I was a few miles into a run last week when I felt a pull to head to Blacksburg on September 17th and run my 9th Half Marathon. It was more than a pull to run, though. The call to this race came with images of the tragic flooding scenes I'd seen playing out in Texas. There was only one reason I could be feeling the urge to run while at the same time being overcome with the heartbreak of seeing so many people suffering in such a big way. I was supposed to run this race for Texas. 

​The first thing I did when I finished my run was reach out to my TwoTim47.com Patreon supporters who support me at the marathon level. When partners sponsor me at this level I agree to run a race for their cause. If I was going to run the Hokie Half for a cause I came up with, I needed to know they supported it. When I reached out to them, not only did every one of them support the idea, they all agreed to contribute to whatever support I decided to offer Texas.

​(You can learn more about my TwoTim47.com Patreon platform here.)

That's when I decided what I was going to do. I used $85 of my August Patreon support to register for the Hokie Half. The remaining $108 I will donate to the Harvey Hurricane relief efforts in Texas. 

Then came the next challenge. I didn't want to make a generic donation. I wanted to know something about where the money was going. It wasn't just about trusting it would go to a good cause. If I'm going to feel my heart pounding through my chest for 13.1 miles in Blacksburg next week, I'd like my heart to pound when I send off my donation. That can't happen without knowing something about the story on the other end of the donation. 

So I reached out to friends on social media. I asked if anyone had any personal stories related to the suffering in Texas. My friend Janice, whom I worked with several years ago in North Carolina, put me in touch with her friend Tom in Texas. He was doing recovery work with his church. Then Tom put me in touch with the pastors at his church.

I was only on the phone with them for a few minutes when I knew their church, St. Andrews, was a story I needed to be a part of. I was sure they were part of the call I felt running last week. 

St. Andrews is located in Pearland, Texas, a community within the Houston metropolitan area. They were hard hit by Harvey and are now leaning on churches like St. Andrews to help them rebuild. A rebuild that could take a decade or more.

What drew me to St. Andrews is they've been spending years getting ready for a moment just like this one. They've been building a loving partnership with the Pearland citizens for over 20 years. Father Jim Liberatore said this about his church's relationship with the community:
​

"Many churches establish themselves by looking inward and taking care of the family but don't necessarily look outward. My understanding of reading scripture and from some people like John Wesley see that we have a mission to the community and I've basically encouraged the congregation over the years to see the walls collapse of the church and that the parish, the church walls, actually become the community, so that we are the pastors of the community, we are lovers of the community."
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That's long been the struggle I've had with many churches - their obsession with looking inward. When I decided I wanted to partner with someone to help with hurricane relief in Texas I knew I wanted to partner with an organization that would respond in love and not out of a sense of media fueled obligation. Don't get me wrong, I think we all have an obligation here - that's precisely what led me to look for a way to help - I just think obligations are best and most helpfully met in love. 

As you'll see in some of the photos below, St. Andrews has already been hard at work in their community. 
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How can you help me partner with St. Andrews?
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What St. Andrews needs most right now is prayer and money. There will be so much to do in the early stages of the relief - stages which might last years - gutting and repairing homes, helping replace essential items and simply helping people get back to a place where they can get to and from their work. 

I want to give a special thank you to my marathon level Patreon supporters who gave me their blessing to use this race for this hurricane relief effort:

Robyn Larkin, Tiffany Eisentrout, Nicole Williams and Rachel Wood - Thank you!

And to the rest of my Patreon supporters who make it possible to enter races and find extra time to write stories and create podcasts and videos - I could do none of it without you all. So thank you Kristie Allen, Lashell Head, Solomon Whitfield, Kelly Anderson, Kimberly Yenser, Kimberly Caldwell, Missy Blacker-Hepp, Jenny Reynolds, Shannon Sala, Donna Shultz-Shegana and Angela Marini. 

I ask for everyone's prayers as I tackle my half marathon next weekend and for all the people struggling in Texas, especially those in the St. Andrews community. 

Like I said, I will be donating to St. Andrews as part of my Hokie Half Marathon run. If you would like to join me I know they'd be grateful. Maybe you could donate $13 for the 13.1 miles I'll be running in Blacksburg on September 16th. Every dollar will go a long way towards the healing and relief the St. Andrews community will be searching for. 

