I did it. I completed the Chicago Marathon. I should have done more than just complete it; I should have won. The whole event was rigged against me. The marathon planners, the Kenyans, the city of Chicago and even my wife's crazy friend conspired against me to ensure I did not win. Here's what happened.
After waking up and eating a light breakfast, my wife's crazy friend convinced us to walk the one and a half miles to the race's starting point. I was dubious about this plan, but decided to go along, after all she is a seasoned runner and I am not. Looking back this was obviously a ploy to get me to walk farther than I had to. She was plotting to tire me out. I think I also saw her signal some volunteers that I was the target.
We arrived at the starting point of the race and found our starting corrals. I stretched and bounced around as I waited for the race to start. Over the loud speaker they announced the race was starting. I got set to run, but no one around me moved. I looked around puzzled. "Why aren't we going?" I asked. Everyone looked at me like I was crazy.
"The faster runners start first," they said.
Seriously? They give the faster runners a head start? If I tried that with my kids (12 and 5) it would end in tears. Who does that? I began to be suspicious.
An hour went by. An hour! C'mon how is that fair? Finally the line started to move, but it's a half an hour more before I actually get to start the race. I'm miffed at the unfairness of this, but I figure if I dig in hard I can catch the front runner, right? Wrong. The conspiracy had only begun.
I started the race in proper running form. Head held high, eyes focused on the horizon ahead. I was cruising. I was going to catch them. Then I tripped. I looked down. My feet were tangled in someone's discarded sweat pants. I looked around. The entire street was covered with discarded clothes. Pants, sweatshirts, gloves, and socks (socks?). Those cheaters ahead of us had left athletic wear booby traps to hinder us from catching up to them. Can you believe the audacity? Not content with getting more than an hour head start, they had to resort to trying to injure us. I was mad. I dug in even harder. I was determined to close the distance between us.
I ran steadily on. I ran and ran and ran. And ran. I felt good. I was going to catch them. I would do it! Then it happened. The thing every one had warned me about. I hit that proverbial wall. Wow! They weren't kidding, it was awful. My feet suddenly felt as heavy as concrete; my lungs wondered what had happened to the air; my back felt like an elephant had landed on it . Through bleary eyes I looked for the mile marker that would tell me how far I had come. I had made it to mile number three.
Luckily there were people handing out water and I was able to choke down an energy chew. Renewed I increased my speed only to slip and slide on the carpet of discarded cups the front runners had left behind. Were they trying to kill us? I carefully dodged the cups, but unfortunately stepped on a manhole cover that decided at that moment to release the smell that is Chicago.
Go make your self a nice hot bath. Get it really steamy. Now, have every one you know take turns peeing into it. Add some rotten sauerkraut, a wet dog, and the sweat soaked jerseys of your local junior high football team. This is close to the smell that ambushed me.
I staggered and nearly fell. But I steeled myself, eyes watering, I pressed on. I tripped on potholes, more discarded clothes, cleverly placed cups, and the rakes of the co-conspiring "volunteers". They were determined to stop me from running, but after awhile I became adept at spotting their traps coming and avoided them. Ha! I'd beaten them. Or so I thought.
Suddenly I heard someone behind me. I glanced back. There was no one there. Then BAM! Someone hit my knee with a baseball bat. I swung around looking for the culprit. There was no one there. BAM! I got hit again. I screamed. I heard the invisible person chuckle. "The Kenyans send their regards," he whispered, "You'll never catch them now."
He was right. I could barely move now. My knees were barely bending. I could barely walk, let alone run. I had no chance of winning now. Three thousand people streamed by me as I slowly hobbled forward. I was beaten, but "they" weren't done with me yet.
As soon as I mustered up the strength to run again, the invisible bat wielders were back to whack my knees. They paid superhuman septuagenarians to mock me as they ran quickly by. Somewhere around mile marker fifteen they somehow slipped razor blades into the bottoms of my shoes. I looked back. They had sent a car to run me off the road. They made a terrible mistake. No car was going to run me off the road! I plowed on determined to survive this nightmare I had willingly run into.
The miles flew by like a comatose sloth. I kept going. Mile seventeen, mile eighteen, mile seventeen. What? I had misread the mile marker sign, or imagined it. It's okay, just keep going I told myself. In the distance something strange covered the road.
As I crept closer it became clear what it was -- banana peals! It looked like they had set deranged monkeys free with a year's supply of bananas. Tears came to my eyes. It was so unfair. The Kenyans had already crossed the finish line, why were they being so cruel?
A spectator waved a sign at me. It read, "Hurry up, the Kenyans are drinking all of the beer!" Yes, that was it! They didn't care about winning the race, the fame, or the prize money. All they wanted was the beer. I set my jaw and lurched forward. No one was going to drink my beer!
Mile seventeen and eighteen for real this time, then nineteen and twenty. I was going to make it. My knees no longer worked; I moved forward with out them. My feet were on fire; I promised to put them out with beer.
Mile twenty-one, twenty-two. The volunteers started packing things up. The marathoners who had already finished the race ran back to laugh at the rest of us. Mile twenty-three, twenty-four.
Then twenty-five and finally at long last mile twenty six. Only the point two left to go. I turned the corner and almost burst out weeping. Those evil, evil, [insert swear word here]! They ended the race with an uphill climb. Where did they find a hill in Illinois? They must of had it shipped in from San Francisco. I crawled up the hill. I made it to the top.
I stumbled forward and crossed the finish line. I did it! I grabbed my beer and gulped it down. I collapsed weeping uncontrollably -- it was wheat beer.
Wednesday, October 16, 2013
Thursday, October 3, 2013
Training Week -- What? The Marathon's Next Week? Crap! or Be Careful What You Visualize
I have read about visualization. The idea is that you picture yourself doing something and voil a you are doing it. Apparently some athletes use it to picture themselves hitting the ball, or making a basket, or whatever their sport requires them to do. Apparently some people use it to accomplish other things like giving up smoking or doing well on a test.
Visualizing has never worked for me. When I was in high school I tried doing it during our basketball games, but the coach still put me in the game. There was a year that I used it every time I opened my mailbox, but $100 dollar bills never poured out of it. (Neither, for that matter, did Snoopy). And it certainly never worked to get Brussels sprouts to taste like cheese cake.
Then suddenly, to my horror it did work.
Way back when I was still sane, before I signed up for the Chicago Marathon; before my wife's crazy friend bewitched us into agreeing to run; back when two miles seemed like a long way to run, I made a big mistake: I visualized myself running a marathon.
Honestly I don't know why I did it. I was probably a little crazy from running or maybe my wife had already been using her sneaky subliminal psychology techniques to trick me into visualizing this. Whatever the reason, I wasn't worried. Visualization had never worked before, why would it now? I was safe, right? Right? NO! I was not safe. I visualized it and now here I am getting ready to run
t w e n t y - s i x m i l e s.
In a crowd. Along streets lined with port-a-potties. Gah!
Don't visualize things! You've been warned.
Okay, so we've reached that awkward part of the blog where I blackmail you. See, it occurred to me that if visualizing myself running a marathon worked, then visualizing other people running one would work too.
So, here's how this is going to go: donate $50 or more here or I will visualize you running a marathon.* Don't think I won't. I'll do it. You'll find yourself inexplicably running on paths distances you would have only ever driven. Your body will spew forth sweat like a sprinkler, your legs will ache, you'll buy nipple guards! Your life will be overwhelmed with running and you will rue the day you did not donate (Here! Now!) **
*Unless, of course, you want to run a marathon, then I'll visualize you not running a marathon.
** It just occurred to me that maybe the reason I visualized myself running a marathon was because one of you didn't donate and I visualized you into running a marathon so you built a time machine, came back, and somehow tricked me into visualizing myself running a marathon.
Visualizing has never worked for me. When I was in high school I tried doing it during our basketball games, but the coach still put me in the game. There was a year that I used it every time I opened my mailbox, but $100 dollar bills never poured out of it. (Neither, for that matter, did Snoopy). And it certainly never worked to get Brussels sprouts to taste like cheese cake.
Then suddenly, to my horror it did work.
Way back when I was still sane, before I signed up for the Chicago Marathon; before my wife's crazy friend bewitched us into agreeing to run; back when two miles seemed like a long way to run, I made a big mistake: I visualized myself running a marathon.
Honestly I don't know why I did it. I was probably a little crazy from running or maybe my wife had already been using her sneaky subliminal psychology techniques to trick me into visualizing this. Whatever the reason, I wasn't worried. Visualization had never worked before, why would it now? I was safe, right? Right? NO! I was not safe. I visualized it and now here I am getting ready to run
t w e n t y - s i x m i l e s.
In a crowd. Along streets lined with port-a-potties. Gah!
Don't visualize things! You've been warned.
Okay, so we've reached that awkward part of the blog where I blackmail you. See, it occurred to me that if visualizing myself running a marathon worked, then visualizing other people running one would work too.
So, here's how this is going to go: donate $50 or more here or I will visualize you running a marathon.* Don't think I won't. I'll do it. You'll find yourself inexplicably running on paths distances you would have only ever driven. Your body will spew forth sweat like a sprinkler, your legs will ache, you'll buy nipple guards! Your life will be overwhelmed with running and you will rue the day you did not donate (Here! Now!) **
*Unless, of course, you want to run a marathon, then I'll visualize you not running a marathon.
** It just occurred to me that maybe the reason I visualized myself running a marathon was because one of you didn't donate and I visualized you into running a marathon so you built a time machine, came back, and somehow tricked me into visualizing myself running a marathon.
Tuesday, July 23, 2013
Training Week (Insert Number Here) or How to Know if Someone Is Trying to Kill You
If you have been reading my blog you know that I haven't been able to run for a while, but now I'm back to running on dry land. Illinois, like the rest of the country is experiencing SUMMER. Since I do not want to die on a run, I've been running when the weather allows it. But even if the day is a cool 80˚ it's still hot. One day as I was slogging through a three mile run in this heat, I had an epiphany-- my junior high P.E. teacher was trying to kill me.
I never liked my junior high P.E. teacher. He was one of those former jocks that despise anyone who isn't going to be the next pro basketball/football/baseball star. Since all my athletic talent was maliciously stolen by my younger brothers, I was often the focus for his disdain. He put us through the normal shaming rituals that are common in P.E. classes throughout the land: comparing our abilities to girls, making sure there were plenty of teams to be picked last for, laughing hysterically as we tried to do chin-ups, etc. He once forced us to do one hundred one armed push-ups (okay, it was only ten normal push-ups; but seriously, at that age what's the difference?) His malignity would have been terrible anywhere, but it was worse where I lived.
I spent my junior high years in the it's-so-hot-nothing-will-grow-so-we-paint-the-pebbles-in-our-yards-green city of Tucson. Tucson is hot. No one owns an oven there because they can cook all their food by just sticking it outside for a few minutes. I lived there for three years and sweated the entire time. The whole city would have burst into flame years ago if it weren't for the miracle of diverting water from another state's river. This practice allowed for brief areas of almost greenness.
One of these areas was a park across the street from my school. It had grass. The only way to keep it alive was by the perpetual use of sprinklers. If I recall correctly there were even a few trees. Our P.E. teacher would have us start running in this verdant place.
"This isn't too bad," we'd say to each other, "We can run through the sprinklers!" "Maybe Mr. S__ isn't so bad after all." For a moment we were happy and carefree. Fools.
The path the teacher plotted for us quickly left this little oasis and we found ourselves slapped back into the reality of where we were and what we were doing. We were in the desert. We were running.
"Holy Crap! We're running in the desert!"
Yes, the desert. For those of you who have never been to Arizona, let me explain. First, you have to understand that the desert has no shade. None. There are no trees, no skyscrapers to block the sun. There are no clouds. (For some unfathomable reason Arizona banned clouds from entering the state in the late 1880s.) The sun takes full advantage of this. Every day it works hard to catch as many things on fire as it can. I once saw a child's ice cream cone catch on fire. Our teacher made us run in this heat.
Just for fun set yourself on fire. Now try running. Yeah, it was like that.
