Recently, I began training with a local group for a half marathon. Most of us are beginning runners and the leaders are kind and supportive. As each of us begins to accept the authentic offering of encouragement and sincere absence of judgment between us, we are poised to bond as a team. Race day is May 1.
At our weekly team meeting a week ago the long-time runners described their experiences in a variety of races. The common thread between each of their stories was the encouragement they received from complete strangers; the supporting fans who line the streets and urge the runners on and pass out drinks at the mile markers. They spoke of the strangers we would encounter who will call out our names (seeing it printed above the race number) to give us encouragement to keep going. This is at once embarrassing and welcoming. I find it somewhat painful to be seen at all, much less to have my name called out, and yet, a part of me finds this unabashedly wonderful.
Running is a new thing for me. God only knows what has possessed me. I ran a few times on a whim last summer. But then I went to Brazil for a couple of weeks (I couldn't run in an unfamiliar place, too scary), then came the rainy season, then the winter cold (below zero, in that neighborhood cold) followed by the occasional ice storm and inconvenient snow showers. Who could run in that? So I stopped running but planned to get back to it in the Spring.
But a few weeks ago I noticed an ad to train locally for a 1/2 marathon in early May. Since walking/running is also acceptable, I signed up. So far, so good. This week I have run a total of 12 miles, up from six last week. One night I ran 2.5 miles from dusk into darkness (note to self, get reflective gear) in the rain, at about 30 degrees. Why? Don't know, just couldn't not run. And it wasn't to try out the nifty running duds I bought. Strangely, my legs have begun to speak to me. In 47 years they've never said a word, now they can't shut up. They say: run, run, run like the wind, run to feel like your moving, run to get somewhere faster, just run to see how far you can go, run to stop getting old, run to hear yourself breath, run to think clearly, run to find out what it would be like to be a runner.
Slow and steady wins the race, is my running mantra, keeping me from exhausted despair when the leg cramps start and I notice that I'm exhaling more spit than air. Still, I'm amazed at how much stronger I've become. To be clear, I'm still bringing up the rear of the pack on the weekend team runs. Indeed it is wonderful thing to be greeted by the better, faster runners who made it in first after I've completed the goal for that run/walk which is always a mile longer than the week before. Slow and steady wins the race.
This is not a bad thing to say to oneself in this hurried world full of expectations of what is needed and when (yesterday, generally). At a clergy wellness conference I attended a couple of years ago there was an intimidating (unintentionally, no doubt) long-time pastor in the small group I was assigned. (FYI, for those who don't know this critical piece of information: perfectionist don't do well in small groups where they are confronted with their inexperience and subsequent ignorance.) After quite some time, to avoid the continued appearance that I was both dumb and mute, I cautiously expressed an onset of anxiety due to a bout of sudden growth in the small congregation I was serving. I said that I was worried about making new people feel welcomed and a part of the community as soon as possible. This experienced, very together, very Californian, very cool rector with surfer blond, wavy hair with a thin braid down the back, advised, "Slow down. You've got time."
He is one of those people who is perfectly happy with who they are. My mother used to say this is being comfortable in your own skin. He was a runner too. I'd see him out running (5 miles, he mentioned once) in the warm, late afternoon before we all gathered for dinner. Is it possible to totally admire someone while burning with envy of them? At that time I had never run, nor entertained the possibility. Run? Are you kidding, who has that kind of time? Turns out he ran a few miles at a time, a few days a week, (his parish had grown from 25 to over 500 in the last several years, he mentioned in passing). OMG, what am I doing here?
I later realized I was there for a variety of reasons. Foremost, I was there for some necessary emotional cleansing and to receive permission to hit the reset button. To that end, I was there to hear those profound words, "Slow down. You have time." And while unknown to me at the time, I was there to learn to run.
These days I run as far as I can, slow and steady, because I have found the time. There has been no loss or sacrifice incurred; most days, more gets done, with more creativity and deeper breaths. All the while I have been discovering both a sense of adventure and a deep reserve of untapped courage. I never thought I'd run farther and farther distances from the safety of my cozy home, alone, in the dark, in the rain, in the cold, in the snow, skipping over patches of ice, on roads I don't know well. I never thought I'd run with people I would otherwise engage with envy (from whom I would secretly recoil in self-defeat). I never thought I'd learn to run to learn to live.
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