If you donate at the link below, when you enter the giving type enter hurricane relief. In the memo section please enter TwoTim47. This will help us track our TwoTim47 Hokie Half Contributions. 
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For a year I imagined this race. Even when running other races I was imagining this one. The 2017 Patrick Henry Half Marathon. The race that owed me one. Actually, I'm the one who owed something here. I owed this race my best effort. One worthy of staying on the course past mile 10, which I couldn't do last year.

Less than 48 hours before the race I felt my best effort rising to the surface. I had strength like I was already standing at the starting line. Adding to that strength was a weather forecast calling for perfect running conditions.

Then completely unforeseen, my personal condition went south fast. One minute I was coaching my son's flag football team and giving it all I had, a half hour later I was giving up a week's worth of hydration and nutrition to whoever it is that dishes out stomach bugs. I woke up the next morning 6 pounds lighter than the morning before. I no longer felt like I was standing at the starting line. In fact, I felt like I'd never stand at one again. 

I reached out to friends on social media to let them know what I was dealing with. When I did, I'd resigned myself to the reality the Patrick Henry Half was about to put another notch in its belt at my expense. There was no way I was going to be able to run.  

Many of my non-runner friends agreed. They replied with comments that my health was much more important than a race. There will be plenty more races, they said, but there's only one you. 

The responses from my runner friends were a bit different. Oh, they shared an equal amount of concern for my health, but they also allowed for a way to the starting line. Drink coconut water. Eat pretzels. Get lots of rest. They shared stories of how they bounced back from their own stomach issues and like superman or wonder woman found themselves at the starting line. In other words, they weren't  convinced I should be thinking about other races. They were still pointing me down the road to redemption. 

hadn't found a way to outrun my lack of nutrition. I shifted thoughts and gears and settled into a pace that would get me safely to the finish line. I reminded myself that's what I came for. Redemption only required one thing: the finish line. 

Coming up on mile 12 I saw my family handing out water. Then I saw my friends Solomon and Pam coming to greet me and run a few paces with me. I was reminded some days we're as strong as the people who run beside us - no matter how weak we might feel. Those two, and then the gatorade my boys tried to hand me, and the pictures I saw my wife snapping - that was the fuel and nutrition that carried me through to the final mile. 

My neighbor Art Bedard showed up at a couple of key spots over that final mile. I'm convinced God planted him in strategic locations. Art has always cheered me on virtually, but seeing him in person on the side of the course helped me discover a few ramining drips of adrenaline. Then my friends Rebecca and Chuck showed up to run me through the final chute. They kept saying you've got this. You've got this. It was the only stretch longer than a few feet that I'd actually run the previous two miles. Their voices were my strength. Their voices were voices from God. 

It's early morning, March 28, 2007. Ray Bell rises from his bed to greet this, his 39th birthday. Only - Ray has no interest in greeting this one. This birthday is unworthy of a celebration.  In Ray's mind, He is unworthy of a celebration. 

Ray staggers to the bathroom. Depression tracks close behind, like an intruder who's been stalking and decided this is the day to put Ray out of his misery. Ray shoots a quick and discarding look toward the bathroom scales. He's not stepping on them today. He wouldn't dare. He already knows their answer. They've been threatening him with 300 pounds lately. Step on them today and depression wins by an early morning knockout.

Ray stands there. Thinking about it. 300 pounds. He tells himself to look in the mirror. Turn around and look at yourself, Ray. You can hide from the scales, but are your really going to roll into your 40th year on earth without taking a good hard look at who's rolling with you?

Ray knows exactly what he'll see in the mirror today. He'll see his dad who died of a massive heart attack when he was in his 40's.  He'll see his mom, gone at the hands of diabetes. Ray knows depression has no better friend than a mirror. No stronger ally. A mirror has the power to say "your next Ray."

Somehow Ray senses this may be his chance. Maybe the last chance he ever has. His chance to turn the mirror on depression. You're dying the early death, depression. Not me.

Ray turns slowly toward the mirror. 

​Ray glares defiantly into the mirror. You have to make a move Ray. You have to make it now. 

