As I walk through the Runner’s Expo the day before the marathon, I’m picking up on a repeated theme.
I see it at every turn. Placards, t-shirts, bumper stickers. It is phrased in a
variety of ways, but the message is the same.
I can do anything if I can run a
marathon.
Because this is the day before I tackle this giant, and I’m full of
doubts and nervousness and fear, I feel like these folks are full of it and a
little chuckle escapes my mouth. They might be slightly overrating what this
experience is gonna do for them I’m thinking.
And then I run the marathon.
And a funny thing
happens. I start to believe it.
As the
euphoria fades and life gets back to normal, I find this very theme permeating
my thinking, creeping into every nook and cranny of my life and I start to
realize something.
Victory is contagious.
It is an amazing feat to buffet your
body and make it your slave. To make it kneel to your will and despite all odds
accomplish what your heart and mind have set out to do.
But I have to be honest
here.
I’d love to say I met the best version of myself out there on the road.
Training every day, mile after mile. Truth is, I met the worst of me. The me
that throws pity parties, takes everything personal and makes excuses. The me
that is self-centered, can’t handle criticism and is super moody. The me that is defeated easily. Quickly.
Well,
ok, to be fair, that’s only half the truth. The whole truth is I also met the
best of me out there. I met me, girl at
war with herself, working it out there on the pavement. The me that wants God to win no matter what. The me that is loyal and persistent and brave.
While the feat at hand
was overtly physical, what I didn’t see coming was how God was going to use it
to raise the emotional and spiritual bar in my life. Habits and patterns of
thought that I had lived with for years suddenly were being challenged.
When I
found my self beating the old, well known path to my pit of despair and self
loathing, I found the Spirit whisper to me,
Come here. Come up out of there. This
isn’t where you live any more. If you can run 26.2 miles, you can overcome this.
And for the first time in a long time, I believed it.
Victory is contagious.
The victory I felt after the marathon was so sweet because I knew myself. I’m
no marathon runner. Who did I think I was? The doubts. The fears! With the honest truth of who I really am smacking
me in the face, truly this made the victory that much sweeter and left me
craving more. More victorious moments.
Suddenly I was unwilling to tolerate
strongholds that, apparently, had
crippled me for years. Get out of that pit! Stop looking to people to validate
you. Quit living for others.
This victory in one area acted as a catalyst
to all these other underlying battles I had been fighting.
I’ve never quite
understood that phrase, when the Bible calls us “more than conquers in Christ” (Romans 8:31-39) but
I grasp it more now than ever before. He
doesn’t just desire little victories here and there. He doesn’t just call us to
conquer. He tacks on that image of more.
More than conquerors.
He doesn’t just call us
to isolated, one hit wonders. He calls us to a lifetime of overcoming, through
Christ who loved us, seeking Him at every turn, giving us victory against some
of our most formidable foes and pitfalls.
But, our
victories aren’t just for us. One of the most amazing parts of the marathon was
turning every corner looking for my people. I knew they were scattered along
the course, with their homemade signs and cameras. They had been there for
every mile I trained, every misstep, every ice bath, every horrible foam-roller
stretching episode. I think my victory
was just as sweet for them that day. Maybe
just as contagious.
Just keeping it real though, in life I really don’t let others
in on my victories very well. This is
because, to tell of the victory, I have to tell the battle. Here, in this
vulnerable, touchy place, God is teaching me that victory is contagious. Sure,
my victory is for me, but it’s also for the people walking through this life
with me. The people watching. When battle stories are shared, with all the
agonies of the defeats, as well as the thrills of the victories, there is
unique opportunity to speak truth into each other’s lives.
When we see a friend moving back down the
path to old ways where we know God delivered them from—because you were at
every course by course turn-- you can remind them of the truth. “Hey, no you
don’t! Don’t wallow it that pit! Remember that victory? You are more.”
Isn’t
this our role? Our privilege? To stand beside one another and yell our loudest
“You can do this!” Or maybe it’s to say; “I was there that day when you did it,
when you overcame. I remember your victory! I KNOW you are more than a
conqueror.”
How about a simple “you are not alone.” I couldn’t have run the
marathon without my incredible training partners (Emily! Beth!) Just knowing
they were with me made me braver, helping me to not give up. I’m convinced that
this is one of the biggest ploys of the enemy of my soul: to keep me isolated
and alone. Just not really being honest with anyone about what’s happening for
reals in my heart. My struggles. My defeats. My victories.
The best training strategy I can see is to find some kindred spirits and just keep sharing what God is doing. Keep running after the prize and the promise that there is victory ahead. Swap stories of
defeat and victory and share all the gory battle details. Keep letting God get all
up in my business and reveal to this weary heart what’s next in the
battle plan.
All I know is I want more. Victory is contagious.
