Running on Heart, Saved by Grace

The changing of the seasons is chasing me down this morning as I breathe in the cool air and run my first mile in near darkness.  It’s so quiet and still in the neighborhood, and I can actually hear my breathing over my music and my footfalls.  My heavy breathing disturbs the peace and reminds me that I’m starting out too fast, but I know why.  I am energized by gratitude – blessed that by the grace of God I’m running outside watching the sun rise another day, for yesterday was a stark reminder of how quickly life can change.

Yesterday was a huge day for my friend Tim, who at age 47, was running his first marathon in 20 years.  But this was not just any marathon, this was a Boston Qualifier.  If he finished within a certain time, this would be his ticket to race in the world-famous Boston Marathon.  Tim was bound and determined to cross this item off his bucket list and I was bound and determined to watch him do it.  One of the things I love about Tim is his spirit, his heart.  When he asked if I thought he was prepared for this all-downhill race that started at 10,000 feet above sea level in the Colorado Rockies and finished at 5,000 feet, I said I knew he was – well, actually, I knew he was prepared to race his heart out no matter what his body had to say about it.

As I let gravity pull me down the first hill on my Titan Road run, I remember my Runcoach advising me not to run this race with Tim because there was not enough time left to properly train for this type of rigorous downhill race.  “A course like that will chew up your quads, Callie.  You cannot run this race the same way you run NYC or Boston – and we need you to be injury-free for those two.” So, I heeded his advice and broke the news to Tim.  “But, I will be at the finish line for sure and I will cheer for you along the course – wherever I can.  No matter what happens, I’ll be there.”  As I walked a quarter mile past the finish line, I watched and cheered and yelled for the runners coming in who were only minutes away from celebrating their victory.  I kept checking my watch – knowing that if Tim was on BQ pace, he would be crossing the finish line around 9:25.  But, 9:25 passed.  Then, 9:30, then around 9:45 I saw him in the distance.

“Go Tim, you got this!” I screamed with all my lung capacity.  I knew, and I could tell by his expression that he knew, he hadn’t qualified.  It didn’t matter, though, because I was so thrilled that his pain would soon be behind him and that we was not sick or hurt, which was my fear during the 20 minutes off-pace that I waited and wondered and worried.  I ran the last 200 yards with him and met him at the finishing corral.  As soon as I saw him, I knew something was wrong.  He was unable to hold himself up, he was disoriented, and he was complaining about bright flashes of light before his eyes.  After 30 minutes of fluids, an attempt to feed him a banana, and icing his quads, his condition hadn’t changed – at least in my unprofessional medical opinion.

Someone was watching over him.

Someone was watching over him.

“I’m just going to head home, Callie.  I just really need to sleep – like for a few days,” he said weakly.  In my world, there is always the fine line between being an annoying, overly-mothering friend and one that has a sixth sense.  But, regardless, there was no way I was going to let him drive home – at least not now.  “Hey, let’s head over to the med tent and see if they can give you anything to replenish your electrolytes.  Or maybe we can get you some salt tabs,” I said even though I was pretty sure his condition would require much more than a little Gatorade.  All he kept saying over and over was that he was sorry.  He felt bad that I was wasting so much of my Sunday when he knew how busy I was.  My broken friend had no idea that this broken friend was going nowhere, was thinking about nothing else but helping him.  Not one thing.  At that moment, he was all I saw, or heard, or thought about.

It’s weird when you are faced with those moments – when you see things so clearly in situations where you might otherwise falter.  It’s like the path you’re supposed to follow is illuminated with bright lights and breadcrumbs – and you just feel guided from above.  The ethereal path took us directly to the medical tent where a seat was waiting for Tim.  After a series of questions about his medical history, his current symptoms, blood pressure tests, pulse readings, and Gatorade, the paramedics were ready to release him.  But when Tim stood up, the flashing lights covered his eyes and he was unable to stay vertical.  Electrical leads were attached to his chest and the EKG printed a pattern of waves that raised eyebrows.  Immediately, the head paramedic looked at me and said.  “Something is not right here.  I don’t feel good about this at all.  He needs to go to the hospital and I’m going to take him.”  Within two minutes, Tim was loaded into the ambulance, the doors closed in my face, and I was left wondering if I would ever see my friend alive again.

The sequence of events is replaying in my mind as I push myself up the second big hill on Titan Road.  I look to the East and I feel the tears rising up as I thank God, who today is hiding behind a glowing, cumulus cloud.  “Thank you, thank you for guiding me.  You were there the whole time.  You have no idea how thankful I am that Tim is going to be okay.”  If I know Tim, he said the same prayer dozens of times yesterday.  You see, Tim is one of the only friends I know who will admit to being a ragamuffin – a messy, broken, imperfect version of the man who was made in the image of God.

I heard this recently and know it to be true in my life:  “One of the greatest ways to see the glory of God’s grace is by being friends with people who know how much they need it.”  

Minutes after the ambulance sped away, I collected Tim’s things, jumped in my car and found my way to the hospital knowing nothing about his condition other than that he was en route to the emergency room with a crash cart at arm’s reach.  Driving alone, I felt so small and yet so acutely aware of how much I need this relationship with God.  Through Jesus, I am now able to relinquish control of that which I cannot control and accept grace that I don’t deserve and haven’t earned.

Like a scene straight from the movies, I burst into Tim’s intensive care room hoping I’d made it in time and that I wouldn’t hear the dramatic steady buzz of the flat-lining heart monitor.  “Hey, look who it is.  It’s Elaine!  Did you stop for a box of Jujyfruits on the way?”  Oh how I smiled – bigger and brighter than anyone has the right to.  Tim was in stable condition surrounded by heart specialists who knew how to fix him.  God was good.  My new-found faith had never wavered.  What a blessing this day had been, I thought as I stood watching Tim’s heart miraculously pumping on the ultrasound.  Yes, indeed we are all ragamuffins in need of God’s grace.  No matter how hard we train, or work, or strive, we will never be prepared for life without grace.  If you believe, it really is all downhill from here.

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