If you find yourself in a lonely place today, access your resources. Confide in a parent. Talk to a friend. Pray. Seek wisdom in Scripture. Share with a trusted guide. Put yourself in communication with God and with others who can reflect what is most true: that you are loved and you are not alone.
Don’t Quit
Overcoming obstacles and following through to reach your goals is going to look different in different situations. Sometimes it appears glamorous: you’ll receive the award, get the scholarship, or score the winning goal. Other times, following through to meet your goals doesn’t look like much of anything at all.
In 2008, about a year after my toe started giving me real trouble, I was the best women’s 400 runner in the world. When I arrived at the Olympics in Beijing, I’d won every race in which I’d competed that year.
Before I got on the plane for China, though, I was in the midst of a spiritual and emotional crisis. The night before the race, my spirit was so uneasy and I felt so unworthy. As a result, I was unable to sleep.
Typically, when I show up on the track for a meet, I walk with a confident posture. I have a big smile on my face. I’m grateful to be there and ready to run. But when I stepped into lane 7 for the 400 finals, I was in a dark place, personally. When the announcer introduced me, and the camera showed my face to the stadium and the world, Shari knew something wasn’t right. She told me later that she’d thought to herself, “That’s not my sister.”
If I ever wanted to be in the right head space, the 400 meter Olympic finals was when I wanted to be on top of my game. But because of the personal burden I was carrying in my heart, I couldn’t will myself to be there.
At the start of the race, I got off the way I’d wanted to. Coming off the turn, I had a strong lead.
Those moments are still so vivid in my memory. In each Olympics, the signature Olympic rings are typically painted across the track, midway down the straightaway. It’s beautiful. But as I passed them, I felt a cramp in my hamstring. Unwilling to obey my mind, my body started to falter. It’s hard to watch those tapes. In the last twenty meters, two runners passed me to dip across the finish line to claim first and second place. I was disappointed to win the bronze, and my face showed it.
I was the third-fastest 400 sprinter in the world, what many would consider an impressive accomplishment, but I’d never felt more awful.
Dragging the back of my hand across my face, I wiped tears from my cheeks. I had about forty-five minutes before medals were awarded, and my mother found her way to me and comforted me. As I changed into my Team USA warm-ups for the ceremony, though, I was still fighting back sobs. Taking deep breaths, trying to think of anything besides my defeat, I vowed to hold myself together.
For a moment, I did.
One of the Chinese officials, a man about fifty years old, was in charge of leading the three medalists from a staging area to the pubic podium.
On the way, he playfully teased, “What happened? We have your name on the gold medal!”
His words threw open the brittle makeshift door holding my powerful emotions at bay. Without warning, I began sobbing again.
All these years I’ve remembered that Chinese official because his surprise represented a world of track enthusiasts who were certain I’d win the gold that year. I wasn’t the only one struggling to make sense of the defeat. Those who followed the sport were flabbergasted by the loss. Because I’d been suffering emotionally, because I’d been feeling so unworthy, I had a hunch that, unconsciously, I’d unwittingly participated in sabotaging my own race.
Redemption
After that race, I had no interest in staying in the Olympic village with the other athletes. I just wanted to nurse my wounds, surrounded by family, in a quieter space. I took a bus designated for athletes to the village to grab some of my things, and then I took a public bus to a house my family had rented. Though I thought I knew which bus to take, nothing looked familiar. Desperate, helpless, I began bawling again.
When I reflected on that disorienting experience later, it felt as though the turmoil I’d carried in my heart had been made manifest: I was lost. But when I felt most overwhelmed, with no idea how to get to the people who represented “home,” I felt God wrapping his arms around me, assuring me, “You’ll be fine. You’re loved.”
They were the holy words I most wanted and needed to hear.
As if heaven-sent, an American fan recognized me despite my smeared makeup, and asked, “You know where you’re going?”
Admitting I didn’t, I described the neighborhood where my family was staying. I’d been there several times and remembered some landmarks. Thankfully, he was able to point me to the right bus line and I made it to my parents’ place.
When I was out of tears, it was time to return to the stadium for the 4x4 relay. At that time, American women dominated the relay. In fact, we’d been so dominant in past seasons that our anchor runner usually received the stick with such a lead that the last lap was more like a victory lap than a competition lap!
But, in the finals, my teammate was passed on the third leg. That meant the Russian team had completed their hand-off before I touched our stick.
Remember how bummed I’d been about my defeat in the 400? Well, my sadness had been replaced by a fury of resolve. There was no way, I’d determined, that I was going to leave Beijing without a gold. I ran the race of my life—for myself, for my teammates, for my country—and slipped into the lead within five meters of the finish line. We won!
That was another holy moment on the track for me. Although I remain firm in my conviction that God’s not counting up wins and losses, I’m equally sure that God does make both meaningful when we offer them to him. And that win was soaked with meaning for me. In fact, I saw it as a beautiful picture of God’s love.
Grace
You may have a weight you’ve been carrying that’s slowed you down from reaching your goals. Maybe you’ve been sidelined by injury, like I was. Or maybe you’ve been carrying a weight of shame and guilt. Or maybe you’re haunted by past failures. Believe me, I’ve been there too. But nothing you’ve suffered, and nothing you’ve done, disqualifies you from reaching your goals.
