Reflecting on the Orlando nightclub shooting

It wasn't until I sat in church this morning that I heard about the shooting but the impact of 50 (or more) dead at the hands of anyone will hit any person who is not entirely filled with hate in a significant way. So, as I sat there, I looked up information.

Even as of now, details are somewhat sparse. The FBI has said the gunman has been a "person of interest" for one or more incidents in the past, dating back to at least 2013. They said he "may have leanings" toward radical Islam.

I don't care.

Maybe it's the lack of details. Maybe it's just that the shock of such an incident hasn't worn off yet. Maybe my heart is in a different place because I was worshipping Jesus Christ when I found out. Whatever the reason, I don't care about the details. Right now, I care about two things.

First, this simply underscores what I've said for a long time: any Christian who wants to point the finger at radical Islam needs to take a long, hard look at the state of Christianity in general. No, I do not thing Christians are to blame for someone who claims to kill in the name of any religion. It all comes down to the individual heart. And that, right there, is the problem: the heart.

Christians have done a pretty good job over the last 10 to 20 years of truly returning to the idea of global missions. That's not just commendable; it's the Great Commission in action. Christ said, "therefore, go and make disciples of all the nations." We're doing that again. The truth is, it's always happened. But Christian churches, particularly in America, used up half a century spending way more time focusing inward than outward. We built an army of people with mission-minded hearts -- and then turned them in toward the people who were already in the church. That approach makes for fantastic cheerleaders. It does not do a good job of making new disciples.

And, so, when we had golden opportunities to share the news of the love of Christ in unbelievable numbers, we instead sent what essentially amounts to a handful of people. When billions have not yet heard of Jesus, that's ineffective at best, and sinful at worst.

We need -- need! -- to reach beyond. We need to stretch ourselves and our faith. Because the difference between love and hate is a fine line in the heart.

Second, I'm thankful I serve a God who loves me so much that he pursues me from the moment I am born to the moment I die, and gives me chance after chance after chance to get things right -- even though I will never get things right. I am a sinner, and so are you. Despite that, though, God loves me, and He loves you too.

Right now, the love of God needs to be reflected into this world a whole lot more than the hatred of man. And it's the sad reality that people of all walks of life will cast condemnation of the occupants of that nightclub because they are members of the LGBTQ community. I believe the Bible is clear on that subject, but I also believe Jesus' own words and actions are clear. I am a sinner, and He loves me. There is no ranking of sin; none is worse than another when viewed from an eternal perspective.

Regardless your personal feelings toward homosexuality, discriminating against them is no way to show them the love of Christ. Accepting them as they are -- just as Christ himself has done for anyone who has accepted Him as their savior -- is the only way. I know it sounds silly to hear it phrased this way, but it's an obvious truth when you hear it: you simply cannot show love by acting with hate.

The bottom line is that Christians are not called to condemn. The Great Commission says, "go make disciples," not, "go and condemn sinners."  We are called to be the hands and feet of a God who pulls out all the stops to show His love. For Christ was not sent to condemn the world, but to save it.

His message is clear, today and every day: Love matters. Showing His love to others is my job. I won't be discouraged by someone who shot up a nightclub full of people, whether he did it "in the name of Allah" or because he was just a deranged lunatic. Right now, love is all that matters.

I came. I ran. I hobbled around a bit. But I finished well.

I managed something today that was in extreme doubt just yesterday morning. I ran -- and completed -- the Rock 'n Roll Raleigh Half-Marathon.

It wasn't my first race, and I missed my personal record by more than 18 minutes. And it's probably my proudest athletic achievement to date.

About eight weeks ago, I decided to go ahead and run this race. I hadn't been training consistently since I ran the Bull City Half-Marathon in Durham last October, because we had been packing, moving and unpacking. We were busy, so training went by the wayside. Besides, the only race I was really planning to run this year was going to be the City of Oaks Marathon.

Then Brian told me he was running the Rock 'n Roll race, and I decided it would be a good way to motivate myself to get back into shape. The schedule was going to be abbreviated, though -- I had a total of just under eight weeks to get ready. I figured cardio wasn't going to be an issue, as I've been in pretty good shape in that regard for a while now. For me, it was simply the build-up of joint pain over the course of a race that caused issues. All I needed to do was get my mileage back up quickly and I'd be good.

As it turns out, the iliotibial band doesn't like that sort of exercise regimen. 

Also known as the IT band, it's a combination of muscle and tendon that runs down the outside of your thigh and connects several muscles (parts of your rear-end, your hip flexors and a few others) to the lateral underside of the tibial plateau. There is a bursa sac underneath it to help it glide over the tibia when the leg moves.

Under tension, specifically when running, the band can become too tight. In that situation, the movement over the tibia causes irritation. This is exacerbated in runners who ramp up their miles too quickly, just as I did. Without gradual increases in activity, the band doesn't have a chance to adjust to the increasing workload.