Ray slips on a pair of shoes and shorts and heads out the door. I'm about to give myself the greatest birthday present ever, he decides. Ray breaks into a run. And in less than 50 feet he can run no more. He walks. For the next several weeks he walks and runs and walks and runs around his neighborhood until he's able to run 3 miles. 

Ray knows his running is getting good, yet his diet is still a challenge. He experiments with all the diet fads. Then one day he's running and God tells him you've got this all wrong, Ray. Eat small meals every two hours. Ray listens. He adopts his self-proclaimed every-two-hour-mini-meal plan. The doctor tells him meat isn't working for his high blood pressure, so Ray's mini meals turn meatless.

The weight starts falling off. Five pounds a week or more. Ray completes a local 9-mile race and suddenly feels ready for a bigger challenge. 

Ray shows up to register for the 2008 Flying Pig Marathon. A young lady working the registration booth asks Ray, "How's your training been going?" 

"Training? I didn't know you had to train for these things," Ray tells her, caught a bit off guard.

Ray is 16 miles into the 2008 Flying Pig Marathon. His body locks up. There's no way he can take another step. Then he hears the voice from the mirror. "We aren't going to quit are we, Ray?"

He takes a step. Then another. Suddenly he's in the middle of a 10-mile death march to the finish line. He crosses the finish line a new man. He feels confidence he's never felt before. Strength he's only dreamed of. The man Ray rolled into his 40's with is nowhere to be found. 

Ray soaks up the spirit of the finish line. In his stillness he hears, "I told you to just trust me, Ray. Just trust me."

The post-marathon recovery is hard. Ray knows he can't tackle the next one - and he knows there will be a next one - without training. He seeks out a local running group and in them he finds all the running experience and education he could dream of. The Westsiders take Rays's running journey to new places. 

In 2011 Ray qualifies for the Boston Marathon. He weighs somewhere around 150 pounds these days. So there he is in 2013, in coral 8 of the Boston Marathon. He can see the fastest marathoners in the world just up ahead of him.

The tears begin to roll down Ray's cheeks. I once weighed 300 pounds. I couldn't bring myself to stand on the scales or look in a mirror. Now I stand ready to run the most famous marathon in the world. How on earth did I get here?

Today Ray's life is eat, sleep and run. He says it. He writes it. He lives it.

Eat - clean, small portions, lots of water, make good selections, don't deprive myself. 
Sleep - something I need. Reenergizes my body and brain. 
Run - this is the huge one for me. The holy gift from God. I can feel God and hear him and listen to him. You hear about this runner's high; I truly believe in the runner's high. Things feel quiet and effortless, you're coming up on that finish line and you know you don't want to quit. That's your runners high.  

Ray is currently pointing his runner's high toward unfinished business. Back in 2012 Ray ran a 3:05 marathon in Columbus. In that moment he knew he'd have to break the 3 hour mark. He's looking to do that at the Monumental Marathon in Indianapolis in November, 2017. Ray's currently running over 100 miles a week to prepare for the race. He says he's in the best condition of his life. 

Why the continued love for running Ray? Why the drive? 

Running is a gift. It is part of the restoration. Part of the radical change in my life. The restoration of health. The Lord gave it all back to me. I don't take it for granted. It's a unique special gift. Running makes me want to have a spirit of excellence. I know that's what the Lord wants from me. There's nothing like giving your all, crossing that finish line, you know that you just laid it all out there. That's what it's about for me. 

Ray's voice trembles a bit as he finishes telling his story. The emotions are there. I feel like I'm standing next to him at the starting line of the 2013 Boston Marathon. He reads Psalm 139:14 out loud to me:

I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well. 

Ray, you are indeed wonderfully made brother. Wonderfully indeed. 

I recently did a podcast interview with my friend Tracey Outlaw. Tracey said something interesting about embracing challenges in running. It's had me thinking about embracing challenges in my life. He said no matter what distance the race is we're running we can be sure challenges are going to come along. And if we plan for how we're going to embrace those challenges, we can have a productive race. 

I found a couple of things interesting about that comment.

​One, he didn't say we should plan for how we'll overcome the challenges, he suggested we should plan for how we'll embrace them. My mindset is often all about overcoming when thinking about the challenges I'll face in a particular run. I spend time preparing myself for adverse weather conditions or resistance that might come with that day's distance. I plan for weary legs and lungs that start fighting for the next breath. I psyche myself up; I tell myself those particular challenges are on their way and I should be prepared to run over them.

