Getting lost: A runner’s experience
There are some people who can show you where North (or South/South-West for that matter) is no matter where they are. Even in an unknown city or a foreign country. They have this built-in compass. You can spin them around and then ask them or wake them up at 3 in the morning, and they will be able to tell you which direction the sun will rise or which road to take to get to the highway.
I am not one of them.
I can get lost in a house. I regularly do. It is a standing joke in our family that I visit someone, and then, when I want to leave, I go to the washroom door or the door leading to the balcony at the back. The hosts then usually assume I want to use the washroom or go for a tour of the house, or they just look bewildered. This is my cue that I got it wrong, again.
I also love exploring. So before the invention of the GPS, I often planned a 5k run, which sometimes turned out to be a wee bit longer. Or a lot longer. Earlier I was a lot fitter than I am now.
I was about 14 when I won my first race. Someone organized a 15k in the town where I grew up, Kuruman (South Africa, Northern Cape). I started pretty well, overtook the leader and built up a lead so that I was all alone. That was when the problems began. They did not have volunteers at every corner and instead marked the route with painted arrows. There was no indication that I was still on the right track on one particularly long stretch, so I turned where it appeared logical to assume that they must have forgotten to put an arrow. By some luck, the race organiser came past in his pickup truck after about a kilometre and confirmed my suspicion that I was lost. He picked me up and dropped me off where I took the wrong turn. After a while, I overtook the leader again and saw the look of disbelief on his face. Priceless. Luckily I was able to stay on track both literally and figuratively afterwards and won a bag of oranges.
On another occasion in Great Brak River, a half marathon became about 27k. I was fit as could be and prepared to improve on my previous best time on a flat, fast course. There were also 5k and 10k runners and various turn-offs for the different distances. But at some point, I realised that I was all alone. I must be ahead of everyone else, I thought. One guy at a refreshment table applauded with a smile and asked: “Are you first?”. I told him I don’t know, and he laughed. I was doing 4-minute kilometres, and the doubt made me run even faster. Soon I started passing the back-markers, and that’s when the horrible truth set in: I’ve done it again.
During my recent holiday in South Africa, I went running in Still Bay and did not take my phone because “I know the place. I cannot possibly get lost.” Big mistake. I ran up a steep hill to the local runway for small aeroplanes, and after running around there a bit, started my descent onto a path that I have previously taken. Or so I thought. It was a road to nowhere. It became a much longer run and even dangerous as I climbed down crumbling walls of sand, holding on to branches or grass. When I finally got home, I was scratched all over, dehydrated and more than a little relieved. But the embarrassment prevented me from complaining. “No, it was a great run, thanks for asking.”
At least, even though I am lost in the body, my Spirit and Soul have been found. What a thought that on this earth, which is not even a speck in the cosmos, and on which I am not even a speck, I am never lost. Running all alone in the early morning darkness, God is tracking my every move more precisely than a GPS can. My every thought is clearer to him than the clearest Zoom call, and He knows my face better than any Facebook friend.
I remember the old song by John Newton,
“Amazing grace! How sweet the sound
That saved a wretch like me.
I once was lost, but now am found,
Was blind, but now I see.”
I was lost. He called. I answered. And I was found.
May the “hound of heaven” pursue you with His goodness and grace and find you, and may you answer when he calls your name and not be lost anymore, but found.
Keep running
Stephan
