What More Was Needed?

What more was needed by this old man, who divided the leisure of his life, where there was so little leisure, between gardening in the daytime and contemplation at night? Was not this narrow enclosure, with the heavens for a ceiling, sufficient to enable him to adore God in his most divine works, in turn? Does not this comprehend all, in fact? and what is there left to desire beyond it? A little garden in which to walk, and immensity in which to dream. At one’s feet that which can be cultivated and plucked; over head that which one can study and meditate upon: some flowers on earth, and all the stars in the sky.

Les Miserables, Victor Hugo

(Another) New Year!

2023 has been a lovely year for me. I bought a house, and despite the (many, many) minor issues I’ve had since moving in, it’s exactly the right home for me. My wild dingo has accepted Mom and Jessie James fully into the family. I have a new supervisor who terrifies me, challenges me, and encourages me. I turned 39 and hosted Christmas, both for friends and family. I read a lot of books this year. Started playing DnD again. Was blessed with so many new friendships. And… I also tried out many, many churches.

I’ve been longing to write about my relationship to the Church, but I still don’t have my thoughts gathered and all I’m able is to articulate the continuing struggle.

I have returned to a state of journaling, reading my Bible, and praying regularly, albeit not every day. I’ve listened to (and enjoyed) several Christian podcasts. And yet… I continue to feel pretty icky towards the Church.

I’m confident that much of it has to do with old hurts I’ve never been able to sort. I’m beginning to believe my relationship with the Hilsts will never be restored. I kept thinking it was inevitable that one day… It would get worked out. It would make sense. It would cease to ache. Sure, things would never return to what they once were, but we would, for lack of a better word, find closure. It continues to amaze me that I can’t let go and just move the eff on.

My beliefs about the Church are wrapped up in the picture in my head of the Church of Acts – devoted to the gospel and each other, sharing all things in common, eating meals together, growing in number and the Fruit of the Spirit, witnessing miracles, and abiding in Christ together.

It’s a tall order, for sure. When I was in my twenties, I was fully committed to this picture of the Church and I thought I wasn’t alone. Pastors preach about the Church of Acts and they have all sorts of different listeners. I was doing a naive, all-in listening… and I assumed everyone else was too. They would talk like they were all-in. They’d say that we were going to buy houses across the street from each other. Raise kids together. Run the race… together.

So I thought we were really going to do it. We were really going to be devoted to each other no matter what.

And I think I’m still in denial. The Hilsts – gone from my life. Shasta – gone. Mike – gone. Clam – gone. Amy. Lisa. I want so many of them back. I didn’t list some of the people I am still in touch with now and then – Danny and Lauren, Dave and Lisa, Jordan.

Some of the gone people were my choice, I have to admit. I came to a point where I can’t understand the things except to admit that the gone people would never have true affection for me. They were gossip-behind-my-back. Assume the worst. Kick me while I was down. Make it all about them. Never see me as a human person with feelings. So, I let them go and tried to move on as peaceably as possible. I got a weird passive-aggressive text from one of them not too long ago.

And maybe all of that is normal.

We lose people. We keep some through mutual effort, esteem, and love. And we let go of others.

But the things that happened and the current condition of most of the relationships I thought would last a lifetime… are so disappointing. They’re not in line with what I believe the Church to be. Reaching out and trying to mend things… hasn’t mended things. So, I remain sad about it and I don’t know how to reconcile my beliefs about the Church with the reality of the church. And I don’t know how to settle. I’m not sure I should settle, although that seems to be the only way I can get my booty back in the seat. And it seems to be the advice Christians give.

They say I’m being too picky. I’m looking for the bad. I’m never going to find the perfect church.

Other people go to church and they enjoy the music and the sermon, then they go home. Maybe they have a friend or two at church. Maybe they even occasionally help at a soup kitchen every now and then or do a fundraiser.

That’s not something I know how to do. I don’t know how to be anything except all-in.