I encourage you to pay attention to that little voice that condemns you. That hisses in your ear that the obstacles you’ve faced, or the choices you’ve made, disqualify you from the good God has for you. Nothing could be farther from the truth. God is a gracious God, and has created you for good things. The voice that accuses is not God’s voice.
When you hear, “What happened? We have your name on the gold medal!”, listen again for God’s still, small voice assuring you, “See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands” (Isaiah 49:16).
RIGHT ON TRACK CHALLENGE
Have the obstacles in your life slowed you down?
•What is the biggest obstacle you’ve faced?
•How have you dealt with it?
•In what ways is it keeping you from reaching your goal today?
•What do you need to do to keep pressing on?
Notice the hurdle that’s been a stumbling block for you. Then write down one action step you can take today to move closer to reaching your goals.
CHAPTER 14
IT TAKES A VILLAGE
No matter what your dream is, you need supporters by your side.
I feel like the luckiest girl because the members of my family have been my most loyal supporters. Before I ever graced the pages of Sports Illustrated or was featured on ESPN, Dad, Mom, and Shari were my first entourage. In every race, I felt strengthened by the strong presence of my family. Walking into track meets with the three of them around me, I felt invincible.
When we arrived in the United States when I was eleven, my mom and dad created an amazing gym for me to use at home. Our two-car garage was filled with a weight bench, free weights, a pull-up machine, medicine balls, physical therapy balls, yoga mats, and jump ropes. My dad even installed a mirror on the wall so we could ensure I
was using the best form. I know that there are elite athletes in developing countries without access to the abundant resources I had at my fingertips.
Mom
My mom was my first fitness trainer. Though most people who’ve followed my career—from my childhood in Jamaica through my final Olympic trial—have seen what a huge part of my success my dad was, fewer know about my mom.
She. Is. Incredible.
She ran a clothing store and a gym in Jamaica, and she helped me develop my skills in the weight room. She taught me how to do squats and how to bench press. Though I’d eventually work with some of the world’s best trainers, she was the first person to push me in the weight room.
When I released my agent in 2006, my mom was working for American Express.
I called her one afternoon and asked her to be my agent.
“If you and Dad worked with me,” I begged, “I’d be better off.”
Because they were familiar with how I felt about my first agent, she knew it was true.
Two weeks later, she quit her job and came to work for me. It was such a great fit. If you know what agents do for athletes, then you know they’re supposed to be like mama bears anyway! They make sure the cub eats. They protect them from predators. And the very best ones don’t let any harm come to their cubs. I know that not every parent should manage their child’s athletic career, but it was a great move for my mom and me. She was the smart, wise, mama bear protector I needed.
During the ten years she was my agent, she negotiated all of my contracts for competitions. She traveled to all my meets. She made sure my coach and other support staff were paid. She booked all my travel for competitions. Basically, she took care of hundreds of details no one ever sees so that I could be who we both believed I was born to be.
She was, and still is, a precious gift in my life.
Dad
Like my mom, the impact of my dad’s investment of time, money, and energy into me and my career is immeasurable. Very few people can understand the level of commitment he has demonstrated over the first three decades of my life.
In my earliest years, before college and my pro career, when races were typically filmed or televised, my dad knew that recording and reviewing my races would be critical for my development as an athlete. That meant that, no matter what seat number was printed on his ticket, he’d be perched right above the finish line. If any dutiful security guard tried to thwart him, he’d communicate, with his body, his face, his voice, “I shall not be moved.”
When I became a professional athlete and began to train with Coach Hart, I was still taking classes at the University of Texas in Austin. But Coach was ninety minutes away at Baylor in Waco. Though my folks were still living in Florida at the time, my dad moved to Austin to drive me to and from practice! My mom was able to move and join him the next year, but he spent a whole season taking care of me. Though I knew how to drive, he was afraid I’d be too tired and didn’t want me on the road three hours a day.
Dad never minded being my chauffeur and chef. He cooked the foods my body needed to be in peak shape, and he juiced fruits and vegetables for me to drink every day. He even ended up being my sports psychologist! Yes, he examined my body mechanics and helped me analyze my physical performance in races, but he also understood, and helped me understand, my mental game.
If my mom ended up getting to do the cool stuff—traveling with me to races in Europe and photo shoots at Nike headquarters—my dad chose to take on the unglamorous jobs. He’d run across the track after a hard effort to bring me a bottle of water in the brutal Texas heat. He’d record my workout routines and times in a journal for me. But Dad never complained, and never seemed to mind that Mom was having all the fun. He just supported me each day in his quiet, steady way.
Since my first practice as a little girl in Jamaica, he’s always been in the trenches with me.
Shari
I’ve mentioned that Shari was a unique sister. She has been one of the best gifts in my life.
When we first moved to Florida, two Jamaican girls figuring out how to be Americans, we shared a bedroom. Late at night, I’d share my dreams with her about running and college and boys and the Olympics.
