October 17 | Moments Almanac | Run

Welcome to Moments Almanac for October 17th. And on this day in 1964, eight women take their positions on the track of the Olympic Stadium. They're about to make history in Tokyo. For the first time in Olympic history, women will compete in the 400-meter final. One lap around the track. 400 meters. Less than a minute to determine who will take the gold. And among the eight competitors is a 26-year-old Australian woman named Betty Cuthbert. Four years earlier, she had walked away from the sport. Her career was over, or so she thought. The starting pistol fires, and Betty Cuthbert runs. She runs as though she has been waiting her entire life for this movie. By the halfway point, she's out in front. But Britain's Anne Packer is closing the distance, the final turn, the home stretch, the finish line, and Betty Cuthbert fifty-two seconds, a new Olympic record, her fourth Olympic gold medal. But the most remarkable part of Betty Cuthbert's story isn't how fast she ran. It's what happened when she could no longer run at all. She was born in Sydney, Australia in 1938, and as a little girl she discovered something extraordinary. She could run. Not just run, she could fly. Her legs seemed to possess a speed that other children could only dream about. Growing up in a Christian home, Betty believed from the age of eight that God had given her this unusual gift, and she intended to use it. At the 1956 Olympics in Melbourne, the eighteen-year-old became the national sensation. She won the hundred meters. She won the two hundred meters. And then she helped. Australia win the four by one hundred meter relay. The newspaper called her Golden Girl, and Australia fell in love with her. She had become one of the fastest women on earth. But four years later, at the 1960 Olympics in Rome, everything changed. An injury ended her hopes of repeating her earlier triumphs. Disappointment, exhaustion, and believing that she had accomplished enough. Betty retired. She went home. Returned to ordinary life, put the running shoes away, and that, she thought, was that. But something wouldn't leave her alone. An impression, a persistent thought, two words. Run again. Betty tried to ignore it. She had already won three Olympic medals. What more could she possibly ask for? But the thought kept returning. Run again. She would later say that she had come to believe that God was speaking to her, and eventually she surrendered. She would run again. The comeback was not easy. She had been away from competition for more than a year, and at twenty-six she was considered old by the standards of women sprinting in that era. But Betty began training. This time she set her sights on a longer race, the 400 meters, a race that would demand more than explosive speed. It would demand endurance. And on October 17th, 1964, she stood on the track in Tokyo, ready to run the race of her life. She later described it as her perfect race. And when she crossed the finish line, she believed God had carried her through it. Betty Cuthbert had become the first person in Olympic history to win individual gold medals in the 100, 200, and 400 meters. An extraordinary accomplishment. And when the race was over, she quietly wondered whether she had finally done enough. Four gold medals. Surely that was enough. But God wasn't finished with Betty Cuthbert. And in the next chapter, this would be harder than any race she had ever run. In 1969, just five years after her triumph in Tokyo, Betty was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis, a disease that attacks the central nervous system, a disease that can still strength, coordination, balance, and mobility. For a woman whose life had been defined by extraordinary ability with her legs, the diagnosis was devastating. Over time, her physical abilities diminished. The woman who had outrun the world eventually needed a wheelchair. The golden girl could no longer run. And this is where her story becomes something far greater than a story about Olympic medals. Because Betty Cuthbert did not abandon her faith. In 1985, at the age of 47, she made a public profession of her personal faith in Jesus Christ. She had grown up believing in God. She had believed God had given her the gift of speed, but now her faith became something more personal, more deeply rooted in Christ Himself. And she began speaking openly about the hope that she found in him. She once explained that she had initially sought healing, but in the process she discovered something greater. She found the healer. And she discovered that knowing him mattered more than getting her legs back. There was a passage of Scripture that especially became precious to Betty. You probably have read it before. Isaiah chapter 40, verse 31. But those who trust in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles. They will run and not become weary. They will walk and not faint. They will run and not become weary. Imagine what those words must have meant to a woman who once ran faster than anyone in the world, a woman who now struggled with the simplest movements, a woman whose Olympic medals were reminders of a body that could no longer do what it once had done. But Betty believed the promises of God extended beyond the limitations of this life. She didn't pretend that multiple sclerosis was easy. She knew pain. She knew disappointment. She knew what it was like to lose something so precious to her, but she refused to allow her circumstance to have the final word. And when the sports writer Ron Reed spoke with her, she expressed a remarkable confidence. She believed that God would let her run again. Think about that. A woman who had won four Olympic gold medals, a woman who had stood on the highest platform in the world of athletics, a woman whose body had slowly betrayed the gift that once made her so famous, and still she believed there was another race ahead, not in Melbourne, not in Rome, not in Tokyo, but in the presence of the one who had given her the gift of speed in the first place. Betty Cuthbert died on August 6, 2017. She was seventy nine years old. Her earthly races were finished. Her medals had long since been placed in the record books, but the faith that sustained her through decades of illness pointed her towards something no Olympic victory could ever provide, a hope beyond death, a hope of a body made new, a life where suffering would not have the final word. And every one of us knows something about losing strength. We know what it's like to discover that our bodies have limitations, that our plans don't always work out, that the things we once did so easily could become painfully difficult. Betty knew that as well. Betty Cuthbert knew what it was like to run faster than anyone else in the world. She also knew what it was like to sit in a wheelchair and watch the world pass her by, but she believed the finish line wasn't the end of the story, and somewhere beyond the limitations of a broken body, she believed another race was waiting. No starting pistol, no stopwatch, no Olympic stadium, just a woman who had spent her life trusting the one who gave her the gift of speed and the promise that one day she would run again. That's Moments Almanac for October 17th. I hope you'll join me tomorrow. And until then, take heart. Notice the scattered moments and share the grace.