Making History

by Donna Poole

I wish I had been there!

I wasn’t there, but I can see the look of determination on his face. I know it well.

Yesterday, Reece, our grandson, ran with his school’s cross-country team in the regional meet. He led most of the race but got passed in the last one-hundred fifty yards. Reece set a PR of 16:20.4. He’s now the fastest junior in his school’s history. His team hasn’t lost a race yet this year, and they’re headed to Michigan International Speedway next Saturday to run in the state meet. The girls’ team qualified for state too. Fire up, Colts!

Cross-country is a sport that builds character. It takes dedication, determination, and teamwork. It requires listening to the coaches and following directions. Because the runners go such long distances, they have to do more than run fast; they have to run smart. They must know when to pace themselves, when to push past their limits, and when to use that last bit of reserve to propel across the finish line. It’s not a “hey look at me” sport. A good team encourages one other.

I think cross-country is a lot like life. It’s the old saying in motion, “When the going gets tough, the tough get going.”

Some people say John F. Kennedy’s father first used that phrase. Others say it became popular in football locker rooms in the 1950s and Texas coach, John Thomas, first used it.

Ralph Waldo Emerson understood the concept of when the going gets tough. He wrote, “What lies behind us and what lies ahead of us are tiny matters to what lies within us.”

Dale Carnegie said, “Most of the important things in the world have been accomplished by people who have kept on trying when there seemed to be no hope at all.”

And Confucius said, “Our greatest glory is not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall.”

I’ve seen runners ignore what was behind and ahead and reach inside for the determination within. I’ve seen one keep running and finish last when there was no hope of winning, and yet I called her a winner. I’ve seen runners fall, get up, and keep going, and I’ve thought, there goes a hero in the making.

Cross country runners who stick with it year after year have the stuff.

John and I enjoy fall camping and when it’s cold we say about the others camping nearby, “They’ve got the stuff.” We laugh when we say it, but we mean it. It’s a compliment. When it’s almost cold enough to snow, and it’s pouring rain, and we see a tent pitched in the woods, we say, “They’ve really got the stuff.”

We camped this fall for the first time in three years. First, we went north in Michigan, and it was cold. We braved a stiff north-east wind, walked to the channel at Muskegon, and watched the boats go out into Lake Michigan. We huddled around a fire, laughed, and told each other, “We’ve got the stuff.”

Next, we went to Indiana, and Indian Summer arrived. It was glorious.

“John,” I said, “I want to hike a trail.”

“You mean you want to go for a walk?”

“No! I want to hike a trail. A real trail. Come on! Let’s try! We’ve got the stuff.”

He laughed and looked at me dubiously.

“I don’t know, honey. You haven’t hiked in three years, and you still have trouble walking. What if you get out there and can’t get back? I can’t carry you!”

I knew he was right. And wrong. Cancer took so many things. Walking is still very difficult for me, but hiking used to be my passion. Just ask my kids.

“Mom!” Our son John groaned more than once. “Do you have to hike every trail in this park?”

“I do! You don’t have to come with me though.”

They came with me. Kimmee had a broken toe when she climbed up ladders on the sides of rock cliffs to hike with me. In my defense, I didn’t know she had a broken toe.

This Indiana campground had no rock cliffs, no mountains, no steep paths leading to waterfalls, no place we might meet a bear with her cubs—none of the excitement of trails past. It just had trails through meadows and up gentle hills.

“Please?” I begged.

John gave in.

When I put my feet on that trail, I was giddy with excitement. There were times I’d thought I’d never hike again, times when just brushing my teeth left me shaking with exhaustion.

“You sure you can do this?” John asked.

“We’ve got the stuff!” I answered.

He laughed, and we started hiking. Okay, hiking may be a bit of an exaggeration. I’m not sure what you’d call it, with me leaning on my cane with one hand and on John’s arm with the other and limping and hobbling along the path. Once I began, the old feelings returned, and I didn’t want to go back. I knew I’d passed my limit of endurance, but I still didn’t want to quit.

“That’s it,” John finally said. “You’re too tired. It’s a long way back to the car.”

“Please, let’s just get to the top of that hill. I want to see what’s next from up there.”

He gave in; we struggled up the hill. When we got to the top, we couldn’t see a thing. The path wandered away through thick underbrush. Disappointed is an understatement—until John touched my arm.

“Look,” he said softly, helping me turn around so I didn’t lose my balance.

We stood looking back at the way we’d come. I caught my breath at the beauty. The path was illuminated in shades of gold and red autumn leaves dressed in their best for their farewell party. Puffy white clouds drifted by in a brilliant blue sky. It was quiet, except for the distant hum of something that sounded like muted cicadas. We held hands, and my heart filled with worship.

Maybe that’s what it’s all about, not seeing where we’re going, but looking at the beauty of where we’ve been, and thanking God for the memories, even for the struggles that got us where we are today, at the top of the hill, looking back.

After a few minutes we started back.

“You okay?” John asked.

I nodded and laughed. “We’ve got the stuff.”

Actually, we don’t. We have God. He’s the one who gives us the determination, the will to fight, the resolve to keep trying against all odds, to keep on going when life gets tough.

And so, we hobbled back down the trail together, two people, three-quarters of a century old. The car was farther away than I had remembered it. John says we walked a mile. I don’t think so. I think he just felt that way because his arm hurt from me leaning on it. But together we made it back to the car and to the campground.

That was several days ago and I’m still sore. But it was worth it. I didn’t make the history Reece made, but I made my own kind of history. Maybe someday I’ll even be able to hike every trail in the campground again. I wonder if my kids will want to go with me?

The End

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These blogs are now available in book form on Amazon:

Backroad Ramblings Volume One: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter

Backroad Ramblings Volume Two: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter

Backroad Ramblings Volume Three: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter

I have five other books on Amazon as well, three soon to be four fiction books in the “Life at the Corners” series, and two children’s Christmas picture books.

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