Last time I ran the Upper Rim Trail, it ended up being more of a sludge fest with the goal quickly shifting from hill training to simply staying upright and not losing my shoes in the thick, sticky mud.

That was two weeks ago, and like today, it had just rained 24 hours prior to my arrival. In my twenty plus years of coming to the Lafayette Reservoir, I’d never experienced the trail as sticky. Had I known, I would not have chosen that path that day. Sticky mud took its toll on my ankles and knees by creating an unbalanced gait with the addition of five pound mud weights stuck to each shoe and tweaking my knees from kicking off those heavy weights after each stride. That particular path was not my wisest choice – especially since I had a perfectly good alternative on the clean, paved path below.

I’m sure my dad is not the only one to have said these words of wisdom, but he was the first one to have personally bestowed them upon me:

“It’s not stupid to make mistakes. It’s stupid to repeat them.”

Dad offered these consolatory words when I was in high school after my first car accident in which I was entirely at fault. I vividly remember how calm he was about the whole incident. Maybe that’s also why his words stuck with me.

So when I arrived at the Reservoir this morning already feeling wiser, I had my “dirty” trail shoes on fully prepared to take the path that would not render me limping and lamenting for days. Weather-wise, it was a sunny, perfectly chilly day for a run.

I saw a park ranger near the entrance and asked him about conditions on the Upper Rim Trail. He shook his head and said “I couldn’t even go up some of those hills in my ATV yesterday.” Disappointing words. That should’ve been enough for me to choose the lower paved trail, but at that exact moment, a runner shot past us from the base of the Upper Rim Trail. My eyes immediately went to his shoes. Clean. As were his ankles and calves.

Hmmm….

Now the question became “Whom do I trust?” I needed to get in a good hill training but didn’t want a repeat of the last mud fest.

I decided to go with the runner. The evidence was clear – or clean – that it was not the same conditions as the last time it rained. I cautiously headed up that first hill determined to not repeat the mistakes from two weeks ago and fully ready to turn off onto the lower trails if it really got bad. Turned out to be a near perfect hill training day on soft, slightly muddy trail. Since more rain was in the forecast this week, I took advantage and went around for a second loop for a total of ten miles.

As I was running – actually running, not sludging this time – I saw ATV tire tracks along the path. Except for the steepest hills. I thought about how often I had safely run this same trail and taken it for granted. I don’t normally stop to ask about trail conditions before heading out. If I hadn’t seen the park ranger or runner, I would’ve just ignored the signs, proceeded, and hoped for the best.

Why did I ask this time?

Lately I have a “new normal.” The things I have grown accustomed to and routines I am lovingly dependent on have been tweaked much like my ankles trying to sustain heavy mud weights. Life as I know it changed after we found out earlier this month about Dad’s health situation. It felt like a massive weight on my shoulders which made the pounds of mud on my shoes feel like feathers. At least that’s how it initially felt.

Although I am abundantly, overflowingly blessed with family to team with on this new journey, my natural tendency was to go the path unguided and trudge my way through alone. During those alone times, I found myself deeply entrenched in self-inflicted guilt. One morning I woke up remembering a scene from a few years ago in which I missed an opportunity to help my dad. The following days I kept thinking about instances when I could have/should have been more proactive and patient with both parents which might have alleviated some stress factors. I also realized I had ignored the signs.

I’m exceedingly good at the self-blame game. I win every time. The prize? Guilt.

It feels like trying to run through thick, sticky mud. Just when you think that first layer of mud on the bottom of your shoes is bad, more mud keeps accumulating and getting heavier until you literally can’t take another step. Guilt is heavy. It also creates unnecessary strain.

I did not see this coming. Obviously. If I had known, I would have done things differently.

Isn’t that the case with most things in life? Like in racing, in the hundreds of races I’ve run, there has never been a perfect race. That means there is always something I could have done differently to better my outcome. The race that illustrates this best is 2012 C.I.M. aka The Monsoon Marathon. So much training and preparation go into any marathon. Had I known just how bad the winds and constant downpour would be beforehand, I may not have even shown up at the start line that morning. At the very least, I definitely would have dressed differently. And brought more energy gels. And hydrated better. And took a melatonin to sleep better.

All these woulda/coulda/shoulda’s. Had I done them all, would my results really have been that different? Maybe. Maybe not.

So now I have new “shoulds” – new opportunities each day. Become more knowledgeable about the new path. Seek wisdom from those who have already gone this path. Practice new trail safety – don’t go alone. To name a few.

And like my dad says, don’t repeat mistakes. Funny thing…God says that, too.

“Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed,
for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.” Lamentations 3:22-23 NIV

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct your paths.” Proverbs 3:5-6 NKJV

“Two are better than one, because they have a good reward for their labor. For if they fall, one will lift up his companion. But woe to him who is alone when he falls, for he has no one to help him up.” Ecclesiastes 4:9-10 NKJV

It goes all the way back to fourth grade math class. My earliest recollection of not “getting it.” I don’t remember the exact concepts that earned me a ticket on the math struggle bus, but I’m pretty sure it had something to do with trains arriving at different times and the rate at which bathtubs would fill equally. Now that I’m thinking about it, word problems really were my demise:

“Irene consumed 10 energy gels during her race. She had 2 more chocolate than peanut butter and two-thirds that number in salted caramel. How many of each flavor did she consume ?

