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Last Saturday, I lined up to run the 35 mile Georgia Jewel. You likely know that already if you're reading this. You know it because I've been talking about this race for 5 months. I've been training for it and dreaming of crossing my first ultra marathon finish line. For 15 days leading up to this race, I wrote a countdown series - (Countdown to the Georgia Jewel). And to be honest, I intended the conclusion to that series to be much different from what you are about to read. I planned to share what it feels like to be an ultra marathoner. Today, the reality is, I have no idea how that feels. Before starting the race Saturday, I posted this - a segment from the final entry of my countdown series: "That is my journey today. To feel small. To discover that my faith is bigger than myself, it's bigger than the words I cling to in the bible. Me and those words - we are mere reflections of the larger than life God who loves me. The God who will see me through this day, and triumphantly through this race." When I posted that, I knew what triumphantly through the race would look like. But in the end, I didn't finish the race. My picture of triumphant was dead. But driving home yesterday, God started to draw a different picture of triumphant for me. He helped me discover a faith bigger than myself. To The Starting Line We Go |
 I interviewed Gregory Byerline on my podcast prior to the Georgia Jewel. He's become a great friend, a meaningful part of my life. An interview with Gregory Byerline. |  This journey would not have been complete without Nicole, Lori and Andy. Their efforts leading up to and during this race will remain sources of strength in my life forever. So grateful. |
And We're Off
Then we were off. When we started the weather was delightful compared to what the forecast said was on the way. It was actually cool and comfortable. I couldn't ask for more.
I'd developed a plan going into the race. I had it in my pocket in a waterproof bag. The plan had mile times for each mile and pointed me toward a 12 hour finish. I knew after the trial run I'd never finish this race without a plan. One that would make me run slower in the beginning than I'd probably want to go. One that focused on finishing alive more than finishing fast. As we entered the first section of the Pinhoti trail a few miles into the race, the plan was going well.
Slow, comfortable and confident.
Part of the draw to the Georgia Jewel was the chance to discover parts of God's creation I'd never see elsewhere. There is power in this discovery. It's key to discovering a faith bigger than myself. As we climbed John's Mountain creation came alive. Early in the race God was already telling me - welcome to my world.
We travel so much of our lives on roads so routinely and comfortably paved before us. Rarely do I personally venture off those roads. But this Georgia Jewel journey reminded me there is great reward in traveling the trails less traveled.
There's beauty in discomfort.
Fuel for the imagination is so rarely found in what we can already see, what we can already imagine.
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And Along Come My Old Enemies - Heat and Humidity
Unfortunately, God's creation can come with heat and humidity. A dynamic duo that has a history of taking me down. About 12 or 13 miles into our run - the sun came out, the humidity soared - like stepping out of air conditioning and going directly into a sauna - and I knew the battle was on. I'd been drinking plenty, taking the calories in, and battling a fight I'd ferociously prepared for. I'd practiced with and found a drink that worked; I'd focused on pacing and managing my heart rate. Heat and humidity weren't ready for me this time. This was a new me.
Only it was the old me. I quickly discovered, once again, I didn't stand a chance against the elements. I began to feel dizzy, weak and ultimately nauseous. At mile 15, the prospects of reaching the next aid station 3 miles ahead seemed impossible. I started wondering how an emergency rescue team would make it to where we were. I felt like I was walking in my sleep, and at one point wondered if the Pinhoti trail was where I was going to go to sleep for the final time.
Of all the misery I've experienced running, this was the most miserable misery ever.
My friend Nicole asked me what I needed. I told her I needed cold water. I couldn't keep my hydration drink down. I knew I'd never make it to the aid station without getting something in me. She said she'd run ahead to the aid station and bring something back. I was too delirous to talk her out of it. I was also too far gone in that moment to adequately understand what she was about to do to help me.
So she left. I sat down on a rock and rested my head against a tree. I fell asleep. I'm not sure how long I slept there, but I woke up and saw something coming toward me. I thought it was Nicole at first walking back with water. But as my head and eyes cleared, I realized it was simply a red flower. Not moving. Not carrying water.
