The Only Way Out is Forward

Truthfully, I hate being in the dark. I have since I was a child. I am not scared of the dark. Rather I am scared of what is in the dark. So, I am not the biggest fan of running in the dark, specifically in the woods. (I have had one too many run-ins with wildlife during the day, so why would I want to be around when they're more active?) Unfortunately, part of being an ultramarathon runner is running in the dark in the woods and alone. Great. 

A few months back, I again got to face my dislike of running in the dark as I hurried to Forest Park after school to get in a few trail miles. As it always happens in winter in the Northern Hemisphere, I had limited daylight. I found out when sunset was and thus how far I needed run to hit my turnaround by then and use the last semblance of daylight to get myself home. Of course, as always happens, this plan sounded far better in my head than it actually felt when executed. 

I hit my turnaround right on time (sunset) and hooked a u-turn, headed back to the trailhead. I felt great on the return until the darkness really started settling in. I had my chest lamp, of course, but it provides a limited radius of light, only about enough to see where I am putting my feet. The darkness continued to encompass the woods and as a result I could feel the anxiety within me rising. With limited light every log and stump along the trail seemed foreboding and pernicious as all I could identify at first were huge black masses appearing before me until I finally got closer (yes, I have been listening to too many bigfoot podcasts). 

As the anxiety continued to mount, all I could think about was wanting to be out of the woods. To be done with this run. I hate this. I want to stop running. I want to just curl up along the trail and be done. As these thoughts raced through my mind, I had to remind myself that stopping was going to solve nothing. There was no hope of "rescue" from my husband. I was a good two miles into the woods, and the trailhead is 20 minutes from our house. I would be stuck in the dark longer by waiting. The only way out was forward. 

This concept (the only way out is forward) does not merely apply to running, it applies to many situations in life. We all know those less-than-ideal situations that we wish we could just get out of. After receiving 85 essays to grade during exam week a couple weeks ago, I wanted nothing more than to not have to. (I know. It's my fault for being an English teacher.) However, choosing to not grade the essays would cause more harm than good, like sitting in the woods waiting to be rescued. It would be a breach of my contract as an educator and set a bad example for my students. Nope. I had to grade them. And I did. 

But I believe more importantly, this concept applies to the horrible situations in life. The ones that we wish had never happened, would just end, or be just a bad dream. Most of us know these situations in some respect--the loss of a marriage that we thought would last forever, the loss of a child at whatever age or unborn, the loss of a job that we thought was secure, the loss of health for no apparent reason, the loss of a friend through betrayal and rumors. Honestly, the list could go on and on. We all know these situations, and some of us may have experienced these life-altering, horrible situations more than once. And it's hard! The feelings of despair are real. The questions are real. The desire to not deal with it is real. Can I just fall asleep and when I wake up it will all be over? Oh. Don't we wish. But that is not how real life works. Life requires us to keep moving forward, making a choice to get up every day and try again, because sitting in the woods waiting for the darkness to end or someone to come get us will not lead out of the situation, it will only prolong it, and many times make it worse. 

So, I continued to run the trail back to my car in spite of my heightened anxiety. With each careful step on the tree root ridden trail, I sang snippets of Christian worship songs (partly, as a way to make my presence known to the cougars and coyotes). I relaxed some as I found a new focus--worshipping Jesus. Yes, I was still anxious, but with each step, I was closer to the end. Each bridge I crossed on the trail meant I had fewer to cross and was that much closer to my car. Finally, I stepped out of the woods next to my car. I had done it. I had made it out by going forward.