Yesterday's 5K training plan (provided by Runner's World and based on a timed 5K from a couple months ago) called for a 7-miler at a 14:12-minute-mile pace (the long distance "runs" include "liberal walking breaks"). I hoped for a 14-minute-mile pace or less, as I often think the training plan is a bit too moderate. And often times lately, I do beat the training plan.
But yesterday it was 88 degrees outside; the sun was beating bright and hard on the asphalt covered with minimal amounts of shade; my weekly mileage was already 11 miles (nearly 3x the 2-mile weeks I was doing in April, after the Achiles heel issue) and the hills were Virginia sized. A recent RW article stated that if you took a bike to the top of a hill, and then coasted down, the speed at which you ended the hill would approximate the degree of the hill. These then are easily 15-20 degrees. I started out attempting to maintain the same exertion level when running up as running down, thinking I might combine a hill workout with my endurance run--hoping I could take minimal walking breaks only on the levels. But then I took my first walk break near the end of the second mile, and realized I didn't have the strength to continue that pace. I tried running up, and walking fast downhill to recover. That was too much also, and I decided to just let my breathing or thirst level dictate the walking breaks.
Every now and then I would feel a surge of peace and comfort, like I often do when someone is praying for me. I had asked my new neighbor to watch the time, told her my route, and asked her to come looking for me if I took too long -- just in case. So I am sure she prayed some, but I also just knew she wasn't the only one. As I contemplated this thought, I understood the term "partnering in prayer" much more clearly. I KNOW I couldn't have done this without prayer support, and during the moments where prayer support seemed strongest, it seemed that I could almost feel someone's presence alongside me, like I wasn't alone after all.
And then I realized the importance of a multitude of prayer partners. No one can pray 24 hours a day for another person; life-stuff (the need for sleep, for example) gets in the way. But if a multitude of people commit to pray for someone, then others can take over when another stops -- similar to a relay race. I remembered reading something about relay races...when the baton is passed to another, it's done more by protocol, not by watching. The baton passer places the baton in position, and assumes the recipient will be in position to grab it. Partners in prayer, as they learn to hear God's voice and unction more clearly, also learn how to "be in position" to receive the prayer baton when God passes it to them. So prayer partners are actually joining a relay-prayer commitment on behalf of another. Just the excitement of that thought renewed my strength.
Near the end of mile three, and just before entering a series of down hills, I realized with great joy that I really was going to finish the day's goal. And while the effort was hard, it was bearable, not overwhelming or seemingly impossible. Joy-tears streamed down my face and I savored the emotion for the moment. But then, remembering the task ahead, I forced my focus back onto my feet and lungs, yet thankful for the gift of joy in the midst of an endurance pursuit. And the joy-moment and offering of thanks renewed my strength.
After reaching the turning around point, somewhere between miles four and five, a dog ran across the road. His tail was wagging, but he was barking and grabbed my ankle...with paws or teeth in play or with malicious intent, I am not sure. It didn't hurt and didn't break skin. I shook him off, and he took off across the road right smack in front of a car. Instinctively I surged to the left, up a grassy hill alongside the road. Afterward I wondered why. The dog was in danger, not me. Then I realized that, had the car swerved to avoid the dog, the driver might have lost control or hit me; and concentrating on that dog may have prevented the driver from seeing me. So heading for the hill was probably wise, but it also used up some energy stores that I would wish for later. I purposely slowed my pace, allowing my heart rate to return to an endurance-run rate. And that moment of taking control back, of adjusting to the circumstance, renewed my strength.
My legs turned into rubber at mile 6. Unlike previous runs where my legs kept going in spite of my inability to know what they were doing, the crazy things refused to move. It was like slogging through mud where the glop adheres to the shoes and makes your feet two or three pounds heavier. Only in this case my entire legs (not just the feet) felt like they weighed an additional five pounds. I climbed the next to the last hill, mostly walking, and then headed on another downhiller. Now in Gypsy Hill park, a loop added to make seven miles, I remembered my neighbor watching the clock. Yes, I could call her, but that would require admitting defeat. Instead, concentrating on her concern for me and avoiding needless worry, I pushed fairly hard on the downhill and on to the last hill. I tried so hard to run up it, but my legs refused. Once on the other side, however, I was able to run the last 3/4 mile -- all downhill. In these moments it was the knowledge of an accountability partner that rewewed my strength.
As I ran past the clock in the clock tower, 5 minutes past MY goal, I was disappointed for a second. Three years ago I ran 8 miles in 1:20; and this was a mile less and 15 minutes longer. But then I remembered the heat, the dog, and the hills -- a combination I didn't face when I ran the 8-mile stretch. And instead of beating myself up, I rejoiced in another victory. No, I didn't "beat the clock," but I DID beat a different set of obstacles. And savoring the victory renewed my strength for the last one-block surge.
As I neared my apartment building, a gentleman resting on a bench there said, "Just finishing a jog?"
I said, "Yup, 7 miles today."
And he said he, too, was wanting to run but unable as yet to push himself. I shared my faith, and what running meant to me. And he seemed encouraged, like maybe he would try a little harder. He spoke a bit about his faith, very weak at this time in his life, but increased a tad by my story.
"I do believe we met today by Divine Appointment today," he said.
Ahhh...and that's what ultimately makes running worth it, opportunities to use a God-given gift to bring God glory. And my strength was once again renewed for things besides just running.
It WAS indeed a VERY good run!
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