When you think of embracing challenges and not running them over, though, that's a much different mindset. As different as giving the next person who approaches you on the street a hug instead of punching him in the gut.  The embracing mindset says I love this opportunity to run in the heat; the overcoming one says I'm not afraid of walking through a little fire.

How we transform ourselves from someone who plans to overcome to someone who plans to embrace is tied to the second thing I found interesting about what Tracey said. It struck me that he didn't say when we embrace the challenges we'll have a victorious run or even a great one - he said we'd have a productive run. 

I think as runners, and many days as a society - whether we're talking about students or workers or parents - we've devalued being productive. We spend so much time focused on finish line pictures, valedictorian speeches and the fancy titles attached to job duties that we've become blind to the incredible things that take place in the daily grind. A grind that rarely leads to high profile accomplishments, but always leads to something better.

A better runner. A better person. 

If I start this day dreaming of being an all world this or a famous that, then the challenges I see coming my way represent something standing in my way. They are enemies frothing at the mouth intent on denying me the fame I deserve. But when I start this day dreaming of ending it a better person, when I treasure the idea that I will have more regard for the night me than I had for the morning me, the challenges coming my way will look like opportunities. They are chances for me to think and work productively to tackle something that's going to make me wiser and stronger.

There are challenges coming your way today. That's the truth. 
Are you smiling at them, arms spread wide ready to embrace them?
Or is your head lowered, your teeth gritting, as you ready youself to bowl them over?
Don't bowl them over. Or punch them in the gut. At least not without hugging them.
Thank them when they leave, for the opportunity they gave you.
To be productive.
To become better.
To make the night you shine brighter than the morning you. 
If even just a little.

You can listen to my interview with Tracey Outlaw here: 
An Interview with Tracey Outlaw - US National 24-hour Running Team - Episode 22

Last week I interviewed two long distance runners for my TwoTim47.com podcast series - Solomon Whitfield and Harvey Lewis. Whitfield has been running for years but has recently started adding on miles with no end in sight to how far he wants to go. Lewis is a world renowned ultra runner; he won the famous Badwater race back in 2014. I spent about 45 minutes with each of them talking about their running journeys. Although they both filled that time with great wisdom and inspiration, I was left with one overwhelming thought:

When I asked them both about the mental obstacles they face when tackling miles most of us would never dream of traveling without a car and a full tank of gas, they both responded in their own ways that they kept their minds focused on the next step. Whitfield said when he runs he thinks about things going on in his life instead of thinking about the challenges of the next step in his run.  Lewis said he often focuses on the beauty of his surroundings, choosing to be grateful for the step he's in instead of dreading the one to come. With both of them the prevailing message seemed to be that even though they are running a long way, the challenge is keeping the mind from running too far ahead of them.

Dreams of running that first 50-miler or running more miles in a 24-hour race than anyone ever has are invitations to think big, to plan for greatness. But big dreams can also be big distractions. It's much easier, often more fun, to imagine the accolades and the sense of personal accomplishment that come at the finish line of our dreams than it is to train our minds to overcome each challenging step to getting there. 

That idea has tripped me and my dreams up more often than I like. Whether it's my running dreams, writing dreams, life dreams - when I start tackling them the hurdles that pop up are often far less attractive than the glory of the dreams I've been imagining. Too often I start tackling dreams without reminding myself the key to success is staying commited to the mental and physical strength required of the current moment, not a future one.  As a result, too many of my dreams die. 

I get tired of dreams dying that kind of death in my life. But thanks to Solomon and Harvey I'm doubling down this week on the power of the next step. I want to spend less energy on my dreams and funnel more of my passion to that next step, that next word, that next interaction in a relationship. Harvey said when our minds believe it our bodies will follow. I think I need to train my mind to start believing more about this moment and less about the moment 135 miles down the road.

Sunday, when I watched the scene above, it was like watching the turning point of a horror film. You know the point - the one where the monster turns his knife or gun or chainsaw and points it at unsuspecting victims. The jovial party or friendly camping trip turns to screams and blood. You want to close your eyes, yet you don't; you wonder why on earth you're still watching yet you don't dare turn away. 

