Many athletic events in Anchorage take place on Sundays, leaving me out. But the Gold Nugget, though on a Sunday, has a staggered start time, as more than 1500 women swim, bike and run their way to the finish line in distances of 500 yards, 12 miles and 4.1 miles, respectively. The first (elite) racers start at 9 am, while later bib numbers are staggered until 3 pm. I've always had a fairly late bib number, though racers can start anytime after their number is called.
Erik and I left Central's third service shortly after the sermon and I went home to don my swim suit and eat some pre-race food. He dropped me off at Bartlett High and after I warmed up, I got in line to enter the pool.I should pause here and say that while I'm a long-time runner and am moderately good on the bike, I am no swimmer. For perspective: this year my run portion ranked me #49 out of 1500. My swim placed me at #723. My mom said I barely passed second-grade swimming and, years later, while taking lessons at the South Anchorage Alaska Club, the coach stopped me once to say, "Smith! You know what your problem is? You're afraid of the water."
From about age 28-30, I painstakingly learned how to swim, through lessons and on my own. I now have a somewhat passable front crawl. It took me months, though, to get the breathing down. I'm still working on the flip-turn.
I'm glad the triathlons feature the swim part first, so I can get it over with. This year was a little more traumatic than most. I had a little equipment failure. My goggles filled with water (let the reader note they'd been somewhat leaky as of late) and I had to stop and empty/reposition them no less than four times. It was not my finest hour.
But then I had a pretty fast transition (nothing like running through the Bartlett parking lot in a swim suit) to the bike, a good ride and a run that felt fast. I finished with a smile, #111 out of 1500 women, my highest ranking yet. Some day, I hope to make the top 100. Maybe after I learn how to buy better goggles and do some flip turns.
Even though this race means I miss part of worship and the May church council meeting every year, it's worth it to me. Movement has always been key to my spirituality and sanity and I know I'm not alone. I might have learned about God in the Sunday school and seminary, but I felt and experienced him in the mountains and forests.
I was thinking about this during this week as we get ready for Pentecost Sunday at Central. Pentecost celebrates the coming of the Holy Spirit upon the disciples. The book of Acts, chapter 2, says there was a rush of wind, and tongues of fire rested on their heads and each one began to speak in their native language, as the Spirit gave them ability. Even more, the crowds who heard them each heard in their native language. The coming of the Holy Spirit wasn't just a bunch of people who believed because someone told them. They experienced the Spirit in their bodies, ears and tongues.
Our pastors text study group this week was talking about the experience of God in the body. Perhaps, a colleague said, we can understand Christmas and Easter with an intellectual assent, but to really experience Pentecost and the Holy Spirit, we need to know it deep inside our bodies. Another pastor said that the church suffers when we elevate the spirit far beyond the body. In ancient times, that was called Gnosticism. In modern times, it looks a little bit like a young man I met once in Kodiak who worked for a church there. During our conversation, he repeatedly referred to his body as his "dirt suit." He also had a TV in his front yard with an ax buried in its face.
I think God cares about bodies. In our creed, we talk about the resurrection of the body. In what form? Who knows. But I don't think a God who came to earth and took a physical body really thinks of mine as only a "dirt suit." Jesus had a body that ate, drank, cried and laughed. His body was one of the ways he gave and received the love of God. As is ours.
When I was lining up my sabbatical, I noticed it involved a lot of body stuff: yoga retreat, backpacking through New Zealand, cross country skiing in Alaska. I thought the people at the Lilly Endowment (who funded my sabbatical) would think I was a crazy hippy. They asked what would make my heart sing, though, and I told them. It was about moving my body in the world God made, ever aware of the abundant goodness of a bird's song or the feel of the snow under my skis. And I was ever grateful to share it with my husband, who I met while hiking in the pouring rain on a day when most others had stayed indoors.
I guess when I said earlier that I left worship early to go do the Gold Nugget Triathlon, what I really meant was I left the church building early. The worship continued.
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