Running Alone

I am an unapologetic extrovert, and nowhere is it more evident than when I'm running.  What I enjoyed most about cross-country and track practice was the camaraderie with my teammates - I'd spend miles just talking with my friends.  When I was in middle school, this would describe the meets as well as practices; I made friends with all my closest competitors by talking to them every time we'd race.

If you've run with me as an adult (either of you), you know that I'll spend the whole run talking with you.  Yet pretty much 99% of my runs are alone. 

Given the choice, I'd run with someone, and it's one reason I love our Annual Conference at Lakeside, Ohio - because I have multiple pastor friends who also run.  When I got back into running (as a seminarian), part of running was the accountability of having a running partner (thanks, Nate), and it was due to a runner friend's motivation that I ever ran a marathon.

So why is it that 99% of my runs are alone?

Besides the complaint that none of my runner friends live nearby, the bigger reason I run alone is my desire for flexibility.  I like to be able to run whenever I want, wherever I am.  For example: if I know that I am going to visit someone in the hospital in Lancaster, might I also take my running gear with me and jump on the Fairfield Heritage Trail which runs right next to the hospital. Or if I'm up in Newark or Granville (or have reason to go up there), I can jump on the TJ Evans Trail for some mileage.  Those runs will of course depend on when I get there and how long I take visiting.  And I mostly just run from home and like the ability to get up, get dressed, and go run.


How about you, runner friends?  Do you run with a group or partner, or do you run alone?

Joe

Ten years ago, my friend Joe died.  I had just gotten back in touch with him after having lost contact with him for several years, but I never got to see him before he died.  He and I weren't close friends in high school, though we were good acquaintances, but in college, he was the one guy I could always count on.  Since he was still in Kokomo, he was always home when I was (including when all my friends had returned to school in the fall and I was waiting for NU to start the much-later fall quarter), and we hung out all the time. 

When Joe got back in touch, he told me he had cancer - he couldn't make it to any of the high school 10th reunion activities because his doctor didn't want him being around all of the potential germs and bugs.  I didn't make it either - I was out of town for a wedding that weekend and barely made it in for an informal picnic with some members of the class.  I figured I would just see Joe the next time I was in town.  I didn't expect that "next time" to be for his funeral.

Now here we are, ten years later, and Saturday night I dreamed about Joe.  The dream was rather strange (including a bit where I was running a long distance race that went through a barn filled with angry cows - I turned around and tried to sneak out before the bull saw me), but at the end of the dream I was hanging out with Joe. 

Somehow, I think I realized that I was dreaming, because even though he was right in front of me, I realized that Joe was already dead, and I knew that once I woke up, I wouldn't see him again. It was as though I knew I was going to wake up.  I knew I had to say my goodbyes. We said goodbye, and shortly thereafter, I woke up.

I frequently remember my dreams, but this one seemed really vivid.  And (I should add) though it's said we dream in black and white, I dream in vivid color.  And I can still see it in my mind, a full day later.

It's All Linked

Spiritual malpractice is offering Jesus as the healer but not offering the safe places, spaces, people, and processes for people to heal.  - Jorge Acevado

This quote caught my attention at Annual Conference last week.  Not necessarily for its shock value (spiritual malpractice anyone!?!), and not even for the truth of the statement or the obvious ramifications of the statement if it is indeed true - but for the bigger truth that his statement uncovers.

It's all linked.

Many of us have tried to segment our lives into personal/private and public - this is where such things as Facebook privacy/security (or lack thereof) come into play; we want to be able to post pictures of our kids for grandma and grandpa to see, but we don't want them in the hands of our local registered sex offenders (or the unregistered ones!). Or we've tried to segment our "religious" lives from our "secular" lives (separation of church and workplace?).And often the church does this as well, separating faith and good works.  We often focus exclusively on evangelism (sharing Jesus) or on feeding the hungry... I suppose the extreme case would be the evangelist who says "I will pray for you" when someone asks for food (on one side) or the person who is feeding the hungry who, when asked for prayer, refuses to invoke the name of Jesus, lest he offends.

The Wesleyan model of "doing church" included a healthy balance of personal piety and social action.  John Wesley said you couldn't have one without the other.

