I’ve been home for 74 days now. At this point, that actually seems like a long time to be in the same place. It’s been 74 days and there are still constant reminders of the race. For example, as I’m writing this I’m wearing a shirt I bought at a mall in South Africa and a pair of leggings I got from one of my teammates. It’s been 74 days and sometimes the race feels closer than ever, and sometimes it feels like it was all a dream.
It felt like a dream day one of being home. That night my mom asked me how I was doing. “Do things look the same? Are things the same for you and Perry?” I paused and said, “Everything is the exact same. I’m suddenly very glad that I kept a planner for the entire journey and wrote down everything I did each day. Because it feels as if I’ve woken up from a long dream.”
I was so nervous about coming home and being overwhelmed with simple things such as driving and going to Wal-Mart. Shoot, those things were a breeze compared to everything else. I was in a Wal-Mart within 24 hours of being home, and I LOVED IT. Other things weren’t so easy.
Within three weeks of coming home, I was in front of my first classroom of students. I was excited, nervous, and feeling a bit unprepared. So I talked about what I knew: the race. I asked my class if any of them have been outside of the States. One of my students, 16 years old, responded with, “Why would anyone ever leave the United States? I can go to Vegas and see the Eifel Tower and pay girls to do whatever I want them to do.” Suddenly, the race was not a dream. Suddenly I was walking down the red light district in Thailand again, crying over a stranger who I had just seen get purchased for the night.
And that was my first episode of PRSD: Post Race Stress Disorder.
Another example would be when one of my classes found the picture of Eli on my desk and asked if I missed her and if I was going to adopt her. I told them I miss her. Every. Single. Day. But the possibility I could adopt her is slim to none.
Speaking of Eli, I had a good friend ask me the other day if I could live with the fact that maybe the divine purpose of meeting Eli wasn’t to change her life, but to change mine. I wept. Inside of Starbuck’s, in front of everyone, I ugly cried. To think that could be true was devastating. But also freeing.
The biggest blow however, came this week. For the past two weeks, I’ve noticed myself getting consumed with the stress of this new job. Being a first year teacher is HARD. Being a first year teacher who is still trying to adjust to being stateside? Whoa. I spend around 10 hours at work each day. Then I come home, eat, and work on lesson plans and grading for about 2 more hours. When I’m not actually doing work, I’m thinking about it. I dream about working math problems; I dream about my students; I wake up at 4am and cry because I feel like I’m not doing enough for them.
But of course my students don’t see that. They don’t see the hours I pour into this job outside of school hours. They don’t see the anxiety I get when they fail tests. They don’t know that I spent 10 months travelling the world to discover that this is what God has called me to do.
So when I had two very different types of students within an hour of each other yell at me in the hallway and tell me I am doing a terrible job teaching, and they hate how I teach, and that they want to be anywhere but my class… they didn’t know how soul crushing that was to hear. Until I finally lost it and started crying in front of my class.
Yup. First Year of Teaching 101: Do not cry in front of your students.
Oops.
One of my squad mates posted something the other day talking about how difficult life after the race is. My first thought was, I haven’t had time for this to be difficult. But that’s false. I just haven’t had the time to realize how difficult this actually is. It’s taking a while for everything to sink in.
The race was an incredible adventure. When people ask me, “How was it?” I always respond the same: “It was hard, but so rewarding. I wouldn’t trade the experience for anything, but I’d also never do it again.”
Maybe you’re a racer wondering if you should go, or maybe you’re a racer about to come home. Just know that it’s all hard. Having a full time job is hard. Being on the race is hard. Life after the race is hard. Everything good is always going to be hard. Because as one of my teammates told me, “You must be doing something right in order to get this many attacks from the devil.”
So keep pushing. Every day. And rely on Him.
