Flat and fleet.

I spent most of Saturday crying.

I had looked forward to the 6th of December for 6 months, prepared for the day, learnt so much through the process, been encouraged by my family, felt God’s assurance that He would see me through the journey, only to wake up on Saturday realising that… the pain was still there. It started a week ago and I thought it would get better, but it didn’t.

6 months ago, my family and J suggested I try my first half-marathon.

“Yeah, right, dad. I’ve flat feet, the most I’ll ever run is 10 kilometres. 21 kilometres is not funny, you know.”

“I’ve flat feet too, Jia. I’ve done 2 full marathons.”

I was afraid. Afraid of the distance, the commitment, the pain involved, but most of all, of the tenuous, treacherous balance I would have to keep between time spent in training and with my family and friends, exercise and food, self-sufficiency and dependence on God. Much deliberation, counsel from my loved ones, and one many conversation with God later, I took a deep breath and signed up for my first half-marathon.

This is the first time in my life I see how sports can matter, not only to me, but to God too. This is the first time I see how sports can bring one so close to heaven. This is the first time I had felt I didn’t want to run, for a race which I felt God was nudging me to prepare for, because He had life lessons He wanted me to learn.

So all this while I tread lightly on the tightrope, always careful to maintain that balance so training wouldn’t take over my life. Throughout the training period, I promised both God and myself that I would never turn a friend, family member, or the opportunity to reach out to someone in need away because I needed to train. I promised I would eat properly. I knew, that with my flat feet, 21 kilometres was not a distance I could do by myself. I determined in my heart to set out on this journey toward the race, as a road to learning how to trust God. I also promised, that if at any point He wanted me, for some reason, not to run, I would stop, too.

I often wondered what I had got myself into.

There were many obstacles in the way:
– Because of my flat feet, my left sole hurt so bad at one point after a mere ten kilometres that I had to stop training altogether, even though I already had special shoes. It was then that I received a pair of custom-made insoles for my feet as a gift that literally gave me wings.

– Running alone, for longer and longer periods of time can be excruciating- I learnt that I found it almost impossible to train by myself day after day, week after week. Yet, along the way, many strangers became friends, and whenever I needed someone to run, or cycle with, someone always showed up. When J was busy, N would pester me; when N went overseas, J wanted more time to train with me. At every point, things always worked out. Somehow, God knew I couldn’t go it alone and provided for me.

And perhaps, the most amazing thing I learnt, is how friends can make a tedious journey so enjoyable, so delightful. I will never forget the day J and I skipped our usual cycling training to go for a long run because of the predicted wet weather, and we promised we would run till it rained. It never did, so we didn’t stop. Laughing, joking, and sharing our lives with each other as we enjoyed the crisp morning, we ran and giggled and laughed and ran and by the time we checked our podometer and reached home, we had done more than half a marathon without realising it.

As I learnt to trust God, instead of constantly being uptight about my own abilities, I saw how He proved to me that He was able to provide what I needed, that He knew me through and through, and would take me further than I would ever go by myself. And perhaps most importantly, through this journey, I made a special friend, J.

But on Saturday, I was angry and bitter with God. I had tapered down my training for the past 2 weeks. I had eaten and trained sensibly. I had made great efforts not to let training take priority over family time, time with friends, studies, or church. I wanted to be sure I had my heart and feet in the right place through it all. I didn’t want to grieve God the way I used to. Yet, He seemed to let me down by having me wake up in the morning, with the most absurd and bizarre pain in my right knee, just days before race day.

Why am I having the pain now, at this crucial time? After all that You’ve brought me through, are You telling me to give the race up?

I was disappointed and in despair. After giving up my bike just a few weeks ago, the thought of having to sacrifice this race was a little too much to take. I had invested my emotions, trust and faith in Someone who turned His back on me at the last moment. Why do you always choose to torment me this way? I went on a rampage- How can you be so unfair God? You’ve taken my bike, and now you want to take running away from me. Why is it you always choose to take from me what I love and enjoy the most? I DIDN’T EVEN WANT TO TRAIN FOR THIS IN THE FIRST PLACE-why do you put me through this pain? You are unfair and a masochist.

I was unrelenting in my vicious accusations. I became angry with God, then angry at myself for allowing bitterness at God to consume me. There were so many things in the world to be grieved about-poverty, famine, abuse- why on earth did I let something as silly as a bicycle or a race get me riled up?

But I learnt, that God is concerned even in the little details of our lives- not because of their minute-ness, but because He is concerned about what they teach us, how they mould us.

Aunty Ay was worried I would injure myself, while J and Michael said they would support me in whatever decision I chose to make. You win, God. Go ahead, take whatever you want. We’re supposed to trust you since you know best right?

The pain was real. I couldn’t fathom why God would give me peace and so much assurance at the beginning to train for a race that He couldn’t see me through to completion. Aunty Ay suggested that perhaps the lesson to learn was that it was the process, and not the destination which was most important.

Something restless stirred within me. I was sure up to that point that God would see me through the end. So all hell broke loose within me when the pain in my knee persisted. The more I thought about it, the more bitter and enraged I became. By noon, I had decided to forgo the race. Grieved, I left the house for some time alone. God, you are so unfair. How is it possible you are unreliable? Or inconsistent? Don’t I deserve a bike, don’t I deserve proper feet? Why do you give me flat feet if you know I love running? It’s all because of my stupid flat feet that I’ve knee and sole problems.

By that point, my rampage had gone out of control. Petulant, greedy, resentful, seething demanding little-mini-me had morphed into an Insatiable Ogre.

At a different train station, I met Peter, a middle-aged man selling tissue packets on a wheelchair, with a big smile on his face.

