Running and Discipline(s)

About six years ago, I decided that I wanted to run a half marathon, which quickly ballooned into a marathon, and then into the strange world of ultramarathons. I ran my first “ultra” in 2019, and haven’t stopped. While my initial running habit had me running three miles here or there, maybe hitting 30 a month, that isn’t the case now. For the last five years or so, I’ve averaged 40 per week, and sometimes nearly 30 in a single training run if I’m preparing for a longer event. I’ve completed three 100-mile races in that period.

Now, I’m sure I’ve lost many of you by this point, as you wonder things like, “Why would anyone do that?” I’ve long since given up trying to answer that question, so you won’t get that here. But what I will do is try to connect some dots as to how I’ve found my running habit to fuel discipline in other areas of my life. The following three statements are true of running, and I think that they are true of discipline in general.

Just because it hurts doesn’t mean you’re doing it wrong

When I first started running longer distances, I’d get a little worried anytime something hurt—which was frequent. However, as I interacted with others and learned from them, I realized that this first statement is absolutely true. (Granted, sometimes things hurt because something is going wrong, but not always!) I’ve frequently reminded myself in the midst of longer races, “Yes, this hurts. That’s ok.”

The same applies to spiritual disciplines like giving. Some would argue that because God loves a cheerful giver, giving should never hurt. I don’t think that’s true. You can be cheerful, do what you should be doing, and still experience hurt a little bit. It does not mean that you are doing it wrong. And, over time, it will hurt less.

It doesn’t always get worse

The Internet believes that ultra runner David Horton should get credit for this statement, and I have no reason to argue. This saying is one of my favorites for when I am deep in a long race, everything hurts, and I’m questioning all of my life choices. I appreciate this reminder because it gives just the right amount of hope—it doesn’t always get worse. Sure, it could. But it might not. Just a glimmer of hope.

I’m reminded of this statement in the midst of difficult life situations. It can be tempting to give in to doomsday—“The world is just getting worse and worse”—explanations. As Christians we know this isn’t true because we worship and trust in a Sovereign God, and God is working for our good in all things. But in the midst of challenges, sometimes we need just a little bit of hope. A little bit is enough. It doesn’t always get worse.

It is impossible to justify the value to someone who doesn’t share your practice

Now this statement isn’t as pithy as the first two, but it’s important anyway. For several years, I would try to justify my love of running to people. I’d often find myself linking it to some benefit that it provided.

Running helped me manage my weight (I was roughly 50 pounds heavier before I became more active); some races are in beautiful places. But I’ve realized that I cannot justify my love for running incredibly long distances to anyone who doesn’t share in the practice. And those people don’t need me to justify it. This truth doesn’t mean that I don’t talk about why I love it, or what benefits I experience, but it does mean that I recognize I can’t talk anyone into it, and I don’t need to doubt my own commitment just because others find it strange.

The parallel here for Christianity is obvious. While apologetics is a wonderful practice that can help us explain reasons for believing and following Jesus, the best apologists recognize that such explanations will never compel anyone to belief. We should give good and clear answers for our faith, but we’ve got to let ourselves off the hook a bit. We can’t carry the pressure of talking others into it through the sheer brilliance of our answers.

I’m glad that my running has given me the opportunity to consider some parallels like these. I like to think it has made me a better man, not just a better runner. But it still hurts, it often gets worse (but not always!), and I don’t expect to convince you that you should run 100 miles. I often struggle to convince myself.

Photo retrieved from Unsplash