Last Saturday, I ran my first 1/2 Marathon.  My friends Chris King, Todd Barlow and I had been training for this race since July.  Three miles, then four…five miles, then six…seven miles, then eight…nine miles, then ten…and finally the day came for the Baton Rouge Beach (yes, I know, somewhat of an oxymoron) 1/2 Marathon and Marathon.  The race was scheduled to begin at 7 am sharp on Saturday, December 6th.   On Friday, I spent my day off getting ready for the race. I loaded my ipod with plenty of Bon Jovi, Boston and Journey, made sure my shoes, shorts and shirt were in proper condition.  It was supposed to be cold, so my gloves and cap would be essential, at least for a portion of the race.  The course ran right in front of my church, and by that time, I would be well warmed up and could easily discard my unneeded articles of clothing there.  I talked with both Chris and Todd.  We worked out our time and place to meet and spoke encouraging words to one another.  I went to bed excited and ready for the race. 

On Saturday, I got up early.  My wife and I still own our house in the country and we commute into Baton Rouge, so we had a bit of a drive before us.  She had graciously agreed to go with me to this race.   What we had not anticipated was the snow and ice that had fallen through the night.  We left the house at 5:05 a.m.  At 5:30 a.m.  we were sitting still on the Interstate, in along line of traffic.  The bridges had iced over and there had been numerous wrecks, so they had closed the Interstate while the wrecks were cleared and while trucks treated the bridges.  It became clear that I would not make it to our scheduled meeting time of 6:10 a.m.  and I feared I would not make it at all.  6:00 a.m., 6:30 a.m., 6:45 a.m., still sitting…still waiting.   The guys knew to start without me.   They thought I would just go back home and live to run another day.  But at 7:35 a.m.  traffic started moving.   By that time, I was fit to be tied.  Angry, disappointed, edgy, not good company, just ask my wife.  I wanted to go home.  But Julie had other ideas.  She looked at me and said, you trained for this race and you are going to run this race.  You may start late, you may finish late, but you are going to run this race. 

We arrived at 7:55 a.m.  I started the race at 8:01 a.m. and finished 2 hours and 28 minutes later, alone with my thoughts and accompanied by the sounds of Bon Jovi’s voice ringing in my ears.  About mile 7, the marathon runners began to lap me.  Their presence and their words of encouragement helped me along the way.  I was not alone on this journey, after all.   At mile 11, my left calf knotted up, the result of dehydration, but I kept plugging along.  I topped the Perkins Road Overpass not knowing if I could finish.  I hobbled down the bridge and realized that I was on the home stretch.  I had a renewed sense of energy with the end in sight.  I made up my mind then and there I was going to finish.  I began to pick up the pace, running through the pain, trusting my mind to win out over my pain, and I made my way onto Lakeshore Drive.  This was familiar territory.  I had spent many afternoons and evenings running this route.  Mile 12.  1 mile left.  The finish line in sight.   As I approached the finish line, with just over 1/2 mile to go, my ipod shuffled to the next song and the words rang in my ears like the sounds of church bells ringing at noon on Sunday, Ohhhh Oh, you’re half way there, Ohhhh Oh, livin’ on a prayer.  Take my hand and you’ll make it I swear, Ohhh Oh, livin’ on a prayer.   My stride lengthened and my pace quickened.  I began to cry, not expecting such emotion, and I crossed the finish line, feeling more alive than I had in a long time. 

Reflecting on this experience, I’m not sure what the race would have been like for me had I started on time and finished with my friends.  I hope to have that experience when I run my next race.  But I do know that having to wait so long, realizing that things would not turn out as I had hoped, being forced to face my own fears and frustrations, my own anger and disappointment, caused this race to be more than just a race for me.  It was truly a refining  and purifying process.  The race cleansed my heart and my soul, not to mention my body.  I was reminded with each step and stride that the race is not just for the swift and strong, but also for those who endure it to the end.  

As our Advent journey continues, may we wait with more patience, hope with more fervency, pray with more consistency and run the race with more patience, one step at a time, facing the pain, persevering through the suffering, allowing our anger and frustration to be cleansed and purged, remembering along the way that we are never alone, trusting in the God who come to us and calls to us in Christ.  

Venite adoramus!