How to Apply Half-Marathon Preparation to the Rest of Life

I sign up on a whim. One half-marathon for Saturday, through hilly horse country. My calves are still tight from three runs the same morning, because my impetuous mind decided to run to the start line of a community 5k, which also meant I had to get home on foot after the race.

Honestly, my only hope of non-stop running for the half is contingent on keeping a slow, steady pace. And resting. 

Funny how sometimes the best way to prepare is literally to take a break. To slow to a walk. To sit in the sun. To stretch. To strengthen with pilates. 

Fear tells me to cram-train, to sprint up more hills, to prove (pre-race) to myself that I can make it that many miles. But muscle memory brings quiet assurance that I’ve gone the distance. My own permission slip from my last half-marathon says it’s okay to break pace, to walk a spell, to simply finish.

Half-Marathon Logic as It Relates to Life

This close to the race, rest will get me further than distance training. 

And maybe it hits close to home in other areas of my life too. I’m a work-in-progress when it comes to rest. Sometimes my stubbornness is misdirected, and I strive for excellence in relatively inconsequential areas. Too often, I keep my proverbial plate full by working ahead in order to create margin for a future version of myself (who will simply find something else to perfect or create). You see the cycle. Perhaps you can pinpoint the same pattern in your own life.

But I can’t shake something Priscilla Shirer wrote in her Breathe Bible study: 

Sabbath margin is the boundary God intended for us to place around the things we enjoy so that we’ll never be a slave to anyone or anything other than Him.

Rest doesn’t encroach upon our freedom, but preserves it. It keeps our unhealthy tendencies in check, helps our relationships thrive, deepens our trust in God, and prepares us to be our best, most present selves. Sabbath is meant to be a gift, not a punishment. Rest, a rhythm of restoration, not a reward to be earned.

I think of one of Mike Breen’s lifeshapes, which he crafted to simplify discipleship. It’s an upside-down semicircle with a dot in the center of the straight line. Imagine a pendulum swinging from this anchor point, moving back and forth between rest and work. Work, Mike will tell you, flows from rest. When we try to stay in work mode and only rest when we’re ready to collapse, we fight gravity. 

From Empty to Spill-Over Full

In my head, slowing down sounds like settling. Yet my calves say otherwise when I ignore the rest time in between long runs that’s required for recovery.

A too-full life can empty you quickly.

Our snappy tone and seam-busting calendars ought to be convincing enough, but I, for one, can miss the warning signs until I have the equivalent of calf cramps. My overtired brain can’t come up with anything creative, and I get stuck in areas that usually require little effort.

I do this to myself. Maybe you do too.

So I’m taking a lesson from my half-marathon preparation to rest, not just my legs, but my hands and my heart and my mind. I’m ending work on time and prayerfully weighing new commitments. Trading my faulty view of rest as being an earned reward or forced recovery for the sort of rest Jesus offers in Matthew 11:29-30,

Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.

(as paraphrased in The Message)

Unforced sounds a lot like the natural rhythm of a pendulum, doesn’t it?

Rest.

Work.

Rest.

Work.

There’s an ease to the swing that I’m still learning to embrace.

Rest.

Create.

Rest.

Create.

Now that I think of it, the rhythm resembles breathing, the inhales being rest and the exhales being what we produce. We fill so we can spill over. We are blessed so we can be a blessing. 

This week? I rest so I can run.

And Saturday? I’ll be taking those hills nice and slow, with full permission to break pace and walk a spell when needed. Because rest says we don’t have to prove anything, not even to ourselves. Rest means our best might not look like someone else’s effort, or even your own in another season.

Permission to Rest

Perhaps there is something big on your horizon, and the kindest, most effective way to prepare is to rest. Here is permission to leave something undone. To rest in a space that is already tidy rather than one that will remind you of what’s unfinished. To choose life-giving rest over simply checking out. 

Here is permission to reframe rest. To worship God, pray, or listen to a spiritual formation book or podcast while you are doing other things. To include movement, if that revives you. To get out in nature, if God’s creation awakens your soul.

I’ll be thinking of you as I run, praying for all the grace you need to rest so that you can show up at your best.

Lord, lead us as You know best. Prepare us for what’s ahead even while we rest. Fill us up so that we brim over with Your outrageous grace. In Your name, Jesus. Amen.

Just a friend over here in your corner,

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