Categories: Dobel Street, Metro Detroit
On a prayer after losing wings
My wing men left me way too early during Sunday's Detroit Free Press Marathon.
One fell off our pace at about the 9-mile mark, just after we reentered the United States through the The Detroit-Windsor Tunnel. The other bowed out at the halfway point, 13.1 miles. He had warned me 11 miles in that he was struggling (he ran the Chicago Marathon a week earlier) and wouldn't be able to go the distance.
I didn't know what to do.
Less than six months removed from major neck surgery and hardly in shape to run 26-plus miles, I initially thought that I should quit, too, stop at 13.1 miles and try to feel good about being able to run that far. It seemed stupid to attempt the hardest part of the race on my own. What would I do if I came up lame at 19 miles and was all by myself?
Then it hit me like cold Gatorade in the back of my parched throat: YOU'RE NOT ALONE. If you're going to talk the talk, walk the walk -- errr, run the run.
So on faith alone, believing God would get me through this, I continued on. I ran every step for my kids at Fletcher Field, finished in 3 hours, 58 minutes and 35 seconds. I crossed the finish line laughing and crying at the same time, and feel great this morning.
Unfortunately, Sunday's marathon was also tainted by tragedy. Two runners died on the course and another at the finish line.
Some things are just too difficult to understand.
Comments, Pingbacks:
· http://lacatholicworker.org Peace and love, Mike W.
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