Ezra 10:4

I ran a marathon last week. 26.2 miles of steady rain, cold fingers, cheering spectators, and the hills of the streets I know so well. It was a last hurrah, a celebration of Nashville, a celebration of running and training and dedication, and it took a lot of guts.

It takes a lot of guts to run a marathon. It starts with the winter. The days and weeks and months of putting miles on shoes on snow, on frozen ground, watching your fast breath swirl the air. It starts on those days when you run anyway and don’t skip it. It continues with speed work and sprints and long Sunday runs. And it builds, as the months go by, and you get tougher and somewhere along the way you get the guts it takes to run a marathon.

My favorite thing about the 26.2 is that you can’t just wake up one day and say, “I think I’ll run a marathon today.” No. You either give time and life and pain to the sport for months on end, or you don’t run it. You have to wake up and say, “I’ll run a marathon next year,” and make it happen in the in-between, so you can wake up on race day confident. It takes intentionality.

When I lined up for the Country Music Marathon I was anxious to start. The first few miles I spent dodging runners who decided to be walkers right in front of me, and weaving around crowds and potholes full of rain. I remember the hill on Demonbreun because I hate it, and I remember seeing friends on Music Row, but until I looked up and saw the 6 Mile marker I still felt like it was mile 2.

And I felt that way until I split off from the half marathoners on the east side, splashing through cold puddles. I remember getting to the boring part of the course, where it’s flat and spreads out in front of you, and I had no idea how many miles I had run but it felt like quite a lot. I kept going.

And then there was Shelby Park, the hardest part, the longest miles, and if it weren’t for the countdown of 5 more miles to the finish, I might’ve hated it. But there were good cheerleaders there, and I was close, and even though my stride was shortening and I was stiff and headachy, I could trudge on happily.

It’s a surreal feeling to be running for so long, when it feels like it might never end, and then finally get to a distance your mind can understand. When I think about running 26.2 miles, I have to break it up into sections, and when I got to the point where I could think “5k more,” it was surreal. I don’t remember every mile, and I’ve probably forgotten a lot of the pain and discomfort of that morning, but I will say the point where it got difficult was the point where I could manage what I had left. 5k more. I can do anything for 3 miles. I was prepared for this.

And so were the champions beside me. There was the guy who told me “you’re on mile 15,” when I had no clue. There were the guys behind me in the park who talked about pizza and beer and their biceps, making me laugh, singing We Are the Champions. There was the girl who ran the last mile with me, and we talked when we realized we still had plenty of breath, and when we got to the finish shoot said, “this is it.”

A week later and I’m still recovering from the tendon trauma of pounding pavement for four hours. But I consider it a success because not only did I run it all, I enjoyed it all, even when it wasn’t easy. It was a success because it was a celebration of camaraderie, of intentionality, of good forward motion. It was a success because finishing a marathon close to the four hour mark means, I think, I can call myself a runner for real. It was a perfect mixture of internal motivation and external encouragement, independence and togetherness, the seriousness of sport and the silliness of it. It was proof that pain can be integrated into joy, sacrifice can be part of fulfillment, and even if I had passed out in Shelby Park, someone probably would’ve carried me to the medical tent. So, there’s that.

Thank you, Nashville, for being under my feet and above my head as I moved. Thank you, friends who watched, for believing in my craziness and cheering from under umbrellas. And thank you to all the thousands of runners who ran beside me so it felt like we were in it together. It was a day I’ll never forget.

See you next time.

Rise up; this matter is in your hands. We will support you, so take courage and do it.

Ezra 10:4