You're an eff-ing loser.

You're an eff-ing loser.

It kept replaying in my mind.

Who cares? 

Just quit. 

No one even cares about you.

Have you ever had those thoughts? Have you ever wrestled with self-worth? Have you ever wondered what exactly you've accomplished in life? Have you ever wonder if you've made a difference?

I'm sure we all have had those questioning thoughts roll through our minds. A barrage of doubts attempting to pull us down into discouragement or depression to the point of just wanting to give up. But it is what we do in those situations that can make all the difference.

I'd like to share with you one of those times.

The day was September 20th, about two months ago. It was my first trail half marathon race. I knew it was a major milestone kind of day, but not for the reasons I'd thought. I thought it was just about running, but it was really a spiritual battle in my mind.

Over the past few years, life has dramatically changed. Going from what I felt like being on top of the world with a lot going for me to the place I am now has been difficult.

Running has been good for me, helping me push through adversity. But this race wasn't supposed to be about that, it was to be about accomplishing a milestone. I was in OK shape at the beginning of July and began training for this race. Two and a half months of training is a long time, especially considering my health issues. 

Wouldn't you know it, three weeks before the race, I have a health flare-up. I do very little training for those three weeks, and I feel miserable. I'm not even sure I will race. Two days before the race, I start to feel a bit better, so I decide I will race no matter what.

I just want to accomplish this one goal: I want to run a half marathon race on a trail. That's my goal. Once I reach that goal, I'll feel a sense of accomplishment. I'll have a bit of satisfaction in the midst of health issues and life challenges. Just one race.

The organization that is putting on this race is great. However, since this is the first time for this particular course, there are only 45 people signed up. At the starting line, I can get a sense of  who will be the faster ones, and who are slower. Almost everyone is fast. Easily faster than me at least. Not a good sign. I line up at the back of the pack.

My mindset is to just go slow and pace myself. I want to complete this race. Studying the course map, I know there are several very steep hills late in the course. I need to conserve energy.

As the race starts, immediately the fast runners take off. A cluster of us bring up the rear. This is a new experience for me. Normally I'm in the lower-middle of the pack. The runners spread out, and soon I am running only with an older gentleman. We chat about families and find out he just celebrated his 50th wedding anniversary. I am keeping pace with a 71 year old.

About five miles into it, he needs a bathroom break, and I continue on. I see no one else behind us. My ego has been severely taking a hit.

I cross a stream twice, once with water ankle deep, and then another with shin deep water. The cool water feels good as the temperature is heating up. I look back again, and do not see the man. I hear the faint sounds of a four-wheeler. Probably the sweeper - tailing the last person on the course. Perhaps the man has dropped.

An aid station is supposed to be at mile seven. It isn't there. I see the elderly man catching up to me. I'm supposing that the aid station has closed up. Finally at close to eight miles, I see the aid station. Shortly after that, the man catches up and passes me.

Back in the good ol' days, I was extremely competitive. In school I was very good at sports and I was almost always in the top 10% in athletic competitions. I hated to lose. I wanted to win. I needed to win. I think I felt I needed to win in order to have value. I needed to be good at something. I wanted to be known for something. 

I was never a mid-packer. I certainly was never at the back of the pack. 

It wasn't only sports. In math speed drills, in writing the best report, in reading the most books, in attempting to eat the most blueberry muffins on a Sunday morning. It didn't matter, I was competitive and I wanted to be the best. Not mediocre. Certainly not one of the worst.

Karen and I bought a video game machine several years back. I was so competitive (and so was she) that we started getting mad at each other if the other won in a game. We actually got rid of the game console because it was causing problems in our marriage. I wanted to win.

My philosophy was that if I was going to do something, I was all in. Not half-hearted. Not just to survive, but to win, to do my best.

Over the years, the competitive nature has great subsided. I don't have to win. Every once in a while, I even let my kids win.  :)  But I still have pride and an ego.

So here I am, eight miles into the race, in seemingly last place.

It is just a race.

No one even cares that you are out here.

The thoughts start to flood in. Not just about the race, and my position in the race, but about life in general. Six years ago, life was going great. I had purpose, vision, drive, enthusiasm, seeing fruit in our church ministry opportunities, the family was mostly happy, and doing fine with my job and finances.

Doing well. "Running the race" well. Living life well. Being successful all the way around. 

But then everything changed. Like the rug was yanked out from under us. Now things didn't look so good.

I admit it, I was proud of the fact that everything was going well. Maybe not the "best" around, maybe not the wealthiest, maybe not the most productive, maybe not doing the most Christian service, maybe not the "best" Christian, but I was up there. Whatever that means. Like it is a competition. Like there are winners and losers in life.

Over the past six years, it has been a challenge to my thinking. At times, I still want to be the competitive person. I see my life through those lenses, and when I do, I cringe.

You are a failure.

Look at what you had. Its all gone now.

I thought you said you had fruit from your ministry. Where is it now?

You are an eff-ing loser.

Look at you. You just sit there, doing nothing any more.

I continue running when I can. When the hills are too steep, I walk. I'm hurting badly. I'm so tired. I just want to give up.