Then there are the cacti. When movies and television shows depict the southwestern desert they mainly show the Saguaro cactus. These are benign cacti. They smile pleasantly at passersby. One in my neighborhood handed out lemonade to thirsty kids. But these are not the only type of cactus. There are others like the Cholla cactus. This devious pin cushion spends the nights carefully spreading caltrops over every centimeter of the ground. It cackles as it hides them under thin layers of soil. When morning comes it cleverly positions itself in the glare of the sun. Then when some poor sun-blinded fool comes near it it throws a few more caltrops at them just for good measure. No material known to man can stop these spiny missiles. The spines of these deadly little balls happily slide right through sneakers and skin. Our teacher made us run through fields full of Cholla.
Just for fun go get some sewing needles and stick them in your foot. Now try running. Yeah, it was like that.
Then there are the animals: rattle snakes, scorpions, and tarantulas. If you have ever watched the Crocodile Hunter you have heard how these animals won't attack unless they are provoked; how they want to be left alone, etc. Steve Irwin is a filthy, filthy liar. As soon as you stop to wrench the Cholla caltrop from your foot, the scorpions and spiders attack in perfect military formation to the beat of the snakes' rattling. Our teacher met with the rattle snakes every morning to let them know exactly where and when we would be running.
Just for fun inject your leg with scorpion venom. Now try running. Yeah, it was like that.
Any sane adult would have stopped and said, "This is ridiculous. I'm not running through this. In fact, I'm calling the police, this guy is obviously trying to kill me."
But we were junior high students. So, when an adult told us to run through the desert we ran. Eyes burning and stinging with sweat; we ran. Limping and delirious; we ran. Our heads burst into flame; we ran. Snakes attached to our legs like leaches; we ran. The demons in our near death experiences collapsed from heat stroke; we ran. We ran and ran and ran. We saw the bleached bones of other runners who had succumbed to the desert; we envied them and ran. It was torturous, it was agony, it was an attempt to murder us, but hey, at least it wasn't math class.
I never liked my junior high P.E. teacher. He was one of those former jocks that despise anyone who isn't going to be the next pro basketball/football/baseball star. Since all my athletic talent was maliciously stolen by my younger brothers, I was often the focus for his disdain. He put us through the normal shaming rituals that are common in P.E. classes throughout the land: comparing our abilities to girls, making sure there were plenty of teams to be picked last for, laughing hysterically as we tried to do chin-ups, etc. He once forced us to do one hundred one armed push-ups (okay, it was only ten normal push-ups; but seriously, at that age what's the difference?) His malignity would have been terrible anywhere, but it was worse where I lived.
I spent my junior high years in the it's-so-hot-nothing-will-grow-so-we-paint-the-pebbles-in-our-yards-green city of Tucson. Tucson is hot. No one owns an oven there because they can cook all their food by just sticking it outside for a few minutes. I lived there for three years and sweated the entire time. The whole city would have burst into flame years ago if it weren't for the miracle of diverting water from another state's river. This practice allowed for brief areas of almost greenness.
One of these areas was a park across the street from my school. It had grass. The only way to keep it alive was by the perpetual use of sprinklers. If I recall correctly there were even a few trees. Our P.E. teacher would have us start running in this verdant place.
"This isn't too bad," we'd say to each other, "We can run through the sprinklers!" "Maybe Mr. S__ isn't so bad after all." For a moment we were happy and carefree. Fools.
The path the teacher plotted for us quickly left this little oasis and we found ourselves slapped back into the reality of where we were and what we were doing. We were in the desert. We were running.
"Holy Crap! We're running in the desert!"
Yes, the desert. For those of you who have never been to Arizona, let me explain. First, you have to understand that the desert has no shade. None. There are no trees, no skyscrapers to block the sun. There are no clouds. (For some unfathomable reason Arizona banned clouds from entering the state in the late 1880s.) The sun takes full advantage of this. Every day it works hard to catch as many things on fire as it can. I once saw a child's ice cream cone catch on fire. Our teacher made us run in this heat.
Just for fun set yourself on fire. Now try running. Yeah, it was like that.
Then there are the cacti. When movies and television shows depict the southwestern desert they mainly show the Saguaro cactus. These are benign cacti. They smile pleasantly at passersby. One in my neighborhood handed out lemonade to thirsty kids. But these are not the only type of cactus. There are others like the Cholla cactus. This devious pin cushion spends the nights carefully spreading caltrops over every centimeter of the ground. It cackles as it hides them under thin layers of soil. When morning comes it cleverly positions itself in the glare of the sun. Then when some poor sun-blinded fool comes near it it throws a few more caltrops at them just for good measure. No material known to man can stop these spiny missiles. The spines of these deadly little balls happily slide right through sneakers and skin. Our teacher made us run through fields full of Cholla.
Just for fun go get some sewing needles and stick them in your foot. Now try running. Yeah, it was like that.
Then there are the animals: rattle snakes, scorpions, and tarantulas. If you have ever watched the Crocodile Hunter you have heard how these animals won't attack unless they are provoked; how they want to be left alone, etc. Steve Irwin is a filthy, filthy liar. As soon as you stop to wrench the Cholla caltrop from your foot, the scorpions and spiders attack in perfect military formation to the beat of the snakes' rattling. Our teacher met with the rattle snakes every morning to let them know exactly where and when we would be running.
Just for fun inject your leg with scorpion venom. Now try running. Yeah, it was like that.
Any sane adult would have stopped and said, "This is ridiculous. I'm not running through this. In fact, I'm calling the police, this guy is obviously trying to kill me."
But we were junior high students. So, when an adult told us to run through the desert we ran. Eyes burning and stinging with sweat; we ran. Limping and delirious; we ran. Our heads burst into flame; we ran. Snakes attached to our legs like leaches; we ran. The demons in our near death experiences collapsed from heat stroke; we ran. We ran and ran and ran. We saw the bleached bones of other runners who had succumbed to the desert; we envied them and ran. It was torturous, it was agony, it was an attempt to murder us, but hey, at least it wasn't math class.
Thursday, June 13, 2013
Traini ... er, actually, I've lost track. So, let's try this: 17 Weeks Left or Running IN Water
When I last wrote all those weeks ago my doctor had pared away bits of my foot and forbade me to run. She still has not given the okay to run and I'm pretty sure she placed a surveillance device in my foot to make sure I don't. If you thought I was panicked before, imagine me upon hearing this news.
What am I going to do? I can't run. I'm not even supposed to walk long distances. Meanwhile my wife is gloating on Facebook about how far she's run; rubbing it in every chance she gets, "Honey, I'm going to run ten miles tomorrow morning," and "I've been running so much I have to buy a new pair of running shoes."
My running shoes in the meantime have started complaining about the dust gathering on them and trying to get me to at least take them up to my wife's closet full of shoes where they at least have the chance of a date.
I was about to ignore my doctor's warnings when I remembered that I used to swim. I swam a lot as a kid. One of my friend's mother was a life guard at a local pool. We would go there frequently and swim until the pool closed or we turned blue from the cold.
Swimming! Great idea. There is even a pool nearby that has times just for lap swimming. I was all set ... except, well, my arm.
My right arm is mad at me for some reason. If I move it too fast, or in a certain direction, or too slow, or in another direction, or not at all it screams at me and send sharp pains up and down itself. This makes it rather hard to use my arms to swim. But I decided it was my best shot at continuing to train for my potential reenactment of the very first marathon.
I got in the water, kicked my legs, tried to stroke with my arm and promptly blacked out from the pain and drowned.
This is a water jogging belt. It keeps the wearer upright so that they can run in the water. So, until my doctor gives me the okay to run on land, I'll be running in water.
And please, don't forget why I am doing this in the first place. Click the link above and donate money to a great cause.
What am I going to do? I can't run. I'm not even supposed to walk long distances. Meanwhile my wife is gloating on Facebook about how far she's run; rubbing it in every chance she gets, "Honey, I'm going to run ten miles tomorrow morning," and "I've been running so much I have to buy a new pair of running shoes."
My running shoes in the meantime have started complaining about the dust gathering on them and trying to get me to at least take them up to my wife's closet full of shoes where they at least have the chance of a date.
I was about to ignore my doctor's warnings when I remembered that I used to swim. I swam a lot as a kid. One of my friend's mother was a life guard at a local pool. We would go there frequently and swim until the pool closed or we turned blue from the cold.
Swimming! Great idea. There is even a pool nearby that has times just for lap swimming. I was all set ... except, well, my arm.
My right arm is mad at me for some reason. If I move it too fast, or in a certain direction, or too slow, or in another direction, or not at all it screams at me and send sharp pains up and down itself. This makes it rather hard to use my arms to swim. But I decided it was my best shot at continuing to train for my potential reenactment of the very first marathon.
I got in the water, kicked my legs, tried to stroke with my arm and promptly blacked out from the pain and drowned.
Okay, not really, but it hurt a lot. Not wanting to give up (not because I am resilient, but because I had already paid for a month and I am cheap) I turned over and commenced the backstroke. Or as I like to think of it, "the self-induced waterboarding stroke." No matter how hard I kicked my feet I did not seem to be getting anywhere and my arm did not care that I was now on my back. It glared at me, picked it's teeth with a knife, and dared me to try another stroke.
My brilliant swimming idea was not going as planned. Then I stumbled across this:
And please, don't forget why I am doing this in the first place. Click the link above and donate money to a great cause.
Sunday, April 28, 2013
Hiatus Week 1 or Stupid Foot
Some of you may remember that I used to go barefoot all the time. My feet were allowed to frolic freely through the lush green fields of life. They were unconstrained by shoe's evil choke hold. They were happy. They loved their freedom.
Enter the villain.
Driven crazy by years of Lucky Charms and Pixie Stix abuse my pancreas saw their happiness and hated them for it. It devised an evil plan to end their freedom. Slowly but surely it converted nerves to its cause; those it couldn't convince it killed. When my nefarious pancreas finally had enough nerves on its side it struck. It gave my feet neuropathy.
My feet never saw it coming. They rallied and tried to fight back, but their constant attempts to trip the pancreas out of the body just made my chin and nose really mad. In the end they were forced to concede defeat.
Totally unintentional pun. I swear. Mourning the loss of the tickle of soft grass on their soles or the cool squishiness of mud oozing through their toes, they lay limp and resolved to die.
Since I am allergic to having parts of my body amputated I resolved to do what I could to save their lives. Unfortunately that means I have been forced to keep them imprisoned in tiny cages of leather and rubber. They hate it. And because they no longer have to fortify themselves against concrete and rocks they have become weak, thin skinned, whiny babies. Which is why my right foot got a blister.
For a normal foot a blister is not that big of a deal. Put a Band-aid on it and move on. But for my foot it is the end of the world.
My foot: "Aghh! A Blister! Let's fall off his leg before he makes us run more. "
Me: "You'll be okay. I'll rub some anti friction stuff on you -- no worries."
My foot: "Ohhh-kay, I guess."
A day later
My foot: "Aagh! It's worse! You are trying to kill us! We need to stop running!"
Me: "Calm down. We can keep running."
My foot: "Take me to a doctor NOW!"
Me: "Okay, okay."
At the Podiatrist.
Doctor: "Are you trying to kill your foot?"
My foot: "Yes, he is! And ... and he keeps us locked up in his smelly shoes all the time -- arrest him! "
Doctor: "You need to stop running."
My foot: "See? We told you so … wait, what is she doing with that knife?"
The doctor carves away half of my foot.
Doctor: "There, that should heal better now."
My foot: Sniff sniff "You quack! Who gave you your degree? Hannibal Lecter?"
So, my doctor has told me to stop running until my foot is fully healed. Hopefully it will be soon. Regardless of the state of my foot you can still donate money so that people can have access to clean water.
Enter the villain.
Driven crazy by years of Lucky Charms and Pixie Stix abuse my pancreas saw their happiness and hated them for it. It devised an evil plan to end their freedom. Slowly but surely it converted nerves to its cause; those it couldn't convince it killed. When my nefarious pancreas finally had enough nerves on its side it struck. It gave my feet neuropathy.
My feet never saw it coming. They rallied and tried to fight back, but their constant attempts to trip the pancreas out of the body just made my chin and nose really mad. In the end they were forced to concede
Since I am allergic to having parts of my body amputated I resolved to do what I could to save their lives. Unfortunately that means I have been forced to keep them imprisoned in tiny cages of leather and rubber. They hate it. And because they no longer have to fortify themselves against concrete and rocks they have become weak, thin skinned, whiny babies. Which is why my right foot got a blister.
