“Hey coach! You runnin’ in those
boats!” A former student teased referencing
my court shoes as I attempted to dissolve into the midnight running crowd. As a football, basketball, baseball athlete,
sprinting facilitated my game. I failed
to understand the hype distance running attracted. The air horn startled me. The rambunctious wave of humanity carried me
forward under what was supposed to be a full moon. However, the race organizer unfamiliar with
the lunar cycle followed an outdated almanac’s reference to a full moon. Fortunately, flashing LEDs attached to
waists, ponytails, and hats wound downhill through S-curves like fireflies in a
summer night’s dream.
As I lagged, my 8-yr old daughter growing impatient, weaved between mailboxes and curbside trees
winding a loop around me begging, “Can I just go and run?”
Figuring
her little legs would tucker at about a mile, I’d find her parked on the
curb. “Ok, I’ll catch you.” … and off she ran, her light swarmed by so
many others blinking and then disappearing into the night around the corner.
Approaching
a mile, panic settled in … no daughter!
I wheezed and stammered forward failing to throttle up a gear. At two miles, … no daughter … exhausted,
questioning my wisdom as a father, I prayed to see my daughter safely before I
passed away!
Though
willing, my body succumbed to fatigue as the third mile constricted my lungs
thieving time. I trudged along in my
boats beginning to set anchor. The
“finish” archway in sight, I like a penguin recognized a voice among hundreds
cheering. “Go, dad! Go!
Run harder! You’re gonna set a
record! Go dad!” My daughter’s enthusiasm, cheers, fist pumps
into the air lifted my spirit to limp across and finish. Nobody else laughing and visiting seemed to
care as they mulled around like cattle beneath the stars. But a little body safe and excited lunged into
my arms reunited, overjoyed we’d completed our first 5K!
This night
… God ambushed me!
I wandered toward the timing panel scrolling
results illuminating darkness. I spied
my time fit for a ‘moondial’ in my age class. Embarrassed, I backpedaled. Others studied their results. Suddenly, a woman in her low 30’s sprang into
celebration! “I did it!” she proclaimed
to a pair of her running buddies. “52
seconds faster!” She pointed to her name in lights. Her arms wrapped her friends in elation. Was she on drugs as she walked away
high-fiving? She occupied the cellar in her age category!
Folks like bugs buzzing around a
night light checked their results.
Overall, winners far, far outnumbered the disappointed. Winners’ characteristics included new “pr’s”
or personal records, supporting friends to become better runners, camaraderie
drinking nature’s freshness, promoting the featured charity, improving physical
fitness, making something bigger and better than it would have been without
them.
Sight unseen, the Spirit invaded! I cannot stand still in my spiritual
life. I cannot take a break in my relationship
with God. I understand and treat running
like most aspects of my life to be more than metaphors of my faith. Running and the spiritual are designed to be
entangled! If I compartmentalize or relegate
my experience with scripture or experience in Mass to a separate thread
divergent from secular life, my professional, social, and family life … I miss
the spiritual gifts in everyday life.
The threads must be entangled, woven together!
What’s that look like in your life
of faith? Knots, loops, weaves?
The running community hosts its winners and losers as do so
many aspects of our lives. At an early
age, youngsters imprint on the world of comparisons. The world constantly compares me to colleagues,
neighbors, competitors. The Pharisees
focused on the belief they were better than everybody else. This dynamic infects every organization,
club, religion, and association worldwide.
One of the most damaging metamorphosis one can incorporate is to compare
oneself to others.
Though reserved about it, I frequently
compare myself to others. And if or when
I receive recognition, the pervasive Pharisee camp colonizes. Fortunately, my students keep me honest. Several years ago, I entered teaching
committed to a philosophy and emphasized for my students. Matthew Kelly so elegantly phrases it … “for
you to become the best version of yourself.” God compares me to my former
self. Every day God invites me to
improve upon my former self. I have no
problem striving for ideality … however, expecting it may be detrimental.
Initially, my running style
mirrored my prayer life; sprint or run hard for a short time and walk, then
repeat. There was always one
unsuspecting, steady soul that I’d repass perhaps fifteen times only for me to
fall short of their relentless pace to the finish. With time, the distances I actually ran
increased while time walking diminished.
I’ve marveled among the running arthritic prophets, those 80 years of age and beyond, male and female, still measuring their steps in strength,
perseverance, endurance and grace. I’ve
chased the wing chariots, those racing with their arms powering the wheels. Each
time I step into a crowd, I dedicate my run to the goodness of the cause. I listen as others share stories for which
the event assists.
My conviction to improve my
spiritual life influenced my effort to improve my physiological life to drop
pounds, my psychological fortitude to stay in motion. Each enhances the other. Less fatigued, I psychologically fought the
urge to stop and break rather than continue to run. (Come
to me, all you who are weary … and I will refresh you. Mt. 11:28)
Nature’s divinity breathes life into each individual. (-the
Lord God formed man … and blew into his nostrils the breath of life … Gn 2:7)
My steps toward improvement have
been small both in faith and running. I settle in the back of the pack before the horn
blast. (The last shall be first and the first shall be last. Mt. 20:16) Nothing’s more demoralizing as
a mom or dad pushing a baby stroller prances past me. Why demoralized? I still compare! I also get boosts as I pass others, but remain
nameless as I encourage them to persevere to keep the faith, to go farther,
faster. I watch adults skirt morning
puddles and chuckle as children dance and splash. As I’ve tired, names I’ve never captured,
often less athletic have passed encouraging, “Stay with it! Keep going!
Hang tough!” They modeled and I
followed. (He called them, and immediately they abandoned boat and father to
follow him. Mt. 4:22) I witness more genuine happiness among
runners, walkers, and three-wheelers … and those cheering them to become better
versions of themselves.
While I ascend grueling climbs, I
call aloud the names of those I know who fight.
“This is for you, Joan! (struggling
with ALS) Climb, Helen! (Heart
failure) Battle, Mark! (job loss) Beat this, John! (alcohol addiction) Kill it, Terri. (cancer)”
“Give me a
little of that!” A stranger requests gasping beside me.
“Name?” I
inhale.
“Dani.”
“You go,
Dani!” (grace delivered … Dani leaves me behind surging ahead to be the best
version of herself!)
Often among
the trees, I lift my arms in boisterous praise, energy spilling from my small
universe giving thanks to my Creator for inspiring me to become a better version
of myself. If I had allowed my
comparisons (many erroneous) to others in my initial long distance race, I’d have
never raced again. Running is not a
onetime event, but a process just as conversion is not a onetime
experience. Running, walking, wheeling …
grace … leads through struggles, dark nights, injuries, disappointments, … to
new friends, sunrises, surprises, better health, reflections, … a
better entangled version of yourself in spirit, mind, and body.
Today, I’m running complete 5K’s
and setting new pr’s. Each time I race,
it’s an event, a mini-retreat. Can’t
run? Walk! Can’t walk?
Roll on a little! Get out. Drag along friend or foe. Be with
your community!
… and did I tell you … an event is coming your way! Don’t miss the grace in the Shamrock Shuffle!
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