Hello Fellow Flocking, Blogging Falcons!!

So my day for blogging is technically Mondays. And I actually did write most of an entry on Monday night, but I didn't finish it because I just didn't like the direction it was going in.... I was writing about Stanford and just couldn't quite articulate my myriad feelings without sounding like a person who needs serious counseling. But my feelings were real and I think the sort of thing one should share on a blog. So I've modified what I wrote a bit, and here are some of my thoughts on the epic event of Stanford.

I tasted a little bit of hell and a little bit of heaven. Dramatic, I know. But allow me to explain myself...

It was a fantastic opportunity to race in a notorious Division I cross country meet such as the Standford Invite. Kind of a big deal. It was amazing; it was exciting; it was epic. Jessica, Jane, Lisa, and Mary all had really stellar races. They seriously all ran amazingly. There was a lot to be proud of and a lot to be grateful for and a lot of guts and sweat spilled over the course of six kilometers. As for me, the last of those statements would apply to me: a lot of guts and sweat spilt. And I probably left a little of my pride on the course too.

I think there were a few things contributing to how crappy--with a captial C, R,A,P,P, and Y--I felt but that is not what I am here to speculate about (though I can do the best I can to learn about what to do differently and what/how to fix) and there's no need to burden you with a long saga about how I'm going to mold that bad experience into motivation and hard work (with God's help).

Now let me explain what I meant by the whole heaven and hell statement. There have been times in my life where I have felt something--either strongly or subtlely--and had a thought/feeling/intuition that that was a glimpse of true Joy or Misery. During my race I felt mentally and physically broken down, and that was hellish enough in itself. But the real hell came in the subsequent overwhelming emotions. I felt worthless. Mainly, I felt huge remorse like I had disappointed my team, my coach, my parents, and myself. I felt unreliable. I felt so much remorse that I could hardly hold it all in. I wanted to scream and sob and run off alone for hours and hours. I did run off alone--but only for a handful of minutes--to the nearby large grassy field for warming up, where I threw off my shoes (Golden Arm can use her skills for unhealthy throwing too) and laid down under a tree and cried until a high school boys team ran past and I pretended like I wasn't having a break down but rather was just enjoying the shade of that lovely tree. Once they had gone by I started beating myself up again.

Goodness, you'd think I was a teenager in the depths of hormonal puberty with all this dramatic weeping going on. But I just had to get it all out before I could start sorting it all out in my mind and move on with life. And move on in a way that I would take what had happened and learn from it.

And here the glimpse of heaven comes in. I went back and found my teammates and we started cooling down together. I had gotten most of my frustrations out and had a level head by now. I ran with Jane and she encouraged me a lot and gave me some uplifting words. I really appreciated that. I was still pretty down though. We finished jogging and all started to stretch, do strides, etc. More encouraging and uplifting and optimistic words came, none of which down-played how bad I had done, which I appreciated and thought it was important that no one said, "You didn't do THAT bad" or "Don't worry about it, it doesn't really matter." Thanks in part to having such intelligent and capable teammates, the words were constructive and helpful rather than fluff and cliche. They encouraged me to seek out what I could learn from my race, and to use it as motivation to work even harder. What especially sticks out is Jessica reminding me of one of the core Christian messages. Christianity is about the paradoxical possibility of good emerging from bad, of redemption in the midst of despondency. Christ is the embodiment of hope. And redemption. And second chances (and third and fourth and seven-thousandth... Though I realize there is no time--and I have no desire to--have that many chances at a bad race. NO MORE!)

Then, the most powerful and memorable moment occured. We circled together and prayed; the five of us there, in sports bras and running shorts, sticky from all the dried sweat on our skin, California sun beating down on us from above, golf course grass beneath our feet; talking to God and just telling God how we felt, our hopes, our disappointments; pouring out our hearts in thanks, things just kept being brought to our mind of the many many many reasons we had to be filled with gratitude and praise of our Good God Above. But maybe not so "above"--God's presence was there with us, right among us, smack dab in the middle of our sweaty little circle and all of our hearts. I love those four girls prety dang much; but I felt like the Holy Spirit increased my capability to love right then, and my insides were burning with how strongly I felt for all of them. That love, that joy, that overwhelming assurance that God had us, and has us, in the palm of God's hand--THAT was, to me, a glimpse of heaven.