Running At Night in a Scary World

 

Running At Night in a Scary World

It was a dark night and I was glad my light was well charged and the road was fairly quiet.  Something was moving about on the road some distance ahead. Closer, closer, it is black; a dog, a deer?  A deer, no, but a calf about 300-400 pounds was walking around in the middle of the road just under a small hill.  My first thought was that I hoped a car didn’t come over that hill about then.  There would be no way for the driver to see that calf until it was too late. 

 

Almost as if I had ordered up an automobile,  headlights appeared in the distance.  Oh my!  I broke into a sprint toward the calf to try to scare it off the road.  Almost as if it had a death wish, the animal ran from me for a distance, and then got right back on the road under the hill.  It was as if this silly animal had some gravitational pull to that piece of  road under that hill.  A couple more unsuccessful attempts running around in circles chasing the calf failed to get it off the road.  Headlights beamed over the top of us as we ran around in the shadow of the hill.  The car was getting close. 

 

No time.  To the top of the hill. With my light in one hand, waving my arms back and forth overhead. The vehicle didn’t slow.  To the opposite side of the road,   I waving my  light  back and forth.  The vehicle  didn’t slow.   Pointing the light directly into the vehicle, right at the driver,  waving the beam from side to side.  Still, the vehicle did not slow down. It sped past me like I wasn’t even there.

 

Bam!  Came that special, dreadful sound of a vehicle cracking into flesh and bone.  Brakes screeched. The vehicle finally stopped. A cloud of steam hissed from it into the night.  Making a dash  down the hill to the stopped  vehicle, I could see  the front hood was caved in.  A couple hundred feet up the road lay the mangled body of the dead calf.  It was my fear someone was hurt seriously or dead, that is, besides the calf.   Not sure what I was going to see, I opened the driver’s side door.  Two young men were just sitting there, looking forward,  like they were waiting at a red light for the light to change. 

“Are you guys all right.”

“Yeah, we’re okay.”

“Didn’t you see me trying to wave you off?”

“Huh?”  They didn’t seem overly concerned.  In fact, they were pretty calm or numb.  I am not sure.  From their demeanor I could  assume something  like this pretty much happened every night.  Maybe it did.

 

There was no smell of alcohol and the young men didn’t appear  intoxicated, but I could it was pretty plain to me that I wasn’t  dealing here with God’s gift to the intelligence pool right at that moment.   Scary thing was, that I had been running in the dark on this road many times not fully aware that people like that were driving up and down it.  For sure, I knew right then that I was going to be much more careful in future; maybe even curtail my night running.

 

“Can I help you push the vehicle off the road before someone comes along and hits you?

“Huh?  Well, I guess we could if you want to.” 

 

It’s a dangerous world.

 

Taking on the Hill of Life

 

Everyone who has biked a sizable hill knows the feeling.  At first, it isn’t too bad. Momentum carries you into the first part of the incline.  “This hill ain’t so bad!”

That is sort of how it is with youth.  Things come easy.  If we are blessed the hill goes on for us, they keep coming at us.    Into the hill, the legs start to strain and the breathing is getting more labored.  The arms are having to pump harder to help out.  Now you see upon looking up that the hill seems so much longer and steeper than it did before—and harder. Yes, it gets harder almost with each step. So at this stage of life the gloves start coming off for the youth.

It goes on and on, pedal stroke upon pedal stroke and we seem to be barely moving.  Dig down.  This is where the rubber meets the road.   We are youth growing up, become men and women in the real world. 

Then, it seems, as we begin to approach the top of the hill, we reach the steepest part.  This could be middle age, facing your frailties and now diminished ability.  You have changed but he hill hasn’t.  It stands as tall, as steep, and as resolute as when you were much younger.  

Now, it gets really tough.  Dig down. Don’t walk.  It hurts!  Don’t quit!  Keep going no matter how slowly. Then there is a more level spot as the hill gives up before we do and we breathe deeply to recover our wind and smile as best we can at the beauty of  it all. It was a very good day.  I was a very good life.

 

Next Time

 

The number marked on the back of his calf told me he was in my age group.   I had passed this man just moments before.   Now he had passed me back,  running  like a man on a mission toward the finish line.  We were finishing up the Woolman Triathlon in San Angelo, Texas and just coming off the 10K run on that infamous “dirt road from hell.”  It had been a bear and I was pretty well done in.  Hoping he would just crater and have to walk, I just let him go on for about a hundred yards.  But, soon I realized he wasn’t going to fade.   Digging down deep, all I could muster,  seemed  barely to  quicken my pace.  My body was just spent. Yet, I pushed it for all it was worth and I could tell I was slowly gaining.  I was gaining!  But, the man would not quit.  I could tell my paltry effort was  going to be too little, too late.  He was going to beat me!

 

I can’t catch this guy !!  The legs won’t turn over any faster!  This really hurts and I am not gaining that much on him anymore!  Oh my, he’s close.  He just crossed the line!  Wish I could have caught him!  He might be the one who keeps me from placing in my age group.

I should have pushed a little harder.  Maybe if I had trained a little harder; raced a little smarter. done the transition quicker.  Maybe if.....

 

This guy had beaten me by a matter of a  few seconds.  Both of us completely spent, we walked around the finish line area together trying to get our breath back. He had had a good race and my hand thrust out to him in congratulations.

 

“I was trying real hard to catch you right there.”

“I know.  I could feel you coming.”

“I just didn’t have enough left and you did.”

“Next time.” 

 

We shook hands, smiled at each other, and walked away.  Yeah, next time, I thought.  Just you wait until next time.  Next time I will be better prepared; next time I will be in better shape and next time, will be my time. Truth is, I have never seen this man again. But, the vision of  “next time” still drives my training days.  I just know there  will be  plenty of others out there on the courses  to provide   inspiration, motivation, and validation for my “next time.”  

 

 

Facing the Bike Wreck Fear.

 Two years ago today, I had the worst bike wreck of my life.  No, I didn't seek medical attention but I surmised I had a broken rib, a severely sprained wrist, a torn shoulder, and fell badly on my already bad knee.  Sleeping was sporadic and hard to come by due to the various points of pain. Getting out of bed was a gut check of pain endurance. I stayed in a recliner for the first few nights.  

Much has happened since then.  I have not yet got back to regular road riding.  There is still a residual fear when I get on the road bike. I know the best way to put this fear to bed is to face it and ride more on the road.  But knowing and doing are two separate entities. 

God, in His Word, says, "Fear not" a bunch of times.  I am beginning to think that facing that fear might just be an act of faith, or an act of obedience or both. So self:

"Live boldly. Take risks. Surround yourself with like-minded people. Trust in God’s plan. Have the courage to be happy."