I was heating up. The shirt needed to go.”

I was heating up. The shirt needed to go.”

Letting go or hanging on.

When committing last July to run the January 2010 Disney marathon, I couldn’t foresee race day temperatures in the 20s with wind chills into the teens. The Weather Channel announced exposed skin warnings and risk of hypothermia. Dressed in so many mixed-match layers, it appeared I was going on a date with the Michelin Man and trying a little too hard to impress.

At the start of the race in the cold and dark, it was hard to imagine ever being warm. But once you start running 26.2 miles, things do heat up and you need to shed some clothing.

Mile three I started sweating, yet was afraid to let go of that top sweatshirt. What if I needed it later? Stripping it off, I left it in a clump on the side the road in the dark.

Farewell to thee.

Mile 10 my hands stung. I picked up a bundled pair of lime green cotton yard gloves someone tossed. Perfectly fitting over my already bulging mitts of two gloves and Hot Hands, those castoffs were as gold to me.

At miles 25, feeling miserable but running strong, I passed the place where I cried (and hyperventilated) last year. No tears this time.

Then I saw a couple wearing shirts declaring they were running in memory of a young man. Stopping to walk, the woman told her partner to go on without her. He turned and said, “I’m not leaving you. We’re finishing this together.” That’s all it took. Tears sprouted and a big lump lodged in my throat that I tried to squish down…which ended up causing me to hyperventilate. 

I came within a minute of my goal for the race. Along the way, I discarded a stocking cap, sweat pants, black gloves and two sweatshirts. Even the pair of garden gloves which I swore to keep till my dying day — since they were my saviors at mile 10 – were tossed into a trash can at mile 16.

Each time, there was a choice. I hate being cold. It was very terribly hard leaving that last sweatshirt at mile 21. I was heating up, and it weighed me down. The faithful shirt needed to go. Saying “Thanks,” I draped it over an orange cone and never looked back.

Only by discarding things can we best run the race set before us.

In faith, we can let go without worry, knowing green work gloves will appear on the pavement when we most need them. But in letting go, there always is a cost. It would have been nice to have one of those sweatshirts back after the race in the shivering cold.

It takes wisdom to know when to part with sweatpants that are so comfortable to lounge in the living room, but a hindrance on the race course. Wisdom to fall behind because of a pledge to finish together. Cleave to things out of love, morality and commitment.

Never out of fear.

It is hard to let go. The key comes in recognizing the difference between making sacrifices to cross the finish line holding fast to the right person’s hand or clutching a pair of cotton work gloves.