I KEEP MOVING
By Jennifer M. Silvera
I don’t mean to say that I have already achieved these things or that I have already reached perfection. But I press on to possess that perfection for which Christ Jesus first possessed me. No, dear brothers and sisters, I have not achieved it, but I focus on this one thing: Forgetting the past and looking forward to what lies ahead, I press on to reach the end of the race and receive the heavenly prize for which God, through Christ Jesus, is calling us.
Philippians 3:12-14 (NLV)
I’d already run three kilometers and had two to go when I sensed the distinct feeling that I was about to collapse. My heart pounded wildly, my side ached beyond control, and I was nearly overcome by a flush of intense heat surging from within my body. I could barely breathe. I glanced over in panic at my friends, Andrea and Sarah who were running beside me. Without saying a word, Sarah knew exactly what was going on. “It’s hard, Jen.” she said with a runner’s confidence, “I know it’s hard. You are doing great. You were made to do this. You are almost there.”
Andrea also offered encouragement, “It’s especially hard because you are running this 5K while carrying a much heavier load. Today is more than just a run for you.”
It was as if they were reading my mind. And they were right.
This race was the official “Shawn Silvera Memorial Run” and I was one of 200 people running to honor the memory of this heroic police officer who had been killed in the line of duty.
Who was Shawn Silvera? Why was I running this race?
I was Officer Shawn Silvera’s wife. I carried the weight of loss with me as I ran.
As I plodded forward with nearly half the run to complete, my mind went back to the day when the tragic news had been unexpectedly delivered at my doorstep. Was it already a year ago when in the midst of trying to decide if I should start dinner or take my two young children on a stroller ride that the knock came? Interrupted by one knock on a warm September day my entire world shattered.
“Shawn has been killed,” a set of uniformed officers informed me. How could this be? It was as if I didn’t understand what they were telling me. I didn’t want to believe it could be true.
Back in the motion of the run, my body was screaming in protest. I wanted to give up. Much like I wanted to give up when I discovered my 32 year-old husband had been struck by a fugitive’s car during a police chase only minutes from our home. As the news of his death washed over me, the reality of his death began to sink into me fully unwanted. Everything inside of me turned off. My mind took over my heart, blocking me from the pain as my body spiraled into shock. I was devastated. I was lost. I was completely broken.
With similar resemblance, the morning of the run, I felt empty. I was unmotivated, exhausted, and disinterested in this thing called life with all its disillusionment, mystery, and pain. My children and I had a difficult morning getting ready to leave on time. There were so many things I didn’t want to be or do anymore. I was tired of being a single mom. I didn’t want to be a widow. Being positive felt hopeless. And I definitely didn’t want to be a runner. All I wanted to do was scream! With my children watching me, I swallowed my desire to yell while choking down an abundant amount of tears. Driving to the run I kept thinking I cannot do this today. I am wounded. Though not physical, I felt injured in every other way.
The sight that met my eyes when I arrived at the park was remarkable. Two women jogged by my car warming-up and I remember thinking, my gosh, this is a real run. Not that I doubted my friends’ effort to coordinate this first annual event. I simply had never been to a run before and it was invigorating to be encircled by dedicated athletes, old and new friends, loving family, and people I didn’t even know who came out to show support. The aliveness of the race infused me. The energy on this brisk, fall day convinced me I was exactly where I was supposed to be. So, when the guns fired to start, I pushed forward with a renewed spirit.
I was running smoothly for the first kilometer. I hit my stride in the second. By the third, I was notably challenged and in the fourth, I had reached my breaking point. “Am I going to be able to finish?” I asked with my eyes towards my friends who had agreed to run with me the entire way. Without question, they nodded and urged me to take the lead.
Yes. I was going to make it. Not because my body told me so. No. It was a conscious decision made with my mind. It was sheer determination. I was going to make it! Once resolving my outcome the fortitude to keep moving followed. It was in this decision that I felt the strength of my mind take over my physical capabilities.
This is how it works with grief, too. The decision begins in the mind. Yes, I will get through this. I need to keep moving. I am going to make it. Daily I make a conscious choice to continue moving even when my heart and body tell me differently.
With one kilometer to go, when I was fully convinced I would make it, I began to cry inhaling tears. Taking the advice of my friends, I sprinted ahead towards the finish line. In this final triumph of the run, I gave my moment to Shawn. That was my way of honoring him. I could hear people cheering. I ran harder. I noticed my children at the finish line. I ran prouder. Inside me victory swelled and I once again felt empowered and engaged with life. Thank you, God was my heart’s repeated prayer.
Striving, reaching, enduring, trying, hoping, believing, overcoming, persisting, and continuing. This is what it means to be a runner. This is what it means to keep moving. As I crossed the finish line exhausted, I was also filled with new hope. I had run the race. I had crossed the finish line.
There are many parallels between my life and my first 5K run. My life, similar to the run, is a lesson in determination. Choosing to persevere moves me. Moment by moment. Kilometer by kilometer. I am going to make it. I look forward. I focus. I press on. I keep moving.