For a normal foot a blister is not that big of a deal. Put a Band-aid on it and move on. But for my foot it is the end of the world.
My foot: "Aghh! A Blister! Let's fall off his leg before he makes us run more. "
Me: "You'll be okay. I'll rub some anti friction stuff on you -- no worries."
My foot: "Ohhh-kay, I guess."
A day later
My foot: "Aagh! It's worse! You are trying to kill us! We need to stop running!"
Me: "Calm down. We can keep running."
My foot: "Take me to a doctor NOW!"
Me: "Okay, okay."
At the Podiatrist.
Doctor: "Are you trying to kill your foot?"
My foot: "Yes, he is! And ... and he keeps us locked up in his smelly shoes all the time -- arrest him! "
Doctor: "You need to stop running."
My foot: "See? We told you so … wait, what is she doing with that knife?"
The doctor carves away half of my foot.
Doctor: "There, that should heal better now."
My foot: Sniff sniff "You quack! Who gave you your degree? Hannibal Lecter?"
So, my doctor has told me to stop running until my foot is fully healed. Hopefully it will be soon. Regardless of the state of my foot you can still donate money so that people can have access to clean water.
Thursday, April 18, 2013
Skipping Training or Addictions
I am prone to addictions. I discovered this at an early age when I got hooked on the marshmallows in Lucky Charms cereal. I would spend hours in front of the television watching Space Ghost and riffling through the cereal box in search of the marshmallows. My mom would often find me bouncing around the basement, eyes glazed over, half eaten moons, stars, and clovers stuck to my face.
She was finally forced to get me help when I was five. We were in Rosauers, our favorite grocery store. We came out of the soup aisle and I saw it: a colorful pyramid display of boxes -- boxes filled with the magically delicious charm shapes. I went into a frenzy and ripped open all the boxes. Before my mom could do anything I greedily devoured twenty boxes worth of the tiny marshmallows. (Yes, kids it's true that that kind of eating leads to type 2 diabetes -- just say no.) Needless to say, we were banned from Rosauers. The shame eventually drove my mother to leave Spokane and hide out in Idaho. Where the stench of Nampa's sugar beet factory is a constant reminder of the evils of sugar addiction.
Being aware of this proclivity for addiction has made me cautious. It's the reason that I have not watched Downton Abbey or The Walking Dead. I know I would become addicted to them and inevitably be drawn to read Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. This of course would lead me to the rock bottom squalor of reading Pride and Prejudice when not required to buy a sadistic English professor (Yes, kids it's true that reading Jane Austen leads to fits of boredom and the desire to get your single friends to date each other -- just say no.) But what does this have to do with running? Well, I'll tell you.
Today is one of the days I normally run. It has been thundering and raining nonstop for a while. This would not normally be a deterrent, after all, when I lived in England it didn't stop raining for three years and I would swim by the glow of the sheet lightning. Lightning strikes just make you run faster right? But then I saw Noah float by on the ark, so I thought I should just skip it today. That's when I noticed it -- the jonesing for a run; the all too recognizable itch of addiction. When did this happen? Why are there no PSAs about it?
If I'd known running was addictive I never would have tried it. I would have closed my ears to the marathon pushers, and never succumbed to its endorphin laden goodness, but I didn't and now it's too late for me. I'm addicted.
But it's not to late for you. If you aren't a runner, don't start. Just say no to the fancy shoes and sophisticated water carrying devices. Turn away from the promises of being healthier and losing weight. Close you ears to the siren call of those who tell you, "It'll make you feel good,". If you don't you might end up like this man. (Yes, kids it's true that running leads to being related to the Kardashians -- just say no.)
If you are already trapped by running's sweet, sweet endorphin laden goodness, there is hope … okay, there really isn't hope, sorry.
Please help me glean some good from my fall; turn my tragedy into triumph for others. Give $50 or more to turn my running addiction into clean water for those who do not have it. It'll make you feel good.
She was finally forced to get me help when I was five. We were in Rosauers, our favorite grocery store. We came out of the soup aisle and I saw it: a colorful pyramid display of boxes -- boxes filled with the magically delicious charm shapes. I went into a frenzy and ripped open all the boxes. Before my mom could do anything I greedily devoured twenty boxes worth of the tiny marshmallows. (Yes, kids it's true that that kind of eating leads to type 2 diabetes -- just say no.) Needless to say, we were banned from Rosauers. The shame eventually drove my mother to leave Spokane and hide out in Idaho. Where the stench of Nampa's sugar beet factory is a constant reminder of the evils of sugar addiction.
Being aware of this proclivity for addiction has made me cautious. It's the reason that I have not watched Downton Abbey or The Walking Dead. I know I would become addicted to them and inevitably be drawn to read Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. This of course would lead me to the rock bottom squalor of reading Pride and Prejudice when not required to buy a sadistic English professor (Yes, kids it's true that reading Jane Austen leads to fits of boredom and the desire to get your single friends to date each other -- just say no.) But what does this have to do with running? Well, I'll tell you.
Today is one of the days I normally run. It has been thundering and raining nonstop for a while. This would not normally be a deterrent, after all, when I lived in England it didn't stop raining for three years and I would swim by the glow of the sheet lightning. Lightning strikes just make you run faster right? But then I saw Noah float by on the ark, so I thought I should just skip it today. That's when I noticed it -- the jonesing for a run; the all too recognizable itch of addiction. When did this happen? Why are there no PSAs about it?
"Parents know the signs of running addiction -- worn out shoes, referring to distances in kilometers, improved math scores, and incessant stretching. If you suspect your son or daughter is addicted to running, there is help. Get them to your local McDonald's and order a Big Mac right away. . . . The More You Know."
If I'd known running was addictive I never would have tried it. I would have closed my ears to the marathon pushers, and never succumbed to its endorphin laden goodness, but I didn't and now it's too late for me. I'm addicted.
But it's not to late for you. If you aren't a runner, don't start. Just say no to the fancy shoes and sophisticated water carrying devices. Turn away from the promises of being healthier and losing weight. Close you ears to the siren call of those who tell you, "It'll make you feel good,". If you don't you might end up like this man. (Yes, kids it's true that running leads to being related to the Kardashians -- just say no.)
If you are already trapped by running's sweet, sweet endorphin laden goodness, there is hope … okay, there really isn't hope, sorry.
Please help me glean some good from my fall; turn my tragedy into triumph for others. Give $50 or more to turn my running addiction into clean water for those who do not have it. It'll make you feel good.
Thursday, April 4, 2013
Training Week ... Dr. Who!
I was sitting at my daughter's gymnastic class all set to write about the run I just completed (2mi -- woo-hoo!) when I was distracted by a magazine sitting on the table: "50 years of Dr.Who". So, who cares about running? Let's talk about the Doctor.
As you have probably guessed from my frequent SciFi references, I love science fiction. I have yet to show up to a movie premiere dressed up like a character, but you better believe that I am there. Most of my books are science fiction or fantasy as is my DVD collection. My wife has tried to get me off the stuff by laughing hysterically at plot lines and special effects, but she's too late to do anything.
I got hooked young. I was six when Star Wars came out and excitedly waited in a line that wrapped around the block. I don't remember who was with me or even how long we waited. However long it was, it was worth the wait. I loved it. I needed more. Where can a six year old boy go to get his scifi fix? Now it's easy, there are scifi shows everywhere. There's a whole channel devoted to the stuff, but back then? There was no cable or DVDs or even VHS. Heck, we still listened to AM radio and had to wait for the DJ to play our favorite songs. What was a boy to do? Thankfully, a new TV series started -- Battlestar Galactica (a much kid friendlier version than the more recent one). I was set until the next Star Wars movie. Then something tragic happened: We moved to England.
Moving to England messed me up in a lot of ways: wanting to spell tire as tyre, fearing sacks of potatoes placed under cars, and knowing what bubble and squeak tastes like, to name a few. But to a nine year old the most tragic thing was the loss of American TV. There were some familiar shows like The Dukes of Hazard and Dallas, but there were also strange and boring shows like All Creatures Great and Small. I began to panic. Where was theSciFi? Why are there no kids shows on during the day? Why are there shows about math? Waaah! But then I discovered The Doctor.
Doctor Who was (is) brilliant. Low budget special effects; goofy looking villains? His most lethal foe stymied by stairs? Who cares? Here was a time and space traveling alien who defeated evil through intelligence and cunning -- not violence. I was hooked. Who wouldn't be?
(My wife, that's who. Both her father and sister are fans, but not her. I'm not sure what went wrong. A recessive anti-SciFi gene or something. You'd think she'd at least be in love with the TARDIS. A nice blue box that is way bigger on the inside than the outside [a common theme of British authors]. If we had a TARDIS then maybe we'd have enough space for all her running shoes.)
Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, I fell in love with Doctor Who and fantasized about the Doctor Showing up at my door. I would gladly have gone on adventures to other times and places with him.
I still would, but I'm not as keen on him showing up anymore. Why? Because I have a daughter. She's no where near dating age (she's 4), but it's never too early to be wary of boys showing up at your door.
The Doctor would be any father's worst nightmare. What would you do if your daughter started dating a fascinating alien with an English accent and a fancy "car" with an interior big enough to fit an entire bedroom? He could take her anywhere in the universe; be gone four hours, or days, or years; and be back before you even knew she had left the house. Can you imagine? You wouldn't even be able to lock her in her room to protect her, he could just materialize the TARDIS inside the room!
No thank you, I'll take a nice normal earthling who'd better have her back by 9:00 or he'll loose a knee-cap. (Some of you are probably wondering why I'm not worried about my son's dates. I've delegated that to my wife. Oh, hey honey, you're in charge of keeping our son's dates in line).
The Doctor is hardly ever portrayed as a sex crazed maniac, but you can't trust most of what is on television, so, stay away from my daughter Doctor Who! And you too Captain James T. Kirk! (Can you imagine if he got a hold of the TARDIS? You'd have to handcuff yourself to your daughter to keep her safe.)
I mean it, stay away. I have a Dalek and I'm not afraid to use it.
Stay away, unless you are going to let me borrow the TARDIS for a bit. It would be especially nice on the day of the race. Run two miles, pop into the TARDIS, rest for a couple days, use the TARDIS to go back to the race at the exact time I left, run a couple more miles, pop back into the TARDIS, rest a couple of days, use it to go back in time to the race, and so on until the race was completed.
So, anyway, Doctor Who has been around for fifty years. That's a long time. If I had a dollar for every year it's been around I could supply one person in Africa for clean water for a year. I doubt the Doctor is going to show up to help me with that, but you could. Click the link and donate.
As you have probably guessed from my frequent SciFi references, I love science fiction. I have yet to show up to a movie premiere dressed up like a character, but you better believe that I am there. Most of my books are science fiction or fantasy as is my DVD collection. My wife has tried to get me off the stuff by laughing hysterically at plot lines and special effects, but she's too late to do anything.
I got hooked young. I was six when Star Wars came out and excitedly waited in a line that wrapped around the block. I don't remember who was with me or even how long we waited. However long it was, it was worth the wait. I loved it. I needed more. Where can a six year old boy go to get his scifi fix? Now it's easy, there are scifi shows everywhere. There's a whole channel devoted to the stuff, but back then? There was no cable or DVDs or even VHS. Heck, we still listened to AM radio and had to wait for the DJ to play our favorite songs. What was a boy to do? Thankfully, a new TV series started -- Battlestar Galactica (a much kid friendlier version than the more recent one). I was set until the next Star Wars movie. Then something tragic happened: We moved to England.
Moving to England messed me up in a lot of ways: wanting to spell tire as tyre, fearing sacks of potatoes placed under cars, and knowing what bubble and squeak tastes like, to name a few. But to a nine year old the most tragic thing was the loss of American TV. There were some familiar shows like The Dukes of Hazard and Dallas, but there were also strange and boring shows like All Creatures Great and Small. I began to panic. Where was theSciFi? Why are there no kids shows on during the day? Why are there shows about math? Waaah! But then I discovered The Doctor.
Doctor Who was (is) brilliant. Low budget special effects; goofy looking villains? His most lethal foe stymied by stairs? Who cares? Here was a time and space traveling alien who defeated evil through intelligence and cunning -- not violence. I was hooked. Who wouldn't be?
