Last Saturday I ran my second and final half-marathon. I crossed the finish line knowing it would be the last time in my life I experienced the pure exhileration of finishing a 13.1 mile run. And I was ok with that. In those post-race moments my feelings of joy, relief, and utter exhaustion were so overwhelming that I felt like I was floating through the medal tent and food station (maybe I was, I couldn't really feel my legs). I'm glad I did it. I proved to myself that I can run, that I'm no longer that girl coming up last on the gym class miler, that I have the self-discipline to master a painful and often tedious activity. However, over the past year I've decided that it's not exactly healthy. Not for me, anyway. There are those that love to run for hours and those that don't. I've finally accepted the fact that I'm in the latter category, and no matter how fit I am, I will never love running for more than six miles.
I came to this realization on top of a mountain in Ireland. Climbing upward, I found myself truly enjoying not only the view, but also the the sweat, the pumping heart,and the burning legs. Even in the second and third hour of the hike I was still enjoying it in a way I never enjoy the second hour of a long run. I realized that THIS was what I wanted to be able to do for the rest of my life. Hiking through Ireland gave us a free pass to some of the most beautiful vistas along with many untrodden nooks and crannies. We did our best to avoid anyplace with a parking lot full of tour buses. This "off-the-beaten-path" tourism required a good deal of sweat, some well-worn hiking shoes, and a bit of hard pedaling up dirt roads. We bypassed the Blarney Stone for the Wicklow Mountains and skipped Bunratty Castle so that we could hike 11 miles on the Ring of Kerry. We purposefully avoided the more touristy sites on the Aran Islands in favor of biking around Kilronin on our own, exploring ancient ruins in out-of-the-way places and quietly enjoying the magnificant cliffs in the company of birds and dairy cows.
Through it all, I realized that THIS is the purpose of staying in shape. I stay in shape so that I don't have to see the world from the windows of a tour bus. I stay in shape so that I can walk my dogs without getting dragged down the street in hot pursuit of a passing squirrel. (If you've ever walked multiple dogs, or just one big dog you know what I mean.) I stay in shape so that I can fit comfortably into an airplane seat and buy clothes at normal stores. I stay in shape so that I don't have to take lots of pills or have joints replaced when I'm old. And yet, none of these things require me to get up at 6:30 every Saturday morning and run for two hours. Basically, I enjoy being active, I enjoy being healthy, I DO NOT enjoy running for half the morning.
I also realized this summer that long-distance running is actually increasing my chances of knee problems in old age. If running a half-marathon, something I don't love to do, is getting the way of climbing mountains, something I do love, then it's completely illogical for me to keep running half marathons. I do enjoy running in moderation, and I will continue to run 5 and 10Ks, but it's rather silly for me to spend a significant portion of my free time doing something monotonous and potentially detrimental.
Tomorrow is Saturday, the first Saturday in a long time that I will not wake up to an alarm. When I do wake up I will go for a bike ride while listening to my audio books. I will walk my dogs and I may even go apple picking. I will not be icing my knees, sliding down the stairs on my butt, or popping blisters on my toes. Hopefully when I'm 70 and standing on top of a Himalaya, I'll be able to say that I still have all my original parts. Regardless, I'm sure I won't be saying that I regretted all those Saturday mornings I spent enjoying myelf, rather than proving myself.
Showing posts with label life events. Show all posts
Showing posts with label life events. Show all posts
Friday, September 19, 2014
Sunday, September 15, 2013
Hebrews 12:1-17
About six months ago I took it into my head to run a half marathon. I can't say exactly why. It was a mixture of pride, a need to fit in, a desire to eat more ice cream, and an assortment of other ill-conceived motives which disintegrated once training became hard. I about gave up. Getting out of bed at 6:30 am to run 8 miles on a Saturday requires a willpower motivated by something stronger than sheer pride. Yet soon, a deeper, truer, motivation took root. It grew slowly and took shape over months and weeks of long runs. It was a motivation to reach a new milestone, to push my body out of its comfort zone, and to prove to my 16-year-old self that I CAN run.
