The Illusion of Final

I had a tough training run today. The first three or four miles were all right, but after that, I was struggling. I've run the distance and the terrain before, but you would never know that from today's experience. In fact, I've often run further. I was slightly over eight miles into my 10 mile run when I began to weave back and forth and realized I was "bonking." I didn't have the reserves to continue. I felt physically spent. I sat down, exhausted. My running partner Warren was having a strong day, and was well up the final hill when I sat at the foot of it. My other running partner Jessi came back to where I was and asked if I was all right. I said I was; I just had bonked and felt wasted. She said, "Are you sure? You're almost there." I asked for help standing up, and made my way to a nearby bench in the shade. I knew I would be OK, and encouraged her to finish her run. She left and I recovered in the shade for a few minutes with her question echoing in my head. Am I sure I'm finished? Am I OK with stopping this close to my goal? Am I sure I'm finished? Did I really want to end this run at this point? Am I sure I'm finished? As I regained my strength, I realized the answer was, "No. I'm not finished. I only have a mile and three-quarters left. I don't need to run it at top speed, but I need to finish it because I can." I dialed Warren on my cell phone to let him know of my decision and the route I would be taking. I topped the hill and a little at a time began to run toward my goal. No one would have mistaken me for Usain Bolt during that last segment. My best pace was a lively jog. But it was not my intention to set a speed record. It was my intention to finish. Warren and Jessi doubled back and ran with me while I finished the last mile. I told Jessi that it was her comment, "Are you sure? You're almost there," that made the difference. As teammates, we encourage each other and affirm each other's success. I knew I was supported 100% whether I continued or stopped short. I also knew if I could finish, I must finish. This is not some macho code of honor; this is simply having integrity and learning what the day and the trail want to teach. I have learned over the past 10 months of endurance running training that I have not come close to completely tapping my reserves. I have learned more and more that I have reserves to tap. I have learned that I am loved and supported, not just by my friends, but by strangers in the running community who call out encouragement as they pass. At the end of the run, I had gone 10.25 miles before I switched off my performance tracker. After that, I probably walked another 1/3 of a mile. What mattered was not that I did not do so well as a trail runner, or that I had to regroup a couple of times physically along the way. What mattered was that when I was almost there, and no one was going to judge me for the decision I made, the only decision I could make was to finish. Today, I learned there is a difference between giving all and giving up.

Crucifixion and Resurrection

The past week has been challenging on every level. It culminated Friday night in a 10:00 p.m. trip to the emergency veterinary clinic with my beloved cat, where she was left overnight with an uncertain fate, and then a 3:00 a.m. call to the hospital to comfort a family dealing with an unexpected death.

After that, I drove down to the clinic where the cat was improved somewhat, then went home and grabbed two hours of sleep before rising to join my marathon team on a 15-mile training run over hills and trails.

I started strong, keeping up with the better runners on our team for the first five miles, which is a big improvement for me. I knew eventually they would pull away. About 10 or 11 miles into the run, I ran out of steam. I was dizzy, wobbling, and thoroughly exhausted, facing the main hill climb for the second loop and feeling 100% empty and hollow.

Our assistant coach came down the hill toward me, like an angel descending, and asked how I was doing. We went through the checklist. Pain? No. Exhaustion? Yes. She suggested I call it a day, since the coaches knew I was beginning already depleted from lack of sleep. I asked if it was all right for me to just sit down for a minute, and she said yes. I was an emotional wreck.

I sat on the grass beside the trail. It was the softest, coolest grass I have ever felt. She sat beside me, helping me think things through.

Our coach came up at that point and asked what was happening, and he agreed with her assessment that I call it a day. After a bit, I stood up and looked at Coach and tried to say, "I don't want to fail." However, I only got the "I don't" part out before I was wracked with tears, and for about two minutes I sobbed like a baby while they hugged and supported me.

And then it was done. The tears had passed. I stood erect, and it was as if someone had poured strength into me. The assistant coach said I looked a lot better. I said to her, "Let's conquer this hill."

They allowed me to continue, and continue I did. After some distance, they had me check-in again. We were at a point where I could pack it in, or finish the last four or so miles. I said I would obey their direction, but I wanted to finish the distance.

After a little more examination, they gave me the permission to finish and Coach ran beside me, allowing me to set the pace. In a mix of running, jogging and walking, I completed the 15 miles.

As I did, I noticed the depth of the blue sky, the intensity of the green hills, the song of the waves of the lake lapping at the shore, all as if I were seeing it for the first time.

Somewhere around mile 10 or 11, a part of me died and a new part rose up, more alive than I have ever felt in my life. Completely alive.

When I arrived to run this morning, our team chaplain said a prayer that included a familiar passage from Isaiah 40:30-31: "But those who hope in the LORD will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint."

Sometimes we have to be willing to endure the crucifixion in order to understand resurrection. When we do, the LORD renews our strength. We run and not grow weary, and we walk and not be faint.

Rest In Peace, Awake in Glory

The news came this morning that my friend has crossed to the other side of the veil. Life is a powerful force, and his body was no longer able to contain it. Life needed to break free into eternity.

I once saw death as a diminishment, but in him I see it as it is, the point when the soul moves into its fullness, discards the body and enters freedom, sailing like an eagle in the boundless sky that is God.

May the angels lead you into paradise, sweet friend.


"Home," a Natalie Grant song, seemed appropriate this morning:

"You're home, where secrets are told, see a new world unfolding,
where hearts are one, the pain's undone, and you're finally belonging, yeah,
and you need to know, you need to know, you're home.

"So take your coat off and stay awhile,
what made you cry can make you smile again;
you can hold your head up high
'cause don't you know that you you were born to fly

"Welcome home; everything's gonna be alright, 'cause you're home,
feel the sun, your day has come; you're not alone. You're home."

Blessings,
David