Sunday sport, races and marathons.

 

Why not? It’s the day of rest!

I’m running for charity, it’s a good cause!

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Wrong because of three Ws!  WORSHIP, WORD, and WRONG PRIORITIES.

WORSHIP: We are to love God with all our hearts, minds, soul and strength, and one basic way in which we do that is to attend a good church on the Lord’s day to worship and thank him. He is our creator, sustainer and the only Saviour of men.

WORD: Jesus reiterated what God said to Moses in Deuteronomy, “Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that proceeds from the mouth of God.” We need to hear God’s word to really live and we do so when it is preached by a godly servant minister of his in a true church.

WRONG PRIORITIES: Jesus said, “Seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness” not seek first your own pleasure or boosting your reputation in sport-that is at best vanity and chasing the wind. “What shall it profit a man if he gains the whole world (becomes a world record holder even) and loses his own soul!” (Matthew 16:26).

So if you profess to be a believer-why are you not keeping the Sabbath day (fourth commandment)?

If you’re an unbeliever-ask yourself this, “Where is all this leading me? Is my soul satisfied? Do I not need peace with God?

The one thing King David desired above all things was to dwell in God’s house (have fellowship and friendship with God), this is the essence of eternal and abundant life (John 10:10).

Masters Training Age vs Chronological Age

Why all over-40 runners are not created equal.

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Published

March 7, 2014

Confusion abounds about optimal training for masters runners. That’s because they get into the sport in different ways. Thus, training for one master has to be different from that for another. Here’s the 411 on training for runners over 40, based on the type of runner they are:

FULL-SPECTRUM MASTERS

This type of masters runner started in high school and hasn’t stopped. He ran the 400m to the 2-mile, then went on to run in college. He kept training and competing after college and ran his fastest times in his 20s or 30s. And he just kept running. He entered the masters category with renewed enthusiasm and carried his past experience with training and racing to more age-group victories.

Most early training advice for masters runners came from these athletes. The benefit was that they had experienced it all and could talk openly about the changes they had to make in training and racing as they aged. The usual “more recovery time” idea was a constant theme, as was compensation in training–like avoiding certain types of speed work or explosive drills–due to old injuries.

This type of runner can focus on efficient training because he has years and years of endurance under his belt. He can adjust his training based on his injury history. If he’s been injured a lot, he may limit his speed training, be careful with the weekly mileage and rely on his racing experience to perform his best. If he hasn’t been injured (lucky dog!), he can still train similarly to when he was young, with lots of variety–mileage, speed, terrain–in his training week, but he may need to add a bit more recovery between hard workouts.

START, STOP, START AGAIN MASTERS

Our second type of masters runner began like our Full-Spectrum Masters runner. He started in high school, may have run in college, but then put running on the shelf, often focusing on family, work and other life commitments. It’s possible he put on a few pounds and lost a bit of the athleticism he once had.

But, once a runner, always a runner, and as he hit 40, the bug bit again. He got back into the sport, remembered how much it meant to him and quickly started claiming podium spots in local races.

Training for this type of masters runner is the most challenging. His mind remembers pushing hard like he did when younger, but his body has forgotten all about it. So he has to be very careful not to get carried away. He will have to suppress the urge to return to the usual weekly routine from high school and college, and instead train more easily than he thinks he should. He will have to add more recovery time and be careful to let the body catch up with the mind. He will likely be able to return to training similar to what he did when younger, and can have greater masters success than the Full-Spectrum Masters, but he must wait for his musculoskeletal system to catch up to the mental and cardiovascular systems. Patience and control in training are key mantras.

NEWBIE MASTERS

Our third type of masters runner is the one who has no running experience, takes up running later in life and finds that she not only enjoys it, but she’s also quite good at it. She’s the one who started running for fun with a charity group or running club and soon was beating the more seasoned runners every weekend.

This type of master can really get into training and racing similar to a younger runner. She can build good mileage on her “young legs” and experiment with lots of variety in training, adding volume and intensity as she gains in strength. She must watch for injury but has the green light to have a lot of fun, beat the pants off the young women and men and see just how good she can be.

