Lean In

I finished a marathon. 26.2 miles of running. It was hard (understatement of the year). But the journey, the people who got me through (and to the starting line in the first place) made it more than just a run.

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When my childhood bestie asked me to do a marathon with her, without hesitation I said yes.

For those of you who don’t know Maria Timm, I’ll just say she’s persistent. She’s been asking me to run 26.2 (fun) miles with her for a couple of years. She talked me into 13.1, but I was convinced I’d never run the full sha-bang.

But for some reason this time when she asked, I easily agreed.

I like to believe it was God’s way of taking care of future me. His way of nudging and proving that, “with Him, all things are possible” (Matthew 19:26). I couldn’t yet know the deep hurt, the gnawing ache, the consuming restlessness I would feel as my sunshiny summer came to a jolting hault. But He did.

He knew how meaningful this race would be for me, how much of myself I would pour into it, how it would take more than my effort but also my cheer squad rallying behind me to cross that finish line. And most especially, He would teach me that there is always purpose hiding in the crowded forest of pain.

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As my legs ache in their recovery of carrying me the long distance, I finally have a minute to reflect on the four months of preparation. When you commit to running a marathon you have no choice but to put in the work. Because if you didn’t, you literally wouldn’t be able to finish.

So for a quarter of the year I put all of my energy into to making this happen. I found myself waking up before the sun at 4:30AM to ensure I was well fueled and ready to hit the pavement by 5:00. I found beauty in learning how to run with no music and instead listen to my thoughts or say the Rosary. I became a master of figuring out what running route would keep me entertained the longest and ways I could trick myself into thinking the mileage would feel better if I ran in a certain place. I found it was the perfect small talk topic and would go on and on to anyone who asked (what will my party talk sound like now?). I found myself eventually realizing that 14 miles isn’t that far and can easily be squeezed in during the work week (still baffled at my attitude toward distance). I was enjoying every step I took in my training as it freed my anxious heart.

It consumed me. It was everything.

I’ve never endured anything more physically and mentally challenging. Running religiously four times a week while keeping up with my work and maintaining a social life was in one word: exhausting. But it was worth it (have I convinced you to sign up for a marathon yet?).

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The second we crossed the threshold of the Wear Blue Mile, there was complete silence. The faces and names of fallen men and women who sacrificed their lives for ours lined the running path. Stifled cries and sniffles, the clinking of medals that Mr. Timm (running next to me) wore in honor of many Mount Carroll veterans, and the light putter of feet hitting the pavement were the only things you could hear.

And just when I thought I wasn’t worthy to run for them, to finish in their memory, I saw the families of the fallen soldiers. They lined both sides of the course, proudly waving American flags and wildly cheering, clapping, and throwing out high five and words of encouragement.

One woman looked me straight in the eye and flashing a button of a young man said, “Run for my son. You can do this.” Especially for that mile your sense of breath, life, meaning was heightened. Every step you took was for the fallen. For the fighting. For the families.

When it hurt, when your legs begged you to stop, when you looked down at your watch and still had 13 more miles to run, you were able to find some purpose in the pain.

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It was a beautiful pain. Pain that leads you to bettering yourself, to putting you back on track, to learning to lean on your community when you physically can’t stand yourself (thanks for literally holding me up, Meg).

It was an emotional pain. Pain that pushes you, shows you you’re stronger than you’d ever dreamed, makes you feel alive and close to death all at the same time.

It was my pain. And I bravely faced it. Alongside thousands of other runners chasing their own demons and running for their own purposes, I looked mine straight in eye and beat it.

Running this marathon was always about more than proving I can defy average human normalcy and literally go the distance (woo, part of the 1% club). No, it was to prove there isn’t anything in this life I can’t triumph.

I successfully finished a marathon. If I can do that, I can do anything.

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This post wouldn’t be complete without a special shoutout to my cheer squad:

Katie and Megan, thank you for being my steadfast supporters. You two are #pitcrewgoals. Few people would wake up at the crack of dawn just to put in a couple of miles with me, provide endless hugs when I convinced myself I couldn’t do this crazy thing (or when I was scared), make the best post-run chocolate delights, surprise me with clever and encouraging cards (so unnecessary), and listen to me talk and talk and talk about running. Every. Single. Day. I barely deserve a sliver of your support.

Chanel and Alphonse, thank you for helping me realize I can do the impossible. You two are the original running club, the first people I’d ask running advice, and the only people who’d ever agree to running 10+ miles “just because.” Thanks for always going the distance with me.

Anne and Dennis, thanks for forcing me to take that granola bar at Mile 17. You guys are the best. Need I say more?

HCFM fam, your prayers definitely got me through some tough spots. Thanks for showing me how big of a deal this whole thing was and encouraging me to chase my dreams.

Meg and Jon, thanks for making the entire marathon weekend so easy. I literally wouldn’t have made it without the carbs you fed me, the race day outfit fashion show you endured, and your confidence. I love you guys so very much.

Maria, without you this entire adventure wouldn’t have been possible. Thank you for matching my stride, for pep talking me when I’d gone further than I ever had before (14 miles seemed really far), for showering me with advice on training smartly, for fueling me with certainty that I would finish, for smiling and proudly saying, “We’re running a marathon together,” almost every mile, for screaming at me to get my butt up the last .2 miles of hilly hell and cross that finish line side by side. You are my rock, my best friend, and I couldn’t have done this without you.

To all my friends and family near and far, thanks for rallying behind me in encouraging words and prayers. With you I know I’m never alone.

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If you’re still reading, I did want to mention I didn’t forget to carry 20 special intentions with me during the marathon (some requested, some I had for you). Scrawled on a piece of paper nestled in my running belt, you were right there with me. I hope you find some peace in knowing I was praying for you.

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A little marathon miracle: My shins had been killing me the last two taper weeks leading up to the marathon. I had been icing, soaking, wearing tennis shoes everywhere (somehow got away with that at work) and still pain shot up my legs. Then two sleeps before race day I decided to bless my shins with holy water a fellow priest-coworker brought back to me from Lourdes.

I kid you not, I had absolutely no pain in my shins the entire 5 hours I was running (and even afterwards). I’m still in total awe, but I think it was Mama Mary’s way of blessing this journey for me.

"I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me." Philippians 4:13