And so there I stood. In the Kathmandu airport. Ben Howard cooed in my ear as I people watched. This was the first moment in the past six months that I didn’t recognize anyone. Tears streamed down my face but I didn’t bother to wipe them away.
And so there I sat. In my window seat, entitled “15F.” My hands shook as I read the letters and notes that my team and squad had tucked into my journal. The tears fell faster.
And so thirty-two hours later, I arrived in Dulles International Airport in Washington DC. Jet-lagged and lonely. With a tear-stained face, I wrapped my arms around my parents for the first time in six months.
—
I wish I had the words to convey how sad, sorry, and frustrated I am that my Race has ended three months premature.
The short version is this:
For years now, I have questioned the Christian idea of a “testimony.” My understanding of the Lord is that it is our duty and privilege to continue pursuing Him and pursuing goodness every single day. So when people share their testimony and convey that the second they met Christ that darkness in their life turned off like a light switch, I get confused. My life has always been sunny and shiny and put-together, or at least that’s what I tried to convince other people of. As I left for the Race, I was told that I would have to share my testimony with my team and probably in churches, schools or maybe even a random child’s birthday party in a village ((all things that happened to either me or a teammate)). I threw together a heartwarming synopsis of the adoption of my brother Izzy and how it “changed” me. I patted myself on the shoulder and didn’t give my testimony a second thought.
Well. Here’s the truth.
The Lord has used the Race to completely wreck me. He exposed all the flaws and lies that I bottled up when I was at home: all the pain and hurt that I swept under the rug everyday. Something I’ve grown in is owning up to my issues. These issues are wide ranging but the one I’m talking about right now is a combination of mental and physical.
Like many teenage girls, I struggled with comparison. I never felt quite good enough. Especially in the way I looked.
There’s hours worth of backstory — expectations due to how I was raised, people I surrounded myself with, consequences of societal beauty — but here’s the bottom line: I despised my body.
Particularly the spring semester of senior year and the summer following, I worked out compulsively and avoided foods that were high in sugar and carbs at all costs. I counted calories obsessively. I made myself throw up but never consistently enough as to where anyone would notice and I never dared telling anyone.
I was under the impression that all girls worried about their weight and that I wasn’t any different. I masked my embarrassment of being/feeling overweight with a brighter smile and an extra set of sit-ups.
Fast forward to the Race, I realized very quickly that regulation in exercise and food were out of the question. The first 4 months, I ran or worked out 4-6 times a week. The first 2 months I ate pretty well. But it wasn’t good enough.
There’s really no way to beat around the bush so… yeah I gained weight on the World Race. And consequently, the same behaviors that I dealt with at home leaked into my life once again.
I told my team and they encouraged me to tell my parents. It didn’t take long for World Race leadership and my parents to decide that I needed to come home. Ultimately, the decision was completely out of my hands.
You can piece the rest together.
And so here I am. Sitting on the back porch of my grandparent’s farm in Dabneys, VA. Next week, I will start working with some professionals in Richmond for a few months to help me sort this out.
Cutting my World Race short has been anything but easy, but I’m clinging to the truth that this will ultimately be for God’s glory. My prayer is that I will eventually come to a place of healthiness: physically, emotionally, and mentally. One day, hopefully soon, I hope that my story, this story—my real testimony, will be a testament to the Lord’s goodness and faithfulness and restorative power.
I’m thankful for six of the best months of my life with the World Race. I’m thankful that I made life-long friendships and memories. I’m thankful for my team, for their encouragement, patience, and endless love. And though I don’t understand it yet, I’m thankful for the Lord’s timing.
To those who prayed for me and/or supported me financially, I have two things to say. First, thank you. Thank you a million times over for playing a vital role in making the Race my reality. Secondly, I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I started something that I didn’t finish.
I ask for grace as I transition back to life in the States.
All my love, P.
