When Strength Was My Story — And What I’m Learning Now

I trained for triathlons. Ran marathons. Shoveled snow, cut wood. Played football and wrestled. I was always confident my strength and endurance would win the day. There were seasons I’d get up at 5:30, swim a mile, then run six more. For years, I biked 200 miles a week.
I loved it.
I felt invincible.

My body felt strong. Capable. Reliable.

And there was something about that kind of strength and endurance that felt like freedom.

It also felt like control.

Like I could handle whatever life brought my way.

I didn’t think about it much at the time.

But looking back, I can see—it wasn’t just about strength.

When Strength Becomes Something More

Over time, that strength became part of how I saw myself.
It was something people noticed. It seemed to matter. And without realizing it, I started to lean on it.

Not just in what I could do… but in how I understood my life.

There was this quiet assumption underneath everything:

I am strong. I can handle this. Everything will be okay.

I don’t think I would have said that out loud.

But I was living from it.

I can even see it in the way I used to dream—I’d be shot or stabbed, and it wouldn’t affect me. I would just keep going.

Somewhere deep down, I wanted to believe I was indestructible.

What I’m Noticing Now

Lately, things feel different.

It’s harder to get out for a run. My back flares up. My legs feel tired. What used to feel automatic now takes effort.

And if I’m honest, I don’t like it.
In fact, I hate it.

Not just because of the physical change…

but because of what it exposes.

I don’t like feeling limited.

I don’t like feeling weak.

I don’t like feeling vulnerable.

When Life Makes It Clear

And this hasn’t just shown up in my body.

Recently, my wife went through a brain bleed and surgery. In a moment, everything I thought was secure changed.

And once again, I was reminded of something I would rather not face:

I am not in control.

What’s Beneath It

What I’m beginning—reluctantly—to see is that my strength had quietly shaped how I saw reality.

It taught me, without me realizing it, that I could manage my life. That I could push through anything. That I was more in control than I actually was.

And now, at 69, that’s being stripped away.

What’s left is uncomfortable.

I feel smaller than I used to.
More limited.
More dependent.
More exposed than I want to be.

At first, it feels like loss.

But deeper than that…
it feels like a kind of death—
or at least the shadow of it—
the loss of the self I trusted to hold everything together.

And maybe that’s why it hurts.

As Dallas Willard said, “Pain is what you feel when you bump into reality.”

And I think that’s what’s happening here—
I’m not losing my life…
I’m being brought back into reality.

And that kind of truth doesn’t come without pain.

The Beginning of Wisdom

There’s a line in the Psalms that says:

“Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom” (Psm 90:12).

I’ve read that before.  I’ve taught it.  I’ve preached it.

But I’m starting to feel it now.

There’s a kind of clarity that comes when you stop avoiding your limits.

When you stop pretending you’re in control.

When you actually face how painfully dependent you really are.

It’s not comfortable.

But it does feel… true.

And I’m beginning to see—that’s where wisdom starts.

A Different Way of Living

When you see things more clearly, you start to live differently.

You stop trying to control everything.

You stop carrying weight you were never meant to carry.

You begin to trust in a way that’s not theoretical anymore—it’s necessary.

For a lot of us, especially as men, strength has been part of our story.

We’ve learned to push through. Handle it. Figure it out. Fix it.

And for a while, that works.

Until it doesn’t.

The Question I’m Sitting With

So here’s the question I keep coming back to:

If my strength isn’t what defines me… then what does?

I don’t think that’s a question you answer quickly.

I think it’s something you slowly walk into.

It’s an invitation—

To move from control to trust.
From self-reliance to dependence.
From securing life to receiving it.
From a smaller story… to a larger one.

What I’m Learning

I’m still learning what that looks like.

Learning to live from a place that isn’t built on my ability to manage life…

but on God’s presence in it.

I don’t always like what this process brings up.

But I can see that it’s leading me to somewhere good.

More honest.
More grounded.
More dependent.
More real.

And I’m beginning to slowly believe—

that’s a better story.

A Question for You

Where are you still trying to hold onto control—
and what would it look like to face your limits
and live with wisdom?