the second mile

I hate long distance running!

I really struggle with seeing the point.

I know, I know. It’s good for one’s physical and mental health. It burns calories and releases endorphins (or something like that).

Scientifically, I get it. But experientially, it’s just never been for me.

Short sprints; I can do that. Getting my heart rate up. Intensity. Speed. Agility.

Those things I can enjoy in small spurts of time!

I remember being in high school and our team would run what we called ‘the loop.’ It was two miles around one of the local middle schools and the recreation department.

Two miles doesn’t seem very far. So for effect, let’s say it was over 10,000 feet.

The first 5,000 feet didn’t seem so bad. But that last mile had a steady climb. Nothing outrageous. Just enough of an incline to remind your shins and calves that you were moving uphill.

This wasn’t the track team making the run; it was the baseball team. Never, at any point, were we ever expected to jog more than 360 feet at one time. So this 10,000 foot jog was out of the ordinary and seemed pointless to say the least.

Generally the majority of the team stayed relatively close together for that first mile. But there always seemed to be separation during that second mile. Guys naturally began to see their pace slow down.

Throughout the season, the ones who saw their pace increase, especially in that second mile, were the ones who really began to understand why they were even running in the first place.

I remember reading a book some time ago entitled, VIP, by O.S. Hawkins. He speaks of Jesus’ statement from the Sermon on the Mount that says, “whoever compels you to go one mile, go with him two.” Hawkins made this point. He said the first mile is mandated, but the second mile is the miracle mile. He went on to say that the first mile was motivated by law; the second motivated by love.

Oftentimes we trudge through the first mile out of obligation. Doing our duty and really only what’s required. But it’s the second mile that begins to change our perspective. It begins to more clearly define why we do what we do.

How many people do we know that started out strong only to fade away over time? In their careers, relationships, hobbies, religion, dieting. Anything really.

The novelty was so intriguing. Others were doing it too. They had a plan. A strategy. A notebook. It was a little community of world changers.

At first, they felt obligated. They felt they owed it to themselves. Or to somebody else. They had paid the subscription. Purchased the attire. Signed the dotted line. Given someone their ‘yes.’

Then they bumped in to some adversity. Fatigue began to set in. The adrenaline started to wear off. Their buddies weren’t keeping the pace. Their motivation began to wane.

There began to be some separation. Separation between actions and attitudes. Separation between the promise made and the promise kept. Separation of loyalties. And commitments. And perseverance.

When what we do is only a duty and rarely a delight we will eventually find the delightfulness of something else. We aren’t mechanical robots on an assembly line of good deeds. We have thoughts and feelings. Attitudes and emotions. And they must be kept in check. But how?

By cultivating a heart and mind willing to go the second mile.