Well, THAT didn’t go as planned. My third year running the infamous Double Dipsea ultra half marathon ended up being more of a test of mental fortitude and perseverance of will. Did I train for those two as much as I’d trained for the steep steps and climbs?

I’m sitting here on a post-race Monday with my left foot elevated and three compression socks on thinking the answer is “no.” But then again, no one plans to roll an ankle in the first few miles of a race that boasts “you’re either the hunter or the hunted” with its handicapped race start, 700 steps, and climbs aptly named “Cardiac, Insult, Dynamite, Suicide, and Steep Ravine.”

Going into this year’s race, I felt prepared – more so than the previous two years as I now had a better idea of how much hill training should be done so I won’t be crying at the sight of stairs afterwards like that first year. I had a good amount of hill training mileage under my belt and the weather forecast was prime for me to P.R.  Maaaaaybe even an age group win.

The first few miles were uneventful. Just starting the climb, waking up the quads for the thrashing to come in later miles. The first sort of “flat” section is a welcome sight and opportunity to take in your first glimpses of the views that initially brought runners to start this crazy tradition back in 1905. Stinson Beach, Mill Valley, Muir Woods, and of course, the Pacific Ocean below certainly make this race perennially tempting.

I managed to pass some runners in my age group and a few in the previous waves of older males on that initial climb. I was expecting to say “On your left” many more times during the course of this unique and counter-intuitive handicapped race. My left ankle quickly put that expectation to rest around mile four. I wish I had a more exciting, heroic, tell-future-grandkids-worthy story for how I hurt my ankle; but alas it was just as mundane as when I rolled my ankle a year ago on a perfectly flat paved trail with no apparent obstacles or challenges. In fact, it felt and even sounded the same when it happened. Yeeeeeah, I heard something “snap” which last year a friend stated was my common sense. I could tell right away that this wasn’t gonna be one of those just shake it off kind of missteps. As with all the other times I’ve felt twinges of pain, I immediately applied my customary first aid which was to pray Jeremiah 17:14.

“Heal me, Lord, and I will be healed;
save me and I will be saved,
for you are the one I praise.”

I’ve lost count of all the times I have prayed this verse during training and races. Whether it’s a mild cramp, knee pain, IT band flare up, plantar twinge, or GI issue, I reflexively pray that verse over and over until I am healed. Okay, sometimes the GI thing doesn’t have a pretty ending, but it’s never “cost” me a race.

I truly count myself incredibly blessed to have had relatively few ailments in ten years of running and 200 or so races. So it wouldn’t have been a big deal to call it quits on Saturday’s Double Dipsea and live to run another day. Or would it? I told Dave when I got home “If I only had a mic hooked up to my inner voice and the back and forth debate I had with Jesus at that point…” It’s probably never a good idea to argue with the Creator of the Universe; however, this was not about little old me getting her first DNF and not getting her finisher’s medal. It was about learning to persevere in prayer.

Before I continue, let me totally acknowledge that continuing to run with an obvious injury is not wise practice. Over the years I’ve said this to several beginner runners who’ve come to me for coaching. If you’re one them and reading this right now, you should probably stop. Close this window on your browser. Go out for a nice leisurely run, listen to the birds sing, and pretend you never read this.

Back to the debating with Jesus thing, it was more me coming to grips with feeling guilty about missing time with Natalie as she was flying up for Father’s Day weekend. I thought about giving my race bib to someone who missed out on the registration window since this race has been sold out since March. Maybe it would’ve blessed someone who needed to run DD this year. So, I spent a good mile or so telling God how sorry I was for not listening and obeying if I wasn’t supposed to have been there. An aid station was coming up at which point I could call it a day and go home. When I got there, I saw a runner seated by the medic truck with ice wrapped around his ankle. He looked like a “fast runner.” You know, that lanky physique, serious expression, minimal race attire, ripped calves, don’t make eye contact, pause-my-Garmin-before-rendering-assistance look. I’m not sure why but seeing him sitting there made me NOT wanna stop.

I have a pretty high pain tolerance thresh hold and can’t remember the last time I actually cried due to physical pain. Sometimes when I’m running, Jesus and I have these talks and He shows me stuff that brings me to tears. As I left that aid station after some water and GU, I felt tears starting to well up. Not from ankle pain. From Jesus saying to me “Okay, if you insist on doing this, you’re gonna have to trust me more than EVER each and every step of the way.”

This year in training and in races I’ve been saying to myself:

“There will come a day when I cannot do this. Today is NOT that day.” *Cue Braveheart theme music.

It’s the realization that, no, I’m not the same runner that I was ten years ago. It’s also an appreciation for health, strength, and the fact that God allows me to do this thing called running. This year my dad’s Parkinson’s and his visible physical decline has also deeply affected my running. It’s pushed me mentally and emotionally in ways I never wanted to be pushed but also in ways that are making perseverance and battling for victories through prayer more tangible.

