Last Saturday was a long run day. All Saturdays are, but life doesn’t know that so I’ve missed a couple recently. This particular Saturday I was uncharacteristically unmotivated for the many miles ahead. I had woken up uncharacteristically late. I was uncharacteristically exhausted for my morning-loving self. A week later, it felt like the chaos that was training camp had finally caught up with me and was beckoning me back to bed. On top of all my petty discomforts, in the days prior, I had acquired a new and intense foot pain that threatened to squelch my remaining motivation.
I slowly finished my carbs, protein, and water, did an amateur tape job on my foot, laced up my runners, and bid my dad farewell as I dragged myself out the door for what I was certain would be torture.
My dad had a lot of encouraging and comforting words to offer as I headed out, but with a poor attitude plugging my ears, I didn’t want to hear it.
“Oh, and try to enjoy it,” he tacked on to his string on nice dad words.
This one stuck with me. I heard it over and over again during my first few miles. Not because it inspired me to get out there and do my best, or inspired me at all for that matter. It stuck because it echoed what I’d heard 24 hours earlier.
Just the day before, a very nice man from the bank called to check in and answer any questions about the account I just opened. I explained that I opened the account with them because I had heard they were great to bank with during travel and that I would be spending the next year abroad. He answered my questions and guided me to necessary forms with expert kindness, and as our conversation was wrapping up he said, “okay, so I just like to know so I have to ask – where will you be traveling?” I gave him my over-used, over-simplified synopsis of the World Race and waited for what I expected to be one of a handful of responses I usually receive.
With all of the confidence and none of the tact he had throughout our conversation, he gave a little scoff and responded “OH WOW. That sounds AWFUL.”
Okay, not what I was expecting. I laughed it off, answered a couple of questions, assured him that he had answered all of mine, and as we ended the call, received a half-hearted “try to enjoy it!” from the man on the other end of the line.
A day and a few miles later, these words were still playing in my head. I was willing myself to enjoy this run, but it hurt so badly, I was way slower than I wanted to be, and I didn’t feel accomplished because I still had so far to go. Even when I finished, I couldn’t feel any satisfaction because I knew that I had only gone a little over half the distance that I’ll have to run on marathon day. The finish line felt impossible.
Marathon preparation has become a really precious time for me. I’ve turned off my music, listened to my labored breathing, spent time in prayer – over my squad, my team, myself, over the places I’m going and the people we’ll be serving, over the people I’m leaving behind, over every single step of my World Race, and praising God for a body that can run and is healthy enough to travel for a year – and I’ve listened for the things Jesus wants to teach me now.
But some days I’m so bad at this. Some days I get anxious about not being ready to race, about not being good enough, about not competing up to the standard I hold myself to. I get fearful that I’m behind on training. I strive more and push myself harder but don’t feel more satisfied. I’m far too focused on where I need to be to enjoy and accept any bit of the now. I end up wishing away the difficult training moments, focusing solely on the relief I hope to feel at the finish line.
There aren’t really easy days, but the days I choose to use every moment for being aware of the reality that Jesus is with me literally every step of every journey and to focus my attention on the Father’s goodness and his unreasonable grace that allows me to participate in His plans for redeeming the world are the days I finish my runs most satisfied. The days I’m least focused on the finish line are the days I enjoy the most.
So I won’t be racing. I’ll be on the World Race, yes, but I won’t be in racing mindset. Because keeping my eyes too permanently set on the “finish line” robs myself of enjoying the now and robs those I’m with and serving of all that I could give. But locking my eyes on Jesus keeps me sure that he has me right where he wants me in each moment, guides me to where I need to be in the next moment, and allows me to see Jesus reflected in the lives of those around me. As much as I love crossing things off of to do-lists, the World Race can’t be another thing to complete, another item to check off on the List of Things To Do Before “Real” Adulthood. The World Race can’t be THE race. It is but a small leg of the larger race that’s been laid before me; and the finish line isn’t home, but becoming ever more like Christ and serving others just as he would.
“And let us run with endurance the race God has set before us. We do this by keeping our eyes on Jesus, the champion who initiates and perfects our faith.”
Hebrews 12:1-2
