Chasing Grace Read online

  He alone was carrying me out of my darkest time. Gentle tears fell down my cheeks as love rushed in. I felt forgiven before I even asked for it.

  I found my way to my family in their rented rooms in Beijing and felt God’s care, His mercy, take me there—back to a place where I knew I was loved unconditionally. We stayed up all night. We talked and cried, and I shared with them my experience of God on the bus. They too opened up their hearts to the power of God’s love that comes to us when we invite Him into our valleys.

  Four days later, I was scheduled to compete in the 4x400 relay. My feelings were still raw, but enough time had passed for me to render the emotion. I heard and felt God on the street corner, and in the days that followed, I was again comfortable speaking to Him, asking for His presence and guidance. My prayers changed from confessions of guilt and pleas for mercy to expressions of gratitude and rejoicing. My God never deserted me, even in the moment I was completely lost. He never left my side. What else could I do but say thank you?

  His love is always because of His favor and grace. I did not earn God’s love; He gives it freely. And that meant I didn’t have to ask Him to give it back.

  I stepped onto the track without shame and brought my team from behind the Russian team to win the gold.

  As a part of the Team USA 4x400 relay for five consecutive years as the anchor leg, I generally had an easy task. My teammates were strong runners who left me little work to do. Many times I ran to extend our lead and to enjoy what felt like a victory lap.

  This time was different. Monique Henderson was our third leg. She started hard and strong and held a lead over our Russian competitors, but she faltered in the final 100 meters. When I took the baton, we were nearly 10 meters behind.

  Stay relaxed, San. You can do this! You were born for this.

  In almost the exact same position where I had allowed myself to fall apart in the 400-meter individual race, I asked God to give me the strength to bring my team the gold. Coming through the final turn, the Russian anchor leg was not budging, but in my heart, I believed it was destiny to leave Beijing with gold. In the final 20 meters of the race, I overtook my opponent and secured the victory for my team.

  That 4x400 will forever be one of the most important races of my life, not because we won gold, but because it was the perfect picture of how God fights for His children. No circumstance or experience will keep God from having the victory in our lives if we let Him in.

  It took time and patience for this lesson to hit my marriage.

  After many years of acting like the abortion never happened, Ross and I finally sat with it. We discussed how we felt about it—raw and real—and how it had silently affected our marriage.

  I always harbored some resentment toward Ross. It was our mess-up, but I felt abandoned in the decision. It was like by not saying anything, neither agreeing nor opposing, he kept his conscience clear, but it wasn’t fair. We were in it together.

  He explained to me that he was just as burdened by the decision as I was. He believed that our child in 2008 was a blessing we had rejected by always wanting to be in control. He knew we needed to pray together and ask for forgiveness together. We reflected on the God we know as our Savior, and that same familiar peace cloaked us like a blanket, covering doubt and giving us the grace to hope that His best for us was yet to come.

  POSITION

  Many times the complexities of life remind us that we are so far from our heavenly home. Life gets blurry, and we reach a crossroad where both directions feel right. Should I disobey my parents and drop out of school to pursue my passion? Should I, an aspiring politician, speak up about an issue that I know will hurt my chances of being reelected? Should I accept the promotion I feel like I’ve worked so hard for, even though I know my colleague is more deserving?

  It takes courage to make a choice when you feel like you are in the most important phase of your race. Most times you don’t know which one is right. What I know for sure is that God’s love never fails and is always on the other side of your decision.

  I met a young man recently who told me he was offered a track scholarship to Texas A&M, but he never went. He told me he has no idea why he didn’t, but on many occasions he regrets that he didn’t seize his moment, that he didn’t take a chance on himself. The push and pace phases of life are important, but if you don’t have the courage to make a choice when life gets tough, you might miss out on living your dream.

  Chapter 10

  TEAM SRR

  Leading from Behind

  The LORD is my light and my salvation—whom shall I fear? The LORD is the stronghold of my life—of whom shall I be afraid?

  PSALM 27:1

  The days immediately after the Olympic race in Beijing were the first time I ever heard Mom say track was just a sport. For my family, track had always been our glue. It was our center, but in those moments, Mom was doing what she could to center our family. Dad was devastated back home in Texas, and I drifted in and out of depression. Shari couldn’t even talk to God, unable to reconcile her feelings of disappointment over how God brought us this far without a victory.

  It was a massive loss. Not just on the track, but in our hearts.

  We were all shaken in different ways, and years went by before I could see my bronze medal as a victory.

  Even with a broken spirit, I still wanted to run. Running has always been where I felt closest to God. I wanted to do what I knew God created me to do. Running is where I feel most free and full of purpose. The track has oftentimes been my church, my Bible study, my choir practice. As I’ve walked and jogged my “oval office” more times than I could ever count, I have created numerous hymns that flowed out of my spirit in worship.

  One of my favorites, one that my sister and my cousin Yollie still sing with me to this day, goes like this:

  Speak a word, Lord,

  Deep down in my spirit.

