Running in a Tsunami

If you are a teacher, or know a teacher, then you know October is crazy, to say the least. August and September, everyone is getting back into the groove of school. October is the end of 1st Quarter (that explains a lot right there), Parent/Teacher Conferences, Red Ribbon dress-up week, Halloween Parties, etc.

Now if you are a baseball fan, or just a person who doesn't live under a rock, you know October is Post Season. Unfortunately, if I had been training for a half marathon in 2016, 2017, or 2018, I would have been golden. Not in 2019 though! After 3 years of drought, the rain finally poured, October Reigned. We were back in the Post Season.

My three worlds had collided for a perfect storm to create a completely crazy Caitlin. It didn't take long into October to solidify this fact.

October 3rd. The Cardinals played the Braves at 4. Not ideal. I couldn't run before the game, but give it 3-3.5 hours, 7:30 would be fine to run. When 7:30 hit, we were entering the 9th inning of a tied ballgame. It was also starting to get dark. Both of my stubborn sides (I get it from my mom and my dad) ignited for the decision to take a risk. First off, I have the MLB app on my phone with access to KMOX radio. Second, I have very limited data to use amongst my family, but it starts over the 7th of each month. The risk of paying my dad $15 in overage fees was worth it. Third, I knew if I waited any longer it would be too dark to run. So out I went.

It didn't take long into my run for the Cardinals to get on base in the top of the 9th. I was running like a complete lunatic with my arms above my head and fists pumping into the air. That was my pose for the majority of the top of the inning as the Cards went onto score 4 runs making it 7-3 going into the bottom of the 9th. Man, we had this game in the bag, I was getting a quick 3 mile run in, and all was right in my World.

Tsunami alert! Carlos Martinez, aka Tsunami, was coming back to the mound to close out the game for the Redbirds. We had a cushiony lead. Let's get 3 quick outs, I'll finish running my last mile, and take this series back to the Lou.

Not so fast... The Tsunami walked Hamilton and Acuña Jr. homered. 7-5, no outs. Meanwhile, I'm on the straight stretch, ready to round the corner and head back up the hill to my apartments. Albies grounded out to 3rd. I step over the speed bump, round the corner and head up the hill. Carlos pitches, Freeman hits a home run, and the game is 7-6 with only one out. Oh come on, Carlos! As Freeman hit the homer, there's a car entering the driveway to the apartments. It was mostly dark out by now, so between being blinded by the car lights and distracted by Carlos coming close to blowing the save, I forgot to watch out for the 2nd speed bump. Don't worry, it found me instead. To add insult to the present injury of the game, the next thing I knew I was catching my fall with my knees. I never even had a chance to stutter step and catch myself, however my feet hit the speed bump was perfect enough to not know until I was already down. Just as quickly as I fell, I popped myself back up and finished running the tenth of a mile to my apartment. Once inside, it didn't take long for Carlos to come up with the last 2 outs and for me to find both knees covered in blood, the palms of my hands scraped, and myself laughing on the living room floor from all the chaos.

The things I do for my Cardinals... I learned it is probably best for me not to run and listen to a Cardinals game. While the run started out great and I was killing my pace, you never know when a game can change in a split second and I might find myself knee first in the asphalt. However, I now have a cool scar on my knee. When I see it, it reminds me of the Cardinals making Post Season for the first time in 3 seasons as well as the time I did what I once thought impossible, running a half marathon.

Still in Kinshasa

It became a running joke amongst my team while we were in the Congo for Tresor to remind us, okay just me, that we (I) was *still* in Kinshasa. Kinshasa is the capital city of the Democratic Republic of Congo. We visited several municipalities, Kinkole, Kisenso, and Duale, to name a few. Most took 30-60 minutes to get to from our hotel. Duale, where the farm is located, is up a mountain. It took us 2 hours to get to the farm and 4 hours to get back. That's the day the joke started, because I thought surely we were no longer in Kinshasa. I was wrong. I finally learned Kinshasa, the capital city of the DRC, is approximately the size of Connecticut. We truly were never leaving Kinshasa until the plane flew us out.

