A Matter for Eating, Drinking, and Running

Though it has become a recent custom to take my annual retreat during the week of Thanksgiving, I give myself a "day pass" to attend the family dinner. While driving to my uncle and aunt's house, I listened to divineoffice.org through my iPhone. The mini-reading of today's Morning Prayer (Thursday, Week II of the Psalter) confirmed how Providence often lines up the particulars of liturgy and life. How appropriate this sounded for the American celebration of abundance:

"The kingdom of God is not a matter of eating or drinking, but of justice, peace, and the joy that is given by the Holy Spirit. Whoever serves Christ in this way pleases God and wins the esteem of men. Let us, then, make it our aim to work for peace and to strengthen one another" (Rom 14:17-19).

Earlier today I engaged in another sort of liturgy: I ran for six miles along the lovely D&L (Delaware and Lehigh Rivers) Rail Trail. Part of that route is used by the Lehigh Valley Health Network Via Marathon, which I ran in 2013 as my very first marathon. The asphalt portions of the trail still display the painted mile markers.

One daily devotional resource for runners is runqotd.com, otherwise known by the application name of "MilePost." I am not sure whether every subscriber receives the same quote each day, but the one I got pointed once again to God's inscrutable and risible ways, as it well fit a day when we might not be so inclined to "listen to [our] body," especially when it declares satiety:

Background: Your Rev'd Blogger, with the medal he won earlier this week (Phila Half Marathon)

As I'm sure most of my readers did, I ate heartily today. I enjoyed the company of family and friends, with laughter and reminiscences of dearly departed loved ones (in particular, my maternal grandmother who would get visibly excited whenever we sat down to Thanksgiving dinners). As for many of my readers, there are fewer of us gathering around the table nowadays. The consumption is quicker and the conversation topics have changed, but the rationale remains: gratitude for the blessings we have given and received.

When I returned to my retreat location, I offered Mass, particularly mindful of Barbara K., the aunt of a longtime friend, who died earlier today. For years she was a sacristan at her parish, for which I used to play the organ during high school and on seminary breaks. Every day's Eucharist makes the day a time of Thanksgiving--especially for the gift of life, which Barb has just returned to her Creator after a long ordeal with that bastard, cancer.

I did not use the proper prayers for "Thanksgiving" in the Roman Missal (don't tell a liturgist on me!). Instead, I used the setting "In Time of Famine or for Those Suffering Hunger." I admit to giving "those who go without this day" a passing nod in pre-prandial prayers, such that even this Mass felt like a pitying gesture.

The Collect for this Mass reads: "O God, who, being good and almighty, provide for all creatures, give us, we pray, and effective love for our brothers and sisters who suffer hunger, so that famine may be banished and that they may have strength to serve you with free and untroubled hearts."

During the Mass my mind wandered to the purchases I have made for myself over the year, which far eclipsed my charitable giving. Yet I cannot downplay the time I have devoted to personal visits, telephone calls, and typed messages with people who, as my retreat master reminded me, are starving for recognition and care.

There are a diversity of gifts, St. Paul said, and a diversity of needs as well. The Holy Sacrifice covers all those needs with tailor-made divine mercy, with "justice, peace, and the joy that is given by the Holy Spirit." Every offering of service, insofar as it derives from the Liturgy and leads us back to it, is a "work for peace" and mutual reinforcement.

Dr. Sheehan advised me today not to be "a blind and deaf tenant" of my body. The same admonition applies to the soul. Retreats enable us to take stock of how we occupy our earthly abode, how we use our time, talent, and treasure for God and people (self included). Though I may take my retreat at a different time of the year in 2016, it will remain a privileged moment of gratitude for past, present, and future blessings.

Please pray that I continue to "work for peace and to strengthen" the people God entrusts to my care, for the banishment of their many and diverse hungers and for the liberation of their troubled hearts.

