Editor’s note: On the morning of Oct. 14, 2023, Kaylin Carlson ran the Country Sole Half Marathon along Chicago’s lakefront. Race promotional material says, “This looped course starts and ends at Montrose Harbor, offering participants and spectators alike gorgeous views of Lake Michigan. … Lake effect breezes and breathtaking coastal sights give runners the extra boost they need to finish strong!”
Well. There WERE breezes. Breaths were indeed taken. And as Kaylin would soon learn, “gorgeous” is in the eye of the beholder. This week and next, she recounts her race experience—and how it helped her see some much-deeper truths.
By Kaylin Carlson
A day to go back inside
When my alarm went off on race day, I could hear the rain relentlessly pelting the window, and the wind angrily howling. it instantly sucked all the motivation out of me. Many times I’m the one saying, “Suck it up! Don’t be a baby. -20? LAYER UP! Raining? It’s just water! There’s no such thing as bad weather, just bad gear! It only makes you stronger! You’ll be more thankful on the nice days!”
That was NOT my headspace that morning. Moderate to heavy rain, and wind gusts 30 knots (35mph) up to 40 knots (46mph)?! ARE YOU SERIOUS?! 10- to 18-foot waves in a LAKE?! I wanted NOTHING MORE than to not even set FOOT outside. I was actually surprised at the intensity of my resistance to toughing out the weather.
Where is tough Kaylin?
I got to the race and sat in my car for 20 minutes, staring at the trees leaning sideways from the wind, leaves blowing everywhere, rain horizontal. I did not see a way I was going to talk myself into this. It was only a matter of time before I turned the car on and made my way back to the hotel. Why did I even drive here? I had no desire to prove anything to myself or anyone else by running in this mess.
Not. Worth it.
And then I rolled down my window and waved to the girls parked next to me.
“Dude, how are you all feeling about this?” I asked.
“I mean, it definitely sucks,” they said, “but we’re here, so we’re gonna run.”
What? So casually like that?
We talked a bit more. I told them I was considering just heading back to the hotel and running on the treadmill and going back to bed. They agreed at how nice that sounded, we said our good lucks to each other and I rolled up my window because the inside of my car (as well as myself) was already soaked. I sat in that car staring at the horizontal trees, the rain pummeling my windshield, pondering whether to race, until EIGHT minutes before the race started.
And all of a sudden, I frantically grabbed my energy gels, chugged my coffee, shoved a pack of fruit snacks in my mouth and got out. Witnessing those girls’ attitudes was the only thing that pulled me out of the car to shuffle to the start line in time. No warmup, no nothing. Just deciding to show up and just finish this stupid run.
Reminder 1: The “tough/strong people” aren’t strong all the time. We have hard days and need encouragement just like everyone else. This is why community is so important. I am insanely grateful for community—in this situation, the running community. When one of us is riding the struggle bus, we are never far from an encouraging word, a reminder of our capabilities, an inspiring person whose lead we can follow or, when we need it, a metaphorical slap in the face to suck it up and get going. Nobody is strong all the time. We need community so we don’t have to be. We were created for connection. We were created to go through life together. We can’t do it alone.
Sometimes I feel like I’m supposed to be the strong and tough one all the time because I want to encourage and inspire others, and I don’t want to “need” anything from anyone, and I don’t want to be high-maintenance, or annoying, or be a downer.
On a deeper note, on the very worst days, I’m handedly losing the fight with my mother’s voice in my head: telling me, and showing me, in many damaging ways, that I’m not good enough to be loved and properly cared for and kept safe.
And on the days I don’t feel tough or strong, I shame myself. Because sometimes if I’m not careful, I can lose sight of who God says I am, and forget that I don’t have to be tough 24/7 to be loved, and cared for and kept safe.
Or if I’m not careful on those days, I can start to think I need to run to prove something, instead of running simply because it brings me joy. Maybe you feel this way, too.
Here’s your reminder that you don’t have to—and simply cannot—be that person all the time. It’s OK to need other people. (More than that, a Savior.) It’s OK to be human. Those complete strangers choosing to show up and run were the reason I kept my car in park instead of throwing it into reverse, and the reason I decided to just show up.
Ecclesiastes 4:10 – “if either of them falls down, one can help the other up.”
Unloading on God
I reluctantly jogged my way to the start line, leaning forward to brace my body against the wind. The second I opened the car door, the complaining started.
Dude. Seriously? I’ve never been outside in weather like this.
This is gonna suck so bad. I’m so cold. I’m soaked.
The complaining continued for the entirety of the race. I was actually running really well especially considering the conditions, and I couldn’t have cared less.
God, I don’t wanna be here. WHY THIS WEATHER TODAY? COME ON.
Waves from Lake Michigan were like nothing I’ve ever seen. Boats in the harbor were tipping back and forth, waves crashing into them. Flash floods everywhere. Gusts would hit us runners head-on and bring us all to a dead stop.
I complained to God for 13 miles. Just unloading. Why couldn’t he have done me a solid and just parted the skies for a HOT MINUTE so we could run this race not in a hurricane? I think the only positive thought I had was mile 3—the only mile I didn’t feel the wind too much and ran a 6:37 mile that felt effortless.
I was bitter
And angry
And frustrated
And in pain
And cold
The wind and rain was SO loud.
I was sick of battling the wind, flash floods, and rain pelting my face every single step.
And I made it all VERY clear to him.
For an hour and a half.
And do you know what he did?
He kindly
Graciously
Simply
Just loved me.
He drew near
And let me keep word-vomiting all over him.
I never felt convicted for it—even though he and I know life could really be SO much worse and I have SO much to be thankful for.
Nope.
He just stayed right there And kindly kept me company while I poured out all my sour emotions on him. Who else does that? Nobody.
As I noticed this, a favorite song came to mind:
“I’ve tried to run from Jesus,
I’ve started holy wars
I’ve tried the patient waitin’
and the kickin’ down the doors
I’ve cursed His name in anger
with my fist raised to the sky
And in return, all He’s ever been is kind.”
– Cory Asbury
The thought of how genuinely awful I can be to him and how gently and fully he loves me in return brings tears to my eyes.
Reminder 2: He can kindly, gently, lovingly handle anything you bring him.
1 Peter 5:7– “Cast all your cares on him, for he cares for you.”
Next week: Finishing the race—and a huge surprise.
Kaylin, as you may remember, in addition to tons of 10Ks and about a dozen BIX7s, I did the Whitewater half, and 3 marathons, one of which was an unusually cold day in June, and they had plastic garbage bags for the majority of us who weren’t prepared. So, except for the pace, I can relate.
Congrats on “hangin’ in there”!