Racing Time

I ran cross country for four years in High School. About once a week we would have a meet with another school in our area. Coach would gather us together before a practice on Monday and tell us who we would be racing that Friday. The rest of the week was spent preparing for the upcoming race. If there were going to be a lot of hills on the course, we would run a lot of hills in practice. If there was a long finish line at the end, we would practice sprinting and doing intervals. I hated intervals.

Every Friday I would wake up with butterflies in my stomach. The entire day, as I was acting normal on the outside, I would be all jumpy and nervous on the inside. What would the race be like? Could I improve my time? Who would be my lead? Would stupid Riley Butters be there? (Riley Butters was from a different school and insanely fast. I think she won every meet we ever had. No fair.) Friday afternoon the school secretary would come on the intercom and announce that it was time for the cross country team to load the buses. And then I would really start to panic.

Once we got to the race site, we would split into our separate Boy/Girl, JV/Varsity teams and "walk the course." We would get to see first hand what was in store for us, and picture ourselves running the required distance in the fastest possible time. Our team captains would give us pointers, since they were usually older and had run the course in previous years. And then, because I grew up in predominately LDS Rexburg, Idaho, we would all fold our arms and link pinkies with the girl next to us as somebody offered a prayer. "The Pinky Prayer." And for some reason just knowing that I would be running alongside some of my best friends, that they would be in pain and throwing up at the end, too, made me feel a lot better. Like I wasn't alone in this thing. We were all in it together.

Lining up was the hardest part. I always thought my butterflies, which were the size of large birds by this point, were going to beat out of my chest and I would die of a heart attack before the man with his tiny fake gun could even pull the trigger. Seriously, it has been over five years since my last race, and my legs feel like jelly right now just remembering these moments. The thought, "Why am I doing this?" usually found its way into my head, but before I could back out a single shot would sound, and we were off.

And I was fine.

Always after the race began, I was fine. My nervousness died, and I would simply focus on my goal, put my head down, and try to make it one more step. The race itself would vary in difficulty. Some had sand, some had mud. Some were out in the middle of a dessert and all you could see was sagebrush and the person in front of you. There were hills and there were rocks and there was usually either a burning hot sun or a freezing wind because Idaho weather could never make up its mind during the Fall. I will admit right now that there were a lot of times I seriously considered just laying down on the side of the road and quitting. But when things got hard I would try think positive stuff like, "You got this, Haley," or "At least you're not doing as bad as that girl." (yes, I refer to myself in the third person when I think in my head.) And it didn't seem so bad anymore.

There were also a lot of people on the sidelines cheering for me. My coaches, teammates, friends, and always, always my parents who never missed a meet/game/program/recital/concert in my entire life. They would stand at the hardest parts and cheer so loud I sometimes started laughing instead of thinking about how horrible what I was doing was. They helped me get through the hard parts and keep going. To the next tree, to the next girl, to the end.

And then I would see the finish line and know it was almost over. And that was the second hardest part for me. To be so close and so tired was torture. But I always made it, and suddenly it would all be over. All the training, all the practice. All the nervousness and anticipation and sweat and pain. Over. And I'm being patted on the back by the girl behind me and panting out "Good job" to the girls in front of me. And I'm just done.

And I feel good. Like I accomplished something.

I've thought about this a lot in the last week. About all the little things I've learned from running. Mostly about how sometimes hard things end up being really good things, even though they are really hard. Which brings me to my point (because I'm sure you were wondering if I even had one until now).

Matt deployed to Iraq yesterday. He will be gone for a year, (although we keep telling ourselves six months, since he can come home for two weeks half way though.) I'm not going to lie, sending him off was one of the hardest things I have had to do. Matt is my best friend. He is my husband and my confidant. He is the daddy of our little boy (who will be two and a half when he sees him again). He was the last person I saw at night and the first person I saw in the morning, and I love him more than my heart can express.

But Matt is also a soldier. We signed up for this job. We love this job. It provides us with a great life and so many opportunities we would never have had without it. Yes, it's hard sometimes, like yesterday and probably a lot more times coming in the next year, but it's worth it to us. Like running a race.

