I remember signing up for my first distance race. The Richmond Half Marathon back in November 2014. I did it after getting caught up in the wave of emotions pouring from the runners coming to Richmond that fall to honor Meg Cross Menzies. The day I signed up I'd been reflecting on this scripture:
​

​Like many people I'd been moved by Meg's story. When she died I wrote this article: God's Newest Angel, One With Years of Experience. I signed up for that first half marathon believing this angel had set a race before me, one that was pointing me to Jesus. I confess, though, me of little faith thought the angel had lost her heavenly mind. Who points an overweight couch potato to a half marathon? But Meg clearly felt emboldened by her newfound connection to the greatest miracle worker ever. 

​I eventually crossed that finish line on race day. It wasn't pretty. It wasn't pretty when I crossed. It wasn't pretty when I hobbled a mile or so to where I'd parked my car. It was ugliest of all the following week when I felt like every handicap parking space in Hanover County should rightfully be mine. 

​That's alright, I kept telling myself. You did it. And you'll never have to do it again!
​

​To the many friends I've been blessed to share this running journey with, that has become somewhat of a punchline: "I'll never have to do this again." Because by the time I signed up for my first full marathon 2 years later, I'd run several more half marathons. All of them out of state. One of them as far away as Missoula, Montana. 

​To be honest, signing up for the Richmond Marathon wasn't a response to another prompt from Meg. It was actually quite self centered. It was ego driven. It was burying once and for all past failures in my life. Things I'd messed up really bad as well as things I'd never taken on for fear of messing them up really bad. This marathon was about finishing so many things in my life, including that first half marathon. It was never lost on me that it was  only "half" a marathon. 

​So, I went into this one thinking about taking care of me. 
​

finished with anything. Not if he can use it for his purposes. 

When I crossed the finish line I felt and heard God's voice. He put a scripture on my heart, one that just happened to be printed on the back of the shirt I was wearing that day. 2 Timothy 4:7 says, "I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith." God was about to completely steal my running journey and use it to help others keep fighting, finishing and keeping the faith. And he wasn't asking me to accept that - he was demanding it. 
​

As part of God's plan to begin encouraging others through my running journey, I started a podcast. I interview runners or people in the running community who have inspiring stories. My hope is these stories will shine  light on folks who might need it. 

through the mountains of northern Georgia. If there was only the 100 mile option, this race would have been in and out of my mind as soon as Jenny was done telling me about it. But the race also offers 50, 35 and 17 mile races. 

Long after our conversation was over, The Georgia Jewel kept popping into my mind. I had no idea why. It was just one of those nagging whispers that have come to predict something crazy is about to happen in my life. 
​

​2018 has been a crazy running year. The year started with a did not finish at the Houston Marathon. I lined up hoping I could keep up with the 6 hour cutoff pace, a pace nearly an hour faster than my only previous marathon. But at mile 18 my hopes were dashed. I couldn't keep up. My record against the mighty 26.2 dropped to one victory against one might Texas defeat. 

A little over a month later I had an opportunity to get back in the win column. Several friends were headed to Little Rock, Arkansas to tackle the Little Rock Marathon. At the last minute I decided to join them. Little rock had a much more forgiving 8-hour cut off. If I could go down there and conquer that race I could get back on the winning side of this marathon thing. And after 6 hours and 45 minutes on a rainy, hilly course, that's exactly where I ended up. Back in the win column. 

Then comes March. The end of March and the annual Run the Bluegrass half marathon in Lexington, Kentucky. A race that has tried not only to defeat me twice, but not so subtly tried to kill me just to make sure I never came back. It's one of the most challenging courses I've ever run. 

This March felt different though. After Little Rock my running only improved. I felt strong coming into Lexington. I thought I could run my fastest Run the Bluegrass, and by the time I got there, I started thinking I could run my fastest half marathon period. 

I need to pause here and tell you one thing all three of those races have in common: my friend Nicole. She was there when I got drug off the course in Houston. She was there cheering me on at the finish line at Little Rock. And on Run the Bluegrass day, knowing I had a goal of running my fastest half marathon ever, and knowing she was plenty fast and inspirational enough to help me make it happen, she was lined up next to me determined to make it happen.

And make it happen we did. By about 2 1/2 minutes, I ran my fastest half marathon ever. 
​

That race was a huge confidence builder for me. I didn't know exactly how big until last weekend. 

At the Little Rock Marathon my friend Nicole and I started joking about running the Georgia Jewel 35 mile race. Running through the mountains. Becoming ultra marathoners. Daring greatly. Chasing limits that could only be reached with God's strength at our backs. We joked about it. Then we were mysteriously serious about it. 

There was a point at mile 11 at the Run the Bluegrass when my friend Nicole sensed I wasn't going to make it. She'll never admit she was sensing it, but I knew she was. Which is why she forced my hand. Dared me to come 11 miles into our shared goal to set a personal record and quit before pulling it off. She left me no doubt that was absolutely NOT her intention, and basically told me to get it in gear or leave Lexington with nothing but regrets. 

I'm grateful for that. In hearing that story you get to know a little bit about just how she's built. A fighter. A scrapper. And a say you're going to do it you'd better do it kind of person. 

That's why last Saturday when I got a message from her that included her paid registration for the 35 mile Georgia Jewel ultra marathon, I knew that was her way of saying we're done talking. It's time to tackle what we set out to do. 

And so last Saturday, I registered for my first ultra marathon. On Saturday, September 22, Nicole and I will tackle 35 miles of trail and about 5000 feet of ascending mountains to cross the finish line. I have no doubt, when she senses I'm about to pack it in at mile 25 or 30 - what?!?!?!? - she'll let me know good and well we didn't come all the way to Georgia not to finish our first ultra marathon. 

So for the next several months, through the long and hot dog days of summer, you can be sure - I'm going to have Georgia on my mind. 

In order for you to fully understand my 2018 Run the Bluegrass (RTB) journey, I have to tell you about my 2015 RTB  journey. It was my second half marathon ever. I was ill prepared. And it was the first time I'd ever run over hills the likes of those on this rural Lexington, Kentucky race course.

To be exact, 32 relentlessly rolling hills that offer up everything but a level running surface. Back in 2015, when my buddies helped me across the finish line in just over 3 hours, I swore I'd never run again. Several days after the race I started to wonder if  I'd ever walk again.   

Then, and arguably still now, it was the hardest race I'd ever run. 
​
But eventually I did find a way to walk again. To my surprise, I also found the will to run again. In fact, before returning to RTB for a third time last weekend, I'd run 2 marathons and 9 half marathons since that race. A running death sentence averted, if barely.

I came into Lexington looking for a fight. My 2018 running year started with a bust when I picked up a "did not finish" at the Houston Marathon. But fueled by that failure, I went to Little Rock and ran my fastest marathon about a month later. Granted, it was only my second one, but when you don't finish your previous race you'll accept any kind of fast. 

After Little Rock, I went on to run my fastest 5k and 10k races. This planted a seed - it was possible I could run my fastest marathon, 5k, 10k and half marathon in one month if I could somehow run my fastest half marathon ever at RTB.  Only, I knew how impossible that possible was. Last year I brought my RTB time down to 2:48. But my half marthon best was 2:27. Was it really possible to shave another 21 minutes off my time?

If I was willing to fight that course the entire 13.1 miles, I thought it could be done. And so, in my mind, a mission was launched. 

Run the Bluegrass is always a family afair for my Megsmiles family.  We got the race weekend started with a dinner at Malone's. Me and my plant based diet had fallen on hard times in the days leading up to the race, so as long as we were on the outs I decided to have some steak and shrimp. It had been awhile and I happen to think it was the perfect pre-race meal to tackle the big fight ahead. 

