My housemate recently became my roommate.

She grew up sharing a bedroom with her 4 siblings and after having 19 roommates in college, I was finding having my own room a bit eerie. In addition, it seemed like a necessary step in our journey. A primary enemy of community is isolation (which is the evil cousin of “solitude”), and I find it all too tempting at times to withdraw. Sharing your personal space with another person makes isolation nearly impossible.

(Sidenote: we don’t have a bunkbed yet, but if anyone would like to build us one like the one above, we would welcome it).

As I’m sure most married couples experience, sharing space (and life) brings about a lot of unexpected frustrations and insecurities. About a week into our new partnership, I was waking up at my normal time (which God and I have agreed upon) and realizing Becca was always up and going before I even rolled out of bed. Not only that, but I’d come into the kitchen to find a note or a missing pair of shoes indicating that she was taking her morning run. My wake up time had never bothered me before, but all of a sudden I felt like I was lesser than.

Earlier this summer, Becca indicated she’d like me to join her on her morning run sometime. I’m sure I made some funny joke or proved that my schedule didn’t really allow, hoping she would never ask again.

I don’t really enjoy running. I can run (I say that because I have two working legs, not because I am good at it.) I like to exercise, but I avoid distance running at all costs. Becca and I usually work out a few times each week together, but we do our own thing (actually, she usually does my thing – that’s kind of her lifestyle, it’s how she loves).

A few weeks later, she invited me again. I declined with some half-worthy excuse, hoping she would get the hint. After calculating the amount of time she was gone, the amount of sweat she produced, and the local landmarks she mentioned running past (that are miles from our house), I made sure we would never be running shoulder to shoulder. She politely accepted my rejection, but informed me that we would  be going on a run together before I left for Canada. In 6 days.

Who does she think she is?!

Does she realize I probably could not run for a consecutive mile?

Why does she even want to run with me?

Maybe she wants to prove that she’s better than I am at running? Can’t I just tell her that?

My morning anxiety increased. She’s training for our run – she wants to show me how far she can run. She’s so in shape. She must think I’m such a slob that I didn’t wake up at 7 and exercise. Gah, I want my own room back!

Canada was quickly approaching and I realized there was no way I could get out of running with her (unless I moved in with my sister?). I needed to get my oil changed, so I told her we could go on a little jaunt from there (it would cut about a mile off of either end of her proposed route.. genius, I know). As we were falling asleep the night before our running adventure, she asked what time I wanted to go.

I don’t want to go, Becca.

Oh, okay.

It’s not you, it’s just that I don’t run with people. I don’t run fast and I don’t want to hold anyone back. I want to be the person pulling others forward. You don’t want to run with me, trust me.

Rachel, we’re going running tomorrow. And if we run for 100 feet and walk the rest of the way, that’s okay. But you need to do this.

We got up the next morning and after some Jesus time found a running trail on the other side of the Minute Lube. We ran for a few minutes, then stopped and walked for a few. We ran for a few more, and walked for a few more. This went on for the next hour, and though I was extremely out of my comfort zone – I survived.

It was Becca’s turn to pull me forward.

Truth is I haven’t run with anyone since I was 12, when I was the last kid to finish the mile in my 6th grade gym class. After that, I had a doctor write me a note that said my asthma was too severe to run under pressure. I switched from being a forward in soccer to being a goalie – I traded laps for diving exercises.

It’s been 13 years.  All because I was the slowest kid in 2nd period gym.

Becca and I have all sorts of activities we like to do together. It’s not like running was the only way I could connect with her. But she knew my lack of desire was more than just laziness – she followed a prompting and invited me to overcome.

My definition of discipleship is simple: there’s more. As we invite others into the glorious journey that is following Christ, we must constantly preach to each other – there’s more. Enough with that sin – there’s more. You don’t need to be a slave to your fear – there’s more. That’s not who you are – there’s more. Get out of that pit – there’s more. Step out of your stagnance – there’s more.

With each step of that morning run, chains from a silly moment in junior high were loosening.

All because she had the courage to say “there’s more.”

I wish I could post an epilogue saying I signed up for a half marathon with 8 of my closest friends. I haven’t. I still fear running with others – truth is, I’d preach a sermon to 5,000 people before running a mile with one. But I’m taking it one step at a time. Freedom comes piece by piece, and then all at once. I dread Becca asking me to run again, but I know she will.

I hope she does.