I loved running. Finishing the hard work of a long run felt so satisfying--not to say that I wasn't doing hard work elsewhere. As a stay-at-home-mom and a housewife, I was pouring myself out every day for the needs of the people in my home. But I could never make the work feel big enough. I needed something that gave me an immediate sense of accomplishment; I needed something tangible that made me feel like I had seen something through until it was complete. Running was that outlet for me.
Almost immediately after I finished the first race, I planned to run another one. I even toyed with the idea of training for a full marathon. But five years later, those plans have never materialized. My work that "didn't feel big enough" started filling up all of my days, and my first race became my only race.
My solo performance did not keep me from the trail, though. I still loved to run. Half of the time I couldn't figure out if I liked it more for the challenge or the quiet meditation. Running is where I did my best thinking--probably because I was always too winded to talk.
Being outside, mind clear, music on, body moving...It was my happy place.
(Also, I got to eat more nachos and still fit into my pants. So yeah, running was all kinds of winning for me.)
I decided that I didn't need to make an investment in race fees, because I believed running was a worthy investment all on its own. I didn't need any medals, because running in and of itself was the prize. For a while, that's all it took to keep me moving.
And it worked really well...
Until it didn't.
It started with a move.
All of my trusty trails that I had mapped out for me were gone, and I had to find new places to run. I found plenty of trails that satisfied the need for shorter distances, but nothing over a couple miles. I was not confident enough to run the unfamiliar areas on my own, and my ability to finish long runs suffered.
Then there was an injury.
We're still not exactly sure what caused it...anxiety? illness? carrying a 60lb girl and her crutches on my back like a rucksack for a mile that one time we were running late to a soccer game and couldn't find parking? Whatever the reason, I couldn't feel my feet. Then I couldn't feel my left arm. Then the left side of my face went numb. This led us to discover a slight compression in my back, which then sent me to physical therapy twice a week for two months. I wasn't released to run again until after I completed my treatment.
Then it was just too hard on my pride.
I ran that very first day after my release, but it was really, really difficult. I don't know why I thought it wouldn't be, but it took me by surprise all the same. I had kept up other forms of exercise during my therapy thinking that it would help me keep a strong aerobic threshold, but there was something specifically about the run training that my body was lacking, and my performance suffered without it. I kept trying for a while, but when I couldn't achieve as much as I thought I should, running didn't feel as fulfilling. When my effort didn't give me the result I desired, I didn't think those runs were worth the investment of my time. When it didn't feel like a prize, I didn't want to chase it. If I had to start my runs like I did all the way back in the beginning, then I didn't want to do them anymore.
***
It has taken me a really long time to learn that loving something doesn't make it easy to do. The things we love the very most are usually the ones that require the most effort to sustain. They take constant training, claim most of our waking hours, and make us lose most of our sleep. Our faith, our marriages, our children, our careers, our homes, our dreams for the future...our silly running hobbies...only grow and get better if we never finish them. You have to work on them. Always.
It took me even longer to learn that struggling at something doesn't mean that you weren't built to do it. If I thought that setbacks weren't part of growth, then I was just fooling myself. If ease were the only thing I ever invested in, my life would be shallow and my achievements would be bland at best. If I always lived in this space where I let go of the things that "didn't feel worth it" for even the slightest moment, I would never do anything worthwhile. If I never humbled myself enough to start all over, I would be forsaking piles of experience and the pathway to something even greater.
But it has taken me longer still to learn that there is no magic number of achievements that will make you feel fulfilled. There is no amount of medals on your wall that will make you feel like you've done good enough. There is no amount of accolades for your work that will make you feel secure in your mastery. There is no amount of recognition, no professional title, no amount of money, no amount of miles ran...
And it's dangerous to think so, because that's not where fulfillment comes from!
It comes from Christ alone. The One who has already done all the work for us. The One who has already said "It is finished." The One who doesn't need you to impress Him, because He already loved you first.--before you ever did anything at all.
Works cannot fill you because He is already the full prize.
***
After we moved to the Austin area, I started running again--not because I was altogether resolved to do so, but because a beautiful trail was already here for me. I started running faster, not because I was immediately strong, but because the trail was so easy to get to and so nice that I began training on it more frequently. I started running farther, because the frequency of training helped my body remember that it could. I scheduled to run another half marathon, because I remembered I told myself I was going to. And in actually training for the half marathon, I have rediscovered the joy of it all.
It's not going to be easy, but that doesn't mean I won't love it.
Some days I'll struggle to complete my run, but that doesn't mean that I'm not built to do it.
And it might not be an official race that'll "earn me credit" among anyone else, but that doesn't mean it won't come with a prize.
We're all in a race, friends. Press on.
Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already arrived at my goal, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me. Brothers and sisters, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus. (Philipians 3: 12-14)
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