For amateur golf fans I'll describe the scene. Jordan Spieth was leading one of the biggest golf tournaments in the world - the British Open - birthplace of the game itself. Spieth sprayed a shot  37 light years to the right. It landed on top of a Southport, England towering mound of knee-high fescue grass. I'm still not sure how anyone found the ball; I guess having a few thousand fans around makes it easier for a Spieth to find his errant shot than a Keith to find one of his hacking around a local public course. 

As I watched the scene unfold I began feeling sorry for Spieth. His lead was about to turn into another choke story like the one that's haunted him since he imploded and lost the 2016 Masters. I wasn't the only one thinking that. You could hear anguish in the television announcers' voices. And any intelligent golf bettor on the planet would have wagered against Spieth winning the tournament in that moment. No, all logical bets said we were all about to see a reenactment of Roy "Tin Cup" McAvoy on the 18th hole of the US Open. 

Those bets would have been lost. Because we now know one mind on that course wasn't going where ours were going. While we were thinking up great choke lines to tweet Spieth was still planning his victory celebration. And celebrate he did. He not only finished that hole 2 or 3 strokes better than anyone thought he would, he went on to play the final 5 holes historically and memorably great. 

How does someone do that? When all the evidence in the world points to losing how does someone get their mind to press on undaunted in its pursuit of victory?

I remember mile 20 of my marathon last November. My legs were failing. I was so far behind the rest of the runners that I suddenly felt like I was staggering alone and lost in a dessert and not one of thousands of competitors in a race. I'd never run further than 20 miles and there was no physical evidence to suggest it could happen this day. Certainly not 6 miles further!

Then a song comes on my iPod. Over and over it begins to sing out "who can stop the Lord almighty?"

For the next 6 miles that became the question playing over and over in my mind: who can stop the Lord almighty? And for 6 miles my mind kept answering, no one - no one. My body, my current situation, everything suggested everyone can stop Him, but my mind kept insisting no one. 

We forget that some days. Our body responds to the demands of our mind. It's not the other way around. That's not to say our bodies can do everything our minds demand of it, but it is to say our bodies can do NOTHING our minds DON'T believe they can and will get done. 

After the tournament Spieth credited his caddie for helping him when he started getting down on himself. He had a caddie. I had a song. I think the important thing to recognize here is at times we all need to surround ourselves with people who will keep our minds pointed in the right direction as much as we need people who keep us physically aligned with victory. I believe we need the former much more. 

Have you ever had a Jordan Spieth moment? Maybe in your athletic life, a relationship, or career. All the evidence in the world suggested things were about to fall apart but your mind said, in the words of colorful college football analyst Lee Corso: "not so fast my friend." And if so, who or what helped your mind press on, undaunted in its pursuit of success?

Earlier this week I interviewed my friend Ashlynn Davis for my TwoTim47.com podcast series.  One of the things Ashlynn talked about was being fierce.  She said "You have to be fierce in your intentions to succeed in conquering life's challenges."

One of the running challenges I've faced lately is the changing seasons. I can't believe just over 2 months ago I ran my fastest half-marathon ever in upper 30 degree temperatures in Cincinnati, Ohio.  And now, earlier this week, in temperatures nearly 60 degrees warmer, I struggled through half that distance at a pace that made me look more like a statue of a runner than one out there collecting miles. 

Summer can do that to runners. Some estimates say for every 5°F rise in temperature above 60°F the running pace will slow 20-30 seconds per mile. When I first started running my inclination was to fight that estimate. Fight against the science of dew point, thermoregulation and blood volume. The problem is my ego and all the willpower in the world are million to one long shots in a matchup against that kind of science. 

What do I do now? I accept that reality. I know the results are going to be different. But we need to remember, different doesn't equal worse - no matter how inclined we are to interpret it that way. I know now my running success is about effort. So my goal these days when I'm running in the oppressive heat, even if it's running slower, is to give the same amount of effort to the heat as I give to the more friendly autumn morning runs. The key here is realizing the watch isn't always the best measure of effort or fierceness.  

