Category Archives: Memior

Spiritual Sprints: Lessons Learned on the Run

IMG_3318I thought I would cry — an ugly, sobbing, boo-hoo kind of cry. But I didn’t. In fact, based on the picture to the left, I was doing just the opposite, smiling buoyantly. The picture perfectly captures exactly how I felt as I crossed the finish line after running 13.1 miles – SHOCKED RELIEF!

When I started my half-marathon training plan over four months ago, it was with a sense of determination. I needed a challenge to focus on; I needed a “win” in my life. For some reason, I decided a 13.1 mile race should do it. Some days I trained happily, others begrudgingly. Some days I felt strong; others I gave up and quit. Yet, I stuck to the plan, paid my entry fee and showed up early Saturday morning dressed to run — filled with a mix of anxiety and excitement.

In less than three hours, it was all over. My four months of training centered around a mere 3 hour event. Yet after it was over, I realized I learned more than just what it felt like to complete a half-marathon.

Lessons Learned on the Run

1. The fun of a new adventure will always wear off and then the real work begins. Somewhere after the four-mile marker, I texted my husband: “Over four miles and still feeling good. C u soon!”  I was feeling great and my legs felt strong. Along mile 8, my hip started hurting. Then, not long after, my knee got stiff. It was those last 5 miles when my “embrace the suck” skills kicked in. I wouldn’t stop now no matter how bad it hurt, but now instead of running for fun, I was working to run. In life, we often want to participate as long as it’s fun. We want to pursue the dream, as long as everything works out. However, when the real work of discipline and details kicks in, we opt out. But remember this: it’s the moments of real work that get us across the finish line.

2. Small victories lead to big ones.  I trained for this race using a run/walk pace. Loosely translated, that means I ran for a certain amount of time followed by a walk. Obviously the running time is always higher than the walking, which is where the victory comes in. One thing I was determined to do was stick to my training pace (4 minute run/1.5 minute walk). During the first few miles, this plan seemed easy. However, at miles 11 and 12, just running for four minutes was daunting – and sometimes nearly impossible. My legs screamed for rest; my mind wanted to quit. I told myself over and over, just 4 minutes and you get to walk again. Then set after set of run/walk ticked by, and I found myself at the finish line. I won my race every time I completed a 4 minute run. It was pushing through the small challenges that lead to the major victory. (That’ll preach!)

3. The road gets lonely at times. There were certain parts of the course where I was completely alone. I could see a few runners ahead of me, but they weren’t within talking distance. It was just me alone with my thoughts and the steady pound of pavement. During those moments, it was harder to run. I couldn’t feel the pull of the runner’s pace ahead of me. There was no one speaking words of encouragement as they ran beside me. Yet I kept on knowing two things: eventually I would catch up to the runner ahead of me or someone behind me would match my pace. Truthfully, the road has to be lonely sometimes because that’s when we are forced to talk to the One who is always there to listen. And that’s exactly what I did.

4. We all need a cheerleader. I’m all about encouraging people. In fact, that was one of my favorite parts of the race – cheering people on as they passed me. (Our course had a lot of loops where I passed other runners often.) I had people doing the same for me. Random texts dinged on my phone as I ran; friends sending words of encouragement and pride. For me though, the best part was knowing someone was waiting for me at the finish line. That when it was all over, someone would be there to give me a high five, document the look on my face as I crossed the finish line, and revel in the power of the moment. Saturday, my husband was my cheerleader. Other days for other life “races,” it has been friends or family members. I will tell you that without a doubt those who cheer for me have made a difference in the race I run – physically and spiritually.

5. We can always rise to the challenge if we stay with it. The last two weeks of my training schedule, I wanted to quit. In fact, I asked myself several times, “Why do you need to do this?” Another voice in me said you’ve worked too hard to throw it away. So I kept training and forced my doubts and laziness aside. The morning of the race, I was filled with nervousness, but also a sense of determination to finish what I had started. The start gun fired, and I set off to do what I had trained to do. You know what? I did it. I crossed the finish line. Was it easy? No. It wasn’t easy during training, so the actual race wasn’t going to be easy. I had all kinds of doubts, but I wouldn’t give in to them. I took one step at a time (sometimes literally); I trained one day at a time. I raced one 4-minute run at a time. That’s what it takes to overcome our challenges or to achieve our dreams. It is my hope that long after this race is over, I will let my “finish” spur me on to do the same in other areas of my life. After all, if I conquered a mere 13.1 miles, there’s not much else I can’t do. Right?!


A Status Unposted

IMG_1638It was an ordinary Sunday afternoon. A windows-down drive through the mountains sent the Spring breeze dancing in the windows, begging loose objects to become its dance partner. Beams of golden magic pierced the landscape before me, causing dappled sunlight to fill the street. Around me, music and voices intermingled. Their words indistinguishable but full of feeling.

Stealing a peek in the visor mirror, I saw the back seat’s occupants, and for a moment, the world froze. A rush of peace flooded my mind, and tomorrow’s gathered-early worries and today’s momentary stresses disappeared. Just for that moment , I knew life couldn’t be more perfect. Its ordinary beauty overwhelmed me.

Words I’d read months ago flooded my mind; one simple sentence tucked deep into a blog post or maybe a favorite book. “The best moments in life don’t often photograph well.” I glanced over at my husband as he drove and sang along to the radio. I knew in an instant that Instagram could never capture what my heart felt. No photograph could portray the power of that ordinary minute. But my heart could.

So I closed my eyes and breathed in the joy and contentment that filled me. I engraved the image of teenage faces on my brain. All too soon, the traces of mecurial adolescence would leave their eyes and be replaced with the self-reliant gleam of young adulthood. I quietly recounted the steadfast love of the one who sat next to me. The four of us would always be close, but never again would  we share this singular moment in time: a jewel in the treasure chest of ordinary.

I held that jewel up to the afternoon sun and basked in its perfection. Then as the clouds changed to pink smears, I tucked it away in my heart, knowing it could be admired again and again because I chose to revel in it instead of updating my status.