The Newbie Masters runner can train with younger runners and experiment with a wide variety of training and races. She’ll soon find where her strengths lie and where she needs to be careful with certain workouts. She’ll often continue to improve when longer-term runners are starting to see an age-related decline.

Greg McMillan is a USATF-certified coach. His new book, YOU (Only Faster), is available on his website: www.mcmillanrunning.com.

Harlotry in Ezekiel (8)

Harlot

These portions are among the most graphic in Scripture likening the spiritual whoredom of God’s church to the degrading prostitution of sisters.

We sang Psalm 45:6-11-a song about a wedding and coronation.

We read Ezekiel 23:1-21

We have here the account of two sisters:

Aholah (Samaria) the older Aholiba (Judah/Jerusalem) the younger
Name means: her own tent (she lays claim to what

she believes is her sole prerogative (her tabernacle)

Name means: my tent is in her (God speaking about his tabernacle)
Vv5-10 Vv11-21
She makes political and idolatrous alliance with Assyria They both started young (vv3,19) indeed in Egypt where thay were enamoured by the Egyptian gods.
Her lovers become her slaughterers

Judgment is inevitable on these two whorish women vv22-35.

Their hypocrisy is awful vv38-39 (child sacrifice alongside temple worship)

The result is she is stoned to death v47. I suppose the N.T equivalent is Christ removing the candlestick and giving them over to their sins.

A similar picture is seen in Ezekiel 16:1-43. These harlots degrade themselves to please their customers, a clear O.T. picture of modern churches compromising with political correctness and the mores of society (fornication, adulterous remarriages, sodomy etc.) This abandoned baby becomes a girl with whom God makes his covenant (vv3-14). God gives her good gifts but she abuses them in her pride just as the wicked do today with all God’s providence. They have no right to them being “squatters” in his world and they shall be taken away with no abiding place for them.

Notice v15ff all Baptist God calls them “my children”.

With the sins of Samaria, Jerusalem and Sodom (three sisters v44), “evangelical” Jerusalem being the worst, even the pagans are disgusted (v27) and judgment follows (vv37-43)

BUT vv60-61 cf. Hosea 3:19-20 God faithfully keeps his covenant with his betrothed remnant. This he did in the cross of Christ where all his people were betrothed to him (Eph.5:25), whereupon he married his catholic bride (at Pentecost) and we await the eternal marriage feast (Rev.19:7, 21:1,9-10,22:17).

Rich truth indeed but beware harlot apostate and apostatising churches! If you are members of one get out quickly!

Advice from Brianne Theisen-Eaton

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The best piece of coaching advice

Brianne is one of the leading world heptathletes.

What has resonated with me is it is better to get to the line 80% in shape but 100% healthy rather than 100% in shape and 80% healthy. It always used to scare me to think I could go into an event in only 80% shape. Yet from experience it is so much harder to compete at your best when you have a nagging injury. As long as you are 100% healthy, a combination of the adrenaline and competition can compensate for your lack of fitness and you can achieve some amazing things.

An open letter to Justin Gatlin

Agree 100%. Athletics is supposed to be a PURE SPORT!

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Dear Justin,

You are EVERYTHING that is wrong with the sport I love.



How dare you say “I’m not the kind of guy to cheat people of their money or let the fans down … that’s not what I do” when:
• You cheated every single athlete who ever finished behind you in a race from the day you started using testosterone* to the day you were caught for it in 2006. (* or the day it started being administered without your knowledge)
• Every time you made a relay team until 2006 you cheated a clean athlete out of a place.
• Every time you stood on a podium you robbed a clean athlete of that moment.
• And you NEVER ONCE apologised. Not to your fellow athletes. Not to your federation. Not to the fans.



And it doesn’t stop when you returned from your (second) ban in 2010…

View original post 233 more words

How birds live (1)

Inside a bird.

Birds have many hollow bones, made strong by lots of slender struts but very light to allow them to become airborne.

