You know that saying, "Life's a marathon, not a sprint"? I'm really banking on that not being true. Because I really want to make it past age 43.
Why am I thinking the marathon thing is insurmountable? I ran my first half-marathon 4 weeks ago today. And my hip is still angry with me.
I've been one of those wacky people known as runners for the past 5 years. I started as a way to lose weight ( which really works, by the way) and have continued it as my primary form of exercise ever since. Here's a little secret runners don't want you to know: a majority of the time, running SUCKS. Oh, sure, we want you to think it's like fleeing through a field of poppies in springtime, with the weather a perfect 68 degrees and no traces of humidity, light as a feather, the incarnation of the Greek goddess Nike as we sprint blissfully towards our goal, which is never to look good naked, no, its for our health. To be one with our bodies as nature intended, the occasional gleam of light perspiration on the brow as the toxins vacate our Temple. It's as easy and breezy as a Cover Girl commercial!
News flash: its not. I don't run because I find it entertaining. I run because I like to eat ice cream and still fit into my jeans. Sure, the added benefits of lower blood pressure and stress relief are a nice bonus, but let's be clear: this is totally about vanity.
So last July I came up with the brilliant idea of running a half-marathon. I've done several (3) 5 K's before, and was accustomed to running up to 8 miles at a time (last done two years ago), so I figured I'd give it a shot. I signed up for the Dalton Half-Marathon/ 5K to be held October 16.
The hardest part of the training was by far the long runs. Not that tempo runs are a walk in the park, but there is something about getting up at 4 AM that triggers anger within your quadriceps. Every week when that alarm went of on Friday mornings, I heard my body saying "You are not supposed to do this to me."
The added bonus was that even in the early AM, that good ole' Southern humidity was alive and kicking. It feels similar to what I imagine the Costa Rican rainforest is like. In August. At midday. In the blinding sun.
Yet off I went, gradually pushing myself further past what I thought was possible. The day I hit 13 miles was an incredible reminder of how far I had come, from a 5 foot 3, 205-pound high school graduate to, well, an athlete. Bring it, Dalton.
October 16 slapped me in the face with a head cold. Not the kind where you have some sniffles throughout the day, but the kind that transforms the head into a mucus factory working 24/7. I had the pleasure of running with Kleenex stuffed into my running pants, looking like I was smuggling pounds of cocaine or perhaps carrying a litter of white kittens with me throughout the race.
After the first few miles, as the crowd thinned out, I was better able to see my competition. It was both inspiring and disheartening to see the amount of senior citizens pounding the pavement beside me. Especially as they began passing me, one by one. After the 6 mile mark, I was transported into the running Twilight Zone in which mile 7 was sure never to come. I felt dizzy, queasy, and ticked that I was willingly spending my Saturday engaging in self-torture. And as if God wasnt getting enough entertainment out of watching me, the hills began.
Finally, as I crawled toward the finish line, I remembered that my goal was not to be the first, but simply to finish. This was a timely reminder, since throngs of runners were breezing past me with their finisher's medals to their cars as they left the race. I didn't care; when I crossed the line it was a total "Chariots of Fire" moment. With my parents and husband there to greet me, its safe to say I have never been more proud of myself.
Running is a lot like life, especially for followers of Christ. Alot of times it sucks, the hills are never fun to climb, and people will repeatedly pass you, making you second-guess your course of action. But just as nothing compares to feeling the weight of that finisher's medal around your neck at the finish line, nothing will compare to falling into our Father's arms as He welcomes us home.
C.S. Lewis said what saves a man is to take a step, and then another step. Be a step taker rather than a spectator. So let us throw off everything that hinders and run with endurance the race that Jesus has set before us.
Happy Trails, fellow runners!
No comments:
Post a Comment