(My wife, that's who. Both her father and sister are fans, but not her. I'm not sure what went wrong. A recessive anti-SciFi gene or something. You'd think she'd at least be in love with the TARDIS. A nice blue box that is way bigger on the inside than the outside [a common theme of British authors]. If we had a TARDIS then maybe we'd have enough space for all her running shoes.)
Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, I fell in love with Doctor Who and fantasized about the Doctor Showing up at my door. I would gladly have gone on adventures to other times and places with him.
I still would, but I'm not as keen on him showing up anymore. Why? Because I have a daughter. She's no where near dating age (she's 4), but it's never too early to be wary of boys showing up at your door.
The Doctor would be any father's worst nightmare. What would you do if your daughter started dating a fascinating alien with an English accent and a fancy "car" with an interior big enough to fit an entire bedroom? He could take her anywhere in the universe; be gone four hours, or days, or years; and be back before you even knew she had left the house. Can you imagine? You wouldn't even be able to lock her in her room to protect her, he could just materialize the TARDIS inside the room!
No thank you, I'll take a nice normal earthling who'd better have her back by 9:00 or he'll loose a knee-cap. (Some of you are probably wondering why I'm not worried about my son's dates. I've delegated that to my wife. Oh, hey honey, you're in charge of keeping our son's dates in line).
The Doctor is hardly ever portrayed as a sex crazed maniac, but you can't trust most of what is on television, so, stay away from my daughter Doctor Who! And you too Captain James T. Kirk! (Can you imagine if he got a hold of the TARDIS? You'd have to handcuff yourself to your daughter to keep her safe.)
I mean it, stay away. I have a Dalek and I'm not afraid to use it.
Stay away, unless you are going to let me borrow the TARDIS for a bit. It would be especially nice on the day of the race. Run two miles, pop into the TARDIS, rest for a couple days, use the TARDIS to go back to the race at the exact time I left, run a couple more miles, pop back into the TARDIS, rest a couple of days, use it to go back in time to the race, and so on until the race was completed.
So, anyway, Doctor Who has been around for fifty years. That's a long time. If I had a dollar for every year it's been around I could supply one person in Africa for clean water for a year. I doubt the Doctor is going to show up to help me with that, but you could. Click the link and donate.
Thursday, March 28, 2013
Training Week 3 or "Number Two"
There are many important things my mom failed to teach me when I was a kid, like how to build a light saber or why slinkies only work in the commercials. But she did teach me one important thing -- never use a port-a-potty.
Port-a-potties, or as they should be known "fetid-feces-holes," are notoriously dark and putrid. (Why is it always so dark in those things? If you think guys have bad aim when the lights are on, well … you can just imagine). No one in their right mind wants to use them.
Despite my mom's sound teaching, pleading, and tears I have at times rebelled and ventured into a port-a-potty. Each time I've regretted it. I cried for a week the first time and swore I would never do it again. But despite the horror of that day, I relapsed. The last time I used a port-a-potty I'm pretty sure a rat or a mutated cockroach stole my underwear; something crawled away with it.
But there are things worse than port-a-potties. Like not making it to a restroom in time. Besides the unpleasant smell and squishy-ness, there is the added horror of public embarrassment. (I'll spare you the gorey details of what happened to me, but let's just say I learned that you can wash pants in a toilet.)
So, here's my dilemma: I know that in the course of the six or so hours it will take me to run the marathon I will need to go to the bathroom. I'm not worried about "number one" I'm pretty sure that with some practice I can use those cups they hand out.
"Number two" is another matter. I'm pretty sure I won't be allowed to detour to a posh hotel so I can use their facilities. Most likely I will be expected to use a port-a-potty. I dread this because I know what will happen:
I'll be running along. I can hold it. I can hold it. I can hold it . . . I can't hold it. I'll veer over to one of the feces shrines. I'll take a deep breath and enter quickly, hoping I don't run out of air before I'm done. After I close and lock the door I will quickly shuffle around desperately trying to avoid touching anything. Shuddering and cringing I will sit on what I hope is the toilet seat. When I'm done I will discover there is no toilet paper. I will angrily whisper synonyms for "number two" and briefly consider using the paper number pinned to my chest, but realize that would probably get me disqualified. Suddenly, I'll remember a trip to Indonesia and having to use a toilet in a mosque there. I'll look around for a hose. There isn't one, but I'm desperate so I'll do what many people around the world do -- I'll use my hand.
The faucet will turn out to be one of those designed by mutant three armed plumbers. I'll hold the lever down with my clean hand and a trickle of water will come out. I'll let go hoping that just this once the water will stay on when the lever isn't being pressed. It won't. Cursing mutant plumbers and apologizing to any future occupants I'll wipe my hand on the wall.
I'll hurriedly try to leave the scene of the crime, but the door will be stuck. I will desperately jiggle and shake it over and over. By this time I'll be sobbing and hysterically screaming, "Let me out!" Then I'll start slamming my body against the door. The door won't budge, but the whole port-a-potty will come crashing down. This will cause the roof to pop off and I'll crawl out covered in blue chemicals and "other stuff". Toilet paper will be stuck to the bottom of my shoe.
Somehow, even though she is hundreds of miles away in Idaho, my mother will instinctively know what has happened. Weeping and holding her nose she'll leave me a voice mail banning me from ever entering her house again.
The whole event will be caught on video and uploaded to YouTube.
So, yeah, I'd like to avoid using a port-a-potty during the race.
*I know, I know today's post was really gross. Can you imagine if you had to use a port-a-potty every day? Or worse, if you didn't even have that. How gross would that be? You'd probably be willing to shell out hundreds of dollars to get some plumbing. So how about shelling out $50 so others can have good sanitation and clean water too?
Port-a-potties, or as they should be known "fetid-feces-holes," are notoriously dark and putrid. (Why is it always so dark in those things? If you think guys have bad aim when the lights are on, well … you can just imagine). No one in their right mind wants to use them.
Despite my mom's sound teaching, pleading, and tears I have at times rebelled and ventured into a port-a-potty. Each time I've regretted it. I cried for a week the first time and swore I would never do it again. But despite the horror of that day, I relapsed. The last time I used a port-a-potty I'm pretty sure a rat or a mutated cockroach stole my underwear; something crawled away with it.
But there are things worse than port-a-potties. Like not making it to a restroom in time. Besides the unpleasant smell and squishy-ness, there is the added horror of public embarrassment. (I'll spare you the gorey details of what happened to me, but let's just say I learned that you can wash pants in a toilet.)
So, here's my dilemma: I know that in the course of the six or so hours it will take me to run the marathon I will need to go to the bathroom. I'm not worried about "number one" I'm pretty sure that with some practice I can use those cups they hand out.
"Number two" is another matter. I'm pretty sure I won't be allowed to detour to a posh hotel so I can use their facilities. Most likely I will be expected to use a port-a-potty. I dread this because I know what will happen:
I'll be running along. I can hold it. I can hold it. I can hold it . . . I can't hold it. I'll veer over to one of the feces shrines. I'll take a deep breath and enter quickly, hoping I don't run out of air before I'm done. After I close and lock the door I will quickly shuffle around desperately trying to avoid touching anything. Shuddering and cringing I will sit on what I hope is the toilet seat. When I'm done I will discover there is no toilet paper. I will angrily whisper synonyms for "number two" and briefly consider using the paper number pinned to my chest, but realize that would probably get me disqualified. Suddenly, I'll remember a trip to Indonesia and having to use a toilet in a mosque there. I'll look around for a hose. There isn't one, but I'm desperate so I'll do what many people around the world do -- I'll use my hand.
The faucet will turn out to be one of those designed by mutant three armed plumbers. I'll hold the lever down with my clean hand and a trickle of water will come out. I'll let go hoping that just this once the water will stay on when the lever isn't being pressed. It won't. Cursing mutant plumbers and apologizing to any future occupants I'll wipe my hand on the wall.
I'll hurriedly try to leave the scene of the crime, but the door will be stuck. I will desperately jiggle and shake it over and over. By this time I'll be sobbing and hysterically screaming, "Let me out!" Then I'll start slamming my body against the door. The door won't budge, but the whole port-a-potty will come crashing down. This will cause the roof to pop off and I'll crawl out covered in blue chemicals and "other stuff". Toilet paper will be stuck to the bottom of my shoe.
Somehow, even though she is hundreds of miles away in Idaho, my mother will instinctively know what has happened. Weeping and holding her nose she'll leave me a voice mail banning me from ever entering her house again.
The whole event will be caught on video and uploaded to YouTube.
So, yeah, I'd like to avoid using a port-a-potty during the race.
*I know, I know today's post was really gross. Can you imagine if you had to use a port-a-potty every day? Or worse, if you didn't even have that. How gross would that be? You'd probably be willing to shell out hundreds of dollars to get some plumbing. So how about shelling out $50 so others can have good sanitation and clean water too?
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
Selah
Then
the king will say to those on his right, “My father has blessed you!
Come and receive the kingdom that was prepared for you before the world
was created. When I was hungry, you gave me something to eat, and when I was thirsty, you gave me something to drink. (Matthew 25:34-35a)
Today I am taking a break from my usual comedic accounts to talk about why I am running a marathon. Believe me it was not on my bucket list.
We (in North America) take water for granted. It's ubiquitous. We buy cases of it; fill our pools with it; water our lawns with it; shower and bathe with it; wash our cars, houses, and dogs with it; use it to cook our food; and use it to make coffee and tea. Even the poorest Americans have access to clean water. This isn't the case in many parts of the world.
4,200 children a day. Think about that. Seriously, think about it.
We can change that. That is why I am running a marathon. But I need your help. Running a marathon does not make clean water magically appear in villages across the world. It takes work and materials to build pipelines and dig wells. These things cost money. My goal is to raise $1,310. That's where you come in. You can help me reach my goal by donating $50.
$50 provides clean water for one person. Think about that. Your $50 can change the world -- children living instead of dying from disease, children getting an education, and families able to come out of poverty. If you set aside $1.70 each day for just one month you would have enough to donate $50. Or, if you wanted to stretch it out until the last minute, 26¢ a day from April 1st to October 12th.
Donating is easy. You can donate by going here and clicking on the "make a donation link" or you can mail me a check made out to World Vision (email me at palanrivas@gmail.com for my address).
I'll leave you with these few thoughts from the Bible:
Job 5:8-16 "But if it were I, I would appeal to God; I would lay my cause before him. He performs wonders that cannot be fathomed, miracles that cannot be counted. He bestows rain on the earth; he sends water upon the countryside. The lowly he sets on high, and those who mourn are lifted to safety. He thwarts the plans of the crafty, so that their hands achieve no success. He catches the wise in their craftiness, and the schemes of the wily are swept away. Darkness comes upon them in the daytime; at noon they grope as in the night. He saves the needy from the sword in their mouth; he saves them from the clutches of the powerful. So the poor have hope, and injustice shuts its mouth."
Job 34:17-19 "Can he who hates justice govern? Will you condemn the just and mighty One? Is he not the One who says to kings, 'You are worthless,' and to nobles, 'You are wicked,' who shows no partiality to princes and does not favor the rich over the poor, for they are all the work of his hands?”
Psalm 10:14 “But you, O God, do see trouble and grief; you consider it to take it in hand. The victim commits himself to you; you are the helper of the fatherless.”
Psalm 12:5 “‘Because of the oppression of the weak and the groaning of the needy, I will now arise,’ says the LORD. I will protect them from those who malign them."
Psalm 140:12 “I know that the LORD secures justice for the poor and upholds the cause of the needy.”
Isaiah 25:4 “You have been a refuge for the poor, a refuge for the needy in his distress, a shelter from the storm and a shade from the heat. For the breath of the ruthless is like a storm driving against a wall.”
Isaiah 41:17 “The poor and needy search for water, but there is none; tongues are parched with thirst. But I the LORD will answer them; I, the God of Israel, will not forsake them.”
Jeremiah 9:23-24 “This is what the LORD says: ‘Let not the wise man boast of his wisdom or the strong man boast of his strength or the rich man boast of his riches, but let him who boasts boast about this: that he understands and knows me, that I am the LORD, who exercises kindness, justice and righteousness on earth, for in these I delight,’ declares the LORD.”
Amos 5:24 “But let justice roll on like a river, righteousness like a never-failing stream!”
