The Calm Before the Storm

I am so happy that Sabbath comes around once a week. I wish there could be more Sabbaths than just one a week. In any case, after a week-long stretch of meetings, paperwork, and more meetings, I find myself more than ready for rest.

I had a very significant meeting today with a friend. We met at a restaurant he suggested. It was called Picazzo’s Organic Italian Restaurant...the streak continues! Nonetheless, the content of the conversation was scintillating and quite thrilling as well. We discussed the future of Adventist Education, in Arizona and beyond. We talked about present challenges and failure. We mulled over historical blunders and bonanzas, with a sense of respective sadness for different reasons. Mostly we spoke of vision and ways to make that vision take wings. There is a movement underway on a national level that will bring about some exciting developments that will impact our territory. Bring it on, I say!

I have been talking and writing about change being in the air. I truly believe that change is necessary. I did not imagine change coming in the form that is beginning to take shape. I have become increasingly excited about the possibilities here in Arizona. I am beginning to see why God opened the doors for me to come here. I am seeing energy and creativity bubbling over in specific groups and individuals. I can also see the forces of defeatism, delay and doubt-mongering deploying to derail any efforts to take the risks that radical change requires.

For now, those thoughts are put to rest. I will put my trust and confidence where it belongs. Life is too short to lose sleep over things on which we have no control. The anticipation of the upcoming engagement is a better place in which to invest emotional capital. Things are beginning to line up. The battle lines are becoming clearer. The prize lies ahead even as the clash between opposing forces looms heavy…. On a side note, do you think there will there be Italian food in heaven?

Sari About the Indian Food (or Not an Italian Funghi)

I am back in Scottsdale today after the Fall Education Council in Ontario, California. It was mind-numbing. The networking and friendships are great. On the other hand I was left wondering if there was a better way of communicating these reports and distributing this information. I am sure we need to know some of this information for some reason, I just haven’t found out why that is the place. I would rather spend more time in breakout meetings that are focused and dedicating time to discussion particular issues that require careful thought and corporate effort to resolve. The breakouts were helpful, albeit somewhat depressing at times, for example, the Legal Implications breakout. I was left feeling that we are destined to shut down any and all activities that are related to school, if we are to avoid litigation related to otherwise innocuous school activities. It is a sad day with no apparent solution in place or in the pipeline. I am back in Arizona where I hope to continue the steady process of needed change.

On the other hand, I had a great time with my colleagues while in Ontario, particularly my Arizona friends. It was nice to share a couple of meals with them during our stay in the Inland Empire. We ate Italian food one lunch and Indian food the second. Those who know me best know how difficult it was for me to choose those two venues. Those seemed to be the restaurant of choice for the groups. But it was the fellowship that mattered. It more than compensated for the adventure outside my culinary comfort zone.

I often wonder if people actually know of my aversion to certain types of foods and purposefully choose those dens of exotic flavors and fanfare when given an opportunity. It’s just that it seems that I find myself frequenting these establishments on a regular basis as part of my employment. I could opt out of these food establishment events, but I fear people will consider me more anti-social than I am presently perceived already.

I had a seven-layer burrito from Taco Bell for lunch today, just to bring back my digestive world back into proper alignment.

Of Ripples and Revolutions

Today I am in Southern California for the beginning of the Fall Education Council in Ontario. It is a gathering of educators; mainly, superintendents, principals, and business managers, from the seven conferences (Arizona, Hawaii, Central California, Nevada-Utah, Northern California, Southeastern California, and Southern California) in the five states that make up the Pacific Union of Seventh-day Adventists (Arizona, California, Hawaii, Nevada, and Utah).

It will the first time I attend these meetings as a superintendent. I don’t quite know what that will entail or what difference it will make. But as all newbies, I am sure there will be some good-natured ribbing from colleagues and friends. One of the favorite parts of the gathering for me is the networking and renewed friendships that are rekindled during this time. It is refreshing to sit with colleagues who share a common experience. That is important, particularly when a large majority of an educator’s time is spent working alone, especially in a small conference like Arizona.