Instead of my coach telling us about our next meet one week before, Matt and I have known about this deployment for a long time. We have had countless meetings concerning the upcoming deployment with the Family Readiness Group, the Red Cross, The Battalion leadership, the Company leadership, and the Family Assistance Center. And instead of practicing for one week, we have been practicing for over a year. Talking about the deployment, preparing for the deployment, dreaming about the deployment. And the whole time we were practicing for what I knew was going to happen, I never really let myself stop to think about it. It was too far in the future for me to comprehend.

"Walking the Course" of the deployment happened within the last couple of weeks. Final preparations on the house, the bills, the car, the packing. I watched two of my good friends here send their husbands off one week before Matt was to leave. It was during this time that things got a little more real to me, because I could actually see the course we were about to run. I could mentally visualize myself sending him off and then going home to our house without him. And you know what? I was OK.

I'm not sure why I was OK, but I was. Maybe it's denial, or maybe it's because I know that what we are doing is for the best. Maybe it's because I am surrounded by "Team Captains" who have done this before. Who are doing it now. Friends who have more children than I do, or much younger children than I do. Friends who have had their husbands leave only weeks after moving to a new state, and were completely alone for extended tours upwards of 15 months. Friends who love me and understand exactly what I am going though. And being with these wonderful, strong women makes me feel like maybe I can be wonderful and strong, too.

Maybe I'm OK with the idea of Matt leaving because of the fantastic support system I have within my family, cheering me on the sidelines. My mom and dad, who have so graciously taken Bennett and me in for over a month during the holidays. Matt's parents, who were there with me when he left, and who I know are only a short drive away if I need them. Brothers and sisters from both sides who called before and after Matt left to make sure I was fine. And extended family who have called, emailed, facebooked, and texted their concerns for us. We are so lucky. We are so blessed.

With the help of our Heavenly Father, we can do this. He has always taken such good care of us. Always. Even with this deployment there are so many blessings. The fact the Matt was here for all of Bennett's firsts, but that he is still young enough he won't remember his daddy being gone. The fact that we will be able to pay off huge amounts of debt with the extra income we will be making. The fact that the war in Iraq is basically over, so the risk level is much lower. The fact that Matt can be promoted to Captain faster because deployments look good on his "Love Me" report. The fact that Bennett and I are in such a great place, with great friends, a great home, a great ward, and close to family. The fact that we will be together again soon.

Of course, when we took Matt to actually drop him off, it was super hard. It was the moment with the man and his little fake gun, and I'm holding my breath waiting for it to go off, thinking "Why am I doing this?" But before I could convince Matt to go A-Wall with me, the buses started to pull up and Matt's name was called. So after a tearful goodbye, and one final wave to the bus as it pulled out, I turned around, gathered up our little boy, and drove home.

And we are fine.

My nervousness died, and I am simply focused on my goal, putting my head down, and trying to make it one more step. I can't write about the actual race, yet. I'm only at the beginning. I am sure that there will be some parts in the future that I will just have to push through. Some hills and some sand. At some points I may feel like just laying down on the side of the road and giving up. But I am also sure that I am going to make it. That all those people cheering for me, and all those people running with me, will help me remember that I am not alone. That when it is all over I will be better for it. And when things get hard I will try to think positive stuff like, "You can do this, Haley. You are strong." And guess what?

I really am. :)

Matt and Bennett's last picture at our home before heading to the base. Bennett has become quite the hat guy lately. He put this on all by himself.

Between drawing your weapon and actually getting on the bus there is a five-hour wait where you are not allowed to leave the base. This is pretty much what we did the entire five hours. SO exciting. I think the Army does this on purpose, because it was almost a relief to see the buses come after sitting for so long...almost. (That's me laying on the floor with Bennett sitting on me in the background. Longest day ever.)

There was a pool table in the lobby of the barracks we were waiting in, so Matt taught Bennett how to play a little. Bennett loved it.

My handsome guy, all geared up and ready to go. Really, I think Matt was ready to go a long time before yesterday. His brain has been in Iraq for a few days now. I'm glad his body is finally catching up.

One last family picture

Waiting to load the buses. (Matt's the one with the black backpack on)

One last goodbye from Daddy

Bye, Sweetheart. See you soon.