Ten Kilometers

'Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one gets the prize? Run in such a way as to get the prize.' --1 Corinthians 9:24

On Saturday, I ran the Greater Clarksburg 10K. It was the 10th annual for this run, and it was also the 10th time me and my dad have run it together. It may be the last. We'll see. We think we're in a group that may be as small as 20 who have run all 10 10Ks, and we think we're likely the only father-son duo to have done it. Here's a picture of us from the 2004 10K:

I also ran the accompanying 2-mile run with my dad and little brother Ethan, who hadn't ever run that far before. So all in all, I ran about 8.2 miles on Saturday (though when Ethan said he had to stop and walk a few times on his run, let's just say my dad and I didn't oppose him in the least). The kicker is, I don't run! This 10K and the Charleston 5K we do in the fall are pretty much the only times I run during the year. I used to do a little more, but it mostly was related to training for the 10K and other 5Ks me and my dad would do over the years. Since I've been in Morgantown, I've run less and less until I pretty much find myself lacing up and donning the bandana to run only for the 10K and 5K.

It's not that I don't enjoy running. Actually, during the 10K this year, I went through the spectrum of emotions and thoughts, some of which were quite satisfying and others that were somewhat painful. There was more than one time I was tempted to quit, and often it would be the sight of my dad still straining on that would keep me in it. Usually after the painful and uncomfortable feelings would dissipate, a warm sensation would fill my entire body, and though I certainly wasn't totally free from the stress of the physical activity, a joy so deep welled up inside that it's hard to describe. It's as if I could feel Life, with a capital 'L,' the objective sense of being that only God can give, coursing through me like never before. Other times, water stops (teams of friendly volunteers holding out cold water in cups) would come at just the right time and give me the little relief I needed to go a little further. There was a particular heavenly place along the route that we had the privilege of passing twice (since the course was 2 laps) which had a lovely man with a lovely water hose that he would spray lightly but refreshingly on any runners who beckoned him. Passing through that Life-giving mist was indescribable each time, and I felt renewed like never before.

I noticed that there were times when I wanted to close my eyes and other times where I wanted to strain toward a goal with all the strength of my vision. The most memorable of the first was when we were climbing 'the hill' for the second time; this is one of the hardest places on the course because of the steepness. I didn't have a whole lot left and I was dreading it. I closed my eyes and prayed for energy, and when I did, somehow it seemed a little easier. I didn't know how much further I had to go because I couldn't see it, and all I had to do was listen to the sound of my dad's footsteps to stay in line. It was almost as if I had transcended my body, which I oftened desired to do to be free of the pain. But then at the end of the race, once the big FINISH line banner came into view, my eyes were sharp and never looked down or any other direction. That banner was pulling me toward it, and if only I could keep my gaze fixed on it, I would be sucked in by something greater than myself.

To be continued...