When Your Heart Goes Deeper Than They See

It's no secret that I've been struggling with my running training these last few weeks. I had done so very well for the first half of the Haiti Half training, and the minute I deviated from the schedule, everything fell apart. I got sick, the weather was bad, we were busy, everything seemed to derail me. And I've been working so hard to get my mind BACK where it needs to be so I can train well in these last few weeks leading up to it.

It's hard when something isn't your gift, and you so desperately want to do it, but you can't quite get there. One of my good friends ran at 10K this past weekend, and I texted to congratulate her after the race. She told me she ran the whole thing without stopping. And those words were the pin in the balloon of my running mentality. I've done a 10K before. It's no joke. And I think I ran the first half without stopping, but NO WAY could I run the entire thing without stopping. And now? I can't even run the first half of that distance without stopping.

I told Ryan I so wanted to be ridiculously happy for her, and in some corner of my heart, I am just sure I was, but most of my heart just deflated, and I told myself I needed to give up running entirely. I'm not a runner. I run because I need to move. I run because it's the thing people do these days when they need to move. I'm not good at it. I don't love it. And when those who naturally take to it share their victories, I struggle with not letting it become my own defeat.

Aren't you glad to know that whole part I just typed isn't even the POINT of this post?

So Monday, Ryan and I went out for a run, and in my post-feeling-defeated mind, I was determined to run as much of that day's distance as I could without stopping. I set out, felt good, had a perfect day, and in truth made it almost two whole miles without stopping. That was huge for me.

And then.

Right when I ran toward a corner, a gentleman in a truck stopped me and asked if I'd seen a little brown chihuahua on my run. He kept talking - for several seconds - about his little dog and how he/she had never been out before but someone left the gate open...and my run fell apart.

I remembered my own chihuahua that got out when I was a kid and how we never found her and how devastated I'd been and how I would have wanted a runner to quit running and go look for my dog. I stumbled forward again, praying for that man and his missing dog - and aware that even though I'd only stopped a few seconds, those seconds were precious to my goal that day. I got to the end of my second mile, 20 seconds over where I wanted to be. And I fought against the thoughts of if only that man hadn't stopped me, I would have been RIGHT ON TARGET. And it was a big mental target for me.

I killed the stopwatch and walked slowly, arguing with myself about how I'd really done a better job than the clock showed. About how a missing dog mattered more than a stupid running time for a girl who doesn't even like to run anyway.

And then I determined I was going to get that one last mile in if it killed me. {And I was well aware it might.} So I started the clock again and took off, ahead of pace, into the heart of campus where kids were getting out of practice for the night. They hopped into their cars and drove something like 40 miles an hour FASTER than they should have down through the road where I ran, driving into sun and focused on dinner. I leapt into the grass, more for my life than anything else, and slowed down to watch the terrain in front of me, aware that the ground might not be even. And at the end of that mile, I had missed my goal by one second.

One. Stinking. Second.

I tried to console myself that overall, my three miles had a GREAT time attached, especially for me. I tried to console myself that none of it mattered. That a dog was missing and I had not been killed by a distracted, speeding student. That those things really mattered.

But all I saw was the lackluster mashup of times on my clock. The twenty-one seconds that shouldn't have been there.

I trudged my way back to Ryan, who shook his head at all my stories {because there are always stories when it comes to my running} - and I told him I'd been reminded of a good lesson in all that mess. I'd been reminded that sometimes what shows in reality isn't an accurate representation of the heart. That sometimes what you can see are mess-ups and failures and falling-just-short moments, and what really happened was so much different. So much more.

Gulp.

How very much I want the grace applied to me....and how very much I need to offer the grace to those around me. How very much I have to learn.