I hurt, for more reasons than one. Today, I ran my first 1/2 marathon and possibly my last despite strong persuasion to do it again next year. I’m sad that I wasn’t able to run the whole way, but about mile 9 my legs started to hurt and I spent some painful moments trying to figure out what hurt less…running or walking. I started to get a little weepy thinking that I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to finish even if I started walking. My left ankle hurt, my right knee hurt, and my legs felt like they were on fire but I finally stopped and walked for awhile and was able to run most of the last mile to the finish line…which of course was at the top of a hill. Seriously. I kept a normal pace for the first seven miles, which maybe was too quick and I should have slowed down. However, the killer for me was around mile 6 sharp inclines that I had not trained for at all began to pop up. At one point, I looked up and all I could see before me was a hill. It was long and seemed impossible for my tired legs to climb. I forced my way up partly because of pride and partly because of the reason I was running in the first place. I was running to raise money for Habitat for Hope, a Memphis organization that provides housing and meals to families traveling to Memphis in order to seek medical care for their child. I kept telling myself that running up that hill wasn’t as hard as watching your child battle a serious illness. Serious illness jumped my thoughts over to my sister who just learned this past week that she has breast cancer. I kept telling myself that to keep running isn’t as hard as having to decide between removing part of your breast or the whole thing. I felt like if I quit running, I was letting them down. I didn’t know whether to cry, scream, or cuss in my desperation. Stopping to walk felt like a betrayal, yet as hard as I tried, I couldn’t keep going.
Ultimately, this is a lesson about control. About how badly I want it and how I so don’t have it. God is firmly in control and the great physician, I know this. No matter how badly I want to fix things, I can’t. No matter how much I want the promise that my sister isn’t going to die, I can’t have it. Crying, screaming, and cussing about how it’s not fair won’t make a difference. I either trust God or I don’t. Let me tell you, I’ve had my moments this week when I don’t. Irrational, I know. He loves my sister more than I can imagine and His plan is always perfect. But my human heart is having a little trouble catching up with my mind. It’ll get there, just like my legs crossed the finish line this morning. Road weary, but intact.