Yesterday I completed my half marathon. As I rounded the last bend and saw the people standing on the bridge at the finish, it wasn't status, bragging rights, or ice cream that I was thinking about at that moment. I was thinking of that girl that used to struggle to run a lap on the track. That girl who dreaded the bi-annual gym class miler and the epic humiliation that came along with it. That girl was me. And yet, that same girl was sprinting toward the finish line on the last .1 mile of a 13.1 mile race. That thought is what got my burning legs across that line, and it got them there faster than in all my training runs. Not only had I completed a feat that I could have only dreamed of ten years ago, but I ended up in the top third of women finishers.
Now, that's the story of the glorious ending. However, the physical transformation of a distance runner is, by its very nature is not a single moment of victory over gluttony, laziness, or weakness. Transformation is not crossing the finish line. It is many, many mornings of long, hot, sweaty runs on muggy summer days. It is setting the alarm clock earlier and earlier. It is choosing bran flakes over donuts. For me, transformation also meant popping blisters on my toes and feeling relief when the ugly callouses finally formed. Transformation involved periods where the heat and exhaustion made me sick (I'll spare you the details on that one). It required money toward shoes and appropriate gear. It left me hobbling up and down the many stairs in my townhouse. And it probably resulted in my swallowing more than a few bugs. What's more, the work doesn't end now that I've crossed the finish line. Next weekend, I'll be up early, lacing up those sneakers and heading out on the trail.
When I set out to achieve this goal, little did I know that the greatest transformation of it all would be a spiritual one. Running for 2+ hours every weekend has given me ample time to learn about my human weakness and God's ultimate strength. A couple weeks ago when my Pastor read Hebrews 12:1 these words resonated with me as they never have before:
"Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us..."
There is something about running that just makes one understand this analogy better. When I come up the last hill of my run I know what running with endurance is all about. I really get laying aside every weight and sin that clings closely. The reality just continues for me as I read on in Hebrews 12: "For at the moment all discipline seems painful rather than pleasant" (vs. 11) and perhaps most poignantly for me, "strengthen your weak knees..." (vs. 12)
Obviously this passage of Scripture is an analogy to the Christian life. But it is through running that this passage has come alive. In our Christian life we are surrounded by a great crowd of witnesses, much like runners on the W&OD are surrounded by other exercise fanatics every Saturday and Sunday morning. Though I run alone, I always feel a sense of goodwill and camaraderie among the runners on the trail. I've had encouragement from strangers more than a few times. We all know and understand what the other is going through. We know the lows of pain and the soaring highs from those endorphins surging through our bodies. While Hebrews 12 in particular applies to Biblical figures, two hour runs give me time to thank God for the "great cloud of witnesses" in my own life - my family and the other faithful believers in my hometown, and my wonderful, mission-oriented, church here in NoVA.
I've also learned about endurance. That last mile is tough. The sun is up. The heat is rising. Pain surges through my legs. By the last hill my strength is gone. But on every long run, I come to a point where prayer alone keeps me going. I pray for a second wind, I pray for endurance. When I read Hebrews 12 now I think of that last rise where I am running uphill and across a bridge. With many miles behind and 3/4 mile to go, I'm silently praying: "God, help me, help me up this hill." God comes through. That bridge has become my "ebenezer" - my stone of help. That bridge reminds me that God is there. My endurance in life and in running comes from Him.
And what about those "weak knees?" My left knee to be precise. The thing I have grown to love about running is that it reminds me of my weakness. As I push myself harder and longer, I begin to realize the limits of my body. In getting to that place of weakness there is something overwhelmingly good about having nothing to rely on but God's strength. God's strength alone helps me to run through pain, both literally and figuratively.
These long runs have given me ample time for prayer and reflection, time that I try not to waste. I have even come to find joy in the moments where prayer takes over in the heat of pain and exhaustion. I have begun a transformation into a Hebrews 12 runner, but much like my physical transformation, my spiritual transformation is not complete. It is a lifelong commitment that relies on continued training. So for now I'll continue meeting with the "founder and perfecter" of my faith every Saturday morning.
