The Trail
My first half marathon was not originally my idea.
Let’s establish that immediately. 😆
My older sister was considering running one and asked whether I would do it with her. She had seen me becoming more consistent at the gym and had already found a beginner training program we could follow.
My initial thought was somewhere in the neighborhood of:
Are you serious?
But I didn’t want to become another voice telling her that our bodies meant we shouldn’t even try.
So I made a deal.
If I could complete one mile on the elliptical without stopping, I would train with her and sign up.
I did the mile.
Apparently, I had played myself. 😂
I signed up.
Then my sister completed approximately two days of training and stopped.
Ma’am.
This was YOUR idea. 😭🤣
But by then, I had committed.
So I kept following the program.
I trained outside because the race would be outside. I walked and jogged through my neighborhood on weeknights and weekends.
Rain.
Cold.
Even snow.
Over time, the mileage increased until I had completed twelve miles during training.
So by race day, I knew my body could cover a long distance.
The remaining question was whether I could finish 13.1 miles within the four-hour time limit.
Before we left for Central Park that morning, my sister gave me an out.
She told me I could quit.
We didn’t have to go.
After months of training, I remember my answer being very simple:
I just really want to try.
I wasn’t promising I would finish.
I wanted the opportunity to find out.
So we went.
I also wore a shirt that announced on the back:
“Slow runners make fast runners look good. You’re welcome!”
🤣
People loved it.
And frankly, I was living up to the advertisement.
As the miles accumulated, I got tired.
Around miles nine and ten, I became convinced that someone had secretly started moving the mile markers farther apart. There was simply no other reasonable explanation. 😆
By mile eleven, I was struggling.
My sister noticed too.
She had been watching for me and knew how much I had trained. When she finally saw me, she joined me.
The woman I had originally agreed to do the race for began walking beside me when I was struggling to continue it myself.
She encouraged me.
She brought her big personality onto the course and encouraged other slower runners around us too.
And for that stretch of the race, I wasn’t doing it alone.
When I finally saw the mile thirteen marker, I found whatever energy remained in my body and started moving faster.
I call it a sprint.
After more than twelve miles, nobody gets to argue with me. 😆
I crossed the finish line with barely more than a minute remaining before the four-hour cutoff.
But I crossed it.
I got my medal.
And thankfully, I never needed the socks I’d considered buying that said something along the lines of If you’re reading this, mind your business across the bottoms.
Nobody had to watch me crawl across the finish line. 😂
Then something happened that I hadn’t expected.
People came up to me afterward and told me that seeing me continue had encouraged them to continue.
My shirt made them laugh.
Watching me keep putting one foot in front of the other helped them do the same.
I had no idea.
I wasn’t trying to inspire anybody.
I was trying to breathe and remain upright. 😆
But somehow, my attempt had become part of somebody else’s experience too.
What I Carried Home
I started training because I wanted to support my sister.
Then she stopped training, and I continued.
Months later, when I was struggling near the end of the race, she came onto the course and supported me.
There’s something about that memory that still warms my heart.
Sometimes we accompany people.
Sometimes they accompany us.
And sometimes we don’t even realize that the way we’re moving through something is helping someone else keep moving too.
I wasn’t at the front of that race.
I wasn’t particularly fast.
I wasn’t trying to look impressive.
I was visibly working for every mile.
Maybe that was part of what made it encouraging.
The people around me weren’t watching someone effortlessly succeed.
They were watching someone struggle and continue anyway.
That experience changed something about the way I think about encouragement.
We sometimes imagine that we need to have arrived somewhere before we have anything useful to offer another person.
Maybe not.
Sometimes simply allowing ourselves to participate honestly gives another person permission to do the same.
And sometimes the encouragement comes back around.
I had agreed to try because I loved my sister and wanted to support something she was excited about.
Near mile eleven, when I needed someone beside me, there she was.
Trail Notes
Who has walked beside you when continuing became difficult?
Who have you accompanied?
Have you ever assumed you couldn’t encourage someone because you were struggling yourself?
Think about the people whose persistence has encouraged you.
Were they always the strongest, fastest, or most accomplished people?
Or was there something meaningful about seeing another person keep trying?
And one more question:
Is there something you’ve been afraid to attempt because you can’t guarantee you’ll succeed?
What would change if the goal, for now, were simply to give yourself the opportunity to try?
Scripture for the Journey
“Two are better than one; because they have a good reward for their labour. For if they fall, the one will lift up his fellow…”
— Ecclesiastes 4:9–10
Sometimes the journey asks us to keep moving.
Sometimes it gives us someone to walk beside.
Take This With You
You don’t have to be the person at the front to matter on the trail.
You don’t have to make something look easy before your effort becomes meaningful.
Sometimes somebody is watching you struggle forward and thinking:
Maybe I can keep going too.
And sometimes you’re the person who needs someone else to come alongside you.
Both belong.
Keep putting one foot in front of the other when it’s appropriate to continue.
Accept the hand beside you when you need it.
And if you’re afraid because you don’t know how the story ends?
Maybe you don’t need to know yet.
Give yourself the opportunity to try.
