I’ve never been much of an athletic person. I enjoyed playing sports in high school well enough, but my true love was always in the band and choir room. I spent years halfheartedly utilizing free gyms or doing yoga for a few weeks before fizzling out. Without a doubt, my most successful period of movement was in 2020 when I ambitiously began training for a 10k.
Obviously, in 2020 I had a little extra time on my hands. I was mostly concerned about my brain during those fretful months and decided that moving my body would help with that. I looked for some kind of plan that would help me successfully run a 10k by my birthday at the end of June. This was an entirely arbitrary decision that just sounded like a nice round number. I downloaded the Nike Run Club app set out on some slow runs around my neighborhood.
I can remember this season vividly. The sound of my shoes on the pavement, the warm sun, the encouraging chalk messages families were leaving on the sidewalks. I can also hear the voice of the Nike branded coach that would speak affirmation each time I’d run. These pre-recorded messages were definitely cheesy. But each time they’d pop up, I’d take them to heart.
“You’re doing great!”
“Run slow and strong!”
“Just by starting you’ve achieved something today!”
I learned that my path to a 10k was slow, but that was absolutely the speed I needed to be going. The guidance from the app time and time again would tell you to slow down, to not just push and run at the fastest speed possible. Occasionally there would be a sprint, but maybe for ten seconds. I could do that. I also took my time stretching, which probably saved me from some unnecessary injury.
I followed the plan. After several months and plenty of audiobooks, I ran that 10k on my birthday. I have no idea how fast it was. I know I was sweaty and happy and felt alive in my body.
The Nike Run Club app has reconfigured their training programs on the app and I’ve never quite recaptured that season of my life. I also don’t really want to recreate the 2020 circumstances that lead to my running success. That quiet season of my life really recalibrated me, though. It has become a touchstone for what I expect in terms of pacing and encouragement.
I want to be slow and strong and celebrated for it.
I’ve been with my current congregation for sevens years now. It’s been a weird seven years. The part-time pace can make it seem more like three or four years and we all know the pandemic warped time. Everything can feel so slow. But with dedicated effort, and plenty of celebration, we’re becoming stronger.
Just this year we’ve started a new worship service. Just this year we have staff fully trained and thriving. Just this year I finally got the office recliner of my dreams (okay that one maybe isn’t on the same level but it’s important to me).
Slow and steady.
A little poetry reading
One of my favorite poems comes from Pierre Teilhard de Chardin (the heretic!) who, important to note for this poem, did an awful lot of work in archaeology and geology as well as theology. A multivocational man if I ever heard of one. Take a read of his poem Patient Trust which includes this wisdom:
accept the anxiety of feeling yourself
in suspense and incomplete
What I’m listening to
I played this as part of a worship service recently—just a lovely bit of cinematic piano music. Listen while you write!