In the week leading up to the race, Lexington had been inundated with rain. When I arrived Thursday it was raining, and there was intermittent rain and gloom all day Friday.  All signs pointed to a cloudy Saturday if not rainy. That's why, when I made the trek up the hill to the parking area on race day, this scene was a thing of beauty.

When I saw that image, I knew God had something special in store for the day. I'm a believer that God whispers. He whispers through our friends at a pre-race dinner. He whispers through a sunrise. And I was about to find out he whispers through friends who run with you. 

I made my way to the Megsmiles tent. It's a special place to gather before the race to share in each other's hopes and dreams for the day. I don't really know how unique running is as far as this goes, but the commraderie might be a bigger part of the race experience than the running. The running gives us something to bond over - the successes and failures and hill struggles - but it's the bonding that often produces the most enduring memories. 

You want to talk about a bonding memory. This image will live with me forever. 

Those three men there. They've become some of my best buddies in the world. And I wouldn't know one of them if it wasn't for running. 

​We were all grateful to have Sid Busch join us. Sid's a Navy veteran who's run over 200 marathons to honor fallen military veterans. He runs so their lives and legacies are not forgotten. John and Anthony are veterans themselves. So to be standing there with these three men, all such good and honorable men, it's a moment that transcends whatever race result happens that day; one that  ensures victory. It's a moment that won't hang on a wall with the medals, but it shapes a heart forever. 

Then it comes. After the dinners and all the pre-race bonding, race time comes. And we head for the starting line. 

I'll be honest. This starting line felt different than any other. Likely because I had a large goal. One I knew was bigger than any running goal I'd ever tackled. I think the other part is I had someone running with me. That was a first. For 13 miles I was going to have someone at my side. 

My friend Nicole, who originally contemplated not running the half marathon because of a knee injury, knew how much this time goal meant to me. When I was loosely talking about goals for this race earlier in the month, she's the one who ultimately made me say out loud that I wanted this to be my fastest half marathon ever.  She's plenty faster than me and likely could have chased her own goal, but she made the decision to help me chase mine. 

I didn't stop at mile 9 like I have my previous two races. No photo ops. No paying respects. I knew Meg would be fine with that. Meg was all about crushing everything in her path to get to that finish line. Hills, the competition - whatever got in her way. So I ran by, gave her a little pat, and with a little extra pep, motored up that first hill.

I'd noticed Nicole looking at her watch and phone more frequently. I knew she'd been receving texts from our friend Tiffany at the finish line who'd been following our pace and offering her instructions. Likely, tell him to pick it up! The more Nicole looked at both, the more I knew SHE KNEW we were cutting it close. 

Yet, still: "we're going to do this."

The boost I got from Meg didn't last long. By mile 10 I was fading fast. I did what I've done many times running these races alone. I started setting plan B goals.

• I'll beat last year's time.
• I'll break 2:30 for only the second time.
• I'll be able to say this was my best race ever even if it's not my fastest.

You can sell yourself on plan B when you're alone. I would have bought plan B if I was alone. I'm sure of it. But I wasn't alone. 

Nicole had her music on. She turned to me and said "overcomer" is on. I'll likely always hold that as the most beautiful piece of encouragement ever. Nicole knows my heart for God. She shares it. She knew that song was ALL about leaning on God when there's nothing left. It was one more way of saying "we're going to do this." Get your heart set on God right now. We're overcoming this. 

By mile 11 I was walking more frequently. The goal looked as jeopardized as it had looked all day. And Nicole simply looked at me and said, "We didn't come all this way not to get this thing. You can rest in 25 minutes. You can sleep after the finish line. But we're going to do this."

I didn't know how. I was out of breath. Feeling faint. My head could only look down at my feet. But for the next two miles that girl just kept saying we are going to do this. We are going to do this. And she willed my body to do things I couldn't begin to get it to do. She created fight in me when the only material she had to work with was quitting. Because that's what I wanted to do. That's what I was thinking. 

Give it up Nicole. We got close enough. Close on a really challenging course.

I never said that. I couldn't. Not to her. She gave up her race. Her day. And she didn't consider it a sacrifice, but an opportunity. An opportunity to help someone else achieve a goal. I'm telling you, that was never lost on me at any point during the race. Nicole smiled and laughed - and danced with Jesus, as she put it - and was totally in her zone helping make someone else's day. That in itself made fighting on mandatory.  

I did fight on and at my 12, I finally knew: we are going to do this. I could hear the crowd cheering runners home. I could see the final turn in the distance. And then there we were in that final turn. I saw our friends, and then the finish line, and then with more kick than I think I've ever had with 100 yards to go, I ran home. 

I looked at my watch: 2:25:37.9 - my fastest half marathon by over 2 minutes. (Side note: Nicole ran it in 2:25:37.7 - she was NOT going to let me beat her!)

The finish line was emotional. I knew I'd completed what I set out to do. My 4 fastest races, 4 different distances, all in one month. 4 years ago I was here wondering what I was doing in the midst of runners. I wasn't one. I was a survivor, but I wasn't a runner. 

Today I felt like a runner. But you know, within seconds the runner in me started reflecting on the person in me. The runner was wearing one cool medal (very cool medal), but the person was overwhelmed by the bonds from the weekend. Bonds formed because a woman died and people captivated by her spirit adopted it instead of letting it die with her. A spirit of loving and giving and putting someone else's finish line ahead of their own.  

Nicole and I talked about God nudges on the course. I think the biggest nudge came after the finish line. That's when it hit me that we all bond so well because we know what each other's dreams are, we know what each other's fears are and we know what each other struggle with. We know because we care and we ask. And then we dive head first into being a part of it. We don't do things like Run the Bluegrass to run to finish lines, we do it to run to each other. Wherever we are; whatever we might need. 

God gave us that answer a long time ago. Not to run with each other, but to love with each other. StilI, I have to say, running is a very cool place to figure that out. A beautiful place to experience it. 

Last summer my buddy Tracey Outlaw introduced me to Pontiac Township High School teacher Laura Baumgardner and some of her special needs students. After spending some time with these students it was clear to me what they needed most, and what they were fighting for, was respect. 

For the past 6 years, Laura and her students have put on the Run for Respect 5K in Pontiac as a way to spread the word to end the word. ​The word they are fighting to end? Retarded. The word they long to replace it with? Respect. 

​The theme for this year's race is:  Respect is Golden. 
​

In this year's official Run for Respect race video, the students implore us - let's all follow the golden rule. Let's do to others like you want them to do to you. After my good friends and I shared some Starbucks Coffee time with Laura and a few of her students in Chicago last year, I found myself sadly wondering - why on earth do these kids have to fight for respect? They're beautiful, kind, thoughtful and fun. I'm telling you, coffee breaks don't get any more enjoyable than the one I had with them.

We all know why they have to fight for respect, though, don't we. They have to fight because they are different. They talk and look and think differently. I hope that's a frustrating answer to accept. It is for me. Because the reality is, I'm different. I talk and look and think differently than every single person reading this. Yet, I can't think of one single time in my life, based on those differences alone, that I've had to fight for respect. 

Why do we get so hung up on differences? A friend of mine recently shared that we are all the same kind of different. I'd never heard that. It wowed me because wouldn't that be great. If we saw our differences as something we shared, like the love of a sports team or a favorite burger joint, instead of something we analyze to determine how we're supposed to engage with one another. 

Next weekend, several of my friends and I will be running a half marathon in Lexington, Kentucky -The Run the Bluegrass. It will be our honor to help Laura and her students spread the word to end the word. Many of us will wear the bib below on our backs as a show of support and to encourage others to do the same. Those Lexington hills are a real battle, my friends know that, but we're going to battle those hills for respect. Because we believe: respect is golden. 
​

Last year on my birthday, April 27th, I ran 53 laps around a 1/4 mile track to celebrate turning 53 years old. All year I've been trying to figure out this year's birthday run. I wanted it to be more challenging. I wanted to get a little more creative with it. Then God placed this story of Laura and her kids on my heart, and I suddenly knew the answer to the birthday run challenge. 

