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We are playing with the cards we’re dealt.
Knowing when to fold ‘em
A month ago, Emily had a race. 50 miles along the mountains above Davis County: The DC Peaks 50. It didn’t go as planned. She trained hard, ran up lots of mountains, faced fears (like dry canyon and cows), and did things she’d never done before (all of which I’m very proud of). By race day, she was ready to run a big, mountainous 50 miler.
The weather had other plans. A few days before, the race was rerouted to an alternate course to avoid potential snowfall. The new course was flatter, but less exciting. The morning of the race skies were clear but as I drove away from dropping Emily off at the start line, I could see lightning on the other side of the valley.
By 7:00 am I could hear the wind and rain from inside our hotel. By noon we were looking at one of the wettest days on record.
When she arrived at the first crewed aid station, 20 miles in, Emily was soaked. Dry clothes, pancakes, and bacon got her back out on the trail. Ten miles later, the next time I saw her, it was still raining. By now she’d been on course for 8 hours and covered 32 miles. She wasn’t having fun anymore.
Huddled under an umbrella, we deliberated the possible outcomes: she could continue, but if she made it past the next aid station, the finish was likely 6 wet, increasingly cold hours away or she cut her losses, avoid the risk of hypothermia, stop sliding around in the mud and drop now.
Thirty minutes later, we were eating burgers at Wendy’s. It was dry and warm.
The title of Emilys Strava activity was: “You gotta know when to hold them, know when to fold them know when to walk away, know when to run.”
It’s the chorus to a Kenny Rodgers song: The Gambler. The next lines are: “you never count your money when you’re sitting at the table, there’ll be time enough for countin’ when the dealin’s done”
Counting your money
My poker knowledge is limited but, in this poker-running analogy, I think I am currently not “sitting at the table”. That means it’s time for counting money.
Lately, from a running perspective, things are pretty thin so I try not to count too often. Sometimes it’s hard to avoid. Summer Saturdays were tricky when everyone else was out doing their long-runs. Late summer meant everyone else was racing, and I wasn’t.
As the weather cools, things are settled down. Only a few of my craziest friends run enough to make me jealous. Most people are done racing; many are still recovering.
Now, people are planning. The next year is coming, and people are putting together their race schedules, penciling in their training calendars.
In this season of scheming, I’m dreaming. I guess you could say I’m counting money I don’t have, yet. No one has told me I’m not racing next year. No one has told me what kind of running I’ll be doing in January, or February, or March. For all the scary things that could happen, there are exciting things that might happen.
I’m dreaming about where I might race, what I might run, how I might train, what I might accomplish. I’m planning what I’m going to do differently than before: how I’m going to be more intentional, how I’ll be more invested, how I’ll train differently, how I’ll support my training differently, and how I’ll include so many more people in the fun.
I think about how I’m going to re-ignite some of the fire I had just started kindling before the heart attack, how I might chase some of those same dreams, and how I’ll be less scared to chase others.
I’ve even got contingency plans, dreams that factor in a variety of perceived potential limitations: on heart rate, volume, or how far I can be from cell-service.
I’ve been collecting these ideas in power-points and notes on my phone. The most sacred ones I keep in my heart because there’s a voice in my head that says: “you don’t know what’s coming. You might never get to do any of this.” He speaks and I’m reminded I might be setting myself up for grand disappointment. The voice makes painfully obvious how silly I’ll look for thinking any of this was possible.
So, I bury the dreams deep in my heart, like pirate treasure, but not without a map. When no one is looking, I dig it up, open the treasure chest, and let the warm light of dreams fill my soul.
Now you’re looking so I’ve got to bury them again. In the meantime, I’ll keep waiting until the cards are once again dealt and I know what I really have to play with:
” ‘Cause every hand’s a winner and every hand’s a loser,
And the best that you can hope for is to die in your sleep “
-Kenny Rodgers
So, until we learn if those dreams might spoil my chances at that peaceful exit from this life and shorten its adventures, I’ll keep them close.
Curious about what comes next? Me too.
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