26.2 Levels of Gratitude

I ran a marathon on Saturday.

‘Twas not my first; in fact, it was my fourth. But, it was noteworthy because it was my first in four years. You see, I was getting into a lovely routine of doing a marathon every year. 2011, 2012, 2013…it was working for me. I was scheduled for another in 2014, too; I had paid the fees, reserved a hotel room, gotten the day off work (I worked at a church at the time, and the marathon was on a Sunday), and was diligently following my accustomed training regimen when my body decided to start shutting down.

I should mention at this point that the aforementioned marathon was taking place five weeks before my wedding. The “Do More” voice (see last week’s post) assured me that I could work full-time, be in a play, plan a wedding, prepare to move, ready myself for the seismic life-changes coming my way, and still run a marathon.

My body calmly replied that the “Do More” voice was an idiot.

Then, when I continued trying to live according to said idiot’s dictums, my body got angry and went into full-scale rebellion. After several strange episodes of “I was just fine, but now I’m gonna either puke or pass out or just fall over”, one day of not being able to get out of bed, and one incredibly scary night spent searching WebMD (bad, bad plan), I decided the marathon could wait. “Finally!” my body said, no doubt exasperated by my obtuseness. It cheerfully returned to normal, and all was well.

Soon after getting married, I left my church job to start teaching theatre full-time at a public charter arts integration school, grades K-7. If you know anything about teaching, I need not explain further why marathon #4 remained in the “maybe Someday” realm of my ambitions.

Then, last November, I was in a pretty bad car accident. You’ll hear more about that in a few weeks – the anniversary is coming up! – but, for now, the important thing is that it stopped me running. I’ve been running six days a week for years, so a whole month without any exercise at all was…difficult. I was NOT pleased. Just ask my husband. (Or my chiropractor.)

Strangely, though, when I started running again, I found I was running much faster than before. Perhaps my body needed that month of enforced rest to start unlocking its true running potential. Then, when I stopped teaching a few months ago, I started increasing my weekly mileage. My Saturday “long runs” got longer and longer – and, miraculously, faster and faster. I realized I was running 16 miles – 17 – 18, well below my target pace, and finishing strong. Instead of “Kill me now”, my first words upon finishing were usually “I could go longer”.

So, I decided to go for the marathon – but quietly, and in my own neighborhood. Why pay money to drive somewhere and navigate unfamiliar territory while jostling for position with hundreds of other runners, when you can run your training route in peace and solitude for free? Who needs strangers lining the streets and shouting encouragement when one has a dog who makes signs like this (and, of course, a husband to hold it up at the crucial moment):

So, I ran it. All 26.2 miles. And it was wonderful.

But, that’s not what I want to talk about today. I want to talk about gratitude and joy.

I always get a little nervous leading up to a long run. I usually have definite goals in mind concerning distance and pace, so I’m essentially racing against myself. Heading into Saturday’s run, I realized the goals had a bit more weight. I didn’t want to waste all that preparation by not finishing, or – worse – coming in just a few seconds over my target pace. So, as I drank my coffee, ate my bananas with peanut butter and read my scripture that morning, I prayed. I asked for blessing on the run, and favor to be able to meet my goals and enjoy it.

I don’t just pray when I’m nervous. I pray about everything. Lately, my prayers have been consumed with rather weighty matters – career moves, life changes, the needs of family and friends, national trauma, international tragedy. Praying that I could finish a marathon in under four hours seemed petty and selfish, but I did it. And, in the dark before dawn, with Hamilton on my iPod and more prayers in my heart, I began.

It was around mile 24 when I realized, “I’m gonna do it. It’s happening.” I was so far ahead of my target pace that nothing but sudden injury could keep me from finishing in time. What’s more, I was enjoying it: I felt strong; I had finished Hamilton and was pounding along to the driving rhythms of Muse; the day was gorgeous; I had a delicious stout waiting for me in the fridge. As I marveled at this cornucopia of blessing, a little voice in my head – bearing remarkable resemblance to the voice of every mother in the history of the English language, mine included – reminded me, “Now, what do you say?”

Thank you.

My petty, selfish prayer had been answered. I felt the tangible weight of favor and blessing, and my spirit rose up in joy – and, with a dull sense of inevitability, I sensed the accompanying tide of fear.

In The Gifts of Imperfection, Brené Brown discusses theologian Anne Robertson’s findings on joy: “Chairo was described by the ancient Greeks as the ‘culmination of being’ and the ‘good mood of the soul’...‘They say its opposite is not sadness, but fear’”. Brown goes on to say that joy makes us feel vulnerable; rather than being grateful for it, we “picture losing everything in a flash”. We harden ourselves, thinking this will protect us when the tide eventually turns.

It’s just a cousin of the “Do More” voice. Instead of advocating harder work, this voice advocates a harder heart. The end goal is the same: Let me feel safe.

And, once again, my body told this voice that it was an idiot.

I realized at mile 24 that I didn’t have to listen to fear. I could be audacious enough to receive the blessing and simply be grateful. I could enjoy the reminder that even the “little” things – those petty, selfish dreams – matter to God, if they matter to us. I could, even if only for a moment, rest like a child in the undeniable certainty that I am loved.

And that, my friends, is a discovery worthy of an even bigger celebration than running 26.2 miles in 3:53:16.

Consider this post my invitation to join me. Find something you can be grateful for, tell fear it’s an idiot, and…let’s party.

 

P.S. While meditating on these revelations further the following day, I wrote this poem:

 

Break

Never more aware

Of why you shouldn’t care

Or just how far the break lies in between

 

The vision others see

And what I know as Me

I “mind the gap” and keep my mirror clean

 

Memory recalls

A time of belles and balls

When I was quite the apple of your eye

 

And though I may be still

I find within my will

A guarded door – the password, always, “Why?”

 

Every gracious act

Is parried with a fact

“Maturity” has drilled into my head

 

Surely it’s naive

Simply to receive

While countless others lack their daily bread

 

Trying to keep my soul

From self-absorption’s hole

I shot too wide and must have missed the mark

 

Forced wide-open eyes

Wary of surprise

I lost the light by trying to see the dark

 

Paid my fee of Guilt

Took Fear by the hilt

And buried it in Joy’s still-beating heart

 

Played a constant host

To Gloom, that greedy ghost

And thought I was performing my true part

 

NO: this dreary strife

Which I mistook for life

Is not the open book it claims to be

 

I’d rather have a tale

That raises Wonder’s sail

And sets me loose on Beauty’s stormy sea

 

Give me again the gift

Of passing o’er that rift

A grateful heart my sturdy balance beam

 

Never more awake

To all that needs to break

As I grow up into your holy dream