On the run

Running has transitioned from being an anathema to becoming strangely cathartic for me. This change has occurred entirely within the last three to four years. I used to hate running; I much preferred to bicycle for exercise (so much more efficient! And fast! Who would run somewhere when you could cycle in less than half the time and effort?). I spent more for my first "real" bike (which I still own and ride) than I did on my first car (which has been dead for the better part of a decade), and put on countless miles in my teenage years, and quite a few more throughout my early 20's. Sadly, I was forced to re-prioritize my exercise preferences after an unfortunate meeting of my collarbone and the asphalt about four years ago, and again the next year when I move to England and had to leave my bicycle behind.

Now, the transition is almost complete. While I still enjoy the occasional bike ride, running has become my go-to physical exertion of choice (with the possible exception of squash, when available). I love running for its simplicity - all I need is a pair of shoes, and I'm good to go - and the ability to train while I'm traveling, regardless of where I am. I used to be the sort of person who would go for a run for the sole purpose of reminding himself just how absolutely horrid it is. Now I've become someone who starts to feel stifled if I haven't been able to fit in a jog in a couple of days.

Maybe it's middle age making it's presence known; running always did strike me as the sort of thing you did in your thirties and forties. Perhaps I'm just slightly ahead of the curve.

One of the things I've grown to love about running is the space that it creates in my day. Space to think, space to pray, and space to step out of the real world and into my own private thoughts and reflections. It can translate my emotions and feelings into something tangible; if I'm dealing with a frustrating situation, a good hard run can be the opportunity to express those feelings. If I'm feeling mellow and contemplative, a slow and meandering run along wooded paths can be the perfect complement. 

Running has become one of my favorite times to pray. There's something about how my breathing and footsteps fall into a syncopated rhythm after a while, once the initial gasping and plodding is out of the way, that enables my mind to disengage slightly from our distracting hyper-connected world and focus on only a few things at a time. 

Breathing.

Running.
Praying.

And that's about all my feeble mind can handle. Which is probably a good thing. Multitasking is a valuable skill, but when I'm flitting between web pages and emails and my telephone which is alternately ringing or vibrating or both (and when it's not I check it anyways just to be sure I didn't miss something), it can be difficult to find mental space to even say "God, help!" When I settle into a rhythm, there's some prayers that just start to fall into place along with it. The Lord's prayer. The Jesus prayer. The twenty-third Psalm. 

Since my mental space is so fragmented, cluttered and downright scarce, it's been invaluable to find a means of creating a consistent atmosphere which is conducive to prayer.

That's not to say that I run so that I can pray; it's a big part of what draws me into this physical discipline, but it's by no menas the only attraction. I love the workout it provides, and the fact that running regularly allows me to be far less stringent with my diet than I would otherwise have to be. Running provides an outlet for my competitive streak as well, both in measuring my progress against others in the occasional race, and (more importantly, and perhaps more hotly contested) in measuring my current self against my past selves. 

Being back in Southampton for a few weeks has allowed me to revisit some of my favorite routes from when I lived here a few years ago. The memories tied to them are sometimes joyous, sometimes painful. My greatest joys are in realizing progress, whether it be in the physical realm ("this hill used to slay me; now it's just a small speed bump") or in the spiritual ("I cried to God here; He answered that cry, and so much more"). The pain lies in the dormancy, the stagnation, the lack of progress. I still trip over that same root. I struggle with this same discipline. I haven't kicked that old habit.

Thanks be to God that his grace is enough to both empower my growth and cover my weakness!

I'm not training for anything in particular at the moment. I have half a mind to attempt another marathon at some point, but that takes a lot of time and effort I'm not sure I want to commit at the time being. In the meantime, I continue to run for the sheer joy of it. I'm not always sure where I'm headed, or how long the run will be, or how long it'll take to reach the end. But I do have faith that the pain along the way is for a purpose.

Oh, and the physical component of running is great, too.

This would be the part where I spiritualize all of this to an extra level by listing all of the mentions that the Bible gives to running, and the parallels between physical and spiritual training and discipline. But time is short, and you'd probably breeze through it anyways. Most people - myself included - tend to skip over the parts in books or blogs or articles where lots of Bible passages are cited. So do yourself a favor, look up a verse or two on your own, and ponder the parallels.

Running, for me, has ceased to become solely about speeding things up. Instead, as my body slowly adjusts to the pace of the run, things start to slow down, and I'm able to think, breathe, and pray in a way that is outside of the hectic time of the ordinary.

And for that, I'm thankful.