Running, Suffering, and Human Limits
The Monday Mystery Part 14: The Carrying of the Cross
So they took Jesus, and carrying the cross himself he went out to what is called the Place of the Skull, in Hebrew, Golgotha. (John 19:16-17)
Welcome to the fourteenth entry of The Monday Mystery. Each week I will write a reflection on a mystery (i.e. an episode in the life of Jesus or Mary) from the Rosary. My hope for this series is to provide fuel and inspiration for your own meditations. When you finish reading the reflection, I encourage you to do a ‘test run’ of the mystery by praying a decade of the Rosary (i.e. one Our Father, ten Hail Marys, and one Glory Be) while meditating on the mystery.
If you’re looking for ways to live in the present or grow closer to God, try running. I say this as someone whose running resumé tops out at ‘Middle School Participation Trophy Recipient.’ I’m not an exercise guru, nor do I have a wall of race medals and trophies. While I’m probably more experienced than most non-runners, I’d be at the back of the pack in a group of people with a serious regimen. I say this not to deprecate myself but to emphasize that the experiences I’m reflecting on in this piece are by no means inaccessible to anyone who doesn’t spend all their spare time in training.
With that said, I’ve recently broken through multiple plateaus I’d found myself in, and my ‘I’d like to run a marathon just to say I did it’ dream seems more attainable than it ever. A highlight from this past year was running ten miles for the first time during spring break. When I finally finished, I felt an ‘I’ve still got it’ sense of pride and relief. I’m not as strong or agile as I was in high school, but High School John never did this - I’m not even sure he could. I couldn’t beat him at the bench press, or in the hundred meter dash. But that spring break I saw that when it comes to long-haul endurance, I might even have an edge. What I now lack in raw youthful athleticism and overall conditioning, I make up for with a vastly superior toolbox for working through my experiences of pain and discomfort while exercising.
This summer I had my share of these while running. Last week I wrote a blog post about my first two times out running after a foot fracture I suffered in June. Even having put in a decent effort at staying in shape during my recovery through frequent sessions on an exercise bike, I didn’t manage to replicate the intensity of running, nor did I fully prevent muscle atrophy. I entered into my first run with a lot of physical and mental rust. It was humbling and discouraging to find myself on the verge of quitting after only a mile. When I finally gave up after a mile and a half, it was yet another reminder of how many small things weren’t the same after my injury.
That was one of the lower points in my twenty years of dabbling in running. I’ve gotten in and out of shape many times, I’ve experienced first hand the dramatic declines that can take place without consistency. I just never thought I’d sink to stopping after a little over a mile, certainly not in my thirties. In my second run, I set out to redeem myself. I felt determined to finish the full three miles I’d set out for, no matter what.
As the run got underway, I felt much better - even after one run my body felt substantially more comfortable and broken in. But once again at the mile and a half mark I felt discomfort and fatigue which steadily escalated into rather intense suffering. I wanted to quit; it would be so easy, and it would bring instant relief. But this was one of those times where I had the presence of mind to ‘see’ my pain objectively, and notice the difference between ‘I feel uncomfortable’ and ‘I should quit.’ I saw that my discomfort was just and only that - discomfort. It was acutely unpleasant, but it was not dangerous. There was no risk of injury; my pain could not ‘hurt’ me.
Realizing this, I pushed all the rest of the way, and I finished the run with a glowing sense of accomplishment and gratitude. I think whoever came up with the slogan: “pain is temporary, pride is forever” was probably inspired by a similar experience. The suffering I felt was awful, but it was now a rapidly fading memory. Not quitting was the best gift past John could have given to present John.
Later that week, I decided to try another ten mile run. Once again, I found myself in the misery zone alarmingly quickly. But I knew I didn’t have to stop, I remembered my experience from the previous runs as my mind became fully submerged in the exertion of running. Running has a way of stripping everything away. When I push myself to the limit, I cannot think about anything else, and I cannot pretend to feel or be anything else but what I am: very tired and increasingly uncomfortable. All of the worries, distractions, and preoccupations I may be dealing with that day - no matter how pressing - are switched off and switched out for the feeling of being tired. It’s as close to a manual reset for the mind that I’ve come across.
In this state, over the course of six miles I pushed through several extended and intense impulses to quit. Each one was worse than the first, and I faced each one with fewer mental and emotional resources. But challenge after ‘I’d quit in this situation nineteen times out of twenty’ challenge, I called my pain’s bluff, and kept going. When I cleared seven miles, I felt like I had the run in the bag. Nothing my body could throw at me was capable of convincing me to stop. I had mastered my pain and myself, and I was about to finish a second ten mile run, capping off a meteoric injury recovery. With each step, my excitement grew in anticipation for reliving the feeling I had after my first ten mile run.
But then I stopped.
The best way I can describe the experience is that my legs turned off. As best I can tell, stopping was not a conscious decision. It was something that happened to me, not something I chose. At one moment I was running, the next minute I was doubled over on the side of the trail gasping for air. A strange mix of emotions came over me: deep - sharply deflating disappointment at having stopped, alongside a rushing envelopment of relief that my ordeal had finally ended. This all along with a sense of surprise and unease at having suddenly found myself not in charge of my own body.
It took a few minutes for me to collect myself. I tried to start again at a jog, but after a few steps my legs locked up. My body (perhaps my guardian angel) gave me a warning which I heard loud and clear: if you continue you will injure yourself. Walking back was every bit as challenging as some runs I’ve been on. As I gingerly strolled back home, I thought and prayed about today’s mystery. After enduring brutal torture and abuse from the Roman soldiers, Jesus was forced to carry his cross. According to a long standing devotional tradition, Jesus fell three times on the way. Why did he fall? How could he fail if he is fully God?
As we’ve reflected on several times now, the answer is that he was also fully human with a real and truly human body. Human bodies have limits. Jesus had emptied himself i.e. he had voluntarily chosen not to take advantage of his divine power, so that no one hearing the Gospel could retort “that’s easy for him to say, he’s God!” The message is sobering: if we follow Christ: if take up our cross and we seek after the Father with all our heart, we will be put into situations that are beyond our limits. God will not always protect us from being overwhelmed and overcome by weakness.
If you are feeling abandoned by God, or you are blaming yourself for not being able to cope with life’s challenges, this mystery is for you. Jesus isn’t aloofly sitting back and thinking to himself “why can’t you get it together, I didn’t have any problems like you did?’ When it comes to weakness, Jesus led the way; he jumped in the pool first. He understands what you are going through and suffered so that he could be your companion in your sufferings, and ultimately redeem you.
As you do your test run, watch Jesus collapse under the weight of the cross. Stand by while the soldiers pull Simon of Cyrene out of the crowd to help Jesus. Jesus did not run from human weakness. He “did not deem equality with God something to be grasped at” (Philippians 2:6). He hung in there even when he could have instantaneous opted out. And he did it for you. May God bless you as you pray.