I wasn’t just prepared—I was panicked.
All week, all week last week, the weather forecasters were saying it was a 90% chance of rain. The local news said that the race directors were working with the city council and the Mayor’s office to have an emergency plan for Saturday. They were expecting violent winds, hail and even possible tornadoes for the 16th Annual Country Music Marathon.
Now I consider myself pretty hardcore, but running 13.1 miles in these conditions sounded just plain miserable. I am always nervous enough before race day, and this just magnified my anxiety. I also wasn’t very confident in my training after recovering from having my baby.
I checked the news and my weather app obsessively. I googled “how to race in the rain” and followed every suggestion:
- I bought a cheap poncho to wear to the race starting line to stay dry as long as possible.
- I wrapped my cell phone in saran wrap.
- I put everything in ziplock bags.
- I bought intense waterproofing spray for my shoes so I didn’t have to run with 10-pound water weights on each foot. (It made my shoes smell very strongly of gasoline by the way.)
- I bought a hat. And I hate running in hats!
I obsessed and fretted and worried. I did everything I could to prepare, but the threat of terrible storms haunted me all night before the race.
When I woke up the next morning, the first thing I did was check the forecast. I fully expected a storm resembling the end times to appear on my screen and outside of my bedroom windows.
This is what I saw:
What? There must be some mistake . . .
I was too afraid to get my hopes up, so I immediately checked the hourly forecast, ready to see the raging storms that were simply running behind.
And then this:
Race time at 7 a.m. was clear. I could not believe it.
I jumped out of bed with a whole new attitude about the day ahead. I got ready for the race, put on my gasoline shoes, tore the saran wrap off of my phone, and ditched my poncho before heading out the door.
My mom used to always say to me when I would worry, “Christy, of the 10 trains you are worried about coming toward you, 9 of them will derail before they ever get to you.” I’m not sure why I’m standing in the way of oncoming trains in this scenario, but I get her point.
The vast majority of the things we worry about will never actually happen.
And in this case, she was right as well.
I’m a bit of a control freak, so I worry a lot. But this experience taught me that even something that seems as certain as a 90% weather forecast can literally change overnight.
If something does happen, you can deal with it then. But there’s no use in worrying, because like my mom taught me, most of the things we worry about will never actually happen.
“Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life?
Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.”
Matthew 6:27, 34