Every morning I sit with God. If you're thinking, "Oh great, one of those religious weirdos..." and have already scrolled down to the next post, no worries. I already know I'm a weirdo, but I'm not religious. I'm just solid on the fact that God is God, He loves me, and I can chill out and talk to Him about whatever.
Sometimes He gives me a word. I usually keep these to myself or share them with a few, but today it is impressed upon me to share with you. So here it is, and I hope it means something to you today:
Surrender the outcome.
You want to know how hard this is to do in my current profession as a high school special education teacher and the coach of 12 teenage girls trying to play the team sport of basketball? Lord, have mercy. Now you know why I sit with God every morning.
Every Tuesday and Friday night, I am on a sideline in a gym somewhere. Last Friday, it was at Thomas Coliseum in Haltom City, coaching the final pre-season game before we begin our two month district run.
Our junior varsity team led the whole game, but I couldn't shake the feeling that we were behind because we were not playing up to our potential. We ended up losing the game by 1 point, and I was ridiculously frustrated. Not because we lost, but because we didn't play together. If you asked what my goal is for any team I coach, it's that they play together. The motto this year with this group is "play hard, play together." Those that know sports understand when you do those two things, the whole winning part usually takes care of itself. And we have had some great team victories this season.
At the end of the game, I looked around the small, square locker room at the twelve pairs of eyes staring at me, some of them briefly dropping to the cold, concrete floor in shared frustration. Sometimes I wish I could know what these inconsistent and precious and crazy and hormonal and hard-working and stumbling and cranky and funny and lovable and exasperating (ok, you get the picture) girls are thinking. Other times, I embrace the ignorance with a certain patience that comes from knowing I'm no different. Coaching is one of the greatest callings on the planet, and if you do it right, it comes at a great emotional cost.
It's worth it though. The journey is worth every bit of sacrifice, and ultimately the victories I am after are not the ones that show up on the scoreboard, but in the lives of these girls.
I cannot count how many times I wake up in the night sorting through what I should say or do, what I shouldn't have said or done. I have lost track of how many times I have pleaded with these girls to do this or that, or don't do this or that. For a competitive control freak like me, I want results, and I want them yesterday. I want to have my hands fully locked around the future and be able to speak the outcome into existence with enough cajoling and prodding and even manipulating when I get desperate. But that is an exercise in futility, so for the sake of my sanity, I'm trying to learn how to surrender.
Please tell me I'm not the only human who struggles with this around here. Odds are you are not a basketball coach, but I'm guessing you have goals and plans and things you are tempted to control. I'm assuming you are currently pouring your heart and energy into someones for something. Maybe it's into your own flesh and blood kids. Perhaps it's your job. Maybe your health is running wild and you are trying like mad to control what will happen tomorrow. Perhaps it's the unknown that is keeping you up at night.
We have all heard the saying "control the controllables," or the famous saying that goes something like, "help me change what I can, accept what I can't, and have the wisdom to know the difference."
My prayer every morning is for wisdom, but it's also for deeper trust to simply let go of my desire to control my surroundings. Heck, I can't even control my own self half the time.
So God being good as He is, often settles my soul with gentle reminders. He reminded me this week of a truth I will lean on for the next two months: surrender the outcome. Keep showing up, keep loving and leading, keep working hard toward goals, but in the end, let it be whatever it will be.
And odds are, whatever that is, will be good. Whether it is victories on the scoreboard or victories that are being sown in the future lives of some very special young ladies, I am simply thankful I get to be a part of it.
Life is full of tough decisions. I recently wrestled my way through one and decided to share my story with the hopes it might help someone else facing a similar decision.
In the spring of 2017, right before I was shaking a fist at mortality you might recall, I was also posting videos and boastful comments about potentially racing around the nation and raising money for the non-profit organization World Bicycle Relief.
Posing with my Julianna Roubion, the perfect enduro rig.
I'll admit, I was mentally struggling after my fourth knee surgery knocked me on my butt. My health is a resource I value highly and I kind of freak out when this resource is threatened.
I was desperate for something to snap me out of my funk. Goals have done this for me before, so I decided to try it again.
I had dabbled in an up-and-coming race discipline called enduro. It requires more technical ability, mental focus, and nerve than steady speed, so I figured I might be good at it. Comments about the dangers of it, however, made me wonder how much of a gamble it would be. I figured I would have to see for myself.
By April of 2017, my husband and I had donated a few bikes to World Bicyle Relief and were learning more about the organization. When I learned anyone could join Team WBR as an ambassador, I found the greater cause I was looking for and resolutely set my goal:
To race the Kodiak Tough enduro series the following spring (2018), then race the National Enduro Series over the summer, all as an ambassador for World Bicycle Relief. I understood the goal would be expensive in time, energy, money, and maybe health. Nevertheless, I
did my best to think through the cost before I made my commitment.
