Day 39...oops 41

Day 39…

At least I think I’m on day 39.  I can’t remember if I’m supposed to be writing about Friday or Saturday.   Actually I just looked, I’m supposed to be writing about Day 41 (Saturday, 10/2).  Man, I am not good at this.  But then again, any of you who know me, know that this is par for the course.  So I didn’t count right or didn’t really count in the first place.  But then again, isn’t that how I always do it?

During the last post, I wrote about how someday I’d have to tell you about the first and only individual race I’d ever won.  Well, in order for you to catch a grasp of how awesome yesterday was, I’ll have to tell you about it now.  I even dug through my journal to find the story and to refresh my memory.

When I was in high school and all of a 90lb, dripping wet, sophomore I signed up for track.  All I knew was that I loved to run and my Grandpa Joe thought that I was pretty good at it.  I knew nothing of what the race names stood for or how many people would be watching or how many miles I would be running, killing myself just to get in shape for a race.  So when the day came to pick what races we’d sign up for, I stupidly raised my hand and volunteered to run the 400m dash.  I didn’t know what the 400m dash was.  I heard “dash” and thought “I can dash.”

Later that day, I found out what the 400m dash was and just about had to find the nearest garbage receptacle to contain my excitement.  If you don’t know, the 400m dash is once around the track.  Now once is better than five or six times granted, but it’s also once around the track as fast as humanly possible.  Imagine the 100m sprint that Usain Bolt does… 4 times.   Not even he can hold the record for it.  The fastest time ever is Michael Johnson at 43.18 seconds and he’s six foot one.  Can you imagine me, little 5 foot 1 (at the time) trying to sprint, let alone survive just getting around the track? 

We’d practice and practice and practice and I never was able to get around the track the whole time ONCE.  Not once.  I’d have to stop at one point or another just to take a breath.  Each time I tried, I failed.

The day of my first race came.  This would be my first track meet ever, the first one I’d ever been to or run in.  We piled into the bus that would take us to Riverside High School and I was one nervous wreck.  My teammates were cheering and laughing; I was looking for the nearest exit.  My friend, Violeta, was sitting beside me and at one point offered to split cab fair with me if I decided to make a real run for it.

As we entered the stadium, I panicked when I saw how many people would be in attendance.  I knew my coach must have been crazy to think “Little Ilda” could have succeeded in doing something so huge.  I knew I was going to trip on a shoelace or puke in the middle of the track.  I couldn’t go through the humiliation, but before I could collect my things to leave, some of my teammates got me to take a practice run with them as a warm-up.  We jogged three-fourths of the track.  The race was about to start and I still couldn’t finish the whole thing.

I walked off the track.  From behind me, I felt a hard cold stare piercing me.  It was our Coach, whom one of my teammates had once said looked like a middle-aged bull dog, yelled my name.  At that moment even a bull dog would have been better company.

“Jensen!” was the first word out of her mouth.  “It’s your turn up!”

When I hear those words I knew it was my death sentence.  I tried to move towards my assigned lane, but my legs refused to move.  Coach stared at me again and that was all the motivation my legs needed.  I was not about to ignore the bark of the “Bull Dog.”

My throat began to feel like the Sahara desert as I placed my feet in the starting blocks.  The track was so hot that I could see steam rising from its surface.  I looked up into the blue sky and prayed like I had never prayed before.  I truly felt like I needed His help.  The help wasn’t so that I’d do well in the race; it was for protection from Coach if I didn’t.

I looked around and I saw there were only going to be three other girls racing against me.  I kept telling myself not worry; worst I could do was come in fourth place.

“Runners!  On your mark!”  The butterflies in my stomach were multiplying by the moment.

“Set!”  I could feel my heart in my throat ready to leap out.

“Boom!”  It scared me so much that I almost forgot to run.  By the time the first second was over, I turned around and didn’t see anyone behind me.  The other runners were all in front of me.  Down to the middle of the first straight-away, I was lagging far behind.  To make matters worse, I got a cramp in my right leg.  I turned and saw Coach’s face.  She had always told us that the more it hurt, the more we were supposed to push.  The faster we pushed the sooner the pain would be over.

We came to the last curve (you all know how I love running curves) and I was even with the third placed girl.  I closed my eyes and could feel my legs running on air.  I knew Heavenly Father was answering my prayer.  I opened my eyes again to find I was now even with the second girl.

By this time, the curve was almost over.  I had to start my “kick” soon.  We reached the straight-away.  I realized I was going to do more than finish the race, I might actually medal.  I saw the long stretch of track ahead of me and told myself that some how I was going to do it.  I heard the rumbling cheers from the stands and I ran as I never had before.

As that straight-away began, the first girl was even with me and when we had seventy-five meters to go. The yells and cheers from my teammates pushed me to go faster and I passed her.

My eyes began to burn and the finish line was moving towards me in what felt like slow motion.  I closed my eyes again and I could feel, not just hear, the roar of the crowd.  The tape from the finish line was across my chest and I opened my eyes once more.

What place had I come in?  I was too nervous to even ask.  It wasn’t until I felt the crushing hugs of my teammates around me that I realized I had won. 

A woman, who I didn’t know, asked me how I was.

“I can’t believe it,” was all I could say.  Never in my life had I expected to win.  Maybe in dreams, but never in real life.  I was tired and out of breath, but ecstatic.  Even Coach was happy enough to give me a hug.

So now you know… the first race I ever ran was also the first and last one I ever won.  That was the prelims.  I think I placed third in the finals.  That part of the story I don’t remember. 

You’re probably wondering what the heck yesterday has to do with something that happened twenty-one years ago.  You’re right to wonder.  When I was 16, I practiced and practiced and never made it around the track without stopping.  It took the adrenaline from the race to push me forward. 

Yesterday, at the age of 37, after fourteen years of marriage, carrying a LOT more weight than that 90lb girl I once was and three c-sections later, I jogged that 400m meters without stopping and not only that I went on to wog 2.40 more miles and ride my bike with the kids for nearly 4 more miles.  Now, of course, it wasn’t as fast as I ran it the day of that race.  There was no crowd cheering for me at the end, but who cares.  I’m just glad to know that “Little Ilda” was just crazy enough to succeeded in doing something so huge after all.

As for the rest of Saturday and Sunday, it’s General Conference for the our church. You’re welcomed to join us you can view it at new.lds.org  Until tomorrow, happy blogging.