If you told 18-year-old me she would start running in her 30s, she would have laughed in your face. My pain had started around that time, and as I have mentioned before, I was obese. I have also shared that my hip dysplasia was asymptomatic until my accident at the gym, but now that I look back, I might have had some signs much earlier.
As a kid, running was uncomfortable and sitting on hard surfaces was very difficult on my hips. I didn’t think much about it because I learned about growing pains pretty quickly. For the most part, I was almost always the tallest in the class until 5th or 6th grade. So, I just always assumed that, because of my growth spurts, it was simply the pain of being tall. I loved my height, but I assumed that the aches and pains came with it, so I never mentioned them, not even to doctors.
Either way, me and running would rarely be found in the same sentence. I used to say, “If you see me running, you better run with me, ask questions later, because there is something chasing me.”
I had been trying to lose weight for years and was also trying to figure out which exercise my pain would allow to help me reach my goal. After I recovered from my last surgery, I tried the upright bike, which I fondly called the “Granny Bike” because it had a higher back and armrests. I would bring a book to the gym to read. Unfortunately, that caused more pain.
Then I went to strength training. I loved that so much until my pain told me how much it didn’t love it. I went through a season of grief when I had to walk away from that because it was something else that my pain had taken away from me. After running out of options, I started walking until I realized walking had slowly snuck into jogging. By the time I noticed what was happening, the running bug had found me.
Not only did it help me get to my weight goal, but it also helped me with my pain through the release of natural endorphins. An old physical therapist of mine said, “Motion is lotion” for the joints. Even though doctors don’t know what is wrong, I have the kind of pain that does better when I am moving but hates me if I do too much of it. If I am having a long flare-up, I will give myself a rest day or two, but if it sticks around, I have to take my flare-up on a run. Normally, I get relief. The pain never goes away, but the endorphins muffle it. Running has also become a place that has helped my mental health and my relationship with God.
Going from barely being able to walk to now running still feels like a crazy change of pace, and I am thankful for it. I do not take this ability lightly, for I know that there are others who can’t even walk or whose pain won’t allow them to exercise. In fact, I am so thankful that I have a thankfulness jar that I keep in my car. I have now filled two, and the third sits in a cup holder. Whenever I go for a run (and remember to do this), I look for something that catches my eye on the trail and take it as a token of thankfulness, thanking God for my ability to run. There are a lot of rocks in these jars, but sometimes God has gifted me with fun stickers, ribbons, a random cardboard princess, acorns, and beautiful flower petals.
Though I realized I loved running, the process of teaching myself to run, and run well, was difficult. Because of my surgeries, if I am not careful, I have a limp. Making sure my gait, pace, posture, cadence, and everything else were where they needed to be felt like a science project…and it still feels like that at times. I realized quickly that if I wanted to become a runner, I would have to work on it consistently. Skip a few days, and your body acts like you have never run before in your life.
As of now, I am training for a marathon. I am currently not signed up for one, but because of some complications from my pain and whatever is wrong with my body, I know my progression needs to be slow and steady. So, I am training anyway. When the day comes that I am able to sign up for one, I will be ready. Not only am I training my body, but I am also training my mind and learning to manage my pain so I can endure the race before me. Sidebar here, I am also training myself to listen to my body in all of this. I am learning when I need to call it quits because the endorphins are not helping the pain and when I can continue to press on despite it.
The funny thing is that running wasn’t where I first learned endurance. I had been training for that long before I even became a runner. In fact, I started learning about endurance before pain was even introduced to my life. It started in my school years and the lovely struggle that was trying to graduate. Many schools at that time, at least the one I attended, didn’t know how to help kids who thought differently. Thank the Lord I graduated, but it took a lot of hard work, help from parents, tutors, and giving up most of my free time as a kid.
Then, endurance took on a whole new meaning during these 18 years of pain. At the start of the pain journey, endurance looked different. No matter how much I pushed, I watched different things taken from me. Pushing to physically do certain things, like going to church and college, was no longer an option, but continuing to mentally press on when physically I couldn’t became a test of endurance.
One example that comes to mind of what endurance looked like was my first experience with physical therapy, right after my first major surgery. For those who might be squeamish, I will keep the details to a minimum. The short of it is that I ended up with about four screws in the left side of my pelvis for that round of surgeries.
A day after my surgery, the therapist came in to prep me for my first session. My body had gone through a lot, and my stomach made me extremely aware that it wasn’t happy. After I was cleaned up from that experience, the therapist gave me a little time to recover. When he came back, it was time to stand up. I had to succeed in that and show him I could get around on my own to be allowed to go home.
He taught me how to move my left leg off the bed, how to prepare my right leg, and how to position my walker to get me upright. I could not bear weight on my left leg, so the right leg, which would need to have surgery in the future, had to learn quickly how to carry my heavyset self.
When I stood, the pain became worse, which made the nausea worse. I then felt myself go clammy. My therapist stood right in front of me, supporting my walker, as I prayed, “Lord, please don’t let me get sick on this poor therapist.” Through gritted teeth, I told the therapist about the nausea. He taught me how to breathe as he kept me standing to keep the nausea at bay.
The wave of nausea did not pass, and I could feel myself becoming shaky, which made the walker unstable. When he noticed it, he supported my arms under my elbows and had me hold onto his forearms. In doing that, I found I could stand upright a little bit more, and I felt steadier, but the pain had my eyes closed and head bowed. My forehead eventually hit his shoulder. In desperation, I kept it plastered there, gripping his forearms, eyes shut, trying to breathe.
I started to cry. He kindly told me he understood my tears, but crying wouldn’t help me to breathe any better. And that is where I took that to the extreme and taught myself to get through hell first and cry later. Eventually, that made it difficult to cry when I actually needed to…but that is for another time.
