By Heidi Dahlke

Seven years ago, I set a goal: to complete a Spartan race with my husband and our 14- and 11-year-old sons. We had spent months preparing in different ways, training and getting ready for the challenge. The race was scheduled for my birthday, and it was my gift to myself that year. We traveled to the Boise, Idaho area with all six of our children to make a weekend of it. We chose the Spartan Sprint, since it was the shortest course, advertised at just 3–5 miles.

On race morning, we woke early. Before leaving, I made sure our other four children were all set back at the hotel. I was especially careful to nurse my baby until he had a full belly, hoping to make things easier for my 16-year-old daughter, who would be watching the others. As we entered the arena that beautiful, clear morning, excitement buzzed all around us. But inside, my nerves were building — the same kind of nerves I used to feel before every athletic event I’d ever competed in.

Standing there with the other participants, waiting for our start time, the race facilitators gave us last-minute instructions. That’s when we found out: the 3–5 mile course had become 6 miles. My stomach dropped. I thought about my baby back at the hotel and doubt crept in — not just about finishing strong, but about finishing at all. They told us there would be about 30 obstacles scattered along the course. If we couldn’t complete one, we’d have to do a penalty exercise before moving on. I already knew there were obstacles that would be tough for me, especially with an injured shoulder. I took a deep breath, joined in the Spartan cry with the others — and then we were off.

From the start, I knew I'd have to dig deep. The course was brutal: steep climbs, heavy buckets of rocks to carry to checkpoints and dump, sandbag hauls, towering walls to scale, army crawls under barbed wire in mud pits filled with goat head thistles — and plenty of burpees. I tackled each obstacle, running hard to the next one, fueled by an inner resolve to finish as quickly as possible and get back to my children. I knew it would be hard, but I wanted to prove to myself that I could do it. Every now and then, my husband or one of my sons would run up beside me, or I’d spot a water station ahead, and it would give me the boost I needed to keep pushing forward.

Finally, we came around a bend and reached the top of the last hill, looking down toward the arena and the final five obstacles. I knew these last ones would be my hardest yet. I stopped for a moment at the top, watching my husband and sons continue on ahead. I was completely spent. The temperature had climbed steadily over the last three hours. I was coated in sweat and mud, blood trickling down my knees from the thistles, feeling drained and inadequate to continue.

As I stood there, staring down at what was left, something incredible happened. I felt a loving, familiar embrace — a buoying presence like nothing I’d ever experienced before. My sweet mother had passed away just two months before the race, but in that moment, I felt her with me. She wrapped me up in love and gave me the strength to take that first step forward. My energy renewed, I made my way down the hill. I finished the race, knowing deep in my heart that yes, I can do hard things — but even more, that I am never alone.

Although this story happened over just a few hours, I've seen the same pattern play out over and over again in my life. As I have struggled forward — sometimes only able to shuffle — help has shown up exactly when I needed it most. Often, it has come through people who, I am convinced, were sent on a mission from my mom. The lows don’t last as long as they used to, and I've come to see that they aren’t as low as they once felt, either. Our Heavenly Father is always aware of us, our needs, and even our quietest hopes. His love is real, and it is mighty.

_________________

•   To discover how to start choosing more effectively now, read The Jackrabbit Factor (FREE!)  
•   If you want more step-by-step guidance on creating the life you really want, join me in the Mindset Mastery program.
•   If you want my help overcoming that giant obstacle right in front of you, learn more and sign up for Genius Bootcamp.