IN THE WOODS
Some background: I originally drafted this blog about a month ago after my daughter’s cross country meet at her school. I never got around to proofing it—and sometimes I need to let things simmer in my head a bit, which I suppose now was meant to be after the events that followed.
Last weekend wrapped up the season with a re-do of the state meet for the middle school girls. My youngest daughter went to cheer on her teammates, who after an appeal with other schools were able to run the race again when the spotter was not in the woods directing the girls on which way to turn. As a result, the lead pack of runners went the wrong way and ran an additional mile plus at full race pace and finished last. The race this past Saturday proved equally inspiring and memorable as just after the start a few of our runners collided and fell. They all got back up and ran their race to the finish.
On a beautiful September day, I volunteered to be a spotter in the woods at my daughter’s cross country race. I wanted to be away from the crowds and cheers and take a walk in the woods. A different perspective. I’ve come to appreciate nature and all its wonder so much more as an adult and especially since my diagnosis. As I waited for the sound of the start, I was looking forward to cheering on all of the runners. I give so much credit to these kids who run in the woods. I’m not and never have been a runner. I played a sport where you hit the ball and can take a break after sprinting 60 feet. These days running to the mailbox is my idea of a “good run.”
My perch was Bridge Loop next to a commanding rock splattered with words of encouragement amidst the paths that ran in front, behind, and to the right of me. There were inclines and declines, sharp turns and seemingly smooth paths yet unpredictably lined with jagged rocks. My job was to make sure runners didn’t take a shortcut, and it gave me the chance to see them striding at multiple points in the race.
As I waited in the silence, I took in my surroundings. The canopy of trees towering above me provided shade but also allowed a sliver of warm light to peak through. I started thinking about how the course is like a metaphor for life. And just like that a wave of cheers erupted, and a few minutes later a stream of runners came through at very different paces, speeds, and strides. There were those who flew by seemingly effortlessly and others who needed to slow down and walk their way through the woods. Some sported running spikes while others managed with basketball sneakers. My kids likely would have been embarrassed by the level of enthusiasm, but I couldn’t help myself.
“C’mon, you’ve got this. Keep pushing. Keep moving forward. Good job!” I yelled.
As the last runner came through and in the days that followed, I started thinking about that metaphor again.
Our lives are not a sprint or a marathon. There are also no shortcuts. At times, you may need to slow down and walk. Sometimes the path will be rocky and you may stumble and fall. Other times you may not know which way to turn. The people who are supposed to be there for you may not always show up. You may feel scared and alone, but you need to remind yourself that you are never alone.
You may not always be able to run, but that’s ok. Slowing down a bit to rest may help to keep you moving forward. Don’t look back—what’s behind you is in the past. And while you may not always be well equipped for the path that lies ahead, you will learn to make adjustments, assess the situation, and accept what is in front of you.
The dense forest may make you feel that you can’t find your way out. That’s OK too. Sometimes you need to get lost in the woods before you find your way out. Just keep pushing forward and little by little you’ll make it through to the other side. It won’t matter where you placed, and the destination may not be where you originally thought you’d be when you started. But with all the twists and turns, the craggy paths and the uphill grind you will find your way.
Other times the woods will seem so dark, with the tree limbs cowering, ready to crush you into the earth with the next gust of wind. But then you remember to look up, and you see the warm sun filtering through the leaves and drying your tears. Once again you will have hope, strength and courage to persevere.
This is the momentum you create with your own body, your own mind, and your own spirit.
It will be in these moments of your life—where your heart is racing and you feel like you cannot take another step forward. Or you’ve been knocked down, and only you can pick yourself back up. When everything in your body aches, or you cannot catch your breath. But then in the quiet, that voice in your head says, “just keep moving forward.”