I sat there and tried to collect myself. Several runners passed by. It struck me, that as if instructed by a producer before they reached me, they all asked the very same thing:
Do you need anything?
Runner after runner was willing to stop and offer what they had. I told them all no, that I was fine, that I was simply resting. But the compassion I experienced on that rock struck me.
I managed to get to my feet. It started to hit me what Nicole was doing for me. I wanted to walk ahead as far as I could and take some distance off her trip back to me. I managed to get about a mile before I saw her coming.
She handed me a bottle full of cold water. I suppose it would be dramatic to claim that water saved my life. But before I drank it I had no idea how I would make it to the aid station; now I suddenly felt like I could. Going from thinking I was going to take my last breath on the Pinhoti trail to imagining a buffet of cold water at an aid station was at least a new lease on life, if not indeed life saving.
Aid Takes On A Whole New Meaning at the Georgia Jewel
It was a long hike, but we finally made it where it felt like we'd never get. The aid station at mile 18. Nicole had prepped the volunteers manning the station that I'd be arriving, and I'd be arriving struggling. These volunteers, like all the volunteers we encountered during this race, were some of the kindest people you'll ever want to meet. They sat me down in shade. Put a fan on me. Offered me food and drink. It felt like they had no other desire in their life but getting me ready to run on.
Only, I knew there was no running on for me this day. I knew I was done. After prepping for this race for 5 months, after inviting everyone along on the journey, it was a difficult spot to accept. The place of knowing a dream is over - dead. The elements I once felt daring enough to tackle were now taunting me. They were telling me faith over fear's a meaningless life chant. They laughed at my mantra of dare greatly, as they watched me fail without an ounce of energy to do anything but take it. The elements won. And in that moment, they were kicking me when I was down, making sure I knew to never come back.
My friend Nicole, though, she had my back. She was determined to run on. Even after putting in an extra 4 miles - much of it an uphill climb - she was still committed to taming that trail. It was a journey we'd committed to tackling together months ago. Now one of us was clearly done; but she was not. She had one final punch in store for the elements. A final taunt.
As I watched her march into the woods of the second half of this race, I was proud. Astonished, but proud. We'd run this section of the race a few weeks earlier. Nicole knew how challenging this part of the course was going to be. She knew after spending a couple of hours helping me, she was up against the clock - up against getting this thing done in the daylight like she wanted. She had the perfect excuse to quit. Although I was sure I was going to be fine at this point, she could have used standing by me as the perfect excuse to end the misery. But I didn't need her, and she didn't want my excuse.
What she wanted to do was what I've come to know she always wants to do: fight on.
Only, I knew there was no running on for me this day. I knew I was done. After prepping for this race for 5 months, after inviting everyone along on the journey, it was a difficult spot to accept. The place of knowing a dream is over - dead. The elements I once felt daring enough to tackle were now taunting me. They were telling me faith over fear's a meaningless life chant. They laughed at my mantra of dare greatly, as they watched me fail without an ounce of energy to do anything but take it. The elements won. And in that moment, they were kicking me when I was down, making sure I knew to never come back.
My friend Nicole, though, she had my back. She was determined to run on. Even after putting in an extra 4 miles - much of it an uphill climb - she was still committed to taming that trail. It was a journey we'd committed to tackling together months ago. Now one of us was clearly done; but she was not. She had one final punch in store for the elements. A final taunt.
As I watched her march into the woods of the second half of this race, I was proud. Astonished, but proud. We'd run this section of the race a few weeks earlier. Nicole knew how challenging this part of the course was going to be. She knew after spending a couple of hours helping me, she was up against the clock - up against getting this thing done in the daylight like she wanted. She had the perfect excuse to quit. Although I was sure I was going to be fine at this point, she could have used standing by me as the perfect excuse to end the misery. But I didn't need her, and she didn't want my excuse.
What she wanted to do was what I've come to know she always wants to do: fight on.