On April 21st, the day Laura and her kids are running their 5K in Pontiac, and the day many others will run it virtually, I will run my 5K.  And - I'll add a little bit of distance to make it my longest run ever. This year instead of honoring my age I'll honor my date. The 27th. To celebrate my birthday and to do everything I can to spread the word to end the word, on April 21st I'm going to run 27 miles. 

So for my birthday this year, I'm not asking you to run 27 miles with me. Just get out there and run a 5K for respect. Shoot, you don't even have to run it - walk it. Just support Laura and her students. Let them know we hate the idea they have to fight for respect, but as long as they do have to fight for it, we're going to be right there fighting by their sides!

Register for the 5K virtual run here. 
​

This marathon story started in Houston. The minute Houston race officials pulled me off the course of my second marathon and discarded me onto a bus full of did not finishers, I knew the Houston story wasn't over. My picture of the story was over. But the story wasn't over. 

Shortly after I got home from Texas, my buddy Anthony sent me a wooden medal he'd made me. On it was a replica of the logo I wore on my shirt in Houston.  He sent it to me as a reminder that I ran 18 miles in Houston. In his mind - the mind of a friend - I'd worked hard. I deserved a medal.

​So he did what a friend does. He made me one himself. 

​It wasn't long after I got Anthony's medal when my ​buddy Tracey Outlaw let me know he'd be running the Little Rock Marathon. He had a room and I was welcome to join him. And oh, he pointed out, Anthony lives near Little Rock and he'd be taking part in the weekend festivities. Additionally, he said, my friend Nicole and her family, who had also been a part of the Houston story, would be there as well. All I had to do was make the 14-hour drive to get there. 

I didn't think about it. Yes, I cringed at the thought of the drive. But I've  seen God weave too many of these strange but true stories lately to believe I was supposed to do anything but get in my car and drive to Little Rock. I had one call. Assume my role in His story. 

And so, less than 2 months after that first attempt at marathon number 2, I was headed one state east of Texas to give it another shot. I was off to Arkansas. 

A few weeks before heading to Little Rock I interviewed Sid Busch on my podcast. (Sid Busch interview). Sid has devoted the last 20 years running marathons all over America for fallen service men and women. I loved this American hero 2 minutes into my conversation with him. During the interview he told me he'd be in Little Rock - and, at the age of 72 - he was going to run his 205th and final marathon. 
So to recap the web God weaves:

• I fail in Houston.
• My buddy Anthony sends me a beautiful consolation medal he made himself.
• My buddy Tracey happens to be running Little Rock a few weeks after that - very near where Anthony lives. 
• Tracey invites me to join him.
• My friend Nicole, who was a huge part of my Houston journey, is also running Little Rock.
• And a man I didn't know when I ran Houston, but now loved, would run his final marathon in Little Rock.

I don't try to keep up with the God's stories any more. I just get in my car and drive. Then I run. 
​

I've said it often, but Little Rock weekend makes it well worth repeating. More than I love running, I love the friends I get to do it with. My friend JP Caudill recently told me, "runners bond because they just understand what each other are going through." I think that's true of life in general as much as it is on the race course. When you understand each other at a level like that, you love hanging out together. 

So before the race ever started, we hung out together. 

So my friends Ashley and Nicole went for a drive. Sounds like the perfect beginning to a great story, right? Then Ashley and Nicole decided to mess with Keith. Story's getting better, isn't it? They put their Hollywood film skills to work and produce the following film classic and send it to me. They do this knowing full well I'm trying to rest and get myself mentally "relaxed" for my second attempt at my second marathon. 

​Now these two ladies knew I had anxieties about the hills on this course. So to send me this totally fabricated account of the race course - not one inch of this video was actually ON THE COURSE - was rather cruel and unusual. But it did make for a fun moment once marathon Sunday began. 

​There's nothing like the starting line of a marathon. Whether there's a hundred people or several thousand, the air is filled with the excitement of dreams. Dreams of crossing a finish line for the first time. Dreams of running a race faster or further than ever before. Dreams of honoring someone battling cancer or killed by a drunk driver. And there are runners dreaming of finishing something they couldn't finish just 6 weeks ago. 

There's something powerful being surrounded by "I can do this." In a world filled with doubt and negativity, a marathon starting line overflows with belief.

Belief in self.

​Belief in one another. 
​

Shortly after the race began the rain began. Even though the air was cool, the rain wasn't uncomfortable for me.  I run well in the rain. Something about it suits me. 8 miles into the race the rain was still falling, yet my pace was still on target for that 6 hour marathon. I remained confident. I was going to achieve all 3 of my goals.

​At the half marathon mark I was still on pace, but I started encountering some of the hills. My friend Nicole who was well ahead of me sent this message:
​

My first instinct was to chuckle. Ha - serves you right for sending me ficticious and intimidating hill videos the day before the race. Who's laughing now. Then my thoughts went to - uh oh, if Nicole is struggling, just how bad ARE those hills up ahead. Then she sends me this message: 
​

​Nicole's a strong runner. Her struggles left me wondering if I was blindly and recklessly headed to meet a 6-hour marathon assasin. It would turn out I was wrong about that. I was actually headed for an army of assasins. 

I'm at mile 15 when the hill battles begin. A monsoon invades. As much as I was unphased by the light rain earlier, I'm shivering now and hating everything about my life. My shoes drown in the water washing over the road, and what I'm hating most is the part of my life that thought running this marathon was anything better than my worst idea I've ever had. 

I can't see now. Even when I force my eyes open against the pools of water streaming over them, the visibility out in front of me isn't more than a few yards. Wet, soggy feet. Blindness. I'm asking myself -over and over - why am I here. I  wonder what the bus will look like that's going to pick me up off this course. Will it be big like the one in Houston. Maybe it will just be a small school bus this time?

And then an angel appears. It's Anthony. He's not carrying a ghostly wooden medal to console me for an unfinished marathon. He's carrying a promise: "I'm here to get you to the finish line buddy." 

The finish line was still 9 miles away. Anthony had already run several miles to meet me in my storm, yet with all the confidence of a military general, he promised me we were getting home. I couldn't help but notice he didn't mention any buses. Yet, the dude was thoroughly convinced we were finishing this thing. 
​

I believed him. How could I not? I knew the 6-hour marathon was tragically put out of it's misery, but I had 2 goals left. They were alive and well. Suddenly thoughts of a bus were thoughts of a locomotive pulling me home.

So home I headed. 

Those last 9 miles conspired together to produce the toughest physical challenge of my life. There's no close second. The hills were relentless. The fast early pace zapped me of everything I had. So I leaned on my buddy, and I once again leaned on God. The God who got me to the finish line of my first marathon. He had me in Little Rock for a reason. I knew that reason wasn't remotely connected to quitting.

So, I was not going to quit. 

I told myself that 1000 times over the next several miles. I will not quit. I will not quit. I had no idea how I was going to pull that off, but at this point I focused less on what I had to and more on what I was not going to do.

I will not quit.

​I literally leaned into each next step, determined, picturing the Little Rock finish line through each short and painful shuffle. 
​

Back at the finish line my friends were worried about me. They were texting each other. Trying to get messages to me. Wanting me so badly to finish this race and beat that 6:58. Their panic was beautiful if unnecessary. They were looking at the race clock which showed the total elapsed time since the first runner went off so many hours earlier. What they forgot was I'd taken off WELL AFTER that first runner. So the clock they were looking at showed me cutting it close. The reality was I knew I was going to beat that second goal handily. 