New Roads to Run

My life in the past couple of weeks has witnessed newness. The Bishop has transferred me to full-time hospital and nursing home ministry in Schuylkill County. I moved to my new digs in Saint Clair almost a week ago, and received a very warm welcome from the pastor and various parishioners.

One humorous anecdote: Having just arrived on the scene, I have not yet acquired an ID badge for the hospital, but that hasn't stopped me from visiting people. On either Tuesday or Wednesday evening I was surveying the floor, probably appearing puzzled. The nurse at the desk asked me if I could be helped. (I'm not so sure sometimes!) Anyhow, she decided to call security just to make sure I was legit. Apparently Collar-ID doesn't work anymore! I told her I didn't blame her for doing it. I can look suspicious, with shifty and furtive eyes sizing up the joint. But then, a Deus ex machina appeared in the form of one of the nurses, a parishioner who vouched for me. Since that evening, the nurse at the desk and I have exchanged friendly hellos.

Running has not abated since my arrival, but the standard routes are getting old quick. Since we have so many hills, it is meet to meet those hills head-on. Only recently have I begun to attempt hills. In the interim between the March and April marathons I took to the hills of Temple and Alsace Township in Berks County. Up here in County Schuylkill there are plenty more--steep ones, mercilessly steep. Take "the Burma"--Burma Road, so named because of its barrenness. After the coal was mined, a wasteland remained. But there is considerable forested area, good for concealing target shooters and beer-guzzling teenagers.

Another anecdote: last night after the vigil Mass I finished up six miles by coming toward the rectory from the direction of the Burma (I didn't attempt the hill, but went up only as far as a new development just past the newer crop of homes from the 1980s). No cars were behind me. The borough set up a speed-indicating sign across from the rectory and church. It showed "8," with brief vacillation between 7 and 9. The sign was working, and so was I.

I look forward to many visits, many opportunities to extend the Lord's Charity through His Word and Sacraments. "The fields are ripe for harvest" (Jn 4:35), for this area used to be known--and still is--for vocations to the priesthood and consecrated life. It used to be known for Catholics, for devout people of many faiths. "The Sea of Faith / Was once, too, at the full" (Matthew Arnold, Dover Beach). Every priestly contribution helps: every offering of the Lord's Sacrificial Banquet, every Hail Mary, every Anointing.

Weather or Not, Here I Come

This Saturday I hope to compete in my second marathon, the Two Rivers Marathon in Lackawaxen, PA.

The Hardware in Store

In the last couple of weeks before a race, the runners "taper," i.e., decrease their weekly mileage to give their bodies a rest. While the body rests, however, the mind does not. At this point the anxieties come to the fore. My concern of choice has been the weather. I confess that I have checked the Weather Channel's website and iPhone app as many as ten times in one day.

"You ought to know that forecasts change from day to day! You're not going to get a reliable prediction ten days out!"

I was talking to a friend yesterday, a former marathoner. Since I first contemplated the distance, this man has been a source of encouragement and challenge. This time he offered a challenge.

He gets on me about my propensity to dwell on negative thoughts and uncontrollable contingencies. Certainly I can do nothing about the weather, so (to his mind) the best thing I could do between today and Friday is stop checking the weather for Saturday. I accepted this assignment with the customary groan.

"But how can I pack if I don't know the weather?"

I began to think it through: Pack for the coldest possible day, but allow for some adjustment. At my last weather check, the day may start in the 20s with some snow showers, going up to the mid 40s.

Our seminary philosophy classes didn't teach us much about Francis Bacon, but the famous saying "Knowledge is power" came to mind. I'll say this: my eagerness for knowledge exerts power over me, or rather I give tremendous power to my curiosity.

This past winter may not have been the worst in recent times, either in terms of the temperatures or the snowfall totals, but it seemed that way sometimes. I don't think I've paid so much attention to the conditions as I did this year, only because I wanted to keep running outside. As for the single-digit days, one of them was not a running day on my schedule, on another I capitulated and stayed on the treadmill, and once I ran outside, just to say I did. Were there any more than three?

