My Plan Was A Second Marathon. God's Plan Was Different.

I wasn't going all the way to Houston to attempt my second marathon and come home without a medal. After all, this one was for the people of Houston who are struggling in the aftermath of hurricane Harvey. The purpose was too big; the support too strong. This journey had no room for failure. But in the end, that's exactly what I did. ​I failed. ​

"This journey had no room for failure. But in the end, that exactly what I did. I failed."

(For those of you who don't know the backstory, you can read this past post. It tells  how God used running to draw me to Houston and put me in the midst of people suffering in the aftermath of hurricane Harvey: Marathon Number Two - I Didn't See This Coming)

​In the midst of the suffering
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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.

Norma refused to leave her home while the reparations were going on. One of the reasons she trusted St. Andrews to help her repair her home is they wouldn't take her from the only place she knew as home. To be honest, I thought her home looked chaotic and out of sorts. It was clear, though, Norma was filled with gratitude for her home and all everyone was

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. 
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In the midst of children
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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. 
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You run to where He needs you. Sometimes it's to a place of discomfort. Sometimes it's away from where we expected to be. The reality we often forget or don't understand is  -we're running His race, not ours. 
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​St. Andrews - Little Church - Big Love.

​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. 

And then, it was race day. 
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​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. 
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The pressure is compounded when you know you have to go and the body that's been so cooperative for months, like a stubborn dog, lies down and refuses to budge. 
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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. 

I knew from the moment it became clear I wasn't going to finish, shame wasn't going to be a part of my experience.  My wife's text message set the stage for the response I'd receive from all of my friends at the finish line, and from all the friends and family who were following the journey on social media.  She was the first to remind me the weekend was about far more than finishing a marathon.  I think she also set the stage for a conversation I was about to have with God on that bus ride back to the finish line. 

I was looking out the window as we drove ​through the streets of Houston. That's when I 

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. 

So I'll be back in Houston next January. I'll be chasing down the finish line that eluded me. And between now and then I'll continue partnering with St. Andrews Church as they seek to heal their community. I hope to check in on Ms. Norma, the beautiful kids at Lawhon, and the other families St. Andrews will touch between now and then. And I hope to experience the finish line feeling so many of my friends experience this time around. 

​So stay tuned. Or maybe better yet, book a flight to Houston. ​

Houston Marathon Slideshow

Houston Marathon - Shine On

Listen to my latest podcast on dealing with the Houston Marathon Failure

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