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Back in April I made a prediction about the weather we would have in Kansas City during November.
I made this prediction as I filled out my and my husband’s information on an online form, signed a digital waiver, typed in our credit card number, and clicked “Register for Race”.
Done and done. With one click of a button, we were set to run our first half marathon together! Ok, maybe not quite “set”, but we were registered, which meant we had little choice in the matter anymore.
I had agonized over the decision of which race to register for. I wanted it to be perfect, being our first experience doing a long-distance race, and at that point, we were still very inexperienced runners.
We’ve only spent one November in Kansas City so far, and I figured that the weather would still be quite mild. I pictured it perfectly in my mind. A beautiful fall day, colors popping from the trees as we briskly ran through a beautiful park, along a creek, over rolling hills, and through large grassy areas.
In the picture in my mind, I was wearing a sporty pair of running shorts and a tank top, my running belt and Brooks running shoes. I was slim, tan, and sporting new muscles in my legs from months of training. It was a nice picture.
Sometimes your training goes slower than anticipated.
Sometimes you find out you’re pregnant, surprise!
Sometimes a polar vortex catches you off guard and drops temperatures 40 degrees below normal.
And this is how I found myself bundled up like an Eskimo on race day. Even if it was warm enough to wear a pair of running shorts and a tank top, my body wasn’t quite how I had imagined it back in April. My tan from our trip to Florida was long gone. And my slim running figure had turned a bit “puffy” with 14 weeks of pregnancy.
People ask runners all the time why they do it. Why they subject their bodies to painful training; and eventually with longer distances, unnatural exertion and discipline. It’s painful. It’s hard. It’s a mental battle every single day.
So why do we do it? Every runner has their own answer to that. And, until this past Sunday-yes, the day after my big race, I hadn’t understood my own answer to why I run. Until the day after the race, I couldn’t fully answer you if you asked me why I bundled up and pounded out 13.1 miles on the pavement through the snow while pregnant. But now I know.
Every one of us has dead parts. Some of them are physical like mine; adrenal glands that were destroyed– killed by a confused immune system when I was thirteen years old. Some of you may have other physical “deadness”. Chronic disease and disability has a way of leaving a person feeling partly deceased.
Sometimes the dead parts of us are emotional. This, too, is true in my case. When my adrenal glands died, so did part of my emotional capacity to see myself as whole. My body was broken–partly dead–unwhole.
Maybe your emotional deadness looks different. A lost loved one. A divorce. A broken relationship. Harsh words spoken to you when you were young. The loss of a job. The loss of your confidence. Emotional deadness has a lot of different faces.
And, of course, sometimes the dead parts of us are spiritual.
Many times, the dead parts of us are made up of all three factors. They are physical, emotional, and spiritual. As I battled emotionally over my body being unwhole, a part of me died spiritually when I failed to trust God with His plan, and with His power to heal and overcome my deadness.
I didn’t know why I began running.
Until the day after our race, when we walked into church late, and a bit wobbly. I awkwardly stood beside my husband, until my knees, weak, sore, and cramping from the race, brought me down to my seat. And I closed my eyes and folded my hands together as I sang along with the worship band.
As I sang these words, images from the race began to replay in my mind.
Sometimes, in order to overcome our dead parts, we have to first respect them.
For me, this looked like 12 slow and steady months of training, instead of the average 4 it takes for a half marathon. It also meant carrying the burden of extra gear: my emergency injection and hand warmers to keep it from freezing; not your average racing gear.
We have to acknowledge that the dead parts of us are not to be scoffed at. Death is powerful, and if we don’t treat it as such, it will overwhelm, consume, and overpower us.
That morning, as Grayson and I took two of the last spots on the shuttle bus carrying racers to the starting line, I wondered about the stories of the fellow racers we were rubbing shoulders with.
Surely each one, whether this was their first or 10th marathon, had their own journey to speak of. I wondered about the deadness that each one of them had overcome, or was attempting to overcome that day on the race course.
I smiled the entire race. I couldn’t hep it. I couldn’t hold back the joy of overcoming; of accomplishing something I wasn’t sure was possible; of rising above my odds.
