Running the Cape Town Marathon was, without a doubt, one of the hardest physical challenges I’ve ever faced—second only to giving birth. I signed up early, in April, full of good intentions. I bought the early bird entry, told myself I’d train, follow a plan, and be ready.
But then life happened.
Work deadlines piled up. Business trips came one after another. And when I was finally home, I was too drained to train. The days slipped by, and so did my plan. Still, I held onto that entry like a promise. Something in me refused to let go.
Two weeks before race day, my husband and I attempted a 5km run. It was rough. My fitness wasn’t where it needed to be, and it was obvious. But I still showed up on race day.
There’s something about that starting line—the electric energy, the crowd, the unspoken unity of people chasing something personal. It felt sacred. And I was excited. I told myself I’d just take it one cut-off at a time. That was my goal. Just get to the next checkpoint.
The first kilometre? Disaster. I started too fast, caught up in the adrenaline of it all. I burned through energy I’d need later. So I slowed down, took a breath, and fell into a rhythm—run a little, walk a little. Listen to my body. Keep moving.
I made it to 17km, but by then my hip was on fire. I pushed on, determined to keep going. Determined to run until I physically couldn’t anymore or until I missed the cut-off.
And at 24km, I did. I reached the 4-hour mark, and that was where my race ended.
But here’s what matters: I finished my race.
Before that day, the furthest I’d ever run was 10km back in Grade 11. And yet here I was, showing up for a marathon and making it through 24km without giving up. That’s not a loss. That’s a win. A massive one. My body did more than I ever thought it could. My mind didn’t quit. My heart held strong.
And more than anything else, that day reminded me of this:
“I am able to do all things through him who strengthens me.” (Philippians 4:13, CSB)
I didn’t get a medal. But I got something better—belief.
That day I realised I can do anything I put my mind to. And not just because I’m strong, but because God is. I didn’t do this alone. He was with me every single step.
“But those who trust in the Lord will renew their strength;
they will soar on wings like eagles;
they will run and not become weary,
they will walk and not faint.” (Isaiah 40:31, CSB)
Even though I couldn’t walk properly for a week afterward, I felt stronger than ever. That race stirred something in me. A fire to go further, to train better, to honour what my body can do. To try again.
Because finishing doesn’t always mean crossing the official line. Sometimes, it means showing up when you could have stayed home. Pushing through the pain. Listening to the still, small voice that says, keep going. And believing—really believing—that with Christ, you’re never running alone.
