Only God Can Use Redemption To Make Failure So Beautiful

The 2017 Patrick Henry Half Marathon Begins. (Photo Credit: Katie Cartwright)

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. 

So that's what I did. I drowned myself in coconut water, I ate as many pretzels as my rebellious stomach would concede to, and I rested.  I woke up every half hour or so and did a self-examination - one question: could I make it to the starting line if I had to right now?

For most of the afternoon the answer was no. Trust me, the absurdity of it all wasn't lost on me. I've spent the duration of every stomach virus of my life wanting life to end, or at the very least praying for the anihilation of all forms of food. ​ But here I was overlooking the merits of

death and the destruction of food in favor of a craving for a way to line up and run a half marathon. 

​Add that  to the strangest but truest thoughts of my life list. 

Saturday morning came. Two hours before start time. One final examination: can I make it to the starting line? Do I have what it takes to finish this race? Less than two hours later I found myself standing beneath the starting line I'd been dreaming of for a year.

When the race started I actually felt pretty good. Katie and the boys were standing on a corner just a few hundred yards into the race. I gave them a cheerful finger point to let them know "I've got this."

Through the first 8 miles of the race I did have it. I was running a solid 11:30 per mile pace that had me on target for a 2 and a half hour half marathon. That was the goal I'd set earlier in the summer. 

But just as suddenly as my Thursday night dinner escaped me, that pace went down the drain.  I began to feel hungry and weak.  I knew I 

Photo Credit: Katie Cartwright

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. 

The boys showing off their ability to track me on the phone. (Photo credit: Katie Cartwright)

Sometimes what we need shows up at just the right time. (Photo Credit: Katie Cartwright)

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. 

In the end I got my redemption. The hook on my medal rack set aside for the Patrick Henry Half Marathon medal is now full. But like most of my races, I won't remember what I did as much as I'll remember the people who helped me do it and celebrate it. God has used running to weave me into so many awesome lives and stories. I love the way He allows his love to live out  in me through each and every one of them. 

In the end I got my redemption, but an awesome God used redemption to make failure a very beautiful thing. ​

My running family. In so many ways they are the beauty in the ashes (Photo Credit: Katie Cartwright)

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So boys, are you ready to run one with me? (Photo Credit: Katie Cartwright)

There are no greater rewards than this.