Mom and I went to a Christmas Eve service. And the music was spectacular. Like PRO-fessional. They had the talent. The lighting. The lyrics up on the huge screens. They had a pretty standard Christmas sermon. Shorter than I like. Definitely an effort to explain the point of the faith. A little condensed and less Bible-centric than I like, but perfectly fine. Didn’t stir my affections for Christ, but can’t expect that to happen every time.

What’s going to keep me from going back to that church? The snow.

They made it snow for Christmas.

In the desert.

Right in front of the entrance, there were snow machines that made real fake snow. So we entered through a gently falling snow that melted before it hit the ground, and we also exited through it.

Obviously, it was a mega church, and I’m probably 100% not the right person for a mega church, but really?? Snow?! Effing snow in the desert?

I genuinely believe there is something fundamentally wrong with this picture.

It was such a professional program. Timed perfectly, down to the very minute. Choreographed. Candles. Stephen Ministers – available in both campus buildings and online. Communion. Music. Sermon. Lights. Children’s program. And snow.

And all I can think about is that if Jesus were to bring snow to the desert, it would have been a miracle that caused people to praise the Lord. Not a frivolity that reminded us how modern we are in suburbia and how important it is that Christmas be magical, no matter the cost.

Do you think they own the snow machines? How much do they cost to run? How many people went without a roof over their heads that night? Could the Church have fed one person if it had just decided to forego the fake/real snow? Ten people fed? One hundred?? A thousand???

The two other advent sermons I heard at two other churches were about Christmas cookies, Christmas music, etc… When I say they were about those things, I’m not lying. One of them was about the sounds of Christmas and the other was about the tastes. They were members of the same denomination and coordinated the Advent themes.

The regrettable truth is I got more out of watching the Charlie Brown Christmas this year than I did going to church.

I’m reminded of that story in Francis Chan’s Crazy Love where the gang member left the church because he was disappointed the church wasn’t more like a gang. He thought the people would live their lives together, look out for each other, share meals, hang out, have each other’s backs, etc… Francis Chan realized the gang member had completely valid expectations of what the Church is meant to be, but that street gangs were doing more to fulfill that vision than the Church was doing.

I’ve really been blessed this year with new friendships. No joke, people have made a lot of effort to make time for me, invite me to lunch, have me in their homes, show me that they care… I’m not always easy to nail down on these sorts of things. I’m protective of my personal time. I’m picky about my food. I’m an introvert and prefer to spend lots of time solo. In spite of my resistance, about half a dozen people have made the effort and been friends to me.

And yet, not one of my new friends is a Christian. I am grateful for the Christians in my life who stick around through life’s ups and downs. Steve and Lori, Amy the Dentist. They’ve been in my life such a long, loyal, kind, admirable time. They’ve been true friends.

And I don’t mean to be all melted-fake-desert-snow-in-your-shoes.

It’s been a great year. A lovely year. A year for me to move a few more steps out of depression and start living again.

There’s just this piece of my life that I can’t figure out. I can’t get it aligned. And I know it distresses my mom to see. I know it’s a thing that people worry about for me. I also know that I’d feel more myself if I could figure it out. But I can’t. It’s not sitting right in my heart.

Perhaps 2024 will be the year it gets mended. 🙂

“In Whatsoever State…”

It’s really effing hot in my house. The A/C is out and has been since Thursday night.

Don’t worry – there is a home warranty and even if it weren’t to be covered under the warranty, I can afford a new A/C. They’ve been out to look at it, but couldn’t schedule the follow-up right away, and it needed to thaw out before they could diagnose it. That’s right, it froze despite being outside in the desert summer.

Also, keep in mind there is currently an extreme weather warning here for excessive heat.

The dishwasher is also having issues, which is great since I feel the need to wash every single dish before using it, in case they got dirty during the move.

With my excessive arm strength, I snapped one of my kitchen cabinet doors… yeah, I snapped the wood.

The internet transfer was not smooth, so I have two internet providers at the moment.

I haven’t quite moved the last of my stuff, so that’s haunting me.

