THE DESERT I HAD TO CONQUER

On 16 August 2026, I embarked on my toughest race yet — a 250km self-sustained ultra marathon across the Namibian Desert in Africa.

It took me about six months of training and preparation before the race. I was physically prepared. I was mentally excited. I had spent months looking forward to this challenge.

But when the race began, anticipation quickly turned into anxiety. After just 20km, the regrets started. The temperature climbed towards a brutal 40°C. The air was warm and dry. Sand was everywhere. The soft sand made every stride difficult. I couldn't run at the pace I was used to and every step became a little more difficult than the one before.

The thoughts started coming. It's too hot. The environment is too harsh. Why did I sign up for this? Can my body take this?

Some runners around me were having the same negative thoughts. Some were close to breaking down. Then, a fellow Japanese runner ran past me and greeted me with a simple, “Hello.” We had a short conversation, and he said: “The desert is so hot, isn't it?” Thinking he was complaining, I replied, “Yes, it's so hot. It's bad. It's tough.” Then came his reply. “This is precisely what I signed up for. This is an ultra. This is the desert. It is meant to be hot. It is meant to be challenging. I knew this before coming here. I want to go through this, experience it, and finish this race.”

His words completely changed my perspective. He was right. This was exactly what I had signed up for. Why was I complaining about the heat? Why was I surprised that the sand was difficult? Why was I expecting the desert to be comfortable? I had spent six months preparing for the race, but perhaps I had not prepared enough for the mindset required to embrace the journey. The desert wasn't supposed to be easy. It was supposed to be hard.

That made me reflect on something much deeper — my Christian faith.

Faith doesn't promise an easy journey

Sometimes, I think we approach our faith expecting that because we trust God, our lives should become easier. But that isn't what Christianity promises. Following Christ doesn't mean there will be no difficulties. There will be seasons when we feel different from the world. There will be moments when doing what is right is difficult. There will be situations we don't understand. There will be prayers that don't seem to receive the answers we want.

There will be deserts.

And perhaps, just like my race, the question isn't always: “Why is this so difficult?”

Sometimes the better question is: “How is God asking me to walk through this?”

When I signed up for the ultra, I knew the desert would be hot. I knew there would be sand. I knew it would hurt. Yet when I was in the desert, knowing something intellectually was very different from experiencing it. Isn't that sometimes what faith feels like? We know the Bible tells us to trust God. We know God is with us. We know He is faithful. But when we are actually in the middle of our own “desert”, our emotions can tell us something completely different.

That is where faith becomes real.

“Trust in the Lord”

Proverbs 3:5–6 says:

“Trust in the Lord with all thine heart and lean not unto thine own understanding; in all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.”

The words “lean not unto thine own understanding” really speak to me.

Because so often, I want to understand everything. Why is this happening? Why me? Why now? How will this work out? What is the outcome?

But faith asks us to trust even when we don't have all the answers.

During the race, I couldn't control the temperature. I couldn't control the sand. I couldn't control how difficult the terrain would become. I couldn't control how my body would respond. But I could control my response. I could choose whether to complain or accept. I could choose whether to panic or take the next step. I could choose whether to focus on how far I had left to go or simply focus on the next kilometre.

And perhaps that is one of the lessons of faith.

We may not be able to control our circumstances, but we can surrender our circumstances to God and choose how we respond to them.

Trust doesn't mean we understand the entire journey. Trust means we are willing to take the next step even when we cannot see the whole path.

“God is faithful”

The second verse that came to mind was 1 Corinthians 10:13:

“...but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able; but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it.”

This verse is often simplified into, “God will never give you more than you can bear.”

But the context is important. Paul is specifically speaking about temptation. The promise is not that Christians will never experience overwhelming pain, grief, loss or difficult circumstances.

Rather, when we are tempted to turn away from God, give in, or choose wrongly, God remains faithful and provides a way for us to endure and choose differently.

That distinction matters. Because sometimes life really does feel like more than we can bear. And when that happens, Christianity isn't about pretending that everything is okay.

It is about recognising: I don't have to bear everything alone.

I can lean on God.I can pray. I can seek help. I can depend on other believers. I can take one step at a time. And I can trust that God remains faithful even when I don't feel strong.

So how do we exercise self-control and lean on faith?

The desert taught me three simple lessons.

1. Control what you can control

I couldn't control the desert. But I could control my pace, my hydration, my thoughts and whether I kept moving. In life, we often waste enormous amounts of energy trying to control things that were never ours to control. Other people's opinions. Other people's actions. The outcome. The future.

Instead, ask:

“What is within my control today?” Then surrender the rest to God.

Sometimes faith is simply saying:

“Lord, I can't control this. But I trust You with it.”

2. Don't let your emotions make your decisions

In the desert, my emotions were telling me: It's too hot. You can't do this. You made a mistake. But emotions are real — they are not always reliable. Self-control doesn't mean we don't feel fear, frustration or doubt. It means we don't allow those feelings to dictate our next decision.

Pause. Pray. Breathe. Take the next step.

Sometimes the most faithful thing we can do is not make a major decision while we are at our emotional lowest.

Let faith speak louder than fear.

3. Focus on the next step, not the entire journey

250km sounds impossible when you're standing at the start. But you don't run 250km in one step. You run one kilometre. Then another. Then another.

Faith works the same way. Sometimes we become overwhelmed because we are trying to figure out the entire future. What will happen to my career? My family? My finances? My relationships? My plans?

God may not show us the entire road. Sometimes He simply gives us enough light for the next step. So take that step. Then the next. Then the next.

Trust God with the destination while remaining faithful with the step in front of you.

I thought I conquered the desert.

The race was tough. There were moments I wanted to stop. There were moments I doubted myself. And yes, I actually cried at the end of the race. But strangely enough, I enjoyed the journey. Because somewhere along those 250 kilometres, my perspective changed. I stopped asking: “Why is this so difficult?”

And started asking: “What is this difficulty teaching me?”

I thought I was going to conquer the Namibian Desert.

But the desert was never mine to conquer.

The real battle was within me.

I had to conquer my fear. My doubts. My impatience. My desire for comfort. And most of all, my desire to control everything. And perhaps that is what faith does too. We don't necessarily become stronger because life becomes easier. Sometimes, we become stronger because we learn to trust God when life is hard.

The Christian journey is not a promise of a life without deserts. It is a promise that we don't have to walk through the desert alone. So when life becomes difficult, perhaps we can remember: 

Trust in the Lord, even when you don't understand.

Exercise self-control, even when your emotions are telling you otherwise.

Take the next step, even when you cannot see the destination.

I entered the Namibian Desert thinking I was there to conquer 250km.

I left realising that the greater journey was never across the desert.

It was the journey within.

And perhaps that is what God is inviting each of us to do — not to conquer the world around us, but to surrender ourselves to Him, one step at a time.