I don't know about you, but I am fairly certain that we are not all created to run. Run to get the front door? Sure. Run across a street to collect a child from being hit by a "going way too fast, driven by a teenager" car? Sure. But I'm talking about long distance running. You know.... like marathons.
I bring this up because up until this point, the farthest I have ever run is 7.2 miles. I know this because I ran a 12k last spring and when my husband (a marathoner) asked me how I felt afterwards, I replied "I would rather give birth any day of the week than run that far ever again." They (runners.... and yes, I am lumping you ALL TOGETHER) say that there is supposed to be some runner's "high" that kicks in; when it does, THEY say you could run for miles and miles. Whatever. Apparently the "high" comes after 7.21 miles because I have yet to experience it. However, much like labor, the more time that passes, the more distant the grueling memory becomes and you forget how much work it is. So what did I do? Signed up for another race. Not just another 12k... no...I'm getting close to the big 4-0 so I need to prove something. And since a car seat, booster seat, 2 backpacks, a tub of toys and Costco load of groceries won't fit in a bright yellow convertible, I signed up for a 1/2 marathon instead.
Friggin nuts. What was I thinking? To hold myself accountable (or to show off, I'm still not quite sure which,) I roped two of my dear friends into it as well. So now we're stuck... all of us training to run farther than we ever have before in our whole lives. At this point, I'd still vote to squat on the sidelines and give birth instead. I'm just not a runner. I was explaining it to my husband last night as I gimped up the stairs, my joints already lubed with Ibuprofin; I just don't think my body was designed to run. I pondered that maybe my ancestors were city/village folk... you know...over time we adapted to just walking and running short distances? Unfortunately I recalled that on both sides of the family, I come from a long line of farmers which blew my theory. My husband, on the other side, might actually be related to African tribesman who used to run from village to village delivering news. Now, while half of his family hails from England I very much doubt that is the case, but you get the comparison? He whittles out 10 miles in about the same effort as my one mile...same amount of sweat...same heart rate...but only one of us is smiling.
And so, you can find me at least 3 mornings a week plodding along the treadmill. I had surgery about 3 weeks ago and it was doctor's orders "no running" for two weeks. Delight! Ahhh...that is, until I realized the race was in just 12 weeks. So this week I eeked out 2 miles.... then I eeked out 2.5 miles...and then I got so mad at my lackluster performances that yesterday I told myself I wasn't getting off the treadmill until the time was up. 60 minutes and 5.5 miles later... I looked like a wild and crazed drunk with a perspiration problem! The text to my husband and reading partners read: "Well, 5.5 miles done. My sinuses feel like I sniffed jetliner fluid and no one will use the treadmills next to me, but I did it."
Does this entry have a point? Yes, here it is. I think when people train or set out to do anything that requires more than they are capable of, it takes a lot of motivation. I find it fascinating what tools we whip out of our belt to help keep us on track of our goals. For some, they need very little motivation. Some are rigid "rule followers" and can stay disciplined (oh, how I envy you self-motivated ones!) Some people need others to hold them accountable. Because let's face it, when the going gets tough...where do you turn or lean to press on?
So for me, I have a funny visual: I picture Jesus straight ahead of me. You know the one... his long robes flowing, his arms outstretched with the sun rays illuminating the sky behind him? I don't think he's blonde like the one so many people grew up with in Sunday school, but he's definitely got the blue-eyed thing going for him in my image. So I put him against the farthest wall of wherever I am running and I stare at him. Nut job, or not, it helps give me a momentary boost and I abandon the feelings of "I think I'm going to barf a lung or fall off the back of this treadmill) by pretend to run straight into the arms of Jesus.
This used to work for me. Really well. Here's the problem...the ephihany...the revelation that just blew the whole idea up:
"If I place Jesus in front of me, with his arms outstretched.... but I'm not done running my race then I never reach him."
Do you see the problem? If he's on the wall and I'm on the treadmill... he's a fixed image and since I'm just a hamster on a rotating wheel...I never advance to him. If I am on a track or a path... he's like a mirage in the dessert that I never get to. How unsatisfying. How un-motivating. How untruthful.
"And surely I am with you, always, even to the end of days." - Matthew 28:20
You see, when we put our faith in Jesus...he promises to be with us always...to never leave us or forsake us. So to try and visualize running into his arms (without reaching him) is an empty promise...set up to fail ...especially about the goodness of God. Why would we run towards something we could never get? Sadly, I think a lot of us chase things and never reach them. Or, chase the right things but stare at the wrong target.
In my case, I'm so thankful I had the mind-blowing revelation when I did. At least now I know that although I had the right "target," I had put him in the wrong place. I mean, the only way that would have worked is if Jesus could come back in person and stand at the finish line for me to literally run into as I finished. Oh, and he would need to be omnipresent and so entirely huge (think Jack and the Giant Beanstalk huge) so I could see him from 13.2 miles away when I began my half marathon.
So how did I solve this? I took Jesus off the wall and put him on the treadmill next to me. Might as well, doesn't appear that ANYONE wants to jog next to me after about mile 4 (does anyone remember Phoebe's running episode on the TV show "Friends?" Close my friends, close.)
Yep, I put Jesus, sandals and all, right on the treadmill next to me. I figure if I gotta train for this race, he's going to do it with me. Every step of the way. My Jesus is wearing Teva's, just in case you were wondering because I think leather flip-flops would be very unsafe. It doesn't even bother me that he does it effortlessly. Or that he's probably been running for 2012 years and his robe isn't sweaty. Even better...he doesn't need to chat away while I'm trying to not cough up a lung... I selfishly need every ounce of oxygen I can get. Great running partner. In all seriousness, however, I don't have to run to the prize and be let down...I already have the prize....and he's right beside me.... always.
Where is a place in your life that you need to take down the prize and place it beside you?
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