I ordered plantation shutters, but they don’t come in for 3-4 more weeks, so I’ve got temporary window coverings that are obnoxious. In order to make it completely dark in my bedroom, I essentially made it impossible to open the windows, which was fine until the A/C went out. That’s right – I’m bourgeois enough for plantation shutters.

I need to run 6 miles this weekend in order to train for my upcoming races, but it’s really hard to run for an hour in the heat, knowing I will be returning to the heat in my house. So I haven’t gone. I’m really hoping it gets repaired tomorrow, so I can run tomorrow afternoon.

I’m not feeling like I bought a lemon… but I just had these images in my head of what this house was going to be, and most of my plans had to do with the house feeling restful.

It doesn’t feel restful.

I feel like an absolute brat for feeling all of this, because these are silly, first-world problems. Like – I just bought a house and I’m going to feel sorry for myself? Also, the Bible…

Not that I am speaking of being in need, for I have learned in whatever situation I am to be content. I know how to be brought low, and I know how to abound. In any and every circumstance, I have learned the secret of facing plenty and hunger, abundance and need. I can do all things through him who strengthens me.

Philippians 4:11-13

I’m trying to find contentment, but I’m really struggling to cope, if I’m honest.

Moose has gone blind, by the way, so moving into a new house with him has been just great. He runs into things constantly. He falls off the bed and the couch. I asked the vet about getting him cataract surgery and she looked at me like I’m a lunatic, but good grief… the old guy already takes three different heart meds, a pain med, and now you think I’m going to be able to fix his blindness with drops I can only get in his eyes by sneaking up on him and ambush-dropping them with excellent aim from a high height. And he’s potentially not a bad candidate right now, but if we wait very long at all, my expectation is that he will be super high-risk for anesthesia.

I’m set to go to trial in a month, which I’m not complaining about. It’s a great opportunity. it’s a pretty serious case, so I’m second chair. I’m loving working with the lead attorney on the case. He’s so good at his job. He’s aggressive and cocky, but also so fun. And skilled. And really has shown me a lot of kindness.

But going to trial is really stressful.

I have so many hopes for my house. It’s representative of so many things. Some of it is that I’m just enthused to have my own place again. Some of it is that feeling of stability and rest and home. And community. I really want to have people over and host my mom in the winters.

I want to transform the backyard. I want to redo the bathrooms. I may plant a garden. I live super close to nature – I’m 1.5 miles from a trailhead. I have these visions of walking the dogs with my mom at sunset. The sunsets here are amazing. I’ve found a church I’m going to try out. I finally jumped on-board with Costco and got a membership. I have visions of painting again. And writing. And doing yoga. And cooking in this house.

But it’s so effing hot.

It’s so, so effing hot.

In the past, I’ve been without A/C, and I wasn’t such a big baby about it. In the past, I’ve had so much more of that Pauline contentment in all circumstances.

Where did it go?

How do I find it again?

And when the eff are they going to fix my A/C?

Careless People and the Rise and Fall of Mars Hill

“They were careless people, Tom and Daisy- they smashed up things and creatures and then retreated back into their money or their vast carelessness or whatever it was that kept them together, and let other people clean up the mess they had made.”

That’s one of my favorite lines in all of literature. It comes at the end of The Great Gatsby.

Sometimes I think I should take a road trip to Mark Driscoll’s church in Scottsdale. After listening to the podcast “The Rise and Fall of Mars Hill,” I get a very Gatsby-esque feeling, like the trouble is that Driscoll seems to be a careless person, who moved on and left others to clean up his mess. He never gave most of the people featured in the podcast that final conversation that might help. Might explain why. Would it have actually made things better if he’d given them another conversation? I think no, but it still feels wrong that he just abandoned a people he hurt – abandoned accountability – abandoned the mission he talked them all into…

I have never met Driscoll or even seen him in real life. But I watched the sermons, I read the books, and I was at various churches that used Mars Hill/Acts 29 resources. I did the Surge Tables. I read the Resurgence blog posts. I drank the Kool-Aid and lived my whole life inside that movement for a period. I feel the shame of having gone along and not always spoken my concerns, even if only to the people on my local and seemingly insignificant, level.

