I wanted to write a bit more about running, after what I wrote in my last post. It is becoming important to me, in ways I never anticipated.

I started running again about 3 months ago. “Again” refers to the fact that I always liked to run when I was younger: I was on the track team in middle school and high school, and I jogged in college and early married life. I’ve tried to pick it up again over the years, but it was hard and time seemed short. It was easy to find excuses.

This summer, it seemed like I was surrounded by runners. Everywhere I turned, people were talking about running, or their children were running, or their spouses were running. I started to think about it again.

I had heard about the Couch to 5K app, and I decided to try it. Looking at the first few workouts, I thought it seemed easy enough: lots of walking, short time periods of running. I started with my dog, since I typically take her for one or two long walks each day. This did not work well. (See my earlier blog post about the human-canine running experiment.) She is not a running dog, or at least not with me.

The first couple of runs with the app were so difficult. I felt every step jarring through my body: my old, out-of-condition bones and muscles protesting. One wouldn’t think that adding in a few short periods of running would be so difficult. It was. My neck, back, hips, legs, and feet ached.

I gave up after a couple of tries. It was too hard.

But I still kept hearing about people running. At lunch one day, a teacher (whose mother had recently passed away) said, “I remember when my mom couldn’t walk, so I run for her.” As I listened, I could see my mother, in those weeks before she died, when she could not walk, much less run. Then my daughter was complaining about gym class. “We have to run a mile,” she whined, “and the teacher is going to time us.” “A mile?” I said, “That’s not very far.” Then I realized that I couldn’t run a mile in one stretch. Ok, I thought, I can give it another try.

I did. It wasn’t easy to start again after two weeks off, but I did. This time, I didn’t run with the app, I just set shorter goals: run a block, walk two blocks, etc. To my surprise, I could do it, and it didn’t hurt so much afterward. Soon after this, someone mentioned to me that one could use the indoor track at the community center without being a member. As the weather was starting to turn colder, I decided to try there.

It’s a small track: 14 laps to the mile. It doesn’t have much cushioning, but at least it is lighted, climate controlled, and I don’t have to worry about gravel or glass or other hazards on the sidewalk. Better yet: almost everyone I see when I’m there is at least twenty years older than I am. I may not be fast, but I am faster than they are.

So I started again with the app. The stretches of running grew longer, and I was able to run for most of them. I know that I wasn’t pretty. My face turns red when I run, and I am sure that my rear end does not look attractive in spandex. I haven’t looked, myself. But I felt myself growing stronger.

Then something happened. One morning, a couple I’ve seen in church came in. She had a stroke about a year ago. She comes to church in a wheelchair or with a walker, and she and her husband came in that morning with a walker. As I jogged past them, I saw him help her remove her coat, and then they pushed the walker aside and started walking. She held on to the rail with one hand and carefully walked, raising her left foot with special care. I could tell that was the side affected by the stroke. Her husband walked with her, holding on to her for support and encouraging her with quiet words.

It was so beautiful and so humbling.

As I watched their slow progress around the track, I started to pray for them. I prayed for healing for her and strength for him to continue to support her as she healed. I prayed in thanksgiving that I was able to run, and I offered my last lap—at a sprint this time—up for them.

Two days later, I woke up tired and didn’t want to run again. It was cold, and there were snow flurries in the air. I didn’t want to drive to the community center, much less run outside. Then I remembered the text I had received the day before: my cousin’s wife had entered hospice care. I wrote about her two days ago: Jeni, whose cancer had come back and was taking her away from her husband and two kids. I remembered the couple at the community center, too.

I drove to the community center and ran. This time, I prayed the whole time. I won’t say that it was easy, but it was a little easier. I didn’t think so much about myself as I did about Jeni, and the lady with the stroke. There were other people there that morning, too: driven indoors by the cold and snow flurries. A few of them were jogging, but most were walking. I prayed for them, too: people I don’t know and who have needs of which I’m not aware. I thought about the people on our parish prayer list, and I prayed for as many as I could remember, as well as for my family and friends. Every time I started to get tired and wanted to quit before my stretch of running was over, I remembered all of them: Jeni, the elderly couple, the teacher whose mother died, my mother, everyone else.

So this is how I run now. I know it’s good for me, because I have lost a few pounds, and my legs look a little less flabby. I like feeling stronger, too, and the first time I ran a mile in one stretch, I felt proud. (I told my daughter about it, too. She rolled her eyes.) It still isn’t easy to do those long stretches, but I try not to think about myself as much as I think about others. I feel like I’ve gained a gift in learning that running can be a form of prayer.