At times I have felt ashamed of who I am and thoughts that cross my mind when it comes to dad’s Parkinson’s. I find myself crying a lot when I’m alone with these thoughts. Even now as I’m writing this. I feel like his condition and caring for him and mom have been sort of a litmus test for my faith as well as actions. I texted a good friend last week about some stuff I was going through and how I couldn’t stop crying. We agreed that crying can be a good thing. In fact, God says so in Matthew 5 – the chapter famous for the Sermon on the Mount in which Jesus taught about the Beatitudes aka the BlessEDs:

3“You’re blessed when you’re at the end of your rope. With less of you there is more of God and his rule.
4“You’re blessed when you feel you’ve lost what is most dear to you. Only then can you be embraced by the One most dear to you.
5 “You’re blessed when you’re content with just who you are—no more, no less. That’s the moment you find yourselves proud owners of everything that can’t be bought.” MSG

Those are just three of the nine Beatitudes. Interesting that most other translations of verse four say “Blessed are those who mourn.” Mourn? Yes, as in grieving and crying and not just in the context of losing a loved one. As in crying at the realization that I am nothing without God’s grace and mercy. Grieving over what grieves God. Being brought to tears when I think about my own disobedience and transgressions. You know those red course marking ribbons that are tied to tree branches so runners can see up ahead that they are on the right path? They remind me of Isaiah 53:5 “By His stripes, we are healed.” Every time I see those red ribbons, I repeat that verse thanking Jesus for what He did for me on the Cross so I could live this life without condemnation as well as have moment to moment, step by step, living-breathing-healing interaction with my Heavenly Father.

And so it was. From that point on, up and down 700 steps – some of which so steep you couldn’t see the top one, through Jurassic Park looking forests ridden with tree roots every few feet, jaggedy rocky single tracks, I committed and submitted every step to God’s  hand of healing and protection. Literally.

At the mile 7 aid station turn around I did stop at the medic truck to get some Advil. Surprisingly they are only allowed to dispense two Advil at a time. I joked with them about how many I take at home after a race. Waaaay over the medically recommended dosage. Hey, I’m no superhero and will definitely use whatever provisions God gives me as part of His healing!

So as I headed back up those stairs with half the Advil dosage I would normally take, God started reminding me of people to pray for with each turn and hill. With that in mind, those infamous steps really weren’t so bad going back up. I was focused on the steps right in front of me and tried not to look all the way up. Not all common sense had left my body as I knew it was not good to try to over compensate weight on my good ankle. I asked God to help me use the right balance on both legs and put all my hill training to good use. All those miles logged going up and down the Lafayette Reservoir Upper Rim were paying off.

Something happened around mile 9. I felt a release in my left ankle. I was even able to run on it, not fast or anything, but steady on the smoothest portions of the trail. At that point, all the faster runners and last wave of the handicap start group had long passed me. No more hearing “On your left” or “Runner up” from herds of crazy fast runners barreling past, so I could just enjoy this truly beautiful course. I don’t know what part of the course this was but I came to a forested section that I will never forget. It was not only visually stunning, but it was THE MOST strikingly quiet I have ever experienced. I mean like someone had just put noise canceling headphones on me. Deafening silence. Incredible and eerie at the same time. Had I not rolled my ankle and taken a full hour longer on the course than in previous years, I would’ve been running with a herd and missed out on this amazing moment.

Now I share this next little revelation with great respect for runners of all levels with the intent of gratitude but realize it may come across as boastful. I’m not usually in the back of the pack at races. I’m not super crazy fast by any stretch of the imagination, but it’s never crossed my mind that I wouldn’t make course cutoff times. Limping along and resorting to walking much of miles 4 to 9 took its toll on my overall time. Several runners passing me asked if I was okay or needed help. It was very touching. Another reason I might’ve gotten teary-eyed. On the way back up and feeling strong on the stairs, a couple of runners behind me noticed and said “Hey, you’re the one that rolled your ankle. How are you even still here?”

I realized then that this race was an opportunity to give Jesus the spotlight in a whole new way.

Since we were on a narrow single track, I couldn’t see who was behind me; so I yelled back “Only by God’s grace! All things through Christ!” She and another runner responded “That’s right! Absolutely!” Perhaps being in the back of the pack affords more time for reflection and opportunity to offer encouragement. I know when I’m going full speed gunning for a PR, I find it hard to carry on meaningful conversation. It certainly was humbling and gives me new appreciation for the camaraderie shared with those whose goals may not be a PR or age group win.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed in my race results. I am definitely itching for a redemption Double Dipsea next year. But for now, I’m going to focus on those steps right in front of me, try not to hurt myself, and take what I learned on that course to daily life.

PC: Brazen Racing, Jason Lehrbaum, Jay Mijares, Nyobugi Okullo, NY Times