When I headed out on my errands this afternoon, I found my usual brisk walk falling into a jog. I felt great. It had been so long. I used to run seven miles a day seven days a week...for years. I can remember saying I couldn't imagine a day without running.
A man was running behind me one day, probably 25 years ago. I could hear him moving in on me. Soon, he was pacing me. He said he was 72, and he'd been running since his 20s. He said he had every pair of running shoes he'd ever worn out. Later, I saw an article about him in the paper, and there he was with all those shoes. After chatting a bit, he left me in his dust. That, I thought, is how I want to be 72, running every day and leaving the young ones in my dust.
Then there was an injury, and I had to switch to swimming for a few months. I swam every day, and I was liberated from the pool just two weeks before a half-marathon that I had entered. The swimming had maintained my aerobic fitness, and I was able to complete the race.
Later a protracted illness sidelined me. Always, my goal was to get back to pounding the pavement.
A number of years ago, dance came into my life. I danced almost every evening. I had never been so joyful as when I danced. Time stood still. I'd dance three or four or seven hours straight, and it would feel like a blink. When my partner lifted me in the air, I felt like I was flying...maybe I was. Once he said I giggled throughout the whole lift. I don't remember that, but it doesn't surprise me. I could never imagine not dancing almost every day.
While I was dancing, I still ran several times a week. Both fed something in me that sparked an aliveness. During my first week living in Washington in late 2006, I was crossing the street, and I was hit by a car. In the days after the accident the pain was intense, but with the help of an awesome chiropractor and a massage therapist, purported to be the best in Washington, gradually the pain subsided, as long as I was reasonably sedentary. I could do some dancing, but not the Latin dances--the hip motion hurt too much. Eventually, I was able to do all dances, even if not with the panache I once had or with nearly the frequency or duration. I was never able to run after that...until today.
I didn't want to stretch it today. I ran a couple of blocks then walked a couple more. Then I'd run a bit more. My venture back into running was a spontaneous one: I had bags so I was not attempting a personal best. I was just feeling the rhythm to flow with my body's movement again. What joy! I felt so alive.
As the evening passed, I pondered my foyer back into running. Just yesterday I had talked with a man who did a half-marathon after being sidelined from an injury for an extended period. Do you suppose...maybe...could the running in me still be wanting to come out? Or was that for a different time in my life...?
One of my favorite biblical passages is from Ecclesiastes 3. It starts "There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens..." I had it read at my wedding. I had it read at my father's funeral. I found it appropriate for both. In fact, I have found solace in it at every passage of my life. Later in the chapter, it says, "I have seen the burden God has laid on the human race. He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart; yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end."
At any moment, we only see where we are now. We cannot see the context of the world around us or how events, which have passed in our lives, relate to those that will occur later. We cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to end. I cannot know why running made me feel so alive or why it had to stop so abruptly. Or why dance was such a daily presence in my life, and it also has hobbled almost to a halt. Each was a season, which may or may not have passed.
Later the Ecclesiastes passage speaks of our work. "I know that there is nothing better for people than to be happy and to do good while they live. That each of them may eat and drink, and find satisfaction in all their toil—this is the gift of God." Finding satisfaction in my toil. Just as with running and dance, there have been many years during which the satisfaction from my work has brought me overwhelming joy--it was not even the slightest stretch to know that my toil was a "gift of God."
In recent years, not so much. Yet I remind myself that there is a season for everything: running, dancing, joy in my work, what feels like drudgery in my work. I do not see the bigger picture. I cannot know what God has done from beginning to end. Today, I am reminded that if I can run again, even if just for a couple blocks at a time, that I may find great joy in my work again. I am reminded that on Monday, I will be coaching almost all day; coaching almost always brings me great joy. One day of joy in my work may be like running two blocks. I am not running a marathon, but I am able to gratefully experience joy in that moment.
There is a time for experiencing joy in a passing moment. That time is now.
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