But, then again, there were times when I voiced concerns, and it got me nowhere good.

So, let’s back up a bit. Acts 29 first came into my life through a small church plant called The Crossing. I honestly don’t know that we were formally or closely tied into Acts 29. This thing happened, though, where we were already small and shrinking, then overwhelming life events robbed us of our pastor, so a young man named Mike took over that role and eventually dissolved our little community.

Before I share my feelings that Mike betrayed me (if not us), I want to be fair and explain that we were all so young, and Mike was too.

Mike had a magnetism. A charisma. He was selfless in conversations and always made the other person feel heard, seen, loved. He was a people-pleaser, so I suspect he didn’t have it in him to set boundaries. He gave so much to our little group of 20-somethings, and he did it despite us not paying him. He had been a missionary in Australia. He seemed to love people and God so much.

I wanted to be like him. I thought the difference between him and me was that he actually loved people and accepted them as they were… from his heart. I thought my problem was secret judgment in my heart and concluded I needed to give up that judgment and just love.

In hindsight, I’m not sure the Mike I knew was real. He was always so perfect. Giving. Fun. Wise. Well-studied. The only flaw he revealed was an unreliability – he would sometimes plan to get coffee with someone and then just not show up. It seemed like this was a result of trying to be everything to everyone, sort of one of those flaws that isn’t truly a flaw. There were times when he would legitimately fall asleep in the middle of a conversation. I always just thought he’d grow out of it someday – learn to sleep normal hours and tell people no every now and then.

There were certainly unhealthy things about the burdens Mike bore, so I’ve never doubted that The Crossing had to change, and maybe even end. That’s not why I feel betrayed.

There was the pretense of a plan to merge The Crossing with a bigger Acts 29 church. I say it was a pretense of merging because I found out after-the-fact that Mike had a lot of resentment towards our little community and he later told me with a tone of pride that he had “dismantled” the Crossing with intentionality.

Imagine my shock that the man who seemed to genuinely love us, actually harbored deep, secret judgments. I’d learned an open-hearted love from him that he didn’t truly possess.

After listening to “The Rise and Fall of Mars Hill,” I realized there are parts of the Crossing’s demise that I’ve never grieved. I think most of it is wrapped up in Mike – the problems with him presenting the perfect image to us, but then admitting as the end drew near that he had hated a community I loved so deeply. Some of the anger he felt was justified and based in reality. Some of it was not. All of it was hurtful.

I also think there was a weird mismatch of what I was experiencing of God when all of this happened and what Mike must have been experiencing. I can’t think of a time in my life when I was more in love with Christ than when I was at the Crossing. I genuinely cared for nothing except Christ at that time. I was still living within that “first love” the Ephesians eventually lost.

Also, the Crossing was a community that acted as my family when things were turbulent and terrible with my blood family.

It’s a cliche, but I don’t mean it in the way of a cliche. I committed my life to that community and believed they were my family. I intended to live out all of my days with those people. And, okay, in hindsight, that’s impressively naive. But I really, truly viewed those people as mine forever. I had a rose colored love for that little tribe. And for Mike.

So…. a few pre-merge memories for the complementarian piece of things: my roommates, who were also members at The Crossing, once pointed out to me that Mike and the other young males didn’t appreciate me. I was sometimes treated as if I were in a leadership position, but only when it was convenient for the guys. I didn’t have any true voice or power, but they wanted me to continue serving. At the time, I said something like, “So what?” It wasn’t news to me, and I was so in love with Christ, that I honestly didn’t give a shit about who got the credit for things. I was on a mission from God and the rest of it did not matter.

When I look back on it now, I wish I had been given a voice, because part of the betrayal is knowing that the pure, naive love I had for The Crossing was less-represented in decision-making than Mike’s resentment was.

Another disjointed memory, Mike let slip a passing comment revealing that conversations had been had about the state of my heart. The conclusion seemed to be positive: God was working a work in and through me – He was sending me/using me – I was growing in the Fruit of the Spirit – something… and my heart seemed to the leadership boys to be one of servanthood and submission.

