Beauty on the Backroads

Stories of grace for life's unexpected turns

running

For the ones who try

It was 80 degrees on a Thursday afternoon when the adults began to gather outside the school. We walked and stretched and chatted as we waited for the girls to emerge. Star-shaped balloons danced in the wind, and when the girls walked out of the school, we cheered and clapped like they were red-carpet royalty.

Each one found her running buddy. I slapped a high-five with my daughter and when we lined up, we put ourselves in the middle of the pack–the “walk some, run most” section. We are realistic about our efforts these days.

This was the practice 5k. In two weeks, we would run the real race.

Weeks of laps around the field led up to this moment. Three miles is intimidating, and I could sense the anxiety from some of the girls early on.

But before we could let our doubts and fears take over, it was time to run.

—

We learn our deficiencies early. 

We are not enough this or too much that, and those thoughts burrow deep until we don’t remember ever feeling anything different.

It’s gradual, at least it was for me. Like an erosion. Slow. Steady. Almost unnoticeable, at least in the day-to-day. 

When I am in the company of elementary-aged or middle-school girls, I can’t help but think of myself at that age. About all the ways I didn’t think I measured up to whatever the perceived standard was. How I didn’t attempt difficult things because I was sure I would fail. I played my life safe for a very long time.

I wondered about these young girls, if they had any of these thoughts as they set out on the neighborhood course. Did any of them wonder if they weren’t cut out for this? Were they comparing themselves to the other girls on the course?

Because I still do–wonder if I’m cut out for this, compare myself to others.

—

Sometimes we catch a glimpse of who we can be.

While the heat is bearing down as we struggle to catch our breath, to take one more step. When we’re not sure we’re going to make it. We begin to believe other people have it better or different, and we doubt ourselves. Our efforts. Should we have even bothered trying?

But just when we thought we might give up, something happens.

Someone in the crowd calls our name. A sign encourages us to “tap here for an energy boost” and we do it, just for fun. We hear words that sound like “You got this!” and “Keep going!” And as we near the end of the race the cheering intensifies. Something clicks and we remember something true about ourselves.

I don’t quite know what to call it, but I know it when I see it.

My daughter sprints to the finish line with a smile on her face that grabs the attention of those around her. (I’m not bragging here. More than one person made mention of her smile as she finished.)

She wasn’t the only one, though. As we watched her teammates finish, it was the same every time. A girl and her buddy crossed the street to the school and when they hit the sidewalk that was the final stretch, we all started cheering and calling her name.

And the girl’s face would shine like she’s alive for the first time, a smile taking up her whole countenance. It was almost tangible, the belief that she could do the impossible.

It is my favorite part of this particular race. The confidence I see practically dripping off the girls when they finish. Because so many people believed in them. And maybe they believe in themselves just a little bit more.

Photo by Lance Grandahl on Unsplash

—

I know it doesn’t always last, this confidence. At least, not in the same measure as after a race. But it also doesn’t disappear. A hint of it remains for the next time, and each time, it grows.

—

Here’s what I’m learning about what it means to be strong: it’s not always about how fast or how much or how hard. Sometimes to be strong is to not give up, to do it in spite of how you’re feeling, to keep going.

When it comes to running some days, it’s easier to stay at my house, to take a breather between work and when the kids get home from school, to enjoy the weather without sweating.

Some days, time is not on my side and the window I have to get my run in for the day is squeezed almost shut. On those days, instead of giving up, I switch it up. Instead of throwing in the towel because I can’t run two miles or more, I see how fast I can run one mile. Sometimes I fall short of my goal. One time, though, I surprised myself and clocked the fastest one-mile time I’ve ever run.

When I think I can’t, I try to remember what I’ve already done and what I know I can do.

—

This isn’t just about running. Not in the least.

Some of us are giving all the effort we have to something or someone and coming up short. At least that’s how it seems. We’re trying and trying and trying, and we don’t feel like we’re getting anywhere. Other people are fast on our heels or blowing right past us. We’re panting, with heads throbbing and faces tomato red from the exertion. We don’t know if we can take one.more.step.

If I could wish anything for all of us it would be to have a cheering squad on the course and at the finish line, calling our name. A crowd cheering us on, reminding us, “You can do it!”

We can.

You can.

Photo by Kyle Glenn on Unsplash

It’s this small boost of belief that spurs us toward the finish line with an inexplicable energy, like we haven’t been running for the better part of an hour.

We need to cheer each other on because we’re all in this together.

That sounds vague and idealistic, I know, but I’m convinced more and more that I will cheer you on whether you’ve just started running or you finished a marathon. Whether you’re taking the first steps toward something you’re not sure you can do or you’re out there living your life fully with passion.

I want you to cross your finish line looking like you’re alive for the first time.

—

We finished our practice 5k in 41:25. I timed us, just for my own knowledge, and maybe to give us something to compare to. Our last 5K a month ago was 42:00 even, with quite a bit of walking, and while I’m personally hoping to log a better 5K time on my own, this particular run isn’t about winning. We’re all winning, just by being there.

We were as hot and sweaty as we look after the race.

I want to say that again: Winning is equal to showing up.

I know this isn’t a popular concept, and I’ll admit it doesn’t apply to every situation, but for so many things, if you’re on the field or the course, if you’re showing up, doing your best, and trying, then you’ve already won. (So many of my students want to know what the prize is when they’re playing a review game and I’ve turned into that teacher who is always like “knowledge is the prize.” That’s a story for another day, perhaps.)

