When I visited my oldest daughter at the dorms her first semester of college, a flood of happy flashbacks came to me: deja vus of late night talking about boys and overly creative cookie creations and singles ward socials. I called up my old roomate then and there to see if we could some how meet up. I felt pangs of regret that our friendship had dwindled to annual Christmas cards and even less frequent phone calls. How pleasantly surprised I was to hear that she was moving to my same state! Now, Texas is a big state (to everyone but Alaskans) and we wouldn't be in the same city, however, we could work out a way to get together which wouldn't overly interrupt our busy family lives for sure. Anna called it. She suggested we meet up for a Ragnar. Did I know what that was? and the very first Ragnar in Texas was taking place this year. I knew what a Ragnar was thanks to my fit younger sister. It is a 120 or so mile relay race: a team of 8 runners take turns running 3 legs of the trip running sequentially all through an afternoon, night, and the following morning -- a 24 hour feat! This was starting to feel familiar too. I remembered Anna and I used to go running together in college as well. On the spur of the moment my roomate would say "let's go running around the temple" and it always sounded like a good idea. Then, she would run, and I would huff and puff and jog behind her all the way home. Deja vu -- Anna was asking me to run with her and I knew she was still in way better condition than I was, but I also knew I would say "yes" and feel good about it when it was all over. It had all happened before. But this time, I might add was a little more intense.
So I drafted a training schedule and taped it to my bathroom mirror. I recruited a good friend in my ward to sign up for the team too and we would do our long runs and some hill work together. Without her encouragement, I wouldn't have been half as ready. Still life happened, early morning seminary happened, good old fashioned procrastination and rationalization happened, and I couldn't honestly check off all of the squares on my training chart. Well, after my friend Jenny and I completed our second long run of over 10 miles two weekends in a row, I began to feel that I could do this. I mean, the longest leg was under 8 miles, and with the breaks in between I could rest up. It didn't sound as hard as the half marathons I had run in the past.
I was right, it wasn't as hard as the half marathons -- it was harder! As Jenny and I drove further west into the heart of the hill country, we could see that this part of Texas was aptly named. At the ranch where the race was being held lovely Tuscan-looking hills crested all around the communal campsite. I knew this was not a road race but a trail race. I didn't know that these trails were not paved with concrete or crushed granite or shredded bark or little pebbles. These trails were skinny mountain bike-created ruts of clay littered with big limestone rocks and protuding tree roots interrupted by accending and descending natural stone steps and other rock formations.
Jenny went first. She and about 8 other runners missed one of the small markers and got off course. She ended up running an additional 3 miles before arriving at the transition tent where I donned the belted bib number and was off! Now early afternoon had become mid to late afternoon -- the hottest time of day! I started pretty strong: running all the holy cow this is hard hills. The mental concentration of having to strategically place every step in a safe place and the heat were both extra energy-taxing. There were no mile markers except the (1 mile left!) sign in the unknown distance and ignorance was not bliss. I had studied the elevation chart to know that after I crested the biggest hill of the run, I would then be treated to a final two miles of down hill running. Others were walking up the incline, and after the first couple of miles or so, I gave in to peer pressure. Sure enough, the end was easier than the beginning and I finished steady if not strong.
When it was Anna's turn she sped through her leg faster than any of us suspected. We needed to make up for lost time, and she was good for it. Still, I could tell my second leg would be in the dead of night: just before midnight. I didn't want to fall asleep and miss my turn, so I waited up and stood out by the big bonfire all through Jenny's second run with a view of the finish line. I had no idea what her pace was because our previous estimations were out of whack, but now with the heat out of the way, I figured our times would return to something more typical. I was right. Jenny made good time. But wait a minute, it was almost midnight and I was running in the dark of a moonless nights on a rocky rolling Texas trail -- Alone. Spooky. My training didn't prepare me for this! At home I was too nervous to take the garbage out at night because of the racoons and possums and other sundry rodents and reptiles that called the forest behind our house home. Well, the adrenaline would do me good. So I started running. Surpisingly, this leg started with a swath of wide trail. Nice. A wide, expansive trail with a wide expansive sky above me. It was so dark and quiet and....beautiful and pleasant and peaceful! I wasn't spooked at all. I kind of liked being alone, and I could tell the other runners who passed me (I did pass one) were almost reverentially quiet as well. At one point I was on a ridge with a rare smooth stretch of trail ahead. I could afford to look up without the fear of face planting. WOW. What a gift! I had never seen a sky as star strewn. I prayed in gratitude and praise.
Anna did have a good idea. Sometimes, unless we are willing to do something we have never done before, unless we push the limits of our comfort and ease, we will never see the unlimited expanse of God's power. That night it was visual. The next morning, I felt it. The longest leg was my last. I was spent, and not yet half way done. I prayed for added power and He helped me endure and push on. When I thought I would never see the "1 mile left" sign -- there it was only 100 yds. in front of me.
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