“Irene spent $40 on energy gels. She paid using $10, $5, and $1 bills. If she gave the salesperson ten bills in all, how many of each bill did she use?”

That whole guess-and-check strategy for solving problems always seemed counter intuitive.  And throwing in WORDS? Math was supposed to just be about numbers.

My dad is the exact opposite of me. He’s a numbers guy. A retired engineer and former stock market enthusiast. Measure twice, cut once type. Oil change exactly as the odometer hits the next 3,000 mark. If I tell him it’s a warm day with a high of 85, he’ll respond “Naw, I’d say 83.” Or if I’m supposed to be at his house at 5:30, my phone will ring at 5:31 as I’m turning into his driveway. He’s also the one who, after a long days work, sat for hours at the kitchen table with me months before my SAT’s helping me with – what else – math. He was convinced that if we put in the time and effort my math score would go up 100 points which he had researched as being the minimum necessary number for me to get into my dream school.

Funny thing, my math SAT score did improve by exactly 100 points from my previous attempt. Thanks to my dad and his help conquering my math nemesis, I did get into my dream school: UCLA! GO BRUINS! Good thing, since I only applied to one college. What are the odds?! That blows my mind as I’ve heard my own kids tell me about friends who applied to thirty or more schools as well as reading this in sources such as forbes.com. If you’re into numbers, I found this clip in prepscholar.com:

“The standard thinking from counselors has been that the average college-bound student should apply to about 6-8 colleges: 2-3 reach colleges, 2-3 target colleges, and 2 safety schools. Reach schools are colleges that are unlikely to offer you admission (less than a 30% chance), target schools are colleges that you have a decent chance of gaining admission to (a 30%-80% chance), and safety schools are colleges to which you’re almost guaranteed of admission based on your qualifications (greater than a 80% chance).”

Mind blowing, right?!

Oddly enough, when I taught third grade, math was one of my favorite subjects to teach. As a runner, I loved using run-related object lessons. Like this lesson on decimals and place value:

“If John ran his 5k in 33:01 and Judy ran her’s in 33:10, who finished faster?”

Or when students gave me grief about how it looked like I ate candy bars all the time when really they were disgusting protein bars. One day during a lesson on multiplication arrays, I decided to dispel this third grade myth once and for all. I unwrapped one of my more unpleasant tasting high protein bars and proceeded to cut it into four rows of six under the document camera for all 24 students to see. Then I evenly distributed one piece to each student to sample. As I predicted, 99% of the 24 were now convinced their teacher was not eating candy bars all day. Of that 99%, one third experienced gag reflex. And of that one third, two rushed for the trash can. Standard deviation of +/-1. Because there’s always that one kid.

Who says I’m not a numbers person?

Most recently I made the decision to be more intentional about numbers. I used to be more diligent about logging mile splits and all training run stats. If I’m being 100% honest, I simply got complacent the last couple of years. I became content with “just finishing” a run. I didn’t wear my Garmin most of the time and just guesstimated how I did. Don’t get me wrong, there’s value in just getting out there and running without the pressure of time and performance. But when I’ve made it the norm rather than the exception and still have hopes of improving race times, something doesn’t equate.

Whether you’re an avid runner or not, common sense tells you that pacing and practicing the speed you hope to race are things you need to do on a regular basis. Well, I kind of threw common sense along with number sense out the window the last couple of years. With this being the start of 2018 and God using some life-changing circumstances this month to shake me up out of my complacency, I am happy to report that I’ve made progression and speed training a priority again as well as logging all my stats for analysis and accountability. And yes, becoming more of a numbers person.

Perhaps I have swung way over to the other direction with this numbers thing, but hey, when your average mile pace just happens to be 10:10 reminding you of that verse in John about God’s overflowing abundant plans for your life AND a runner friend brings up precisely the same verse that day, it’s not just a good thing – it’s a God thing.

“I came that they may have and enjoy life, and have it in abundance [to the full, till it overflows].” AMP

God often takes a completely discouraging, even devastating, anxiety-ridden day and turns it around in the least expected ways. He did so on January 8th at a Warriors home game by reminding me of this Word for solving problems:

“Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.” NIV

This verse from Philippians 4:6 was prominently displayed on the iPhone home screen of the Steph Curry fan sitting in front of me. I immediately felt the tension of the day disappear almost as quickly as my bowl of Slam Dunk Nachos. The words DO NOT BE ANXIOUS kept playing in my head for the rest of the game.

I might’ve cheered extra loudly for Steph, Klay (aka Splash Brothers) and Green (season high 23 points/10 assists) that night as their performances did not disappoint, but maybe it was also the fact that God was letting me know “THE REAL GAME” is in His hands.

I went home that night and tried to re-create my own version of Philippians 4:6 for my iPhone home screen. I found a peaceful, scenic trail photo which reminded me of the many times during races that Jesus has shown me I can trust Him because He alone knows what’s around the next turn and up the next climb.

As for those progression runs, so far I’ve been hitting 3% to 10% faster times on each of my laps around the Lafayette Reservoir. I know it’s statistically improbable and practically impossible to hit exact numbers in running all the time. But one thing is 100% possible, 24/7/365, with no standard deviation and no guessing: God’s abundant peace.