At 42, and with my daughter's encouragement, I took up running.
For the past 18 summers, I've run about four to six times a week. I've run a few Dam-to-Dam half marathons, but usually, my long race of the summer is the July 4 10k in Exira.
It is my willingness to practice humility as I gasp (last) across the finish line that has allowed me to find joy in the run, rather than shame in my 13-minute miles.
When school starts in the fall, any running energy is relegated to classroom prep and planning. But when summer returns, runs are again the joy of my day.
COVID-19 invited me to start my 2020 running season a little early. It's also given me a guilt-free pass on Sunday church. While Dan watches the video stream of St. Paul's service, I look to the gravel for my spiritual ritual of the week.
My friend Missy calls this the Sunday Morning Church of the Long Run. This poem is in her honor.
I genuflect to tighten the laces,
breathe in the spirit of the dawn.
I offer the body
and the blood
pumping as my heartbeat
rises to sing praises
to the gravel
dust to dust
beneath my soul.
The Iowa sky stretches to infinity
pulling me into
the universe
where I am full
and fed by all
that is
Good
Amen
Enough.
Be well.
Write.
Allison
No comments:
Post a Comment