Looking through a turn during one of the Stages of the Lovit enduro race.
I contacted Julianna bicycles about their ambassadorship program, got my bike and gear in order with the help of Bicycles Inc., joined Team WBR, checked the regional and national enduro series calendars, set my training schedule, and locked in. As we do with all goals, I began to work hard to make it happen. By the time spring 2018 rolled around, the plan was unfolding.
Far left: 4th place finish in the pro women's field with $100 prize money.
In my first race of the series, I traveled to the Arkansas back country and experienced my first true enduro weekend. In the pro women's field, I landed on the podium, less than 10 seconds away from 2nd place.
At this point, from the outside looking in, it would seem all the pieces were falling into place. Over 30 bikes had been donated to World Bicycle Relief and I felt I had the racing potential to achieve my goal. I was feeling so good about it all I decided to increase the stakes.
My redefined goal was to finish in the top 3 overall for the region and get 100 bikes donated through the #WBRenduro campaign. The new hashtag became #100in2018.
Re-Assessing my resources
On the long drive home from Arkansas, a certain heaviness came over me out of nowhere. Part of it was the fatigue that had built up from my job as a teacher and coach (we finished basketball season the Monday before the race), training, promoting WBR, and not sleeping for two days because the air mattress I brought had a leak. But part of it was the reality of what enduro racing was actually going to cost me. Up until this trip, I could only guess. Now I knew. And it was time to revisit my balance sheet.
Time.
I had departed Texas on a Thursday morning and arrived back home on a Sunday night. The trip cost me four days away from home and two days of personal vacation at work. And there were four races left of the series. One of the weekends was Easter, and family would be in town visiting. I was missing my husband, missing my students and athletes at school, and missing family. The tipping point was getting close, but I could still justify it all in my head by thinking of all the lives and families that were being changed in Africa and South America because they were receiving their new bikes.
Money.
My expenses included the race entry fee, gas, hotel, cabin, bike gear, and food. I was okay with these expenditures because I consider a race weekend a mini-vacation and budget for it accordingly. But when I began thinking about racing for months around the nation, I realized it would cost a small fortune. Nonetheless, I didn't worry with this. I had learned from my Leadville 100 race experience that if it is supposed to happen, God will provide. (The only thing I had to pay for on my week long trip to Colorado for that race was the entry fee. A friend was going whose company paid for her gas, hotel, and most of her food. She had told me if I qualified for the race, I was welcome to tag along for the ride.)
Navigating a rock garden at Camp Eagle.
The next race of the series was in the hill country of Texas at Camp Eagle. I have always wanted to visit this remote gem, so again, I looked at the trip as a vacation.
Little did I know I was about to pay for the gamble on my health.
On the final stage of day 1, aptly named "Screaming Eagle," I misjudged my downhill speed going over a rock drop. I actually slowed down too much, anticipating the small ledge I had easily soared over the day before during my intense three hour pre-ride of all 10 stages.
My right shoulder struck the ground and then my head. My full-face helmet saved my skull, but the impact to my shoulder did some damage. I was able to scramble down the rest of the stage, but I knew immediately my race was over. During the return ride back to camp, with my shoulder in shock, I took a harder look at the potential cost of this dream I was chasing.
In all my years of mountain bike racing, I had never had a serious wreck
during a race, in fact, I can only remember coming off my bike a few times. Now, I was two for two. I also crashed in Arkansas, but it
did not result in injury even though I similarly went over my bars and broke the visor on my helmet. Enduro races are decided by a matter of seconds, so the line between competing and staying safe is incredibly blurry. It was for me, anyway.
Mike Cartier captured this shot minutes after my wreck. I am favoring my right shoulder and am upset because I had to quit a race for the first time ever. But the real angst on my face is from my inner wrestling with my decision to quit for good.
After being assessed by the Camp Eagle staff, I drove an hour to the emergency room in Junction ($412), scheduled a follow-up visit to my orthopedic surgeon ($80), and was lucky the diagnosis was only a bad sprain that would heal up in a month or two.
That was it for me.
The sacrifices of money and energy were hard, the sacrifice away from home even harder. But once I realized I could be one wreck away from not walking away, I decided the cost was more than I was willing to pay.
Even though I knew deep inside that my mind was made up, I still struggled to quit. My biggest question was, "What about racing for World Bicycle Relief?"