I was going to be in rough shape, mind you, but I was going to beat that goal. 

Anthony left me with a couple of miles to go. He wanted to get to the finish line and see me come in. He said he wanted nothing to do with my finish line story. He wanted that to be mine. My friend Ashley appeared with about a mile to go. Her quiet and calming voice was the subtle assurance, the one final boost I needed to get to that finish line. 

It's amazing really. I've had some memorable sports feelings in my life. Yet, when the marathon finish line comes into view, there's no feeling like it from a competitive standpoint. And mind you, I was battling for a place much closer to last place than first. Much, much closer to last.

I guess we can all have our super bowl moments without actually playing in the super bowl. 

As I ran the final hundred yards or so I could see my friends come into view. My heart was full. I thought I'd be able to hold my emotions in check, but that was no longer possible. As I looked over and saw  Ashley, Nicole, Tracey, and Anthony - God poured out and into me through my beautiful friends. His love and pleasure and approval and strength. Their cheers and smiles; His heart. 

​It all poured into my broken and empty body. 

I'd like to say the Little Rock Marathon finished a story. But God has made it clear to me, race after race, that life truly is a marathon. Crossing a finish line feels final for a moment, but I already feel God stirring the pot of my next running story. I hear him saying life is a marathon, Keith. Not your marathon, but mine. 

I anxiously await the next step in His race. He's always so good and faithful to point me to it. If I have it my way it will be with the beautiful friends who shared this Little Rock chapter with me. They are beautiful illustrations in one of the most memorable chapters in my life. 

We arrived in Houston a few days before Marathon Sunday. This gave us time to get to know the  St. Andrews Episcopal church leadership team. Father Jim, Debbie and Tom were a huge part of this journey. They all had a role in drawing us to Houston, in making our hearts feel for the healing they are bringing to their community.  

They took us to see the first house they've been working on. When we pulled into this small neighborhood it was impossible to block my memories of the television images that originally sparked my interest in this journey. Images of homes under water, people struggling through streets filled with flood waters above their waists while carrying their children, and rescue workers working frantically to pull people from the imminent risk of drowning in their own living rooms. Standing in the middle of it now, it was impossible not to feel the fear and desperation they all surely felt. 

We walked into the home. Workers were busy putting flooring down. Everywhere we looked we saw signs of destruction. And everywhere we looked we saw the healing signs of construction trying to put it all back together again.

We met Ms. Norma. Too often when we see images of people fleeing their homes in floodwaters on television, television never sticks around long enough afterwards to answer the less sensational question: what happened to those people after they fled their homes? People like Norma.

doing to make it safe and orderly again.  And it was clear how much the St. Andrews folks loved being there for her.

​My buddy Bill sent me a good luck note before we left for Houston. He put some cash in it and told me I'd find a good place for it on the trip. It was a blessing to give Norma this cash from a stranger she'll likely never meet. A stranger from Oregon. It was a powerful beginning to this Houston journey. A reminder that God's vehicle to deliver love from one part of the country to another was a marathon. It was also the first sign God had some slightly different ideas about this a marathon. 
​

As part of our partnership with St. Andrews Church we got to spend some time at Lawhon Elementary School. To be in the middle of a school filled with young children who came from communities ravaged by the hurricane was a blessing. To be able to speak a message of hope to kids who probably wonder sometimes where hope is going to come from was an opportunity much bigger than lining up for a race. 

My wife Katie talked to the kids about becoming a photographer. My buddy Tracey talked to them about life at Starbucks Coffee. (I have confirmed he stopped short of passing out samples). My friend Robyn talked about life on the Cayman Islands and working with marine wildlife there. And I got to talk to the kids about preventing substance abuse. 

I was paired with Robyn. She doesn't know it but she made a huge impression on me in that classroom. You see, I stood up when I talked to the kids. Just habit standing in front of groups to speak or deliver presentations. But when Robyn came to the front of that classroom she got down on her knees and looked the children in the eyes. She showed her willingness to meet them where they were. She showed her willingness to be like them and not above them. And in that moment God was sending me another message about this marathon. 
​

​I could write an entire blog post on St. Andrews Church. Many of us came to Houston to support them because they said they are a church that reaches out, not a church that focuses on drawing people in.  That turned out to be very true. And by witnessing just how much they reach out, they drew us lovingly into their family. 

The Saturday night before the marathon, St. Andrews hosted my Megsmiles friends for a special church service. The thought and heart and time Father Jim and Debbie put into making this service special for us was overwhelming. The church wasn't packed; it was just a small group of us. But in that small group, and in the willingness of St. Andrews to speak love in a very personal way to me and my friends, one could truly experience how reaching out to people in a loving way is a great way to draw them into your church. 

One of the things they did for us was put together 26.2 scriptures we all read together as a way of blessing our marathon. I had goosebumps, again, as I considered that God had used running to bring a group of friends from all over the country (and Cayman) together in a small church in Pearland, Texas to read his word. The goosebumps magnified as our boys Elliott and Ian each read a scripture as well.  All of this and we hadn't even lined up for the real race. But then again, God was clearly saying in that moment - THIS is the real race. 

​As much as I understood all along I was in Houston for a bigger cause.  And as much as I understood how insignificant running was against the backdrop of what the folks in this community had been facing the last several months. The moment I signed up for marathon number two I got excited about the possibility of doing again what I never thought I'd be able to do. Not once, let alone twice. 

Running has rejuvenated the competitive spirit in me. A spirit that's waned since my high school sports days. Not the kind of competitiveness that makes me want to beat you, but the kind that makes me want to beat the me that settles for less than I'm capable of. The prospects of putting my hands on a second marathon medal meant a lot to me. I trained for it. I pictured crossing the finish line in front of my friends. It really was going to be the perfect ending to this beautiful Houston story. 

All was going well through mile 13. I was on pace to finish under the 6-hour time limit. This time limit was going to be challenging all along since my first marathon in Richmond back in 2016 took nearly 7 hours. I felt good. I felt like I was eating and drinking just enough to stay fueled. My legs felt strong. 

Then came mile 17. All that felt good suddenly felt bad. Picking my legs up for the next stride became challenging. I could see the lights of the police at the tail end of the race catching up with me. A race without much pressure for 17 miles was in an instant a pressure cooker. 
​  

I'll never forget the moment. The lead police vehicle pulls up beside me. The officer asks if I'm OK. I tell him I am. He tells me I'm going to have to get ahead of the vehicle by mile 18 or I'll have to leave the course. He says it with as much disappointment having to say the words as I feel hearing them. I remember thinking he had more heart than the last officer that pulled me off a race course. I also remember thinking, wow, I'm getting pulled off another race course. 

I could have beat him to mile 18. And maybe even to 19. But I knew in that moment I didn't have 8 more miles in me. Back at Richmond in 2016 I knew at mile 20 I had a struggle ahead of me to finish. But that day, it was my mind that was fading more than my body. My body was still willing to drag my doubting mind where it didn't think it could go. With a little help from God, that is. 

This day my mind was all in but my body just wasn't going to go. 

The bus picked me up shortly after to take me back to the finish line. There was consolation in seeing quite a few other runners joining me for the ride. We all knew what the others were feeling. We went out of our way to make sure one thing none of us was feeling was shame. 

heard God clearly say this journey isn't over.  You're going to finish this race, you're just not going to finish it today. I know that was your plan, he said, but this is my race, not yours. 

His race. I knew that from the beginning. I went to Houston responding to God's call and not because I was searching for a marathon to run in Texas. So it wasn't surprising to discover he wasn't finished with me there yet. I thought of Ms. Norma. How her journey was only beginning. I thought of those kids at Lawhon Elementary School. All the tough years ahead. As powerful as our visit was for us to take part in their journeys, the reality is for them the journey has just begun. 

