Together We Run

By Jim Dowell — Broken and Mended Board of Directors

At age 54, I recently completed my first marathon, the OKC Memorial Marathon. It was grueling to say the least.

Much of my life, I could not run a mile. Then, over the past two years, a few people and events inspired me to run. It was a struggle. I do not suffer from severe chronic illness like so many, but I have not been pain-free. I was told I had arthritis in my shoulders in my 20s, followed by arthritis at an early age in my toes, back, SI joints, and knees. The worst pain was years of undiagnosed piriformis syndrome that, in conjunction with sciatica, often left me on the verge of tears after just a short drive to my office. I elected against surgeries that were offered along the way, and, thankfully, more conservative options diminished my pain.

In contrast, my mom suffered tremendously with multiple autoimmune conditions throughout her life, and in later years her pain was compounded by pancreatic cancer. Today, multiple people I love suffer from chronic illness and pain. I recognize I am blessed to have experienced some healing and to have the health to run a marathon.

My first race was a 25k trail run in the Palo Duro Canyon after being challenged by a (much younger) friend at church. I survived. Next, I ran a half marathon, and it went well. A marathon seemed doable, so I registered for the OKC marathon. Everything I read about marathon training being entirely different from half marathon training proved true. It requires a new level of dedication, sacrifice, and voluntary acceptance of pain.  The training culminated in two 18-mile runs that I felt good about.

The morning of the marathon, I lined up with people from 17 countries and all 50 states, and off we went. Though I watched the forecast and knew it was coming, I was not prepared for the temperature and humidity. Eighteen miles felt so much worse than my 18-mile training runs, and I had 8.2 left!

I had read and heard what to expect in the final 6 miles, but it’s one of those things you don’t understand until you’re in it. I had read about the emotional swings from euphoria to despair in a marathon, but I did not understand until I felt it. I had read about people sitting down and quitting at mile 24, but I did not get it until I had those thoughts myself. But I finished.

So, what inspired me to keep moving? Some of it was a desire to meet the challenge or to make the training mean something. But much of it was about people. Some moments I wanted to inspire others. At times I saw shirts saying, “We run for those who can’t,” and then I ran for the little kids killed in the OKC bombing. Inspiration came from seeing other people struggling along with me to take another step. And you cannot help but be encouraged by the thousands of spectators cheering and encouraging. Many of those spectators never have and never will run a marathon (and their funny signs made that clear). Powerful motivation came in knowing that some of the people I love most in the world were stationed along the way and waiting at the end, and if I just made it a few more miles, I’d see them smile (and my wife’s smile is the prettiest of all).

People suffering from chronic pain and illness know as well as anyone that life is a marathon. It is long, and it can be grueling. But it does not have to be run alone or without hope. There is a reason scripture repeatedly calls us to bear one another’s burdens and to encourage one another. I would never have completed the marathon without people around me. Most of those people will never understand the actual pain of those last 6 miles, but their support made the difference.

As Christians, we serve a God who voluntarily took on human form and experienced what it means to be human in a broken world. He gets it. He knows pain.

You run your race with prayers from people you do not even know, with healthy people along the road cheering you on, with suffering people walking the path with you, with a “great cloud of witnesses” (Heb. 12:1) surrounding you, and with a God who gets it. You do not run this marathon alone.

Pain will not endure forever. There is a finish line. You will cross it. Seeing people I love at the finish line meant as much as crossing the finish line. When we cross the finish line of this marathon, we will see people we know and love, we will see the “great cloud of witnesses”, and we will see Jesus. So, run the race set before you, run it patiently, and run it knowing you are not alone.

David Heflin

Executive Director

David Heflin is the founder, former president, and current executive director for Broken and Mended. He is married to Katie and has three kids. David was a preacher for over 20 years until he stepped down to focus fully on the mission of Broken and Mended. He started Broken and Mended in 2018 after being inspired by his own battle with chronic pain to connect other hurting people to Jesus and each other. David has a B.A. in Bible from Oklahoma Christian University and a Master of Arts in Religion from Azusa Pacific University. He resides in Woodward, OK.

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