If I were a blaming man, I'd attribute (yeah, that sounds better than "blame") my weather worries to the social media. At the first whiff of snow or ice, people would saturate my news feed with forecasts, school delays and closings, humorous references to mass acquisition of bread, milk, and eggs, etc. It could get crazy real soon, in my head.

Once, even I weighed in by posting the Chicago song, "Song of the Evergreens," which features longtime trumpet player Lee Loughnane in one of his rare vocal offerings. The tune includes repetition of the word "snow." You wanna hear it? Here it goes:

I can say this much: I've kept up the training schedule all this time, somehow balancing it with parish responsibilities (at least nobody has told me otherwise), so come the weekend, whatever the conditions, I'll give it my best. I haven't been aiming to beat my previous time of 3 hours, 36 minutes, and 12 seconds, but that would be nice. Thanks to this cold, my legs have been stiffer, my gait stilted, my pace stunted. Wearing so many layers couldn't have helped, either.

As for the next marathon ("How could you be thinking about that?"), I recall the words of running giant Frank Shorter: "You have to forget your last marathon before you try another. Your mind can't know what's coming." Now that's discipline--which I don't yet have. Perhaps a big-city race, like Philly or somewhere else close-by. My friend has suggested the Marine Corps Marathon. It will be much bigger than the race in my current sights, which may max out at 250 contestants or so. We'll see.

I am looking forward to Saturday. Pray for favorable conditions, safety for all competitors and well-wishers, swift times, and speedy recoveries.

A Run To Remember

"I have given you an example" (Jn 13:15a). Exemplum enim dedi vobis: my new episcopal motto. As someone once said, "Everyone is my teacher. Some teach me what to do; others, what not to do."

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Mondays are my day off. If I don't have the hospital beeper, I usually--eventually--go home to Saint Clair to visit my mother.

For the past ten weeks or so, I have been following Hal Higdon's "Intermediate 1" marathon training plan, the same one I used to train for the Via Marathon last September. There is another 26.2 in my sights: the Two Rivers Marathon in the Pike County town of Lackawaxen.

Unless you live in Florida or points south, you have been experiencing a very rough winter. I don't think a week to ten days has gone by without a few new inches of snow and/or ice. Our schools have all but run out of scheduled snow days; at this rate they may end up going to school in July!

The Weather Channel app said that the 19605 would get 2 to 4 inches of snow on Monday. I don't think we had any less than 8 inches.

So this was a perfect day for a run; and not just a "base mileage" run of, at this point in the schedule, five miles: rather, a "long run" of thirteen miles, sandwiched between an 18 last week and a 20 next week.

My friend and occasional coach Joe Muldowney, of "Running Shorts" fame, suggests that runners in training for a race consult the long-range weather forecast for the best possible day for a long run.

Not I!

Almost invariably I save my long runs for Mondays, as they can take as long as three hours to complete, not including prep and cleanup. I think it's better not to take all that time away from the parish. Then again, there's no virtue in taking it away from visits home. Most of the time, I do get some quality time with Mom, which, people tell me, I'd better enjoy while I have her. No argument there!

With the snow that was steadily falling since the early hours of the morning and giving no sign of surcease until after lunch, most sane people would have stuck to the treadmill today.

Not I!

Long pants, hooded sweatshirt, and trail shoes hastily stuffed into my bag, I headed up Route 61 amid a veritable slushfest. The traffic light in Shoemakersville turned yellow when I was still a ways off. I applied the brake, but kept sliding with no prospect of stopping at the intersection. Thank God nobody was near me. A Channel 69 News car was parked in the lot of the former Chinese Buffet, with a camera set up. I hope they got some good footage.

Where would I go for this run? As I approached Hamburg I decided to park at a familiar spot: the Kernsville Dam, the starting point of the Bartram Trail--six flat, scenic miles that terminate near Auburn at an abandoned railroad bridge.