So it made perfect sense my journey was just beginning too.  

In the immediate aftermath of my "did not finish" I told me wife I'd be back in Houston next January to finish what I'd started. After some time to think about it, though, I realized I really wanted to be back in Hanover County next year to be a part of the Megsmiles race I missed while I was in Houston this year. So I figured God would have another way of letting me finish this race. 

Then my friend Robyn reached out to let me know the Houston Marathon would be one week later next year. Not the same weekend as the Megsmiles race. And I heard God say, yes, this is my race not yours, but I understand your competitive spirit. I understand the disappointment. This is my race, sure, but I'm interested in your race too. 

I've considered writing this article for a long time. I've hesitated because I haven't been sure this first reason is true. 26.2 miles is a long way, and maybe everyone can't run that far. Then I saw Chris Koch running the Marine Corps Marathon earlier in 2017. Only he wasn't running it like I can run it. He was using his one partial limb - a portion of a leg that wouldn't extend to even my knee - to scoot himself along on a skateboard. Chris runs an organization appropriately named If I Can. In his mind, if a man with no limbs can do something - like run a marathon - so can everyone else. I've come to agree with him.

Sure. Not everyone can do it. But way more than the .05% of Americans who do run a marathon can run a marathon. Way more than .05% can have their lives changed like mine has been.

I remember a lot of the excuses I had for not running a marathon:

• I'm not built to be a runner
• Many distance runners have dropped dead while running
• I'm too old to start running
• I'll probably just hurt myself

Some or all of those excuses have some legitimacy. But as for me, I can admit now I created every one of them to help me avoid tackling something that was going to require me to work harder than I wanted to work. It's that simple. 

The minute you commit to a marathon your excuse creativity gets a boost. You become a running encyclopedia of reasons not to follow through with your training. In the end, though, you come to realize those excuses are the running devils. They are put on this earth to derail you from accomplishing things that will make you an unimaginable better version of you.

You'll realize this I promise. And you'll learn to run toward your goals and away from excuses. 

Those running devils - their biggest weapon is comfort. They envelop us in the idea that happiness is found in comfort, and life outside comfort is a war zone - a place where our inner fears are lined up waiting to destroy us. The running devils loathe that we might discover the strength and power to not only survive here, but thrive. They know well this discovery will bring us a level of contentment never experienced in our comfort zones. And once we discover it, they know we're never coming back. 

Running a marathon will help you discover one of the greatest lessons in life. True contentment is in winning the war against discomfort, not settling for comfort. You'll discover you were created to thrive outside your comfort zone, not survive inside it. 

A marathon will teach you strength in numbers is more than an overused inspirational phrase. It's real and lifelong friendships. ​

Training for a marathon was an intense and painful struggle for me.

Running 26.2 miles on race day was one of the greatest physical challenge of my life.

So exactly why am I trying to talk you into doing the same thing?
​
Running a marathon taught me why it's so important to learn to love the process. The sense of accomplishment I've felt since crossing the finish line, the friendships I've carried with me well beyond it, the newfound confidence I have and the doors that have opened as a result, they are all gifts born in the process of preparing for a marathon, not gifts handed to me after crossing the finish line. 

Take a look at your life right now. My guess is the things you're doing that you are most proud of, that you find most rewarding, all have a back story rooted in a significant struggle. A marathon might end up being a bigger struggle than all of them. And the biggest reward.

Have you ever had what you thought was the perfect plan? Then three minutes into putting the plan in action you discover the plan's not so perfect after all. Welcome to the world of becoming a marathoner. 

​When you commit to running a marathon you'll adopt a training plan. Then, at some point, you'll struggle with the plan: I only have time for 5 miles today and not the 3 the plan calls for. The weather is horrific today and I can't hit the road at all. A flu bug has put me out of commission for a week. 

​When the perfect plan turns imperfect, you have two options. Abandon the plan all together, or adapt and move forward as strong as you can. A lot of incredible life accomplishments go unaccomplished because perfect plans get abandoned in the face of unexpected obstacles.  

Getting to the finish line of a marathon will teach you to take obstacles in stride while keeping your stride moving toward the finish line. 

Do you know what a marathon teaches you? Some days it's OK to simply survive, to persevere through the struggles that will inevitably come your way. Social media has created a world ripe for comparison. It pressures us into believing every step has to be bigger and better than someone else's. It has to be a game winner. A world changer. Every mile an award winner.

Crossing the finish line of my first marathon was an award winner for me. I got a nice medal and a beautiful blanket. And I walked away with a sense of confidence that's changed my life. But there were some ugly training runs leading up to the finish line. To be honest, way more than some. Many of those runs required me to accept records weren't  getting broken that day. There was only going to be survival. Perseverance. 

You know what I tapped into most on race day? Precisely. Perseverance. 

The story told at the finish line of a marathon isn't as much about how well you raced as it is about how well you prepared. We live in a world that asks us to believe gratification can always be found in an instant. In an instant purchase. In an instant comment to a Facebook post. In an instant bite of a quarter pounder with cheese (and Lord have I believed that one from the world).

But a marathon will teach you a greater truth. Great and enduring gratification is usually tied to great and enduring preparation. The gratification I continue to get from my first marathon, even a year after I completed it, isn't from the race itself. It's from recognizing all the time and effort I put into preparing for it. My unwavering willingness to prepare.

A marathon doesn't come easy to many people. It requires great preparation. A lot of people like to fantasize about being a marathoner, but they don't like the reality of preparing for it. More than likely these are people who like instant gratification and not great and enduring gratification. 

Another one of the excuses I used for not running a marathon was "I'm just not very disciplined." I used that excuse unapologetically believing some people had been gifted with discipline and I wasn't one of them. I had accepted my handicap and figured I'd find a way to make it through life without discipline. 

After deciding to run a marathon the next decision I had to make was to become more disciplined. There was a training plan I had to follow. There were certain amounts of water I had to drink to stay hydrated. There was the rest I had to be committed to getting. Time suddenly became more precious and I had to be more disciplined with how I managed it. 

When I look back on the months leading up to my marathon finish line, I see a structure, a set of rules I was more willing to follow than any other set of rules in my life. And I walked away from the finish line determined to be more disciplined in other areas of my life. What a difference it's made. 

Then I started running. My legs screamed I'm tired. My lungs begged - stop, I can't go any further. But for the first time in my life my mind spoke up and said, they're lying. Don't believe them. If you lean on me and trust that you have another 50 yards in you, your legs and lungs will have no choice but to come along with us.  

And there I was. 50 yards further than I'd ever run. It was my mind more than my legs that got me there. And my mind began to believe I might actually be able to get through 26.2 miles. 

Running a marathon will teach you a positive mind can get you to the beautiful other side of some uncomfortable experiences. And a negative mind will rob you of some incredible ones. ​

You won't be able to help it. Once your body starts doing things you never thought it could do, and your mind starts ignoring negativity it's never had the power to ignore, you'll be more awed by your human vessel than you've ever been. And inevitably, you'll wonder more about where it came from and what it's here for. 

Personally, tapping into my spiritual side meant becoming more grateful for God's creation and more curious about it's ultimate purpose. Running a marathon was at the same time a spiritually dark and light experience. Dark in that I had to confess I'd lived my life capable of far more than I'd been offering and therefore I felt great remorse. Light, on the other hand, because I'd been awakened to new possibilities and felt more hopeful about my future and living according to my created purpose than I ever had. 

The joy in discovering or growing this spiritual connection is you always have someone to run with. I spent most of my marathon training hours running alone. Yet, I'm sure I had more meaningful conversations with God in those 4 months of training and over those 26.2 marathon race day miles than I'd had in the previous 10 years combined. Yes, that says a lot about my spiritual life during that pre-marathon decade, but it also says a lot about the spiritual power behind running a marathon.