We had only been in the DRC for a few days when Tresor asked our team if anyone wanted to join him in the morning for a run. I never thought those words would be music to my ears. There were only two of us who volunteered as tribute. I knew from past conversations with Tresor that the place he considered the most beautiful in the Congo was also where he ran. I wasn't going to pass up the opportunity to run, and I certainly wasn't going to miss the view.

The run itself was nothing significant. I tracked a whole 1.5 miles, far from the 5 I ran before leaving the U.S. The setting, on the other hand, is one I don't believe will ever be beat. Tresor took us to the loop where all of the Ambassadors live and at the end of the loop is where the DRC President lives. So not only is it beautiful, it's also probably the safest place in the entire country. Guards and police were everywhere. We saw several fellow runners while we were out, and I do believe every single one of them could have lapped me. Actually, I think I probably could have taken on the Chinese Ambassador, he was pretty slow.

Luckily, we asked Tresor before snapping this picture.
We were about to take it in front of the President's house,
which is illegal.

Don't worry, the ambassadors' residents was not what Tresor considers the beautiful part. Although their houses are the fanciest in all of Congo. The Ambassadors live along the Congo River, formerly the Zaire River, and the 2nd longest river in Africa. Across the river is Brazaville, the capital city of Republic of the Congo. Aside from the Vatican City and Rome, Brazaville and Kinshasa are the closest capital cities in the World. Nowhere else can you look across a river and see another country's capital. It was surreal. It gave me goosebumps. I saw why Tresor considered it the most beautiful spot in Kinshasa. While I may have never made it out of Kinshasa, on our run I did finally SEE outside of Kinshasa.

Control Yourself

On 24 April 2019, my friend and co-worker, Beth, sent me a message and asked what the odds were that I'd run a half marathon with her in November. That folks, is the day I committed myself to the mad house. As much as I tell myself I'm not good at running, and am convinced that I am not a runner, I also don't run away from a challenge.

There were 6 months to prepare for a half marathon and I was already consistently running 3-4 miles. I would have Beth to motivate and encourage me. It might be possible.

I had 3 initial fears.

1. The arch of my foot would start to fall again.
2. I was going out of the country, most likely nowhere to run, for 2 weeks in late June/early July. 
3. I wouldn't be able to run the entire 13.1 miles come race day.

The first one I knew I could control and chose to learn from my mistakes. (Insert eye roll, because I have to admit I messed up.) Once I knew I was fully committed to this half marathon thing, I went and bought my first real pair of running shoes. I know, I know, like 5 years too late, but they're expensive. So I did my research, took my mom with me to Academy to try on several pairs, and landed on navy and purple Brooks Ghost. Secondly, Beth and I made a schedule to pace ourselves. I didn't have to go out the next week and run 10 miles everyday! 

A sneak peek of the Congo River view

My second fear, and I know it sounds cliche, but I decided to trust God. Logically, I also knew once I came back from the Congo I still had 4 months until race day. Beyond that, I controlled what I could. I left on a high note and made sure to run 5 miles the day before leaving for Africa. To my surprise, and a story that will get its own separate blog post, I got the chance to run once while in the DRC. I'm not sure any run will ever top that one. How many people, especially Americans, can say they have ran along the Congo River? 

That last fear was the biggest hurdle to get over mentally. I've said before, I like to do things knowing I'll be successful. In cheerleading, I always knew I would eventually learn the dance, cheer, and stunt. In gymnastics, I knew it might take a lot of hard work, but with time I would land the front handspring, round-off back handspring. One day, I knew I'd be stubborn enough to not let my hand fall on an aerial cartwheel. The same went for band, FFA, and academics. You get the point. Running was a whole new ballgame for me, and one I didn't know what I was capable of doing or not doing. Yet again, I controlled what I could control. Practice, practice, practice. For the next 6 months, I would run like a half crazy person. Whatever happened the day of the race, at least I would know with confidence that I had prepared myself.

Overly Flexible

Don't we look intimidating.

"I wasn't good enough or crazy enough for that nonsense!" God must have laughed when I used to think such things.

I had been running fairly consistently since 2014. A few times I had made it to 5 miles, but typically I stayed at the 3 mile mark. In August of 2017, along with a few friends, I ran in my one and only 5K, Carthage and Webb's Rival Run. (Teacher friends, if you ever want to challenge yourself, sign-up for a race that falls on the Saturday of the first week back to school! Who planned that date??) Needless to say, my friend Brianna and I even made it in the Joplin Globe. Purely coincidence, she was wearing blue and I red. The journalist thought it made for a good story. Little did she know, Brianna was walking it with her Carthage crew, and I was jogging it with a couple Cardinals. Certainly not a cut-throat rivalry story! The thought of being in the Globe as runners, gave us a good laugh though.