Pulling into the parking area already was a challenge, so I deemed I was none too smart to be following through with this venture. When I opened the car door, the snow was almost up to the base of the door. From the first steps I felt like I was running with the steel-toed boots my father used to wear to work. I had to accept that my turnover was going to be slow. If I tried to compensate by kicking up my legs, it would only sabotage my already lackluster form and deplete my energy. Oh, I forgot my fuel belt and energy gel...

In the first mile I took notice of the snow-covered trees. How they glistened: a truly picturesque moment! The scene got a bit scary, however, when branches and whole trees graced the path like gauntlets. I couldn't exactly leap over them like a gazelle, but I'm happy to say I didn't trip over any of them. The worst ones were at the beginning. On an out-and-back course, however, it means that they were also at the end, by which point I'd have a harder time hurdling over them.

Several times I had myself convinced that I was going to cut this run short. "I'll turn around now, and make it a 10K. That's not too bad." But I kept on, and figured, "I've been at it this long--I might as well keep going." But every mile out would mean another mile back: would I feel so eager to do 13 when I reached 5?

By mile 5, I was further saddled with snow. It was now clear that I wore the wrong pants for this occasion. Loose-fitting, with drawstrings at the ankles, they scooped up the snow as I trudged along. It was starting to stick, and every step accrued more to my account. Every quarter-mile or so, I had to grab the legs and shake off the snow, which clung to me like leeches. I thought, I can't put up with this nonsense for another six or seven miles--but what else can I do?

The turn-around point on the Bartram Trail is a fence, without which one would descend to certain death. I usually tag that fence, smacking it like the hand of a teammate after scoring a point. I did so today, but this time asking for its intercession. On my way back, I noticed that the footprints I'd left earlier were at least halfway refilled with fresh snow.

In the middle of mile 7 I looked down at my legs and noticed that they swelled into snowy ham hocks. Instead of shaking my pant legs, this time I stopped and rolled them up to my knees; but as soon as I resumed running, down they went, ready to inflate once again. Fresh out of ideas and patience, I did what anyone who was crazy enough to run 13 miles in this confounded weather would do: I removed my pants and draped them around my neck like a stole. Might as well let the snow brush against my bare legs. It figured, too, that the wind would start kicking up. At one point every branch in the next tenth of a mile decided to divest its flakes, as if the trees were starring in a Head-and-Shoulders commercial. For all of this, however, my scrawny legs didn't feel nearly as cold as I thought they would. Fortunately for me, and prudently for them, nobody else graced the trail to see (or hear!) my startling display.

Since this was a 6-mile stretch, I could have called it a run, if indeed it was worthy of the name, at mile 12; but the schedule said 13--and what the hell, I've gone this far--so I turned around for a victory lap. If you know the course, you know that there's a bridge about .7 mile into it. At the threshold of the bridge I turned around, and finished with all that was within me...running on fumes.

Screen shot from my Nike+ account. You'd swear I did this just for the story.

I took a few minutes to stretch, and to brush off the snow that had accumulated on my car in those two hours. I attribute my exodus from that parking space, and, for that matter, the entire morning, to my guardian angel.

In the past few months I had whittled down my average pace by two seconds because of speed work and the overall faster times that usually result from it. Thanks to Old Man Winter, however, those gains have been reversed.

Did I mention that I've been feeling something amiss in my left instep since last Wednesday? Since May 2012 pain has been migrating from spot to spot around the lower half of my body. It has found a couple of reliable places to lodge, despite receiving plenty of eviction notices from stretches, foam rollers, ibuprofen tablets, etc. By Sunday the discomfort significantly decreased, convincing me that it was all right to run 8 yesterday and 13 today. As of this typing I feel considerably better than I expected. A doctor's visit may yet be in the works, but perhaps it will be a psychiatrist.

Today a priest-friend and fellow runner tagged me and a handful of others with this photo:

Who's joining my militia to kill this rat-bastard?

