Marathon, Not a Sprint

I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day—and not only to me, but also to all who have longed for his appearing. -- 2 Timothy 4:7-8

The first three months of 2010 have gone by in a flash. Though days can sometimes feel long, somehow, like laps on a track, only when they are over does the time seem much shorter.

Where have I been the last few months? I have been training for a half-marathon that is to finally take place this coming Saturday morning, bright and earlier than I normally care to be awake (let alone running). After two months of training, I look forward to the day and dread it at once. I'm excited and nervous. I anticipate the relief of the finish, but dread the pain that will start the minute the race begins and evolve for about 3 hours until the finish.

As I've been training for this marathon, the parallels to life are almost cliche, but have become much more real to me. In the midst of a run, every moment my mind is calculating how much longer I have until the end. There is a constant negotiation of how much more my body can handle until the next break. A 13-mile run is only accomplished as a 3-mile chunk, then 2.5 mile chunk, then another 2-mile chunk, and so on. Then somehow, miraculously I find myself at the final lap. I think this half-marathon finds me at a point in my life where it reflects how I feel: You just gotta keep going.

Today my best friend's father passed away after more than a decade of on-and-off health complications. I heard the news and wept, though I've only met him a few times and last saw him years ago. It was partly knowing the loss my friend was feeling, or had been feeling through the years as her father's health declined. Perhaps all the time in my head while running has made me soft. Hell, the other day I found myself tearing up at mile 8 when "Bizarre Love Triangle" played on my iPod. I suppose the reward at the end of a hard-run race tastes that much more rich and real to me these days.

Either way, I feel sure that Lionel Hapuarachy has moved on to a better place. May he rest in peace.