The fact that a pelican approximately 5 feet long weighing nearly 20 pounds has a skeleton weighing only 23 ounces indicates how perfectly a birds skeleton is adapted to its capacity for flight. The reason the skeleton is so lightweight is that many bones in a bird’s skeleton are hallow. The hollow bones are honeycombed with air spaces and strengthened by crisscrossing struts. The number of hollow bones varies from species to species, though large gliding and soaring birds tend to have the most. In general, the more efficient fliers seem to have more bones that are hollow.

Avian-Skeleton

Click to enlarge

Birds have powerful breast muscles between breast bone and each wing which pull the wings down.

Birds have extra air sacs to keep them light and augment their breathing.

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Click to enlarge.

How birds live (2)

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Birds have been around since day five of creation…Genesis1:20-22 “And God said, Let the waters bring forth abundantly the moving creature that hath life, and fowl that may fly above the earth in the open firmament of heaven. And God created great whales, and every living creature that moveth, which the waters brought forth abundantly, after their kind, and every winged fowl after his kind: and God saw that it was good. And God blessed them, saying, Be fruitful, and multiply, and fill the waters in the seas, and let fowl multiply in the earth.” Birds, like all other creatures were created as birds and did not evolve from reptiles. They are unique in having feathers (of which more to come) but are not the only animals that fly as we have bats (flying mammals) and insects. The number of species (9,702) and their variety is simply amazing.

Pictures-Scarlet Ibis (Trinidad) and Puffin (UK).

Doctors suggested abortion, but my daughter’s life was worth saving

My story of hypermesis gravidarum

Lovely story well worth reading!

