Walking the Trail You're On

My mom and I took a hike this past weekend. It wasn't the trail we planned to take, but rather a connector to said trail. Mom kept commenting about ways she thought we could get to the other trail, where that trail must go, etc. Eventually, though, she said, "Well, this is the trail we're on." 

And I thought, "What a great metaphor for life."

Many of us right now didn't choose the trail we're on. Whether we're wrestling with COVID restrictions, COVID itself, changed work, no work, homeschooling, online school, making hard decisions, missing family, missing events, or something else, this isn't the life we chose. Even if we did make decisions that got us here, we didn't expect to be here. Or still here. And yet here we are. My tendencies when I'm not where I want to be are to first, complain. Then I might try to see if there is a shortcut to get where I want to be. Next I might try to rush to the next destination. Then I might gripe again. I don't want to enjoy the mile I'm in.*  I just want to get out of here and get to the next place. Life doesn't work like that.

I said to Mom many times that I enjoyed the trail we took. We felt the warmth and cooling of the air as the trail rose and fell. We watched the sun rise. We absorbed 180 views of the mountains. We spent time together. We got in our daily exercise. The hike wasn't the one we chose or even set out to do, but we enjoyed it nonetheless. We enjoyed it because we chose to do so.

How, then, can we apply this to life? How do we enjoy the trail we're on, even if it's one that chose us, rather than us choosing it? We can look for little joys: new experiences, flavors, tastes, touches, smells, sounds. We can choose to capitalize on what this time has, even if there are a lot of have-nots. We can use our eyes to look at the scenery, because even if it's not what we wanted to see, it might give us perspective, and we might not see it again. We can enjoy fellowship with the people God has placed us with now. We can feel our feelings and work through them. We can journal and write and take photos and document this time and this place. We can learn.

Mom and I had a good hike. We found some new trails we want to take. We think we figured out how to get to the trail we wanted to do in the first place. We're looking forward to the next hike. May the same be true of us in the seasons we find ourselves in now. May we look for the good, look for God, faithfully walk the trail we're on. And when we reach our next destination, may we look back and give thanks, walking the next trail with gratitude until we reach our final destination of heaven and roam no more.

*'Run the mile you're in' is a phrase attributed to Ryan Hall. I haven't read the book, but appreciate the perspective.

10K Number Two (And Why Social Media is a Highlight Reel)

I've been trying to run more and run longer. Trying to stay healthy. Trying to get ready for maybe something bigger. But it's been a fight. This race was a last minute addition to my schedule. "Maybe you should run another 10K before you commit to more," Mom said. So I signed up. But then my husband was sick. I had days on end of late nights due to getting called out for work. I struggled to sleep and eat enough. Friday, multiple parts of my body were sick. I thought about not running. But I knew I'd probably feel better if I did.

I tried to go to bed early Friday night, but I also knew I needed to eat. So I choked down this cinnamon raisin bread bowl:

And then I got hungry, like insanely hungry. So I drank peanut butter hot chocolate and ate some granola and peanuts. That kind of backfired, though, as my stomach got upset in the night and I didn't feel like eating my planned pre-race banana in the morning. Instead, I stuck with sipping on some electrolyte water.

Mom and I met at a shopping center and car pooled to the race. (Read: I am terrible with directions and would have struggled to make it there myself.) The men folk were busy, so it was just Mom and I. Groom Creek is up in the mountains of Prescott, and this race benefit the local firefighter's association, a cause I wholeheartedly support.

After arriving, we took a few photos and watched the half-marathon launch. I started to get hungry and sucked on a gel. (My supervisor at work gave these to me. The verdict is out on efficacy, BUT it didn't make me sick and assuaged my hunger, which was a plus.)

My race started at 9 am. A previous runner told me this race was easier than Whiskey Row. I disagree. This race was anything but easy. I mean, look at these ups and downs: 

The race also started at a significantly higher altitude. I started off slow, which seems to be the name of my game. But I got faster as I went.

I was really trying to 1) beat my previous pace, 2) keep up with a runner near me, and 3) catch speed on the downhills. [The splits show where those were.]

The result: 55:09 and 3rd place in my division. Praise the Lord.

But here's where social media is a highlight reel. (I said this when I posted on Instagram.) I was out of breath when I finished. I felt like I was getting, but dodged, a bloody nose. I didn't feel like eating afterward and had to force down food again. I had to run like five errands after the race. I didn't see my husband basically all day because he was preparing to be in a wedding. My mom was sick the night before the race, which she told me after we arrived.

Did I enjoy running? Yes. Should I have run? Maybe, maybe not. In the end, I'm glad I did. I'm thankful for the opportunity and the health to do so. But...I don't want to glamorize my life or make it look like things come easily. Life (and running) is work. Sometimes you get out what you put in. Sometimes you don't. Sometimes you need to press through the wall and sometimes you need to rest. Wisdom is rightly assessing all the information and making the best decision for yourself, and for others. That's hard to do. And social media can in no way fully represent that struggle.

Ten kilometers two is a wrap. We'll see what happens from here. Check social media for highlights, but always know there is more to the story.