In my case, it was both caused, and made worse, by issues I've had for years with my sacroiliac (SI) joint. That's the place where the sacrum (the bottom portion of the spine, formed in adults by a group of vertebrae that fuse together during adolescence) and the ilium (the big bone in the pelvis) come together. The sciatic and femoral nerves traverse this joint, and can become pinched if the slightest bit of misalignment is present in the joint itself or in the hips. An irritation to one of those nerves can cause spasming and tightness in the muscles of the thigh, adding to IT band issues.

That's the end of the anatomy lesson.

As late as Saturday morning, I fully believed I wouldn't run this race. I had run more than four miles just twice in a month, and that was because the pain had been setting in between one and three miles in each time. When you can;'t run more than three miles without pain, the mere thought of thirteen miles can be scary. But I decided after my final test run Saturday morning that I would race, and just accept that I would be walking. A lot.

Gun-time temperature was 32 degrees in downtown Raleigh. Ironically, it was pretty much identical to conditions when I ran the Bull City race last year. The temperature was both good and bad: good, because it would take longer for things to warm up and swell, and worse because it was very difficult to get and stay loose before the race started. But regardless, it's not much fun to stand outside in 30-degree weather for an hour with virtually no activity. By the time we lined up to start, I was shivering, and worried about my legs being too tense.

The concern was misplaced, though. Despite a lot of decent hills, I was able to run the first ten miles before the pain made me slow to a walk for a while. There were a lot of water/Gatorade stations along the course, so dehydration wasn't a likely issue. By the end of the tenth mile, I was averaging around a 9:30/mile pace. That was still a good bit slower than my personal best, but I wasn't going for time today. I was shooting for finishing without medical assistance. Despite the problems, I was faster than the course average, and for the first five miles I was in the top 25 percent of the field. That alone is a big accomplishment in my book.

In the end, I walked about two of the final 3.1 miles. That was partly from the IT band pain, and partly because both calves and my left quadriceps were beginning to cramp. That was the result of a lack of conditioning due to my limited training opportunities for the last month.

As I rounded the last corner, I summoned the last vestiges of strength I had and ran -- not jogged, ran -- to the line. About 15 feet later, I was hanging on a temporary fence, because I couldn't go any further. It hurt to the point of wanting to cry, to be honest.

You might ask, "why?!" It's a valid question. There often are not rational reasons for what we do. But for me, there were two reasons. As a child, I never -- never, not once -- earned a trophy. I was always good at sports, it's just that I never really got to participate for various reasons. Since my 35th birthday, though, I have earned two medals. Sure, anyone who finishes these races gets a medal. But if you haven't run a long race before, you may not realize how difficult they are. 13.1 miles is a long way to run, and now I have my eyes on a full marathon. There is no reason other than that I simply want to. I enjoy being healthy. I enjoy being fit. And I enjoy proving to myself that I can do it, regardless of what "it" may be.

The other reason is even more personal: I felt, today, that God was using this race to teach me something about perseverance. I could have slept in this morning. I could have dropped out at one of the medical stations along the course. But all along, I continued to feel like this was a learning experience for me regarding my faith. That's not something I take lightly.

I don't want to sound like I am trying to be some sort of sports martyr. IT band issues are common in runners. I'm far from the first person to deal with this. In the last few years, I've learned one absolute about running: it hurts. Muscles ache. Lungs burn. Feet throb. Really, you have to reach a certain level of nuts to actually enjoy this. It took me three years to get there. It hurts, and more often than not, it sucks the whole time you are doing it. But there is joy in the accomplishment, and in challenging yourself to go further next time.

But there is also something to be said for rest. Aching muscles tell you that you are working hard. But pain like this tells you that you are injured -- that something is wrong. I pushed through because I had committed to the race eight weeks ago. But I also know that I have to take a break, now. I need to let my IT band rest and heal, or it won't get better. Right now I am hobbling around the house. Tomorrow, I will just be limping. By the weekend, I will be walking just fine, but I am taking a month off nonetheless.

Thanks to everyone who cheered me on throughout the process, and who encouraged me. Thanks to all who offered pain-management tips. And thanks for taking the time to read this.

Sweet rolls of heavenly bliss

And I'm not even talking about a pastry.

I've mentioned in the past (I think) that I enjoy running. I'm scheduled to run my second half-marathon in about two-and-a-half weeks, on April 10. I'd be looking more forward to it except for this nagging knee injury that, last Thursday, made me want to shout things like, "golly-gosh-darnit" and "fiddlesticks" in an endless loop. A good, leisurely run during my lunch hour on Thursdays should be good for six miles; last week, I made it exactly 1.83 miles. Since my runs typically take me on an out-and-back course, you can imagine my annoyance when I was forced to turn around at 0.915 miles, and then walk half of the return trip.

Gee-whiz.