In any case, most of the time is spent in listening to presentations and reports from various educational specialists and academic entities. We begin our days with some devotional thoughts shared by special guests invited for this specific purpose. I particularly enjoy the music provided by local Adventist schools as a prelude to the morning devotional thoughts. It really is inspiring. Another significant portion of the meetings is dedicated to policy review and approval of changes to the Educational Code of the Pacific Union.

Sometimes the discussions evolve and become the springboard for future change. I enjoy those moments. Those are the times when creative thought rules the day and the engagement is often heated as the group wrestles with major challenges and opportunities to change directions or remove obstacles to our mission. It is here that I hope to begin the momentum towards establishing a multi-grade educational track for prospective teachers graduating from our schools. As far as I can tell, there is no specialized training for teachers interested in ministering in multi-grade instruction or mastering the specialized methodology needed to survive and succeed in a multi-grade elementary school setting. In the case of Arizona (and in the general Adventist school system), most of the schools are multi-grade and in some cases only one classroom accommodating all elementary grades. Such a scenario can either be an opportunity for an excellent learning environment, if creative and intentional methods are used, or incredibly taxing and demoralizing, if the necessary skills are not present to capitalize on the inherent strengths of this model.

I am one who believes that we must stop apologizing for our small schools and invest in making our system, which consists of many small multi-grade schools, the best multi-grade system in the world. It will require elementary teachers who see multi-grade teaching as an opportunity of choice and not as a last option for teachers who do not secure a position in a large traditional classroom school setting. Perhaps the ripple will begin this year.

It is just a little ripple—but movements begin with someone making a ripple somewhere. God uses the smallest efforts, done in faith, to accomplish major tasks. Sometimes I shudder to think of the major changes that will be needed to turn this struggling educational system around. I know I am not able to accomplish it alone. But I can move and choose to be a vessel that evokes the necessary change that will accomplish God’s purpose. It is humbling, empowering, and exciting at the same time. Well, here goes….

The Slow Shack Redemption

I did not realize yesterday was 10/10/10! That date comes around only once every hundred years! We only have two more of these types of days left in this century. The last one is 2012. Hey, wait, 2012? Crazy Mayan people, what do they know? They couldn’t even keep their own civilization alive.

Speaking of civilization—I finished the book “The Shack” yesterday. I must confess that I was a bit hesitant to read it, having read it was a new age attempt to dilute the Christian message and a direct attack on our 28 Fundamental Beliefs! What a disappointment—not the book, but the failure to deliver on the frontal attack on my soul.

In all truth it was one of the best books I have read. Yes, it does have some portions that are not particularly in line with Adventist orthodoxy or my personal worldview, but so are portions of Scripture (particular parables of Jesus come to mind). But one must not forget that this is a work of fiction (not unlike some parables). The imagery and underlying principles are solid food for thought. I plan on recommending the book to certain friends who share Mack’s somewhat distorted view of God.

I sense some portions are going to be hard for some Adventists to digest. I was able to filter these areas through my personal worldview and was able to enjoy the implications for me personally. I am going through a spiritual re-wakening during my desert exile. It’s a personal thing. Although I preach regularly, sharing what I am experiencing is more of a personal journey that has been in the works for a while. I would rather let my life and not my voice become the witness. It’s sort of like telling everyone about your latest diet and what a difference it has made as opposed having them comment or ask you about what you’re doing to look so good (not that I would have any personal experience with people telling me such things about my physique).

I have discovered during my short time here that serving people sure makes a bigger impact than lording over them. People are actually surprised that I am interested in their local school plight or that I am willing to make suggestions or find solutions. I don’t know any better—that’s what I do.
So far, I have been blessed by all the people I have made contact with here in Arizona. I even made a friend of one individual with whom I had a rough start and less than positive first impression. People are people—they need to be appreciated for who they are, even if they (we) are all little rough around the edges. It takes people to elicit change in systems. And change is needed—badly.