This is all a reminder that it's all linked.  I have been thinking of it in terms of running.  When I run, I experience God.  Why?  Partly because I am pushing my body to be better, to be more like what it was made to be.  After my first "long" race, I was on my way to get cleaned up (in the campground) and had a chance to cheer on some runners.  I ended up in conversation with another runner (who had also already finished) and I made some offhand comment about our bodies not being designed to run this far and she immediately said, "Yes they are; otherwise we wouldn't be able to do it." 

Good point. There are all sorts of things we were made to do, and they're all linked.

I made a comment in my previous post about eating better when I run.  I have never gone on a diet (well, I made a real concerted effort to eat healthy when I was on the wrestling team in high school, but I couldn't lose any weight, and then when I "blew" my diet by binging on pizza, I weighed in 1/2 pound lighter the next day), but when I'm in training, I do find myself looking for healthy alternatives to some of my favorite junk foods.

And, of course, that affects my running.

Because it's all linked.  Spiritual is linked to physical is linked to emotional is linked to intellectual. if we are screwed up in one area (which most (all?) of us are), it's going to adversely affect other areas.  But on the other hand, if we get healthy in one area, it will positively affect other areas as well.

Running on Purpose

If you aren't a runner, you probably rarely run by accident - unless, that is, you end up late for a train or chased by a fierce animal.  But if you are a runner, chances are, you run on purpose.

My purpose for running has changed over the years, and it actually took me a while to figure that out.  When I was little, I ran just to run. 

Then I went to middle school, and I ended up on the cross country and track teams - all about the competition.  I ran to compete.  But I didn't necessarily like the races; the best part was the camaraderie with my teammates (and opponents; in middle school I managed to make friends with the top runners from all the other schools, which worked well when we consolidated in 8th grade and high school).

I especially enjoyed our "longer" runs (and can hardly believe that the longest runs we did were 6 milers) and talking and sharing as we ran.  I even enjoyed the interval training - I liked being pushed and pushing myself.  I thought the purpose of running was competition, and I wondered why anyone who wasn't fast would even try to run.  Yes, conceited.  Yes, naive.  What can I say - I was a teenager.

When I got into college and later, even though I was no longer a competitive runner, I still thought competition was the purpose of running.  Even though I wasn't training, I still thought I could run a competitive 5K... I paid the price.  And I changed my purpose for running.  For several years, I ran *only* to get in shape/keep in shape for soccer.  I know plenty of people who only run when there's a ball in front of them.

Then came the 5K races - As an adult I got back into running races, still primarily for the competition.  There were always the small town races where I could place in my age group, even with my *OK* times and without much (any?) intentional training.

I began to enjoy those races, mostly because I started to find friends there - mostly friends from other venues (soccer friends, basketball friends, even seminary friends) - so it seems that camaraderie was still a big part of my run.

But as I began training for a marathon, something changed.  I began training and running mega miles, and (once I got over the initial horror of seeing those huge numbers on Hal Higdon's marathon training chart)  I started to enjoy running simply for the sake of the run.

Sure, I like the side benefits; I like being able to eat whatever I want - though the "whatever I want" actually changes when I run, because I actually want to eat more healthy because it helps me run farther and faster.  I love the endorphin rush and the way I feel after a run.  I love that I've lost weight and that I'm in better shape for soccer. 

But mostly I just like running.  I like pushing myself to see if I can do it.  When I see a hill in front of me, now it's a challenge: can I run up it?  How fast can I run it?  (maybe unless it's Steel Hill, pictured to the left, in which case the question is: How soon will I start walking?)  Sometimes the challenge is the I won't stop and walk challenge or the How many miles can I get? challenge.  I like pushing the pace, trying for negative splits.

I still am competitive - I love seeing my times drop, even when it's just over a mile or an interval workout.  My average mile time has dropped significantly, and I like that.

But even beyond the competition, I enjoy running for the time it takes. It's a time to collect my thoughts, to pray, to listen to sermons, to listen to music, to relax (ha!), to put aside a to-do list, to recharge my mental batteries.  It's a time to share with friends (when I'm fortunate enough to train with friends).  There is a deep connection between the physical and the spiritual, and when I am able to be physically active, I sense the spiritual as well.  God is with me when I run.