As we ran, I continued to wonder about the hundreds of racers on the course with us, what they had overcome to make it this far, and what deadness they were rising above with each step closer to that finish line.
And then something magical happened. My running app broke. It stopped voicing my mileage and pace.
When it finally caught up, it told me we were at 10 miles, which I had guessed, noting that we were now on the very long uphill ascent back to the finish line. I was going to do it, and with that thought I had to choke back the tears, and do all I could to keep from crying throughout the final miles.
As my husband and I slowly jogged up the hill, our legs aching and cramping, we rounded a corner and my heart jumped.
My running app had been more confused than I realized. I thought we still had over 2 miles to run uphill, but there it was–the park shelter, with the outdoor fireplace offering respite to weary runners, and just beyond it–the finish line!
We rounded the park shelter, and grasped each other’s hands. We took our final strides over that line, and I quickly found my way to the curb. I couldn’t stand, and not because of the physical toll of running 13.1 miles, but because of the emotional toll. I sat on the curb and began to sob.
Sitting after a long distance run is one of the worst things you can do, and so Grayson quickly grabbed my hand and pulled me back up to my feet and into his arms, where I remained, both of us crying.
As we rode the shuttle packed with shivering, stinky racers back to our cars, I wondered just how much more life was represented on that little bus than just that morning; how much death had been overcome.
And as I placed my finishers medal over my neck, I rose above a dead part of me. A part of me that has been dead for over 10 years. I did not know it back in April when I registered for our race, that I was running it to prove something to myself; not to prove that I could do it, but rather to prove that God’s grace and power are large enough to overcome a deadness in us that we cannot overcome ourselves.
Not all of us will run a half marathon in order to overcome the dead parts of us. It is a unique journey for every one of us.
First, there is some soul searching to do. To overcome death, we must first recognize the dead parts of us; allowing God to show us our hearts, parts of us we may not be seeing; death we may be unaware of. And this must become practice, as God is all the time trying to reveal to us more and more of ourselves, and of Himself; it’s a lifelong process.
And then it takes vulnerability; a willingness to see what rising above looks like in your own heart and mind, and prayer for God to show you He is big enough. He is big enough, you know.
It took me over 10 years to recognize the dead parts of me, and then allow God to help me rise above them. I hope it doesn’t take quite as long for you, but you have to begin the journey somewhere in order to cross that finish line and rise above the dead parts of you.
“When the perishable has been clothed with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality, then the saying that is written will come true: “Death has been swallowed up in victory.”
“Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?”
The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God! He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.”
{1 Corinthians 15:54-57}
{A huge thank you to Mile90 Photography for the excellent race photos!}
Raising kids stirs something deep in our souls — an innate knowing that our time is finite. Taking my kids outside in creation, I’m discovering how to stretch our time and pack it to the brim with meaning. God’s creativity provides the riches of resources for teaching the next generation who He is and how He loves us. Join our adventure and discover inspiration and resources for refusing rush, creating habits of rest, living intentionally, and making the most of this beautiful life!
Good Morning Joanna, Just finished reading some of your recent posts(936 pennies, after 936 pennies, and this one)
I wish that when my son James was born, I had the wisdom of the 936 pennies. Of course hindsight is 20/20, I would have mothered differently, more like IT MATTERED, It was an investment of time, effort and most importantly, Love.
It seemed as I raced through each day, trying to fill it with TONS of activities to teach and guide him. I must have done something right- he’s Jr. at Penn State, main campus and still learning new activities. I remember a doctor along the way saying to me about the “parenting experts”. He said that I was an expert also and that I was an expert of
James Udischas III. What a boost of confidence! I know your posts are sure to get many, many more hits! I hope that each and every reader utilizes the penny analogy- Thanks for your insight!
Theo Udischas
Thank you so much, that is a big encouragement to me this morning!
It’s so true–in a world full of parenting “experts” and parenting books, when it comes to our own children–we are the expert, even if we don’t exactly feel like one. Thank you for the insightful reminder!