I used to say that I had only one marathon in me—maybe two, if I somehow managed to pull off my highly unrealistic goal of qualifying for the Boston Marathon with my first marathon. But people who know say that among the things you learn when you run a marathon is whether it will become a one-time bucket list event or whether you’ll get sucked into the culture and become a serial marathon runner.
When I crawled into bed on October 31, 2010 after finishing
my first marathon, I knew—despite swollen knees, stiff legs, and mixed emotions
(I missed Boston by 24 minutes and 55 seconds, but who’s counting?)—that I had become a marathon runner.
But running takes time—lots of it. Last year I ran 868
miles. Assuming an average pace of 10 minutes per mile, that’s almost 145 hours
of doing nothing but running. Not so earth shattering in isolation, but as I
consider how short life is, these hours begin to mean more.
I was reminded of this recently when my friend Seren and I
attended a panel discussion in D.C., hosted by Vital Voices. The panelists were
women who advocated for “Girls, Not Brides” in places like Liberia and
Pakistan. Samar Khan, the Pakistani woman who is fighting to give girls in her
country a chance to have a childhood and an education instead of being forced
into marriage at an early age, made a passing comment that stuck with me. The
challenge she faces is great and there are many fronts on which to fight it. In
response to this awareness, she declared: “I wish I could live for 200 years!”
This, so that she could accomplish all that she knows could and should be done.
But she can’t. So she strives to inspire the next generation and she works with
the time she has now. It is the best she
can do. It is the best anyone can do.
If there is anything the last few years have taught me, it’s
been “do the best with what you have.” This is a practical principle, and a
spiritual one that I see echoed repeatedly in the questions that Jesus asked
needy people, right before they experienced something amazing together. The
assumption is that we all have. We just
have to decide what we’ll do with it.
There is so much goodness in the world… I engage it every
time I step outside. I find joy in motion, beauty in nature, and power in
cadence—it all moves me. But there is much that isn’t right with the world, and
that moves me too. When I am confronted with the pain, oppression, ignorance,
and injustice that others are forced to endure, I often feel small and
powerless to make a real and lasting difference. But then I am reminded of that
other line of thinking—the one that encourages me to focus on what I have, small as it may seem, and make the best with what
I’ve been given. Invariably, as I do this, I always discover that I have more—surprisingly,
delightfully more than I first thought.
So what do I have? Well… I have health. I have these legs
that seem to be built for running the distance. I have a flexible work schedule
that bends to fit my running. I have an amazing network of friends and family who support
me in every aspect of life. I have a comfortable relationship with words, which
I can string together to tell stories that inspire and are true. And I have
this strong desire to live a focused and purposeful life—to align all the seemingly
random elements of my life behind a singular and driving mission: to live well.
Until now, running has been a sport that takes me away from
the rest of my life, but now I am looking for ways to bring all of life with me when I run. I want to run for a reason—beyond all
the meaningful things that running already contributes. I want every race to be
an opportunity to do something I enjoy, but also a chance to make a positive
difference in the world.
The possibilities excite me, because there are so many amazing things that others are doing! In the next few weeks I'll have more to say about the first of many organizations I am running for, but for now, this is what I have, so this is what I offer.
