finish with heart
When I participate in long races, one thing that keeps me motivated during training runs is imagining finish lines - arches of balloons at the end of an endless road, crowds cheering on both sides of the street, the feeling I think I’ll have when I cross it. It all looks like a hazy, happy blur in my mind - the type of scene you’d see in slow motion in a movie. Those thoughts have given me chills and kept me moving.
Crossing actual finish lines has almost always never been as triumphant. I’ve finished races in pain, when I felt sick, when I was very, very cold, or very, very hot. I once ran a half marathon in wind and cold rain that stung as it slapped my face. Around mile 10, one of my legs cramped and after I finished the race, I spent the next hour limping while trying to locate my bag of warm clothes that I’d left on one of the race buses for later pickup.
I’ve been emotional at finish lines, nearly in tears as sweat dripped from my face. I’ve finished short races when I felt too unprepared and was simply thrilled it was over. My heart, pumping fiercely, always slows after I cross a finish line, and the accomplishment doesn’t fully sink in until I’ve found water, bananas, or a nice warm shower.
And yet, no matter the misery, finishing tired like that always feels good in ways that convince me I will do it all again. A shift happens that reminds me I completed something hard, and that feels like triumph. Like many things in life, finishing races in the best way doesn’t necessarily mean finishing strong. It often means finishing tired after working so hard and caring.
Finishing isn’t often pretty. It comes after grueling work, feet pounding pavement, uphill climbs, spinning legs, crashes and falls. It comes as sweat continues to drip and muscles ache. It’s that last slow step before reaching a mountain peak, before seeing the view that fills your center, makes you throw your hands in the air, close your eyes, and breathe in. It comes with a tired heart, one that beat hard and fast. One that is ready for rest. It comes after a long, long road.
If 2020 were a race, we’re almost near the calendar’s finish line, just two months and a week away from New Year’s Eve. Pretty soon we’ll turn the last corner where we can see the clock and we’ll run hard so that we don’t have to spend one more second in this space.
One difference in this case is that after we cross whatever this finish line is, I never want to do another race like this again. Finishing tired will not convince me a year like this one is worth another shot, but that doesn’t mean strength gained from hard times can’t be used in other areas of life. How many people climb Mount Everest twice? Sometimes races are only meant to be done once in order to lead us to the next challenge - good or bad.
When I imagine the 2020 finish line, I picture bottles of champagne in large crowds, live bands, no masks, and plenty of dancing. But just like the arches of balloons, it’s likely that’s not the finish line I’m going to get, and it probably won’t be in a timetable I can predict. But the vision is still hope, and maybe that’s what these types of imaginations are for. In the same way arches of balloons can keep me motivated during a training run, perhaps the hope of celebration can help during a year that made me so, so tired. Maybe a better, safer world is getting closer with each finish line and hopeful wish.
Because our heart is a muscle, the more we work it, the stronger it gets. Nobody asked for the world to be worked in the ways it has been this year, but maybe the struggle will develop a stronger collective heart that was forced to see and go through difficult things. By the end of this dumpster fire experience, is it possible that we could be more solid, steady and willing to love and care? I think it is. At least in good moments, I do. If not, what else is there?
At the end, so long as our hearts are still beating, we’ll be strong together if we choose. Even then we might be tired, but we’ll have finished with heart.