  Speak a word, Lord.

  I’d sing it over and over again, begging God to speak to my heart.

  After Beijing, I challenged myself to start enjoying the sport again. Track and field had started from a place of love and joy. It was my great escape. The one place where I was free.

  Over time, though, it changed. It was now at the center of many of my problems, and the weight of worry, doubt, fear, disappointment, expectations, and anxiety was stealing the joy out of my competition. I needed it to be fun again. I wanted to feel that sense of innocence I had enjoyed when I lined up as a kid, believing I was the fastest and wanting to prove it to myself. It was like my special talent, my poetry in motion, and I wanted it to feel that pure again.

  After experiencing such devastation on the track in 2008, I questioned how I would respond. Would failure define my professional story? But by looking inward, I also lifted my gaze upward—outward—to muster the courage to pull myself together and become the champion I always knew I could be.

  The 2009 season ended up being a very special year. I went undefeated in six prestigious Golden League races. I also added nine sub-50-second races to my résumé and won my first World Championships title in the 400 in Berlin.

  Of all my years as a professional athlete, the 2009 season stands out in my mind. The memories are warm and loving. On paper, 2009 is my most dominant season, but in my reflection, I don’t really think about the victories; I think about the people and the journey they’ve traveled with me.

  The love of God covered me in a way I never thought possible, and it freed me—freed from myself and from this idea that I had to be perfect. He taught me how to truly lean into and trust Him at all times.

  I believe that God does work through people, and it was through trusting Him that I also sincerely embraced the people who surrounded me, sacrificed for me, and stepped up to help me pursue athletic greatness.

  From my very first track meet, when my mom, dad, and sister beamed with joy as they saw me compete, I realized the unifying power of sport. Competitions were even more memorable and sweet
because they always felt like family reunions or get-togethers. My entire family took time to attend my big competitions—aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents. Some of our fondest family memories are of track meets. My sister’s voice propelled me out of the blocks, but there was another voice that rivaled hers at every big completion. My Aunt Althea was always demonstrative, and I’ll always remember one of my state high school meets, when I was set to race one of the fastest girls in Florida in the 4x400 relay. I had not even taken the stick, and my aunt was screaming as loud as she could. Uncle Tony, my mom’s brother, insisted that she calm down, and her response became a legendary quote we still say in our family today: “Yuh nuh si mi a get emotional!”

  My competitions meant something to everyone in my family, and their love and presence moved me to perform. I always joke that I had the loudest cheering section at the 2012 Olympics in London, even though defending champion Christine Ohourugu was competing just a stone’s throw from where she grew up. I believe my fan section gave her a run for her money. More than thirty people traveled from all over the world to be there with me.

  Professional track and field is tricky. Unlike the NFL or NBA, once you become a professional athlete, you’re on your own. No built-in teammates, no collective bargaining agreements, no existing protocol. Just you, left to your own devices to create the network you need.

  Relationships in this sport can either fill you or defeat you. I’m grateful to say that relationships have defined my success in track and field. I learned early on the importance of having a great supporting cast. My family taught me how to love those who sincerely invested in me, because I knew just how special it was for someone who wasn’t a relative to care so deeply.

  I call my select circle Team SRR, because everyone is committed to doing their part, playing their role, to help me achieve success on the track.

  Bruce Johnson, my strength coach, has been a rock. He’s known me since before I had a Texas driver’s license. I’ll never forget the first time I walked into his office at the University of Texas. Young but bold and ready to get to work as a freshman at Texas, I asked him what my program would look like for the upcoming season. As he laid it all out for me, I asked him about core work.

  “How many do we do every day?”

  He looked at me, perplexed. “We do a hundred or two hundred a day.”

  “Bruce, that is not enough,” I said. “I do a thousand sit-ups every day.”

  I knew we’d make a great team when he said, “Well, a thousand sit-ups it is!”—much to the chagrin of my teammates. It was the start of one of my most rewarding relationships. Always holding me accountable, whether it was with core work or goal setting, Bruce became more than a coach. He’s absolutely one of my best friends. Rain or snow, one-hundred-mile trip up the interstate to Waco or 9:00 p.m. workouts, he was always there, and his contribution was invaluable.

  Adrik Mantingh was the other piece of the puzzle that made Team SRR a force. Originally from the Netherlands, Adrik now resides in Switzerland, and that’s where I met him. He started working as my full-time physical therapist in the summer of 2007, and we ended up spending so much time together that most people had no idea he still lived in Europe. His distinct accent aside, he became as much a part of our family as anyone.

  What was most amazing about Adrik is that he would train with me. No workout daunted him. He would get on the line with me and churn out eight 200-meter reps, with two minutes of rest. He would train in Zurich to stay in shape and be ready for whatever workouts I had on my plan.