My daughter didn’t seem upset with our time or performance. She has such a positive attitude most of the time, and she pushes herself pretty hard when she wants to. Even though we walked a lot of the course, we ran our first half-mile faster than I usually run it, and every time we ran for a stretch, she outpaced me. When I mentioned she might want to pace herself, she said, “My legs just fly under me.” Who can argue with that?

At the end, I reminded her (and myself and anyone who could hear) that there are people who are not even thinking about walking three miles much less trying to run any portion of them. Every girl on the course, even the one who is the last to cross, has already won because she decided to show up. Bonus points for finishing the course.

Showing up and doing it anyway and not giving up. If there’s one thing I hear the girls praise each other for, week after week, it’s that they didn’t give up.

These amazing girls recognize the try in each other.

We would be wise to follow their lead.

About those miles …

I’m exhausted today, but not for the reason I expected.

Instead of running four miles today, I slept.

Let me tell you why.

On Friday night my husband spiked a fever that had him shaking with chills so much I was actually scared for him. He could not get warm and it wasn’t the air temperature. He also had pain in his chest, and this probably was the reason he decided to go to the hospital. (To be clear: I would only make this decision for him if he was being ridiculously stubborn. We are grown-ups who decide for ourselves what our bodies need.) Because he is a veteran and we get his healthcare through the VA, the closest hospital is 45 minutes away. Did I mention it snowed all day on Friday and the roads were questionable at best and I hate driving in winter and had already slid through three intersections on my way to work that morning?

Photo by Rémi Jacquaint on Unsplash

But taking control of our health and well-being in all areas means doing whatever it takes to take care of ourselves. So after 7 on a Friday night, we loaded up the family and drove the 45 minutes (or so, I lost track of time actually) to the Emergency Room. They took my husband back just after 8, and the kids and I settled in for Minecraft on the tablet and reading. I had no idea how long we’d be there. When The Blacklist came on the TV in the waiting area, I thought maybe it was time to ask for the remote. Lucky for us, we found a pro lacrosse match on the local Philly station. Our son is going to start playing lacrosse this month. It will be an education for all of us. 

We watched the entire second half and about a minute of overtime. The Philly team won. It had been a couple of hours so I walked back to the room where my husband was being tested to take him his phone, books and water bottle because neither of us remembered to have him take them when he left. They were running several tests. His heart rate was high. There wasn’t much for us to do but wait.

Photo by Jair Lázaro on Unsplash

I went back out to the waiting room where the kids were hanging in there like champs. About an hour later, a doctor came out to find us. “We’re thinking of admitting him,” he said, “and he wants everyone to be in on that decision.” We listened to the probable diagnoses. Pericarditis–inflammation of the sac around the heart. Maybe something respiratory. They wanted to do another EKG and give him more fluids. Did we want him to stay in the hospital or did we want to wait longer and take him home?

Home is always the most appealing option and after a brief discussion with the doctor, we decided the kids and I could hang in there a little longer. By this time, it was closing in on midnight. Our son said we could make up for not staying up till midnight on New Year’s Eve and when the clock ticked over to 12:00, he said, “Happy New Year!”

We watched the EKG and another blood draw and when the nurse came back with another bag of IV fluids, she told us it would be another hour yet, so back to the waiting room we went. Both kids fell asleep in chairs and on me, leaving me with my phone draining power and my thoughts. Before the final IV bag, I was still thinking about doing the run. On five or six hours of sleep, I thought I could still handle it, but as the hours ticked on, I realized my opportunity to run this race this year was slipping away from me.

Another hour later, we wandered back to my husband’s room. We met the ER doctor who had been making the decisions and we were told the plan of action. It was close to 2:30 a.m. by the time my husband was released and we were back shivering in the car as it warmed up on the way home.

The kids conked out in the back seat and I said out loud, “I’m not running the race.” And the saying of it out loud caused the tears I’d been holding in to trickle out. I immediately tried to console myself with words like “it’s okay” and “I can do it next year.” I got the tears under control because seeing out the front windshield was hard enough. We pulled into the driveway and fell into bed in the 3:30 a.m. range. No one brushed their teeth and I think some of us slept in the clothes we were already wearing. I set an alarm for a few hours later so I could tell a couple of friends who needed to know about the run that I wasn’t going to make it.

I cried myself to sleep. And I keep crying when I think about how disappointed I am that I didn’t get to attempt this run today. It was more than just the running, and I had so much I wanted to tell you about why. I guess it’ll wait till next year, and in the meantime, I’m going to do my best not to wallow and get right back out there. The weather is supposed to turn mild next week, and I might schedule multiple runs just to remind myself that I can do it and I’m not a failure.

I am still strong and capable.

Even if today I feel like I let some people down. Including myself.

But if I’ve learned anything in recent years, it’s that it’s okay to feel all the feelings. I don’t have to deny the disappointment or try to shrug off the tears. I can cry about it if I want to. And I can still go out there the next time and run as if I am strong and capable.

Instead of running a race and recovering, today was about running errands to pick up meds and groceries and recovering from a late night. My husband is feeling better than he did yesterday and has a cocktail of medications to help him improve, as well as a doctor’s ordered rest from work for a few days.

We’re going to be okay.