(Whoa, y'all, it's been six months since I wrote anything of this volume. Forgive grammatical errors and nonsensical babbling, please. And it's late, and I have only slept through one whole night in six and a half months (to my happily breastfeeding pleasure; I like getting up for quiet time with my littler one! The mention of only one night of sleep is NOT to complain -- it is just to explain the odd stream of consciousness that may lose you.)) :)
The feel of the shoes' soles patting the pavement with each step, the motion of my L-shaped arms swinging beside me and my hips twisting with step-by-step progress, and, most of all, the sound of life coming in and out of my lungs through the blessed holes in my face -- somehow these physical motions route my multitude of distracted, misguided thoughts into a convergence of focus that leads a song of praise from my vital, beating heart. I become one with myself when I run. And when the different parts of my being (physical, mental, spiritual) align, God comes into focus, in all His nearness.
Running is therapy for me. Sure, I like its weight-loss properties. But the endorphins and confidence that follow covering miles of ground at a running pace attach me to this pasttime, regardless of my physique's appearance. Exercise has always affected me positively. Lack of exercise has always affected me negatively. Some of us are more sensitive to certain things than others. I've known for half of my life that if I struggle with fatigue or aggression, I need to get active and sweaty. At least I have started heeding that knowledge in the past several years. I have tried ignoring it before.
The last long-distance run I ran was 15 months ago. I was seven-ish weeks pregnant with our second baby (after a year and a half of praying and trying (HALLELUJAH!)). Some friends and I ran 5 miles together after playing basketball games with our church family. I knew I was pregnant. And I knew that running while pregnant was okay to do in my condition. I had been running for almost two years (after our first son's birth), training really hard toward a half-marathon. Five miles should not have been an issue. BUT I started spotting the next night. TERROR! Running does not trump the life of my baby, so I stopped, immediately. Thankfully, THAT wonderful, amazing, sweet soul is now a healthy 6 1/2-month-old, who is blessing our lives with his eagerness for adventure with all the walking, talking people at whom he smiles constantly.
*I know many pregnant women can successfully run without harming their unborn children. Good for them, sincerely!
Since our second son was born, I have been walking three to four times a week with 56-pounds (and growing) of boys attached to me (by Ergo carrier for the infant and stroller for the toddler). I attempted running three times since then. The breathing felt good, but my knees, which never bothered me before, were crying, "Old, old woman! What are you doing to us?!" My knees are valuable to me for their walking attributes, so I have been babying them for a couple months by avoiding running. But I have kept at my walking with my boys.
Well... a couple of weeks ago, we discovered a beautiful state park within 20 minutes of our home for a family outing. And, in that park, is a 2-mile loop. Two miles of winding, flat concrete trail, closely guarded by tall but comforting trees, began calling to me, "Come, Nicoll, this is the place, the place where you can get your run on again!"
Thanks to my sweet husband, I got a few hours of needed alone-time (I am an introvert) in a breastfeeding-free window this afternoon. Y'all, I am SO thankful I chose to return to the state park and let the trail's siren-esque call drag me in even further.
Since I had never completed the loop, I chose to walk the shaded two miles first and discover some of its secrets. Because of its constant curvature and the closeness of the trees, I felt like I was the only one out there with God and His creation. So quiet. But so alive with noises and movements. For the first time in a long time, I pretended, like I suppose I once did as a little girl, that I was the timid heroine in a story of my own design. Yep, I had a whole scene going on in my head. That is all I care to share about that. I walked to the stagnant frog pond and listened to the interesting noises that come out of those surprisingly well-hidden, croaking, amphibious blobs. And then the mosquitoes who like the standing water hurried me on my way. Later in the walk, a doe was drinking from the enclosed lake, 25 feet from me. I paused to watch her for at least five minutes, until she heard the couple behind me. So gentle and feminine she was. I saw three herons, or maybe I saw one heron three times, taking flight and landing near their homes on the shore. Wooden docks and a beautiful bridge adorned the loop, and I paused on some to peer in the water. I didn't see any fish.
Being outside. Moving outside. Thinking outside. Connecting to what has been here since the beginning of time and pausing to breathe it in invigorated me.
I was ready.
Two miles, baby, in less than 20 minutes. I still feel good, six hours later.
Two young men on a canoe may have witnessed an odd young woman with blonde hair in pig tails holding her hands up in worshipful gratitude to God as she crossed the sunbathed bridge. But I barely noticed them because that was the only point in my run without trees blocking me from the sky, and the sun felt like God looking straight at me, enjoying my joy -- like I enjoy my 3-year-old's cutely sloppy running or my 6-month-old's happily frantic almost-crawling.
When can I return? Seriously, y'all. So GOOD!
I thought I would continue this post with some of the thoughts that came to focus out there on the trail. How long can this possibly be? If I placed each letter thus far typed in this post in a line on that trail, would it stretch farther than the 2 miles already? Ha-ha!
Most of the thoughts that have been pinging around in my head for months (and then found receptors this afternoon) deal with identity: Each of us must get to know ourselves and love ourselves while we interact with and serve others. Like breathing, a constant flow of air in and out of us to keep us alive, we have to keep reflecting within ourselves to let the Light shine out. Reflection points to the need for humbling changes and/or empowering changes to what God is teaching us about His love. Mothers, just as one example amidst the hundreds of servants in humankind, stay constantly busy caring for little ones. The simple acts of feeding and cleaning humans, not to mention enriching them as emotional and relational and spiritual beings, are demanding and constant. Thank you, God, that we live in a time where the emotionally misguided gospel of self-deprecation and doormat service is being challenged. Empty vessels have nothing to give; drained servants can help no one.
My husband and I do our best to help each other engage in activities that fill us, especially when we sense the other is feeling drained. (Yes, I am so blessed and appreciative of my good partner!) Yes, prayer and Bible study and fellowship with other Christians are necessities in filling us with God's good things, to remind us Whose we are and why we're here. But so are our hobbies and goals and the various relationships we have with others. Alone-time and personal interests and different levels of friendships shape me into Nicoll; all those things help me figure out who I am and what I care about. Those individual interests connect me with the people I can serve and love. Struggles and obstacles prune me and help me reach for the sky. Make me a servant, Lord, and thank you for providing me with the freedom as a citizen, a wife, a mother, a daughter, a sister, and a friend to discover the servant's heart you have buried inside me.
And thank you for the ability to enjoy the run today. I love serving my husband and our two boys, and it is nice to be operating on a full tank of servant fuel.
