Worth More Than Gold

“Lana, I think you’re going to win,” a teammate told me as I waited on the field.

Her comment made me feel better, but I couldn’t bring myself to share that level of confidence.“Thanks, but I don’t know about that,” I responded with a smile. “Maybe second place.”

In the middle of the first lap, I realized that I actually had a chance. This was the 800, a test of raw speed, raw endurance, and raw toughness. It would all come down to the second (and final) lap.

Right before that second lap started, I challenged the leader and passed her. Now it was just one lap. It was going to be painful, but it was just one lap. I had done lap after lap after lap in all my years of running. I had run so many laps alone before.

I looked at the track’s empty lanes before me. This was practically the same, wasn’t it?

Just one lap, alone. Just me and the track and most of all God.

The closer I got to the finish line, the more my legs burned and the more I sped up. I had a strong lead, and I couldn’t let myself lose it.

Crossing the finish line marked my first win at a track meet. I had won a league meet. And in the 800, my favorite event. I couldn’t believe it.

But my teammate had been right all along. She seemed almost more excited about the win than I did, actually.

Not that I wasn’t excited. I had been dreaming of this day since the moment I first started running track. Now that it happened, it felt surreal.

But right after finishing that 800, I followed my usual routine. I hit the road beside the high school and ran up and down it.

Everything was the same.

The sound of my feet striking the pavement, of my coach announcing the meet over the megaphone, of the group of boys cheering each other on during their soccer scrimmage on the field nearby. The view of the runners lined up on that track, of the boys sprinting down that soccer field, of the houses with the orange trees in their front yards, of the cars passing through this corner of the city, of the setting sun turning the background’s dry brown hills into a victorious shade of gold.

Everything was the same, perhaps more exhilarating to the heart that was still pounding with the adrenaline of the competition and the joy of winning and of course the strain of sprinting 800 meters all-out.

Still it was the same.

Winning had its allure because I had grown used to losing. Indeed, all the past losses made the win feel that much more meaningful.

I’ve said before that it’s by losing that you learn just how hard you are to defeat. That’s true. Winning, though, has also taught me something.

It taught me that no amount of success has the power to change who I am.

I’m the same runner, the same person, the same Christian.

I can now say that I’ve been the fastest runner on the track at a given moment. I’ve also been the slowest runner on the track at a given moment. 

First place, last place, I can count on doing the same thing once the meet ends. I’ll pack up my spikes, slip on my Adidas sandals over my socks, and head back in the car to go get some food. At different stages, it was always Jamba Juice, then In-N-Out, then tacos (Yeah, I’m aware of how Californian those 3 options sound, haha) until at some point it became Jersey Mike’s and it’s stayed that way since.

In all seriousness, though, I’ll respond to first place and last place by doing the same thing the next day: going for another run.

It’s all the same. Win or lose, the sun still rises and sets. Win or lose, you’re still worth more than gold.

Since you’re already worth that much, winning can’t change that. No, winning pales in comparison.

Forgive me for becoming too philosophical for a moment, but this led me to realize how rarely we see the ordinary for what it’s worth. More often than not, we’re looking for something better. Ambition defines us, and I can say from experience that ambition can be both our strongest asset and our greatest weakness.

Our past has shown us this desire for something more. Think of the Greek fantasizing of Arcadia–a blissful paradise in the Peloponnese–or the Spanish legends of El Dorado–a lost city of gold in South America.

Even today the desire still lingers. We attach it to success, even athletic glory, as I’ve seen in track. Ironically, Arcadia is now the name of a track meet known to be the most elite and competitive among America’s high schoolers: Only the best runners can get in. And for me personally, El Dorado has a connection too: It’s the name of the Long Beach park where I ran the worst cross-country race of my life.

Through these two examples, I’ve dreamed of success and experienced defeat. I’ve seen the best and worst sides of ambition.

Our longing for something greater has its purpose. It keeps our minds set on things above (Colossians 3:2). Paradise does exist, streets of gold do exist, eternity does exists–But in the future.

And we can’t let our longing for the world to be made perfect to distract us from the blessings that already exist in our current world.

As we wait for the Promised Land, we have to see the wilderness for what it’s worth.

We don’t see those dry brown hills as golden until the sun sets upon them. We may not see that life is a gift until we get the chance to fully experience God’s glory in eternity.

But still we keep searching.

Perhaps the search is what leads us to realize that everything was golden all along.