For reasons I cannot explain, except that I love the enduro community and was fighting against stepping away from them, I posted some lingering dreamy thoughts like "hopefully I will be healed up for the next race" and "can't wait to get back to #WBRenduro." But these statements were false. I knew the time had come to let go.
What happens after we quit?
It is normal to have feelings of loss after we let go of a goal. There are friendships we might miss and certain feelings of accomplishment we might lose (I was regularly being called a bad*ss during the months I was training and racing. Who doesn't want to be called that?) But when we make the right decision to step away, a certain peace settles on us.
We are always free in life to re-define current goals and chase new ones. Maybe I'm going through a mid-life crisis of sorts, but it seems my focus is turning more and more to my role as an educator and less of a bike racer, but don't worry! You can still find me on my bike...
...enjoying the camaraderie of the cycling community (even though I can't take a selfie to save my life...)
...riding my Julianna Roubion over rocks and drops...
...exploring new trails in life...
...and promoting the work of World Bicycle Relief. By the way, the goal of reaching 100 bikes donated and 100 lives changed is still alive and well!
If you want to learn more about #TeamWBR or how you can bless someone with a bike, click on the icon below. What about you? How do you know when to press on and when to pull the plug on a dream or goal?
Even though you just read a story about quitting, more often than not the right answer is to keep going. Maybe you are
thinking about quitting on a commitment you made or are second guessing a
goal you have set, but are paralyzed by uncertainty or fear of regret.
Obviously, no one can make the decision for you, but I hope by reading the 7 ideas below, you will find clarity for your next step.
By
the way, everything you are about to read, you have probably already heard. In
fact, there is a good chance if we are friends, I learned some of it
directly from you. Even so, we can keep reminding each other as we
journey through this adventurous life together. To credit the proper sources
for where I found the following information: maybe you, definitely life,
of course the bike, and a bunch of the Bible (the best guideline for
living I've found!).
1. Failure is rarely a sign you should quit.
On
the path to your dreams, you will fail. Believe me, I failed numerous times on my enduro journey, but that had nothing to do with why I quit. When failure does happen, you might as well accept the fact, drop your pride, get over it, and get moving again. Easier said
than done, I realize, especially with repeated failures. But if we use
failures as lessons and make it a point to learn from our mistakes, then
we can actually use failure as fuel to propel us even further than we could go before.
2. Do not misinterpret hardship as a sign to quit.
Nothing
can sap your energy and make you want to quit like extreme
difficulties, but this is not a reason to stop pushing. In fact, it is probably a sign you are on the right track.
But be careful here. In a second you are going to read that a lack of resources is a strong sign you should quit. What's the difference? The impact the goal has on your (or others) life. We can agree there are some goals we will never quit on, no matter what the cost. But some goals, ones of lesser priority in the grand scheme, may only be taking energy away from the more important ones.
So if you are chasing a goal that you know is worth the cost and the path suddenly fills with obstacles, don't quit!Many times hardships give us the
strength we need to do what we need to do when we get to where we want
to get. (You might have to read that one again.) Life will not be over
once you accomplish your goal. Maybe the hardship you are enduring now
is preparing you for the mission that lies ahead. 3. Every goal comes with a price tag, and the payments we make to advance
toward our goals are made with limited personal resources.
If
you were wondering when I was going to get to the quitting part, here
it is. We are all given currency to spend in life. Four forms of this
currency are time, energy, money, and health. Our goals and priorities
determine how much of each we are willing to spend.
One
of the best ways to know when it is time to quit on your dream or goal
is to take a detailed look at your "personal finances." Before you can
make a wise decision, you have to know the answer to these two
questions: How much am I willing to spend? and, What am I willing to sacrifice?
When
the cost exceeds what you are willing to pay, it is time to quit. If
your other top priorities are suffering because you are regularly
running out of resources to afford them, then it is time to quit.
4. Everyone's currency has a different exchange rate.
So
don't bother comparing yourself. What is a waste of time, energy, and
money for one individual might be another's greatest investment. Don't
judge others. And don't worry if others don't understand how you spend
your resources.
5. There are always hidden fees.
When
you are considering the cost before making a commitment, understand you
will never know the full price up front. The balance sheet is rarely
presented in full and the
payments continue the whole time you are working toward your goals.
Sometimes, price tags change without notice. Along the path to our
goals, we must continually
re-evaluate the cost.
6. It's okay to redefine your goals along the way.
There
are numerous ways to make adjustments to our goals and refinance our
dreams so that our resources match our budget. Keeping our priorities straight takes constant work. If our goals pull these out of balance, then we must examine them closely. See if you can separate the goal to keep the important part and let the rest go before you totally quit on your dream.
