If you know anything about JJ and I (or if you just read The Love Story on this blog) you know that running has special significance in our journey together. It's how we first began spending time together (training for our first half marathon), began dating, and eventually got engaged (at that same half marathon). We have often planned our vacations around races in fun U.S. cities (Virginia Beach, Nashville, Las Vegas, NC Outer Banks, etc.), and our friends have often asked us why we can't just be "normal" and go on a vacation for vacation's sake, instead of for the purpose of running. We have run together in countless U.S. states and in at least 7 countries on 4 different continents.
When asked "Who is faster? Which one of you wins?" we just laugh… you see, we always run in stride together - it's what makes us a team. When one of us is struggling, we rely on the other to encourage us. Most of the time, it works out that one of us sets the pace for the first part of the race, and the other person pushes us through the finish. But no matter what, we always run together.
Okay, I might have run a little faster on that early morning run through the jungle in Ecuador, when I was certain that we were going to be attacked by a spanish-speaking Sasquatch. Or maybe JJ trailed behind on purpose when we ran through the red dirt of Togo, Africa in attempts to draw less attention (as we drew stares from natives who stood in the doorways of their huts to gawk at the crazy running white people).
It's not always about speed, it's not always about distance. It's about the things we learn about ourselves - and about each other - that really matters. Even from the beginning, back in the days of "No we're not dating, we are JUST running partners," I was comfortable being my natural self around this guy. No makeup, plenty of sweat, and just as many miles that were a struggle as those that came easy. We saw each other fail to meet our goals and suffer through injuries as well as set new personal records and get in the best shape of our lives. We learned early on how to support each other, set goals, provide encouragement, and celebrate every success. There are more analogies between running and life than I can write about, and even some mentioned in Scripture.
So today, when we ran our 10th half marathon together, I was reminded of the things that are truly important about running as a team…
It was a brisk, cloudy December day, and we both stood at the starting line with little expectations other than finishing together. We'd both been battling respiratory illnesses and had trained relatively little in comparison to most races we've done. But only a few miles into the race, I could tell that I wouldn't simply just "finish" this race…My legs felt awesome. Strong. My feet felt like they barely skimmed the ground. My breathing came easy. It struck me that I could possibly beat my most recent half marathon time, and maybe even set a new PR. But in that same moment I looked over and noticed something missing…my running partner. I turned around and immediately knew something was wrong. "It's my stomach," he grunted, "I feel like I'm about to puke. I shouldn't have eaten so close the race." Every runner's dreaded race… feeling physically ill only a few miles in. Frustrated that as a seasoned runner, he'd made a rookie mistake, JJ made a decision that he would not stop - he would rather throw up than quit a race (which shouldn't surprise me, as I'm married to the same stubborn guy who tore his knee during a college football game and refused to let the trainers carry him off the field. In fact, he argued with his coach and insisted on finishing the quarter…)
As much as I'd like to say that I immediately had compassion on him and was happy to run at his now-slowing pace, I would be lying. No, not me. The ultimate competitor, especially with myself. How would I ever beat my previous time now? How would I set a PR? How will I explain my uncharacteristic time to my other running friends?
Ok, but seriously?!? After a few miles of my self-centered thinking, God hit me with several truths: I started this race with no time goal in mind, none at all. My thoughts of a PR were spontaneous, and now I was just being plain selfish. I can't begin to count the number of runs that I wouldn't have finished (or even started in the first place) if it weren't for JJ right beside me, slowing to my pace and encouraging me every step of the way. He is the one who taught me to love running 7 years ago. He recently helped me train for a women's-only triathlon and was at every transition point in the race, coaching me to a solid finish. He's always my encourager.
Yes, perhaps I could have encouraged him to take his time today and allow me to run on ahead. Maybe I would have asked him to quit altogether and I would have set a new personal best. But at the end of the day, the thing that mattered most was crossing that finish line together. I'm sure he would have understood if I would have gone ahead. He would have even been happy for me to finish so well. But I couldn't be genuinely happy, knowing that I had left my partner when he needed me most.
