Today in sacrament meeting we heard a talk on agency and divine identity. The speaker is an adult convert in his 30s. A cyclist. He used a cycling analogy in his talk.
LoToJa is a 200-mile bike race from Logan to Jackson Hole.
In 2022 he raced as part of a relay team. But what stayed with him weren’t his own miles it was watching the solo riders. The ones who rode the whole distance alone. The next year, he did it solo.
He finished in 12 hours.
Respectable. Strong. But not the time he dreamed of.
The following year he set a bold goal: ten hours. He trained hard. Really hard. He pushed himself, committed himself, expected more from himself.
Finish time: 11 hours 36 minutes.
Close enough to taste it… but still short.
He assumed improvement would come mostly from big efforts longer rides, harder workouts, dramatic pushes.
Instead, he came to a quieter, slightly uncomfortable realization: It was the accumulation of small daily choices that mattered most.
Not one epic training day.
But consistency.
Steadiness.
The choices made when motivation wasn’t there. When no one was watching.
Agency, he said, works like that.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
But constant.
The next year he trained differently, not more aggressively, but more consistently.
Then race day came.
For the first 56 miles, he rode with a peloton. Sheltered from crosswinds.
Energy conserved. Strength multiplied simply by not riding alone.
There are seasons of life like that, aren’t there?
Where we feel buoyed by community, fellowship, shared momentum.
And then, somewhere after mile 56,
He lost the pack.
Suddenly it was just him and the wind.
Relentless crosswinds.
Heavy legs.
That creeping mental fatigue that every endurance athlete (and honestly every human) recognizes. Discouragement started whispering.
But he had something taped to his handlebars: a timekeeper.
A small device tracking distance and pacing. Quietly telling the truth when exhaustion distorted how things felt.
He said it reminded him of the scriptures and words of prophets.
Somewhere along that lonely stretch another cyclist caught up to him.
“Do you know if we’re on track for ten hours?”
The rider didn’t have a timekeeper.
The speaker glanced at his numbers.
“Yes,” he said. “We’re on schedule.”
Even though inside he admitted he didn’t feel strong or confident.
So they rode together. Two tired riders pulling for each other. Encouraging each other. Sharing the psychological burden of the wind.
They reached the 150-mile checkpoint four minutes ahead of pace. He said he felt incredible. Relief. Confidence. That intoxicating sense of I’m going to do this.
and then he hit the wall. Harder than before. His strength seemed to evaporate, doubt surged and quitting suddenly felt reasonable.
But this time he didn’t spiral. He lowered his gaze.
Focused on the timekeeper.
Not the finish line.
Not the full remaining distance.
Just the next mile. Then the next.
Then the next.
Eventually, the fog lifted. His legs responded. The despair loosened its grip.
He crossed the finish line at 9 hours 54 minutes.
Six minutes ahead of his goal.
This was an analogy of discipleship.
About agency being exercised in thousands of small, unseen decisions.
About seasons of strength and seasons of struggle.
About losing the peloton.
Facing the wind.
Hitting the wall.
And choosing to keep moving anyway.
Because of Jesus Christ, discouragement is never the final verdict. Because of Him, weakness is not the end of the story.
Because of Him, we are not defined by the miles that break us, but by the grace that carries us forward.
We may ride through headwinds.
We may lose the pack.
We may hit the wall more than once.
But we are never, ever riding alone.
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