Hitting the Wall (and Finding Your Cheer Squad)
I had a moment of temporary insanity and decided to run a marathon. You know how it goes — someone says, “It’ll be fun!” and before you can even Google “how long is a marathon, really?” you’ve got new shoes, a training plan, and a “Eye of the Tiger” playing in your ears.
Ask any marathoner, and they’ll tell you it’s not the race that kills you; it’s the training. The hours upon hours of simply putting on your sneakers and grinding out the miles. You run in the rain. You run in the dark. You run when every sane part of your body is begging you to stop and eat pancakes instead.
By race morning, I was as ready as a non-professional human could be. I lined up at the start, stretched dramatically, and when the starting pistol fired, I took off — steady pace, good vibes, feeling strong. For a while, the miles flew by in a blur of cheering crowds and adrenaline.
Then came the halfway mark. My legs started to feel heavy. By Mile 18, my knees had opinions. By Mile 21, I was a walking metaphor for regret. I began to fantasize about faking an injury. “Oh no, I’ve tragically twisted my ankle. Guess I’ll just… lie here.” Every step hurt. I had officially hit the wall.
Here’s the thing: being a mom is exactly like running a marathon — only as soon as you cross one finish line, someone hands you a new race bib and says, “Surprise! You’re running another one!”
It’s not the big milestones that drain us; it’s the daily miles. The dishes, the laundry, the relentless dinner question (“Why do these people want to eat every single night?”). The thousands of small decisions; who needs what snack, what form needs signing, which meltdown to prioritize. They all pile up until you’re exhausted, staring into space, whispering, “Stop the world, I want to get off.”
That’s Mile 21, mom-style.
But here’s the good news. Back at my actual Mile 21, when I was just about ready to quit, I heard a familiar voice. Up ahead were two of my friends, jumping up and down, waving their arms, and screaming my name like they were witnessing Olympic history. Their belief in me was contagious. My legs didn’t suddenly stop hurting, but my adrenalin started pumping again. I picked up my pace and crossed that finish line, each painful step fueled by their love and encouragement.
Motherhood, marriage, work, faith, finances — whatever marathon you’re running, you don’t have to do it alone. God offers us another option, one that doesn’t depend on our own inner grit as the only source of strength.
“Now faith is being sure of what we hope for, and certain of what we do not see.” (Hebrews 11:1 NIV)
Faith is trusting that the wall won’t win. That God will give you endurance — sometimes through His peace, sometimes through His Word, and sometimes through a friend on the sidewalk, yelling at the top of her lungs, “You’ve got this!”
So take a deep breath. Keep running. You’re not alone in this race — and you’re closer to the finish line than you think.