 Email_2013_redesign_header
 In honor of Hyperemesis Gravidarum Awareness Day, I wanted to share my personal story. Some elements are medically descriptive, which may be uncomfortable for some readers. Nevertheless, I hope my story will encourage and inspire you as we work together to defend human dignity for all.
It was morning again. I lay very, very still, and very, very hopeful. “Maybe it won’t be so bad this morning,” I thought, as I would think every morning. I rolled slightly to one side, observing my husband sound asleep, and glanced at the clock. 5:00 am. With a heartfelt prayer, I rolled to my other side and sat up in bed.
Immediately I felt the bone deep waves of nausea pouring over me, seemingly washing every cell of my body in misery. With tears in my eyes, I inched my way off of the bed, across the floor, and into my bathroom, praying I would make it to the toilet in time.
Every morning, I wished for reprieve, and every morning, I was denied. The morning I just described was a good morning. No, a great one. Because sometimes I wasn’t so lucky. Sometimes I would start shaking – deep, wracking tremors and spasms which only served to make my nausea that much worse. When those mornings came, I would cry, often without tears because I was so dehydrated.
I would vomit until only bile was left. I would feel so helpless, so out of control in my own body, that I would be certain that I wouldn’t survive another minute of this torture, another moment of agony. And on those mornings, I feared another day of living more than I feared death.
What was wrong with me? It was something that only time could fix. I was pregnant. 
At about seven weeks pregnant with my fourth child, the nausea hit hard. About a week later my nausea must have felt that it was slacking off and needed to take it up a notch. My midwife gave us a list of home remedies and herbs to try, and fortunately those seemed to hold off the worst of the symptoms for several weeks.
At nearly nine weeks pregnant, I started bleeding – badly. In hysterics yet again, I called my midwife and she sent us to the emergency room. I can remember being dazed in the ER bathroom. I was visiting the bathroom to throw up, but I couldn’t stop the bleeding and was certain I was miscarrying. Everything I read online was discouraging.
When I lay on the ultrasound table, the ultrasound tech checked my chart and got very stern with me. “I can’t let you see the screen. I can’t tell you about anything that I find. I write the report, and I send it to the doctor, and that’s it. OK?” I nodded my agreement, but as soon as her back was turned I began a series of complicated hand motions to rival any baseball catcher’s calls. My husband correctly understood my frantic gestures to mean that he was supposed to watch the ultrasound screen and report back to me in detail.
After a few moments of tense silence and reassuring nods from my husband, the sonographer exhaled loudly. “I just had to tell you that in case there was something wrong, but everything looks fine to me,” she explained, pointing at the screen.
Turning it so that we could see our little peanut for the first time, she showed us a good strong heartbeat. That was the moment that I fell irrevocably, unexplainably in love with my tiny treasure. That baby, that hardly looked like a baby and was utterly still in my womb at the time of the ultrasound (so still that I thought the baby was dead until the ultrasound tech explained that the baby was just sleeping) became my reason for survival over the next seven months.
The next few days were nerve-wracking. The doctor could not determine what it was that caused the bleeding, so we were sent to my dad’s to wait it out. With lots of family to help with my other three children, and my favorite smoothie store nearby to get some nutrition in me, it was a blessing to be stuck there while we watched and waited. I have a vivid memory of my stepmom making me a box of Kraft macaroni and cheese because it was all I could think of that sounded palatable.
I’ll also never forget my aunt stopping in to encouraging me, telling me that when she was pregnant with my younger cousin she experienced exactly the same thing and everything was fine.
After several days of panic, the bleeding stopped, the nausea continued, and we felt reassured that at least for this time our little one was still with us.
My nausea seemed to level out for awhile. We traveled home, and at around 11 weeks I started to improve. I had been bedridden for a little while, but I was able to get up and go to the store once or twice, and I even went out to eat with the family once. My husband had a business trip scheduled, and I told him to go ahead, as long as I was still improving. I felt stronger, and I felt that my morning sickness (which lasted all day) was surely coming to a close. After all, I’d had very little sickness with my first pregnancy, none with my second, and a regular, solid 12-weeks of it with my third.
The day my husband was scheduled for a trip, I woke up to the most severe, extreme nausea I had ever experienced. Once, years before, I’d had terrible food poisoning.
The food poisoning episode paled in comparison to this nausea. This was all-encompassing, and so severe that I could not even think straight. I was violently shaking, unable to even communicate to my husband. I was later told that I was talking gibberish. And that day began my nightmare. You see, it didn’t get better for months. I had that debilitating degree of severe nausea for the majority of my pregnancy, and when I did “get better”, “better” only meant that I was able to hold down a little food and fluid.
I had a condition that I had seen before – hyperemesis gravidarum. I had recently watched a friend go through it, and knew another woman from church had had it, but I didn’t believe that I had it myself until my doctor diagnosed it.
Every day, I had terrible shaking spells (which I later found out were due to extreme dehydration), and every day I had to lie perfectly still on my bed to avoid starting the out-of-control vomiting that seemed to define every day. At that point, 12 weeks pregnant or so, I lost 12 pounds in 10 days, and that was only the beginning. I began to get weekly IV’s. I didn’t wear makeup, I didn’t wear “real” clothes – it was sweatpants and scrunchies for me, and even those were a trial.
I tried every remedy, herbal and otherwise, under the sun. My midwife kept researching and sending me new ideas, but nothing helped. Liquid became my enemy, and I kept down about half of what my husband insisted that I try (usually protein drinks). I lost my eyelashes, part of my eyebrows, and a lot of hair from malnutrition.
My days became a haze that centered around my toilet. I would try to read (a favorite pastime), but could not concentrate. I know I watched television on my computer, but I couldn’t recall what I watched even that evening. I pined for my children – all I wanted was to snuggle my sweet little ones and enjoy them! But I couldn’t have them in the room with me. The noise, the accidental bumping of the bed, the touches – all drove me to the toilet yet again. I felt as if I was put into a bubble of misery, and no one could get close. Family members and friends stepped in to help with the kids, which I was very thankful for, but it also seemed to highlight my failure to take care of my own home and children.
My midwife helped me to find a high-risk ob/gyn, and the first doctor I saw was not the one for me. At our first visit he asked me if I would like to ‘terminate the pregnancy’. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. After months of this torture, he wanted me to give up the reward of a baby at the end? He wanted to forever still the tiny life inside of me? I didn’t even have to consider my answer. What I needed was not abortion. I needed medical care.