That's just about how much time remains, if I don't first email the race coordinator to rescind my registration, or really injure myself. I'd get to decide on the former, but the latter would come against my will. I certainly don't wish injury upon myself (contrary to what you may be thinking), but at this stage, a doctor's strident recommendation would come as a relief. With my luck, on the Ides of March NEPA would get 15" of snow and ice, causing the cancellation of the race. I'd be tempted to tromp 26.2 around the church that morning, just to get it out of my system. Duly forewarned, one of you can tip off 69 News so they can get some good footage.

Where Your Feet Can Take You

In a previous post I offered a review for "Running Shorts: A Collection of Stories and Advice for Anyone Who Has Ever Laced Up a Pair of Running Shoes" by Joe Muldowney. From page one I devoured Joe's exercise exploits like believers devour Scripture! Already a believer in running, my faith was deepened by the good book. Soon thereafter I discovered Running Shorts: The Blog, which one might consider a "part two" of the book, like the Acts of the Apostles to Luke's Gospel.

Since that post in August I have gleaned some personal advice from Joe, and even got to run with him and one of his "cast of characters" on Black Friday! Most of my visits home are not very long and do not include running, so that day was and will remain a memorable occasion, laced with good humor and conversation. I hope we will be able to reprise it before long.

Joe's fondness for writing and running promise to converge later this year in a second tome called "Personal Best." In one chapter he will chronicle three individuals whose dedication to the sport favorably ties into other aspects of their lives. One of them is Elizabeth Withey, who overcame the opprobrium of an abusive marriage through running. In the interest of inspiring like successes in others, Withey has founded Marathons Against Domestic Violence. I understand that she intends to run marathons in every state in the nation and continent in the world. More power to her--and to anyone who dares to make life changes, despite the dissuading attempts of others (or the false self)!

I was humbled to learn that Joe also wanted to include my story as well. While I didn't get into running in order to motivate anyone else, I know that everything we do in life can influence others, for good or ill. In that regard, Ms. Withey shared with me a Scripture quote that is relevant to her efforts and mine:

For God is not unjust so as to overlook your work and the love you have demonstrated for his name by having served and continuing to serve the holy ones. We earnestly desire each of you to demonstrate the same eagerness for the fulfillment of hope until the end, so that you may not become sluggish, but imitators of those who, through faith and patience, are inheriting the promises. (Heb 6:10-12)

Joe's forthcoming book reminded me of another inspiring individual whom I've come to know in the past year. Angeline Piskorski recently started her own blog, The Encouraged Runner. Running has become an integral part of her recovery from brain injury. In three years Angie has come to know the transformative joys of putting one foot in front of the other.

It is easy for an individual in a parish of 2,000 families to be "just another parishioner." But then God provides, and I take, the opportunity to converse and learn. Over the past six years I have accepted those calls and have become a better, more human priest for doing so. A few minutes into my first conversation with Angie, I learned of her interest in running--I learned we'd be running the Via Marathon in a couple of weeks! Soon enough, the news of a shared sport would be the springboard to her faith journey. It pays to listen!

This online world has helped to connect me with people, ideas, and resources. To think it can even be used to spread the Gospel! Let's say it spreads the Gospel of Life. Everyone's story can become a source of enrichment and empowerment. And why not: If God made you, you're worth knowing about!

26.2 and Beyond

I am sorely remiss...well, at least I am sore...in informing my eager readership about the outcome of my first marathon attempt. Wanna hear it? Here it goes:

For "Gun Time" (between the beginning and my beginning), add fifty seconds

Woo-hoo, as they say--and indeed, I was pleasantly surprised that I (a) finished without bonking, (2) finished within the time I predicted, and (ɣ) was ranked as I was among the other participants overall and in my age group.

There is room for improvement--it's the largest room in the house! And this suggests my complete willingness to enter another marathon.

