When I was in high school, I played tennis in the autumn and ran track in the spring.
I enjoyed being a part of the tennis team, although I was faced with a medley of
challenges and cliques. The track team had its own tossed salad of disputes, which I
advocated against and at times, unfortunately added to.
This latter point especially occurred during my sophomore year on the team.
Originally, I had joined the team to be a part of the distance sub-team. These were
the girls that were in cross country in the autumn, running dozens of miles while I
focused on my backhand. These were the girls who ran hard, every day. These were
the girls who prided themselves as being not only stronger in their athletic prowess,
but in their academic achievements. These girls were intimidating, to say the
least-while some were quite pleasant, it seemed as though the majority were a tad
snobby for my 14-year old self.
I thought that these were the girls I’d run with for the rest of my high school years, but
during that 2nd year, I was torn. While I still enjoyed being a part of the distance girls,
I wanted to try pole vaulting, discus, the 200, and most of all-the relay.
Looking back at it now, I was not flexible enough for pole vaulting; I was not strong
enough for discus; the 200 was hit-and-miss for me, sometimes I ran it well and sometimes
I was an embarrassment; and then, the relay…I don’t know what I was thinking-I
tend to want to try everything at least once and even if I fail miserably, at least I tried.
Which, was just the case when I attempted the 4 x 400 relay during my sophomore season.
The distance was too hard for me-it was neither short like the 200 nor long like my favorite
event, the 2 mile. It required both speed (which the 200 semi-prepared my body for) and
endurance (which I had from training for the 2 mile and various road races in the summer.)
But even with this combination, I still failed. At the peak of my training, I had both the needed
speed and endurance, but I did not have the patience needed during the hand-off of the baton.
I remember staying late after practice, trying to master the hand-off. Little by little, I improved
-but never enough. I would grow impatient and nervous during meets, never dropping the
baton (my coach would have had a heart attack), but never perfecting the needed technique.
My hands were too sweaty. I was too nervous. I was too focused on the running part.
Excuse. Excuse. Excuse.
In the end, it was my impatience that destroyed any chance at winning. Even though I worked
physically hard at it, I did not dedicate my mind to it. My hands knew what to do, but my mind
was in a different place.
physically hard at it, I did not dedicate my mind to it. My hands knew what to do, but my mind
was in a different place.
I find that this often occurs to me-I know what to do, the routines needed, the successful
habits to adopt, and yet-my mind wanders away. I get caught up in the moment and while
I value the long-term more than I ought, it sometimes slips away with barely a second thought.
Recently, I have found myself seeking to change this-especially when it comes to my quiet time.
Up until 3 weeks ago, I took delight in reading the Bible for hours on end, but now-as my
schedule has gotten more and more busy-I have to make it a point to sit down, be quiet, and
open up my Bible. My body and mind knows what to do, but I feel as though I am re-training my
heart to be patient and intentional with my daily quiet time.
It is as though I am training myself to be patient with myself just as I did a few years ago when it
came to learning how to run in a relay-which was a learning experience that I will not soon forget.