Okay, thanks for the compliment, I guess, but, also, what’s with the report card? It seemed like I was being graded. Like I’d been monitored and tested to make sure I wasn’t stepping out of line – like someone needed to make sure I knew the limits of who I was and what I was allowed as a woman.

So, fast-forward to the dismantling. We were getting ready to “merge” with an Acts 29 church called Revolution. There was another young pastor at the helm of that one: Josh.

My recollection is that Revolution was 200 ish people. Josh had tattoos and the same wannabe-bad-boy-for-Jesus thing going as Mark Driscoll had (and so many of the hipster pastors of that time). Also like Driscoll, he read books and viewed himself as a theologian. He was working on his brand and trying to publish a book. He also said offensive things sometimes from the stage and seemed to believe God had sent him to Tucson to plant a mega church and become a celebrity pastor.

The core group from the Crossing had a meeting to discuss the merge and I predicted that we were not going to merge… we were going to be eaten whole and spit out. It didn’t seem like what I said was taken very seriously. We just moved forward with the plan.

When we officially started merging with Revolution, the new thing in Acts 29 was Surge Tables. Basically, it was a curriculum for missional communities aka Bible studies aka small groups, but with a gearing towards training church members to become leaders who would maybe then go out and plant churches or pastor satellite campuses.

There’s nothing new under the sun and I eventually participated in a Surge Table at a different church and found it to be a mostly ordinary, if somewhat more intellectually strenuous, small group curriculum… but branding was important, right… hence Surge Tables and missional communities.

Side note: I had a freak out at one point, where I was pissed about a footnote to nowhere in one of the Surge Table pieces of literature. It was healing and interesting to listen to the plagiarism issues Mars Hill had. I ended up feeling super ashamed that I’d made a big deal out of the footnote. People seemed to think there must have been something wrong with me, but it turns out that was just another example of how I was ignored when I saw a problem that was real and had the gumption to say something. Makes me feel a little less ashamed of my freak out.

The bigger thing that got me into trouble with Surge Tables was that at Revolution, there were zero Bible study/small group opportunities for single women. Nada.

At least half of The Crossing were single, if not more, so… I was concerned. Revolution was supposed to now be my church, but didn’t have a place for me or the people I loved.

Our married couples, Mike , and maybe one single male were invited to participate in that first round of Surge Tables. The rest of us were supposed to wait until next time. Josh and Mike didn’t communicate when next time would be or who would be invited, but they did communicate that “all the single ladies” (couldn’t help myself) were not invited this time around.

I’m still troubled by what they were doing with that…

1. Isn’t everyone always invited to gather in groups to learn about Jesus??
2. Complementarianism was always presented to me as a sort of separate but equal thing… men and women are both equally valued by God and the role of helper is no less important than the role of leader. So… shouldn’t women studying the Bible be a priority?? In retrospect, the problem was that Revolution, at that time, was ONLY providing leadership training. They were not training disciples. They were not encouraging everyone at their church to gather and grow. They were prioritizing leadership at the expense of all non-leaders. (Driscoll-esque, if you ask me).
3. In the Church, there’s always beenthis messaging to singles that, “Hey, you aren’t to think of singleness like you are just waiting for your life to start after you find your spouse. You aren’t to think you are less complete or whole. You are exactly as God means you to be…” BUT Revolution’s Surge Tables were in direct contradiction to the idea that singles are worthwhile. “Once you’re married, we’d love to teach you and your spouse. Until then, hang tight.”

So… I said things about the Surge Tables to Mike and others… I bitched… and I probably blogged about it.

I loved Mike, by the way. I would have married him if he wasn’t gay. I probably would have been happy with a platonic marriage to him. I had this genuinely deep affection for him… which is why I felt so betrayed.

So… I said things about the complete lack of opportunities for women to study the Bible at Revolution church. That resulted in Josh’s wife inviting me to a small group she was going to start up with a handful of single women. I’m not sure if my saying things caused her to start the group. I’m confident there were conversations about me behind the scenes and in the end I was personally invited.

