Susan, my best friend and partner in (planning) crime, has decided to run in next year’s Country Music Marathon. Something about turning a year older, and God speaking to her has her actually doing something about this dream of hers.
I know, crazy, right?
But she is keeping in the gym, found herself a talented young trainer, and I really believe my friend is going to make this marathon thing a reality.
And I have to admit it is contagious. I want to run the marathon with her. How cool would that be, right?
She invites me along for one of her jogs. A mile down the street. A mile back. This will be cake.
But it isn’t cake. It isn’t cupcake. It isn’t even a feeding tube.
It is hard. And I’m tired. I can’t breathe. My legs are crying out, “Why do you hate us?!? Why?”
I don’t hate you, Legs. I promise. This is for your own good.
I “ran” about 2 whole minutes of a 30 minute adventure. And you want me to run that whole expedition 13 times?
You’ve got to be kidding me.
I just can’t believe I would ever be in the physical shape required for a marathon? How could I break past the 2 minute mark? How would I have the endurance? The lung power?
26 miles is really intimidating. And I want to run it now. Because if I can’t run it now, then I will never run it… Sound familiar?
No more focusing on those long energy draining, hopeless, body killing 26 miles. Nope. The focus is now on 5 minutes of continuous running. And prayer. Lots of prayer.