“Hi Peter, you remember me?” I said, trying to sound chirpy.

“Yes! How’re you?”

We talked. Peter confided in me with a big smile on his face, ” Yup, I wasn’t born like this! I got an infection when I was born!” He beamed at me.

He wasn’t born with cerebral palsy.

It was at that point, as I saw his big smile and heard those words that tears built up behind my eyes and I made an excuse to leave. He wasn’t born with it.

Now, who’s to say who deserves what? Why was I complaining? In the first place, what had I done to earn my right to a healthy body, legs to run forever on, a healthy cardiovascular system? As much as I wanted to claim all those things, I realised that they were blessings, gifts, and not rights. What right did I have to blame God? In the first place, was not the ability to cycle, the opportunity to meet all my cycling buddies, the chance to meet and train with J on all those early mornings before school gifts I had not earned?

A lot of people ask me why I love to run since long-distance running causes so much pain. It is not the training I find painful at all, for the pain of running pales in comparison to the pain of the emotional, psychological and spiritual growth that the training process brings one through.

So with both eyes tired from crying, I decided not to run. Then in the evening, Aunty Ay called, “Wai Jia, I think you should show up for the race. I’m going to pray for you, and I want you to show up at the starting line tomorrow. It doesn’t matter if you finish the race or not. Just try, and stop when you need to. I think God may have something to teach you through this, even though things don’t make sense now. Read Psalm 51 tonight.”

Psalm 51: 16-17 says, “ For You do not desire sacrifice, or else I would give it… The sacrifices of God are a broken and contrite spirit…”

At once, I realised that this time, things were different. Instead of wanting me to simply give up another race, God wanted me to check my attitude towards this race. What was I running for? Exhausted from being mad and sad at Him, I slept early.

At 4.30am the next day, I awoke, still overwhelmed by the previous day’s whirlwind of emotions. I packed my things, half-ready for the race, and in the most bizarre way over breakfast, felt a divine peace and revelation that I should, must run this race. Funnily, I had no pain. It was a breakthrough moment for me in my emotional and spiritual journey, for I realised I had come to a point of maturity where God was no longer asking me to give up or let go what I enjoyed- but that I could continue to live life to the full, as long as I kept my heart humble and broken, not proud and hardened.

Even at the starting point, I was in fear. All this while J and I had agreed that we would run together, but since I had told J I may not be running because of my pain, she was psyched up to push herself all the way. We agreed that for my knee’s sake, she should go ahead without me. I panicked.

21 kilometres by myself. I’ve never done that before. This is crazy, God, I’m not going to make it. At the starting point, with thousands of runners stretching and the atmosphere dripping with adrenaline, I was overwhelmed.

I ran. Oh, how I ran. Every step was a literal and metaphorical step of faith, a sacred act of trust in God to carry me through. The sky was amazing, the weather cool and crisp. Along the way, God provided angels to talk and run with me. Jasmine, a teenage girl who just had her prom the night before; Uncle Lim, an elderly man who wrote ‘I live, therefore I run’ on the back of his shirt; Irene, a breast cancer survivor who was thankful to have company… all of whom I eventually had to overtake because my legs went faster, faster… and a man named Uncle Simon, who loved God deeply too, who knew about Kitesong, and who had a brother who is a missionary, too. He said he had prayed to meet an angel on the race, because he needed someone to pace him since he wasn’t in top form. “And that must be YOU!” he exclaimed. As we ran and talked about God together, we both sense a tangibly divine presence with us as goosebumps formed all over our skin. He text messaged me later, “This was the worst run of my life because I didn’t train for it, but meeting you made my day.”

Oh, how I ran. I ran like I never ran before. At the 16km mark, I text messaged my dad and Aunty Ay, “I’m at the 16km mark. No pain.”

At points where it got hard, I simply thought of the prayer W had prayed for me the night before, ” Your knee will be healed. Just go try tomorrow.” And while practially speaking that may be foolish advice to some, he also added that I must not hesitate to stop if I felt any discomfort.

The pain never came. I ran and I ran and I ran, and I couldn’t stop smiling, couldn’t stop feeling so grateful for the weather and my flat feet. Through the entire way, I kept bumping into familiar faces, friends, and ended up overtaking them. Suddenly I became so thankful for my flat and ugly feet, filled with blisters and corns and cracked skin. I realised, that my feet of clay made me humble, kept me always thankful to God for all things, big and small.

When I saw the finish line, there was the biggest smile on my face. I finished, in stunned stupor, in disbelief that the 21 kilometres were over, and that I never felt alone through the journey, even though I was so worried at the start.

“Wai Jia,” J said, “You’re really blessed. You know the organisers of the race took EIGHT photos of you on the website? And you looked so happy in all of them. My sis and I only got 1 each!”

I learnt, that with the right heart attitude, we don’t always have to give up what we love. God isn’t a meanie. He wants us to have life, and life to the full. What’s most important, is a thankful spirit and a humble heart, eyes to see His face and ears to hear His voice.

Truly, it was a fantastic race. Thank you W, Aunty Ay and Michael, for praying for me. Thank you J, for believing in me and training with me and loving me all this while. Thank you to my family, for supporting me and getting me insoles for my flat feet.

And thank you God, for showing me that even in the midst of grander things, these mundane everyday activities of our lives matter to you. Thank you for the emotional pain you bring me through. Because of that, the physical pain when I run fades into nothingness as I am drawn close to you. Thank you for my flat feet. It is precisely because of them, that I realise that I don’t run alone- your wings carry me.

There is still no pain in my knee.

This was truly, my best run- ever.