The Spirit of the Marathon

Many want to.
Some try.
In actuality, few do.
It takes months of pain.
It takes hours of sweat.
It takes icing.
Taping.
Foam rolling.
Questioning yourself.
Injuries.
Tapering.
Hill runs.
Sprints.
Self-doubt.
Guts.
What is it?
The marathon.
26.2 miles.
Some think they're ready.
Some know they're ready.
Everyone deep down hopes they're ready.
To many this is just a distance to run.
To many this is just some crazy thing those crazy runners do.
For runners, it's spiritual.
In those months you are tried physically, mentally and emotionally.
You question your ability, your sanity, your confidence and hope in yourself.
You push your body to the limit and stretch your limitations to their brink.
One pain in your foot could devastate you and all your hard work.
One twist of the ankle on a training run makes your heart stop.
The months leading up to my marathon were rough physically and personally.
I had knee pain, heel pain, Achilles pain, whatever pain possible crept its way onto my body.
I had personal battles slap me in the face that many of you know already.
Yet there were many other deep spiritual and emotional battles being fought within myself and in my family before my run.
I ran through pain.
I ran when I felt like my world was crashing in on me.
I ran when all I wanted to do was scream, kick and cry on my bedroom floor because I was in so much spiritual turmoil.
I was questioning God and His promises.
His timing.
His love.
His mercy.
Where was my break, God?
Haven't I fought enough already?
Have You not broken me enough?

I ran when I didn't want to run.
I ran when I wanted to run away from the people who loved me most.
I ran when the doctor said, "you should probably chill out."
I ran when everything around me said to stand still.
I ran from my problems, my pain, my fears and myself.
I'd blare music in my ears on my runs to not think.
I'd cancel on my running friends and run alone so I could cry my eyes dry in solitude.

The marathon is different for every runner.
For me, it was the time in my life where I needed to prove to myself that I was strong.
That I was worthy of greatness.
That there was some sort of hope out there.
That Britney was not a victim of her life but a woman who is a victor in all she does.
That Britney is not fearful but fearless.
That Britney is courageous not a coward.

Through out the marathon I reflected back on every hill I've ever climbed, every storm I weathered and every person who had broken my spirit.
Why had I let life throw its huge stones and get away with it?

No more.
You're running 26.2 miles, Britney.
Victims can't do that.
The weak can't do that.
The hopeless can't do that.
This is your run.
This is your marathon.

Suck up the aches and pains.
Inhale the hard jagged breathing.
Embrace the wars you face and get up and fight back.

Oh, your eating disorder likes to come visit at your weakest moment?
Shut the door in its ugly no good face.
Oh, you feel like you don't fit in?
Make yourself known.
Oh, your dad is sick again?
Get your hope back and glue yourself back together.
Oh, you still sink back into that little girl that feels everyone is pointing fingers at her and whispering?
Tell those voices to shut the hell up. They're not welcome in your life.
Oh, you feel God turned His face from you?
Guess what? He's staring you straight in the eyes right in this moment.
He's applauding your every stride.

It's mile 25 and there's the biggest hill of the race. Will you walk it as a hopeless and broken spirited victim or will you run that damn hill as a fearless, hopeful, strong, full spirited grown woman?
I crossed the start line lost.


I found my spirit again in the marathon.