In the last post I mentioned I do not style myself a competitive runner, as I have not contested many races thus far. But from an early age, with respect to those domains of interest to me (academic, musical), I have been competitively-minded; and with practice, who knows whether I can beat--at the very least--my previous time?

My seminary days taught me that there will always be brighter, more personable, more ______ people than I. And...that's OK...I guess...yes, it is. As you may suspect, I continue to struggle with competition. To some degree it is healthy and perhaps even holy. "Anticipate one another in showing honor," St. Paul said (Rom 12:10), but perhaps only that context--the practice of virtue--is appropriate for competition. Even there, ego (Etching God Out) can obscure the purpose of our good deeds: to "let your light shine...so that [people] may...glorify your heavenly Father" (Mt 5:16). Strangely enough, another way to read "anticipate" is, "consider [the other] better, to esteem [the other] more highly": not attempting to score higher, but to recognize the achievements of your competitors. Now there's altruism! There's magnanimity!

I have gained a renewed respect for the art of running, knowing that I have much to learn if I wish to continue and improve. I have some confidence in the likelihood of finishing subsequent marathons. If only these knots in my muscles would untangle! In that vein, I am also becoming more sensitive to my body's aches. Exercise seems to cause pain, for which reason many people choose to avoid it. Instead, I accept aches and even injuries (only minor ones so far) as an occupational hazard if I want to pursue this particular mode of fitness. Accept, but make every attempt to remedy. Accept, but often run through.

Many people have lifted me up by their prayers/positive thoughts. Their names will be written in heaven. In their service the Lord deftly hides His command to "Go and Do Likewise" (Lk 10:37). Duly noted! Although this race was a way for me to "glorify God with [my] body" (1 Cor 6:20), running is a way to fit me for maximum service to God and neighbor, in and out of strictly ministerial contexts. But it's all ministry; it's all service. In so many respects, I need to remember that I am part of the human race, equally capable of encouraging fellow travelers. I look forward to encountering you along the Way!

Marathon Man [Of The Cloth]

In the profile section of this blog, I mention that I am a "dedicated runner." I graduated from power-walking in 1999, as part of an effort to change numerous undesired lifestyle habits. Over the years I have stepped away and returned, sometimes in favor of weightlifting (though you could never tell), sometimes in favor of laziness (then, you could tell).

In the past three years things have been getting pretty serious. Runs entered double-digit territory. I started reading books on running, including a terrific one called Running Shorts, written by Schuylkill County educator Joe Muldowney. I found A Running Start, a great place to buy gear and to get good advice. Last May I began to experience mild to moderate discomfort, but I am happy to say that, through the efforts of an orthopedist and a chiropractor, my condition has been improving.

You know how an idea can get stuck in your head? It seemed that everyone had run a marathon. "26.2" magnets passed me on the highway and in town. Even though I did one 5-miler while in the seminary and for the past three years have participated in a 5K that benefits a local religious community, I do not consider myself a competitive runner, neither against myself nor anyone else.

That said, having had enough of that pesky marathon bug, I decided to register for one. After a bit of research I found one that suited me because of its timing and proximity: the Lehigh Valley Health Network Via Marathon. It's coming up on 8 September, which happens to be Our Lady's Birthday and the ninth anniversary of my father's death. Those two persons are dear to me, so I will remember them happily as I put one foot in front of the other at (I hope) no less than a nine-minute-mile pace.

Speaking of pace, I would like to finish in under four hours. That would require a 9:09 pace. I suspect I'll be faster than that--perhaps 8:30 to 8:40, which would put me at around 3h45m. In order to do this, I can't "gambol like a calf out of the stall" (Malachi 4:2). No matter how fast I start, by mile 20 my legs will likely have the consistency of Cheez Whiz. Having completed one 20-mile run (my longest to date, ever) almost two weeks ago at about 8:15/m, and facing a 22-miler on Monday, this whole long-haul pacing thing is still rather new. Better to have run my first marathon slower than I could have, than to have started too quickly and "hit the wall" before hitting the finish line.