Close Encounter in Sedona

Not much time for blogging today. I have a board meeting in Tucson. I was hoping to spend some time on the campus today, but I have accumulated some considerable amount of work due to my journeys to Yuma and Cottonwood for the last two days. I doubt I will catch up.
I spent a great day at Cottonwood, at the Verde Valley School. I got to know the kids in this small seven student school a bit better. I had some time in between the end of the day and the evening school board meeting, so I scheduled some time with a retired teacher from the Ask Fork area in northern Arizona, 40 miles west of Flagstaff, Arizona on Interstate 40.
I met with Joan in Sedona. We were driving from opposite sides of the city and finally connected in front of a KFC. From there we went searching for a place to sit and talk about the future of Adventist Education in Ask Fork. We settled for a small diner, the name of which escapes me, which was a decorated with an extraterrestrial theme. Very strange. But we ordered something off the menu—she had a hot chocolate, which was delivered post haste with a generous helping of whipped cream and chocolate syrup spilling over the sides of the over-sized cup. I had ordered the Tofu Noodle Bowl—I had no idea what it was but it seemed “out of this world.” It was not. It arrived a bit later and quite honestly is a bit hard to describe. It was however, inedible. I am happy we talked back and forth for almost an hour and a half, since it gave me an excuse not to eat.
The discussion was fruitful and set the process in motion that hopefully will see a conference-sponsored school open up in the Fall of 2011. God's purposes often begin with insignificant and mundane meetings in strange places by people brought together fron totally different wals of life. Providence often seems serendipitous, but it is certainly not. I am happy to be part of the His journey, regardless of how it unfolds. By the way, the noodle cup was boxed and hastily disposed of soon after we went our separate ways. Thank goodness for Taco Bell…

