On Saturday I ran the Jingle Bell Half Marathon in Atkinson
NH. I had been looking forward to this race, hopeful, as I suppose most runners
want to feel going into a race, that I would do well, that I would beat my best
time. You can probably guess where this is going and I’ll spare you the
suspense: it wasn’t my best half marathon.
If you live in the area you know that it was freezing—in the teens. But that was ok by me. I figure, you dress appropriately and you should be fine. And I was. I knew there were numerous rolling hills but it turns out I underestimated how many and how challenging the cumulative effort made the course. But that was ok as well. By mile 5, after a tough, long, uphill, I figured my best time was beyond me on this day, this course. But, I could still try for the best I could do today.
And then, something unexpected happened. I was running and doing fine, and all of a sudden, pain on my side. I tried to ignore it and kept going. But it was hard to ignore as I could barely make myself go. I slowed down, I stopped, I started back up, I pressed my side, but the pain persisted. I had 7 more miles to go and I didn’t know how I could possibly finish in this condition. Yes, I began to think that maybe I wouldn’t finish—I didn’t see myself walking the rest of the way in the bitter cold and running didn’t seem to be working for me. The phrase “they shall run and not grow weary” (Is 40:31), which I had heard at Mass on Wednesday and which had been coming to mind here and there in the early miles, now seemed to mock me: who cared if I didn’t grow weary if I didn’t finish!
If you live in the area you know that it was freezing—in the teens. But that was ok by me. I figure, you dress appropriately and you should be fine. And I was. I knew there were numerous rolling hills but it turns out I underestimated how many and how challenging the cumulative effort made the course. But that was ok as well. By mile 5, after a tough, long, uphill, I figured my best time was beyond me on this day, this course. But, I could still try for the best I could do today.
And then, something unexpected happened. I was running and doing fine, and all of a sudden, pain on my side. I tried to ignore it and kept going. But it was hard to ignore as I could barely make myself go. I slowed down, I stopped, I started back up, I pressed my side, but the pain persisted. I had 7 more miles to go and I didn’t know how I could possibly finish in this condition. Yes, I began to think that maybe I wouldn’t finish—I didn’t see myself walking the rest of the way in the bitter cold and running didn’t seem to be working for me. The phrase “they shall run and not grow weary” (Is 40:31), which I had heard at Mass on Wednesday and which had been coming to mind here and there in the early miles, now seemed to mock me: who cared if I didn’t grow weary if I didn’t finish!
And then, as suddenly and mysteriously as the pain appeared,
it began to recede and get better. I continued to press my side for a while and
was able to pick up the pace and recover. By mile 11, I had caught up to the
people who had passed me when I stopped and slowed, and I admit it made me feel
better to pass them all as I climbed those last hills to the finish line. (Click here for a full race report)
As I think back to that moment of pain, I can’t help being
hard on myself—what a wimp, couldn’t even take a little pain. But I know in
that moment, it didn’t feel like ‘a little pain.’ Plus, I didn’t know how long I
would last. The worst case scenario was that it would it last the remaining 7
miles (it was possible), and of course, that’s where my mind immediately went.
It seems a pattern that plays out in life as well—in my life
anyway. I find myself in bad place and in that moment, it feels the worst its
ever been. Not only that, but I don’t know how long it’ll last, how long I’ll
feel that way, and the not knowing makes it worse. And I don’t wallow in this; I
try to improve the situation, try to do things to make it better. And sometimes
I’m successful and things do get better. But other times, nothing I do helps
the situation and I start feeling as if I’m beating my head against a wall. And
finally, after banging it long enough, I stop. I give up trying. And I pray: “well
God, I’ve tried. I’ve done my best and I don’t know what else to do; and even
if I did, I just can’t anymore. So it’s up to you now. Do something.” And
strangely enough, in that moment when I give up and pray in that way, things
already feel better because the burden of trying so hard is gone. And then,
eventually (sometimes it’s been really soon after), things begin to actually
improve and I wonder why I tried so hard on my own for as long as I did rather
than ask God to take on the case. I suppose I’m just that kind of stubborn
person who thinks she can do it all on her own until life and God insist on
proving otherwise.
This third week of Advent, as we hear Jesus’ words about
what the Incarnation is all about—“the blind regain their sight, the lame walk,
lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have the
good news proclaimed to them” (Mt 11:5)—might be a good time to ponder whether,
as we strive to give our best effort in the situation we’re in, we are making
enough room for God to reach in and bring about this promised vision to our
lives.
When you find yourself in a bad place, how do
you respond? Do you insist on going at it alone? Do you turn to others for
help? To God?
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