Twelve years ago, I wrote about finishing a marathon after completing the Chicago Marathon in 4 hours and 28 minutes. It was a great run, on a great day, in a great city. I’ll never forget it. I titled the article, “Don’t Forget the .2.”
Tomorrow, I’ll line up to run again, but this time feels very different. I’m running the Oklahoma City Marathon, 26.2 miles, and like before, I’m running in honor of my son Trey. Trey passed away 13 years ago at just 7 years old after a 300-day battle with cancer. Those were some of the hardest days of our lives, but they were also some of the most impacting. Trey endured with a strength that didn’t come from himself, it came from the Lord.
And if I’m honest, our family’s journey didn’t get easier after that. Just four years later, my oldest son Caleb was in a near-fatal car accident. Today, he lives with a severe traumatic brain injury. Our lives have been marked by suffering, but also, unmistakably, by the sustaining grace of God. So tomorrow, I run.
Not because I trained perfectly, I didn’t. In fact, I’ve only been “training” for roughly six weeks. I know, this has bad idea written all over it.
Not because I have a time goal, I don’t. My goal is simply to finish and finish with my friend and student pastor, Garrett Hankins.
But because I have a purpose: I’m going to run, give it everything I have, and finish.
The official length of a marathon is 26.2 miles. People often say 26, but it’s not. It’s 26.2. And if you’ve ever run long distances, you know that .2 matters. It’s over 350 yards. More than three football fields. It’s the difference between almost finishing and actually finishing. You can run 26 miles, but if you stop short of the .2, you didn’t finish. And tomorrow, I’ll be reminded of that again.
Because somewhere around mile 26 (I’m sure actually long before this) everything in you says, “You’re done.” Your legs are shot. Your lungs are burning. Your mind is tired. You feel like you’ve given everything you have. But you haven’t. There’s still .2 to go.
And that’s where this becomes more than a race. That’s where it becomes a picture of life. So many times in life, we find ourselves in that same place. We’ve gone a long way. We’ve endured more than we thought we could. We’re tired. We’re hurting. And we feel like we’re finished. But we’re not. There’s still .2. There’s still more road to run. More faith to exercise. More endurance to show.
Tomorrow, as I run, I have two simple goals:
I want to run like Trey, with focus. Trey didn’t waste his energy complaining about the road he was on. He faced it with courage. With determination. With a quiet strength that could only come from God. He stayed focused, even in suffering.
And I want to finish like Trey, with endurance. He didn’t quit. He kept going. Day after day. Treatment after treatment. Hard moment after hard moment. God sustained him every step of the way. That’s how I want to finish.
The truth is, I don’t know what mile tomorrow will feel the hardest. But I know this: the .2 will be there. It always is. And when it comes, I want to remember what I wrote years ago, but now I understand it more deeply than ever: The .2 matters.
In running. In suffering. In life.
Wherever you are today, maybe you feel like you’re at mile 26. You’ve given everything you have, and you’re ready to stop. Don’t. There’s still .2. And God will give you strength for all of it, even the final stretch. Philippians 4:13 says, “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” That includes the miles you never planned for and the pain you never would have chosen. God gives you want you need to be content and to endure. Praise His name for this! And one day, by His grace, we’ll be able to say with Paul:
“I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.” (2 Timothy 4:7)
So tomorrow, I run. Not perfectly. Not pain-free. But purposefully. And by God’s strength, I’m going to finish.
Don’t forget the .2.
pastorjfreeman 