To my husband’s delight and my unending befuddlement, our youngest offspring turned out to be a runner.
More of a plodder myself, I watch in awe as Jonah steps up to the starting line at cross country meets, ready to tear up the turf.
Gorgeous, magical things, cross country meets.
A mass of runners waits restlessly, shaking legs, slapping thigh muscles. The starter raises his pistol. They tense, ready, listening.
Cross county parents don’t stand still. As soon as the runners pull away, moms in hoodies and dads in windbreakers scurry in all directions, hoping to get to their favorite cheering spot before their athlete passes.
At the one mile, the two mile, all along trails that wind through fields and into woods and up and down hills, energetic onlookers hoot and holler and clap and clag bells, racing from post to post, the air thick with their encouragements. All the while, the runners run, one foot in front of the other, breathing hard, determined, focused.
My Jonah is not one of the fastest runners. He falls in the middle of the pack, or maybe further back, depending on the meet.
With cross country, though, it’s not about being first.
It’s about PRs.
Oh, the joy that beams from the face of the runners who cross the finish line with a new personal record. It doesn’t matter if they didn’t reach their season goal. It doesn’t matter if they had a crummy race or if they finished at the back of the pack. If only they can set that precious PR, shaving even one second off their personal best, they are victorious.
And if they don’t PR? Well, there’s always the next meet.
The runners inspire me. I end almost every meet in tears, moved by the depth of their commitment and desire. But what gets me almost as much is the parents, hollering from the sidelines, scuttling from place to place, bouncing on their toes with fists clenched as they watch the last few moments before the finish line; “Come on, come on, come on, come on,” they whisper, the entirely of their being offered in support of this person they love and the quest for one more PR, one more victory.
That’s good stuff right there.
It’s easy to close our ears to the people cheering us on as we run our daily races. They don’t mean it, we tell ourselves. They’re just being nice. If only they really knew me, they wouldn’t believe in me.
But I watch the faces of those parents at cross country meets and see the love and hope and heartfelt support that fills them, and I’m washed with awe at the realization that those eager faces who cheer me along my way have that same love, that same hope, that same all-in desire to see me do a little better, go a little harder, finish a little stronger.
You can do it, the cheering throng shouts to the runners. Don’t give up. The end is in sight. Push. Try.
You can do it, say the voices cheering me on.
The stalwart friend standing by my side as I take on a big and scary project.
The church members, friends, semi-acquaintances who tell me they believe I can do work that matters.
My kids, my husband, patient with my fears and ready to tell me again, and again, that they believe in me.
Many days, I’d prefer to run alone, with nobody to see me fail, no one to disappoint if I drop out of the race or get lost in the woods.
But the people at the sidelines won’t give up. They holler and hope and hold out their hands and call my name, and it’s so doggone lovely I can’t help but grab a Kleenex and keep on running, striving, giving it my best.
I’m not gonna PR every day. Heck, I might not even finish the race every day. But I can keep moving toward that finish line one foot at a time, those blessed voices ringing in my ears.
And then it’s my turn to holler.
—
To those of you cheering me on, thank you. I need you.
And to those of you fighting your way forward, PR in sight: You can do it.
I believe in you.
I’d be honored if you would share a link to this blog to anyone you think might be interested. If you’d like, leave a comment below and tell us about a recent personal record that you totally crushed, or about a goal that’s just out of reach. We’d love to cheer you on.