Luke 1:52-53 “He has brought down rulers from their thrones but has lifted up the humble. He has filled the hungry with good things but has sent the rich away empty.”
Luke 4:16-21 “He went to Nazareth, where he had been brought up, and on the Sabbath day he went into the synagogue, as was his custom. And he stood up to read. The scroll of the prophet Isaiah was handed to him. Unrolling it, he found the place where it is written: ‘The Spirit of the Lord is on me, because he has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to release the oppressed, to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor.’ Then he rolled up the scroll, gave it back to the attendant and sat down. The eyes of everyone in the synagogue were fastened on him, and he began by saying to them, ‘Today this scripture is fulfilled in your hearing.’"
Luke 6:20-21 “Blessed are you who are poor, for yours in the kingdom of God. Blessed are you who hunger now, for you shall be satisfied. Blessed are you who weep now, for you shall laugh.”
Luke 7:22 “So he replied to the messengers, ‘Go back and report to John what you have seen and heard: The blind receive sight, the lame walk, those who have leprosy are cured, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the good news is preached to the poor.’”
James 2:5 “Listen, my dear brothers: Has not God chosen those who are poor in the eyes of the world to be rich in faith and to inherit the kingdom he promised those who love him?”
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Deuteronomy 26:12 “When you have finished setting aside a tenth of all your produce in the third year, the year of the tithe, you shall give it to the Levite, the alien, the fatherless and the widow, so that they may eat in your towns and be satisfied.”
Leviticus 19:9-10 “'When you reap the harvest of your land, do not reap to the very edges of your field or gather the gleanings of your harvest. Do not go over your vineyard a second time or pick up the grapes that have fallen. Leave them for the poor and the alien. I am the LORD your God.”
Nehemiah 5
Proverbs 31:8 “Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves, for the rights of all who are destitute.”
Isaiah 1:16-17 “Wash and make yourselves clean. Take your evil deeds out of my sight! Stop doing wrong, learn to do right! Seek justice, encourage the oppressed. Defend the cause of the fatherless, plead the case of the widow.”
Isaiah 58:6 “Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen: to loose the chains of injustice and untie the cords of the yoke, to set the oppressed free and break every yoke? Is it not to share your food with the hungry and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter— when you see the naked, to clothe him, and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood?”
Jeremiah 22:3 “This is what the LORD says: Do what is just and right. Rescue from the hand of his oppressor the one who has been robbed. Do no wrong or violence to the alien, the fatherless or the widow, and do not shed innocent blood in this place.”
Jeremiah 22:13-17 "Woe to him who builds his palace by unrighteousness, his upper rooms by injustice, making his countrymen work for nothing, not paying them for their labor. He says, ‘I will build myself a great palace with spacious upper rooms.’ So he makes large windows in it, panels it with cedar and decorates it in red. Does it make you a king to have more and more cedar? Did not your father have food and drink? He did what was right and just, so all went well with him. He defended the cause of the poor and needy, and so all went well. Is that not what it means to know me?’ declares the LORD. But your eyes and your heart are set only on dishonest gain, on shedding innocent blood and on oppression and extortion."
Matthew 5:42 “Give to the one who asks you, and do not turn away from the one who wants to borrow from you.”
Luke 3:11 “John answered, ‘the man with two tunics should share with him who has none, and the one who has food should do the same.’"
Luke 12:33 "Sell your possessions and give to the poor. Provide purses for yourselves that will not wear out, a treasure in heaven that will not be exhausted, where no thief comes near and no moth destroys."
2 Corinthians 9:6-9 “Remember this: Whoever sows sparingly will also reap sparingly, and whoever sows generously will also reap generously. Each man should give what he has decided in his heart to give, not reluctantly or under compulsion, for God loves a cheerful giver. And God is able to make all grace abound to you, so that in all things at all times, having all that you need, you will abound in every good work. As it is written: ‘He has scattered abroad his gifts to the poor; his righteousness endures forever.’"
1 Timothy 6:18 “Command them to do good, to be rich in good deeds, and to be generous and willing to share.”
James 1:27 “Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world.”
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Psalm 41:1 “Blessed is he who has regard for the weak; the LORD delivers him in times of trouble.”
Proverbs 19:17 “He who is kind to the poor lends to the LORD, and he will reward him for what he has done.”
Proverbs 22:9 “A generous man will himself be blessed, for he shares his food with the poor.”
Isaiah 58:10 "And if you spend yourselves in behalf of the hungry and satisfy the needs of the oppressed, then your light will rise in the darkness, and your night will become like the noonday."
Jeremiah 7:5-7 "If you really change your ways and your actions and deal with each other justly, if you do not oppress the alien, the fatherless or the widow and do not shed innocent blood in this place, and if you do not follow other gods to your own harm, then I will let you live in this place, in the land I gave your forefathers for ever and ever."
Matthew 19:20 “‘All these I have kept,’ the young man said. ‘What do I still lack?’ Jesus answered, ‘If you want to be perfect, go, sell your possessions and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me.’"
Luke 14:12-14 "Then Jesus said to his host, ‘When you give a luncheon or dinner, do not invite your friends, your brothers or relatives, or your rich neighbors; if you do, they may invite you back and so you will be repaid. But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind, and you will be blessed. Although they cannot repay you, you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous.’"
Luke 12:33-34 "Sell your possessions and give to the poor. Provide purses for yourselves that will not wear out, a treasure in heaven that will not be exhausted, where no thief comes near and no moth destroys. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also."
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Proverbs 14:31 “He who oppresses the poor shows contempt for their Maker, but whoever is kind to the needy honors God.”
Isaiah 10:1-3 " Woe to those who make unjust laws, to those who issue oppressive decrees, to deprive the poor of their rights and withhold justice from the oppressed of my people, making widows their prey and robbing the fatherless. What will you do on the day of reckoning, when disaster comes from afar? To whom will you run for help? Where will you leave your riches?”
Jeremiah 5:28 “‘Their evil deeds have no limit; they do not plead the case of the fatherless to win it, they do not defend the rights of the poor. ‘Should I not punish them for this?’ declares the LORD. ‘Should I not avenge myself on such a nation as this?’”
Ezekiel 16:49 "Now this was the sin of your sister Sodom: She and her daughters were arrogant, overfed and unconcerned; they did not help the poor and needy.”
Ezekiel 22:29, 31 "The people of the land practice extortion and commit robbery; they oppress the poor and needy and mistreat the alien, denying them justice. So I will pour out my wrath on them and consume them with my fiery anger, bringing down on their own heads all they have done, declares the Sovereign LORD."
Amos 5:12 “For I know how many are your offenses and how great your sins. You oppress the righteous and take bribes and you deprive the poor of justice in the courts.”
Luke 6:24 " But woe to you who are rich, for you have already received your comfort."
Luke 16:19-25 "There was a rich man who was dressed in purple and fine linen and lived in luxury every day. At his gate was laid a beggar named Lazarus, covered with sores and longing to eat what fell from the rich man's table. Even the dogs came and licked his sores. The time came when the beggar died and the angels carried him to Abraham's side. The rich man also died and was buried. In hell, where he was in torment, he looked up and saw Abraham far away, with Lazarus by his side. So he called to him, 'Father Abraham, have pity on me and send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue, because I am in agony in this fire.' But Abraham replied, 'Son, remember that in your lifetime you received your good things, while Lazarus received bad things, but now he is comforted here and you are in agony.'"
1 John 3:17 “If anyone has material possessions and sees his brother in need but has no pity on him, how can the love of God be in him?”
James 5:1-6 “Now listen, you rich people, weep and wail because of the misery that is coming upon you. Your wealth has rotted, and moths have eaten your clothes. Your gold and silver are corroded. Their corrosion will testify against you and eat your flesh like fire. You have hoarded wealth in the last days. Look! The wages you failed to pay the workmen who mowed your fields are crying out against you. The cries of the harvesters have reached the ears of the Lord Almighty. You have lived on earth in luxury and self-indulgence. You have fattened yourselves in the day of slaughter. You have condemned and murdered innocent men, who were not opposing you.”
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Leviticus 19:15 "Do not pervert justice; do not show partiality to the poor or favoritism to the great, but judge your neighbor fairly."
Proverbs 29:7 “The righteous care about justice for the poor, but the wicked have no such concern.”
Matthew 6:2-4 " So when you give to the needy, do not announce it with trumpets, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and on the streets, to be honored by men. I tell you the truth, they have received their reward in full. But when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your giving may be in secret. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.”
Matthew 6:24 "No one can serve two masters. Either he will hate the one and love the other, or he will be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve both God and Money."
Luke 6:33-34 "And if you do good to those who are good to you, what credit is that to you? Even 'sinners' do that. And if you lend to those from whom you expect repayment, what credit is that to you? Even 'sinners' lend to 'sinners,' expecting to be repaid in full.”
Acts 2:44 “All the believers were together and had everything in common. Selling their possessions and goods, they gave to anyone as he had need.”
Acts 4:32-35 “All the believers were one in heart and mind. No one claimed that any of his possessions was his own, but they shared everything they had. With great power the apostles continued to testify to the resurrection of the Lord Jesus, and much grace was upon them all. There were no needy persons among them. For from time to time those who owned lands or houses sold them, brought the money from the sales and put it at the apostles' feet, and it was distributed to anyone as he had need.”
Galatians 2:9-10 “James, Peter and John, those reputed to be pillars, gave me and Barnabas the right hand of fellowship when they recognized the grace given to me. They agreed that we should go to the Gentiles, and they to the Jews. All they asked was that we should continue to remember the poor, the very thing I was eager to do.”
Ephesians 4:28 “He who has been stealing must steal no longer, but must work, doing something useful with his own hands, that he may have something to share with those in need.”
1 Timothy 6:10 “For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil. Some people, eager for money, have wandered from the faith and pierced themselves with many griefs.”
James 2:5 “Listen, my dear brothers: Has not God chosen those who are poor in the eyes of the world to be rich in faith and to inherit the kingdom he promised those who love him?”
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Proverbs 19:17 “He who is kind to the poor lends to the LORD, and he will reward him for what he has done.”
2 Corinthians 8:9 “For you know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that though he was rich, yet for your sakes he became poor, so that you through his poverty might become rich.” (From World Vision's website http://www.worldvision.org/content.nsf/learn/g8-bibleverses)
Today I am taking a break from my usual comedic accounts to talk about why I am running a marathon. Believe me it was not on my bucket list.
We (in North America) take water for granted. It's ubiquitous. We buy cases of it; fill our pools with it; water our lawns with it; shower and bathe with it; wash our cars, houses, and dogs with it; use it to cook our food; and use it to make coffee and tea. Even the poorest Americans have access to clean water. This isn't the case in many parts of the world.
"In the developing world, women and children walk an average of six kilometers [about 3mi] to collect water for their families.
The journey to and from the nearest well takes hours.
And much of it is spent carrying a heavy jug of water.
A majority of these women and children’s time is spent getting water.
They could otherwise be working at their house, building a small
business, or going to school. But instead, the lack of clean water
causes poverty to persist.
Poverty isn’t the only result of inaccessible water. The water that women and children walk hours to get is often dirty and diseased.
Families drink dirty water because it is all they have. They need it
to survive. But dirty water and poor sanitation are also killing them.
- 4,200 children die each day from dirty water.
- Infections from poor sanitation and hygiene affect 2 billion people.
- 3.75 million people die each year from water-related causes.
It’s clear. When a person doesn’t have clean water or a latrine, the bacteria in dirty water and sewage shortens their life span, threatens babies’ survival, and causes diseases like malaria." (from Why Clean Water?)
4,200 children a day. Think about that. Seriously, think about it.
We can change that. That is why I am running a marathon. But I need your help. Running a marathon does not make clean water magically appear in villages across the world. It takes work and materials to build pipelines and dig wells. These things cost money. My goal is to raise $1,310. That's where you come in. You can help me reach my goal by donating $50.
$50 provides clean water for one person. Think about that. Your $50 can change the world -- children living instead of dying from disease, children getting an education, and families able to come out of poverty. If you set aside $1.70 each day for just one month you would have enough to donate $50. Or, if you wanted to stretch it out until the last minute, 26¢ a day from April 1st to October 12th.
