Born to Endure

(Introducing myself to fellow marathoners before the race and inviting anybody who wants to talk to run with me at a pace of their choosing. I then pray for the runners. Also, I know my bib is crooked, but I am very intentional about showing people that I really don't care.)

We often describe life as a marathon, rather than as a short sprint, in order to stress that patience and endurance required throughout. But what does that mean, especially in a culture where ninety-nine percent of the people haven't run a literal marathon to compare their lives to?

Here was my mindset when I ran the first annual Cumberland Marathon this past weekend:

3 days prior--"What was I thinking? I haven't trained enough for this. I might get through it, but I'll be hurting, big time. And I have to get up at 5am on a Saturday! Wouldn't I rather just sleep in and go for it another time? But I can't. I paid for the race and I hate wasting money. Plus, I volunteered to give the prayer before the race, which makes my attendance pretty much mandatory.

12 hours prior--"I am dehydrated and the race hasn't even started. Yikes! I agreed to go over to my Afghanistan roommate's house for dinner. I'll be eating Chinese food cooked by his dad, a retired chef, and drink some nice wine. My friend wants to show off his cappuccino-making skills after dinner. I just drank a good bit of caffeine late at night. There goes any hope for significant sleep. Dehydration. Greasy foods. Little sleep. Three strikes--I'm out. Except I have to offer the prayer.

2 hours prior--"Man, am I sleepy! This isn't safe on these darkened mountain roads. The only energy boosters in the car are my caffeine-packed gummies for the race. (In order to stay awake, I end up eating the whole pack.) No! All of the good radio stations have dropped because of the mountains. All I have left is Martina McBride or the 'Signs of Evil Countdown' from the book of Revelation, according to a rural pastor with a thick country twang."

Race time--I pray for the runners. I talk with an enthusiastic retired marine who is excited to see a chappy running the race. I also meet an older Air Force officer who is running is first marathon as a way to keep in shape. The gun goes off. "Who do I talk with? I am trying to small talk with folks, but they seem focused on the race. Maybe the guy with the "Marathon Maniac" shirt will be agreeable to running together, since he has certainly run his share of marathons."

5 miles in--"We're going at a nice, slow pace. The Maniac is from Ohio and is a decent guy and fund to talk to in short breaths. So far, my legs feel great, but they haven't really been tested. The Air Force officer is starting to drop back. I'll miss running with him. I'm glad to have the company of a hippie-looking dude and a retired Army NCO."

10 miles in--"Okay. Now I'm starting to feel it. I've got enough training under my belt for a half marathon, but not a full. I'm tired and have only run four miles of a ten mile incline. This is going to be pretty brutal. Right now, I can only talk to the Maniac (the hippie and Army NCO have fallen back) with caveman like gasps. I really wish this was a half."

15 miles in--"This hill is unending. I'm watching the faster runners go past me in the opposite direction, but they look about as happy as I do right now. I'm pretty sure that one guy is muttering every curse word I know under his breath. Finally! There's the turnaround point. My spirits lift a bit to know that the incline is about to become a decline, but it'll still be another ten miles and my body feels shot."

20 miles in--"Time to eat my last two energy chews. My lower back, quads, knees, calfs, and ankles are all registering complaints. I feel like the DMV on Saturdays. Where's the Maniac? There he is--twenty yards back and stretching. Do I wait for him? No. That would violate marathon man-code. Experienced marathoners don't want unless they have to. But what will I do to keep myself mentally engaged? I'm going to pretend this decline is steeper than it is, run a faster clip on my dead legs, and try to catch people who are taking the decline easy. The conversations are over. The competition begins."

25 miles in--"I am pretty sure that I am running at my fastest pace of the race. If I slow down, I'll have to stop and stretch. My body is screaming at me--pushed far beyond the limits of my training. I am fighting my muscles and joints, but they'll have the last laugh. I have reeled in over a dozen runners, including the guy whose language makes me think that he trained for the race with enlisted soldiers. If I see him after the race, I should talk to him about the physical benefits of remaining positive during a race. It's ninety percent mental. My remaining goals: Catch a few more runners in the last mile as I run my fastest pace yet, and try to finish in 4:30 overall (the first half was 2:23)."

At the finish--"There's the Army National Guard soldiers who are helping support the race. I feel there cheers in my heart and bones and sprint past a few more runners. The race clock says 4:28! My second half was 18 minutes faster than my first half, and the first three miles of the second half were still going uphill! Even so, two middle-aged women cross the line ten seconds before me. If I had just kicked it a little bit more at the end, I would've picked off two more runners. And now I can feel reality setting in. I can barely walk. There's the free Chick-fil-A sandwiches! My legs tell me to stop, but I want my free, delicious, crispy chicken sandwich. But I am dehydrated. This is the first Chick-fil-A sandwich that I have not enjoyed. I need to get back to the car and drive home in time to shower for a social gathering with the session from my church. I am not excited to drive stick shift with a broken-down body for the next two hours. (I wait another ten minutes for my Maniac pal, Jim, to cross the line. I grab him a sandwich, wish a number of people farewell, and jump in my car.)"

In hindsight, it is easy to see why a marathon is a good analogy to life. It is not just about endurance. It is about companionship and mutual encouragement. It is about a larger narrative--one of purpose and fulfillment--that guides the average broken down runner past the smaller narrative of incredible pain and flagging spirits. In the runner's classic, Born to Run, the author speaks of two seemingly contradictory impulses that guide the best distance runners. One, they embrace and even befriend their pain. They know it will come and welcome it. It will be their companion, even when they're all alone. Two, like the great Taramuhara tribe in Mexico, the best runners turn running into a backdrop, enjoying the journey from start to finish. The Taramuhara would often freak American distance runners out, wielding joyous smiles over the whole course of an one hundred mile race.

But let's translate this into biblical terms. James, by the inspiration of God, exhorts believers to "Consider it all joy...when you meet trials of various kinds" (1:2). The joy does not specifically come from the trials. They are often causes of great sorrow, reflecting the fallen nature of man and of the world. But the joy is found in the larger narrative--in God's joyous providence, which weaves trials into His great redemptive work in human history and human hearts. In embracing that providence, with Jesus' redemptive work behind us, Jesus' restorative work upon us, and Jesus' returning work before us, we find trials to be transforming in the power of His grace, not defining in terms of our identity or future hopes.

We embrace pain, as horrible as it is--we don't shortcut suffering--because we know that is a tool used by God to grow us in grace. In our trials, we can weep with our Savior at all of the brokenness, and rejoice in Him that He has started His redemptive work in human hearts and will one day come and make all things new.

We also realize that pain is a part of this broken world, but not the whole of it. We are not deceived by the conceit that pain alone is ultimate, nor to sway easily to the depressive mindset that terrorizes the heart with that false theology. We see, through prayer and God-given wisdom (James 1), that the picture extends far beyond the pain. In that reality, we rejoice.

Life is indeed like a marathon. So let us persevere, not shunning the pain the inevitably awaits, but embracing the hope of glory that awaits us at the end in Christ Jesus.