I'll Race You

Yesterday, I competed in the Cincinnati Half-Marathon. It was my first half-marathon, and to be honest, while some people say they love this stuff, I have to say: it hurt! What makes finishing this race so special is that I’ve always struggled to finish projects. I’ve been talking about running a marathon for years and I’ve never competed in one. I’ve always wanted to write a book, and as of yet, I’ve never finished one. I’m a starter, but rarely a finisher. It’s a stigma that I’ve had to deal with for quite a long time, and as a result, I’ve lost plenty of confidence in myself. So how did I become a finisher?

The race had plenty of ups and downs. The goal for the race was to average a ten-minute mile. If I could average ten-minute miles, then I’d finish in two hours and ten minutes. Actually, my goal was to beat CNNSI NFL writer Peter King’s time of two hours and sixteen minutes. I figured if I couldn’t beat a fifty-three-year-old sports writer who’s struggled with his weight and dealt with heart issues, then I had no business running the race. This is meant as no disrespect towards Peter King; in fact, I love his work. But I used him as a motivator. The race started with a group of one thousand eight hundred runners cramped together like sardines (not fun), and in the first mile I settled in to a nice easy run. I just stuck with the pack. Just after the second mile marker, I got my first water stop, and that’s where I had trouble catching my breath for the first time. As I slowed to get water, some people stopped dead in front of me. I almost ran over this little hundred-pound lady that stopped in front of me for water. When I started running again, the combination of coming to that stop plus the cup of water suddenly had me sweating and out of breath. I ran through it and tried to calm down. I hit my first hill soon after that. It was during this point that I found myself wondering if I could finish this race.

At the top of the hill I found myself running through the center of downtown Cincinnati, and with all the scenery I got my pace back and settled down. I started passing people; in fact, I passed a lot of people between miles two and five. Things were smooth: I had no pain, I was breathing well, and I found space between myself and other runners. When we made our turn onto Pete Rose Way at Sawyer Point, I cracked jokes with some of the supporters and yelled out “I love you” to Jenn as I passed her. It was smooth sailing! Well, it was smooth sailing until I got to the mile six marker. I started getting strong pain in my left foot along my pinky toe and up that side of the foot. I had to slow my pace. At this point, I was working on my first gel packet and I was doing well with my breathing, but the pain in my foot was overwhelming. When I passed the mile nine marker, I was very close to walking. Off to my right, a woman pulled off to the side and started stretching out her hamstring. I encouraged her to keep pushing, and when I did that, it seemed like my own pain became easier.

When I reached the mile ten marker, the pain in my foot was gone, but it was too late to pick up the pace. People were passing me then. I was passed by a man pushing a wheelchair, a large amount of middle-aged woman, and a power walker. It was humbling to be passed by people I never expected to be passed by, but I kept going. As I reached the mile eleven marker, I was going through my last gel pack, and I was still keeping my breathing in order. I felt good enough to try and finish strong, and I tried pushing off my left leg to get some speed. It didn’t happen. My left calf cramped up slightly and I spent the next mile and a half trying to find a way to pick up a little speed, but the calf was telling me “no.” With only half a mile left, I just resigned myself to finishing and did what I could to finish. My legs wanted nothing to do with running at this point. When I passed Montgomery Inn, I started seeing others who’d already finished cheering us on. There were more and more of them the closer I got to the finish line. At the finish line, Jenn was waiting for me, and once I crossed I ran into a wall of other runners who’d just finished. I was barely able to stand and a little woozy, but it was over.

This afternoon as I ponder this race and the races we all run, it really puts life in perspective. We all have moments in our lives that it’s hard to breathe and we have to find a way to settle in. We all have our uphill climbs that we traverse in hopes of something better. We have good days when everything goes well and we pass others by. We deal with pain that sometimes cripples us, but when we encourage others suddenly our own pain seems more manageable. Sometimes we have to slow down and simply find a way even when we aren’t a hundred percent, and when our race is over we are greeted by those who have gone before us. When my race is over, I’ll see my grandparents again. I’ll get to hold Grandma in my arms and hear her voice again. I’ll get to hear Granddad tell me how proud of me he is. I’ll get to kneel before the Father and tell Him how much I love Him. When we finish the race, it’s like we’re all part of something special. That’s what it’s like when we live our lives for Christ. It has its ups and downs, but the end reward is worth it.

"For I am already being poured out as a drink offering, and the time of my departure is at hand. I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Finally, there is laid up for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will give to me on that Day, and not to me only but also to all who have loved His appearing." (2 Timothy 4:6-8)