I went back to breathing, and when that became steady again, he told me to lift my head, because it was time to learn how to “walk.” When I did, I saw, with great embarrassment, that I had soaked his shoulder with sweat and tears. He helped me find my hand placement on the walker again, and that is when I saw hand-shaped outlines on his forearms where my hands had held on for dear life.
My first “steps” forward with my walker were painful, but the more I moved, the better and more confident I felt. The pain was still there, but it wasn’t as extreme. When he was satisfied with my progress, he showed me how to get my left leg back on the bed.
Once situated, I apologized profusely for his shirt and arms. He laughed and said he was just glad it wasn’t anything worse, but it was part of his job. That is why he was there. When he left, I thanked God that I didn’t throw up on him, and that he had the patience and the support that allowed me to endure. Because of that, I could go home. Recovery was rough, but through God’s strength, I got through it.
I still think of that day, and it leads me to wonder what it looks like when we endure. Sometimes it looks like a daily run, pressing forward, adding more mileage. Sometimes it means rain or shine, cold or heat. It is a test of discipline, and our mental capacity to press on. And sometimes, it looks like clinging to God’s forearms, our forehead plastered against His shoulder, begging for strength to carry on. Except there, we can cry.
Hebrews 12:1-2 gives us a beautiful example of endurance.
Therefore, since we also have such a large cloud of witnesses surrounding us, let us lay aside every hindrance and the sin that so easily ensnares us. Let us run with endurance the race that lies before us, 2 keeping our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of our faith. For the joy that lay before him, he endured the cross, despising the shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.
For the runner, we understand that when we have an event we are training for, we have to make a practice of training consistently. That also goes for those who strength train. If you want to see results, you can’t go to the gym once in a blue moon and expect to suddenly get stronger. When you are running a race, even though you cannot see the finish line yet, your mind’s eye is set on it. When your body starts feeling the toll of the pace and mileage, you might have to decrease your pace. Sometimes you have to take a walking break, but you continue to press on.
Having to change your pace, to walk, or to stop for just a moment and stretch does not mean you have failed. It also doesn’t mean you have quit. Sometimes in life, you have to tend to your soul to make sure you are enduring well. Jesus Himself needed time to change His pace.
Luke 5
12 While he was in one of the towns, a man was there who had leprosy all over him. He saw Jesus, fell facedown, and begged him, “Lord, if you are willing, you can make me clean.”
13 Reaching out his hand, Jesus touched him, saying, “I am willing; be made clean,” and immediately the leprosy left him. 14 Then he ordered him to tell no one: “But go and show yourself to the priest, and offer what Moses commanded for your cleansing as a testimony to them.”
15 But the news about him spread even more, and large crowds would come together to hear him and to be healed of their sicknesses. 16 Yet he often withdrew to deserted places and prayed.
Jesus, being fully man, also knew what it meant to need to step away from the demands surrounding Him and spend time with His Father. He wasn’t quitting the race before Him. He was pacing himself by taking time to pray. If Jesus knew He needed to make it a practice of withdrawing to spend time with His Father, how much more do we need to make time to tend to our own souls? When you become weary of enduring, who do you turn to first? Sometimes we rely on our strength, but our own personal strength can and will deplete.
Isaiah 40:28-31 says:
28 Do you not know?
Have you not heard?
The Lord is the everlasting God,
the Creator of the whole earth.
He never becomes faint or weary;
there is no limit to his understanding.
29 He gives strength to the faint
and strengthens the powerless.
30 Youths may become faint and weary,
and young men stumble and fall,
31 but those who trust in the Lord
will renew their strength;
they will soar on wings like eagles;
they will run and not become weary,
they will walk and not faint.
I find great comfort in knowing that, though I might become weary of pressing forward, I have a Heavenly Father who does not. Instead, He renews my strength so that every day I can keep going. Let me tell you what, being in a place where you feel like you have become completely depleted, bringing that concern to the Father, and then feeling renewed strength to carry on…that is a miracle, friend. I have felt it in real time, multiple times. What if what some of us call our second wind is actually God giving us the strength we didn’t have on our own?
Like every race, there is a finish line, and with that finish line comes a prize. If I am looking at an event and I see that not everyone gets a medal, I will most likely not sign up. I know it is a little silly, but I trained for that moment. I sacrificed my weekends of sleeping in. Especially since I am not a morning person, that is a tall ask. I stretched my body and asked it to carry me for however long that event required. I know I willingly signed up for this race, but I still suffered for this, so hand over the shiny object on a ribbon, please and thank you. I did not endure just to get a complimentary banana at the end.
Oh, but friend, we are running and enduring for a much bigger, more precious prize. Paul says in 2 Timothy 4:7-8:
“I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. There is reserved for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will give me on that day, and not only to me, but to all those who have loved his appearing.”
My endurance is bringing me closer and closer to the presence of my Savior. Running in this life means pressing forward until I reach Heaven and receive that crown. Yet, unlike my shiny object on a ribbon that I keep and display, I want nothing more than to lay that crown at my Jesus’ feet. For it was Jesus’ sacrifice, death, burial, and resurrection that carried me to Heaven. I can endure because He endured the cross for me! What love!
And while I am in His presence, after fighting the good fight and crossing that finish line, I hold on to the anticipation of hearing Him say those coveted words, “Well done, good and faithful servant!” (Matthew 25:21)
Selah: Think of the race you are enduring today. The mileage might feel never-ending, but how are you enduring? Are you running by your own strength, or by the strength of the Father? Are you comfortable with allowing yourself to slow down your pace so you can tend to your weary soul? Keep pressing on and hold fast, knowing that even when your strength gives out, He will never let go.
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