Rivalry Run with Tim and Beth

For the most part, I was content running on my own. Like I said yesterday, if I'm going to do something, I want to be good at it. I will never consider myself a good runner, so I had to change my mindset. Instead of trying to be better than anyone else, I started competing against myself. Sometimes that meant running farther than the run before, other times it meant cutting a few seconds off of my previous time, and often it meant just motivating myself to get out there.

I think I was commonly running 2-3 times a week. Winter would usually slow me down and side-line me, because running in itself takes motivation. I'm not sure what running in the cold takes, pure insanity, maybe? I would take advantage of warmer winter days and pick it back up consistently in the Spring.

Then came October 2018. The arch of my foot started throbbing. It would wake me up in the middle of the night and at school I looked like the student who fake limps for attention. I'd stop running for a few days, ice my foot, and go out and try again. It became a vicious cycle. I just wanted to run and be healthy and destress. Is that too much to ask? Apparently, because I found myself at a podiatrist with arch supports. Old shoes, an overly flexible foot, and too quickly increasing mileage was a very poor (idiotic... stubborn...) decision on my part. Aside from costing me a pretty penny, it also cost me 3 months of running (winter didn't help that either).

When the first warm day of 2019 finally came in February, my arch supports and I were back to the races. Well, we were back to the streets and racing against myself at least. Hmm. Maybe I was, possibly, kind of, sort of, slowly becoming a runner.

Maroon and Gold

Sometimes I'm a perfectionist, I'm always competitive, and I never like to embarrass myself. Therefore, when it comes to trying new things, I prefer to do things I know I can do well. I know my strengths, and I stick to them. It's not that I don't try new things, but if I'm going to try something new, it's going to be something that I know with enough hard work, I'll be successful. I've always been that way. Anything I did in high school, I gave 110% of myself to in order to do well: cheerleading, FFA, band, academics...

Once again, sometimes I'm a perfectionist, I'm always competitive, and I never like to embarrass myself. That's a lethal combination for someone who loves sports, but has a limited athletic ability. If someone had told me in high school that I would one day be considered a runner, I wouldn't have even laughed, I would have just walked away. I stuck to cheerleading and gymnastics. Those were my strong suits. At the time I would have put running dead last on a list of possibilities. (That coming from someone who can't throw a ball well, yet I still would have put running last.)

Fast forward 5 years out of high school, no more free college gym, a person who enjoys working out, and there I found myself "running." I had just read my alma mater's Maroon and Gold: Eldon Alumni Magazine. One of the sections was written by and about a childhood friend's mom, also my middle school secretary. She had taken up running herself and talked about how she got started. One of her quotes stood out to me. Highly paraphrased, she said she always ran at nightfall, because she was afraid of being judged by passersby. Then one day she decided that was stupid. She's out there running, making herself better, and she shouldn't be embarrassed about that.

From then on I made it my goal not to care what people passing me might think while I attempted to run. So I continued. I never set goals for a distance or a pace, I just ran when, where, and what I could. Honestly, running here in SW Missouri was easier than running when I visited my parents. If the hills, curves, and road without a shoulder wasn't enough to scare me off, the thought of an old childhood friend seeing me put me over the edge. It took a few months before I was brave enough to run in Eldon, but I finally did it. Eventually, it turned into my favorite running spot. I get so caught up in the woodland view, it distracts me from struggling through a run.

I never planned on running any type of race. I wasn't good enough or crazy enough for that nonsense! I simply practiced setting aside my need to be perfect, desire to be the best, and fear of embarrassment. What I found was something I thought, I might, kind of, sort of, maybe one day, enjoy.

Play Gloria

My love for the Cardinals is in my blood. My dad was born in St. Louis, both of my parents grew up Cardinals fans (their memories date back to the dynasty of the 1960's and the '67 World Series and I'm jealous), and my earliest memories begin with the Mark McGuire single season home run battle. I never had to become a Cardinals fan. I don't remember learning baseball. Both were just always part of my life.

