liturgy

yesterday's long run:  14 miles
today's run: 2.75 miles
on the iPod:  "moves like jagger" -- maroon 5


The wait is over.  After five full weeks in 2012, it finally happened.  Everyone knew that it was inevitable, but nobody guessed it would take this long.  Not that there was any complaining, as the abundant sunshine and unseasonably mild temperatures seemed to beckon the masses outdoors and postpone the primal instinct to rent movies and make chili.  But all good things must come to an end, and the days of 50's and 60's have done just that.  Winter showed up this weekend.  And it wasn't fooling around.

As if the temperature itself doesn't speak volumes, what the image above fails to communicate is the wind chill.  It was hovering right around 2 degrees when Mrs. Murie and I laced up for a long training run.  It didn't take much discussion before we were in agreement to postpone an hour or so until 8:30 before leaving out.  And lucky for me, my good running companion failed to wake up on time, so we didn't hit the pavement until closer to 9:00.  By then the sun was moving along the eastern sky, but that did little to compensate for the biting conditions before us.  Like troopers, however, we didn't think twice about logging our mileage.  Is not running simply because of cold weather even an option?  I don't think so. 


Quite frankly, we didn't mind the extreme weather all that much.  After our fingers stopped stinging around mile three, it was enjoyable.  And fast.  I don't think either of us were consciously pushing the pace, but we were definitely moving, doing two laps around Wilson Park, and turning around in the Mill District.  The mileage back was even faster, and just as I was about to pull back a little bit, Mrs. Murie mentioned taking a break.  This was great, because for the last mile or so I had been pushing myself to keep up with her.  I wasn't ready to quit pushing yet, but I knew I wouldn't be able to sustain it much longer.  Hopefully this will pay off in three weeks at the Little Rock Half Marathon.  I really love that race and am looking forward to seeing a ton of friends laced up in the corrals.  Whatever happens as we turn the corner and head toward the finish line in the River Market will be just fine, because there's nothing better than running a race, but a PR would be a great way to start the season. 


14 miles is a quirky distance.  It's right on the precipice of feeling like a pretty strong outing, but not completely taxing.  Certainly, a good sense of effort and management of pace are needed, but it's not quite far enough to get that feeling of exhaustion.  Sometimes a distance like 14 leaves me wanting just a little bit more.  As cold as it was, I could have done some more running yesterday morning.  But there'll be no complaints about it, as I'm simply thankful that I get to go out each weekend morning and do what I love so much.  


I also love Sunday mornings.  They start with the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette at Common Grounds.  It's relatively quiet at time of morning, but there are sometimes a few colorful characters imbibing in the hair of the dog.  I typically read about 35% of every article and the full content of a handful of them, all the while drinking more coffee than I probably should. Once sufficiently caffeinated, there's breakfast in the parish hall at St. Paul's.  It is, hands down, one of the best spreads of all things savory that i've ever experienced:  scrambled eggs, thick cut bacon, sausage patties, biscuits, gravy, and orange juice.  It'll make you stand up and slap your grandma.  It's that good.  


And as much as I like both of these Sunday morning rites, my real passion comes from the 11:00 service.  It's a full liturgy that evokes all of the senses and centers me in a reflective, focused environment.  The service for me, like many Episcopalians, is deeply personal and inward.  I love everything about it:  the gorgeous stained glass, the lead cross, supplication, holy water, taking eucharist, kneeling, and the readings.  It's where I'm supposed to be and I feel it in my heart.  


There are always four readings: the old testament, the psalms, the new testament, and the gospel.  The last is my favorite, as it takes place in the middle of the full congregation.  With grace and reverence, the procession of torches, cross, and eucharistic book move from the alter into the nave.  It reminds me of a gathering around a teacher.  The words, so beautifully recited, pierce the deepest regions of my being.  It makes me feel close to God, and emotions aren't uncommon.  


But today I was particularly drawn to the new testament reading from 1st Corinthians.  Taken from the writings of Paul, the lesson spoke of perseverance, discipline, and rewards.  And it used the analogy of runners in a race!  Who knew that St. Paul was a runner??  Needless to say, I was immediately interested.  

Paul wrote that runners in a race are competing for material things.  His example is a familiar one in the history of running -- an olive branch wreath for the winner's head.  And he's right.  Distance running is full of material things that are coveted.  For starters, there's the gear:  high-end shoes, iPods, GPS devices, water belts.  There's also race swag:  t-shirts, race bibs, hats, jackets, water bottles, and pretty much anything else on which a logo can be printed.  There's the stickers that runners proudly display on their bumpers, announcing to everyone in traffic, most of whom probably couldn't care less, just how far they've run.  Somebody, somewhere is making a killing off of black-and-white ovals that say 13.1 or 26.2.  I'll admit It wasn't a week after I had finished my first marathon before I stuck one squarely on my back windshield.  On another note, who wants to wash my truck?  It's kinda dirty...

And, of course, the apex of any material reward for a runner is the finisher's medal.  In fact, races compete to have the biggest, heaviest, most original medal amongst their peers.  I love them.  I want more.  But Paul reminds us that there is a greater reward in the perseverance and discipline of running.  He surmises that running, and more largely, our life, isn't about material rewards, but rather an eternal trade-off that is ours for the taking.  Each and every one of us.

I run because I love it.  I run because it gives me purpose.  I run because, for me, it's a portal to understanding things that I can't otherwise make sense.  I won't win the olive wreath and have it placed on my head triumphantly at the Nashville Marathon in a few months, but i'll run my best race no matter what.  The t-shirts and bibs and medals are great, but when I wake up to freezing temperatures and lace my shoes despite the conditions, I do it out of dedication and perseverance and discipline.  I do it to feel alive.  I do it because I love it.

Run.