Onward
Winding trails, a sanctuary of fallen bamboo. The shade a reprieve after an inferno Texas summer.
The woods have long been a haven for me, especially in my running. Here, speed matters far less to me. My focus is redirected from the watch to the feel of my breath, the pumping of my legs up and down the hills. It feels more like playing, or flying. Being efficient isn’t really the goal. It’s being connecting the body, the body connecting to nature.
My chest is burning slightly, which reminds me I’m not in the shape I’ve been in before. I’ve also adapted to triple digits, so running in the seventies gives that hollow, crisp feeling in my lungs. But my body feels more like itself than it has in weeks—months even. I’ve prided myself in being relatively consistent in exercising over the years, but the past few months have been a struggle. The lack I feel is less in simply moving my body (though I’ll take that over being sedentary any day) and more in really pushing myself. I’ve simply kept up minimum maintenance. True testing of my limits has gone by the wayside.
But if this life is one great partnership—the holy linking of arms between us and our Creator to accomplish His good and mighty mission of redemption, then I want to give Him my very best. In my work, my community, my relationships, my life—my very breath—I want to offer all of who I am, limits and all. This includes a body that is well rested, well disciplined, and fueled by good things. Movement and oxygen and fresh produce. A steady pulse and high stamina and a strong back. Strong arms that for now give hugs and carry groceries and tote luggage, but is now starting to hold a host of friends’ newborns, and Lord willing, will hold my own one day.
I was struck by this in a new way recently when my friend Courtney* posted something on Instagram—a reel of her working out at home with her three-year-old (the cutest) jumping around beside her, joining in. In true Court fashion—full of passion, confidence, and grace—she reminded me that staying healthy is about more than myself. Part of her caption read:
“We get to model for them what it looks like to choose to do hard things and persevere because it’s worth it.
We get to show them the joy that comes from hard work done for God’s glory.
You aren’t too late. You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to be willing to do the work and to point them back to the bigger why.”
It’s good and right to remember why we take care of our bodies and embrace difficult, inconvenient things, like an extra set in the weight room or another mile in the rain or an extra ten minutes to stretch because mobility, flexibility, and steadiness are not guaranteed. Just like it’s good to remember why we practice delayed gratification in how we spend (or save) our money, or say the hard thing to someone we love, or pray.
And here’s what’s sweet: these things aren’t just good for me. They, more often than not, bring me joy. How good of God to make it so.
Here in the woods, among the bamboo and roots and rock faces, I feel alive. Like I’m waking up again.
It finally feels like fall. We know it will be short-lived before winter, but for now, we raise our arms and clap our hands—just like the trees.
Three miles later, I slow back down and walk up the gravel driveway to my little home, my body feeling the satisfying blend of hot and cold that can only come from a fall run. Before I reach the front door, I sense the small voice.
“I made you to run. Fight for it.”
It feels loaded, probably because it is. Running, the hobby I’ve loved and hated, that has refined and broken and lifted me, for 16 years. But also running, the great race following my Friend’s lead, chasing life and life abundantly.
And so we run. Consistently, bravely, onward.
*Courtney is one of my best friends, but she’s also a godly voice speaking into the fitness space. Highly recommend following her and hearing her heart for freedom in health and fitness—and what our faith has to do with it.
