The Last Miles of a Marathon Runner

On November 3, 2019, Meb Keflezighi lined up for the New York City Marathon — his final competitive race. At forty-four years old, the Eritrean-born American had already won Boston, won New York, earned an Olympic silver medal. He had nothing left to prove. But he had a race left to finish.

By mile twenty, his legs burned with the familiar fire of decades of training. Younger runners surged past him. His pace slowed. None of that mattered. Meb was not chasing a personal record that day. He was chasing the finish line — the last one. When he crossed it in Central Park, tears streaming down his face, the crowd erupted. He had not won. He had done something better. He had finished.

The Apostle Paul, writing from a Roman prison cell, knew his own finish line was near. "I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith." No regret. No panic. Just the quiet confidence of a man who had given everything to the course set before him. And even in that cold cell, the Lord stood at his side — strengthening him, delivering him, faithful to the very end.

You may not finish first. The race may cost you more than you imagined. But the Almighty who called you to run will stand with you at every mile marker, and the crown waiting at the finish line is not made of laurel leaves that wilt by evening. It is righteousness itself, held out by the nail-scarred hands of a faithful Judge.