The Miracle of Mediocrity

The Miracle of Mediocrity

This spring we had a lot happening.

My oldest daughter was graduating from high school, we had family funerals out of state and close to home, I was coaching my youngest daughters volleyball team, I was sewing up quilts for several different families who suffered losses, I was still teaching full time at our local junior high (with classes filled beyond capacity), I was attending all the sporting and end of year events for my girls….oh and then….in the middle of all these things….my youngest daughter signed us up to run a half marathon.

To be fair she signed up her uncle (my brother) to run this race as well….but I wasn’t worried about his problems at the time….I was an overstimulated, overly emotional, premenopausal train wreck who was just one more student email pleading-for-credit-on-assignments-they-never-completed away from plunging into the abyss.

(No, bruh, you legit did not turn that assignment in….yes, I’m so for real right now…no cap.)

And so there I was…in the middle of the madness strapping on running shorts at 4 am and heading up a dark canyon to a starting line with my intrepid companions.

As always the starting line was packed with people, loaded with people, shoulder to shoulder…up to our necks in people. We swim through the crowds to our assigned chute. Cheerful humans are stretching, bouncing, and setting their watches. I stand there, pop in a piece of gum and ask if anyone else is cold.

I’m tired and wired and anxious and…to be honest…have no business standing in that chute.

(I’m wearing a sweatshirt from Target with toasting wine glasses on it for crying out loud. I can’t even pretend to be an athlete!)

They announce the start of the race. I guess this is happening.

When was the last time I ran more than 3 miles???

I cross the start line…and turn…uphill?

What??? Are you freaking kidding me??? This race goes uphill????

We came all the way up this mountain only to turn around and run farther uphill??? I really should have looked up the race route…..

Runners are jockeying for position and getting into their strides.

I pull the arms of the sweatshirt down over my hands and shift into a jog.

As I make my way through the avenues that skirt the front of the mountains I am thinking about lesson plans, students I’m worried about, the funeral later that day, and a million other things…until….

…until I pass a house where an older gentleman is standing in his driveway wearing his bathrobe, sipping on cup of coffee, and cheersing all the runners passing by.

(Cheersing…cheersing…is that a real word? Maybe? Kind of? Probably not, but that is exactly what he was doing. Not cheering…but rather lifting up his mug and boisterously proclaiming cheers to the mass of humanity streaming past his house.)

Instead of being upset that his driveway was blocked by roughly 3500 runners he was out there enjoying the show.

I don’t know if it was the smile, the disheveled tufts of white hair, or the fluffy slippers but something inside me changed.

I turned up the music, turned off the conversation inside my head, and set out to enjoy the show….or I guess in my case, the journey.

Sure, for me, conditions of this race were not ideal but that didn’t mean I couldn’t enjoy it.

From that moment on I thanked every officer covering street crossings, high fived every kid with their hand out, booped all the “power up” posters supporters held, shouted words of encouragement to the political activists, petted dogs, and even walked up a hill with a man pushing his daughter in a wheelchair.

I said a prayer of gratitude as I passed the cemetery that holds the mortal remains of those who created those who created me, I cried remembering my tough as nails grandma as I ran down the hill she used to trudge up on her way to work, my heart melted as I ran past the little pastry shop my grandpa would visit to buy us meat pies, and I smiled with pure joy as I cruised around a controversial public art piece that was surrounded by art loving enthusiasts.

I enjoyed every minute of that race.

Around mile 11 my earbuds died….which meant that my soundtrack from there on out would be the sound of my excruciatingly heavy breathing…and…and something else…something I had never listened to in any previous race due to my, up until now, perfectly performing earbuds…people cheering.

Strangers cheering.

Cheering for people they have never met.

Cheering on runners who weren’t the fastest, the slowest, or the coolest.

I looked around at those coming up to the final stretch with me…old, young, thick, thin, tired, full of energy…and I wondered what their current circumstances were…and I hoped that they too were enjoying their journeys…and could hear the cheers.

My brother, with medal in hand, was a few feet in front of the finish line yelling my name…and my daughter was waiting just across the finish line so we could receive our medals together.