How many areas in our lives depress us because we feel like we're tackling them alone? Running a marathon reminded me we're never really as alone as we think we are.  

When I asked my friend Jenny Baker why she runs, she said, "you find yourself in a situation where you have a space to feel things you haven't created a space to feel in your normal day." 

​I found that space training for my first marathon. I could feel and hear things I'd never felt or heard before. I heard God whisper guidance; then I felt him push me on my way just to let me know he wasn't kidding. 

In training for that marathon the world around me became so quiet God's voice was the only one I could hear. And when God's voice becomes the only one you can hear, you suddenly find a boldness to pursue the kind of things only he can lead you to do. 

When I ran my first marathon there were a little over 4,000 runners in the race.

​A little over 4,000 of them crossed the finish line before I did. 

​Here's the thing. I went into marathon training knowing I wasn't going to win that race. And to be honest, it was pretty liberating diving into an activity, like running a marathon, without the pressure of being victorious working against me.

How many times does comparing ourselves to the front runner steal our joy in life?  Whether it's in our job, our parenting ability, our social standing in our community - how often do we gauge our own status against our perception of others in those arenas? 

​Well, unless you're an elite runner you start off marathon training knowing full well victory isn't possible. And you quickly become quite OK with that. Then you start to value your own personal effort and progress, achieving your own purpose, over any other indicators.

After completing a marathon I began to wonder how hard I was being on myself in other areas of my life. I discovered a hidden joy when I started giving myself credit for effort and progress, when I recognized my purpose in life wasn't tied to the front runners.  

I've come to believe everyone is hurting and in need of healing. Talk long enough with anyone and you'll ultimately discover a hurt. Some big. Some small. But when it's your hurt, size doesn't matter. You just want it to go away.

We live in a society where folks choose a lot of unhealthy routes to diminish pain. Alcohol and other drugs are a popular choice, eating disorders are common, people sink themselves into unhealthy relationships hoping to find a place to just escape. The list goes on and on of the choices people make in an attempt to heal, choices that often lead to more hurting, not less. 

For many reasons, training for and running a marathon is healing. First and foremost, it's a healthy outlet for many of the stresses and emotions born from hurting. By simply letting them go instead of holding onto them, healing begins. In addition, the spiritual connection previously mentioned often guides us toward a healthier place. We also gain an appreciation for ourselves running a marathon that heals insecurities rooted in our hurting. 

Not only does running a marathon help us heal from current pains, it begins to build a resiliency that protects us from future hurts. 

I began my running journey to honor a mom in our community, Meg Cross Menzies, who was hit and killed by a drunk driver. While I was training for my marathon I spent a lot of time thinking about her and the family and friends she left behind. I spent a lot of time saying "I run for Meg."

There's a certain power that comes with running for something. Something outside ourselves. When something or someone is honored by our running, it provides a little extra inspiration to do it well. I'm certain I never would have completed a marathon if I hadn't been running for Meg. In the moments of pain and sheer exhaustion, when I would find myself asking why am I doing this, I always had the answer. Knowing why you do something is often the first step in discovering how to do something. 

Discovering the power behind my purpose in running led me to examine the purpose behind other activities in my life. Why am I doing this? And in many cases, if I couldn't identify the purpose, I cancelled that activity for good. 

As important as I think discovering purpose in our lives is, and as much as I believe it's impossible to do anything as good as we're capable of doing it without a clearly defined purpose in mind, I'll be the first to admit some days purpose alone is not enough. 

Early in my marathon training I read something at just the right time. It said something along the lines of, "there will be times you will hate the idea of getting out there to run, but there will never be a time you will hate having finished a run." 

I've found that to be the truth. I've run hundreds of miles now, and I can't look back on a single one of them and say I wish I hadn't done that. Moreover, I can't identify a single one of them that hasn't added to my life in some way. 

Motivation often comes from looking at things a little backwards. It's not how do I feel about doing this activity now, it's how will I feel when it's over. If the projected end game feeling is rewarding enough, it will usually be motivating enough.

​Marathon training helped me apply this motivation principal to my work life, my writing life, my spending time with my family life. Motivation matters. Sometimes we simply look for it in the wrong place. 

a pride they want to feel,  and I promise you they are going to want some of what you've got. 

More rewarding than my Richmond Marathon medal is the number of people who've said my marathon inspired them to be a better version of themselves. ​

There may be no better stories than marathon stories.

Hang out with a bunch of people running their first or their tenth marathon and you'll hear stories. Stories of the beautiful people they are running for, the heartbreaking causes they are running to raise money for, the adversity they've had to overcome to get to the starting line, the beautiful places they've come from or to in order to take on their marathon challenge. You'll get to see family pictures. You may even get invited to be in their next family picture. 

Some of the greatest stories I've ever heard have been from marathoners. It's opened my eyes to the beauty of stories, and made me more curious about the stories in the lives all around me. Runners and non-runners alike. 

Discovering  gifts and strengths in my life I never knew I had made me more mindful than ever of the things other people don't have. And as much as comparison has the power to steal joy, it can also provide the perspective that fuels gratitude.

Running 26.2 miles makes you aware of so many things other people are genuinely physically incapable of doing. 

Running opens the doors to friendships you never would have had. Friendships open the doors to experiences you never could have imagined. 

Running 26.2 miles made me grateful for the gift of discovery. This journey of preparing for and then actually lining up and starting and finishing my first marathon revealed things about myself I could have never discovered anywhere else. In that, a marathon presented me a very unique and personal gift.

Believe me, it's a gift that overwhelms me with gratitude. 

Some people say running a marathon gives them the confidence to try things they never had the courage to try before. I've experienced some of that. More than that, though, my marathon journey sent me looking for things to try I never considered trying before. 

​The reality is, I spent most of my life never knowing what a marathon was. I'd heard of people running them. I just figured they'd run a pretty long way - a lot longer than I'd have any interest in running. 

But then one thing led to another and I ran my first marathon. And it changed my life in remarkable ways. It got me to wondering how many other life changing experiences are out there that I've never dreamed of experiencing. 

Running a marathon has put me on a passionate pursuit of the roads less traveled. And in some cases, never considered. 

A lot of the reasons for running a marathon have focused on discovering the things you can do. The physical gifts you have. The mental strength you possess. Your potential for healing and discovery. But here's an equally helpful discovery you'll make. You'll discover there are limits to what you can do. 

I'm not one of those guys who believes you can do anything you set your mind to. That's ridiculous. We all have limits. And believe me, training for a marathon will teach you real quick that you can only run so far and so fast. 

Here's the thing. There's great satisfaction that comes with exploring your limits; there's a joy that comes with living within them once you've discovered them. I think we spend a lot of time unsatisfied with our lives because we don't know what we're capable of. We don't know the floor and ceiling of what we're capable of. 

A marathon sends you on a 26.2 mile journey of discovering both. I've found it's equally rewarding to discover what I can't do as much as it is to realize what I can do.  

Too often in life we get caught up in where we've been or where we're going. We regret past decisions; we get stuck living life through past glories. Or, on the other end, we get lost in the daydreams of what life is going to be like in the future. We get years down the road before we realize we've been doing a lot more dreaming than doing. 

​Marathon training has a way of keeping you centered in the present. The miles behind me and the miles ahead are nothing but  distractions. I have one task. Accomplish this next stride. If I don't find a way to overcome the pain and exhaustion and self doubt of this next step, nothing behind or ahead of me matters. I need all of my energy in the here and now.  When it comes to running a marathon, life really is one step at a time.

I've found myself living more in the present in other areas of my life since running a marathon. There are a lot of areas in life where it would serve us well to make this present moment count. 