Donating is easy. You can donate by going here and clicking on the "make a donation link" or you can mail me a check made out to World Vision (email me at palanrivas@gmail.com for my address).
I'll leave you with these few thoughts from the Bible:
God's Heart for the Poor
Deuteronomy 26:6-9 "But the Egyptians mistreated us and made us suffer, putting us to hard labor. Then we cried out to the LORD, the God of our fathers, and the LORD heard our voice and saw our misery, toil and oppression. So the LORD brought us out of Egypt with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm, with great terror and with miraculous signs and wonders. He brought us to this place and gave us this land, a land flowing with milk and honey."Job 5:8-16 "But if it were I, I would appeal to God; I would lay my cause before him. He performs wonders that cannot be fathomed, miracles that cannot be counted. He bestows rain on the earth; he sends water upon the countryside. The lowly he sets on high, and those who mourn are lifted to safety. He thwarts the plans of the crafty, so that their hands achieve no success. He catches the wise in their craftiness, and the schemes of the wily are swept away. Darkness comes upon them in the daytime; at noon they grope as in the night. He saves the needy from the sword in their mouth; he saves them from the clutches of the powerful. So the poor have hope, and injustice shuts its mouth."
Job 34:17-19 "Can he who hates justice govern? Will you condemn the just and mighty One? Is he not the One who says to kings, 'You are worthless,' and to nobles, 'You are wicked,' who shows no partiality to princes and does not favor the rich over the poor, for they are all the work of his hands?”
Psalm 10:14 “But you, O God, do see trouble and grief; you consider it to take it in hand. The victim commits himself to you; you are the helper of the fatherless.”
Psalm 12:5 “‘Because of the oppression of the weak and the groaning of the needy, I will now arise,’ says the LORD. I will protect them from those who malign them."
Psalm 140:12 “I know that the LORD secures justice for the poor and upholds the cause of the needy.”
Isaiah 25:4 “You have been a refuge for the poor, a refuge for the needy in his distress, a shelter from the storm and a shade from the heat. For the breath of the ruthless is like a storm driving against a wall.”
Isaiah 41:17 “The poor and needy search for water, but there is none; tongues are parched with thirst. But I the LORD will answer them; I, the God of Israel, will not forsake them.”
Jeremiah 9:23-24 “This is what the LORD says: ‘Let not the wise man boast of his wisdom or the strong man boast of his strength or the rich man boast of his riches, but let him who boasts boast about this: that he understands and knows me, that I am the LORD, who exercises kindness, justice and righteousness on earth, for in these I delight,’ declares the LORD.”
Amos 5:24 “But let justice roll on like a river, righteousness like a never-failing stream!”
Luke 1:52-53 “He has brought down rulers from their thrones but has lifted up the humble. He has filled the hungry with good things but has sent the rich away empty.”
Luke 4:16-21 “He went to Nazareth, where he had been brought up, and on the Sabbath day he went into the synagogue, as was his custom. And he stood up to read. The scroll of the prophet Isaiah was handed to him. Unrolling it, he found the place where it is written: ‘The Spirit of the Lord is on me, because he has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to release the oppressed, to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor.’ Then he rolled up the scroll, gave it back to the attendant and sat down. The eyes of everyone in the synagogue were fastened on him, and he began by saying to them, ‘Today this scripture is fulfilled in your hearing.’"
Luke 6:20-21 “Blessed are you who are poor, for yours in the kingdom of God. Blessed are you who hunger now, for you shall be satisfied. Blessed are you who weep now, for you shall laugh.”
Luke 7:22 “So he replied to the messengers, ‘Go back and report to John what you have seen and heard: The blind receive sight, the lame walk, those who have leprosy are cured, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the good news is preached to the poor.’”
James 2:5 “Listen, my dear brothers: Has not God chosen those who are poor in the eyes of the world to be rich in faith and to inherit the kingdom he promised those who love him?”
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God's Commands Concerning the Poor
Deuteronomy 15:7 “If there is a poor man among your brothers in any of the towns of the land that the LORD your God is giving you, do not be hardhearted or tightfisted toward your poor brother.”Deuteronomy 26:12 “When you have finished setting aside a tenth of all your produce in the third year, the year of the tithe, you shall give it to the Levite, the alien, the fatherless and the widow, so that they may eat in your towns and be satisfied.”
Leviticus 19:9-10 “'When you reap the harvest of your land, do not reap to the very edges of your field or gather the gleanings of your harvest. Do not go over your vineyard a second time or pick up the grapes that have fallen. Leave them for the poor and the alien. I am the LORD your God.”
Nehemiah 5
Proverbs 31:8 “Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves, for the rights of all who are destitute.”
Isaiah 1:16-17 “Wash and make yourselves clean. Take your evil deeds out of my sight! Stop doing wrong, learn to do right! Seek justice, encourage the oppressed. Defend the cause of the fatherless, plead the case of the widow.”
Isaiah 58:6 “Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen: to loose the chains of injustice and untie the cords of the yoke, to set the oppressed free and break every yoke? Is it not to share your food with the hungry and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter— when you see the naked, to clothe him, and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood?”
Jeremiah 22:3 “This is what the LORD says: Do what is just and right. Rescue from the hand of his oppressor the one who has been robbed. Do no wrong or violence to the alien, the fatherless or the widow, and do not shed innocent blood in this place.”
Jeremiah 22:13-17 "Woe to him who builds his palace by unrighteousness, his upper rooms by injustice, making his countrymen work for nothing, not paying them for their labor. He says, ‘I will build myself a great palace with spacious upper rooms.’ So he makes large windows in it, panels it with cedar and decorates it in red. Does it make you a king to have more and more cedar? Did not your father have food and drink? He did what was right and just, so all went well with him. He defended the cause of the poor and needy, and so all went well. Is that not what it means to know me?’ declares the LORD. But your eyes and your heart are set only on dishonest gain, on shedding innocent blood and on oppression and extortion."
Matthew 5:42 “Give to the one who asks you, and do not turn away from the one who wants to borrow from you.”
Luke 3:11 “John answered, ‘the man with two tunics should share with him who has none, and the one who has food should do the same.’"
Luke 12:33 "Sell your possessions and give to the poor. Provide purses for yourselves that will not wear out, a treasure in heaven that will not be exhausted, where no thief comes near and no moth destroys."
2 Corinthians 9:6-9 “Remember this: Whoever sows sparingly will also reap sparingly, and whoever sows generously will also reap generously. Each man should give what he has decided in his heart to give, not reluctantly or under compulsion, for God loves a cheerful giver. And God is able to make all grace abound to you, so that in all things at all times, having all that you need, you will abound in every good work. As it is written: ‘He has scattered abroad his gifts to the poor; his righteousness endures forever.’"
1 Timothy 6:18 “Command them to do good, to be rich in good deeds, and to be generous and willing to share.”
James 1:27 “Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world.”
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Blessings on Those Who Serve the Poor
Deuteronomy 15:10 “Give generously to him and do so without a grudging heart; then because of this the LORD your God will bless you in all your work and in everything you put your hand to.”Psalm 41:1 “Blessed is he who has regard for the weak; the LORD delivers him in times of trouble.”
Proverbs 19:17 “He who is kind to the poor lends to the LORD, and he will reward him for what he has done.”
Proverbs 22:9 “A generous man will himself be blessed, for he shares his food with the poor.”
Isaiah 58:10 "And if you spend yourselves in behalf of the hungry and satisfy the needs of the oppressed, then your light will rise in the darkness, and your night will become like the noonday."
Jeremiah 7:5-7 "If you really change your ways and your actions and deal with each other justly, if you do not oppress the alien, the fatherless or the widow and do not shed innocent blood in this place, and if you do not follow other gods to your own harm, then I will let you live in this place, in the land I gave your forefathers for ever and ever."
Matthew 19:20 “‘All these I have kept,’ the young man said. ‘What do I still lack?’ Jesus answered, ‘If you want to be perfect, go, sell your possessions and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me.’"
Luke 14:12-14 "Then Jesus said to his host, ‘When you give a luncheon or dinner, do not invite your friends, your brothers or relatives, or your rich neighbors; if you do, they may invite you back and so you will be repaid. But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind, and you will be blessed. Although they cannot repay you, you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous.’"
Luke 12:33-34 "Sell your possessions and give to the poor. Provide purses for yourselves that will not wear out, a treasure in heaven that will not be exhausted, where no thief comes near and no moth destroys. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also."
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Why One Should Not Neglect Serving the Poor
Exodus 22:21-27 “Do not mistreat an alien or oppress him, for you were aliens in Egypt. Do not take advantage of a widow or an orphan. If you do and they cry out to me, I will certainly hear their cry. My anger will be aroused, and I will kill you with the sword; your wives will become widows and your children fatherless. If you lend money to one of my people among you who is needy, do not be like a moneylender; charge him no interest. If you take your neighbor's cloak as a pledge, return it to him by sunset, because his cloak is the only covering he has for his body. What else will he sleep in? When he cries out to me, I will hear, for I am compassionate.”Proverbs 14:31 “He who oppresses the poor shows contempt for their Maker, but whoever is kind to the needy honors God.”
Isaiah 10:1-3 " Woe to those who make unjust laws, to those who issue oppressive decrees, to deprive the poor of their rights and withhold justice from the oppressed of my people, making widows their prey and robbing the fatherless. What will you do on the day of reckoning, when disaster comes from afar? To whom will you run for help? Where will you leave your riches?”
Jeremiah 5:28 “‘Their evil deeds have no limit; they do not plead the case of the fatherless to win it, they do not defend the rights of the poor. ‘Should I not punish them for this?’ declares the LORD. ‘Should I not avenge myself on such a nation as this?’”
Ezekiel 16:49 "Now this was the sin of your sister Sodom: She and her daughters were arrogant, overfed and unconcerned; they did not help the poor and needy.”
Ezekiel 22:29, 31 "The people of the land practice extortion and commit robbery; they oppress the poor and needy and mistreat the alien, denying them justice. So I will pour out my wrath on them and consume them with my fiery anger, bringing down on their own heads all they have done, declares the Sovereign LORD."
Amos 5:12 “For I know how many are your offenses and how great your sins. You oppress the righteous and take bribes and you deprive the poor of justice in the courts.”
Luke 6:24 " But woe to you who are rich, for you have already received your comfort."
Luke 16:19-25 "There was a rich man who was dressed in purple and fine linen and lived in luxury every day. At his gate was laid a beggar named Lazarus, covered with sores and longing to eat what fell from the rich man's table. Even the dogs came and licked his sores. The time came when the beggar died and the angels carried him to Abraham's side. The rich man also died and was buried. In hell, where he was in torment, he looked up and saw Abraham far away, with Lazarus by his side. So he called to him, 'Father Abraham, have pity on me and send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue, because I am in agony in this fire.' But Abraham replied, 'Son, remember that in your lifetime you received your good things, while Lazarus received bad things, but now he is comforted here and you are in agony.'"
1 John 3:17 “If anyone has material possessions and sees his brother in need but has no pity on him, how can the love of God be in him?”
James 5:1-6 “Now listen, you rich people, weep and wail because of the misery that is coming upon you. Your wealth has rotted, and moths have eaten your clothes. Your gold and silver are corroded. Their corrosion will testify against you and eat your flesh like fire. You have hoarded wealth in the last days. Look! The wages you failed to pay the workmen who mowed your fields are crying out against you. The cries of the harvesters have reached the ears of the Lord Almighty. You have lived on earth in luxury and self-indulgence. You have fattened yourselves in the day of slaughter. You have condemned and murdered innocent men, who were not opposing you.”
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Leviticus 19:15 "Do not pervert justice; do not show partiality to the poor or favoritism to the great, but judge your neighbor fairly."
Proverbs 29:7 “The righteous care about justice for the poor, but the wicked have no such concern.”
Matthew 6:2-4 " So when you give to the needy, do not announce it with trumpets, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and on the streets, to be honored by men. I tell you the truth, they have received their reward in full. But when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your giving may be in secret. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.”
Matthew 6:24 "No one can serve two masters. Either he will hate the one and love the other, or he will be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve both God and Money."
Luke 6:33-34 "And if you do good to those who are good to you, what credit is that to you? Even 'sinners' do that. And if you lend to those from whom you expect repayment, what credit is that to you? Even 'sinners' lend to 'sinners,' expecting to be repaid in full.”
