Sunday morning I woke up at 4:15 a.m. after a night of restless sleep and troubled dreams involving 13.1 miles of disaster. I ate half of a bagel with peanut butter and drank a protein shake praying that it would stay inside of my body for the next several hours. I stretched, put my shoes on and re-checked my bag for the umpteenth time to make sure that I had everything that I needed for the race. Then Becky and I drove down to Atlanta. We arrived at the course around 6:00 a.m., and I stretched again, trying to quiet my nerves and the doubts in my head that were competing with my adrenaline for my attention.
I didn’t think about the proximity of the two lines again over the next couple of hours as I ran the course. My concentration was focused on putting one foot in front of the other. I turned up the worship music on my ipod and pushed through mile after mile of Atlanta hills. The first 8 miles went smoothly and I was picking up the pace from my training runs. I was feeling really good and then I hit mile 9. The 9 mile marker was my entry into uncharted waters as 9 miles was the furthest I had ever run in training. But that wasn’t the only obstacle facing me beyond the mile marker. Looming ahead was a giant hill. Everything in my body started burning as I charged up the hill. Then I heard something over my ipod worship…a man at the top of the hill was yelling “don’t you give up on me! You own this hill! You can do it! You’re almost to the top!” It was exactly the motivation I needed to keep going. As I ran down the other side of that hill I knew I could keep going. I had to finish. I had told everyone I was going to leave everything out there on the pavement, and I meant it.
Miles 10 and 11 were tough. My knees and ankles ached but I was able to push through…with some help from Jake Hamilton on my ipod! Then I saw the 12 mile marker ahead and I knew I only had 1.1 miles left to run. That was really the point when I knew I was for sure going to make it to the finish line. As I rounded the last curve on the home stretch, I saw a whole cheering section of faces from my Adventures In Missions family cheering me on. That was exactly the push I needed for the last 10th. I rounded the curve and saw the finish line up ahead. My eyes scanned the spectators on the sidelines and I spotted Becky cheering for me. I put my fists in the air in celebration as I passed her.
Nothing compares to the moment when my feet crossed the finish line. It made it all worth it. The four months of forcing myself to get up early, of fighting injuries, soreness and the mental battle with myself. It was all worth it in that moment when the race staff handed me my finisher’s medal and said “congratulations!” I wish I could put into words the way that I felt in that moment. A sense of accomplishment, victory and the satisfaction of attaining a life goal flooded over me…along with all of the adrenaline left in my system.
Life is a race. But it isn’t a race to the finish line. It is a race to the next starting gate. It is a race of being faithful in the thing the Lord has given you and seeing it through until He gives you something else to do. It is a race of living our lives faithfully until we get to the starting gate of eternity. The starting line where Jesus waits to say, “Well done, good and faithful servant; you have been faithful over a few things, I will make you ruler over many things. Enter now into the joy of thy Lord.” Start. Finish strong…cross the finish lines of life with your fists in the air and celebrate the victories the Lord gives you…and then
start again.
What things are you finishing in your life? What are you starting? What would you like to be starting?
(Oh yeah, and for those of you who are wondering, the 13.1 sticker is being proudly displayed on my back window!) Thank you to everyone who joined me in prayer and financial support and everyone who encouraged me and commented on my blogs along the way! It’s been an incredible journey and I couldn’t have “finished” without you!