Mama Was a Rolling Stone

Moms—you gotta love ‘em.
I guess that preamble requires some explanation. After all, one would think that such a statement is not needed in light of the fact that all mothers are sacred, untouchable and off limits when it comes to derision or fault—one would think. My mother is in a category all her own. Here is today’s story, which only arises due to the fact that I stopped at her house on my way from Riverside to our Yuma school early Monday morning.
I will couch this story in a historical frame so as to give you some perspective. My mom is 78 going on 19 years of age. The Temptations’ classic ballad, “Papa was a Rolling Stone,” could just as easily been named, “Mama was a Rolling Stone,” and been a reference to my mother. For those too young to remember such a classic musical masterpiece, the reference is not to the Rolling Stones of Mick Jagger fame. If you do not know The Rolling Stones or Mick Jagger, then just limp along with me.
My mom has lived with me four or five times over the last twenty years—each time she has tired of the confinement and ran away—yes, run away, as in suddenly she is no longer on the premises and we don’t know where mom is! An addition, I have a sneaking suspicion that my mom went to Jewish Mom Training School, since she is never satisfied with the attention or efforts of her children on her behalf. That includes me.
Well, on this occasion I decided I should stop by to visit her at her residence in beautiful Desert Hot Springs, where she is temporarily housed in a senior living complex, complete with a beautiful view of the San Jacinto Mountains, and a mineral water Jacuzzi and pool a scarce 20 feet from her front door. Most people would be satisfied with such accommodations. My mom was satisfied for a couple days and ever since then she has begun to plot her escape.
I stopped over knowing well that the maternal radar that identifies when and which of her children is within 100 miles of her house had gone off and I would eventually hear about it if I did not stop and eat something she cooked up especially for me. I dutifully arrived and waited (I had an appointment in Yuma, remember?) as she prepared a breakfast from scratch. She talked as she cooked up her homemade beans, eggs, tortillas and fresh salsa. Her topic of choice—her need of a mobile phone with unlimited calling, texting, and electronic information transfer capabilities. She was withering away without contact with her children and grandchildren and friends and neighbors and…you get the picture. The truth is that I had suggested as much three months ago when I relocated her to her present facilities. She spoke of some magical phone that was available with such capabilities at a reasonable price with no contract. I had actually gone in search of this mythical phone only to discover it did not work in Desert Hot Springs.
She convinced me she was steadily declining in mental and physical health due to her lack of telecommunications. I finally conceded the point and asked her where I could go this time and secure such a device. She said, K-Mart!” As the model son that I am, I immediately went on a hunt for the nearest K-Mart in Desert Hot Springs; I tracked and captured a phone, identified a phone service, paid for the merchandise and returned to her house with the prize.
I set it up. I called T-Mobile and pre-paid. I made arrangements to have the flat fee for unlimited usage in the contiguous states deducted from my account. I put the phone together: battery and SIM card. I called T-Mobile to ensure all was well. I plugged the phone in to begin charging the battery. I gave her a crash course in usage of the phone. I called her a number of times before I left and had her answer the phone. She seemed delighted. I showed her how to dial and she heard my phone ring in response to her call. I talked with her from outside her residence to prove the phone worked. I believed I had covered all contingencies. I was far behind on my schedule for the day but I assured her that I would call her on the way to Yuma and that I would give the number to her children to call her. She seemed delighted to be connected to the world. “Seemed” is the operative word.
I called her once and she answered. She sounded happy as a lark that I had called her unprompted, since I “never” do that. I assured her she could call me any time. I did not hear from her for some time. I decided I would call. I did. No answer. I called again. No answer—went to voicemail. I called five more times; all with the same result. My brother, Art also called with no response. I was thinking perhaps she had gone out and forgotten the phone. Understandable.
When I arrived in Yuma and tried again to call with the same sequence: ring, voice mail, disconnect, I decided to find some help. I called my cousin Nena who lives in the same facility. I asked her to walk over to my mom’s apartment and check out if she was having some trouble with the phone. I was imagining her sitting on the rocking chair (she doesn’t really have one) having forgotten how to use the phone and just staring at the phone and not knowing what button to push to answer. If only….
I didn’t hear from my cousin for some time so I decided to call her back. In short this is what she told me. My mom, bless her soul, had taken the cell phone and had put it back into its original box and put it way in the back of her closet. When asked why she did this to her new phone, purchased by her loving and responsible son, she simply replied that she did not like the phone and thus she had put it away. When asked why she did not like the phone she informed my cousin that it was because it was too small and did not do what she wanted it to do when she wanted it to do it! When asked if she wanted a refresher course on proper usage of the device, she clearly stated that she would never, ever use the phone again since it was clearly not what she wanted, nor was it her idea to get a phone in the first place, much less one that did not do what she wanted, when she wanted!
My cousin gave up trying to convince her. The phone is in its original box, in the back of the closet in my mom’s apartment in Desert Hot Springs. I am sure it provides an occasional break from the monotony of her days. The musical tune she selected must remind her of its existence—but not much more. This is not how I imagined it would end. After all—it was a gift given with the best of intentions. Now I was paying a closet music box!
I was tempted to become incensed, but after some reflection I was reminded that I have occasionally pulled the same stunt—with God! I can think of a number of times when God has gifted me and I have simply set it aside and closeted it away. He is patient with me. I suppose I should be patient with my mom. I will trust God with my mom and all her idiosyncrasies. I can’t even imagine how God manages to deal with mine. Gotta go, I think my cell phone is ringing.

Live Crash and Burn

I had a fantastic Friday and Sabbath! Penny was visiting from California and I went all out to make the weekend special for her. I prepared some culinary treats which included some strange legume or vegetable named Edename. My spell-check wants to change the word to edentate, but I know better. I cleaned the house after a week of jubilee, when the house remained fallow to permit it to recover from the last cleaning (I believe it’s biblical).

I gussied myself up and set a table for two, with candles and special dinnerware. I bought a tablecloth with matching placemats and napkins with those special doilies that scrunch them in a very classy way. I had the raspberry lemonade (Penny doesn’t like carbonated drinks) on ice, the candle lighted and the roses in a vase displayed just right for her arrival. It was magical!

The next morning we arose early to get to the Monte Vista Spanish SDA Church where I was slated to preach. Mas TV was slated to be there and sure enough, they were set and ready to roll at exactly 11:00 a.m. I was informed that I could speak as long as I wanted, but the cameras would stop rolling at exactly 12:00 p.m. I had a great time sharing the message I had prepared especially for that morning. I forgot the cameras were in the house, but I remembered the clock, which stood glaring at me from the back of the church wall like a sentry protecting the required accuracy of the worship service. The pressure was on.