  As I grew older, I grew especially thankful for Adrik’s willingness to suffer with me. Later in my career, following one of my surgeries, my body was slow to respond to the training. That was unusual for me, as was the daily discomfort my body was now subject to. Struggling to make my times, I was becoming discouraged. I really didn’t even want to line up for my final 200, but Adrik was right there alongside me. He had run every 200 with me, and I could tell he was hurting too. That showed just how much he cared. And as I neared a breaking point when I wanted to quit, Adrik willed me off the start line and yelled, “San, you can do this. You’re the best in the world. You can do this, San!” His encouragement got me to the line ahead of the time and was the turning point in my training.

  After I lost in Beijing, Coach Hart urged me to start working with a sports psychologist. He had no idea the source of my true mental turmoil, but it was one of the best decisions of my career and my life. Dr. Don Corley, a Waco-based sports psychologist, became my new right-hand man.

  I’ll never forget our first visit.

  I had been working with another doctor for about three months. He told me I put too much pressure on myself to win, and it would be a good idea to incorporate a race into my schedule for the strict purpose of training. That meant I’d run it as part of my conditioning process, and not be entirely focused on the outcome—on winning or losing. Perhaps in doing so, I could come to grips with the mounting pressure that came with almost every race. His idea was to snap the streak and win when it counted.

  So at my first race of the 2009 season, I was primed to win it, but I followed his instructions, treated it more like a training run, and lost. It was the worst feeling in the world. Why would anyone want to lose on purpose?

  I immediately made a change.

  When I explained to Dr. Corley the strategy my first psychologist recommended, his expression was priceless. He remarked, “You’ll never have to worry about that with me. If we’re standing on the start line, you better believe our goal will always be to win.”

  It was the start of an amazing relationship.

  Dr. Corley helped me tap into my natural inclinations to focus on the good in every situation, despite the stressors I inevitably brought to the track. He taught me to visualize success, seeing every circumstance as a step on the path toward victory.

  I also loved that Dr. Corley was a Christian. Our relationship started out as one to help me achieve my goals on the track, but it quickly grew into so much more. I realized how important it was to have skilled people around me, but it was even more important to have people in my corner with strong moral pillars and convictions. I looked forward to our weekly meetings. We’d do hypnosis to visualize upcoming races, and then I’d pick his brain on his faith journey and how he overcame his personal struggles. He helped further shape my image of God as our loving, eternal Father.

  With his guidance, the 2009 season ended up being a very special year. Everything was right, emotionally, spiritually, and physically.

  And the best part was my dad finally started traveling the circuit with me for the first time in my career. He still thinks he was my good-luck charm, but I like to think the combination of Dr. Corley’s support and his presence made the difference.

  For my efforts during the 2009 season, I was awarded the IAAF Female Athlete of the Year for the second time in my career. At the awards banquet, Prince Albert of Monaco presented me the trophy. It was so heavy that I handed it back to him and asked if he’d hold it while I gave my speech. I returned to my seat, to the snickers of my dad. “Only you would think it’s OK to ask a prince to hold your trophy.”

  Dad loved when I was like that, just being myself.

  It was a memorable season because I exchanged the humiliation of 2008 into humility. The track reveals my every truth. Between those lines, in the lane, under the glare of the spotlight, I can’t hide. The source of one of my greatest blessings—the gift to run—also confronts me with significant weaknesses.

  It’s tricky because the world grooms us to be competitive. To look for every edge and angle to gain advantage over a rival. Winning isn’t everything; it’s the only thing. Whatever it takes. Second place sucks. These are the motivational idioms of our time, but they tend to push us to diminish the character of our peers instead of asking more of ourselves.

  I projected all my hurt emotions onto the competitors lining up next to me on the track.

  Not only
did God soften my heart, but in my journey to deal with certain inner demons, He used the track to teach me about life’s Golden Rule—to do to others what I would have them do to me, to love my neighbor as myself. On that track, it meant loving my competitors.

  As I stood atop the podium to accept my World Championships individual title in 2009, a moment I’d dreamed about my entire life, my heart and mind were filled with other images. It was surreal. I couldn’t wait to get back on the track and run in the 4x400 relay with my teammates.

  Team USA is typically favored to win, and that’s especially true in the 4x400 relay. The United States is blessed with a gifted pool of quarter-milers, and with depth and experience, we are always a force.

  Energy overwhelms me as I walk into a buzzing stadium, wearing red, white, and blue, flanked by three powerful teammates. I imagine the rush of adrenaline that Superman must have felt when he donned his cape and flew out of the telephone booth, and surely it matches what Team USA experiences as we walk, shoulder to shoulder, toward the start line. Invincible.

  That day in Berlin, we took a commanding lead from the very first lap and won the relay by more than four seconds. We ran one of the top-five fastest times in history.

  I thanked God for giving me the time to see the point I was missing all along: my gift of running was meant to simply give me a stage to show people how good God is, and I believe that God’s love is best observed, best modeled, when we reach out and embrace those around us.

  It was a lesson I learned the hard way, through the way I had previously become fixated, nearly obsessed, with beating my opponents and how I had also been subjected to bitter, vain treatment.