Yesterday I completed my half marathon. As I rounded the last bend and saw the people standing on the bridge at the finish, it wasn't status, bragging rights, or ice cream that I was thinking about at that moment. I was thinking of that girl that used to struggle to run a lap on the track. That girl who dreaded the bi-annual gym class miler and the epic humiliation that came along with it. That girl was me. And yet, that same girl was sprinting toward the finish line on the last .1 mile of a 13.1 mile race. That thought is what got my burning legs across that line, and it got them there faster than in all my training runs. Not only had I completed a feat that I could have only dreamed of ten years ago, but I ended up in the top third of women finishers.
Now, that's the story of the glorious ending. However, the physical transformation of a distance runner is, by its very nature is not a single moment of victory over gluttony, laziness, or weakness. Transformation is not crossing the finish line. It is many, many mornings of long, hot, sweaty runs on muggy summer days. It is setting the alarm clock earlier and earlier. It is choosing bran flakes over donuts. For me, transformation also meant popping blisters on my toes and feeling relief when the ugly callouses finally formed. Transformation involved periods where the heat and exhaustion made me sick (I'll spare you the details on that one). It required money toward shoes and appropriate gear. It left me hobbling up and down the many stairs in my townhouse. And it probably resulted in my swallowing more than a few bugs. What's more, the work doesn't end now that I've crossed the finish line. Next weekend, I'll be up early, lacing up those sneakers and heading out on the trail.
When I set out to achieve this goal, little did I know that the greatest transformation of it all would be a spiritual one. Running for 2+ hours every weekend has given me ample time to learn about my human weakness and God's ultimate strength. A couple weeks ago when my Pastor read Hebrews 12:1 these words resonated with me as they never have before:
"Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us..."
There is something about running that just makes one understand this analogy better. When I come up the last hill of my run I know what running with endurance is all about. I really get laying aside every weight and sin that clings closely. The reality just continues for me as I read on in Hebrews 12: "For at the moment all discipline seems painful rather than pleasant" (vs. 11) and perhaps most poignantly for me, "strengthen your weak knees..." (vs. 12)
Obviously this passage of Scripture is an analogy to the Christian life. But it is through running that this passage has come alive. In our Christian life we are surrounded by a great crowd of witnesses, much like runners on the W&OD are surrounded by other exercise fanatics every Saturday and Sunday morning. Though I run alone, I always feel a sense of goodwill and camaraderie among the runners on the trail. I've had encouragement from strangers more than a few times. We all know and understand what the other is going through. We know the lows of pain and the soaring highs from those endorphins surging through our bodies. While Hebrews 12 in particular applies to Biblical figures, two hour runs give me time to thank God for the "great cloud of witnesses" in my own life - my family and the other faithful believers in my hometown, and my wonderful, mission-oriented, church here in NoVA.
I've also learned about endurance. That last mile is tough. The sun is up. The heat is rising. Pain surges through my legs. By the last hill my strength is gone. But on every long run, I come to a point where prayer alone keeps me going. I pray for a second wind, I pray for endurance. When I read Hebrews 12 now I think of that last rise where I am running uphill and across a bridge. With many miles behind and 3/4 mile to go, I'm silently praying: "God, help me, help me up this hill." God comes through. That bridge has become my "ebenezer" - my stone of help. That bridge reminds me that God is there. My endurance in life and in running comes from Him.
And what about those "weak knees?" My left knee to be precise. The thing I have grown to love about running is that it reminds me of my weakness. As I push myself harder and longer, I begin to realize the limits of my body. In getting to that place of weakness there is something overwhelmingly good about having nothing to rely on but God's strength. God's strength alone helps me to run through pain, both literally and figuratively.
These long runs have given me ample time for prayer and reflection, time that I try not to waste. I have even come to find joy in the moments where prayer takes over in the heat of pain and exhaustion. I have begun a transformation into a Hebrews 12 runner, but much like my physical transformation, my spiritual transformation is not complete. It is a lifelong commitment that relies on continued training. So for now I'll continue meeting with the "founder and perfecter" of my faith every Saturday morning.
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