Every runner
knows that for every mile where the wind is at your back and the sun is shining
gently on your face, and the tar is flying under your feet-- there are nearly
the same number of miles where the hills are steep, the sweat burns your eyes,
and you question your own judgment of merely stepping out the door. That’s just how it is. If you’re going to do it—there are going to
be hard miles. There are miles when the
trees dance by you in gentle breezes cooling you and urging you on to the end. Then there are the miles where your energy
ebbs, your legs burn, and your feet talk back persistently. Every runner knows there are easy miles and
hard miles—but they are all good miles.
Running can teach
you a lot about life. This has been a year
of incredible loss and grief for me.
I’ve lost two of my best friends.
I lost my lifelong best friend and honorary cousin/sister when she
tragically took her own life earlier this year.
The pain was—and is—overwhelming at times. I need to choose daily to let God heal me and
not let the grief cloak me in its shroud.
Then, just two weeks ago, I lost a friend whose favorite activities
included chasing squirrels and playing with her squeaky hedgehog. Sierra, our nearly 12 year old family dog
succumbed to cancer and slipped peacefully away. Grief upon grief—watching my children yet
again mourn a loved one lost they had known their whole life.
If you scan your
friend’s Facebook pages it is easy to perceive that loss, grief, sadness, and
mourning, are abnormal--that there is
something wrong with you if that is your present lot. However, that is not the truth. Unfortunately, in this life the hard miles
are part of the journey. Everyone has
them—even if they don’t talk about them.
Maybe if we did talk about them we wouldn’t feel so isolated when we
have them. When you are running some
hard miles you have two choices. You can get out there and do the work of grief,
rebuilding, hoping, trying, reaching, and striving. Or—you can give up. You can choose not to let your feet hit the
floor that day. In the process, our
world—no matter how safe, gets increasingly smaller as we choose not to make
ourselves vulnerable to love and lose, hope and fail, dream and be
disappointed.
Over the past
year, during these very hard miles—I’ve learned some very important
things. First, I’ve learned faith will
get me through. Hope in a better future
will help to heal, and the love of friends and family is the very best salve of
all. I’ve learned some deep lessons about
the adequacy of prayers that have no words because your heart is too wounded to
speak. I’ve felt the unspeakable comfort
of friends who have no words—who just hug me and cry with me. I’ve experienced the incredible grace of a
wounded spirit who is learning to gingerly, carefully, expectantly, put one
foot in front of the other. These are
lessons you do not learn running easy miles.
So, while no one ever really chooses the hard miles, they do prepare
you, teach you, mold you, and shape you in a way the easy miles never
could. This year, I’ve learned that a
mile is a mile. Easy or hard---with
faith, hope, and love—they are all good.
Run on.
