I have a story for you. It’s not as epic as I’d like it to be, and it definitely does not paint me in the heroine light that I wish it did. But it’s funny. So, even better.
I spent a period of ten days in the heat of Gainesville, GA for training in preparation for World Race. If you’re going on/have been on World Race and you’re like most of my teammates, you’ve watched a copious amount of vlogs wisely preparing yourself for this time in your life. If you’re like me, you’ve yet again entered a defining stage in your life unprepared outside of whatever emails you received telling you what to bring and what time to be there. Story. Of. My. Life.
One of the things I did know about, though, was the infamous hike. I remember reading the email thinking, two point two miles in 38 minutes or less is doable. That’s one point one miles in in 19 minutes, and about 17 minutes a mile. I can hike about three miles on a trail with a 35 pound kid on my shoulders in about 45 minutes if I keep pace, so two point two miles with a pack that weighs the same, if not less, should be no problem. That’s what I was thinking. But here’s what they were thinking: two point two miles up this mountain here, we’re in Georgia, so the humidity will add an extra five pounds, along with all the dirt that will accumulate on their shoes, adding another 1.3 pounds.
Disclaimer: I did not gain the six pack or thighs of steel I was hoping to acquire whilst conquering what can only be described as Thor’s morning workout routine.
So, leading up to “The Day”, which was strategically scheduled for the later part of the week, I’m hearing all about the nerves some people have in trying to emotionally and mentally prepare for this thing. I’m an encouraging person on the outside, but the freak-out happening on the inside is to an impressive caliber. The night before, one of the leaders of training is giving a pep/prep talk on the hike. The main point: you can do hard things. W H A T. Hard? I mean, I know a weighted hike isn’t exactly a walk on an escalator, but what exactly am I getting into?
Answer: probably the hardest thing I’ve ever done physically. And I lift weights.
Despite my prayer to the Lord in my Garden of Gethsemane (my tent), the cup does not pass from me, and I am stretching out my limbs at 1:30 in the afternoon. In the heat of the day. In Georgia’s 127% humidity. On a full stomach (which is mostly my fault but really not because the food was just so good). We’ve got our start time, we’ve pep talked ourselves, took a couple of- possibly our last- cute photos, and we’re standing at the start point. Then they say go.
GO. This is one word I’ve heard a lot lately in the past several years of my life. It’s a word I hear and I immediately think, “What’s it gonna be this time?” I’ve always been a planner, but since I decided to give the road map to Jesus, he doesn’t exactly give me full, bullet-pointed, detailed explanations. He just kind of points and says, “Go.” It can be a hard word to hear when I have to break up with my boyfriend of two years, whom I loved so much, or when I have to disappoint the plans my mom has for me, or when I have to finally fly the coop (in which case the word was stay, but there was a go for my family). It does, however, get easier to follow over time, because in all the obedience to just go, he is faithful beyond faithful. Faithful to bring me into a life lasting covenant with the boyfriend I love so much, faithful to repair my relationship with my mother to a place of intimacy it had never been before, faithful to ground me in who I am in him. The word go can be so exciting sometimes, but it still doesn’t make it easy when I don’t exactly know what’s in store, but I can go and keep going because I trust God.
Back to the hike. We’re halfway into our second and final lap, I’m climbing a hill I don’t even like to climb with just a book in my hands, and I’m thinking, “I have asthma. I’m currently developing asthma. Exercise induced asthma. I need an inhaler. Stat.” I’ve got a teammate who looks ready to kill anything, or anyone, who dares slow her down, another teammate calling out times back from the front of the pack, and another teammate who is bouncing back and forth between everyone with an energy matching that of a crazed bunny rabbit. Then we hit the down hill. AND THEY TELL ME TO RUN. With a 25+ pound backpack on my back that I could probably fold up and fit in myself, I start running. People are cheering on the sidelines, encouraging us, and I feel like an olympian running in slow motion montage, with my hair blowing in the wind, and a look of absolute determination on my face. It’s an attractive picture in my mind, but not in real life. I am huffing, red-faced, arms flailing out to the sides, because big bag, my pack jiggling and jostling all over the place, which in turn keeps me from being able to run in a straight line, causing me to look a little un-sober, and a look of absolute desperation takes up the real estate on my face.
There is one last hill before the finish line, and it’s one of the smallest hills I’ve ever seen, but it didn’t feel that way. One of the best things happened on this hill, though. Remember the “you can do hard things” talk? Yeah, I remembered that and immediately thought, “I can’t do the hard things.” BUT THEN…..oh but then, I heard Jesus kindly say, “but I can.” Woah.
I have never been able to do hard things. I crumble under the pressure, in fact, rather ungracefully. Jesus, though, he does hard things with a grace and eloquence that I can’t even get my words to mimic. And he does them for me. Go may be hard, but never compared to what it would be without Jesus navigating.
Go may be hard, but never compared to what it would be altogether not having Jesus.
“And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith. For the joy set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.” Hebrews 12:1b-2
