Day 126 - Runners, Take Your Mark

Yesterday, I ran. I ran until I had nothing left. And then I ran another eight miles. My calves tightened up. My feet cramped. The course turned the corner into the final passage down North Parkway. The wind blew strong against the weary. I could feel every rise in the pavement. I was aware of every crack and every pothole. The road arched down to the curb. Stay in the middle, I repeated to myself like a mantra, once or twice outloud. The only sound I could hear was the rhythmic shuffling of the man behind me so tired that his shoes were dragging on the pavement. Occasional spectators shouted out, "You can do it. You're almost there." I could hear them. I no longer saw their faces. An old woman stood on the edge of the curb absurdly holding out a box of kleenix. And suddenly in this bizarre arena appeared my beloved husband who then ran with me the last five miles, anchoring me to reality. His presence alone was a strength to me. No words were necessary. This was no longer a run, no longer a race, there was a desperation in my breathing. A band was playing at mile 22. "They're pretty good," Bill said. I didn't even hear them. We ran past people stumbling along like refugees. Volunteers held out paper cups of water at the 25 mile mark, I knocked two cups out of their hands before I was able to grasp one, the liquid sloshing down my shirt as I tried to swallow a few drops. We stumbled up the ramp from Danny Thomas onto Union Avenue. And then in the last two-tenths of the 26.2 mile race, Bill whispered to me with urgency in his voice, "You need to go, and you need to go now." We both knew how close it was going to be. Go, go, go. I entered the arena, a roar of sound. I willed my feet to go faster. I could feel the crunch of the gravel. Go, go, go. After four hours and fifteen minutes of running nonstop, I crossed the finish line, almost falling into one of the volunteers who embraced me with a mylar sheet to warm me up. I glanced down at my watch. I requalified for the Boston Marathon with a mere 23 SECONDS to spare. As one of the verses I read that morning said, "Have mercy upon us, O LORD, have mercy." Indeed, He did.
I always learn a lot spiritually in training for a marathon. But the actual marathon itself presses me to the point of realizing and recognizing the strength and mercy of God. I wonder why it takes coming to the end of ourselves before we realize what is a reality every day. It is not a matter of conquering but of His deliverance. It is KNOWING that there is nothing more that I can do. It is not what I am or have or can do, but comprehending what I am not, and who He is.
And realizing that "my utmost for His highest" is not what I can do for God but my weakness -- that which I cannot do on my own.
Run toward Him, run with Him, run in Him.
He is preparing you for the course set before you.
"...and let us run with preseverance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus..." Hebrews 12. 1-2