Mile 7

I ran my third half marathon yesterday, and I am still limping to prove it.  I went into this race fairly calm.  I decided to just think of it as an extra long long run, and it was going to be fine.  Both of my previous half marathons went surprisingly well, I always felt that adrenaline kick, and it was mostly a pleasant experience.

These expectations quickly changed when the first three miles were uphill.  And the next three miles were uphill.  There were some parts on trails.  There were some with little small hills and meandering terrain.  The route went through neighborhoods and backtracked to get the adequate mileage.

And that's when I realized that this was not going to be a normal half marathon for me.  Within the first half mile I crossed the idea of setting a personal record of my list, and I settled for finishing.

During mile 7, I honestly didn't think I could go on.  There was a huge hill.  I have been training on beautifully flat roads for the past 7 months.  I haven't gone up a big hill since April....maybe?  And yes, I cried.  Yep, I walked.  Yes, I turned on my music and turned it up loud.  While I was running, I tried to focus on the strength of who I was running the race for.  I was running for my dad's grandma, the woman I am named after.  I was running for my beautiful sister, who I knew was struggling up the hill somewhere too.  I was running for my inspiring mom who would be waiting for a sweaty hug at the finish line.  I was running for my dad, the person who taught me how to run.

I finally, finally made it past the hard part.  I staggered into the mile 6.7 aid station almost crying and not sure my leaden legs could carry me for 6.4 more miles. I was finally on the downhill when I really started crying.  I looked out on the beautiful golden trees and the beautiful view and I just wanted to quit.  I was exhausted from my week.  I was exhausted from tests and studying.  I was tired of doubting myself.  I was tired of trying so hard and not seeing the results.  I was tired of enduring the middle and feeling exhausted, doubting how much fight I actually had.

And that's when I felt God's presence, right next to me.

And I realized that for life in general, I am at mile 6.7.  I am staggering up the hill, looking for an aid station.  My brain is tired, and I'm not sure how much farther I can go.  I am doubting myself for even trying.  I went into this whole season expecting it to just be an extra long long run.  I hadn't trained for the difficult parts.  I had been coasting.

Let me tell you, mile 6.7 tears you up.  It is making me doubt nearly every move I'm making.  It makes me want to pull the covers over my head and stay there until the middle is resolved and the ending resolute.  It causes every pray I utter to be a plead for peace and a beg for mercy.  And it's easy to feel lost and confused and lonely.

But I'm grateful for the reminder that God will be there, waiting at mile 7 when the mind haze clears enough that I can notice the golden trees.

xo. Elise