Yesterday, I completed my first 5K...but before I get to that story, I need to deal with the ghosts of another race...a race that I didn't run.

Last fall, Michael signed us both up for a Color Run.  Although I have been running off and on for the past 3 years, I had yet to participate in a 5K.  Whenever I got close to feeling ready, I allowed something to get in the way of my weekly runs and my endurance suffered. The fear of not being able to run the entire race overshadowed the progress that I had made.  This was my chance to finally follow through on my goal and finish a race and it was something that my hubby and I were going to do together...and then, Michael got hurt...

A few days before the run, Michael suffered an injury on his foot which made it impossible for him to run as it was healing.  Knowing that he was not going to be by my side left me frozen in fear at the thought of running alone...still, I decided that I was going to step out of my comfort zone and do it anyway. 

The morning of the race I awoke with a positive attitude.  When we arrived at the race site, Michael had to drop me off and go and grab some money to pay for parking.  While I waited, fear crept in.  I watched the other families arriving with envy.  I snapped photos for families from our church and then watched as they walked toward the starting line together.  There was no one there for me to take pictures with...and not only was I alone, but there was no reason for me to believe that I would ever be able to run a race like this with a family of my own.  All that I could see around me was evidence of the family that I so desperately wanted, but that for reasons not yet revealed is not in God's plan for us at this time.  When Michael finally arrived moments before the race was to start, I begged him to take me home as quickly as possible.  Once in the car I finally gave in to the tears that had been forming.  This might have been the race that God had given me to run, but it was not the race that I had planned for myself and I wanted no part of it. 

Hours later, Facebook was filled with reminders of my failure as families celebrated their run...
I had failed to run the race...
I had failed to become pregnant...
I had failed to successfully complete an adoption...
I had failed to give Michael a family...
I had failed to make our parents, grandparents and our siblings an aunt and an uncle...

So...literally and metaphorically...I stopped running altogether...

A couple of months ago as I reached what felt like my lowest low, I penned this blog...Surrender Part I.   I knew at that point that I could either give in to the depression and despair and allow it to swallow me whole or I could slowly allow God to pick up the pieces that were shattered and slowly begin the work of allowing Him to put them back together.  In the midst of all of this pain, he pointed me toward the following words and my surrender was the beginning of my literal and metaphorical race to reclaim the joy and hope that had been there all along.

“Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us.” Hebrews 12:1

I started slowly about 5 weeks ago, almost playfully running through small run/walk intervals.  And then due to a series of silly posts on Facebook about how running was starting to creep into my dreams, we ended up registering for a 5K in Napa.  Almost as soon as we did, I was filled with fervor, and a little panic, about training so that I would be ready to run this race.  As I literally began to run again, my soul started to follow.  There is something restorative about becoming lost in one's own thoughts while running.  When I would become plagued by a side cramp and wanted to throw in the towel for good, I would keep going one prayerful step at a time.  When a coyote would greet me (yes this happened) and cause me to want to stick to the safety of a treadmill for the remainder of my days, I would keep going one prayerful step at a time.  When the intervals increased and the road seemed too long, I would keep going one prayerful step at a time.  The literal journey was restoring my heart.  This time spent meditating on the truths and love of MY Savior was restoring my soul.  

As soon as a started running yesterday, I was plagued with side cramps.  Each step seemed to take an eternity.  The wind was strong and felt as though it was determined to blow all of us over before we reached the finish line.  Then suddenly, I thought that I could see the finish line approaching.   I increased my speed and rejoiced that I had made it without walking a single step...but then, the course turned AWAY from the finish.  I could no longer make out how far until the race would come to an end and there were no miles markers to give me some sense of how many miles remained.  "Okay, Karen...what are you going to do even though you can't see the finish line?  Will you stop, or will you keep running even when you don't know how far or how long or what the course is going to look like? Will you run, even though it hurts and trust that I am going to get you to the end?"  This dialogue with my Savior carried me through to the finish line.  I knew that I couldn't stop on this literal run because I can no longer keep stopping the race that has been planned for me just because this isn't the race that I would plan for myself.  

Finally, I turned around a corner and the finish line was in sight.  There was only one more lap around the track remaining.  As I entered to track, two of my friends were there to cheer me on and they ran with me a short distance.  Then, around the next bend there were two more friends waving and cheering.  Finally, I crossed the finish line and as I struggled to regain a normal breathing pattern there was this sense that my life would no longer be normal and that everything was going to be okay because if it.  My first 5K might be over, but I have just barely started to run and somehow I am starting to embrace the fact that I can't see the finish line.  I'm still scared, but I'm going to keep running because I am no longer content to watch the race from the sidelines.