Thus began what I refer to as the spin cycle of doctors. One doctor would confirm that yes, I had HG, and no, they couldn’t do anything about it. Another doctor would be horrified by the number of IV’s I received weekly, and would recommend multiple medications that did not work. The next doctor would know absolutely nothing about hyperemesis gravidarum, and suggest that I try ginger (I had tried ginger in every form), and try to “eat more frequently”…even though I couldn’t eat any solid food for weeks at a time. Many acknowledged that I needed an IV port, a medication pump, and a home health nurse. Unfortunately, the pump would only work if we found a medication that worked, and my nausea was untouchable.
We did not have the money for a home health nurse, and I was terrified of the permanent IV port and potential complications. I didn’t need anything to make me worse! So I stayed home and got bi-weekly (sometimes three or four times weekly) IV’s.
A turning point with the doctors at our first hospital came when I was in for an IV and went to give a urine sample, finding that my urine was coffee colored. After much hemming and hawing, I was told that there was likely something wrong with my kidneys, but they didn’t know what. I was to have a kidney ultrasound, and after the ultrasound, the doctors didn’t say another word to me and were unable to answer any questions. These same doctors repeatedly reassured me that there was no need to check the baby’s growth, although other hyperemesis sufferers said the opposite.
Still in touch with my midwife, I contacted her and told her how sick I was, and that I was unable to get any answers about my potential kidney issues.
At her recommendation, I switched doctors and found a doctor who, while not totally familiar with hyperemesis, was at least insistent upon checking the baby’s growth and making sure that I got some nutrition and fluids.
Week after week went by. My husband regularly took me to the hospital for IV fluids, and I would lay on the hospital beds for hours, crying, frightened, and so alone. The hospital smells would inevitably aggravate my nausea. I was so dehydrated that when they would attempt to give me in IV, it always took at least four and up to eight attempts to get the IV in. The IV sites were painful, my arms were mottled with deep blue, brown, and yellow bruises. At every visit, I would plead with the nurses to get an anesthesiologist to do the IV (they were much better at it), and show them the places that just did not work. Invariably they would either completely ignore me or insist that they were professionals, push the IV in against my wishes, and collapse vein after vein.
My husband still had to work, and had impossible family demands on him along with work. I desperately needed him to understand what I was going through, but how could he? I couldn’t even understand it!
At 24 weeks, when many hyperemesis gravidarum cases improve, mine did not. I knew I was an odd case – my fourth pregnancy was my first experience with hyperemesis gravidarum. Someone I knew had self-diagnosed that she had hyperemesis, but after explaining her case versus mine to several doctors, they agreed that I had an extremely severe case and that many women believe they have HG although they only have mild or regular morning sickness that lasts throughout the pregnancy.
My odd case of HG left me with tachychardia, moderate hydronephrosis of my kidney, and a longing for my family like I had never felt before. During the day, family members cared for my kids while I was either in bed at home or in the hospital, and at night my husband would buy some food that I thought might sound good, only to have me take a bite and push the rest away in disgust. Food was my enemy. I would have panic attacks thinking about the next time I would have to force myself to eat. I would be filled with terror every night just at the prospect of waking up again the next day to begin my suffering anew.
Every day, lying in my bed, I would get chills and shivers head to toe. The all-day feeling of dread left me miserable and feeling desperate. Someone encouraged me with the saying, “The only way past this is through it,” and that became my mantra. When I felt desperate, out of control, ill, and lonely, I would repeat, “the only way past this is through it.” My prayer life took off – there’s just something about constant desperation that makes you truly reach out to God in ways you never have before.
When I reached 32 weeks, it was a milestone. I felt amazed that I had survived so far. My little girl’s kicks were a daily reminder (and an extra tummy disturbance) that she was alive and well and taking what she needed from me. I knew that she would likely survive if she was born early, and although my nausea was still severe, I was able to start holding down foods, although liquids were another story.
At 34 weeks I had a growth scan and saw that the baby looked great. At 35 weeks, our house was vandalized in the middle of the night, and we had to move into an apartment. The stale cigarette smoke smells churned my nausea up even more, but my husband was able to quickly find a great house for our family to move in to. After repeated visits to the hospital for a suspected amniotic fluid leak, a routine growth scan showed that our little girl had not grown at all from her previous scan. Our baby was diagnosed with IUGR (intra uterine growth restriction), and I was told that she needed to come out right away.
A mere four days after we moved in to our new home, I was held at the hospital with the expectation of an induction. I feel convinced that God had His hand upon us at that time. At around midnight that night, I realized that I had been having contractions for a few hours that were getting more and more painful. Sure enough, without the induction, I was in labor! And praise God for that, because I had not wanted to be induced at 3am!
We were especially thankful for diligent doctors when I began to run a fever, and they figured out that I had an amniotic fluid infection called chorioamnonitis. Chorioamnonitis is a bacterial infection that can lead to sepsis, brain damage, and death. Praise the Lord, our sweet little girl was born at 5:33 am perfectly healthy, with no long-term signs of damage or infection.
At a double-risk of stillbirth with IUGR and chorioamnionitis, we knew we had so much to be thankful for when we saw our tiny girl.
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Only five pounds, eight ounces at birth, she was under five pounds by the time we left the hospital but happy, healthy, and whole. Disregarding the doctor’s orders to “go easy” on my first postpartum meal, I felt hunger for the first time in months after delivery and chowed down on an omelet and big glass of ice water. I had craved water for six months but was not able to drink even a drop because it would come straight back up. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the taste of that hospital omelet, the half gallon of ice water that I downed without pause, and the amazing feeling of keeping it all down, with no gagging or vomiting to plague me.
After what we went through – and I make no mistake that our entire family suffered with me – it only took one look at my little girl to know that it was worth it. In the darkest part of my pregnancy, I couldn’t even recognize the “baby” part of my pregnancy. She wasn’t moving very often yet, we were having a hard time capturing her image on ultrasounds, and I didn’t feel pregnant, I just felt like I had the most severe food poisoning known to man for months. But even though I couldn’t feel very attached to the little person who was unintentionally making me so very ill, I hung on. Even when I thought neither of us would survive, I pushed forward.
The very moment I laid eyes on her, I knew without question that she was worth it. 

