Today on my daily hike in the hills behind a local school, I ran smack dab into a pack of girls competing in an intramural cross country meet. I was heading into the hills; they were running out. As they blew by me one by one, arms pumping, the paper numbers pinned to their shirts flapped up and down.
Ah, the joys of running. As a former running fanatic (my knees decided it was a better idea to take up knitting), I related to the strained look on the girls’ faces. Some of them were bright red. All of them were sweaty. I’m sure they were fatigued, especially in the 80-degree sunny weather. But these girls in the lead were definitely racing against time and racing each other with determination.
Then there were the middle-of-the-pack girls, running in twos and threes, so they could talk to each other. Even at a slower pace, it still required a decent level of physical fitness to get through the hills.
I could tell the course of the race by the white arrows painted on the dirt path. It was not an easy one—mostly uphill and downhill slopes. The toughest part was a hill I call the Matterhorn, after the amusement ride at Disneyland. But there is nothing amusing about this hill. It’s about 200 yards tall, first at a 60-degree angle, then halfway easing to a 45-degree angle. It is a punishing climb. I have hiked that hill for years and it has never gotten any easier. Sometimes I can’t make it up in a straight line. I have to traverse it, cutting a zigzag path to the top.
The downhill part is flat-out scary because it is so steep. You have to watch your footwork or you could turn your hike into a slip-n-slide adventure. I would not attempt to run up or down the Matterhorn, as I do not have a death wish.
I think whoever designed the race course must have thought he/she was training Olympic track and field athletes—to only win gold medals—on Venus.
Finally the stragglers passed me—the girls in the very back. I knew that stooped-shoulder posture, the slow gait, the dehydrated feeling. Not fun. But they trudged on. Way to go!
When I had almost reached my turn-around point, the very last girl showed up. She shuffled along, head down. She looked defeated and not about to look at me. I fought the urge to yell, “You can do it, you can do it, you can, you can!” I would have liked to walk beside her and give her sage words of encouragement about the valiant attempt to start the race and the even more valiant effort to finish it—no matter how hard, no matter what the obstacle. It is perseverance that gives you confidence in yourself. That’s the real reward. Not your time. Not your placement. Not the gold medal.
I used to be a teenager, but I’m not sure if a pep talk by a complete stranger in the middle of a race in the middle of hot dusty hills would have been appreciated. Or legal. So I kept my mouth shut.
I also kept my distance behind her, making sure she didn’t keel over. She made it to the end. Plenty of people were waiting for her in the parking lot. They congratulated her. Good for them. Good for her, too!
