Running with Jesus
'But those who trust in the LORD will find their strength renewed.
They will soar on wings as eagles;
they will run and not grow weary,
they will walk and not faint.'
~ Isaiah 40:31
I ran with Jesus for the first time yesterday. When I was a runner before, I didn't give Jesus much thought. I wasn't spiritual much less anywhere close to Christian. Basically, I was in my early twenties, anorexic, and I couldn't have given a damn about God or Jesus or anything even remotely religious. I was too busy counting calories, logging miles, and procrastinating my Masters thesis. I didn't have a whole lot of brain power to spare and frankly God, etc wasn't something I recall ever thinking about. Twenty years later, I find my life changed. I let my soul lead and I spend a lot of time thinking about spiritual matters. The lone commonality that I can see between my old life and this one is that I'm running again.
Running is a recent phenomenon. I was vehemently and vocally opposed to it. I recall saying once upon a time that the only time I would ever run again was if a bear was chasing me. I was that steadfast in my hatred of it. Every now and again I wished I liked it (much like I still do with reading), but that like never seemed to materialize. Then one day a cute friend said she wanted to run so I acquiesced. Funny, even after all those years away, I found that I was still pretty good. Sure I was horrifically out of shape compared to the runner I used to be, but I could see that glimmer of decent remained. All I had to do was cultivate it. If I wanted to. Cute Friend and I ran a couple times, then miraculously I ran a couple times alone. I didn't love it, but I didn't hate it either. I was in a 'get fit' phase and the occasional run allowed me to change up my cardio routine.
The big change came before dawn on Saturday, April 30. I signed up to do the Relay for Life. I truly intended to walk my shift, but when the friends I was supposed to walk with didn't show up, I decided to run. That day I ran for an hour and fifteen minutes. It was the farthest I'd run in decades and I loved every moment of it. I left the track that morning reminded of the days before I got caught up in winning, PRs, anorexia, and one hundred mile weeks. I felt strong and alive. I wasn't a runner again, but I was close. A week or so later, I went for a trail run in a horrendous thunderstorm. Somewhere in the middle of that run, I fell in love. I decided I wanted to be a runner again.
As quick as all that, I'll be racing for the first time in ten years early next month. Some friends asked me to be the runner on their triathlon team. Not wanting to be the weakest link, I fell back into my old pattern of tempo runs and speed work. To run fast, you have to run fast. And that's where Jesus comes in (you thought I forgot about him, didn't you?). I did my first speed workout since the Spring of '04 yesterday morning. I used to hate those damn workouts. They were painful, so painful that I chose to train for a marathon to avoid them. Acknowledging that I'm now twenty years older and not wanting to kill myself, I started slow. I've never trained for a 5k; I've only run two in my entire life and both were long after I quit racing. I ran shorter repeats and paced myself at 7:00 miles, a pace just a tad slower than my marathon pace back in the day. It was hard but I felt strong throughout and I survived.
I won't say, 'Thanks to Jesus'. I'd have survived with or without him. However, with him firmly on my six, I felt infinite. And I had company. There's nothing worse than suffering alone, something Jesus knows a thing or two about. Now you might think that his BCE footwear would have slowed him down; you don't see too many people clippity-clopping around the track in sandals these days. Eh, don't worry about Jesus. He more than kept up with me- robes flowing behind him and all. I think all that time on the cross made him mentally tough. When the head is right, it doesn't matter what you wear. That's Jesus for you.
Jesus' 'presence' reminded me that my ability to run and my endurance are truly gifts from God. I'm forty-two years old and I still feel like I have the potential to run like I did in my twenties. Of all the things I've done well in my life, I was the best at running. I realize now that it's in my genes (my sister and my cousin are both great runners) and in my soul. In the past, I allowed so much to get in the way - my desire to be faster, to win races, to burn the calories, to stay thin. I didn't focus on my gifts or the joy in those gifts. I was light-years from 'getting it'.
It may have taken eighteen years and a change in my spirituality to understand and be thankful for all that God has given me, but I don't regret a moment I spent away from running. My legs are fresher than if I'd run all those years and I now have a great running partner. With Jesus pushing the pace and constantly reminding me of joy and God's presence in my life, there's no telling how good I may end up being this time around. Look out Master's runners. There's a new-and-improved Stacee on the block. Don't mind the guy in sandals clippity-clopping along behind me. He's tougher than he looks.