Yes, you'll be able to send me a story of the strongest of endurance runners who've keeled over while running a marathon. And I'll send you a hundred more of marathoners who've strengthened their hearts, improved their circulation and made their muscles stronger than they've ever been. And in doing so, they've drastically decreased their risk of death. 

For decades now we've been fighting an epidemic of people dying of preventable causes. A vast majority of them preventable through exercise. The reality is, a vast majority of people aren't interested in running a marathon not because of how far they'll have to run, but because they're not interested in getting out and exercising at all. 

Less than 600,000 thousand people will run a marathon this year. And over 800,000 will die of cardiovascular disease. I'm no doctor, but I strongly believe if the number on the left went up, the number on the right would go down. 

And by the way, before you commit to running a marathon I would encourage you to run it by your doctor. 

In training for a marathon and trying to talk my body into doing something it had never come close to doing before, I got as in tune as I've ever been with what my body was trying to talk me into doing.
​ 

• It let me know how hard it was for it to function when I weighed more than I needed to.
• ​It told me how hard it was to function when I ate certain foods and drinks.
• ​It told me it wasn't as big a fan as I was operating on 5 hours of sleep a night. 

​To be honest, I've gone through most of my life dictating the terms of what my body needed without ever stopping to ask - what does my body need from me. It's when I suddenly had a purpose for my body, when I needed it to work with me and not for me, that I started experimenting with treating it better. 

​My body was much more willing to go 26.2 miles. It's been unexpectedly more willing to go way beyond that. 

I was not prepared for the final 6 miles of my marathon. I'd run 19 in my training, but never more than that. Those final 6 miles were unchartered territory. The only way I covered them was by repeatedly telling myself  "I will not quit" and believing God would carry me if I committed to keep putting one step in front of the other.

​There have been many times in my life since that marathon when I've uttered those words. I will not quit. There's been a big difference in those words after crossing that marathon finish line, though. I have felt the ultimate power of those words; I have experienced what happens when you apply faith to them.  Something happens when you start saying I will not quit and you know it's true. 

Reason number one is worth repeating. You can do it!

​Running a marathon will drastically minimize - if not completely eliminate - the number of times you'll ever say "I can't" again. 

​Talk about addition by subtraction. Take the words "I can't" out of your life and watch the beauty explode. Sometimes inviting a miracle into our life is as simple as weeding the wrong words out of it.

​Happy new year my friends. And happy running. 

was in much more trouble than mine. And believe me, in the middle of my 8-mile run that day I was fighting for every breath I could find.  

But I discovered something that day. I didn't know the extent of it, but I knew I was running the first steps of a journey that was going to be measured in units far greater than miles and heartbeats and disappearing pounds. Today, when I look back to that first half marathon in November, 2013, and consider how far I've come, it's not the miles and the medals hanging on the wall behind me that come to mind, it's relationships.

First and foremost, I think about my relationship with God. Prior to this running journey I'm not sure I'd ever heard God talk to me. That's not to suggest he hadn't been talking my ears off for years. I assure you he was.  But I guess running's taught me there's a huge difference between hearing and listening, and that listening might be the most overlooked piece of a thriving relationship. 

Running has given me the time and the quiet to be still and listen to God in ways I never had, and listening to God has opened doors to honor him I never dreamed could be opened. 

Next, I think about my relationships with the people I've met along this running journey. Many of whom have become my best friends. Again, to think back and imagine I'd one day trek to Kentucky and Ohio, the Cayman Islands and South Carolina, not to run a particular race but to be with treasured friends to share that race with, well, let's just say that would have been hard to imagine as well. But they are all counted among the most beautiful of those opened doors.

Finally, I think about my relationship with myself. I believe one big thing that stands in the way of our opportunity to get along with ourselves, to embrace the contentment we can find in life through the real us and not the us we feel pressured to be, is doubt. Doubt that we're good enough, capable enough, bold enough to be the kind of person we hear God telling us we can be once we start listening to him. 

Nothing shreds doubt like crossing the finish line of a half-marathon. Miracles happen. You suddenly believe you can run a whole marathon. In fact, you start thinking a marathon's something you must do, not something you can do.  Life changes when you begin hearing prompts and your first thought is "I've got to do that." Life changes when you never hear yourself say "I can't" again. 

One half marathon becomes 10.

The Boston Marathon becomes a race you know a lot about - one that makes you say "I've got to do that." 

​So for all the relationships discovered and grown along the way, number 10 is for you. I couldn't have found a better place to honor you. The Kiawah Island setting was beautiful (if a bit chilly), the race was well run - to include an awesome post-race spread of food, and for the second year in a row I had a pre-Christmas running experience filled with joy. 

I didn't roam too far this weekend without someone handing me an ice tray

Check out how you can help me write and share more articles like this one: 

It was the Friday before I was scheduled to run my 9th half marathon. The half marathon - that's my race. Never was I more aware of that than on November 12, 2016 when I ran my first full marathon. Immediately after crossing the finish line of that race I decided 26.2 miles was indeed NOT my race. Too far. Too much training involved. I decided then and there the marathon was the perfect race to do once, check it off and escape as fast as I could still run back to the starting line of the race I love.

The half marathon.  

This 9th half marathon was going to be particularly meaningful. I'd partnered with St. Andrews Church in Pearland, Texas to run the race to raise money for their hurricane relief efforts. (Running My 9th Half Marathon - The Hokie Half for Texas). What God had put so strongly on my heart I was now prepared to fully pursue. Only, until this particular moment, I wasn't fully aware of what pursuing entailed.

The first connection I made at St. Andrews Church was Tom Lusk - a dear friend of a long time dear friend of mine. I'd already been considering how I would get the bib I would wear at the Hokie Half for Texas to St. Andrews church after I completed the race when Tom reached out to me with this message:
​

You see what Tom put  in parentheses don't you - (unless you want to run a race down here). So you know want the runner in me always looking for the next running challenged did - I went to the Houston area race calendar to check out available races in early 2018. The first one I came to was the Houston Marathon. But, as luck would have it, a no go. My race, the half marathon, was sold out. 

I was not long finished with exploring that race and making the unfortunate sold out discovery when I got this message from my friend Robyn Larkin. 
​

To which I responded:
​

Followed  - after a brief bit of thought - by this message:
​

Robyn responded with this:
​

You know what happened next. I signed up for the Houston Marathon. The flat -(famous last words) - 26.2 mile Houston Marathon.

I'm going where I've never been : Texas.

I'm going where I thought I'd never go again:  the marathon. 

I'm going to Houston not by my design but through wide eyed obedience to God's call. Any questions about that were put to rest last night in an email from Father Jim at St. Andrews Church.  He emailed me a report of the contributions made to St. Andrews Church for hurricane relief as part of my Hokie Half for Texas run.  My original goal was $500. His report said $2,000. 

And then there was this. Before I'd received that total - one that spoke to the financial contribution - I received an email from a dear friend that spoke to the heart contribution that was blossoming from this effort. My friend Nicole Williams has been a long time supporter of my TwoTim.com ministry. Still, I was a bit surprised when I received this email from her:
​

I say it all the time. As I grow closer to God I'm no better than I've ever been at predicting what He will unfold in front of me next. I could never have predicted all that he's doing through one simple idea that was hatched during one of my routine runs. But if we point our thoughts and desires toward him, if we act with faith on the simple ideas he plants in us, he'll reflect them back to us and to those around us in miracles. 

My friend Nicole and her family joining me in Houston is a miracle I never saw coming. But looking in the rear view mirror I can clearly see God orchestrating it. I can see God arranging Robyn's race schedule so we'll be running this race together. I can see God forming my friendship with Janice nearly 20 years ago so she'd be able to arrange my friendship with St. Andrews Church at precisely the right moment in time. 