The same cannot be said about hockey. While I was well aware the St. Louis Blues existed, and I knew St. Louis loved their hockey team, I simply had no connection to the Blues or hockey. My knowledge of hockey consisted of getting the puck into the goal. The end. That is until December of 2018.

My friends Brianna and Jory had started growing an interest in hockey and had tried getting me into it. I was hesitant. I wanted to like the Blues, because I love St. Louis... but once again, my hockey knowledge was get puck into goal. And if you've known me for 10 seconds, you know if I'm going to be a fan of something (ahem, Cardinals) I will not be a fair-weather or unattached fan. I fully commit.

Lucky for me, December of 2018, they invited me to join them for a weekend in St. Louis and to go to our first NHL game. Now, I will always be very thankful for their invite. At the time, the Blues were terrible. Even on into January last season, the Blues were in last place in all of NHL. (They were so bad, just after the game we went to, they fired their coach. They also brought in a new goalie, Binnington.) Therefore, I am able to say I became a fan when they were bad. Most importantly, I don't have to claim to be a bandwagoner. To be fair, I will also not claim to be a lifelong fan who stayed committed and suffered through the hard times.

Kurry (Jory's brother), Brianna, Louie, and me

If you are from Missouri, unless you lived under a rock in 2019, you know how the Blues season ended. They went on to make their first Stanley Cup appearance since 1970 and finally brought the first Stanley Cup Championship to Missouri.

After having the in-person experience and following them throughout the rest of the 2019 season, I had the connection I needed to be a fully committed hockey fan. I'm currently in the stage of learning the intricacies of the game with the help of Brianna. (If someone wants to teach us about the penalty of spearing, we would accept the help!) There is no one I would trust more to teach me hockey, because she understands how I learn. More than anything, she has certainly made watching hockey more entertaining for me. I'm also ready to go to another Blues game. Until then, play Gloria!

Love Needs No Translation

I first met Tresor 10 years ago. He was my family group leader at church camp and the missionary for the week. After hearing his stories, I could tell God was doing incredible things through Tresor with Mwangaza International, and I knew one day I wanted to visit his home country. Needless to say, this trip had been greatly anticipated for many years. Seeing the DRC in person, and visiting each aspect of Mwangaza’s ministry, only magnified my amazement of God’s ability to work through people. Overall, through the people in the Congo, I saw pride, passion, and love.

I saw pride on mama’s face as she led us from Kinkole through the fish market to her shop. Her shop was funded through Tabora Funds after completing a business class through the Kinkole Hope Center. Mama asked to take our group to the Congo River so we could see her shop. As we walked through the market, she beamed while telling other shop owners we were with her. She was proud to be able to show us the success of her business.

When we visited the Duale Farm, I saw pride and passion ignited by the work of the farm manager, Somo. He proudly showed us the cassava plants and charcoal pits that were currently in progress at Duale. The passion he has for his work shined through the way he described the process of making charcoal, explained the many uses of cassava, and showed us how to pick cassava leaves.

More than anything in the DRC, I saw love. Love was shown through simple things like climbing trees, painting, sewing, teaching English, and failed attempts at learning French. I also witnessed the intrinsic desire humans have to be loved. As soon as we entered Enrica, the government run orphanage, each member of our team quickly had childrens’ hands intertwined with ours, following us like a shadow, as Tresor gave us a tour.

Later while the girls were getting new dresses, which had been donated from the U.S., they also received a card from the donor. The girls had me read the notes in the cards to them. They couldn’t understand most of what I was reading (my French doesn’t exceed much past, “bonjour” and “merci,” so I couldn’t translate), but based off of the smiles on their faces and giggles, they didn’t need to. Sometimes love needs no translation.

However, no greater example of the need for love came than when we visited La Compassion Home orphanage. I was holding one of the little girls, Daniella, and she kept squeezing her arms and legs tighter around me. With each tight embrace it was as though if she squeezed hard enough maybe the hug wouldn’t end.

God’s ability to work through Tresor, his family, and Mwangaza was evident at each place we visited and through every story we heard in Kinshasa. Much like the kids’ hands intertwined in ours, God’s presence has been woven into the lives of the people connected to Mwangaza.