The course is shaped kind of like a four-leaf clover, with each leaf being three or four miles. Each leaf comes close to the center of the race course. I know that I'm very close to the center again; I could just drop out. Give some excuse of an injury. Or even just state that I'm not feeling well. Runners drop out of races all the time. My family would understand.

Why do you even bother?

Do you think this will make any difference?

Look at all that hard work you put in in training. It doesn't make any difference. What a loser. You can't even train correctly.

Just quit. Give up. No one cares anyway.

Why do we keep going in the midst of adversity? What propels us forward? Are we trying to attain something? What do we do when we feel like we can't go on?

I can hear the music playing at the central location. My body is exhausted. In my mind I feel like a failure. Emotionally, I feel drained and discouraged.

You are an eff-ing loser. Just quit now.

You're in last place. The volunteers just want to go home. The music is playing. That means they are giving out awards. Just quit.

But I press on. I know there is another aid station at mile 10. Right before the worst hills. I can't see anyone in front of me or behind me. All alone. Alone with my thoughts. Alone in the woods. Not a sound now except occasionally I hear the distant sound of music or a cheer. The negative thoughts, however, are rock concert loud.

The aid station is not at the mile 10 marker. I'm now sure that they've packed up. I can't hear a sweeper ATV. The last time I heard the ATV, the old man was behind me. Now he is in front of me. I think that they think he is the last one out here. I'm completely forgotten. Now the sweeper is in front of me. How much worse could it be?

I'm humiliated. Behind the sweeper? Will there even be a finish line or will they have taken down the banner? Will anyone even be in the parking lot when I get back? 

I am a winner. I finish first or near to first. I excel at everything. I dominate at my sports.  I never, ever finish last. This can't be happening. 

Last. Loser. Forgotten. 

Finally, the last aid station! It was close to mile 11. They were still there! Embarrassed, I grab a Gatorade and continue on. They are clapping and cheering me on, but deep down I know. I know what they are thinking. What happened to that guy? He looks mostly in shape but he is so slow. Now finally he is through so we can pack up. I imagine all kinds of negative thoughts coming from them.

I hear the finish line music again. I could quit now and just walk over. Two more miles to go. Big hills. At my speed that's another half an hour at least. I am tormented.

It's now not just the race. It is life. I feel like a failure at life. Things were going so well. Now I have no direction, no ambition, little hope, and have health issues. From a place of blessing, things going well, and making a difference to a place of sitting, taking up space.

The thoughts pound at me. I start to cry. Running and crying don't mix well. I am just so emotional. 

I don't want to continue. I want to sneak back to my car and go home. But three of my kids are here at the race to cheer me on. I can't disappoint them. I can't sneak back to the car - I need to bring them home.

I used to look at people who were going through difficult times and judge them. I wanted them to just suck it up and put on their happy face and be fine. Now I understand. Sometimes you can't. Sometimes all you can do is hang on.

A verse came to mind as I ran, "...when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand." (Ephesians 6:13)

In the midst of feeling like a loser, I could stand. I could stand my ground. I may not feel strong. I may not feel like I'm taking over the world. But I can stand.

Obviously, in a race I can't just stand, or I'd never complete the race. But I took it as continuing on, one step at a time, but NOT GIVING UP. Not quitting. Not shrinking back. Not saying, "I can't do this."

One step at a time. Sometimes running, sometimes walking. I press on. I am not a quitter.

I may not be the fastest. I may not be the strongest. But I am not a quitter. Each of us are built differently. Each of us have our own journeys to make. Each of us have our own obstacles to overcome. We are all different. We are each made slightly different. There isn't a winner. There really isn't a loser. Some are faster, some are slower, but that isn't the point. There is a journey for each of us. And it is up to each of us to run the race. To not give up. To not give in to the lies of the enemy. To press forward. To overcome our pains, our insecurities, our humiliations, our doubts. 

To stand. To stand our ground in the face of lies.

Our journeys include those Cloud Nine experiences and times of difficult trials. Don't stop! Don't give up. Stand your ground. It may look ugly. It may not look very victorious. But it makes a difference.

My kids watched and cheered as I rounded the last corner. I picked up speed and crossed the finish line. Several other strangers were cheering too. The old man was there. He came over and shook my hand and patted me on the shoulder. Another man grabbed a cool cup of water for me. I felt nearly delirious from exhaustion, hurting badly, but encouraged. Several smiled and congratulated me. I had accomplished my goal. I made it. My kids were all smiles, asking me about how it went.

As I oriented myself, euphoria set in. I HAD made it. There were still people here. I found out that there were still three people behind me. I wasn't the last person, not that that really mattered. I had done it. I had ran a half marathon on a very difficult mountainous course. I hadn't quit. My kids saw that I was hurting, but that I pressed through.

I am not a loser.

I will not quit.

I am making a difference.

I will press on, even in the midst of great adversity.

I welcome and endure the pain, knowing I am stronger because of it.

I know that this season will pass. I know that it has changed me greatly.

I know that my family watches how I handle the adversity. Leading by example, they too learn how to praise God even in the midst of the storm.

I am not an eff-ing loser. I am victorious!

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Please let me know if you were encouraged by this blog post.
Keith