It worked! I finished my sermon at almost exactly 12:00 p.m. Since there was not digital clock giving me a second by second countdown I have no way of knowing whether I actually finished at 12:00 p.m. sharp or at 12:00 p.m. and 37 seconds. The director of the TV crew did commend me for finishing on time. I was delighted to know that I had made their job easier and managed to get my message across in a timely manner. All was well with the world. An enchilada dinner awaited me at the church pastor’s home. All I had to do was leave the building without tripping down the platform stairs. What could possibly go wrong?

I managed the stair part. Apparently the cameras were still rolling when I walked off the platform and was prompted to walk down the middle aisle of the church with the senior pastor. I looked down the center of the church and saw my wife sitting there about three rows back on my right side down the middle aisle. It seemed natural to invite her to walk with me for the remainder of the walk down the center of the church. It never occurred to me that she might be disinclined to join me. Alas, my mistake. With cameras rolling—like the guy who proposes to a girl during halftime at a sporting event with the picture up on the Jumbo-Tron, only to have the girl say “No,” she waved me off. Yes, in front of the millions of people watching Mas TV on Sabbath morning (maybe 10) Penny gave me the cold shoulder. It could have been worse—I could have spontaneously combusted.

Other than that it was a great day in sunny Arizona. We went to the state fair in the evening. Major disappointment, except for the health check that told me I am a ticking time bomb. Oh well, at least it’s only Saturday….

Pulpit-pounding Reflections

I am enjoying a (mini) Week of Prayer on the campus of Thunderbird Adventist Academy every morning in their church. The speaker is from Texas, where he is director of recruitment for Southwestern Adventist University, in Keene. Texas. He is an incredibly dynamic and powerful speaker with a vivid imagination and a creative flavor that makes his narratives come alive. Add to that a terrific sense of timing and humor and you have a recipe that will captivate most young minds (and not so young ones). As I glance around the church I see most students engaged in his homily.

The beauty is the way he weaves a story, bit by bit, with unexpected twists and turns, sprinkled with a personal flavor of his own. Of course, this would only provide an interesting story and some needed entertainment, if not for the teachable moments on which great speakers capitalize. The preacher has created those moments and has taken advantage of those rare and tiny cracks when a young person tentatively slides their soul’s window open just an inch as they are captivated by a story that resonates with a personal experience or has simply disarmed them for a moment. It is at that moment that God works and the seed of the gospel is planted. It’s a God thing—from start to finish!

It is amazing to see God work through different personalities and gifts. If I listen merely as another person who does public speaking I would be tempted to hang it up and find some other pursuit. I do not have the flair, the vocal prowess, the diction, the homiletical skills, and the list goes on. But I am not another public speaker; I am a vessel for God to do what He does—from start to finish! The power is not in the speaker—it’s in the Word! I’d like to think in moments like this that I stand shoulder to shoulder with Balaam’s donkey—both living proof that God can communicate in surprising ways and get the point across. I can live with that. Back to work.

Back in the Classroom

I overslept for the third continuous day. I don’t know what it is. I have set me alarm to ring at 5:30 a.m. every weekday. Sabbath alarm goes off at 6:30 a.m. Sunday—well all bets are off!

The sad thing is that I have had a conference call appointment at 6:30 a.m. every day this week. I barely made it on Monday and was cut off before I got to participate. Well, you guessed it—I slept right through the conference call. No explanation. Didn’t hear the alarm might be a plausible explanation, but I always hear the alarm. I am beginning to think there is a reason why I should not be at that conference call....

