I run because it keeps me sane. Some people eat ice cream; some people drink vodka; some people scrapbook; I run. I limit myself to an hour or an hour and a half, and I am SLOOOWWW. So, I might run 5 or 6 miles, but darn it, I’m running every one of those miles.
I do not listen to music while I’m running. In a former life (I use that metaphorically not metaphysically.) I was an Air Force officer, and when I ran on base headphones were against regs (You civilians out there, that means they were BAD.). That’s really smart if you think about it; 120lb person sharing relatively small blacktop with a 2000lb car traveling at speeds of ≥ 45 mph. Now, I believe I have mentioned before that math was not my forte. So, I have no idea what the algebraic equation would be if you wanted to know what would happen regarding force and speed; simplified, I’d get squished. Kinda makes you look at earbuds in a whole new horrible, bloody light, doesn’t it? So, needless to say, I’ve never reverted to the life-threatening earbuds. Instead, as a way of keeping my mind occupied I pray – is that weird?
The time I would normally be struggling to forget that I’m smothering in my own gasps for oxygen and that my muscles are screaming in pain from lactic acid (Makes you want to go out and run right now, doesn’t it?) is being used to converse with God which I have found to be a terrific diversion. Mostly I do all the talking; sometimes (rarely) I do all the listening. It depends on the day and the near proximity of calamity. I suppose if I were more spiritually/emotionally developed I’d be able simply to listen. While I try I just haven’t reached that place yet.
My last year rode in on a tidal wave of disaster. Gradually those soul shakings waters have begun to recede, but over the past 10 months I have depended on my running shoes almost more than I required chocolate – I am a woman over 35 , it’s a stereotype for a reason. I’ve run on trails through the desert; I’ve run on logging roads through the Northern Arizona mountains; I’ve run on sandy beaches along both Atlantic and Pacific Oceans , and I’ve run on treadmills, oh, the miles have I run on treadmills.
My parents live in the Virginia mountains, and when I’m home with them I run the gravel roads around their cabin. This October brought rain, rain, and more rain to the Shenandoah Valley, but what’s a little rain to a dedicated – read that as delusional – runner. Rain didn’t deter this girl from tying a big bow in her girlie pink laces and jogging out the door.
I like running in the rain. Well, let me clarify: I like running in a gentle rain. There’s something about hearing the brush of the raindrops against the leaves overhead while the soft wetness kisses your face to make you feel held by God. Water from His sky continually misting down to bless you with renewal, – almost a baptism of sorts. Running in a deluge, however, becomes something else entirely.
One day last week, I craved my run; I needed my run. I could feel the ache all the way into my bones. Through the windows I could see the rain falling, but it looked like my beautiful, soft rain. I laced my shoes and headed out. About a quarter mile into my loop that gentle lamb of a rain converted into a roaring lion of a downpour. No problem- I was dressed for rain (Thank you, LLBean. ). I kept going.
Quickly I discovered that no amount of outdoor wear (Sorry, LL Bean) was sufficient for the bone-chilling precipitation assaulting me from all directions. Every inch of me was soaked through from my hair to my ankles. Only my feet were spared, and they were saved only because I wear awesome socks – the girl at the running store was not fooling around when she sold me those babies. I was sure hypothermia was setting in; I couldn’t feel my fingers, and my nose had long since succumbed to the icicle hanging from it; of course, I’m exaggerating (but only slightly). After 30 minutes it occurred to me that perhaps I was a might bit obsessed and needed to rethink this running-as-an all-weather-sport thing. I went home to defrost.
Sometimes my life feels like my running habits. All is bright and beautiful, smooth and easy. I know how to do this because the road is one I know. It might rise and fall a bit, have some hills, but this stretch feels familiar. Sometimes a tree may come crashing down right in front of me or I might even come across a few pot holes. I can deal with these because I have encountered obstacles before and am confident that I can circle around them or leap over them in a single bound- no, I do not have delusions of being Superman, but who doesn’t want to wear a bulletproof cape sometimes?
When small trials show up sometimes I’m spiritually developed enough to see them as a gift from God teaching me something new. Please notice I said “sometimes.” It’s not an automatic response to say, “Thank you, God,” for that really awful 3 hour wait to see the MVD clerk about new license plates. But after a while, maybe I remember that she shared that her day had been awful and that I was the first person to smile at her. Maybe that means more than I can ever know – truly, honestly, ever know. My smile might lead her to be kinder to the next person who really, really needs it. These small trials are like running in a gentle rain.
There are times in life, though, that no amount of prayer, no amount of pleading, no amount of reflection seem to shorten the span of the horrible. The calamitous that ambushes avalanche-style collapsing me to my knees whether from circumstances beyond my control or from my tiny disastrous steps that moved me slowly toward the terrible, (willingly) blind precipice leaves me breathlessly gasping, “What now?” How do I stand and run through this, through the pounding, drenching deluge? I believe the only answer is: I do not, and I’m not really supposed to. Instead, in times and circumstances like these, God wants to care for me, for my heart until I am strong enough to stand again.
Because the rain will stop. He promised that; the rainbow is a sign of this covenant. And I will stand again. And I will even run again. I’ll lace up those shoes and get ready.
The Unexpected Life 