On Saturday morning at 5:00 a.m., the alarm sounded, reminding me why I don’t really like early morning runs. We got up, ate an apple, yogurt, and cheese, and drank some juice. My groggy stomach insisted that it was not ready for food at that hour, so I ate only a little. After breakfast, I settled down with my Bible for a while to read and pray. Then I dressed in a pair of wind pants and a sleeveless running shirt under a turtleneck. Just before 6:00, Charlie ducked out of our hotel room to start the car and scrape the ice off the windshield. When I joined him a few minutes later, we headed toward Fort Benning.
At the Infantry Museum, the dark, cloudless sky slowly began brightening, assuring the frozen runners that the sun’s warm rays were just below the horizon. Under the lights of the street lamps and a full white moon that floated slowly toward earth, couples hugged each other, receiving warmth from one another’s bodies. People bounced up and down and stretched out eager limbs as they waited for the crowd to gather. Soldiers in uniform lined the walkway where the race would begin.
Then the wait was over. The cannon’s burst caught me by surprise, and we were off. Well, sort of. The people at the front of the line, elite runners and those qualifying for the Boston Marathon, were off. The rest of us began shuffling toward the starting line as row upon row of runners cleared the starting line and headed down the street.
At the first hill, I heard them before I saw them. One drill sergeant shouted words of encouragement from the left sidewalk. “Good work, ma’am. Keep going. You’re going to make it.” On the other side, another drill sergeant used negative reinforcement. “Why are you walking up this hill? This hill is nothing! You call that a five-hour marathon pace? At that rate, you won’t make it. You might as well give up now.” I smiled, trying to discern which one was motivating me to pick up my pace. Perhaps it was just the humor of it all.
At every bend in the course, soldiers in uniform stood to keep the runners on the path. At the top of another hill, they shouted, “It’s all downhill from here.” Well, it was, for a while.
Mile after mile crept by. I noticed a young woman in green. She passed me. Then I passed her. She passed me. I realized that she would be a good pace keeper for me. I kept my eye on her, not letting her get too far ahead of me. Then I noticed a black glove fall from her side. She didn’t notice. I stopped to pick it up and ran after her, but her pace was fast enough that I didn’t think I would ever catch her again. When she slowed to a fast walk, I caught up and handed her the glove. We exchanged names and found out about each other’s fallen heroes for whom we were running. Then she was off again, and I was once again following.
At mile 12, two full-marathon runners sped by me, headed for their mile 25. I wasn’t even to the half-marathon mark, and here they were about to finish their full marathon!
When I finally crossed the line, I melted into Charlie’s arms. It was so good to be done. I felt like I had accomplished something, even though I knew it was just a race that won’t matter much one hundred years from now. So I looked for the woman in green.
“Thank you for being an encouragement to me today,” I said when I found her. I went on, “Since you were ahead of me most of the way, I was praying for you. Is there anything special you would like prayer for?” She mentioned a couple generic things. We hugged and parted.
It was a good day. It taught me things I hope I don’t forget:
- There is joy in the journey.
- It’s easy to get lost if you don’t follow instructions.
- I am not a marathon runner.
- Running is a blessing many people don’t have, so I’m grateful for legs and health and time that has allowed me to do this in this season of my life.
- Running has benefits, the most important for me is that it bonds me to my running-loving husband.
- I can bless others with my prayers when I run.
- But most important of all, God runs with me. His voice and companionship during a run are the best part of it all.
The Dutch have a tradition: buy flowers for your mother on your birthday. After all, she is the one who did all the work the day I was born. She is the one who deserves my honor, especially today. 