Today was even worse, because I made sure prior to going to sleep to check to see if the alarm was functioning properly. Yet, come this morning I was awoken by Penny’s phone call at 6:49 a.m.! I don’t even know what to say to the people who were expecting me 20 minutes earlier. I sent the leader of the group an e-mail. I have no believable excuse. I told him I would stay up all night tonight if that is what it takes to get me to my assigned hour in the morning. I don’t know if I’ll make it all night, but I have sense that I will be waking up every hour on the hour to look at the alarm clock. I will probably do that until 6:00 a.m.; then I’ll fall asleep again and wake up at 7:00 a.m. Aaaargh!

On a brighter note I spent an enjoyable day on the campus of Thunderbird Adventist Academy. I visited a couple of classroom with the academy principal. We were just doing some informal observations. We observed two very engaging classes. One was a young math teacher trying to convey the concept of y-intersect and graphing an equation, or something to that effect. It’s been a couple of years since my last algebra class.

We also visited a Biology class. This teacher was very engaging and enthusiastic. She used video, Smart Board, and a combination of inductive and deductive approaches to her instruction. I would have enjoyed Biology a lot more if I had had a teacher like that. I actually did quite well in all my classes in high school, but slept through most of them. I think I woke up sometime during my last quarter in college. The rest is somewhat of a blur.

Today reminded me how much I miss teaching. There is something about molding young minds. Seeing the lights go on when you share a concept or explain a nuance is unlike anything else professionals experience. Relationships are established that last a lifetime. I occasionally encounter past students of mine. It is as if we had just come out of a classroom. Memories flood our sense. Experiences are shared. It is amazing. But the clock keeps ticking. It’s sad, in a sense. On the other hand, I still have the opportunity to soak it. There are still lives to be changes; young people to be saved; minds lifted above the ordinary of life. I can’t sleep though that!

Mud Madness 2010 Revisited

Monday, November 1
It has been almost a half a month since my last blog. I fell off my blogging horse and I intend to get on again. I was enjoying the pattern. Life got away from me in a flash. But I am back! Sort of….

My fingers are pretty much all that is working properly today since I participated in The Mud Madness Triathlon yesterday, October 31. That my fingers are the only part of me working is a slight exaggeration, since I feel somewhat normal, considering my ordeal yesterday. I will try to be brief.

I did not train.

That should be sufficient for you to fill in the blanks! People train for a marathon. People train for a half marathon. I know people that train for a 3 mile jog! I learned that training for a Triathlon is very advisable if you do not want to experience the worst stretch of time in your life and live to tell the story.

I had intended to train. I am not a total fool, just a fool. I ran a few times. Last month. I swam a few laps. Two months ago. I rode a bike last summer. I think my muscles had forgotten the training they had been subjected to earlier this year. I discovered this soon after I began my short 125 yard swim portion of the race. And make no mistake—it was a race. Maybe not for me, since I was all about pace—a pace slow enough not to push my rotund physique into shock. And although we were placed in age brackets that would make the race more competitive, I soon discovered my “competition” consisted of a guy who looked not a year older than 40, a mustached man in his mid-fifties with a large grizzly physique chiseled like a 30 year-old. He and his 50-something wife were regular participants in triathlons. They all had skin-fitting swimming attire a la Mark Phelps. The forty year-old “imposter” went before me. I sloshed 15 seconds behind him like some hairless brown bear trying to cross a river without touching the bottom. Awkward!

I had not reached the half way mark of the pre-determined distance before the mustached man and his senior Olympian wife crawled over my back to pass me in the water (as if I need the excess weight!). People were cheering me on, or at least I believe people were making loud noises. Perhaps they were screaming for the lifeguard to jump in and save me.

I dragged myself out of the pool after what seemed an eternity of swimming. I was so relieved to be finished. I could barely feel my arms and legs after the herculean task of swimming the five lengths of the pool. Then the thought suddenly flashed across my mind that a 6 mile bike ride was awaiting me—immediately! But first I had to run to the place I had left my bike a couple of hours earlier. I had to run in order to climb onto the bike with legs that no longer wanted to obey my mental prompts, and then force them to pedal for six miles in order to complete this leg of the “race.” This was no race for me—it was survival!