For my baby, I would go through the darkness, the vomiting, the shaking, the severe nausea, the pain, the hospital stays, the desperation – I would do it all again for her.
She is worth every moment of suffering that I endured, and I can even look back and say that it is a privilege to have suffered for such an amazing cause – bringing my sweet little girl into the world. She is the joy of the entire family, an absolutely beautiful little girl, sweet, precocious, and advanced for her age, and not one of us can imagine our lives without her. 
When we talk about being pregnant in difficult circumstances, I know what that’s like. I know it forwards and backwards, inside and out. I have been there! I have been at what, for me, was the lowest of lows. I have been humiliated and unable to move or think because of my pregnancy complications. I have been sicker than I thought a person could be, and for months at a time. I have changed a lot, too – I was not a big fan of doctors, but I definitely recognized the need for medical interventions in serious cases like mine.
My faith in Jesus Christ, and a love for someone I had never met got me through a severe case of hyperemesis gravidarum. 
Pro-life activists have been accused of lacking compassion for pregnant women, although it is very obvious that true compassion is reaching out to help, not pushing someone into an abortion clinic. Being prolife in all circumstances means that we are regularly told that we don’t know what it’s like to be pregnant when it’s not easy. We are accused of wanting to “force” people to continue with their pregnancies.
The bottom line is not that we want to force anyone to do anything! But killing a living, growing, developing human being is just wrong. There will never be another little girl exactly like the one I carried in my womb. Just knowing and recognizing the value of my baby strengthened me.
Many pregnant women considering abortions are in a tough place. They think they can’t survive, can’t make it through. Trust me, I know what that is like! I essentially lost myself for nine months. My family and friends, on the rare occasion that they saw me, almost didn’t recognize me. My sole purpose during that time was survival, and I put all focus there. There was very little for me to enjoy during that time – not food, sunshine, family, hobbies, fellowship, or anything. When all of that was stripped away, I was left with my faith, my family (the little bit that I got to spend time with them), and my baby. We were in this fight together. We are survivors.
And if we can do it, I know that other women can do it too. When the only way past something is through it, through it we must go, knowing that in the end the journey is worthwhile.
For life, Jennifer Mason
Communications Director Personhood USA

www.Personhood.com

Our mailing address is:PersonhoodUSA

PO Box 5007

Denver, CO 80217

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