Waiting

The red light. The boiling water. That first kiss. The baby's first word. With anticipation we wait. We wait for something. We wait for someone. We spend hours, days, years simply waiting. And as we wait, we learn. We train.

Training is not easy. It takes determination and perseverance. It means not always feeling up to it, but training nonetheless. It means trying to succeed when success seems completely out of reach. As the old saying goes, it takes blood, sweat, and tears.

Blood. A few humbling experiences of falling during a run on uneven pavement have shown me what it means to bleed. Afer falling, I always think "I hope noone just saw that," and yet at the same time I so desperately want someone to help me to my feet again. I look around. Noone. Then I am reminded that Someone is helping me up. I am reminded that I am training for the race, and I remember that training is what the race is really about. I get back up, bleeding, but running faster than before.

Sweat. It is impossible to train and not to sweat. When I think of sweating, it reminds me of releasing those things that I have held onto even though it feels almost impossible to let go. Yet letting go is like jumping into the shower after a long run, refreshing and cleansing. Letting go enables a new race to begin.

Tears. All of us have cried them. They remind us of our humanity. Our vulnerability. Trickling down my face as I run, each tear represents the release of something held inside. Sadness. Frustration. Fear. After letting them fall, I feel the contradiction of being weary and strong at the same time.

I keep running. I keep waiting.

Finishing the Race...Together

It was cold. Windy and cold. The waves by the boardwalk were enormous. The crowd of people overwhelming. This was it. This was what I had waited for. Two commands, "Ready. Go," and then we were off. Together.

The sound of hundreds of footsteps on the boardwalk was almost loud enough to distract me from hearing my heart pounding in my chest. I felt like I could do anything at that very moment, yet all I really needed to do was finish the race. During the first few miles, I felt strong and steady with the wind at my back. After one look at her running by my side, I knew that she felt the same. We had set our pace together.

At the halfway point, we knew it was time. We turned around and then it hit us. The wind was fierce. The struggle to fight against it was a battle, but we were ready. Still, the sand that blew wildly around us blinded our eyes. It only allowed us to follow behind those in front of us. With eyes barely opened, we could hardly hear those on the sidelines that were cheering us on. We kept running.

One mile to go and a cramp. "Go on," she waved. I saw it in her face, and I understood the look in her eyes. She was in pain. "No!" I shouted back, "We start together. We finish together." She fought back and pushed herself on. I saw her strength and her beauty in that moment. I saw the girl I always looked up to and wanted to be like. I saw my sister.

At the start, I just wanted to finish. At the finish, I realized that finishing together was what this race was all about. Approaching the finish line is now a blur, but I do remember one thing. I took my sister's hand as we crossed the finish line. This wasn't just my race. This was our race. And we finished it together.

Freedom

Running. The word alone elicits a variety of responses from those in the audience. I have heard onlookers say that running equates self-masochism. Others simply shake their heads and say, "You're crazy!" or "How many miles?" Yet those who run understand what is means to be a runner. Those who run understand the freedom in running.

Now when I speak of freedom, you may ask yourself what does she mean. Freedom is different for everyone, yet it is a word that is defined like any other. In fact, Merriam-Webster's Online Dictionary defines freedom as "the quality or state of being free" and "the absence of necessity, coercion, or constraint in choice or action." Yet my favorite part of their definition states that freedom is "liberation from slavery or restraint or from the power of another."

Feeling liberated is my freedom in running. When I run, I feel free. Free from the hurts that weigh me down. Free from the world of work. Free from self-imposed lists of things to do or achieve. When I run, I feel free, but I have learned that this freedom does not come from me. I have learned (more times than once) that this freedom comes from letting go. Letting go of the hurts, the world of work, the self-imposed lists. Letting go of the things that I want so badly to ruminate on or muddle over in my tired mind.

When I let go, I am able to feel God by my side. And when I listen very closely, I am able to hear His soft voice. This is my freedom, and This is why I run. Once upon a time, Eric Liddell stated, "And when I run I feel His pleasure." I feel it too.