I was never athletic. I suck at all types of sports. I can't hit, throw, kick, or even bowl half way decent. Needless to say, I was the last person anyone would think would become a runner.
I started running three times.
The first two were absolute failures. I remember one day thinking, "Man am I out of shape...I think I'll run." That lasted a week. The second time I tried to start was the weekend of a friends wedding. The wedding party spent Thursday through Saturday at a hotel in Louisville, Ky. A couple people, including my sister, said they were going to get up early and run, so I thought I would go along. That lasted about 30 minutes.
The last time I tried, it finally stuck.
On January 1, 2005 I weighed 200lbs. I found it difficult to play and be active with my children. Going up and down steps was a chore. I would be 38 years old and the constant reminder of my father having a heart attack at age 40 haunted me. Something had to change. I wanted to feel alive, not tired, depressed, and out of breath. My self image was in the toilet. I was worried, deeply concerned. I was in trouble. The truth was...I didn't want to leave my children without a father or my wife without a husband. What I was living was definitely not God's "Plan A" for my life.
I made a decision that day to start exercising and change my eating habits. Luckily we had a treadmill in the basement. I made up my mind that I would walk on that treadmill every morning before my family awoke for 30 minutes. I would keep a journal of the calories I burned, the speed I walked, and the distance I went. I would also write down my weight, what I ate, and how I felt. The first two weeks went well. I began to get bored with walking and sped up the treadmill. I found that I could go farther the faster I went, which intern meant more burned calories. It looked like I might be onto something. The next two weeks...difficult. The kids would get sick in the middle of the night. Something would require me to stay up late so my sleep would suffer. I would feel ill. My muscles hurt. The cards seemed to be stacked against me. I might have quit if not for my sister.
My sister had been running for several years. The kids, Cathy, and I had even gone to root her on when she ran the Flying Pig Marathon in Cincinnati, Ohio. Tammy called me and asked if I would be interested in running a half marathon with her the first of May. She assumed that I had been running for awhile, since I had started so long ago (She thought I had been running since the wedding 6 months previous.) I accepted, foolishly, and told her I didn't know how to get ready in 12 weeks for a 13 mile run. By that time I had managed to run upto 3 or 4 miles a day. She mailed me a training guide that showed me step by step what to do each day so that my body would be ready come May.
My sister and I ran the inaugural Flying Pig Half-Marathon in 2 hours and 20 minutes. Our goal was to beat the marathon winner and we did. I did not have any running gear or running shoes. I wore a pair of skechers, tie-dyed long sleeve t-shirt, and an old pair of gym shorts. It didn't matter. I finished. and... I guess you could say that's when I really began.
I am now going on my sixth year of running. I have completed a marathon in 6 states with my best being...the Flying Pig marathon in Cincy. I have dropped my weight to 155lbs at its lowest. I am currently at 175 (I like food too much). I feel good, most of the time. Running is something I have to do. Most people just don't understand that. I have to. Just like people have to eat and breath, people who run have to run. For me it is my alone time. My thinking time. My decompressing time. My praise time. My time with my maker. Most of all, it is the time that God has shown himself to me. I get a glimpse of his awesome being with every step I take.
I had never realized how much running is like our spiritual journey. The parallels are constantly visible. Become a follower is a lot like becoming a runner. I knew my life wasn't right. I was self-destructing. I had tried other things to fix myself to know avail. I had given Christianity a try a couple times before, but really didn't have my heart fully in it. Then one day, the light went on. If I want to truly be the best I can be, I needed to be fully committed to Christ. I took a stand. The first couple weeks were great. The next....very difficult. Everything seemed destined to break my spirit. Luckily for me...someone who had been at this Christianity thing longer and stronger than me came by my side and pulled me through. I'm glad she married me.
Many times I think about giving up. People tell you to quit. The body tells you to give up. Circumstances tell you that it cant be done. I heard a quote from a runner who ran across the Sahara Desert that said..."Running is 95% mental and the other 5% is mental." Be compelled. Capture your mind and your spirit. Renew them daily and anything is possible. Most of all...keep your eye on the finish line.
No comments:
Post a Comment