I think sometimes our approach to life struggles is similar. An unexpected change in the seasons of life, whether we're blindsided by divorce or unemployment or an addiction or countless other real life struggles, I think our instinct is to fight to keep our life results - our joy and contentment or our financial standing - exactly where it was before the change in seasons. 

Many times that's not realistic. Just like fighting against the summer running conditions is going to be futile in pursuit of fall and spring results, fighting against our life circumstances to remain where we were before the circumstances changed is equally fruitless and even unhealthy. 

When my friend Ashlynn talks about being fierce in our intentions to succeed in conquering life's challenges, her idea of success isn't based on getting back to where we once were, it's based on fighting for and embracing a healthy new place to be. All while confidently understanding that fierce gives us the power to declare a new place doesn't have to be a worse place.

So that's where I've come to with my summer running. I'm embracing the idea that even though the watch says slower, my heart and head say I'm growing more fierce by the moment as I tackle the challenging conditions. And I'm old enough to know when you can be at peace with your head and your heart, the watch becomes irrelevant. 

​Happy summer running all. 

I'm a runner. Many days that means I'm looking to the future: the next race, the finish line of that race, or my house that sits at the end of the current training session for that race. The temptation to look ahead never leaves a runner's side.

That's usually not a good thing.

First, let me say I see a difference between looking ahead and having a goal. Having a goal means I have an outcome in mind tied to my current effort. Looking ahead means in the midst of my current effort my mind has drifted to the goal and I'm no longer as open to the possibilities of what I'm currently engaged in. 

I've experience this in my work life. For years I stayed focused on the next promotion. So much of my daily effort was centered on doing things that might expedite my way to the next position instead of soaking up everything I could and being grateful for the one I was in. Today, I thankfully spend far more time exploring the possibilities of my current jobs instead of imagining how much better life would be in the next one. 

I've experienced this in my spiritual life. To many, Christianity is a means to the end. Follow Jesus and you'll inherit everlasting life. True. There is an ultimate life finish line. But I went through a period in my faith journey when I spent a lot of time rationalizing less than Christ-like behavior by telling myself I had plenty of time to make up for it before I arrived at the finish line. That thinking reduced Jesus to a ticket I could present at the pearly gates instead of a relationship I could lean on here and now. One that has delivered me inexplicable peace - daily. 

And it's true. Many days I experience it in my running journey. I spend upwards of 4 months training for one race. But I find myself spending a majority of those months focused on the final time on the clock as I run across the finish line. I trade away hours of reflection and gratitude and the possibilities that come with each and every stride I take preparing for a race for the dreams of what might happen in the single moment I cross that race's finish line. 

The finish line of our careers, faith, and running can be great motivation. More often than not, though, I'm afraid where we long to be eats away at the joy of where we are. When we focus on the sensations that come with getting a promotion, or walking through the gates of heaven, or running across the finish line in record time, we undermine the magical moments that happen in our day to day efforts. We somehow make insignificant things that were never meant to be insignificant at all. 

So, have goals. Picture the finish line. But know the moment you're in might be a much bigger treasure.

​Don't miss it. 

Over the last several years I've written a lot about my running journey. Much of what I've written points to the idea that running has drawn me closer to God. Several people have come right out and asked me and I'm sure even more have wondered: how on earth can running be a spiritual experience. 

It's a fair question. Just a few short years ago I would have called mixing God and running as logical as mixing gasoline and a forest fire. Some things just don't naturally fit together. But that was before I actually became a runner. It was before I started noticing that countless scriptures in the bible drive home spiritual messages with running metaphors. 

For the last several weeks I've been listening to a series of sermons in church teaching on 2 Timothy chapter 4. This is the final letter the apostle Paul ever wrote - quite possibly the parting words he wanted to be most remembered by. It's a letter filled with those running metaphors I referenced above. As part of the teaching on that letter last week the pastor made the point that a dead battery can't recharge itself from within. It is dependent on an external source of energy to become recharged. 

I think that analogy helped me understand clearer than ever how my running journey is connected to my relationship with God. No matter how hard I train, no matter how well I eat, no matter how perfect the running conditions are, I always reach a point in my run when I wonder how much further I can go. All the energy I've managed to store up in my own physical being eventually runs out and I'm forced to turn to an external source of power. 

