Beloved,^* I do not consider that I have made it my own;^* but this one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, ¹⁴I press on towards the goal for the prize of the heavenly^* call of God in Christ Jesus. ¹⁵Let those of us then who are mature be of the same mind; and if you think differently about anything, this too God will reveal to you.

                   --Philippians 3:13-15

I am a runner now.  I became one January 9, 2012.  I'd been nursing a mild cold for a few days and, throughout the allotted hour-plus, ran a pattern of one minute running; walking six, but there was a different quality about it.  Reading and absorbing the advice in Running the Spiritual Path, by Roger D. Joslin, I left the iPod on the desk and started running and walking without it.  Too many of the songs on it reminded me of a still raw lost love and the book recommended praying every aspect of running--the sights and sounds of breathing, footfalls, birds and all aspects of my surroundings. 

Monday night, it happened.  My intention to be in prayer united with intention to challenge my body to new levels of endurance, and running became prayer became running.

Was it because all the parts came together?  A toddler learns how to pull up on low furniture, then moves her legs along the floor while clinging to said furniture.  She learns which furniture is next accessible, and eventually learns which sequence of furniture-surfing gets her across the room most efficiently.  Then one day, she sees Mommy across the room and forgetting about furniture support and straining forward to Mommy, presses on toward Mommy, not even thinking to herself, “Check it out, I am WALKING.”  But, if Mommy says, “Oh look, honey, you’re walking!  What a big girl!” little toddler hears the call and the walking itself becomes a gift to offer Mommy.  Is that what happened Monday evening?

Mind you, I have been fitness walking for a couple of years now.  I joined a Saturday morning running/walking group to push myself to those new levels of running endurance.  My endurance has indeed progressed from huffing and puffing through twenty minutes of brisk walking to hour-plus ascending and descending mixed run-walks along four miles of Atlanta’s highest—and in stretches, steepest--points.  This past Saturday, I ran 1.3 miles with the group before needing a walk “break.”  But, when I said at the outset that Monday, January 9 was when I “became a runner,” that’s not what I meant.

I don’t even mean to suggest this perseverance in walking and running over the past several months, as a metaphor for recovery from a lost love, reached a new level Monday night, although that is a piece of the picture.

Annie Lamott has two favorite prayers, “Help me, help me, help me!” and “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”  Maybe that explains in part how running became prayer became running for me.  Whenever my phone let me know that the one minute of running was over and I was cleared to enjoy six minutes of walking, “Thank you!” erupted from me without even a thought.  If I didn’t remember to say thank you for any other grace note in the day, I did let out with an utterly sincere and enthusiastic “Thank you!” at the end of the running minute.  The “help me” prayer was for the other fifty-nine seconds.  But, I wax somewhat facetious.

I do unfacetiously mean that there was a quality of seamlessness in the one-minute runs that hadn’t existed before.  With my mind’s fingers, eyes, ears, nose, and tongue, I knew the strength of my thighs, calves, abdomen, and swinging arms.  I heard the puh, plup, puh, plup, puh of sneaker soles on asphalt.  I saw colors, shapes, faces, headlights, rises and falls.  I smelled my own sweat, the sharp, chilly air, the wafts of fireplaces and cooking.  I tasted the salt on my face when I licked my lips.  I felt my heart pounding and my breath coming in harmony with my strides.  It is as if, in Michelangelo's wonderful image, the runner is emerging from the block of marble and on Monday night, I began to see what the sculpture might look like.  And all of that was woven together in a coat of prayer offered as gift and received as a gift as well.