The lightning delayed the race 45 minutes. Everyone shuffled from the starting line into the school gym and cafeteria.
“Do you want some of my granola bar?” My friend asked.
“No thanks” I replied. I didn’t want a stomachache to bother me during my race.
“Well you should at least drink some water.” He suggested. I complied and drank a little.
I drank as much as I dared in the next 45 minutes, but in the end I was too nervous to drink very much.
Finally the rain stopped and we all moved back into the dreary, muddy day. I dragged myself to the starting line for the second time. I detest racing. Why am I here? I love to run on my own, but putting myself through this serious physical and mental struggle for 25 minutes? No thanks.
“Runners take your mark!” I recoiled. Here goes nothing.
BANG
And just like that I was off. It felt awful. I could smell the exhaust of the four-wheeler thing driving in front of us leading the way. As if breathing right now wasn’t hard enough. From the start my breathing was heavy and my legs and lungs burned. I pushed and pushed myself; flying down every hill and hating myself up the next. All I could hear was the breathing of the girls near me exerting themselves and the pounding of feet. All I could think about was pain.
My teammates, my coaches, and even my mom were there, cheering me on. I stayed top ten the whole way. Wow. I thought. I can really do this.
“Go Clarissa!” One of my teammates yelled.
“You’re doing SO WELL!!” exclaimed another one. This was it. This was my race. I could hear the thump thump of feet coming up behind me. I sped a little but my strength dissipated and someone passed me. Then another. But I held on and I did my share of passing as well.
Not soon enough, I saw the crowds in the stands as I reached the last hundred meters. I could already feel the medal around my neck. Time to start sprinting. You’re almost there…why am I slowing down? I felt my mind slipping away. As I pushed to run faster, my body couldn’t. Instead I slowed down and collapsed, losing consciousness for a moment. I was running my fastest Cross Country race and I absolutely bombed it.
I heard feet stop right behind me and arms wrapped around me. I had no strength and I couldn’t see anything as my vision went in and out. I vaguely saw someone else coming to help. My ears seemed to stop working as well.
I was dragged along and collapsed again at the finish line, my vision still going black. Someone helped me onto a table. “Don’t close your eyes. C’mon, keep them open.” That’s all I heard for 10 minutes. I tried my best, but it was difficult.
My throat burned as I drank juice and any other nasty, sugary drink they could force into me. I felt like I could throw up, but there was already nothing in my stomach. I never want to run again. They all laughed at me as I claimed it out loud over and over again. They didn’t understand. I looked from one laughing face to the next. Frustration built up inside me as they continued to laugh at everything I said. They don’t understand.
For the next 45 minutes the pain that was everywhere grew stronger and then weaker and slowly subsided as I regained complete consciousness. After a lot of consoling, my coaches told me to go home despite my objections to stay and cheer on my other teammates. My shoulders slumped. I was devastated. The rain stopped, but despair did not go away.
Physically, I recovered very quickly and easily. Mentally? Not so much. I didn’t even realize how awful I felt until the next Tuesday. My coaches gave out female and male athletes of the week every week. That week, I was sure it was my turn to get it.
“This last Saturday we had a lot of amazing breakthroughs and so I decided to give out two female athlete of the week awards,” my coach explained. Yes. I have definitely earned it. “The first goes to Christine Pham for her PR of 2 minutes!” Everyone clapped including me. “The second, for finishing first in her race, goes to Emily Peterson!”
WHAT?
I was dumbfounded. I had literally run myself to the ground and didn’t even get athlete of the week. No matter how much I tried not to let that bother me, it did. I know-stupid. But I couldn’t help it.
The next race I was still so distraught that I told my coach I couldn’t go. The thought of racing again brought me to tears, which just made me feel more pathetic.
The race after that, the last one of the season, I ran slowly. I didn’t push myself. I allowed my mind to hold me back. I ran apathetically as girls who were usually behind me passed me. I didn’t care. That’s what I told myself anyway. For weeks I was at my lowest. I focused on my weaknesses. Because I didn’t receive my desired reward I believed that no one even cared about what I had done. And then I felt ashamed for thinking that and the negative spiral continued.
Then, one Sunday, my Peruvian teacher started Sunday school, “Open your scriptures to Matthew 20. We are going to talk about the laborers in the vineyard.”
I opened my scriptures, leafing through the thin pages. I knew this parable. It’s about the laborers who worked just for the last hour and got the same pay as those who worked all day. It had the message that God can bless others as He wishes and we need to worry about ourselves-not get mad when others do just as well as us.
Sister Allington went on, “Look at the laborers who only worked at the end of the day. Imagine how they felt when every time the steward of the vineyard came to the marketplace to hire, someone else was chosen. Imagine their desire to work and their disappointment every time another opportunity slipped by. Their hope slipped away with them.”
I sat and pondered what she just said and started to think about my own life.
“Their humility when they were paid the same is evident. God allowed them to be humbled before he finally gave them the blessing they so desired.”
I thought about the recognition I never got from my coaches. I thought about the nights I spent on my knees begging to feel happy and to forget my pride. I realized the Lord had been answering my prayer all along.
At the end of the year banquet, we all sat down to listen to the stats, acknowledge the seniors, and watch the awards be given out. I sat next to my best friend. My coach got to the Most Inspirational Award. The female would be first.
“I think everyone voted for this girl because of one specific race.” My heart paused for a second. “She showed amazing courage because even after she gave her all and passed out and had to go home, she still wanted to stay and cheer on her teammates. So this award goes to Clarissa Farmer.” Everyone cheered and I felt my face get hot as I stood up to accept it. I felt so inadequate. They voted for me? Time slowed as I walked up, shook hands with my coach, and took the award. I sat down and the ceremony kept going as normal but I still felt shocked. The sorrow I had felt for weeks dissipated in that moment. I realized then how much God was watching out for me.
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