(Did I say "my first marathon"? Yes, I did.)

My commitment to running thus far has had terrific effects on my "numbers": body weight/body fat; cholesterol; blood pressure and pulse. It has also bolstered my psyche. Friends, family, and parishioners know that I can lapse into negativity and sadness very easily, despite many blessings, talents, and advances to which I can attest and for which I thank the Lord. I cannot imagine how it would be if I didn't run!

I must admit, then, that I'm not doing this simply to pacify a gnawing interest. Whether it's their first or hundredth (Joe Muldowney has over 50 behind him!), marathon runners can cite a great accomplishment in their lives. Whatever their pace, dedicated runners and walkers are doing something good for themselves. Best of all, because we are God's children and temples of His Spirit, we are attesting to a Creator whose creations can perform feats of tremendous strength and endurance.

I am blessed to be the Assistant Pastor of a parish who also has a retired priest helping out most weekends, which means that any of us can take a rare Saturday or Sunday off without having to scramble for coverage. (It will not always be so!) That's another reason why I don't do many races--they tend to be held on Sunday mornings, and I work on Sunday mornings! I may be the only Catholic priest competing in this marathon, but one never knows.

Since Via is a good cause, I agreed to raise funds. There's still time to donate, so click here if you're interested. Of course, prayers (for the cause and for my successful completion) are always gratefully received!

"Running Shorts" Worth the Wear

As a purely amateur runner barely able to keep a 7:30 pace most days, I discovered Joe Muldowney's "Running Shorts" on the shelf of A Running Start, where I buy my shoes.  The stories in this book are very much along the lines of his columns in the Pottsville Republican-Herald: informative, inspiring, and amusing.

To call it a "Runner's Bible" would be trite, although accurate enough.  As a Catholic priest, I regard it rather as a "Runner's 'Lives of the Saints'."  Muldowney and his several sidekicks have amassed countless exploits throughout his years of racing, which are coextensive with my life.  He skillfully situates his stories within the larger context of the sport's world, national, and local history.  He retraces the thousands of roads and trails that his feet have graced, giving the impression that he is happy to run them again.  Muldowney has encountered his fair share of gainsayers along his route.  His (usually) benevolent responses brim with the confidence of one who starts his seventh decade in a condition that people a third of his age would envy.  Joe's characteristically coach-like advice--born of trials as much as triumphs--encourages the running reader to improve his own habits and outcomes.

In the Irish wake of his book, Muldowney now blogs his ongoing efforts in the book's light and readable style.  At the writing of this review, he shares the preparations for his 16th Boston Marathon. I'll gratefully root him on during whatever workout I will wager that day, and I'll eagerly await his results.

Both the book and the blog known as "Running Shorts" are treasured additions to my regular devotional reading. Whatever your level of, or interest in, physical fitness, you too can derive the encouragement everyone needs to put one foot in front of the other.

Sacerdos Currens

(Latin for "running priest," if you were interested in knowing.)

In the Twitter sense and not in the Stalker sense, I just started "following" Joe Muldowney (@rdrunnr00), longtime teacher and former mayor of Pottsville, PA, runner and author of Running Shorts, a book I picked up while shoe-shopping at A Running Start in West Reading.

Joe has been writing monthly columns for the Republican-Herald for many years.  Now he has written the aforementioned book, a clever combination of anecdotes and advice.

I must admit that, although I enjoy the book very much, it reads like a "Lives of the Saints" insofar as I find the likes of Joe, running-wise, unattainable.  But I read on anyhow, because inspiring persons aren't intended to keep us down but rather to spur us on to greater (and faster) heights.

My longtime admiration of excellent people has been fueled by more than masochism.  There's a saying I heard several years ago: "Stick With the Winners."  We learn from them by keeping company with them, by talking honestly with them, and by doing what they do.  That applies not only with athletics, but also with most other disciplines in this life.