Training is Hard

Training is hard. Training is discipleship. Discipleship is, therefore, hard.
For the last year I have been a disciple of triathlon--the marginally masochistic sport involving not one but three disciplines: swimming, biking, and running. I've been doing triathlons for about 10 years now; however, I've not raced in little over three years, and have not completed an Ironman distance race (2.4 mile swim, 112 mile bike, 26.2 mile run) since 2004.
In a moment of pique (resentment, in this case, directed toward the fact that I was quickly entering middle age), I signed up last fall for Ironman Wisconsin. Since September, my life has been a fairly monotonous routine of swimming, biking, running, pastoring, husbanding, and fathering (sometimes, regrettably, in that order).
Most mornings I am up at 5 a.m. to either jump into a pool of cold water and there exert myself to the point of exhaustion, or run on the Prairie Path (in weather varying from extreme cold to extreme heat) to the point of exhaustion, or ride my bike (dodging cars & trucks & expletives) to the point of exhaustion. Most days, I do two workouts (adding the second over the lunch hour or immediately after work). Most weeks, I exercise anywhere between 15 and 20 hours. (Julie notes that it is a little bit like having a part-time job; the irony, of course, is that this job provides no income, but in fact is quite expensive.)
Even as I re-read the paragraph above, one might think that I despise this training. Not at all; in fact, I love it (not in an idolatrous way, but I believe in the best possible way). I love it because it is hard. I love it because I am getting fitter, faster, stronger. I love it because I have more energy than I did when I was sitting around doing little those 15 to 20 hours per week. I love it because I see fruit: toned body, sharp mind, increased discipline, intent focus, commitment to a goal. I am even learning to see, increasingly, the virtue of struggle. There is something dramatic, life-giving, and edifying particularly in suffering (many experts suggest that these characteristics are what makes the sport of soccer the most popular sport in the world--people resonate with the intense, 90 minute struggle to put the ball into the net--it is a lot like life).
I am not a masochist, nor do I hope to be associated with the monastics of antiquity who would self-flagellate in order to (at least in their own minds) commune with God. I do believe, however, that anything at all worthy is worth struggling for. In fact, I do not believe that it is possible to avoid struggle for those very things which are most worthy.
In a culture that has done its very best to avoid discomfort, this is rather counter-cultural. I realize I'm not saying anything new here, but I wonder if this is the reason churches have, generally speaking, failed so miserably over the last fifty years, particularly in America. We've done everything possible to make church and faith comfortable. Work? Discipline? Struggle? Suffering? How can there be a place for that in the Kingdom of God?!!! Don't we want padded pews? Gentle, encouraging sermons? Music that suits my tastes? In fact, isn't the point of all of this "your best life now"?
A few things I know: I will not become a better swimmer by splashing around in the kiddie pool; I will not become a faster cyclist by popping wheelies on my driveway; I will not become a true endurance runner by reading books on running. I will become a swimmer who can go the distance only by diving into the deep end and swimming. Every day. I will become a cyclist who can go the distance only by getting out on the road and pedaling (this is, for me, the hardest discipline and it is a weekly struggle to get out there and do it). Every day. I will become a runner who can go the distance only by answering the alarm, strapping on the shoes, and beating the pavement. Every day.
Some people, after they look at me funny for all the time and expense I put into triathlon, mention that "You really must love it." That is kinda true, but not in the way they think. I don't love to get up at 5 a.m. and jump into cold water any more than anybody else. (In fact, most every day I would rather brew a pot of coffee and read the Tribune.) All of the three disciplines are hard work. But I love what is happening to me in the midst of the struggle as I strive for the goal.
A couple I am counseling for their impending nuptials asked me last week (actually, the dude, an honest man who was not brought up in the church but is seeking was the one who asked): "How can I make myself want to be a part of the church?" My response was in two parts: 1) You must find in Christ the worthiness of your love and devotion (that, in fact, is the easy part if the Gospel is understood); 2) You must approach discipleship as your would lifting weights--you just gotta do it, perhaps mostly at those times when you feel least like doing it.
Jesus Christ is so much more worthy than anything else we might rightly love. He is the goal. He is also the means. In Christ, we engage in discipleship--sitting at His feet and following him--through prayer, worship, service, and fellowship with His people. It is hard. But, oh, the fruit! "Love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control" (Gal. 5:22-23). All of this as I struggle, and even suffer, for the goal of Jesus Christ!
To quote the Apostle Paul: "Not that I have already obtained this or am already perfect, but I press on to make it my own, because Christ Jesus has made me his own" (Phil. 3:12).
Praise be to God!
So I will continue to train, primarily because my triathlon training is a shadow of the training that is taking place at a deeper, even cosmic level--running parallel, you might say, with my training in godliness. "For while bodily training is of some value, godliness is of value in every way, as it holds promise for the present life and also for the life to come" (1 Tim. 4:8).
As I swim I will study God's word. As I bike I will pray. As I run I will worship Him.