August Marathons

It’s August now; you can feel it in the air. Maybe it’s just the heat that is so telling; a sweltering heat, but with the characteristics of the last hot flames of a fire that will give way to the comfortable glow of red embers. August isn’t a month usually associated with change, like April bringing spring, September bringing fall, or January bringing the New Year. But August has always been a time of dramatic and abrupt transition for me.

I was born in August, so I guess it is only appropriate to yearly experience transition as crude reminder of my earthly debut. In my younger years, I used to dread my birthday, silently praying that it would be a long time coming, because, inevitably, among those brightly wrapped presents would be school supplies—a sickening omen of the death of summertime freedom and the commencement of school. High school alleviated some of that dread by freeing me of my summer job and bringing the sweet sweaty smell of my cross-country teammates as we trained under the blazing sun. And in college…well…August during college was like nothing else. I’d finish up my summer adventure, collapse from sheer exhaustion for a couple days, only to wake with an exhilaration that bordered on euphoria as I prepared for another semester with friends and professors. (Sure, memory has a tendency of tinting such things with a rosy, happy glow, neglecting the not-so-pleasant, but I’d rather it be that way.) Maybe it’s the transition I can smell, but I always know it’s August.

I had my first August run today; no spectacular scenery or distance, but very reflective. The smell of transition (and sweat) all around, I began to think about running, especially marathoning and sprinting. The differences are remarkably profound. A runner who has always considered sprinting a distance, weak cousin of “real running”, I suddenly felt an urge to get back to sprinting. Whatever else I might say about it, sprinting does have the flare of rapid transition and adrenaline.

Now don’t get me wrong, sprinting isn’t without some discomfort, but by the time you feel the searing burn in your lungs, legs, and flailing arms, your feet sail across the finish line. You can collapse from sheer exhaustion for a couple moments, only to wake with the resurgence of your strength. Marathoning brings a different pain altogether, which at once causes intense longing for the finish line, and, in the good marathoner, causes a scorn and disregard of pain allowing him to push even deeper into the realm of pain, enduring it with each new step.
As I said, sprinting also has the exhilaration of adrenaline. From start to finish, this handy little hormone sees you through, making sprinting mildly reminiscent of a drug-induced ecstasy. Marathoning is largely devoid of such ecstasy. The adrenaline buzz wears off in the first mile or so and a profound drudgery sets in. I’m often asked about “runner’s high,” but to quote Caedmon’s Call (completely out of context) “the problem with these mysteries is they’re so mysterious.” There is no accurate prediction of when this feeling will come. In fact, during a marathon, one finds such pleasant feelings almost odd, wondering why it comes when it does, carrying you for a few miles before abandoning you completely. The longer I run, the only thing I can say for sure about such highs is that they become less important. Instead of seeking such a “high” I have simply become more content with those runs in which no “high” can be found, instead resigning myself to a simple joy in having completed another run.

Therein lies another great difference. The joy of completing a marathon has little to do with the applause received during or after. I will confess that more than one of my best performances in high school found motivation in the recognition I knew I would receive. Sprinting is almost always done in the arena of recognition. Marathoning requires too many lonely miles both in training and in the actual run itself to carry recognition as a motivator. Somewhere in the long training miles, the only voice you become able to hear is the one in yourself, prodding you on, encouraging, challenging, and rebuking. The recognition of others can be encouraging and uplifting, but it becomes much less significant.

So this warm August morning as my feet rolled across the black pavement, a pang of sadness hit me as I realized that no dramatic transition awaits me this August. That’s why I wanted so badly to sprint; I’ve been sprinting much of my life. One would think that a long time runner like myself would be able to tell the difference between sprinting and marathoning, but I’ve been thriving off the adrenaline, instead of abiding by the principles of marathoning. I’ve been rushing around from one adventure to another, one ministry to another, only to finish and start again, always with a new flourish of adrenaline. I’m afraid that this August, the Lord has a marathon in mind.

What pace will I keep when the thrill of transition leaves? Will I learn to push deeper into the hardships I face—like being a vibrant Christian witness among a people so steeped in false religion or continuing to forge a relationship with my brother and his family? I want to learn to be content with joy instead of a “high.” I am striving to find new Christian fellowship to “run” with me. And I want to run this race for the voice calling out inside of me, the voice of Christ my Savior.
This August there will be no sprinting for me, only the constant effort to put one foot in front of the other in rhythmic, measured pace.


“Beware of the inclination to dictate to God as to what you will allow to happen if you obey Him.” Oswald Chambers