In high school I could run. Not the fastest, but fast enough. Not for a long distance, but long enough. But I never really enjoyed it. Never experienced a runner's high. Most of the time, my running was conditioning for a sport. Stadium steps for basketball. Or the hill in full football gear.
Some of the time, my only running was the laps we ran in P.E. I always ran them quickly, eager to get them over with. And often we ran multiple laps because somebody lagged behind, mouthed off, or broke some kind of rule. "Thanks to so and so, you can all run an extra lap." As if we would apply peer pressure to get so and so to do their calisthentics and warm ups correctly. And once in a while, those of us that ran quickly were rewarded with the opportunity to begin playing the current sport we were engaged in, while only the slackers were punished with an extra lap.
My wife's dad was a professor of physical education most of his life. He always said that those who ran the laps quickly should be rewarded with the opportunity to run an extra lap. Maybe if that had been the pattern growing up it would have made sense. And it makes sense to me now. But in high school that would have been crazy talk.
I say again, one glance in my direction and you know I'm not a runner. But on this birthday I have runner's thoughts.
"... let us strip off every weight that slows us down, especially the sin that so easily trips us up. And let us run with endurance the race God has set before us. "
I get that.
In mid-life we may face a moment when we want to grasp for the unfulfilled dreams, wishes, or desires of youth, to turn back. At 65, I want to run twice as fast as I used to. And I'll gladly take the reward of an extra lap.
