One of those runs. . .

Had a rough week this last week. My husband was gone, and it seemed that wherever I turned, there was more to do than I could even hope to do. I gave up. I stayed up too late, I slept in instead of running. I just sort of coasted. Then I felt guilty. Like I had failed to do right and that there was no hope of doing right in the future. Well, I haven't gotten much more sleep since my husband got home. He came in late one night, and we spent the next night in the emergency room with our two-year-old getting stitches until midnight. I did run though. I'd planned to do a long run this week as my last before a race that I'm running the first of May. After our late night last night, I really would have preferred taking a nap, but my husband was running hill repeats so I decided to join him. On my second trip down the hill, he mentioned a time and distance. Just a number that he'd seen posted by some running friends. I know he knew that I would take it as an instant challenge. He was right. For the next hour and fifteen minutes, I pushed myself every step. I was focused. Then it happened. I ran. Not the painful, straining, "I have no legs" kind of run, but the one that is more like flying. That feeling doesn't come often these days. The last time I remember it was almost a year ago. I guess if I think about it, I've been feeling it creep up on me during a few runs over the last few weeks. Days when I find the usual setting on the treadmill seems just a bit too slow. Needless to say, I am smiling a broad smile tonight. This is why I love running. The feeling of sailing, of strength, of satisfaction that comes from doing something well that God made me to do. It is a joy that comes from tasting deeply of the great goodness of God's world, of seeing just a tiny piece of how the world might have been without sin and death.