And finally,
7. Make sure you are chasing the right dream.
How do we know if we are chasing the right dream?
This
answer may be too simple, but here is what I have found: If your goal
involves satisfying only you, then you will ultimately be disappointed.
But if your goal involves loving and helping others, you will end up being satisfied.
Does
this mean personal goals are bad? I don't think so. If they help you be
a better version of you so you can love and serve others, then go get
it. Just keep a close eye on your resources. If the cost begins to
exceed what you are willing to pay, then don't be afraid to quit.
I broke the law once. I picked a wildflower. It was too tempting not to, plus I was a child and didn't know any better until my grandmother, with her wildflower book clutched in hand, scolded me.
It was purple and magnificent. Why it was illegal to pluck such beauty, to smell and touch and inspect and give it away to maternal figures for a flicker of enjoyment...I didn't understand.
I swirled the flower in my hand, the green straw bending beneath the weight of my gentle and dirty fingers. With the violet pedals tickling my nose, I looked at the patch of ground from whence the flower came, and marveled at the army of flowers remaining unscathed in the earth. As the grime from my hands wilted the flower, my grandmother's wisdom became clear. I knew then and there why you don't pick wildflowers. Once they are born from the ground and clutched by life's hands, their vibrance and sweetness begin to perish.
Today I feel like a freshly plucked flower.
My attempts at sounding poetic and analogous are over.
Here is the real story.
I went to a doctor yesterday to get one final check-up on my left knee. About four months ago, a different doctor operated on it and took out a chunk of the precious cushion that helps me get along well in my livelihood as a teacher and coach and as a die-hard mountain biker. In some regards, the surgery was a "success." I have recovered well enough to hammer up and down and over the mountains of Colorado. But my knee aches. Standing all day or walking for long periods of time wears me down mentally as I feel unstable on my inflamed joint and wonder if I should seek sponsorship with Aleve.
I was hoping yesterday, as the physician performed the final test for worker's comp, that he would give me good news and say, "your knee is going to ache some, but it should still get better, just give it time" and "keep doing whatever it is you are doing" (meaning hammering it out on the mountain bike). I was hoping to get some fresh news that would perk me back up like rain on a dusty and parched wildflower. I was hoping for the news that the best days of riding hard and living crazy adventures on two wheels are ahead of me, so I could once again throw my shoulders back with pride and stand tall in the sun.
But that didn't happen. Instead I was told "rules change with every decade of life" and "if you keep riding the way you are riding, you are headed for a knee replacement." Apparently, even though cycling is one of the best things you can do for bad knees, cycling still wears out the knees. Especially my kind of "cycling." When I decide I am training for something, in my present case enduro racing, I place a high demand on my body.
I have always been wired this way. Would I eliminate basketball from the annals of my life if it meant my present-day knees were surgery free and strong? Nope. The part of me that aims to live my life to the fullest and live each day like it could be my last says it was worth it.
Will I jump in a scrimmage again if the opportunity presents itself? Nope. The part of me that desires to live a good life for as long as possible now says it isn't worth it anymore. It only took four knee surgeries to get me to that point. It is with this level of stubbornness that I tried to digest the evil epiphany that cycling might be damaging my knees, not preserving them.
The 56-year-old in scrubs attempted to lead my thoughts by personal stories of graceful change. He used to run marathons, but in his twenties he quit running. After his thirties, he gave up cycling. Not tracking with him in the least, I finally asked him, "So what do you do for exercise?" His reply: "Walk."
That's when my emotions began to short-circuit. I looked him square in the eye and said, "I would rather have a double knee replacement than not be able to ride my bike." His response included something about hobbling around for the rest of my life.
Before you hate on him like I did, I genuinely believe he was trying to guide me to a path of growing old gracefully. I did not respond with "well, I have friends who have had knee replacements and still ride" or an alternative rude and defensive response like my emotions were dictating. Rather, I awkwardly stared at him and mentally shut him off from speaking any further advice into my life.
That was that. He was done testing everything on my knee (which is 100% according to the strength, motion, and bending it all around tests) and let me know he had another patient to see. The tears that had welled up began to leak as he exited the room and I fumbled my way out the front door.
By the time I turned out of the parking lot onto the access road, I was wailing loudly. The words "stop riding your bike" echoed in my soul. I'm 38 freaking years old and I was just advised to take up walking. I haven't bawled that much since my dog died two years ago.
When the dry heaves stopped and my puffy eyes dried, I tried to process everything. I fought to mitigate the statement "you are wearing out your joints" with reason and common sense and perhaps some rationalizing. My other doctor told me riding was good, but I'm sure he was imaging a stationary bike or a mild cruise down a smooth path. This doctor seemed familiar with my very different definition of "riding" with the addition of the words "competing" and "mountain."
