Have you ever heard someone say, “I used to hate running, but I just kept going and now I love it!”?

That is not my story.

In January of 2022, I drove to my local trail, made sure the running app would sound an alert the very second I hit 1.00 miles, took a few deep breaths, and then . . . I ran.

I ran as fast as I could and I refused to stop, determined to see it through.

But this story goes back further, stretching to a December 2020 decision, the thread weaving through years and eventually finding its way to February 2024.

At the end of 2020, I set a daily step count goal for 2021 that felt, shall we say, daunting. Showing up for my people is a joy, but if I’m brutally honest, historically I struggle to show up for myself. The goal was doable, though. Difficult, but doable. Rain or shine, traveling for funerals or recovering from surgery, I didn’t miss a single day all year.

When 2021 came to a close and I wrote out unexpected gifts from the year, “walking” topped the list. The seemingly ordinary rhythm was actually so much more. It was a daily choice, a promise kept, an intentional showing up. Do I go for round two? I wondered. Or maybe I should set a new goal?

The idea arrived instantly and it sounded terrible: Run one mile fifty-two times in 2022.

For many, one mile is barely a warm-up. Again, that is not my story. My favorite thing about running is when it’s over. But it was the literal next step, a difficult but doable goal, one way that I could show up and choose hope right here in the body that I have — this broken, beautiful, strong body that struggles with a chronic health condition that impacts every single day.

Each week, I tied my tennis shoes and hit the pavement. Jordan Sparks sang “This is my now, I am living in the moment!” and I pumped my arms. Keala Settle belted ‘This Is Me’ from The Greatest Showman and I refrained from sing-shouting along as I counted the seconds.

Months later, I began another weekly rhythm: a new treatment that might turn things around and heal what broke twelve years prior. I dared to get my hopes up and, for the first time, publicly shared part of the daily struggle.

By July, I knew it wasn’t working. By September, I knew it made things worse. Yet week after week, I ran while sweating and repeating, “One more step. Okay, now one more. I’m proud of you for showing up.”

Something in me needed to see that this breaking, hurting body could still show up with bravery for the next step and hope for tomorrow.

On December 16th, I ran mile fifty-two. I hit my fastest time, nearly four minutes less than where I began in January. I cried. I almost threw up. I could barely wipe the smile off my face.

Maybe your 2024 is off to a great start. Maybe it’s February 20th and this year has already wiped you out. Or maybe you’re somewhere in between, taking small steps forward with hope and a heavy heart.

I don’t know what path you’re on — if you’re blazing a trail or if getting out of bed is today’s win — but I do know this: you are fully seen and fully loved right here, right now, no matter what.

Isaiah 40:31 makes this promise: “Those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.”

For years, the order confused me. But after the last few years, I’m comforted by this truth: God is not disappointed in our pace. He’s just as near when we take a step toward a goal as when we slowly walk the trails we used to run while tears run down, creating a trail of their own.

He’s here, present, strengthening us for the day even when that’s all we can face.

The road may stretch on, but God With Us will not walk away. One step at a time, He’ll bring us all the way Home.

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P.S.

The post-run selfies you see here? They’re from my Run Girl Run photo album. Every time, after each mile, I took a picture. One by one, run by run, it became a literal reminder that showing up can look all kinds of ways but sometimes, it looks like a step and a step and then another. I kept them 100% to myself (I mean… it’s an album of sweaty selfies, hello) but last month, a full year after the last album addition, I turned them into a reel. It’s a behind-the-scenes slideshow of sorts. I honestly didn’t think it would do “well” on social media (why would someone share this, you know?) and I felt weird about posting basically a collage of my face—but I kept thinking how much I needed to see it and hear it at the start: Showing up matters, no matter what it looks like to show up today. One breath and then another.⁣ And I thought about how much I needed to see it and hear it at the end, when the goal was met and the broken body became a broken heart: God meets us not just at the finish line, but on the trails we used to run as tears run down our face, our feet shuffling along.⁣

I hope it offers the encouragement of both, to whoever happens to see it within the weirdness of algorithms and such, and I’ll do my best to leave it up without feeling super uncomfortable about a collection of sweaty selfies living on the world wide web.