By mile 16 last Saturday, I knew qualifying for the Boston Marathon was not in the cards that day. Over the last four months, I’d logged 775 miles, many speed work sessions, a bunch of tempo runs, and followed the perfect taper plan to be ready for my goal: Run the Carmel Marathon in Indiana and qualify for Boston. My personal best marathon was only 4 minutes away from this goal. I felt very ready.

Eric, one of my running friends, who had already qualified for Boston earlier in the year – and is much faster than me – had volunteered to pace me for the race, and make sure I hit my goal for the 26.2 miles. Another friend, Jason – an IronMan contender – joined us.

I was on pace to qualify at the half-way point. But at mile 15, something started to feel “not quite right” in my left hamstring, and by mile 16, I’d slowed down enough that it was clear I couldn’t hold on to our pace for another 10 miles. The temperature had gotten to almost 15 degrees warmer than anything I’d trained in or expected, and turned out to be a major factor. In the end, I slugged through the final 10 miles of the race and finished 34 minutes off my goal time. (By the way – Eric never left my side!)

Nolensville Running Club
I had done most of my long training runs on Saturdays, and many of my weekday shorter runs, with members of the Nolensville Running Club (NRC). I joined this group a few years back, and have developed a number of really good friendships, mainly around our common goal of becoming better runners and competing at our best.

Over 70 runners from NRC, along with some spouses and a few kids (over 100 total), traveled to Carmel, Indiana for the marathon last weekend. I drove up with three NRC friends in a caravan of six or seven other cars for the five-hour journey. We had a great time driving together, and when we all descended on Carmel that evening, NRCers had taken over at least one hotel, and spilled over into others.

An incredibly strong bond is forged among friends who spend many hours training for a marathon together. Some of us have spent every Saturday morning together for the last few months as we built our weekly mileage up to 50 or 60 miles, and our long runs to over 20 miles on a Saturday morning.

With
I was looking forward to the race, for sure – but almost just as much, I was looking forward to the drive there with running buddies, Friday night dinner together, and the big celebration Saturday night after everyone finished their races. I was looking forward to being with my fellow runners and friends.

But most of all, I was looking forward to finally qualifying for Boston.

Complete Disaster
Well – that didn’t happen. In fact, I would call the second half of my marathon a complete disaster. I wasn’t just a little off my goal. 34 minutes off is… well… embarrassing.

If I’d have traveled alone, I’m sure I would have gone back to my lonely hotel room and felt sorry for myself.

But I had traveled with NRC – which lives by the creed “Leave no runner behind” – meaning that every runner stays at the finish to cheer on the others until the last runner finishes.

The “High-Five Line”
After I nursed a sore calf muscle in the medical tent, I made my way back to the finish line. I couldn’t believe what I saw. A sea of yellow NRC marathon shirts on both sides of the road near the finish line, cheering on and “high-fiving” every runner as they neared the finish. Not just every NRC runner – every runner – most of whom no one knew.

It was a celebration. It was loud. It was a BLAST!

We waited for quite some time for some of the slower runners to finish, but no one left. And when the 75-year old mayor of Nolensville, Jimmy Alexander, came around the corner approaching the finish of his first-ever marathon, the place went wild. I have to admit, I choked back tears as we watched this guy who is pushing 80 the accomplish something that few ever will. And his smile as he passed through the wild and raucous high-five line said it all.

And then it dawned on me.

I wasn’t sulking. Alone.

I wasn’t in a pity-party because I missed my Boston Marathon goal.

My heart was FULL – because I was a part of something much bigger than myself. Cheering on friends who accomplished something pretty remarkable. And we were together. Laughing, yelling, smiling, cheering, high-fiving…

I was WITH the people I’d been with through thick and thin. The early morning, pre-dawn runs. The long miles. The cold. The rain. The hills.

And I was looking forward to being with them that evening for our post-marathon party.

I was looking forward to being with them the following Wednesday night for our weekly NRC run and post-run dinner.

“With-ness”
It got me thinking about a word – “with-ness” (made it up):: the degree to which we are present – or with someone.

This group of people I’ve run with have a really high “with-ness” factor in my world. It’s just good to be together.

And while cheering for someone’s marathon finish is incredible, this got me thinking about “with-ness” for a cause even far more transcendent. The Church. God’s Kingdom. The Gospel. I started thinking about the “with-ness” quotient of those who are alongside me on this race we’re running to make disciples and make the name of Jesus known to the world. We’ve said for many years here at Fellowship – “Together is better…” I certainly have learned this is exponentially true when it comes to marathon training. How much more for the transcendent cause of the Gospel?

And as soon as I started thinking about “with-ness” for this transcendent cause, faces… names… families…friends… started flooding through my mind. So many deep and meaningful relationships carrying a high “with-ness” factor. So many memories of profound ministry experiences both here and around the world – high “with-ness” factor.

I’m grateful.

My heart is full.

I’ve been blessed with a lot of “with-ness” for many years.

What’s the “with-ness” quotient in your life – especially as it relates to what God wants for you? Who are you doing life with, and how much are you investing in your “with-ness?”

I think the answer to that question really matters. Far more than running, finishing, or qualifying for any marathon.

Brian Petak