A personal essay by Rachelle Beyler
Crunch. Slip. Leap. Crunch. Crunch. I run on the compact slush and snow desperately trying not to fall.
“What are you running from?”
Crunch. I don’t know much about what to do about it… or perhaps I’m afraid to create an opinion. Too afraid to be wrong so I don't think about it if I can avoid it. Slip. Part of that roots in my desire to please God; I know that he wants us to use our agency and some things won’t affect salvation, but I want to be completely on His side. Leap. I love everyone. Leap. Someone in class said, “Don’t use your beliefs as an excuse.” Slip. The question comes again to mind, “Is more required of me?” Leap. Crunch. Crunch.
Preface
As I’ve gotten older and more aware, I’ve noticed more and more things have happened to people I know; things that were never before a reality to me. Terrible things. “Childhood is measured in sights and sounds before the dark hour of reason grows.”
– Dec 25th, 2015 Journal Entry
The “dark hour of reason” that follows childhood sometimes just seems like a “dark hour.” There’s a lot of reasoning going on, but no clear answer. My only light in this dark hour is the Savior. My personality has been strongly shaped by my beliefs in God and His restored truths in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. I couldn’t talk about anything honestly without acknowledging that everything I am has been derived from efforts of trying to be like the Savior and do God’s will.
~
“Good morning.”
“Good morning!”
“You know you’re running uphill right?”
“Yeah...” (breathless chuckle).
Both of us laugh and pass going in opposite directions. Him downhill and me uphill.
I’ll always choose uphill. I’m not fast but I don’t stop, and I keep my eyes on what’s ahead. I crave the challenge. I seek out the hills and plead for a day where I can pack my bag and run up into the mountain without looking back. I track my miles and elevation gain with pride and aim to go further, to go higher.
Uphill
Recently I ran up a trail that was covered in compact snow and slush. I never fell but I slipped every so often even though I was running ever so carefully. Sometimes I would try to avoid the main path and step off on what I thought would be good snowy footing only to sink into inches of snow. Luckily it wasn’t too deep, only going up mid-calf. Maybe slightly lower. (For perspective I’m 5’2). My experience running that trail could be compared to trying to hold onto the iron rod after someone covered it in oil.
I passed at least 10 people in the beginning. If they were willing to make eye contact, I would cheerfully ring out a quick, “Hello!” or “Hi!” I love it here. I used to say, “I never want to live in Utah. I hate the mountains!” But what did I know? All I knew was Washington was my home and I believed I could not make anywhere else hold a place in my heart. I’m not a person who gets attached to things or people; I just don’t like change.
I was also snooty thinking that people in Utah had it easy because everyone is a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints there. Unsurprisingly, that’s not true. There is something different about more people being members though because you see their distinct levels of commitment and conversion. We were like that too but being one of the few it wasn’t as glaringly obvious. Isn’t it embarrassing that it took me until now to realize that?
Crunch, crunch, leap, crunch, slip, crunch, leap, leap. My friend Nathan asked me why I liked running so much. He jokingly asked me what I was running from. I told him it’s not what I’m running from, it’s what I’m running towards. He got a kick out of that, but I am 100% serious. Crunch, crunch, leap, crunch, slip, crunch, leap, leap.
Although I know better, I hope I look like a graceful runner. Even if they don’t run gracefully, people are beautiful. I used to look at girls of other races and admire their beauty wanting to be them. It was in middle school where I wondered what it would feel like to be another race. I wanted to have darker skin and hair and other various features of other races that I thought were attractive. I also wondered if I would be treated any differently.
I remember that round table in middle school. It was a sunny-we-have-track-practice-in-the-Washington-heat sort of day. There were 8 of us around that table and at least 4 different ethnicities. Two of those in the conversation were of Hispanic origin (one immigrated to the US as a child and the other was an illegal immigrant); the former made the comment about how you can’t be racist towards whites because they are privileged. During and after that conversation, I remember feeling demeaned, confused, and a little ashamed.
