Uphill

I've been a runner since I was 11 years old; from 11 to 18, my life basically revolved around running. I was involved in other things, but the biggest chunk of my life went to cross country and track.

I feel like most people can find gospel principles in their chosen hobbies. Certain scriptures always stood out to me: "... they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk and not faint" (Isaiah 40:31) and "I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith" (2 Timothy 4:7). I always thought of life as one long cross country season; we're forever training and strengthening ourselves to endure the ultimate race.

I'll admit, I rarely thought about it in great depth. During an actual race, I was often thinking about picking off the next person in front of me—probably not the most Christ-like thoughts.

After a disappointing end to my high school cross country career, I decided not to pursue a college running career. But I couldn't stay away for long. I coached and ran on intramural teams at BYU–Idaho, and I started participating in a few 5K races.

One particular race stands out from the rest. I didn't finish first, my time wasn't anything to shout about—from a runner's perspective, it's a race most would just forget.

On a chilly March evening, I was joined in the Midnight 5K by a respectable portion of BYU–Idaho students, including my roommate and best friend Brooke, her fiancé, Andrew, and another roommate, Kaylene.

Kaylene hadn't really run before. Brooke, being the thoughtful person that she is, decided that she would start the run with Kaylene. I, being the slightly competitive person that I am, decided to start my run with Andrew.

The race was basically the circumference of the BYU–Idaho campus. A good portion of the first mile was spent going uphill. The uphill is the only part of the race that I remember with clarity.

Uphill has always been my least favorite part of a race. I was starting to slow as we continued in the incline. Andrew gently chided me, telling me to pick it up. (At the time, I probably fought back the urge to respond with a sarcastic response.) I shook my head, refocused on the task at hand and looked forward.

It was dark, and I was surrounded by people. Everyone was huffing and puffing—it's a good thing there weren't three little pigs around, or they might have thought we'd come to blow their houses down. Joking aside, I realized that I wasn't the only one having a hard time. Even Andrew, who had just encouraged me, was feeling the physical strain.

As we continued upward, a small light started to appear. As we forged on, the light grew. Soon, our view was completely taken up by the temple.

It hit me then: this was life.

Running uphill was like the trials we each face; some take the hill with a little more ease, most have to mentally steel themselves to push forward, others have to stop and walk and a few may give the hill one glance and turn around.

As we ran uphill in this throng of people, I didn't hear a discouraging word. In fact, I heard heartening phrases being tossed about: "good job," "keep going," "you can do it."

In high school, you always wanted your team to run well. But to be honest, during the race, you were focused on yourself. If you passed a teammate, a "good job" might escape as you breathed out. That race was about crossing the finish line first.

The Midnight 5K was still competitive, but the spirit of the race was different. Even though everyone was on the same course, experiencing similar difficulties, they were helping each other. They wanted their friends to complete the race with them; no one wanted others to be left behind.

As we moved onward, the illuminated Rexburg temple filled our view. All around, people were making comments on the beauty. It truly was a sight to behold, going from darkness to a majestic white light.

As I looked toward the temple, it became easier to push forward. I thought, "If I can make it to the temple, I can finish the race."

Isn't that true of life? If we can faithfully live by those covenants we make in the temple, we can return to our Heavenly Father. We can finish our course.

"The temple itself becomes a symbol. If you have seen one of the temples at night, fully lighted, you know what an impressive sight that can be. The house of the Lord, bathed in light, standing out in the darkness, becomes symbolic of the power of the inspiration of the gospel of Jesus Christ standing as a beacon in a world that sinks ever further into spiritual darkness" (Boyd K. Packer, The Holy Temple).

As we go through life, we will most definitely have trials. We will have to push through the darkness, moving forward to the light of the Savior.

Unlike a typical race, the course of life is not meant to be finished alone. We are meant to bring others with us. As we trudge up the hill, we need to look to our journey companions; are they huffing and puffing, straining to see the light?

"This is my commandment, That ye love one another, as I have loved you" (John, 15:12).

Let us keep that commandment, and help one another up the hill.