Sometimes, you lose the battle but win the war. I did not come close to setting a personal record, but I invested in the success of my partner [although reluctantly, initially]; our relationship is stronger as a result. I encouraged JJ for 13.1 miles, and he pushed himself harder than I would have if I were feeling equally as miserable. And after we crossed the finish line - together - he genuinely thanked me for being there when he needed me most and for believing in him. And that's a feeling that I can't experience from any finishing time or medal.
In it for the long run,
-L
When asked "Who is faster? Which one of you wins?" we just laugh… you see, we always run in stride together - it's what makes us a team. When one of us is struggling, we rely on the other to encourage us. Most of the time, it works out that one of us sets the pace for the first part of the race, and the other person pushes us through the finish. But no matter what, we always run together.
Okay, I might have run a little faster on that early morning run through the jungle in Ecuador, when I was certain that we were going to be attacked by a spanish-speaking Sasquatch. Or maybe JJ trailed behind on purpose when we ran through the red dirt of Togo, Africa in attempts to draw less attention (as we drew stares from natives who stood in the doorways of their huts to gawk at the crazy running white people).
It's not always about speed, it's not always about distance. It's about the things we learn about ourselves - and about each other - that really matters. Even from the beginning, back in the days of "No we're not dating, we are JUST running partners," I was comfortable being my natural self around this guy. No makeup, plenty of sweat, and just as many miles that were a struggle as those that came easy. We saw each other fail to meet our goals and suffer through injuries as well as set new personal records and get in the best shape of our lives. We learned early on how to support each other, set goals, provide encouragement, and celebrate every success. There are more analogies between running and life than I can write about, and even some mentioned in Scripture.
So today, when we ran our 10th half marathon together, I was reminded of the things that are truly important about running as a team…
It was a brisk, cloudy December day, and we both stood at the starting line with little expectations other than finishing together. We'd both been battling respiratory illnesses and had trained relatively little in comparison to most races we've done. But only a few miles into the race, I could tell that I wouldn't simply just "finish" this race…My legs felt awesome. Strong. My feet felt like they barely skimmed the ground. My breathing came easy. It struck me that I could possibly beat my most recent half marathon time, and maybe even set a new PR. But in that same moment I looked over and noticed something missing…my running partner. I turned around and immediately knew something was wrong. "It's my stomach," he grunted, "I feel like I'm about to puke. I shouldn't have eaten so close the race." Every runner's dreaded race… feeling physically ill only a few miles in. Frustrated that as a seasoned runner, he'd made a rookie mistake, JJ made a decision that he would not stop - he would rather throw up than quit a race (which shouldn't surprise me, as I'm married to the same stubborn guy who tore his knee during a college football game and refused to let the trainers carry him off the field. In fact, he argued with his coach and insisted on finishing the quarter…)
As much as I'd like to say that I immediately had compassion on him and was happy to run at his now-slowing pace, I would be lying. No, not me. The ultimate competitor, especially with myself. How would I ever beat my previous time now? How would I set a PR? How will I explain my uncharacteristic time to my other running friends?
Ok, but seriously?!? After a few miles of my self-centered thinking, God hit me with several truths: I started this race with no time goal in mind, none at all. My thoughts of a PR were spontaneous, and now I was just being plain selfish. I can't begin to count the number of runs that I wouldn't have finished (or even started in the first place) if it weren't for JJ right beside me, slowing to my pace and encouraging me every step of the way. He is the one who taught me to love running 7 years ago. He recently helped me train for a women's-only triathlon and was at every transition point in the race, coaching me to a solid finish. He's always my encourager.
Yes, perhaps I could have encouraged him to take his time today and allow me to run on ahead. Maybe I would have asked him to quit altogether and I would have set a new personal best. But at the end of the day, the thing that mattered most was crossing that finish line together. I'm sure he would have understood if I would have gone ahead. He would have even been happy for me to finish so well. But I couldn't be genuinely happy, knowing that I had left my partner when he needed me most.
Sometimes, you lose the battle but win the war. I did not come close to setting a personal record, but I invested in the success of my partner [although reluctantly, initially]; our relationship is stronger as a result. I encouraged JJ for 13.1 miles, and he pushed himself harder than I would have if I were feeling equally as miserable. And after we crossed the finish line - together - he genuinely thanked me for being there when he needed me most and for believing in him. And that's a feeling that I can't experience from any finishing time or medal.
In it for the long run,
-L
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