This is Your Life

My friend Janet and I after the Reeds Lake 10k on Saturday

I remember 7th grade track. After trying out and not making the basketball or volleyball team (anyone surprised?), I was excited for the one sport that had no cuts. You wanted to run? You got it -- just print your name on the dotted line, come up with some shorts and shoes, and show up on Monday after school. My friend Jada and I excitedly signed up -- and then spent the entire season whining to each other. I very clearly remember running, actually more like hobbling, around the old track at the high school, panting to Jada that if I came up with any more wise ideas like this one, she might as well hit me over the head with a brick. We were christened distance runners -- definitely not speedsters, but not that focused on endurance either, but at least this way, the coaches could give us a couple mile assignment and keep us occupied for the duration of practice. This was junior high -- what really mattered was team-building and learning mental toughness, not competition, right?

So, there I had it. I was not a runner. I wasn't built like a runner, I wasn't fast like a runner, and I was really no good at running. I could do it -- if I were running after a tennis ball, or possibly in a game of Capture the Flag at Youth Group, but this running gig was clearly not my thing. I was more of the writer, read, classroom type. Better just stay indoors where it's safe and no one is apt to point and laugh.

Fast forward about twelve years. I'm married, spending a lot of time in a cubicle, and suddenly more and more aware that I don't feel that energetic. My body has endured high school and college, but is starting to lose, oh, "composure" as a young adult. As I sit in that desk all day, my stomach seems to be slowly finding its way over my pants. A muffin top, I believe, we call that. It's clear I need to get moving, and I make the conscious decision, I want to get moving.

At the time, we were living in Holland and through Tim, I could get a free pass into the Herman Miller exercise center. When I arrived for my first workout, I discovered I had a couple of choices, treadmills or weights. And so, not knowing quite how much of an impact chest presses would have, I started with the treadmill. I watched a lot of CNN those first few weeks as I walked and jogged. Mainly just for variety, I mixed up the speed and tried to run more and more. Then, being someone who needs a goal to motivate, I signed up for a 5k, a real race. It was nice to have something to work toward, but I still had a nagging voice in my head, reminding me of 7th grade, reminding me that I, really, was not a true runner.

But, I still remember the day I left work at lunchtime and ran my first 5k, on the familiar Herman Miller treadmill, without stopping to walk, my legs buzzing with energy as I headed back to the office.

I began to "dedicate" my runs to people. I'd think of my grandma, who was dying of Lou Gehrig's and was paralyzed, and run for her. Or, I'd think of my Uncle Mark, receiving chemo treatments, and run for him. I began to run because I could, not because I felt forced into it.

Also, during that time, someone introduced me to John "The Penguin" Bingham. His book, The Courage to Start was exactly the medicine I needed. Here was a man, who was a "real" runner, who even had a column in Runner's World Magazine, but was not fast, was not competing against anyone but himself. He ran because he felt better when he did, not because he looked so cool doing it or broke any records. In his book, he writes, "The only person I will ever have to outrun is the person I used to be. More than that, I have learned just how far I was from who I wanted to be. And from the day of that realization, every step has taken me closer to the person I am trying to become."

And that's what running has become for me, steps toward who I want to become and a commitment to the belief that God has work to do on me -- not just my body, but my heart, my mind. One of my favorite running songs on my IPod is by Switchfoot and the chorus sums up this up for me -- "This is your life -- are you who you want to be?"

Sometimes, it feels good to just let go, not to think for a bit, but to move. I feed off people, work with kids all day, and spend much of my time surrounded by people -- running has become a time to be quiet, to listen. Sometimes it's a time to sort out, to pray and struggle and question. Sometimes, when each step feels hard, it's a reminder that God isn't going to take me anywhere I can't handle and a testament to the grace that has led me this far. Sometimes, like life, it's just a matter of getting out there and doing it, not because I necessarily want to, but because I know I'll feel better after doing it, the realization that the biggest struggle in life is often the one against our own human nature.