Sudden storms of life
Outlaw Stadium, Dierks, Arkansas. Spring of 1973. I was there with the De Queen track team for the Outlaw Relays, a regional meet that featured teams in classifications close to that of the host team. I was running the 880, two times around the track. Half a mile. On a good day I was around 2 minutes, 10 seconds for the distance. This was not going to be a good day.
It had been a hot and muggy afternoon. The humidity was off the charts. Luckily, as evening and the finals came it became more bearable. Still muggy, and no wind, but bearable.
As we lined up for the 880, very few of us noticed the ominous dark cloud approaching from the northwest. Most of us were focused on the race ahead and the strategies we were going to use to run an optimal race. I remember having two guys ahead of me in my lane, and hoping they were as fast as they were supposed to be.
The gun sounded. And the heavens opened.
To this day, I don’t remember being in the open in rain as hard as I experienced that evening. I do remember coming out of the first turn and not being able to see more than 20 yards in front of me. After the break — where all of us could “break” for the inside lane — I tried to maintain an even pace, but it was hard. The rain stung my face, making it even harder to see.
And then it really got interesting.
Just after completing the first lap, and approaching the third turn, I noticed something that would require a quick strategy change: In the 70 seconds it took to run the first lap, an ankle-deep pond had formed in the inside lanes of the turn. Some of the runners ran around the pond. Some ran through it. The question was: what would I do? I decided to run through it.
Have you ever seen a video of someone running as fast as they can from a beach into the ocean? Well, that was me. For about a dozen strides
I looked like a poleaxed duck, feet flying and arms flailing. But you know what, I didn’t hit the ground. I regained my balance, and finished the race. 2:18. Not great, but not as bad as it could have been.
Sometimes in life we get hit with sudden storms. Sometimes we can’t see what’s in front of us. And sometimes, when we can see what’s in front of us, we know it’s gonna be a problem we can’t avoid.
And sometimes the problem causes us to lose our balance and flail, and sometimes fall on the road of life. But the challenge is not to quit, but keep moving. Not to quit, but to finish the race. ‘
“… So let us run the race that is before us and never give up…” – Hebrews 12:1 (ICB)
— Doug Chastain is a retired teacher and is currently a large-vehicle transportation specialist for the Siloam Springs School District. (Okay, he drives a bus.) He is also a grass maintenance technician at Camp Siloam. (Yeah, he mows the lawn.) You can contact him at dougchastain@gmail.com. The opinions expressed are those of the author.