They will soar on wings as eagles;
they will run and not grow weary,
they will walk and not faint.'
~ Isaiah 40:31
I ran with Jesus for the first time yesterday. When I was a runner before, I didn't give Jesus much thought. I wasn't spiritual much less anywhere close to Christian. Basically, I was in my early twenties, anorexic, and I couldn't have given a damn about God or Jesus or anything even remotely religious. I was too busy counting calories, logging miles, and procrastinating my Masters thesis. I didn't have a whole lot of brain power to spare and frankly God, etc wasn't something I recall ever thinking about. Twenty years later, I find my life changed. I let my soul lead and I spend a lot of time thinking about spiritual matters. The lone commonality that I can see between my old life and this one is that I'm running again.
Running is a recent phenomenon. I was vehemently and vocally opposed to it. I recall saying once upon a time that the only time I would ever run again was if a bear was chasing me. I was that steadfast in my hatred of it. Every now and again I wished I liked it (much like I still do with reading), but that like never seemed to materialize. Then one day a cute friend said she wanted to run so I acquiesced. Funny, even after all those years away, I found that I was still pretty good. Sure I was horrifically out of shape compared to the runner I used to be, but I could see that glimmer of decent remained. All I had to do was cultivate it. If I wanted to. Cute Friend and I ran a couple times, then miraculously I ran a couple times alone. I didn't love it, but I didn't hate it either. I was in a 'get fit' phase and the occasional run allowed me to change up my cardio routine.
The big change came before dawn on Saturday, April 30. I signed up to do the Relay for Life. I truly intended to walk my shift, but when the friends I was supposed to walk with didn't show up, I decided to run. That day I ran for an hour and fifteen minutes. It was the farthest I'd run in decades and I loved every moment of it. I left the track that morning reminded of the days before I got caught up in winning, PRs, anorexia, and one hundred mile weeks. I felt strong and alive. I wasn't a runner again, but I was close. A week or so later, I went for a trail run in a horrendous thunderstorm. Somewhere in the middle of that run, I fell in love. I decided I wanted to be a runner again.
As quick as all that, I'll be racing for the first time in ten years early next month. Some friends asked me to be the runner on their triathlon team. Not wanting to be the weakest link, I fell back into my old pattern of tempo runs and speed work. To run fast, you have to run fast. And that's where Jesus comes in (you thought I forgot about him, didn't you?). I did my first speed workout since the Spring of '04 yesterday morning. I used to hate those damn workouts. They were painful, so painful that I chose to train for a marathon to avoid them. Acknowledging that I'm now twenty years older and not wanting to kill myself, I started slow. I've never trained for a 5k; I've only run two in my entire life and both were long after I quit racing. I ran shorter repeats and paced myself at 7:00 miles, a pace just a tad slower than my marathon pace back in the day. It was hard but I felt strong throughout and I survived.
I won't say, 'Thanks to Jesus'. I'd have survived with or without him. However, with him firmly on my six, I felt infinite. And I had company. There's nothing worse than suffering alone, something Jesus knows a thing or two about. Now you might think that his BCE footwear would have slowed him down; you don't see too many people clippity-clopping around the track in sandals these days. Eh, don't worry about Jesus. He more than kept up with me- robes flowing behind him and all. I think all that time on the cross made him mentally tough. When the head is right, it doesn't matter what you wear. That's Jesus for you.
Jesus' 'presence' reminded me that my ability to run and my endurance are truly gifts from God. I'm forty-two years old and I still feel like I have the potential to run like I did in my twenties. Of all the things I've done well in my life, I was the best at running. I realize now that it's in my genes (my sister and my cousin are both great runners) and in my soul. In the past, I allowed so much to get in the way - my desire to be faster, to win races, to burn the calories, to stay thin. I didn't focus on my gifts or the joy in those gifts. I was light-years from 'getting it'.
It may have taken eighteen years and a change in my spirituality to understand and be thankful for all that God has given me, but I don't regret a moment I spent away from running. My legs are fresher than if I'd run all those years and I now have a great running partner. With Jesus pushing the pace and constantly reminding me of joy and God's presence in my life, there's no telling how good I may end up being this time around. Look out Master's runners. There's a new-and-improved Stacee on the block. Don't mind the guy in sandals clippity-clopping along behind me. He's tougher than he looks.
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