Why was I white and why could people say hurtful comments about my race and not have it count as racism? I ran in circles around that middle school track. It was hot and windy. Dirt got in my eye and I blinked the tears away. The bottom of my shoes stained red from the cheap gravel track. Then, I stopped and walked to the front of the school and waited for my mom to pick me up.
In middle school, I never won a single race. Sophomore year I dropped a whole minute in the mile and clinched my first, first. I vowed I would never end up like my senior friend who peaked her sophomore year, so I ran and ran. I was raised to do my best. I was raised to love everyone, and that God is “no respecter of persons.” I live by that.
Downhill
Downhill hurts my knees. My mom joked a while ago that I’ll have to get knee replacements when I’m older. She’s probably right but now I’m paranoid of runner’s knee. By now, the music is off. Silence. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Racism. Slip. Leap. Crunch. Blacks and the priesthood. Slip. Leap. Leap. Crunch. Black Lives Matter. Crunch. Crunch. Black Lives Matter Movement. Slip. Leap. Crunch. Slip. Leap. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.
My mind browses through files neatly stored away:
- "It’s Because You’re Black" by Kirstie Stanger-Weyland. The hurt felt when friends automatically assumed she only got into a certain college because of her race, not because of her hard work and dedication. Crunch.
- "One More River to Cross" by Margaret Young. Elijah Able serves the people in Nauvoo and seeing them at their most vulnerable moment remarks that maybe God put him with those white people so he could learn more about them and have good white faces in his head as well as black. I listened to the majority of this book on Audible while I was running up and down hills. Crunch.
- James Baldwin in the film, I’m Not Your Negro. Growing up in a white world where the movies playing are white men killing savage Indians. Crunch.
- MLK, in "Letter from Birmingham Jail". Direct warnings of the “white moderate,” and “Shallow understanding from people of goodwill is more frustrating than absolute misunderstanding from people of ill will. Lukewarm acceptance is much more bewildering than outright rejection.” Crunch.
My steps are tentative; I can never be sure whether the next step will result in the fated fall. I want to remain upright. I tactfully step, leap, and balance my weight on the slippery surface. I had not anticipated this coming to the trail. Crunch. Crunch. I want an answer as definitive as the crisp sound that comes with each step. After the BLM movement became huge, I’ve stopped looking at Instagram stories because I’m tired of it and don’t know how to respond to their thoughts on what’s happening.
“What are you running from?”
Crunch. I don’t know much about what to do about it… or perhaps I’m afraid to create an opinion. Slip. Part of that roots in my desire to please God; I know that he wants us to use our agency and some things won’t affect salvation, but I want to be completely on His side. Leap. Someone in class said, “Don’t use your beliefs as an excuse.” Slip. The question comes again to mind, “Is more required of me?” Leap. Crunch. Crunch.
Even now, I don’t think I’ve witnessed much racism in front of my face. Crunch, crunch, crunch. I’m almost back to the trailhead now. Crunch, crunch.
My favorite time to run is when it’s raining. Usually, no one else is out. Back home I would run the non-mountain trails to a small lake that’s about a mile around. My steps would splash mud on my legs and if not in a bun or well-braided, my hair would be in knots. Sometimes it’s cold and sometimes I come back soaked and looking disheveled, but it sure adds something to that feeling of accomplishment.
When I see the clouds, I know the rain will come. I don’t reschedule my run to evade the rain. I let it come and come it does. Rain falls and I run. I keep running as the wind blows and tries to push me back. I keep running as the hail plummets and strikes me in the face. I keep running when the snow falls and blinds me in the eyes. I even keep running when the sun is so hot I feel like I’m on fire.
Crunch. Slip. Leap. Crunch. My downhill splits are so much faster than my uphill ones. I’m almost home. Step, step, step, step. Mile 8 split is 6:38. Not bad. I stretch and chug a glass of chocolate milk knowing that I’ll be returning to that trail soon.
“A champion is defined not by their wins, but by how they can recover when they fall.”
– Serena Williams
There is no question of whether I’ll be running as long as my legs can carry me.
Image Credit: Image 1 & 2 captured on Rachelle's iPhone and Image 3 is a screenshot of the run generated by Strava
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