I'm reminded nothing in our lives is small. No moment. No thought. No race. God is constantly at work in all we do and all He does is bigger than our minds can dream or imagine. Like Texas big. The anatomy of this trip to run the Houston Marathon is mind boggling to me, but to God, it's just the way he rolls. 

The lesson for me, and maybe for you, is to start the ball rolling. We can't go for a run and dream of a ball and then come home and set it in a corner. We have to push it. Run behind it and give it a couple of extra shoves full of momentum for good measure. Then watch what God does with it. 

When I dreamed of this TwoTim47.com ministry I dreamed of running to dark with light. The mistake I made was in grabbing a flashlight when God had a stadium full of spotlights in mind. 

​Thanks for the extra light God. That's why I like to run with you. 
​

I was a few miles into a run last week when I felt a pull to head to Blacksburg on September 17th and run my 9th Half Marathon. It was more than a pull to run, though. The call to this race came with images of the tragic flooding scenes I'd seen playing out in Texas. There was only one reason I could be feeling the urge to run while at the same time being overcome with the heartbreak of seeing so many people suffering in such a big way. I was supposed to run this race for Texas. 

​The first thing I did when I finished my run was reach out to my TwoTim47.com Patreon supporters who support me at the marathon level. When partners sponsor me at this level I agree to run a race for their cause. If I was going to run the Hokie Half for a cause I came up with, I needed to know they supported it. When I reached out to them, not only did every one of them support the idea, they all agreed to contribute to whatever support I decided to offer Texas.

​(You can learn more about my TwoTim47.com Patreon platform here.)

That's when I decided what I was going to do. I used $85 of my August Patreon support to register for the Hokie Half. The remaining $108 I will donate to the Harvey Hurricane relief efforts in Texas. 

Then came the next challenge. I didn't want to make a generic donation. I wanted to know something about where the money was going. It wasn't just about trusting it would go to a good cause. If I'm going to feel my heart pounding through my chest for 13.1 miles in Blacksburg next week, I'd like my heart to pound when I send off my donation. That can't happen without knowing something about the story on the other end of the donation. 

So I reached out to friends on social media. I asked if anyone had any personal stories related to the suffering in Texas. My friend Janice, whom I worked with several years ago in North Carolina, put me in touch with her friend Tom in Texas. He was doing recovery work with his church. Then Tom put me in touch with the pastors at his church.

I was only on the phone with them for a few minutes when I knew their church, St. Andrews, was a story I needed to be a part of. I was sure they were part of the call I felt running last week. 

St. Andrews is located in Pearland, Texas, a community within the Houston metropolitan area. They were hard hit by Harvey and are now leaning on churches like St. Andrews to help them rebuild. A rebuild that could take a decade or more.

What drew me to St. Andrews is they've been spending years getting ready for a moment just like this one. They've been building a loving partnership with the Pearland citizens for over 20 years. Father Jim Liberatore said this about his church's relationship with the community:
​

"Many churches establish themselves by looking inward and taking care of the family but don't necessarily look outward. My understanding of reading scripture and from some people like John Wesley see that we have a mission to the community and I've basically encouraged the congregation over the years to see the walls collapse of the church and that the parish, the church walls, actually become the community, so that we are the pastors of the community, we are lovers of the community."
​

That's long been the struggle I've had with many churches - their obsession with looking inward. When I decided I wanted to partner with someone to help with hurricane relief in Texas I knew I wanted to partner with an organization that would respond in love and not out of a sense of media fueled obligation. Don't get me wrong, I think we all have an obligation here - that's precisely what led me to look for a way to help - I just think obligations are best and most helpfully met in love. 

As you'll see in some of the photos below, St. Andrews has already been hard at work in their community. 
​

How can you help me partner with St. Andrews?
​

What St. Andrews needs most right now is prayer and money. There will be so much to do in the early stages of the relief - stages which might last years - gutting and repairing homes, helping replace essential items and simply helping people get back to a place where they can get to and from their work. 

I want to give a special thank you to my marathon level Patreon supporters who gave me their blessing to use this race for this hurricane relief effort:

Robyn Larkin, Tiffany Eisentrout, Nicole Williams and Rachel Wood - Thank you!

And to the rest of my Patreon supporters who make it possible to enter races and find extra time to write stories and create podcasts and videos - I could do none of it without you all. So thank you Kristie Allen, Lashell Head, Solomon Whitfield, Kelly Anderson, Kimberly Yenser, Kimberly Caldwell, Missy Blacker-Hepp, Jenny Reynolds, Shannon Sala, Donna Shultz-Shegana and Angela Marini. 

I ask for everyone's prayers as I tackle my half marathon next weekend and for all the people struggling in Texas, especially those in the St. Andrews community. 

Like I said, I will be donating to St. Andrews as part of my Hokie Half Marathon run. If you would like to join me I know they'd be grateful. Maybe you could donate $13 for the 13.1 miles I'll be running in Blacksburg on September 16th. Every dollar will go a long way towards the healing and relief the St. Andrews community will be searching for. 

If you donate at the link below, when you enter the giving type enter hurricane relief. In the memo section please enter TwoTim47. This will help us track our TwoTim47 Hokie Half Contributions. 
​

For a year I imagined this race. Even when running other races I was imagining this one. The 2017 Patrick Henry Half Marathon. The race that owed me one. Actually, I'm the one who owed something here. I owed this race my best effort. One worthy of staying on the course past mile 10, which I couldn't do last year.

Less than 48 hours before the race I felt my best effort rising to the surface. I had strength like I was already standing at the starting line. Adding to that strength was a weather forecast calling for perfect running conditions.

Then completely unforeseen, my personal condition went south fast. One minute I was coaching my son's flag football team and giving it all I had, a half hour later I was giving up a week's worth of hydration and nutrition to whoever it is that dishes out stomach bugs. I woke up the next morning 6 pounds lighter than the morning before. I no longer felt like I was standing at the starting line. In fact, I felt like I'd never stand at one again. 

I reached out to friends on social media to let them know what I was dealing with. When I did, I'd resigned myself to the reality the Patrick Henry Half was about to put another notch in its belt at my expense. There was no way I was going to be able to run.  

Many of my non-runner friends agreed. They replied with comments that my health was much more important than a race. There will be plenty more races, they said, but there's only one you. 

The responses from my runner friends were a bit different. Oh, they shared an equal amount of concern for my health, but they also allowed for a way to the starting line. Drink coconut water. Eat pretzels. Get lots of rest. They shared stories of how they bounced back from their own stomach issues and like superman or wonder woman found themselves at the starting line. In other words, they weren't  convinced I should be thinking about other races. They were still pointing me down the road to redemption. 

hadn't found a way to outrun my lack of nutrition. I shifted thoughts and gears and settled into a pace that would get me safely to the finish line. I reminded myself that's what I came for. Redemption only required one thing: the finish line. 

Coming up on mile 12 I saw my family handing out water. Then I saw my friends Solomon and Pam coming to greet me and run a few paces with me. I was reminded some days we're as strong as the people who run beside us - no matter how weak we might feel. Those two, and then the gatorade my boys tried to hand me, and the pictures I saw my wife snapping - that was the fuel and nutrition that carried me through to the final mile. 

My neighbor Art Bedard showed up at a couple of key spots over that final mile. I'm convinced God planted him in strategic locations. Art has always cheered me on virtually, but seeing him in person on the side of the course helped me discover a few ramining drips of adrenaline. Then my friends Rebecca and Chuck showed up to run me through the final chute. They kept saying you've got this. You've got this. It was the only stretch longer than a few feet that I'd actually run the previous two miles. Their voices were my strength. Their voices were voices from God.