Acts 2:44 “All the believers were together and had everything in common. Selling their possessions and goods, they gave to anyone as he had need.”
Acts 4:32-35 “All the believers were one in heart and mind. No one claimed that any of his possessions was his own, but they shared everything they had. With great power the apostles continued to testify to the resurrection of the Lord Jesus, and much grace was upon them all. There were no needy persons among them. For from time to time those who owned lands or houses sold them, brought the money from the sales and put it at the apostles' feet, and it was distributed to anyone as he had need.”
Galatians 2:9-10 “James, Peter and John, those reputed to be pillars, gave me and Barnabas the right hand of fellowship when they recognized the grace given to me. They agreed that we should go to the Gentiles, and they to the Jews. All they asked was that we should continue to remember the poor, the very thing I was eager to do.”
Ephesians 4:28 “He who has been stealing must steal no longer, but must work, doing something useful with his own hands, that he may have something to share with those in need.”
1 Timothy 6:10 “For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil. Some people, eager for money, have wandered from the faith and pierced themselves with many griefs.”
James 2:5 “Listen, my dear brothers: Has not God chosen those who are poor in the eyes of the world to be rich in faith and to inherit the kingdom he promised those who love him?”
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God's Identification With the Poor
Proverbs 14:31 “He who oppresses the poor shows contempt for their Maker, but whoever is kind to the needy honors God.”Proverbs 19:17 “He who is kind to the poor lends to the LORD, and he will reward him for what he has done.”
2 Corinthians 8:9 “For you know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that though he was rich, yet for your sakes he became poor, so that you through his poverty might become rich.” (From World Vision's website http://www.worldvision.org/content.nsf/learn/g8-bibleverses)
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
Training Week Two or Why I Married My Wife
Before we get started I should tell you that my lawyers are mad at me for the title. They feel it is misleading. I agree but, if I called it "Training Week Two or Math" people would have been scared away. I want people to read my blog and donate money. My lawyers made me post the following warning:
*Warning* Today's blog contains math. Punching the computer or throwing your phone across the room will not make the math go away. This blogger can not be held responsible for any damages that occur as a result of the math. Nor will he be held responsible for any swear words your children learn while listening to you try to figure out the math problems. To exit to a happier place click here.
I hate math.
Okay, I don't actually hate math, but if I saw it walking down the street I'd cross to the other side, buy a gun, and shoot it in the leg.
I can't remember if I've always hated math. Maybe my preschool encounters were okay or maybe I've suppressed the horrors -- I don't know. I still have panic inducing flash backs of my third grade timed tests. My wife has often come home to find me on the kitchen floor in a fetal position muttering "Two times two is four; two times three is six." In high school I had reoccurring nightmares involving the letters x and y and graph paper. We won't even talk about how I got kicked out of the SAT's because I started screaming and stabbing the test booklet with my No. 2 pencil because it kept asking me to find the cosign of x. (I would probably hate the letter x if it wasn't used in Scifi so much ).
The worse memories, though, are of word problems.
When I first encountered a word problem I thought it was a happy surprise. "Oh boy! A story break from all this math!" I happily started reading about our intrepid heroine Jane. She was traveling on a train. It was going 60 kilometers per hour. She was eating a pear every half hour. Another train was approaching. It was going 75 kilometers per hour. The evil Todd was on that train. He was eating prunes. Are the trains going to crash? Will Todd sabotage Jane's train? The suspense was killing me. I read on. If Jane's train takes five hours to reach her station how many pears will she eat? How many prunes will Todd eat? Show your work below. ... What!? This isn't a story! It's a math problem! I dropped the book in horror. That is when I first realized there was a devil; who else could devise something so purely evil? To this day I can't stand pears and I refuse to read Murder on the Orient Express because it might just be an elaborate math problem in disguise.
Through shrewdness and careful planning I have avoided math for most of my life. As soon as I was allowed to stop taking math classes in high school I did. I did not take any math classes in college because my college lumped math and science together in one requirement. (I took the non-mathy sciences like Biology). But my greatest achievement in math avoidance came at the end of my college career when I asked my girlfriend to marry me. She is good at math. I knew if she said yes I would most likely never have to do math again. (She said yes -- hooray!) I settled down into a happy mathless life. I thought I was safe. I was a fool.
No one warned me about the strangle hold math has on the sport of running. I probably should have suspected something. Everyone I know who likes running also likes math. They have binary clocks, carry sudoku puzzles with them everywhere, know all the known numbers of pi, and work or have worked at places like NASA, JPL, and other math themed acronym places. The signs were all there, but I ignored them until it was too late.
I realized the dire situation I was in when I remembered that I have six and a half hours to complete the Chicago marathon. The memory came to me suddenly when I was running around the track, desperately trying to keep a septuagenarian from lapping me. I started thinking:
I have no idea if I can do this. Pant! How is this old guy so fast? Pant! How long would running a marathon take me? I guess I should try to figure it out. Pant! So let's see, if it takes me ten minutes to complete one lap Pant! and if each lap is 1/6th of a mile, is he lapping me again? then to run a mile it takes me . . . .* Pant I divide that number into 26.2 miles Pant adding 10 minutes for a quick lunch and a half hour for bathroom breaks times the … wait a minute! This is a word problem!
I stopped. Not because I was out of breath, but because I was numb with disbelief. A cold chill ran up my spine. Running was a cult. Not a friendly, "Here we made you some Kool-Aid.," kind of cult, but a math cult. What would they do to me if I tried to get out. Would they let me go after the marathon? Am I doomed to spend my life figuring out how many pears a train full of marathon runners can eat? How can I survive this? My only hope is you, dear reader.
If one day you should happen to see me and you notice that I am working on a sudoku, please, snatch it from me and force a crossword puzzle into my hands.
*So you noticed how I didn't actually calculate anything. It's because I wanted to let you do it. Enter the amount you came up with here.
*Warning* Today's blog contains math. Punching the computer or throwing your phone across the room will not make the math go away. This blogger can not be held responsible for any damages that occur as a result of the math. Nor will he be held responsible for any swear words your children learn while listening to you try to figure out the math problems. To exit to a happier place click here.
I hate math.
Okay, I don't actually hate math, but if I saw it walking down the street I'd cross to the other side, buy a gun, and shoot it in the leg.
I can't remember if I've always hated math. Maybe my preschool encounters were okay or maybe I've suppressed the horrors -- I don't know. I still have panic inducing flash backs of my third grade timed tests. My wife has often come home to find me on the kitchen floor in a fetal position muttering "Two times two is four; two times three is six." In high school I had reoccurring nightmares involving the letters x and y and graph paper. We won't even talk about how I got kicked out of the SAT's because I started screaming and stabbing the test booklet with my No. 2 pencil because it kept asking me to find the cosign of x. (I would probably hate the letter x if it wasn't used in Scifi so much ).
The worse memories, though, are of word problems.
When I first encountered a word problem I thought it was a happy surprise. "Oh boy! A story break from all this math!" I happily started reading about our intrepid heroine Jane. She was traveling on a train. It was going 60 kilometers per hour. She was eating a pear every half hour. Another train was approaching. It was going 75 kilometers per hour. The evil Todd was on that train. He was eating prunes. Are the trains going to crash? Will Todd sabotage Jane's train? The suspense was killing me. I read on. If Jane's train takes five hours to reach her station how many pears will she eat? How many prunes will Todd eat? Show your work below. ... What!? This isn't a story! It's a math problem! I dropped the book in horror. That is when I first realized there was a devil; who else could devise something so purely evil? To this day I can't stand pears and I refuse to read Murder on the Orient Express because it might just be an elaborate math problem in disguise.
Through shrewdness and careful planning I have avoided math for most of my life. As soon as I was allowed to stop taking math classes in high school I did. I did not take any math classes in college because my college lumped math and science together in one requirement. (I took the non-mathy sciences like Biology). But my greatest achievement in math avoidance came at the end of my college career when I asked my girlfriend to marry me. She is good at math. I knew if she said yes I would most likely never have to do math again. (She said yes -- hooray!) I settled down into a happy mathless life. I thought I was safe. I was a fool.
No one warned me about the strangle hold math has on the sport of running. I probably should have suspected something. Everyone I know who likes running also likes math. They have binary clocks, carry sudoku puzzles with them everywhere, know all the known numbers of pi, and work or have worked at places like NASA, JPL, and other math themed acronym places. The signs were all there, but I ignored them until it was too late.
I realized the dire situation I was in when I remembered that I have six and a half hours to complete the Chicago marathon. The memory came to me suddenly when I was running around the track, desperately trying to keep a septuagenarian from lapping me. I started thinking:
I have no idea if I can do this. Pant! How is this old guy so fast? Pant! How long would running a marathon take me? I guess I should try to figure it out. Pant! So let's see, if it takes me ten minutes to complete one lap Pant! and if each lap is 1/6th of a mile, is he lapping me again? then to run a mile it takes me . . . .* Pant I divide that number into 26.2 miles Pant adding 10 minutes for a quick lunch and a half hour for bathroom breaks times the … wait a minute! This is a word problem!
I stopped. Not because I was out of breath, but because I was numb with disbelief. A cold chill ran up my spine. Running was a cult. Not a friendly, "Here we made you some Kool-Aid.," kind of cult, but a math cult. What would they do to me if I tried to get out. Would they let me go after the marathon? Am I doomed to spend my life figuring out how many pears a train full of marathon runners can eat? How can I survive this? My only hope is you, dear reader.
If one day you should happen to see me and you notice that I am working on a sudoku, please, snatch it from me and force a crossword puzzle into my hands.
*So you noticed how I didn't actually calculate anything. It's because I wanted to let you do it. Enter the amount you came up with here.
Saturday, March 16, 2013
Training Week One Part 2 or Why I Smelled So Bad at the Grocery Store
If you encountered me at Dominick's this morning, sorry. I probably smelled pretty bad. There are several reasons for this. I'll tell you three.
The first reason is because someone did not do the laundry and so I had no clean running socks. And because I had no clean running socks I had to wear dirty ones. (If you don't know what running socks are imagine buying regular socks but paying three times as much for them).
The second reason is because I am allergic to most deodorants. They make me itch and my arm pit breaks out in little red bumps. (If you donate $25 I will send you a picture. If you donate $50 I won't.). It turns out that it is really hard to run and scratch your armpits at the same time, so I didn't put any on this morning.
The third, and main, reason I reeked at the store this morning is because I didn't shower after I was done working out. Why? Simple, I hate locker room showers. I don't like being naked in front of complete strangers. I don't like complete strangers being named in front of me.
I don't like being naked in front of anybody. When I was younger I would get dressed while awkwardly leaning against my bedroom door so my parents wouldn't come in while I was naked. At Carleton I avoided rotblatt because of the potential of nude innings. Nor was I one of those Carls who participated in the nude Winter Olympics. I lock my bathroom door when no one else is in the house just in case some random person should decide to wander in off the street and barge in on me.
I wouldn't mind public locker rooms if they were designed with any chance for privacy, but the goal of men's locker rooms seems to be to allow as many people as possible to see you naked at once. For those of you who have been fortunate enough not to have been in the men's locker room, let me paint you a picture.
Imagine a cluster of shower heads put in the middle of a wide open field with benches conveniently placed all around for random stranger's viewing pleasure. The benches are currently occupied by piles of abandoned clothes, wet towels, and the naked members of the AARP bowling league.
There is no where to hang your towel near the shower. You either have to leave it behind and parade past everyone naked or use it as a wrap and give up all hope of drying off with it. Because it's winter in Chicago you decide drying off is essential to your health. Sighing, you leave your towel on the bench. You turn on the shower and hurriedly soap yourself up. Just about the time you are lathered halfway up your body, Sasquatch's hairier cousin chooses to use the shower head directly opposite yours. He's way too close for comfort, so you step back -- right into a floating island of hair. None of it is yours. You jump away from it and bump into a Jabba the Hutt look-a-like. He starts yelling at you. Everyone turns to see what all the commotion is about. Everyone is now staring at your naked, half-washed body.
Yeah, no thank you. I'd rather shower in the privacy of my own bathroom at home where no one can see me naked. Even if that means shopping while being slightly less odoriferous than a garbage truck full of skunks.
