that weekend. Still, he's grateful for the ability to run and he'll soon be hitting the trails and/or pavement. I know he'll try again.

I thought about Joe as I read a recent blog post about National Novel Writing Month, or NaNoWriMo. During November, writers can participate in the grand-daddy of cerebral marathons, trying to crank out an entire novel (50,000-word minimum) in one month. Participants can find writing buddies online, in libraries or bookstores. It's a global phenomenon for anyone possessed with writing ambition.

I'm not up to a marathon at the keyboard or otherwise. Yes, the hype is heady ("Accept the challenge! You CAN do this!!"). I'd love to find some "pacers" to cheer me on. People succeed in NaNoWriMo every November, although I sometimes wonder if they resemble Scrooge or someone who gleefully posts Facebook stati about finishing Christmas shopping in September.

Who decided that November is National Novel Writing Month anyway? January, the month of optimism and lofty resolutions, would suit me just fine. Of course, sitting at a computer with a stack of Oreos to stave off writer's block is not conducive to losing post-holiday poundage. The health-and-fitness folks might protest. They've got way too much at stake.

So things aren't likely to change and this isn't the time to pump myself up for a writing marathon. Between my daughter's missionary call, new church responsibilities, continued family needs and a forced remodeling of our home (who knew that a broken water pipe could wreak such havok?) I'll be satisfied with meeting attainable writing goals, one step at a time.

I've been writing long enough to experience rejection and frustration. But people like Joe continually inspire me to press on.

So bah, humbug to early Christmas shopping. I've got a short story to polish and submit for publication.

It's kind of like running a 5k. I can do this.

Letting Go: Hiking the Observation Point Trail

For several weeks I pushed aside the fact that our daughter would be leaving. Her decision was no surprise; in her methodical way, our daughter spent much of this past year contemplating the option of serving a full-time mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. For eighteen months, she will live in another part of the country and devote her life to serving others, regardless of their beliefs. She will also teach
a Christ-centered message to any who choose to listen.

In late September, we dismissed the busyness of family life, work, and our daughter's mission preparations. She wanted to say good-bye to the majestic red-rock landscape that means home. We drove once more to Zion Canyon.

As we started up the trail towards Observation Point, my husband commented on how he felt the tension melt away. I too felt freed from daily concerns as I paused to show a cascade of maidenhair ferns and wildflowers to our daughter and youngest son. In this oasis from scorching summer heat, the hanging gardens near Weeping Rock had once again survived.

Watching my daughter pause to take photos or contemplate the scenery, I felt impressed by her courage mingled with acceptance of her vulnerability in the face of unknown challenges. Living in the southeast, she'll encounter coastal beaches instead of cacti and the tallest objects in the landscape will consist of skyscrapers and a freeway overpass. I smile, remembering how our oldest son described Houston and Louisiana while serving his mission.

After her return, our daughter hopes to visit Europe--especially Germany-- a place abounding in mountainside castles and a cradle of classical music. But she knows that this mission isn't about collecting souveneirs, visiting landmarks or making lists of tourist attractions. She is going forth to serve.

Knowing that we wouldn't have time to reach Observation Point, we lingered at several places, enjoying the scent of pinon pines, dramatic patterns cast by evening shadows and the fascinating shapes and textures of Echo Canyon.

It was nearly dark when we returned to the trailhead. Under the canopy of cottonwoods that were just beginning to turn gold, we sat in silence waiting for the next shuttle to arrive. It came, but our daughter asked if we could stay for just a few more minutes. It felt good to wait while the first stars pierced the narrow slice of cobalt sky far overhead.

Another shuttle arrived, heading down-canyon. We heard the folding doors creak open. Our daughter stood and said, "O.K."

We've said good-bye to another missionary, our oldest son. We've felt the same aching joy.

We can do it again.


Copyright 2011 by Nani Lii S. Furse