If I Could Do It Over. . .
A week ago today Terence and I tackled our trail race! We both did really well, with better times than our practice runs. My legs are still sore-- I only made it 6.71 miles today-- but I feel quite accomplished.
There was only one tiny little snag during the race, something that I'm not happy with myself about.
About 7 miles into the run I had headed into a downhill stretch of long switchbacks. It's not the hardest section of the course by any means but by then my feet were hurting pretty bad and I was starting to get tired. The trail was pretty busy. There was a string of runners from my heat stretched all along the switchbacks heading down, plus a smattering of the 50k runners (they are nuts!) heading back up the hill on their second loop. There were also regular hikers out there and a couple of mountain bikers. Pretty busy. I was trying to keep a good watch on the ground ahead of me so I didn't stumble or twist my ankle on any rocks, while also glancing ahead for any other people coming along the path. I noticed a pair of hikers heading down the trail a little ways ahead of me pass a lady who was sitting on the edge of the path holding a dog on a leash. As I got closer to her myself, I saw that she had dirt smudged all over one side of her body and I realized that she must have fallen. My first impulse was to stop and ask her if she needed help, but then I rationalized that she hadn't stopped the two hikers who had passed her so she must be fine. When I reached her I noticed that she was on her cellphone and I caught the phrase, "I'm about a mile up." With that, I rationalized that she had already gotten the help that she needed, and she wouldn't need (or want) anything from me. After all, I was in the middle of a race, and I was exhausted myself. What was I going to do anyway? Thus I talked myself right out of my impulse to help and continued on my merry way. Or not so merry. My conscience pricked at my all the rest of the way down the trail.
Terence and I had run together earlier in the race but when the first serious inclines started, I had gone on ahead. On hills I do best if I just power through, keeping my speed up, but Terence's joints can't quite handle that. So I finished the race about ten minutes ahead of him. When I welcomed him at the finish line, after our congratulating each other on surviving, he asked me if I had seen the injured lady with her dog. I squirmed uncomfortably a bit and told him that yes, I had, but I had assumed she was fine since she was on the phone and not asking any of the people jogging by for help. Terence shook his head. Turns out, he had the same impulse I did, and he followed it. After confirming that she was too injured to walk back down the trail, he had promised to send someone back to help her, adding that if he didn't see her at the bottom of the trail in an hour, he would hike back up and carry her down himself. At the aid station at the bottom (just before we started the straight uphill section of torture) he made a nuisance of himself until the volunteers did something about it. (We learned later that they ended up calling 911. The fire department and paramedics came out and brought her down.) Only after he was assured that someone was going to help get the poor injured lady down did he continue on his race.
I felt horribly ashamed of myself. I'm glad that Terence stopped. But why didn't I heed the impression and stop first? It wouldn't have cost me much in time, as far as the race was concerned. (It didn't hurt Terence's time, not really.) And what did my time matter in the long run anyway?
I still am certain that the lady would have gotten the help she needed one way or another. With a working cell, she could have called 911 herself. But what really matters was that I didn't listen.
Those promptings matter. I want to be the kind of person who listens and responds. Not the person who rationalizes them all away, only to lose them altogether. From now on, I want to follow each and every impression I have about helping someone, never mind that I may be in the middle of something else. That's a surefire way to keep my heart from shriveling into a small self-centered knot.
Besides, I have a gift of service to give to my Savior, one each day. Might as well do it by listening to the Spirit when he suggests what I should do!
There was only one tiny little snag during the race, something that I'm not happy with myself about.
About 7 miles into the run I had headed into a downhill stretch of long switchbacks. It's not the hardest section of the course by any means but by then my feet were hurting pretty bad and I was starting to get tired. The trail was pretty busy. There was a string of runners from my heat stretched all along the switchbacks heading down, plus a smattering of the 50k runners (they are nuts!) heading back up the hill on their second loop. There were also regular hikers out there and a couple of mountain bikers. Pretty busy. I was trying to keep a good watch on the ground ahead of me so I didn't stumble or twist my ankle on any rocks, while also glancing ahead for any other people coming along the path. I noticed a pair of hikers heading down the trail a little ways ahead of me pass a lady who was sitting on the edge of the path holding a dog on a leash. As I got closer to her myself, I saw that she had dirt smudged all over one side of her body and I realized that she must have fallen. My first impulse was to stop and ask her if she needed help, but then I rationalized that she hadn't stopped the two hikers who had passed her so she must be fine. When I reached her I noticed that she was on her cellphone and I caught the phrase, "I'm about a mile up." With that, I rationalized that she had already gotten the help that she needed, and she wouldn't need (or want) anything from me. After all, I was in the middle of a race, and I was exhausted myself. What was I going to do anyway? Thus I talked myself right out of my impulse to help and continued on my merry way. Or not so merry. My conscience pricked at my all the rest of the way down the trail.
Terence and I had run together earlier in the race but when the first serious inclines started, I had gone on ahead. On hills I do best if I just power through, keeping my speed up, but Terence's joints can't quite handle that. So I finished the race about ten minutes ahead of him. When I welcomed him at the finish line, after our congratulating each other on surviving, he asked me if I had seen the injured lady with her dog. I squirmed uncomfortably a bit and told him that yes, I had, but I had assumed she was fine since she was on the phone and not asking any of the people jogging by for help. Terence shook his head. Turns out, he had the same impulse I did, and he followed it. After confirming that she was too injured to walk back down the trail, he had promised to send someone back to help her, adding that if he didn't see her at the bottom of the trail in an hour, he would hike back up and carry her down himself. At the aid station at the bottom (just before we started the straight uphill section of torture) he made a nuisance of himself until the volunteers did something about it. (We learned later that they ended up calling 911. The fire department and paramedics came out and brought her down.) Only after he was assured that someone was going to help get the poor injured lady down did he continue on his race.
I felt horribly ashamed of myself. I'm glad that Terence stopped. But why didn't I heed the impression and stop first? It wouldn't have cost me much in time, as far as the race was concerned. (It didn't hurt Terence's time, not really.) And what did my time matter in the long run anyway?
I still am certain that the lady would have gotten the help she needed one way or another. With a working cell, she could have called 911 herself. But what really matters was that I didn't listen.
Those promptings matter. I want to be the kind of person who listens and responds. Not the person who rationalizes them all away, only to lose them altogether. From now on, I want to follow each and every impression I have about helping someone, never mind that I may be in the middle of something else. That's a surefire way to keep my heart from shriveling into a small self-centered knot.
Besides, I have a gift of service to give to my Savior, one each day. Might as well do it by listening to the Spirit when he suggests what I should do!
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