I have written before about running as a metaphor for the Christian life -- mostly about my feeling that I am not striving hard enough. I was thinking about it on Saturday morning, when I set out for a run feeling crummy. That's one of the biggest similarities between running and Christian discipline, I think: the way you have to push past the inertia. I've learned that I just have to ignore the discomforts of the first half-mile, and then I'll hit my stride.
On Saturday I was going for distance over speed; my plan was slow and easy. I wound up going 4.5 miles, the furthest I've ever gone. (That sounds kind of pitiful, but there it is.) It was a breakthrough run for me: it felt great. I didn't have to coax myself to keep going; I didn't have to override an inner voice saying "STOOOOOP! For the love of God, stooooooop!" I usually feel good after a run; this was the first time that the during part has felt good too.
And it left me thinking about Christian discipline, about how the real goal is joy. I wrote recently about my fearfulness -- a constant companion. This morning my 7yo interrupted me with a minor question as I was praying and I told him he'd have to wait until I was done. "After growing up in this house, he's going to grow up and marry someone who pushes him away in the interest of faux piety," said the critical voice. "It'll be a lifetime of coming in second. Why couldn't you just get up earlier today so you could pray while he was sleeping?"
I suspect I'll be struggling with the balance for years to come: how hard to push, how much to cut myself some slack. But I want to remember the feel of that last half-mile on Saturday morning -- the certainty that persistence can lead to payoff.
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