Here's where it gets tricky. When the running gets hard, and I dare say when life gets hard, we all want to be able to turn to a source of power we trust to pull us through. Trust is the key isn't it? Because it's our complete faith in the source that actually unleashes it's power. 

I suppose I have an advantage in discovering my one true source of power. I spent a large portion of my life experimenting with false sources that eventually proved to be useless, if not destructive. 

• I tried using alcohol to magically make challenges disappear.
• I tried to make me the ultimate source of power. As long as I felt good about my response to a challenge that's all that mattered. 
• I tried surrounding myself with friends who would support every possible response I could make to a challenge - even if it was an unhealthy response. That allowed for a lot of different sources of power.

I tapped into all of those power sources and more only to eventually discover they were all working against me. If they weren't clouding my judgment in a haze of drunkenness they were constantly moving the standard for what a healthy way of overcoming a challenge actually looked like. And believe me, if the source didn't validate my way I ditched the source. 

Then one day I started leaning on God. It's obviously a much longer story than that, but the only part of the story that really matters here is I now know my source of power. And I only have one, always present, never adapting source. When my battery is running low I know where to get it recharged every time. Whether I'm talking to Him or focusing on his presence, I'm more prepared than ever to run through, around and over fatigue. There's an efficiency that happens in life when you start ruling out the things that don't recharge your battery, that don't help you find healthy ways to conquer life and running fatigue. 

The beauty with God is he's a one stop battery charging station. Whether my being a dad battery is running low or my ability to get along with a co-worker is fading fast or my country's views on politics are draining my every last bit of tolerance - and even when I'm at mile 20 of a marathon wondering where on earth one more single stride can possibly come from - God is always there, arms and hands lovingly and patiently extended - holding jumper cables. 

I get that my true power source might not be yours. I get that your running journey might not be a spiritual one. But if you ever find the power sources you lean on are fading or fickle, they no longer point you in a better and more refreshed direction, I'd love to tell you more about mine. You might find yourself running further and faster than you ever dreamed of. 

It's appropriate while in Chicago last week representing the Meg's Mile Supporters Facebook group at a summit for powerful Facebook community builders, I got to meet several members of my online community for the first time. They weren't participants in the summit, but they became one of the true highlights of my summit experience. 

I met Laura Baumgardner on the Megsmiles page through my friend Tracey Outlaw when he was supporting Laura's Run for Respect Virtual 5k. The 5K is part of Laura's work with special needs students at Pontiac Township High School in Pontiac, Illinois. Laura and her students use the event as part of their efforts to SPREAD THE WORD TO END THE WORD. The word they are trying to end is retarded. The word they want to replace it with is respect. 

I didn't participate in the 5k this year. But spending time with Laura and 3 of her students at a Starbucks in Chicago assured me there was no better word to describe these kids than respect! We drank coffee together, we talked baseball - big Cubs fans there - and we laughed at each others stories.

Hey, laugh at my stories and I'll respect you for life!

It was a cool thing to see an online cause become a real life story. Social media inundates us with requests to support causes. I respond to many of them. But nothing stirs a bigger response in me than talking to and shaking hands with a cause in person. Nothing aggravates me more than realizing it has to be a cause to encourage people to refrain from calling these precious kids retarded and instead respecting them like you and I would want to be respected. 

Well my new real world friends, I never was a big fan of that r-word, but when it comes to you all there is no better word than THE r-word: respect.

I also got to meet my online friend Dawn Malartsik and her family. And what a delightful family. Dawn actually did participate in the Run for Respect 5k earlier in the year, so there were many connections coming together at once. Dawn has always been a virtual supporter of my running and writing. But you know, as encouraging as an online "keep lifting us up" comment is to read - and to me personally they are powerful - nothing compares to a real life hug. 

That has been my running journey, though. Online encouragement turned real life experiences and friendships. As proud as I am of my amateur and quite unexpected running accomplishments, I'm far more fulfilled by the friends I've united with along the way. Running by itself isn't enticing to me. I'm sorry, it just isn't. Running with friends, however, and running to their cheers and encouragement roaring in the background of my often too easy to give up mind - well there's little more exciting. 

So I was reminded in Chicago, as much as I'm drawn to the finish line of each run, I'm drawn with greater force toward the many diverse and cool people I now get to call friends.