(Some of you will probably rush to point out that I spent a few summers frolicking around nude in the Payette River with a bunch of guys. That is true. I did, but they weren't strangers; they were people I knew and trusted. Except for those two guys I had never met before . . . and the few hundred people in the passenger train that went by. . . Okay, so I've been naked in front of random strangers before, but the shower thing is different. It's different when you are wet. I don't like being naked and wet in front of people. What? a river is wet? . . . The Payette is filled with very dry water . . . oh, shut up and give some money to World Vision.)
The first reason is because someone did not do the laundry and so I had no clean running socks. And because I had no clean running socks I had to wear dirty ones. (If you don't know what running socks are imagine buying regular socks but paying three times as much for them).
The second reason is because I am allergic to most deodorants. They make me itch and my arm pit breaks out in little red bumps. (If you donate $25 I will send you a picture. If you donate $50 I won't.). It turns out that it is really hard to run and scratch your armpits at the same time, so I didn't put any on this morning.
The third, and main, reason I reeked at the store this morning is because I didn't shower after I was done working out. Why? Simple, I hate locker room showers. I don't like being naked in front of complete strangers. I don't like complete strangers being named in front of me.
I don't like being naked in front of anybody. When I was younger I would get dressed while awkwardly leaning against my bedroom door so my parents wouldn't come in while I was naked. At Carleton I avoided rotblatt because of the potential of nude innings. Nor was I one of those Carls who participated in the nude Winter Olympics. I lock my bathroom door when no one else is in the house just in case some random person should decide to wander in off the street and barge in on me.
I wouldn't mind public locker rooms if they were designed with any chance for privacy, but the goal of men's locker rooms seems to be to allow as many people as possible to see you naked at once. For those of you who have been fortunate enough not to have been in the men's locker room, let me paint you a picture.
Imagine a cluster of shower heads put in the middle of a wide open field with benches conveniently placed all around for random stranger's viewing pleasure. The benches are currently occupied by piles of abandoned clothes, wet towels, and the naked members of the AARP bowling league.
There is no where to hang your towel near the shower. You either have to leave it behind and parade past everyone naked or use it as a wrap and give up all hope of drying off with it. Because it's winter in Chicago you decide drying off is essential to your health. Sighing, you leave your towel on the bench. You turn on the shower and hurriedly soap yourself up. Just about the time you are lathered halfway up your body, Sasquatch's hairier cousin chooses to use the shower head directly opposite yours. He's way too close for comfort, so you step back -- right into a floating island of hair. None of it is yours. You jump away from it and bump into a Jabba the Hutt look-a-like. He starts yelling at you. Everyone turns to see what all the commotion is about. Everyone is now staring at your naked, half-washed body.
Yeah, no thank you. I'd rather shower in the privacy of my own bathroom at home where no one can see me naked. Even if that means shopping while being slightly less odoriferous than a garbage truck full of skunks.
(Some of you will probably rush to point out that I spent a few summers frolicking around nude in the Payette River with a bunch of guys. That is true. I did, but they weren't strangers; they were people I knew and trusted. Except for those two guys I had never met before . . . and the few hundred people in the passenger train that went by. . . Okay, so I've been naked in front of random strangers before, but the shower thing is different. It's different when you are wet. I don't like being naked and wet in front of people. What? a river is wet? . . . The Payette is filled with very dry water . . . oh, shut up and give some money to World Vision.)
Wednesday, March 13, 2013
Training Week One or Frostbite
There's a problem with running in Illinois in the winter -- it's cold and often snowy. (For those of you who live in places where it doesn't get cold or snow, imagine running on Hoth). I know what some of you are thinking: treadmill. I am aware of treadmills, but there are two problems with them:
1. I don't own one. Even if I wanted to, there's no room for it in our townhouse. I used to belong to a gym that had them displayed in the window, but I am no longer a member there.
2. They are evil contraptions bent on killing me. I think somewhere along the line treadmills saw Stephen King's Maximum Overdrive and decided it was a good idea.
So, no treadmills. Besides, I like running outside. That is, I usually like running outside.
When I went running earlier this week the trail was covered in snow, ice and puddles. My running shows have thousands of those little holes so your feet can "breathe" but what they really do is let freezing puddle water in. I almost turn back, but I notice all the footprints -- other people have gone before me. If they can do it so can I. So I start running:
Run run splash slip run skid splash pause to look up frostbite first aid on my phone run splash slip slip splash
Then I notice it: not all of the footprints are human. It dawns on me, they weren't running voluntarily; they were running from wolves! Or coyotes ... or Chihuahuas. Thankfully, the voice on my training app informs me that my workout is complete, so I head back to the safety of the busy street.
Two days later I decide to run again. On the same path. In the warmth of my home I've reasoned that those probably weren't wild Chihuahua prints, besides the rain the day before has surely melted all the ice and snow off of the path. So I go running:
Run run run WHAM! I'm hit with a blast of negative 1000 degrees Kelvin wind! whimper run run splash WHAM! whimper slip splash run WHAM!
Not wanting to give my body as a Popsicle for the wild Chihuahuas to lick, I turn back. As my face is painfully thawing in the beautiful warmth of my home I make the decision to shell out the $2 the community center charges to use their indoor track.
1. I don't own one. Even if I wanted to, there's no room for it in our townhouse. I used to belong to a gym that had them displayed in the window, but I am no longer a member there.
2. They are evil contraptions bent on killing me. I think somewhere along the line treadmills saw Stephen King's Maximum Overdrive and decided it was a good idea.
So, no treadmills. Besides, I like running outside. That is, I usually like running outside.
When I went running earlier this week the trail was covered in snow, ice and puddles. My running shows have thousands of those little holes so your feet can "breathe" but what they really do is let freezing puddle water in. I almost turn back, but I notice all the footprints -- other people have gone before me. If they can do it so can I. So I start running:
Run run splash slip run skid splash pause to look up frostbite first aid on my phone run splash slip slip splash
Then I notice it: not all of the footprints are human. It dawns on me, they weren't running voluntarily; they were running from wolves! Or coyotes ... or Chihuahuas. Thankfully, the voice on my training app informs me that my workout is complete, so I head back to the safety of the busy street.
Two days later I decide to run again. On the same path. In the warmth of my home I've reasoned that those probably weren't wild Chihuahua prints, besides the rain the day before has surely melted all the ice and snow off of the path. So I go running:
Run run run WHAM! I'm hit with a blast of negative 1000 degrees Kelvin wind! whimper run run splash WHAM! whimper slip splash run WHAM!
Not wanting to give my body as a Popsicle for the wild Chihuahuas to lick, I turn back. As my face is painfully thawing in the beautiful warmth of my home I make the decision to shell out the $2 the community center charges to use their indoor track.
Hooray! I Lost
Yippee! I lost the marathon lottery! I'm off the hook!
What's that? The Chicago marathon allows charity organizations late entries. So, I'm in?
hooray. i'm in.
So I'll be running in the Chicago marathon.
Remember, you can help me raise money for World Vision to supply people with clean water here.
What's that? The Chicago marathon allows charity organizations late entries. So, I'm in?
hooray. i'm in.
So I'll be running in the Chicago marathon.
Remember, you can help me raise money for World Vision to supply people with clean water here.
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
The Lottery
There is, of course, a glitch in my plan to run in the 2013 Chicago Marathon. The remaining spots are going to be given by lottery.
"'Who is it?,' 'Who's got it?,' 'Is it the Dunbars?,' ... 'It's Hutchinson, It's Bill,' ... Suddenly Tessie Hutchinson shouted to Mr Summers, 'You didn't give him time enough to take any paper he wanted. I saw you. It wasn't fair!'" (The Lottery by Shirley Jackson).
They are notifying the entrants on Tuesday March 12. Regardless of whether I am selected or not, you should still give money to World Vision.
"'Who is it?,' 'Who's got it?,' 'Is it the Dunbars?,' ... 'It's Hutchinson, It's Bill,' ... Suddenly Tessie Hutchinson shouted to Mr Summers, 'You didn't give him time enough to take any paper he wanted. I saw you. It wasn't fair!'" (The Lottery by Shirley Jackson).
They are notifying the entrants on Tuesday March 12. Regardless of whether I am selected or not, you should still give money to World Vision.
Tuesday, March 5, 2013
I Must Be Insane
There are some things that are so completely insane you just have to blog about them. This is one of those blogs.
I am going to run a marathon. You read right -- a marathon. The Chicago 2013 marathon.
This started, as crazy things often do, with my wife getting together with her friends. In this case one particular running obsessed friend. They got together to go to HUB. HUB has nothing to do with running, but somehow during the time my wife and her friend were supposed to be worshiping and listening to a sermon the topic came up anyway. Here's how I imagine the conversation went:
Wife's friend: (Whispering covertly) We need new running shoes.
Wife: Yes, we do! I know just the pair I want. They're gold and when you run rainbows shoot out of the heals.
Wife's friend: I found a pair made out of chocolate! We definitely need these shoes and I know a good excuse for getting some. We could enter the Chicago marathon.
Wife: (Pausing for a moment to weigh the cost) Great idea! I bet I can trick Paul into entering to.
Wife's friend: Mwahahaha!
Wife: Mwahahahah!
Since I don't care about shoes, my wife had to lure me in with something I do care about. Children. So, she told me about team World Vision. World Vision is an organization that does humanitarian things all over the world. To quote their website :
"World Vision is a Christian humanitarian organization dedicated to working with children, families, and their communities worldwide to reach their full potential by tackling the causes of poverty and injustice.
Working in nearly 100 countries around the world, World Vision serves all people, regardless of religion, race, ethnicity, or gender."
I already knew all about World Vision since we sponsor a child and I have cried my way through Richard Stearn's The Hole in Our Gospel. But giving money and reading a book is a lot different than running twenty-six miles. I argued that was a long, long way to run. She said something in her hypnotic, everything-will be-fine, psychologist voice; the next thing I knew I was clicking on the "join" button and committing myself to run a marathon. A MARATHON! I must be insane.
So, I started this blog to document my journey from semi-professional couch potato to marathon runner. I'll try to update this on a weekly basis from now until I complete the marathon (if I die before I complete it, just assume my last words were: "I can't brea ...").
Besides making bets on whether I make it or not, you can help me and World Vision raise money to supply people with clean drinking water. Visit my fundraising page here and donate. Thanks.
I am going to run a marathon. You read right -- a marathon. The Chicago 2013 marathon.
This started, as crazy things often do, with my wife getting together with her friends. In this case one particular running obsessed friend. They got together to go to HUB. HUB has nothing to do with running, but somehow during the time my wife and her friend were supposed to be worshiping and listening to a sermon the topic came up anyway. Here's how I imagine the conversation went:
Wife's friend: (Whispering covertly) We need new running shoes.
Wife: Yes, we do! I know just the pair I want. They're gold and when you run rainbows shoot out of the heals.
Wife's friend: I found a pair made out of chocolate! We definitely need these shoes and I know a good excuse for getting some. We could enter the Chicago marathon.
Wife: (Pausing for a moment to weigh the cost) Great idea! I bet I can trick Paul into entering to.
Wife's friend: Mwahahaha!
Wife: Mwahahahah!
Since I don't care about shoes, my wife had to lure me in with something I do care about. Children. So, she told me about team World Vision. World Vision is an organization that does humanitarian things all over the world. To quote their website :
"World Vision is a Christian humanitarian organization dedicated to working with children, families, and their communities worldwide to reach their full potential by tackling the causes of poverty and injustice.
Working in nearly 100 countries around the world, World Vision serves all people, regardless of religion, race, ethnicity, or gender."
I already knew all about World Vision since we sponsor a child and I have cried my way through Richard Stearn's The Hole in Our Gospel. But giving money and reading a book is a lot different than running twenty-six miles. I argued that was a long, long way to run. She said something in her hypnotic, everything-will be-fine, psychologist voice; the next thing I knew I was clicking on the "join" button and committing myself to run a marathon. A MARATHON! I must be insane.
So, I started this blog to document my journey from semi-professional couch potato to marathon runner. I'll try to update this on a weekly basis from now until I complete the marathon (if I die before I complete it, just assume my last words were: "I can't brea ...").
Besides making bets on whether I make it or not, you can help me and World Vision raise money to supply people with clean drinking water. Visit my fundraising page here and donate. Thanks.
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