For as long as I can remember – which is my whole sordid life – both avid and novice runners have been lying to my face:
“After two weeks of running a couple miles, I guarantee ya, you’ll get use to it.”
“The first mile is always the hardest, don’t worry, your body will find its groove.”
“You will learn to love it.”
Wrong, wrong and wrong. It’s been three weeks of getting back on the running track and I dread the mornings I have committed myself to run. It feels like being led to the guillotine.
I can even make it to the second and third mile, but I wouldn’t call it a groove – – more like I am running in wet cement, wanting to cough up a lung, doing something that ought not be done. I hate it! It has been 50 years now trying to like it, and I am still not convinced.
Why do people lie to me?
Don’t they see I am short and stubby? It is like telling a bowling ball he will do just fine as a stand-in for a soccer ball – – I’m heavy and I was made to knock things over, not frolic through fields of wildflowers.
But people keep encouraging me, “Don’t give up, you can do it, just think about being in the beautiful outdoors, breathing in fresh air, it doesn’t get any better than that..” Yes, it does – – a soft couch, a good book, and a warm cup of coffee comes to mind.
So I run…hoping, someday, somehow, I will like it. In the meantime, I trudge, grimacing all the way. Maybe if I was more positive?
But I learned something – – today I screamed, red-faced and fist clenched, as I got ready to run: “I hate this! Ahhhhhhh. . .” I realized I do better when I am honest to myself. If I admit it is hard and expect pain I can face it easier than if I am looking to pick daisies and buttercups along the way.
I remember when my football coach told our team with the compassion of a drill sergeant, two-a-days were going to be hot, painful and difficult. I appreciated his honesty. Especially after the first practice when I lost my breakfast in the end-zone during 100-yard sprints.
When I ran, and my gut hurt, I knew it was going to hurt, so I ran.
I want to like running, but I can’t lie, I hate it. If I am expecting to like it and hate it I will want to quit, and of course, punch those in the gut who’ve been lying to me. “You’ll learn to love it!”, smiling their smug smiles, as they pass me wearing the perfect running suit, wearing the perfect running shoes. (Mine are Converse All-Stars)
I huff and puff.
But, if I expect to hate it, and I know that …
- It will help my asthma
- It will increase my life expectancy
- It will help me look like Tom Cruise again. . .
I can do it. I will endure the immediate pain for the marvelous long-term results.
Someday I hope to like it, but now I don’t. I won’t lie to you. I also won’t lie to you about prayer, daily devotions in scripture, being transparent before Jesus or humbling myself around those I want to punch in the gut – – sometimes it feels like death to do those things – – but I know they will actually save my life.
I am not a Christian because it is fun, I am not a Christian because he gives me everything I want when I want it, I am not even a Christian because it brings me peace – – I won’t lie to you.
I am a Christian because it is true.
And even though Jesus promised difficulties in this life (see John 16:33) I know it will all be worth it someday, so I trudge in faith. At times I get in a wonderful groove, at times I am frolicking arm in arm with my Savior, but Tuesday afternoon at 3:00, I trudge – – I won’t lie.
Hebrews 12:2 said this about Jesus’ trudging, “Look to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame…”
