I’ve fallen, and I’m conflicted as to whether or not to get up.
I groaned as I woke up yesterday to check the weather. Cold, cold, cold. I personally do not care to be outside when it dips below 55 in Florida, and it definitely was in the 40s. On the way to the race, I asked myself – why do I bother registering for January races? It feels this way damn near every. year. What is my compulsion?
My mood did not improve upon my arrival at the race site. I saw several people I know, and quite well, but they either didn’t recognize me or chose to ignore me. Sometimes, as a black woman, I feel like a chameleon – a change to my hair and I am a totally different person. Perhaps I simply have a forgettable face, or both! Anyhow, this introvert didn’t feel like talking anyway. I saw a student and his family and I turned the other direction and went back to my car to stay warm.
My word, January 1 was filled with such hope and here I am, the 5th, fallen from my glory. My shiny new Garmin glimmers on my wrist and I feel unworthy of the tool in which I’ve invested. It’s the same old body! Same old weakness, same imperfection, same doubts, but now with Spotify and Bluetooth. I worked to set up my playlist, which I named for my mood.
I exited my car about 5 minutes prior to the race start. I will admit that my music made me dance and smile, as sour as I had been feeling. Like running, it is primal; moreover, it also elicits my feelings of inadequacy, but the only performance ahead of me was this 3.1 miles, so I’m gonna jam. I hear someone shout go and I walk toward the start line, without the hope that I had had just 4 days prior.
I knew that I was capable of running the race in its entirety, but I did not know how fast I would be. I told myself I would just run comfortably. A couple – each with a stroller! – passed me, and I sighed once more. Those babies are winning in every way, I thought to myself – they don’t have student loans! My twisted sense of humor made me smile as I ran.
My watch beeped as I passed the first mile marker. Under 12 minutes?! Whose legs are these? Can I maintain this? I enjoyed my music as I took each step, thankful for what seemed to be a steady pace. This race was in a very familiar area, which – I cannot say I find positive. I know exactly what it feels like to drive on these roads and because I do so fairly often, it made me very impatient to finish the race. By the time the final turn came, I no longer regretted having registered – but I’m not doing this one again!
There was so much food at the finish line but I still just wanted to get the hell out of there. Why does it still feel like a divine revelation that I enjoy completing races, even when I start the day reluctantly? Why am I so hard-headed that it still surprises me a bit when God brings me to another finish line? What will it take for me to feel like I just want to run and not run and hide?
Anyone who is among the living has hope—even a live dog is better off than a dead lion! Ecclesiastes 9:4 (NIV)
You hear that, y’all? I am better than a dead lion! Apparently, there’s hope for me, even when I am down in the dumps…