Races

Saturday, July 21, 2012

Faith


 I stood motionless in the kitchen, barely breathing, one foot in front of the other the way we were taught to stand at the start of the 1500 metre run at the track meet. And then I heard it: my mom’s car disappearing down the driveway, punctuated by the soft whirring and finally the clomp of the garage door to its down position. She was gone. And my sister Tracey’s new George Michael cassette tape was waiting for me upstairs. I tore up our spiral staircase, grabbed the corner of the banister for propulsion and burst into Tracey’s room breathless with excitement. As if on sacred ground, I tippy-toed over to her ghetto-blaster and pressed the play button. At first I put it on such a low volume that I had to press my ear up to the speaker just to hear it. But as time passed and my bravery grew, I turned it up louder and louder and eventually joined Micheal in all of his sexy splendor.


I grew up in a pretty strict family as far as music and movies were concerned. If I ever wanted to go to a dance at school, I had to sneak into it somehow. I made it to a dance in grade eight and I danced with a guy named Nathan who smelled like beer. I went home that night and with pink cheeks and a nervous tummy, I lay awake for hours staring at the ceiling above my bed and imagined what sort of torturous eternal death that was waiting for me after such an act.


But alas, despite my extremely convincing conscience, I didn’t wake up in burning hellfire but in my cozy bed in North Delta.


I like pushing limits. I love the adrenalin rush of seeing how close I can get to something dangerous, feeling the heat from the fire on my face but being just far enough away from the flame that I don’t get burned. To a point. As I get older and more mature (sigh…) I notice that I’m starting to slow down and be much more deliberate and intentional in my actions. It’s boring sometimes, but much more peaceful.


About a week ago, I took a running jump into a pool and, unbeknownst to me, the deep end of the pool was only 5 feet deep and I ended up messing up my knee. I can’t run. I can barely even walk. I’m not sure what this means for me as far as running is concerned but I’ll find out more on Tuesday when I see my physiotherapist. All I know is that this will be an opportunity for me to learn something new about myself. Running taught me a lot about who I am. It brought things out of the depths of my soul that I didn’t even know existed. But this? Being injured will inevitably bring me to a whole new level of strength, I have no doubt.


I will run again. My stupidity may have singed my eyebrows a bit this time, but I won’t let my running shoes get burned.