Sometimes, when one child in the family garners extra attention from parents and others—perhaps because they have a special talent, like I did, or maybe because they have a special challenge, like a child with an intellectual or physical disability—the siblings suffer. Consciously or unconsciously, they feel they don’t receive the attention they want and need. I suppose it’s a tribute to my parents that Shari didn’t suffer like that. But it’s also a tribute to who Shari is.
Shari instilled a lot of confidence in me, and you can’t do that if you’re not someone who already has confidence in themselves. She did, and she still does. She had a good head on her shoulders, knew who she was, and never wanted to be anyone other than herself.
As I listen for her voice in my ear today, I hear her hollering from the stands, “Let’s go, Sanya! You can do it! Nobody can beat you!” When I watch recordings of my professional races, I swear I can hear Shari screaming in the stands. In many ways, she was my sure footing. As I’d crouch in the blocks, still and quiet while the stadium held its collective breath, I could feel her confidence in me.
When my mom and dad had to worry about body mechanics and contracts and juices and airline delays, Shari was free to simply be my number one fan. And I couldn’t ask for a better one. She has come to every meet she could. Even when I was in my first year of college in Texas, while my family was still in Florida, she and my parents would fly out to support me in competitions.
Honestly, she had to put up with what a lot of siblings wouldn’t choose, because most places she went she was known as “Sanya’s sister.” Yet she was never jealous. She never complained. She was always supportive.
My husband Ross and I have gotten used to being “recognized” out in public. Depending on whether someone is a track fan or football fan, we’re used to hearing, “Are you Sanya’s husband?” or “Are you Aaron’s wife?” We smile and proudly admit that we are.
A few years ago, I had the coolest experience when Ross and I were out at the mall in Austin, where my parents and Shari now also live.
We were walking past the food court when a young woman approached me and asked, “Are you Shari’s sister? You look just like her! She does my hair!” I couldn’t have been prouder, beaming as I responded, “I am!”
If you know how hard it is to find someone truly gifted with hair, you know that young lady probably felt like she was meeting the sister of a superstar!
That moment, as I swelled with pride to be Shari Richards’ sister, I felt like I was standing on the podium.
Coach Hart
When I started working with Coach Hart in 2005, he’d not yet coached a female athlete who’d seen the kinds of success his male athletes like Michael Johnson and Jeremy Warner had. But he took a chance on a University of Texas girl, and I’ve been grateful ever since that he did.
Coach Hart was in his early seventies when he took me on. One of the things I loved most about him was that he was solid. He wasn’t easily shaken. He was the rock of confidence and experience that I needed. He was also a strong Christian, with the confidence that God has a plan.
When I planned my wedding for my twenty-fifth birthday, I hadn’t calculated that it coincided with a huge Big 12 conference track meet. Coach Hart had attended that meet religiously for over fifty years.
When he received the invitation to my wedding, he was bummed.
“Oh, San, is there any way you can change it?” he begged.
While I shared his passion for the sport, I was not going to change the date of my wedding.
The day Ross received me as his bride, Coach Hart was there to celebrate with us. That’s the kind of man he was. Other coaches in the conference couldn’t believe that he’d missed the meet. I felt so loved by that generous gesture. Coach has two sons, but no
daughters. He’d already given me so much—traveling with me, being away from his family during the collegiate season—and he showed up for the most important day of my life.
Coach Hart wasn’t one to display a lot of emotion. Some might even describe him as “ice cold.” But I’d like to think I melted his heart. I even got him to start hugging! A coach who worked with him for thirty years remarked to me, “You changed him! He’s a soft teddy bear now!”
Your Crew
I could not have experienced the success I’ve enjoyed without this amazing crew. Each one has made countless sacrifices to make what I’ve done possible. I could never have reached the finish line, could never have stepped up to the podium, without the day-in and day-out support they’ve provided.
I know that sounds like a cliché, something you’d hear from someone in a ball gown receiving an Oscar, but it’s true! My people are amazing.
I’ve been telling you about the amazing people who have been the biggest cheerleaders in my life, and it’s my hope and prayer that you have this kind of support in your own life.
Maybe, like me, you have a whole fleet of supporters. Maybe, when you close your eyes, you can visualize a huge crew of your own fans—wearing T-shirts that say “Team Ebony” or “Team Zoe” or “Team Emma”—who always have your back and always show up for you.
But I realize that’s not always the case.
I encourage you to look for the kind eyes, the open ears, the loving voice of just one person who’s been part of your cheerleading team. Maybe you have a grandmother who thinks you are amazing. Her eyes reflect God’s eyes. Or maybe a friend’s mom noticed you and spent time listening to you. Her ears represent God’s ears. Or maybe a volunteer with your church youth group has given advice that helped you as you thought about your future. That voice echoes with the wisdom of God’s own voice.
A proverb attributed to African culture says, “It takes a village to raise a child.” It means that a child will be best nurtured when the entire community contributes to her upbringing. I would say that God uses the village to bless the child. That was certainly true in my life, in the ways I was cared for by my family, my coach, and others. I hope you can recognize who those faithful “villagers” have been in your life. If you can’t see them yet, ask God to show you their faces and reveal their names.
Right on Track Page 12