It's In Others Where We'll Often Discover A Faith Bigger Than Ourselves
After I arrived back at the finish line, I headed back to the hotel to take a shower before I would head back to watch my friends finish their races. While I was showering I got a message from our friend Andy. She told me she had dropped too, and she was disappointed in herself. I felt sad hearing her say that. It was such a difficult day. So challenging. To cover 18 miles like she did, that was an incredible accomplishment. Disappointment felt so unwarranted.
Thinking those words about her - that's when my healing began. That's when I began to stop beating myself up.
I headed to the finish line of the Georgia Jewel, which includes a final sadistic climb. I have no idea what Team Baker was thinking when they added this uphill battle to the end of a plenty enough difficult race. But the final tenth of a mile or so comes almost straight uphill on a winding gravel road. Walking up it would seem impossible on fresh legs, let alone on legs torn up by 35 miles (or 50 or 100) of the mountains and valleys of the Pinhoti trail.
I stood there with my friend Andy. We gave each other some encouragement about our failures, our inability to get it done on this day, then waited for our friends. When our friends arrived, a beautiful change in perspective came with them.
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| Lori Perez climbing Mount Baker | Nicole Williams crossing the finish line of her first ultra |
Ultra Marathoners
I can't describe the pride I felt watching my friends achieve this victory. In failing myself, I knew how tough the task was. I knew how incredibly strong these two women were. Not just battling the course, but battling all the other elements that came at them this day. In focusing on others, I discovered the true sentiment of the Georgia Jewel.
Throughout my journey to the Georgia Jewel, I referenced scripture. One in particular I referenced often. It's Matthew 17:20. In this scripture Jesus is telling his disciples if they had faith even the size of a mustard seed they could move mountains. I prayed over this scripture, quoted it, shared it with others, in hopes that when I conquered the Georgia Jewel, they'd see a God who can literally move mountains.
Here's the thing about that scripture, though. Jesus told his disciples this when they asked him why he could heal people and they couldn't. Jesus told them their faith wasn't strong enough. They didn't take God serious enough. But when he was telling them what they could accomplish if they had his kind of faith, he was telling them they'd be able to move mountains to help others. Not help themselves. He was telling them how to get other people to the finish line, not how to get themselves there.
As I focused on Lori climbing that hill, then Nicole, my focus turned to them. By celebrating their accomplishments, I suddenly felt bigger than my own disappointment, my own failure.
It also made me think of all the people at the Georgia Jewel who put others before themselves. It certainly starts with the tone set by Jenny and Franklin Baker, who go out of their way to put the runners above themselves. The volunteers at the aid stations spend all day putting runners above themselves. And EVERY. SINGLE. RUNNER. I encountered this day, they put other runners above themselves.
Did I Accomplish What I Set Out To Do?
I set out to run my first ultra marathon. I didn't. So the answer is no. But over the years I've learned that's usually the wrong question. The right question is did I learn what God wanted me to learn, did I accomplish what HE wanted me to accomplish.
I'll go back to what I said I was setting out to do:
"That is my journey today. To feel small. To discover that my faith is bigger than myself, it's bigger than the words I cling to in the bible. Me and those words - we are mere reflections of the larger than life God who loves me. The God who will see me through this day, and triumphantly through this race."
Sometimes we measure triumph by our own standards - our own sense of victory. But God doesn't promise us the victory we're looking for, he promises us the victory he's pointing us toward. The Georgia Jewel reminded me our greatest victory is rooted in placing others before ourselves. I'll find victory in trusting God has a better plan for finishing what I couldn't.
Will I go back to the Georgia Jewel and try to finish what I couldn't? I don't know. I know this. Two years ago I couldn't finish the Patrick Henry Half Marathon. Last month I ran my fastest half marathon ever at that race. This past January I couldn't finish the Houston Marathon; In response, I immediately registered to run that race again in 2019. Defeat never sits well with me. But make no mistake, even in defeat, even if I never go back to the Jewel, I am grateful for a God who saw me through the day. Oh how triumphantly he saw me through my race.
For that, I am grateful.
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