Running the Race

We were never meant to do it alone

A few years ago, I competed in a 10-kilometer trail race, and it was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. If you don’t know what a trail race is, it’s sort of like a regular 10k, but you don’t run on sidewalks or paved streets. Instead, you go up and down steep hills, over rocky paths, and even through wooded areas. It’s pretty challenging but also lots of fun (in a weird, self-tormenting kind of way).

I had been training for this race for several months by running on the ranch where I live. I sort of have an advantage when it comes to practice, because our roads are definitely rocky and bumpy and full of obstacles. So I was about as ready as I could be, or at least I thought I was.

Then the day came, and the race started. At first I was fine. The terrain was flat and easy to navigate. But after about a mile, the trail turned and started getting really rocky and steep. I’m not talking a subtle incline, either. I mean so steep that some people actually gave up right there on the spot. There were some patches where I could barely walk up these hills, much less try to run them. It was extremely difficult.

Not only that, but about halfway through the six-mile race, I actually started peeing my pants with every step. Luckily, I had dark shorts on, so I don’t think anyone noticed. But keep in mind not to drink coffee beforehand if you ever enter a trail race. (Lesson learned the hard way.)

I think it was at the five-mile mark when I literally pleaded to the Lord out loud to help me continue on. Thankfully, it was also about that time when the trail settled down and became manageable once again, so I had a chance to catch my breath.

Photo by Markus Spiske on Unsplash

I wasn’t sure where the finish line was because the trail was so twisty, but I knew I had to be getting close. I was exhausted and felt like falling over, but I kept dragging myself along. At this point, my running probably looked more like hobbling, but I wasn’t going to quit.

There was a grassy hill up ahead. It was steep, and I couldn’t quite see what was at the top, other than the fact that the trail took a right turn. I huffed and puffed my way up that hill, feeling like this race would never end. But when I got halfway up, I saw what was at the top, and my spirits were instantly lifted.

Standing right there, behind the tape that marked the trail, was my husband and two kids. They were smiling and cheering for me. They were waving me on and jumping up and down. They were calling my name and telling me I could do it.

And do you know what happened? I forgot all about how tired I was and how much pain I was in. I forgot that I was desperate for the race to end. All I saw was my sweet family, who believed in me and supported me, and that was all I needed to power the rest of the way up that hill.

The trail turned to the right, and I could see the finish line. It was only 200 yards away. I kept my gaze straight ahead, but through the corners of my eyes, I could see my husband and kids running alongside me at the edge of the trail, encouraging me and cheering me on. They helped me cross that finish line, and I can’t even describe to you how elated I felt.

Because I had made it. I had finished the race. And I hadn’t done it all alone.

That’s how I want to make others feel. I want them to know they’re not alone. I want to be the one who urges them on when they’re fighting an uphill battle. I want to encourage them and cheer them on, to make them feel seen and loved. I want to be there for people as they run the race, spurring them to the finish, helping them not to give up.

If we want the world to see Jesus in us, that’s what we need to be. The voice that tells people they’re not fighting their battles alone. The shoulder they can lean on when they’re too tired to carry on. The hand that holds theirs as they take the next impossible step.

Life feels less daunting and less burdensome when we walk through it together. Together, we can cross the finish line, whatever that might mean in our lives today. We were never meant to run this race alone.