Finishing the Race

My dad and I always joke that sending snail mail back and forth would be just about as fast as the way we communicate now, if not faster. Today, this joke went one (amazing!) step further. I checked my mailbox and found a letter (typed, but still awesome) from my dad. It was a full page, typed in professional memo format and signed in pen at the bottom...yep, definitely my father. The letter contained a detailed update on what was going on in the family-who was beating who in tennis, who was getting married soon, where the next garden adventure will be this year. It's also May, so naturally, there was a paragraph about the Kentucky Derby. I didn't expect anything going into it, but realized pretty fast that this was my dad's way of relaying his life advice.

My dad and I have always had a fascination with horse racing. It started out as something to do in Wichita when our family would go for the day. My sisters and mom would go shopping, and the two of us would go to the dog track and watch horse racing on the TV's. I was that seven year old that all the old men came and talked to, the "cute one" who always got free hot dogs, and the happiest girl in the world. There was just something about the races, and as I got old enough to travel to live tracks, that fascination only grew. There really is nothing like the adrenaline, challenge, and unpredictability of a good horse race. My dad isn't one for talking about serious matters, so he would always sneak in a bit of life advice while advising my horse pickings for the day. Usually it would be something like "Never trust the one who backs out of the gate the first few times," or "Sometimes you have to wait for the two prideful ones to burn out before the real winner takes over." 

Well...that's your little tidbit about my life you didn't need to know! I'll get to my point soon, promise. In this letter, after talking about the Kentucky Derby and how my favorite Arkansas horse was so close to being in it, my dad began to talk about the track itself. The Kentucky Derby isn't a turf race like most million dollar races; it's on the normal track so more horses can fit and the conditions are usually safer for everyone. This year the track conditions weren't the best. They were muddy...and I mean MUDDY. Like, the kind of mud you and I can barely walk through without sinking and barely pulling our foot out with our shoe still attached. After describing the conditions and the details of the race, my wise old man ended the paragraph with another one of his lessons-intended, I'm sure of it. 

You find out which horse has the biggest heart when the mud is flying. 

I know without a doubt that my dad meant this the exact same way I took it. It's easy to run hard when the track is fast, when the ground is solid beneath your feet and everything is going as planned. But when your heart is sinking in your chest, when you feel like someone tore out a piece of you, when you have nothing (and I mean nothing) left, what do you rely on?

There is no guarantee that the track gets better-in fact, a lot of times the mud only thickens. But if we back out before the race ever begins, we automatically lose. If we go into things with half of our hearts, we get no results. It is better to go all in and get stuck in the mud than to have never ran at all, for in running we at least know there is something more. There is something unknown, something better, something created for our individual joy and fulfillment. We may not be able to see it through the haze of fog and swamp of mud, but it IS there.

The mud is flying and it seems like the darkness of this race will never end. Will you finish?