The First Step

In the ten minutes before tonight’s run, I changed my mind about going at least four times. I reclined the chair a little bit further, checked Facebook a few more times, glanced at weather.com to see just how crazy I was (not too crazy, after all), reflected on how the chill seemed to be reaching the inner part of my bones, noticed the congestion building inside my head and made a mental note to get some extra sleep to fight it off, checked the window at least twice in hopes of precipitation that never came, and finally, I shivered, poured my body into my brand-new cold-weather running gear, grabbed my can of mace (because, dogs) and headed out the door. I was cold for six or seven houses, and then the chill started to feel good in the face of sweat. And the darkness provided a welcome cover for self-consciousness as I willed myself up the first brutal hill. And by the time I got home, I felt healthier and more energetic than I have since the dreaded stomach virus decimated our house last week. Of course, now it is time for bed, and I’m still riding that high. I guess we really can’t have it all.

I’ve noticed this about the things that I need to be doing, the things that are good, the things that keep my body and brain healthy, the things that I love when I finally take a step: that first step is a doozy. Never, ever do I leave the house for a run and think, “Man, I am so psyched about this.” And never, ever, do I crack open my computer to write or edit and think, “Yes, game on.” Even home projects, like the quilt I am totally ready to start for Violet, languish for days on end while I will myself to get out the darn sewing machine.

I don’t feel this way about everything. Give me a bottle of wine or a bag of chocolate, and I don’t think twice. But drinking a glass of wine isn’t hard…and unfortunately, it doesn’t produce much of substance when I’m done either. The important things are hard, and they are hardest when I’m just getting started.

On January 1 of this year, I let my friend talk me into a run. It was brutal. It led to a half-marathon, some significant, healthy weight loss, and a new boost in self-confidence. It taught me to train for the long haul. In many ways, it prepared me for this new, uncertain season in life. But actually taking those first steps scared me to death. It was embarrassing. And exhausting. All 1.89 miles of it.

I’ve taken freelance jobs that scare me to death. I love what I’m doing and every once in awhile, I pinch myself because I get paid to do this. Whoa. But I’ve had a project pulled up on my computer since the day before Christmas, and I can promise I’ll put it off until the weekend. Why?

I think the fear that holds me back is equal parts failure and discomfort. But the failure and discomfort is so much greater if I just hang up my running shoes and power down my computer.

That begs the question: what else am I not doing because I can’t get past the first step?

I don’t think it’s an accident that Paul compares the life of a Christ-follower to a race. After all the excitement of the expo and the pre-race pasta dinner (bless), the actual start of the race is a bundle of anxiety and stress. I’m at least half-way through before I start to suspect that I might live through it.

I think every spiritual journey is the same, at least in this season of life. Certainly, the more times God comes through for me, the more I learn to count on Him. But those first wobbly steps are hard, hard, hard. Yet the alternative is so much harder.

I haven’t written here in awhile, and I hope to change that. I’ve had so many things to tell you all, about writing and homeschooling and running. Every once in a while I wish I could write about marriage, and the brutal path I’m walking right now. Maybe I will. Of all the published, polished things I get to send into the world, this is perhaps the most important. This is my story, the story my Father is telling through me.

I hope to see much more of you soon.