Finishing

They say it ain't over til the fat lady sings. In this case, I'm thinner than I've been in years, and I'm typing rather than singing, but it seems my half-marathon experience won't be over til I write about it.

A couple of months ago, when two of my co-workers and good friends suggested that I join them in training for a half-marathon, I laughed, and shot them down swiftly with the words "that's a ludicrous idea." I was not a runner - I was barely even in shape. The very thought of running filled me with dread and brought back memories of being forced to run the infamous MILE in elementary school. How on earth could I even consider running 13.1? But then, the more I told myself that I was not a runner, the more a little voice in my head started asking, "Why not?" Finding no good answer, I decided to lace up my shoes and give it a shot. I did a few laps around the track at the gym, and it didn't kill me. That night, I decided I would train.

And train I did. For eight weeks, I ran five days a week, rolling out of bed early, putting in more and more miles each Saturday, running in Alabama heat and Minnesota cold. Then, on the morning of April 29, I joined 22,000 other runners and walkers on the streets of Nashville for what I will look back on as one of the most fun and memorable experiences of my twenty-four years. Bands played, people cheered, little kids awaited high-fives along the route as each of us pushed ourselves, each step taking us closer to the exact same finish line, but each step taken for so many different reasons.

For me, each step was a celebration. I celebrated making it to race day. I celebrated the discipline I had mustered - solely by the grace of God - that brought me to that point. I celebrated the health of my body, and the fact that I had the means and capabilities to run in such a race. I celebrated the excitement of uncharted territory. I celebrated the freedom that came with refusing to listen to the experiences of my past, telling me what I am not and what I cannot do. My last few steps over the finish line were a proclamation: "I can! I will! I DID!"

DID has never been such a powerful word. Looking back on what I did - diligently sticking to my training program, going farther and harder than I ever imagined possible, and finishing what I set out to do - makes looking ahead to what I could do so enticing. There is now no denying that I am capable of being, doing, and achieving more than I tend to think that I can. Praise the Lord for revealing that to me through this process. I hope that the next time another "ludicrous idea" comes my way, I'll once again be willing to lace up my shoes and take that first crazy step.