Well… that didn’t fix the problems for me. What about all of the other single women? How could I take a spot when none of them had been invited?

So, I said more things and suggested that pastor’s wife give my spot to one of the other single ladies.

That’s when Mike pulled me aside and accused me of trying to direct where people went within the church – I was told that it looked like I was grasping for power.

And that conversation bothers me to this day. When I think about it, I actually wish I’d found some corner of my heart in which I had been grasping for power. If the fault had been with me, I wouldn’t have to feel so betrayed by Mike, who I loved and admired – I wouldn’t have to admit that he drank so deeply of the Driscoll-brand complementarian Kool-aid that he’d forgotten who I was. Or perhaps he’d never known me at all.

That conversation is when I gave up on Revolution and the Crossing and Mike.

In addition to Revolution being a pretty negative experience for me as a woman, I can’t imagine it was anything but horrible for our two gay dudes. Mark Driscoll and Josh both focused SO MUCH on gender roles and marriage. There was the Real Marriage book and study. There was the yelling Driscoll sermon that got so much attention.

Of course, I said things and probably blogged about it.

Of course, Mike pulled me aside and tried to explain why we needed so many sermons about marriage and gender. There were marriages failing at Revolution. Lots of them. Infidelity. Broken families. Etc… So, Josh HAD to try to help them by preaching about marriage and gender.

What did I say in response?? SERMONS ABOUT MARRIAGE DON’T MEND MARRIAGES! JESUS DOES. THEY DON’T NEED MORE TIPS ON HOW TO FULFILL THEIR GENDER ROLES. THEY NEED JESUS. THEY NEED SERMONS ABOUT JESUS.

I was pissed. And I still am.

When I look back on the Acts 29 time of my life, the trickle-down effect brought a lot of the unhealthy things that occurred at Mars Hill into my life as well. I was ignored, monitored, and accused of grasping for power, largely, if not merely, because I am a woman.

I have lived a life in which I have been drawn to serving others. I have avoided making the kind of money it would be easy for me to make. I have avoided having the kind of power it would be easy for me to have.

I have a big mouth. I always say the things because I loved Emerson as a teenager and I memorized his quote about saying what today thinks in words harsh as cannonballs… then saying what tomorrow thinks in harsh words again, though it contradict everything you said today.

I also say all of the things, because I value transparency and I don’t value secrets.

As I’m thinking through the Rise and Fall of Mars Hill and The Crossing, I feel most brokenhearted that I lost my first love. I lost the naive, rose-colored glasses and I seem to be in a Sisyphus-style eternal search for them, trying to reclaim that first love.

Maybe that’s what faith is.

Josh left. He’s back east pastoring somewhere. Earning royalties off his book. Mike left. He pops into my life now and then, because we both run races. I don’t know anything about his spiritual life nowadays. Driscoll is an hour and a half from me. He left the Seattle mess and came to my desert.

It’s incomplete to label them as careless people and end the post. We are all broken and Jesus came for the broken, the careless… But it does suck how much damage can be done and how quickly. Also, it would have been nice to have that final conversation and ask the questions. Find out why and if there is any part of Tom and Daisy that regrets what happened. If they’re sorry for dismantling the church I loved or for getting Gatsby murdered.

When Pickle Juice is Delectable

I fasted last week. Just one day – not the entire week.

Fasting was very briefly a regular spiritual practice of mine. In the Spring of 2015 or thereabouts. I know, because I remember the first time I did it.

I was in California… Oceanside, I think. I was traveling, quitting teaching, losing friends… pained.

And I thought of David:

¹⁵ After Nathan had gone home, the Lord struck the child that Uriah’s wife had borne to David, and he became ill. ¹⁶ David pleaded with God for the child. He fasted and spent the nights lying in sackcloth^[b] on the ground. ¹⁷ The elders of his household stood beside him to get him up from the ground, but he refused, and he would not eat any food with them.

