A couple of weeks ago, I walked 13.1 miles. Voluntarily. For fun (well, for fun and one of those snazzy "13.1" bumper stickers).
If you get up before sunrise to go to the gym, are motivated by phrases like, "feel the burn!" or enjoy playing sports, I don't think you can appreciate the enormity of those first few sentences. I am not one of you. Exercise has been my nemesis ever since I was about four years old. One of my earliest memories is trudging behind my mom on family walks, begging her to carry me and whining, "I'm sweating!!"
Over the years, I made several half-hearted attempts to stick to an exercise regimen, but it never lasted more than a few months and sometimes just a few hours. Besides the fact that I just didn't like to do it, my lack of athletic ability (I am the only person I know of who ever struck out at kickball) and inability to stick it out added the element of FAILURE to the notion of exercise, which only made me loathe it more.
So how did I go from perpetual exercise-avoider to a half-marathon finisher? I gave up. Unable to even summon the desire to exercise, I surrendered the matter to God. After some pouting and prayer, I committed to doing some exercise most days of the week as nothing more than an offering to Him…and we both knew there was no way I was going to fulfill that promise on my own. Outside of my promise, there were no expectations of performance or results; the only way I could fail was if I quit. Each time I completed a workout, I thanked God for it, because I knew it wasn't an act of willpower, but His power.
Miraculously, I've been at it for more than a year (except for the week my son and I had a contest to see who could get the sickest). Though I still don't like to sweat, I get antsy if I go more than a few days without a walk outside. As I've gotten stronger, exercise has gotten easier, and I've learned to enjoy things that require a certain level of stamina and strength. I never would have been able to scale Old Rag Mountain a few years ago, and it was after that adventure that my husband and best friend encouraged me to enter the USMC Historic Half. Walking it was an act of worship, a celebration of what God can do and did.
And yet, I feel like an imposter, a fraud. Despite the fact that I've trained for and completed a half marathon, I don't feel I fit in among the fit. My recent accomplishment doesn't align with my perception of who I am and what I'm capable of. But I think perhaps that's the whole point. When I only stick to those things I know I can do, it's easy to misplace my faith. If I never reach beyond what comes easy, I miss the gift of victory through His power.