I soon discovered that I had further handicapped myself by securing a mountain bike with which to enter the race. The bike I brought from Riverside especially for this excursion was a rugged and manly ½ ton bike of heavy metal and iron spokes. Although I am mentally certain that it truly did not weigh half a ton, my legs were not convinced. I tried to smile at all the young people trying to guide us along the pre-determined course through the surrounding streets of Scottsdale. I was thirsty. But no one offered me water. My head was hot, but no one offered me a hat. I was wet from the recent plunge, and very happy to have something to cool me down as I tried my best to be brave. After two trips around the road course I coasted back onto the campus of Thunderbird Academy. The signs said “dismount bike here” but my eyes did not understand the meaning. Penny was taking pictures of her dying husband in the last vestiges of his mortal life. I almost ran her over since my body was not responding to any command other than pedal—not brake; not dismount; and certainly not prepare to run two miles, immediately!

Unfortunately there was no option. I fell off the bike on the grassy knoll in front of Thunderbird Elementary, threw the bike on the floor and visualized myself running out the gate towards the running course. The problem was that my legs did not want to move anymore. I willed one leg in front of the other in what can best be described as an inebriated stumble through the initial yards of the run. I was moving, but just barely. I could not see straight. I heard voices and I followed the path between them. I heard people say “this way,” “go that way,” and such. I followed as in mental default. My legs kept moving because they did not know what else to do with themselves. I had some options circulating in my mind, but I could not read them—I was half dead by now. I was losing touch with reality.

The last thing I remember was seeing/hearing someone tell me to follow the arrows through the adjacent Thunderbird property. I followed blindly. There did not seem to be anyone behind me, and I could not see anyone ahead of me. I was on my own! Man against nature. Nature won. I ran and ran, and continued to run until I realized that I was running on a dirt path in an area I had only visited once before. I thought in the vacant recesses of my mind dulled by thirst and exhaustion, “where do get out?” I kept running while surveying the surrounding areas for a possible exit to the course and finish line. I ran for what appeared to be hours (in truth a few minutes) before I concluded that I was hopelessly lost and I would have to be creative if I was to finish the race.

This is where the memory of Rosie Ruiz came to play. I could not see myself running in reverse in search of the race course. So I considered the only viable possibility for the only contestant who had detoured from the designated course. I would find a fence and climb it. I had not considered that my legs might not be inclined to climb anything. I considered how ridiculous I would look rolling over the concrete fence. Or worse I even contemplated what people might think as they saw me climbing over the fence to get back on the course—of course that would be (pun intended!), Rosie Ruiz, the infamous New York Marathon cheater who took the subway and won the race only to have her misdeed uncovered before the entire nation and subsequently stripped of her crown.
I didn’t care; I needed to get back on the course. I had little left in the tank and failure was not an option. I climbed up on some abandoned steel piping and climbed on top of the fence and then jumped off. I landed hard, but recovered my dignity only to hear shouts of “cheater” coming from some unknown source. I came to a checkpoint that sent people into the next portion of the run. They asked me if I had run a lap or something. I did not really hear them. I saw “Lap 2” with an arrow pointing left and I followed it in light of the fact that I had already run lap one. In hindsight, I believe I was supposed to run straight and run the course again, which was insanity since I had already run it once and had been running off course for a considerable time as well! History will judge me.

When I turned left I saw it! The finish line. I ran with an extra hiccup in my step. My muscles were celebrating early. “I can do this,” I kept repeating to myself. I was not listening. I was simply letting one leg trick the other one into keep moving. I arrived at the finish line ready to collapse in a heroic heap. But alas, there remained the crowning portion of the Mud Madness Triathlon—the Mud Madness! This portion consisted of a moat of water, dirt and other unspecified compost-like materials with a mound of dirt dividing the first portion of the muddy ditch from the finish. I did what any tortured soul would do with nothing to lose or gain at the end of a harrowing and tortuous sojourn—I belly-flopped into the muddy morass, clawed my way up the mountain of mud and slid down the other side towards the finish line.

I don’t know if I really officially finished considering the creative course I blazed. I know I did not medal in my division. I was the only non-medalist in my division. But I was standing, barely, but standing. I can’t wait to begin training for next year!