2 Samuel 12

Our world does not remember the faith that was physical. Washing feet. Communion. Baptism. Remove your shoes, for you stand upon holy ground. Rip out your hair and tear your clothes grief. HUNGER.

The first time I fasted, I remember it being so irritating just to make it through the day.

I don’t follow the rules lots of people follow for fasting. I usually allow myself one coffee drink in the morning, and nothing again until coffee the next morning. Water is fine. Tea is fine. Solid food… not fine. Highly caloric drinks… not fine.

When I say it was irritating, it was a badgering voice, telling me I’d made it long enough. I didn’t have to finish the day. Telling me I could eat and God wouldn’t be upset or think less of me. Telling me my mind would rest if only I’d eat a little bit.

I learned to pray every time the Temptation to Quit whispered sweet nothings in my ear. “Jesus, I think I need to finish this fast. Help me finish it. Give me whatever it is that would help me keep going for a bit longer.”

The benefits I gain from fasting, in addition to lots of prayer that day, actually have a lot to do with time. Time passes very differently without food. It’s slower. Food, for me, is a self-medication. A numbing. A forgetting. A leaving the present moment behind.

Also, I have come to realize I have far less need than the voice in my head would have me believe. I am not even close to starving. I could forego eating one day every week and still not understand what it is to be hungry.

So, last week, I fasted one day.

And the voice still prodded and poked. And I prayed and made it to the end of the day. I’m older now, though, than I was the last time I fasted. And my body did not take kindly to going without. I actually got lightheaded and off-balance. I thought I might pass out. I was eventually dizzy and I imagined myself falling, hitting my head, and my dogs eating my carcass before someone came and found me. I almost ended the entire thing with some scrambled eggs and toast.

But then I asked the internet about it, and realized I was dehydrated for lack of electrolytes. I read the recommendations (eat, electrolyte tablets, coconut water, Gatorade, pickle juice…)

Well, I’ve been pickling everything for the past few years. Carrots, cabbage, onions, cauliflower, green beans, zucchini… I’ve really pickled all the things. I’ve played around with vinegar and no vinegar. Quick pickling v. the long pickle (5-10 days). Jalapenos. Garlic. Peppercorns of all types. Dill.

So… I. Have. All of the. Pickle juices. All of them. No joke, there is a lot of pickle juice available to me. I usually use it to kill weeds in the yard, but evidently, it’s good for dehydration as well.

I pulled out a cauliflower/jalapeno combination with some whole garlic heads, made from a nice apple cider vinegar. I drank 2 ounces – not that much in the grand scheme of things, but it really was magnificent. It was all of the things – sweet, salty, tart, fiery… Nothing has ever tasted so delicious. Which is probably a sign that I really was on the verge of losing consciousness.

Now, I’m thinking I should consider pickle juice for recovering from a desert summer run.

I’m training for the second and third races of the Gabe Zimmerman Triple Crown nowadays. The Third run is a half marathon from downtown, out to ‘A’ Mountain, up it, down it, and back to downtown. I’ve only run it one time before and it really was the worst race of my life. Even the full marathon I ran was not as abusive to me as the third race in the Triple Crown.

So… this time, I’m going to train. And I’m planning to redeem that damn race.

In order to redeem it, I have to train now. During the desert summer. I don’t get up early to run, and I’ve gotten old enough that I can no longer run at 9:00 or 10:00 p.m. and then catch even a wink of shut eye.

So… I have to run when it’s flaming hot outside, and occasionally 100% humidity. That’s somewhat fine during the week… I’ve got a treadmill and rather enjoy watching tv and running. However, treadmill training is not as hard as outdoor training, so I also have to do some of that.

The Sunday before my fast, I may have run 4 miles (upped from 3 miles just that day) outside at about 2:00 p.m. I may have gotten myself incredibly dehydrated and a little sunburned, then tried to fast a couple of days later. So, maybe my electrolyte issues weren’t entirely due to my age… but there was a time in my life when I would not have had to worry about fasting a couple of days after a run. My body took care of anything I did to it.

Not so nowadays.