After, as we walked around the park drinking our Gatorade and talking I saw those thrilled with their times and others frustrated and defeated. I heard words of consolation and words of victory.

It may be the same race…but for every runner it will always be an individual journey and a unique experience.

As for me, it turned out to be a beautiful morning and I was undeniably happy.

Me…middle aged…middle sized…middle classed…with a middle finishing time…incredibly average and entirely mediocre…this middle me was happy and at peace.

No worries or accolades about my time, my pace, my stride, my finish. Just peace and happiness there in the middle. At that moment, in the midst of this chaos called life, it felt like a miracle.

A few days later I discovered this photo:

I must have accidentally taken it at the starting line just after pushing play on my tunes and realizing I would be headed uphill.

I love this photo of myself.

I know, I know. It isn’t flattering.

I can see my chicken skin neck, the red sore from where I had burned myself a few days prior, the shock of purple in my hair that the girls had dyed over spring break, the mascara that I failed to wash off the night before, and the curse words forming on my lips.

But I also see someone in the middle of a messy, emotional, and stressful time who was about to learn about the power of mediocrity. The power of letting go. The life changing understanding that I don’t and can’t always be perfect.

I can’t solve all the problems…no matter how much I want to.

I can’t always (and usually won’t) run and set a personal record.

I can’t singlehandedly carry so many burdens….while running the show…and working the jobs…and volunteering for all the causes…and figuring out what is for dinner…and doing it all in a cute outfit. (No matter how much I like cute outfits.)

I can’t. But also….I don’t have to.

I DON’T HAVE TO!

Sometimes it is enough just to show up..in a wine toasting sweatshirt with a willing heart….even if you curse all the way up the hill.

You don’t always have do be on your game, at full speed, contending, on guard, playing both offense and defense while simultaneously being the ref and a cheerleader.

And…and…and…in the race called life, we will, more often than not, find ourselves at a start line that we didn’t sign up for, tired, untrained, ill-prepared, unsure of where the path ahead leads, and surrounded by others who seem to know what to do.

This is life. But here we are…in the middle of it…and it is ok to be mediocre.

I’m not the same girl I was at the beginning of the race.

Somewhere between bathrobe man and the cemetary something quietly settled into my soul.

It whispered to worry less about the time, mile markers, keeping up, and being on pace. It told me that life, like this run, isn’t usually ideal. And then it showed me that, in this case, my imperfection…my mediocrity, would allow me to take my time, high five the kids, pet the dogs, and interact with those I met along the way. I didn’t need to go full steam, all in, laser focused….not this time…and not every time.

And it was exactly the experience that I needed.

Yes, there are times for fighting, striving, enduring, competing, and even relentless tenacity. This I know.

But there are also times for oversized sweatshirts, uncertainty, and just showing up in the cold as our not so perfect selves. It is during these times, this time in the middle, that we can, if we choose, enjoy the miracle of mediocrity.

Where ever you are in life…standing at the cold starting line of something unplanned, overwhelmed and wondering how you will find the energy to tackle another mile, feeling a blister starting to form on your good foot, peeing a little with every step, or crouched in a Honey-Bucket that is completely out of toilet paper (Why are they always out of toilet paper?) picture me on your sidelines sipping a beverage both cheersing and cheering you on.

You, in the middle, unprepared, unsure how to navigate the path ahead….a little tired, a little messy, cursing up the hill…to you my friend I raise my glass and say CHEERS!

No, actually, I am screaming CHEERS and BRAVO and YOU’VE GOT THIS and HOLY SHIRTBALLS I SEE YOU AND YOUR EFFORT AND THIS IS SO HARD BUT YOU ARE HERE AND MOVING FORWARD AND THAT IS FREAKING AMAZING!!!

And it’s not just me…slow down, take off those head phones and look around. (It’s ok…this isn’t a personal record, all out kind of moment…it’s an embrace the mediocre kind of moment and it might be the miracle you need.) You will find a hand to high five, a dog to pet, and hear someone from the crowd affirming that you can do this. You don’t need to set a personal record. You don’t need to be perfect. Let’s just make it to the finish line with our hearts intact…I heard there will be beverages….and until then, consider this your power up poster.

All my love. -liZ