The Race I Didn’t Plan to Run
Millinocket Half Marathon 2025 - photo by Capstone Photography
“We can make our plans, but the Lord determines our steps.”
Proverbs 16:9
Last long run before the big race, I thought as I laced up my sneakers and hit the trail. My standard poodle, Molly, trotted excitedly alongside me, the brisk air invigorating us both. It was the Friday after Thanksgiving, and the Millinocket Marathon was only eight days away.
There were many reasons for my excitement. I would be staying in my childhood home with my former neighbors, Randy and Anne Jackson. I’d be co-hosting a book and kids’ craft booth with a new friend, Carol Page. I’d visit students at Katahdin Christian Academy, reconnect with friends, and—of course—run the marathon. The race raises money for local businesses and nonprofits, so I had organized a sponsor-a-mile initiative to support several educational causes in the area. Friends and family amazed me with their generosity. This weekend was about more than running; it was about community.
The miles passed easily that morning. Mile one. Mile two. Mile three—OW! My left calf seized without warning. I stopped to stretch, but the pain persisted. I turned back early, convinced it would loosen as I slowed. It didn’t. By the time I finished, I was hobbling.
What is going on? I wondered. I had no answer.
By the time I arrived in Maine the following Wednesday, I was walking pain-free and hopeful. The Jacksons welcomed me like a daughter, and I immediately felt at home. On Thursday, I tested my calf on a short run. Despite a full week of rest, it protested again. Disheartened, I reached out to family and friends. The advice was unanimous: Don’t run the marathon. Run the half instead.
My aunt Cindy gently reframed the situation.
“Elizabeth,” she texted, “the journey is more important than the destination. You’re there to support the town. That’s the higher purpose.”
I knew she was right—but knowing didn’t make it easy.
That night, I cried over the phone to my husband. “I want to run the marathon.”
“Ellie,” Isaac said gently, “you have so many people to connect with while you’re there. Focus on loving them. Be thankful you can run the half.”
His words echoed my aunt’s. Still, my heart wrestled.
Needing clarity, I wandered to the Boreal Theater to play the piano—one of the ways I recalibrate. A group of musicians was finishing up, and I noticed a familiar face among them: Ben Barr.
A Millinocket native and longtime supporter of the race, Ben is one of the few people who has completed either the marathon or half every single year since its inception. I sat beside him, and in true Mainer fashion, conversation began immediately.
“So yah runnin’ the marathon, are yah?” he asked.
I explained my situation and asked about his plans.
“Well,” Ben said, “it’s been quite the fall—lots of visits to the doctah. I just got released from the hospital.” He went on to describe an undetected heart condition that could have ended his life.
“I’ve gotta go back Monday,” he added. “The doctah says I can’t run right now—but he didn’t say I can’t walk.” His eyes twinkled. “So I’m walkin’ the half. I’m one of the streakahs, yah know. Gotta keep it goin’.”
His joy surprised me. Compared to his story, my sore calf felt microscopic. As the musicians packed up, I sat at the piano alone, letting gratitude replace frustration. I went to bed that night at peace.
Friday unfolded in a blur of purpose: visiting students at Katahdin Christian Academy, helping children with Christmas crafts, reconnecting with old friends, and sharing dinner with Anne and Randy. Each moment reinforced why I was there.
Race day dawned clear and cold—perfect conditions. As I do every morning, I sipped tea, read Scripture, and journaled. Isaiah 40 leapt off the page:
“He gives strength to the weary
and increases the power of the weak…
Those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength.
They will run and not grow weary;
They will walk and not faint.”
The words comforted my heart. I started reviewing my sponsors and discovered I had 13 — one for each mile of the race! I felt a gentle reminder, You may feel hidden and disregarded, but I see you. You are covered for each mile and will run strong today.
Though I felt conflicting emotions watching the marathoners start, I resolved to enjoy my race. Even when my calf started hurting at mile 8, the pain didn’t steal my joy. All too soon, the finish line loomed before me, and my legs sprinted the final stretch. I finished feeling spent but strong — and more importantly, surrounded by people I loved. I even saw Ben Barr much later that afternoon.
“Tough day out thayah,” he commented, “but I finished!” Ben’s streak continues.
As I reflect on that weekend, I see how often life asks us to adjust our pace. How what we plan is not always what we’re given—and how grace meets us there anyway. I wanted to run the marathon. Instead, I ran the half and learned what it means to be strengthened mile by mile.
I think of Ben, determined to keep his streak alive, one careful step at a time. I think of Isaiah’s promise—not just that we will run, but that we will walk and not faint. I think of thirteen sponsors, one for each mile, and the quiet assurance that none of those miles went unseen.
That weekend reminded me that the journey is never wasted. God is present in every step, whether we’re sprinting toward a finish line or learning to slow down. He sees us when we feel hidden. He covers us when our plans turn out different than we imagined. And somehow, in the middle of disappointment, He still makes room for joy.