It was 1:30am the last time I looked at my phone, desperate for sleep. Then I hear Green Day’s “Longview” blaring before I realized I’d fallen asleep. It’s 5:30am and I’m supposed to go run the race I’ve been looking forward to for months. I barely resisted the urge to throw my phone across the room, and hit snooze instead. Ten minutes later I’m staggering around my apartment trying to convince myself I can do this as I get dressed, despite knowing that I’m not ready for it. I picked up my phone to look at the weather app: 41 degrees.
Ok, I can do this…I’ve been waiting for this race since December, even if I haven’t been training enough to run 13.1 miles well. As long as it isn’t too windy, I’ll be fine once I get going. I open the door and the biting cold wind hits me hard. So hard I feel like throwing up. I made it to my car and hoped the wind wouldn’t be as bad when I got to the race. It was worse.
I sat it my car, knowing I’d have to stand outside for an hour in the ridiculously cold weather before the race even started. I’ve been fighting sinus stuff all winter, and was debating the price of getting sick to finish the race and keep my pride in tact compared to the price of doing the smart thing and walking away and still being able to function at work this week. I tried to get out of the car, but the cold wind pushed me back inside. Paralyzed from the fear of probably of not being able to work for a week and the fear of what walking away means, I sat there. We had to park at the finish line, and the last shuttle to the start line would leave in five minutes.
If I got on that shuttle…if I even got TO that shuttle, there wasn’t any turning back. If the cold weather gripped my lungs too much during the run, and I had to walk too much to finish, I knew I’d get sick from being in the cold too much, and the race would be pointless.
I hated it, but I had to do the smart thing. Yet, even though I know it was the right decision, every minute I drove back toward my apartment, I could feel my identity as a runner melting away like dross. It was just then that I realized I’d even built an identity as a runner. I’ve always tried to be humble about it. I’m not the only one out there, and I’m half convinced the people who aren’t running half marathons are actually smarter than those of us who do, or just less crazy. But it was in that moment of walking away, as the distance between me and the start line increased, that I realized I’d found confidence in running. I’d formed an identity as a runner which gave me confidence, belonging, and a sense of pride.
Some would say these aren’t bad things. Maybe they aren’t, but when I got home and honestly thought “What now?” I realized that, even though it wasn’t intentional, running had become too important to me. It became what defined me instead of being defined by simply being His.
The lesson is hard, and I feel the pain of walking away. The weight of walking away without even trying still pulls on me, but God knows what I need more than I do. He knew the buttons to push to reveal this sense of idolatry in my heart. Any time idols fall, it’s hard. It’s painful. But it’s good.
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