I tried to lay emotion aside and hear the message. "Slow down. Make some changes. Accept the fact that your body is aging." Getting angry at the truth is not productive. But I am a creature full of strong emotion, which is why I ride in the first place. The root of my anger is ultimately fear. What is my greatest fear in life? It is to lose my physical ability. Why? Because I have believed for so long my mental well-being is directly tied to my ability to push myself physically. (That's a whole other story. If you're a glutton for punishment, you can read about that too in "my own story of life and bike" at the top of this blog.)
It took me the entire day to process the simple doctor's visit. After falling on my face before the Lord, crying more tears, and holding conversations with those I trust, this morning when I awoke, an overwhelming peace about my mortality began to rise up within me. Yet again in life, God's gentle grace is carrying me. In the times of greatest anguish, my savior and friend stands by my side and holds me. As I have said many times, I cannot explain faith as clear as I wish I could, but I will say with all of me that God's love for us is real. His wisdom trumps all others. Because he knows suffering better than any, He draws near every time my heart is broken and offers healing.
He reminds me, most importantly, as I age incredibly ungracefully, that this world is not my home. This body is indeed perishing. This flower has been plucked and, even if I stick my aching legs in a cold vase and preserve myself a little longer, I will still fade away.
But don't worry, my hope is eternal and my joy is getting stronger even as my body is getting weaker. To my friends who say Christian ideals are merely tranquilizers meant to make us feel better, let me say a word. You're exactly right. The truth of God does make me feel better. What is truly depressing is to think the best days are forever behind me. With God, my best days, even if it means hobbling around on some fake knees because I didn't listen to the doctor's advice and rode my bike anyway, are still ahead. Not to mention that as I have moved through the different seasons of life, God has always provided some wildly fun adventures. God wants to give us life to the fullest even in this temporary one that is decaying, and I will trust He still has good things in store for as many days as I'm here.
This whole thing really isn't even about bikes, it's about the reality of mortality. I'm going to assume you, at some point, have stared a doctor in the face (or stared at an aging face in the mirror) and felt the same punch in the gut I did yesterday. I'm also going to assume you fought back, or are fighting back like I am, with whatever resources remain and are shaking a fist at mortality.
We are all clutching onto life and remaining brave survivors for as long as we can. We are all trying to bloom bright and beautiful for as long as possible. But avoiding the truth is not productive. So before we wither for good, as we undeniably will, my prayer is we find the eternal hope that is found in Christ alone.
Wanna know what my soul ate for breakfast this morning? I happened to turn to I Corinthians 15.
"So will it be with the resurrection of the dead. The body that is sown is perishable, it is raised imperishable; it is sown in dishonor, it is raised in glory; it is sown in weakness, it is raised in power; it is sown in a natural body, it is raised in a spiritual body." "Listen, I tell you a mystery: We will not all sleep, but we will all be changed - in a flash, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed. For the perishable must clothe itself with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality, then the saying that is written will come true: Death has been swallowed up in victory. 'Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death is your sting?'"
Who are the Dirt Side Sisters? I'm glad you asked! "Teaching the essential and fundamental skills of mountain biking in a fun and safe, learning environment" to
is what we are all about!
Every Wednesday evening, from April through October, you can find a group of female mountain bikers at different locations around the Dallas/Fort Worth metroplex riding their bikes together.
Lining up the bikes at Grapevine Craft Brewery
Cruising around Grapevine lake.
The
vision cast over three years ago to "get more women riding,"
specifically riding mountain bikes, has become a reality. To learn more
about the roots of the organization and what we are all about, check us
out on our website and facebook.
The
first ride of 2016 took place in Grapevine. After greetings and bike
checks, we cruised down Main Street, then hit the paved trail around the
Grapevine Lake. Even though the dirt trails were closed, we still rolled on.
Well, after a full year of randomness (working on a book that might get done when I turn 70, working at a bicycle shop while racing mountain bikes, substitute teaching to make ends almost meet)... I'm back at my regular gig of teaching and coaching, which means I'm back to the long winter haitus from my bike.
As basketball season draws to a close and my bike is seeing more love (only on weekends, but that's better than nothing), I'm bringing out the random pictures from the last several months:
Left: Working a fund-raiser for our basketball team at the Texas Motor
Speedway. I got to stand and hold this lovely sign for 5 hours. I will
spare you the number of comments I heard from beverage toting fans.
Top right: Now that is more like it! Watching our basketball girls come together as they worked hard in the weight room.
