It may be safe to say that in this last year I have developed a near obsession with trail running. It is entirely different from your average road-run and different in the best ways possible. I find myself enticed by the mud, the uncertainty of the trail ahead, and the I’m-a-Native-American-warrior-woman-sprinting-through-the-forest kind of a feeling. The trail distracts my mind; I never find myself bored from running in a giant rubber circle or feeling wasteful by “burning energy to burn energy" on a treadmill. My only focus is on my very next step, on navigating around puddles, ducking under branches, hurdling fallen trees, and dancing my way through the twists & tangles of roots beneath my feet.
one of my favorite sections of trail at Prince William Forest Park.
Through this obsession I’ve come to discover that there are times on the trail where you cannot run. You have to walk. Being fairly competitive athletically, the concept of walking has never really sat well with me. I may or may not deem it to be "weaksauce." I’ve always promoted the philosophy that it doesn’t matter how fast you are going as long as you don’t stop. It’s perfectly fine to take something at a slow jog if you need to, but never walk, not even at a nice power-walk pace. But to my suprise, I have recently learned that some of the best trail runners in the world incorporate intervals of walking into their ultramarathons. And often times, the entire run is better for it.
Now if the World Race really is the Race that it is, I think it’s safe to say I’m in a section where the best option is to walk. You walk for a reason, and unless you are a senior citizen at a mall at 9AM on a Tuesday morning, you typically don’t do it for the thrills. But there is something so essential in taking on the steady, sure, and faithful walk. It produces a greater trust. There’s a greater amount of faith that comes in willingly walking as opposed to trying to sprint through to see it all at once.
Since training camp, I’ve spent so much time striving and straining to make things happen. I’ve been running and spinning myself into worry, and not the obvious worry that speaks up and acknowledges itself. It's the kind of worry that shows itself in endless emailing, making phone call after phone call, selling Threads of Hope to anyone and everyone, constantly checking the internet for the best deals on gear, and waking up with to-do lists on my mind. It's the kind of worry that equates itself with trying to run the entirety of the trail.
What’s even better is that the moment I stopped and slowed down, people started calling me with connections and offers to help. God is being ridiculously faithful and proving that this walking is good. My entire Race will be better for it.
“but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength…they will walk and not be faint.”
[Isaiah 40:31]
I should probably confess that I still want to run, and really, what can I say? I’m just plain giddy about this Race. Just about every time I see an airplane flying above, a flurry of butterflies swarm in my stomach. But for now, I’m walking in purpose and in knowing that in 40 days I’ll get the run the rest, and run it well. It is a Race after all.
