Dig Deep to Finish Your Race

I sat down on the curb in agonizing pain watching my calf muscles pulsate. The bottom of my foot locked up in a cramp. Pain shot through the front of my shin. There was no hiding the desperation on my face. Some random New Yorker brought me water and soon medical personnel appeared in front of me. Mile 12 of the New York City marathon proved to be the beginning of a long, arduous race. One that required more of me mentally than I’d ever given before.

My journey to participate in the New York Marathon began a year ago when my friend Cooper and I set out to run our first half marathon together. As soon as we crossed the finish, I looked at Cooper and declared, “Mark my words, I’m going to run a full.” I had no idea then what I had spoken over my life.

Being a Type 1 Diabetic, I got picked up to run the New York City Marathon by the Beyond Type 1 charity team. Beyond Type 1 is a diabetes nonprofit with amazing programs benefitting diabetics worldwide. Each year, Beyond Type 1 sponsors a team of diabetics to run the New York City marathon. We run to raise awareness about our disease, market for beyond Type 1, and to destroy stereotypes for other diabetics. When the team offered me a spot, it was a no brainer to jump on board. The largest, most recognizable marathon in the world. A cause near and dear to my heart. A reason to challenge myself more than ever before. Perfect. Unfortunately, nothing in my months of preparation prepared me for what would occur starting at mile 12.

Cramps while running far were expected, but I never could have been imagined pain like the D-Day of the muscles shooting through my leg. I lay there on the side of the road halfway between Brooklyn and Queens watching hundreds of runners race past me as I tried to work out the knots in the back of my leg. Eventually, I hobbled to the medical tent where the overwhelmed volunteer rubbed some bio-freeze on my leg and thrust me back out into the throng. There was only one option, onward.

or the next four miles, I slipped into a dark place, a desolate, painful, lonely place. We’ve all been there. We’ve sat in piles of self-pity, doubt, and loathing which unfortunately lead us to isolate ourselves from the people around us. Moments meant to bring so much happiness can be terribly tarnished by internal strife and self-incriminating thoughts. These types of thoughts are one of my daily battles. I often struggle with feeling like I’m not enough. Like I have something to prove. Like I need to earn my way to significance in the world. These ideas are false. Fallacies must be warred against with truth, butthe truth was walled up deep inside me. I could not access it yet.

As the leg cramp in my calf continued and then spread to both my quads and both legs, I got a tent and pitched it in the dark place in my head. I was losing the battle for my mind. I knew loads of my loved ones were tracking my miles using the marathon app. Numerous supporters were sending well wishes, and here I was putting up the slowest mile times of my life on the biggest running stage I would ever get to be on. The self-incrimination and hurtful fallacies mounted high. I was failing. Pain was winning. Isolation ensued. Surrounded by thousands, but truly alone. Agonizing. Hurting. Desperate. This marathon was not all it was chalked up to be. Just like life isn’t always all it’s chalked up to be. When crud hits the fan, we get our greatest opportunities. At mile 16 of the New York city marathon, the diarrhea of my present circumstances had been flung across the room by a big ‘ole fan. There is no explicative strong enough to explain the enduring pain in my legs I had been feeling from miles twelve through sixteen. This is where I also got one of the greatest opportunities of my life so far.

Somehow, in some way, somebody’s prayers for me must have broken through because I remembered a thought from a few weeks prior to the marathon. This thought began to draw me out of the dark place in my head. I had posted it on Facebook, where all life’s deeps philosophical thoughts belong, and it went like this, “The moment you realize the world is not all about you is the moment you become useful.”

The previous four miles had been all about me. My calves. My quads. My hamstrings. My pain. My grimaces. My slow mile times. My failure of a marathon attempt. My self-loathing. My my my. Me me me. See, isolation is debilitating because it takes a selfish hurting person and puts him or her in a small dark room with no windows, and tells you to make yourself better. There’s only one antidote for this condition. Stand up and open your eyes. Engage the world around you in love. Realize the small dark room is not your room; it’s you crouched in a fetal position with your hands over our face. Stand up. Bust out. Open your eyes and see there are thousands of people around you running their own race, in their own pain, and desperate for a simple act of love from you. We all have the capacity to do something for someone else. Do we have the courage? Amid our pain, only a truly courageous person can choose to love others. During my marathon at mile 16, the pain endured in an unbearable way, but God gave me the most incredible opportunity to stand up in my suffering and love others. So I stood up. I uncovered my face. I engaged the people around me.

I remembered the world is not all about me and decided to become useful to it again. I began to encourage other runners as I painfully hobbled past them. At this point, we were all in the back of the pack. We were the misfits, the ones linked by our common struggle to finish the race. I would put my hand on a person’s shoulder, reach out my other hand to grasp his or her hand for a moment and spurt out some encouragement like “Great job. You’re doing great.” Relief from tired eyes met mine. Smiles from distraught faces momentarily arose. This encouragement thing was working. People were being blessed. I helped push an older woman up the hill around mile 20. I put my arm around a large hulk of a man’s shoulders and told him he was great. I bounced from runner to runner, doing what I could to encourage them to finish their race.

The pain endured. There was no relief for my legs. Whatever evil mastermind designed a course with a two-mile-long gradual sloping hill near the end of the race needs to rethink his career, but I pressed on. I wanted to stop the pain. At moments I had to slow and walk. Sometimes, I dragged my legs forward. Occasionally, I bit my bottom lip resisting the urge to cry. Whatever it took, I pressed onward. Relentless forward pursuit. I reached Central Park with about 1.5 miles to go.

As I rounded a corner, I saw my wonderful family waiting for me cheering me forward. My girlfriend Mallory saw the anguish on my face and began to trot the final leg of the race with me. She does not run, so I knew her participation was purely out of love. The only words I could manage in my famished state were, “please stay.” She stayed nearly to the finish. Most things worthwhile in life happen with a friend by your side.

After 26.2 miles, 6 hours 12 minutes and 59 seconds, and hundreds of decisions to keep moving forward, I crossed the finish line of the New York City Marathon. Tears immediately started flowing down my face. I limped my way to the volunteer who excitedly put a medal around my neck. They tried to take my picture, but I couldn’t conjure up a smile. The prolonged, drawn-out mental and physical anguish had been too much. It was finished. I ran the race.

I cannot speak highly enough of this experience. The professionalism of the NYC marathon team, the bond of running for a team of diabetics, the beauty of running through the city, the lines of supportive New Yorkers on the streets, the mountains of love and support from family and friends, surprise visitors in New York. People whom I hadn’t spoken to in years donated generously to my fundraising campaign. All of this was incredibly impactful and delightful to experience. Even the first 11 miles of the marathon were quite fun. However, the second half of my race was absolutely miserable. There are no positive adjectives for the physical pain. But I did it. I finished my race. It took the support of my family and friends. It took grit. It took the endurance of Jesus Christ. Jesus once walked up a hill in the most agonizing pain ever to make Himself useful to the world around Him. What Christ did on the Cross was in complete disregard for His personal comfort. My New York City Marathon experience gave me the tiniest taste of what that might have been like for Him. Suffering produces character. Character produces hope. And hope does not put us to shame.

Make the choice to keep going. Stand up. Uncover your face. Let shame drop in the dumpster where it belongs. Shroud your shoulder in hope. Keep moving forward. Run your race. Go ahead and finish it too. Help someone near along the way. You are far more capable than you know. You are more lovely than you can imagine. Run.