Running Honeymoons

I have two favorite places to run. I love running in the deep woods of the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, along the shore of Lake Huron - just outside Cedarville. The other is on the mountainside of Mt. Kilimanjaro in Oloitokitok, Kenya. On the secluded trails of Michigan, my introverted nature basks in often seeing more deer than people. By contrast, in an African country that respects running and those who do it, rambling along at 5,000+ feet of elevation, as a 6 foot tall white man going down secluded streets and countryside, I receive more thumbs up, clapping, and smiles than I will see other white people. It’s like doing a training run with crowd support.

When I run in these locations, I have to restrain myself from going out twice a day, or running further than I should. When I’m in Michigan or Oloitokitok it feels like a running honeymoon. The everyday six-miler has the potential to become my own Walden Pond.

Recently, I had an extended running honeymoon, (I mean work trip) which began in Michigan then ended with three weeks in Oloitokitok. When I came down to 100 feet elevation, on my home trail along Peace Road, which meanders a scenic back lot of Wal-Mart, through a park, over a bridge, and onto my NIU campus – I actually found joy there too.

Unlike the other places, my mind and spirit were able to disconnect from all the new sites and smells, because they already knew them. I was able to mentally engage in the activity of running that newness prohibits. On this particular run I got out on my asphalt trail in the midst of a 90-degree day. I know this course well enough that I can go out at night without a flashlight. It has a bump just after the 1^st mile, and I hit the 2^nd mile at the corner of the 3M building. My 3-mile turnaround is right under the cable that holds up an old light pole by an aging quarry. On this particularly hot day, I had pushed myself to hard and needed to readjust the course to get some shade and let my body core cool off.

A familiar course gives me that ability. I can find the shady spots, and still get home feeling like a good run happened. I get bored easily and fall into the trap of thinking the new is always going to be better. I readily fall into this trap when I think about my church or Christian community. The church across town, or in a different city can feel like the place I would really grow if I could just go there. I tend to become discontent with the church and community I have committed myself to. I see only the bumps in the cement and broken down cables running across my path, rather than the security of being known by and knowing others well.

For a time in my running life I always ran different routes. While they were always new, I couldn’t remember the contours of neighborhoods and sidewalks that would just allow me to run. Settling into the one course has let me know what to expect. When I’m limping through a run I know where I can turn around and get home quicker. Or if I need to add an extra half-mile on for a bit of a challenge, I know where to detour.

I’ve noticed I can treat the Christian community like I do my trail. I show up and do the miles on it and expect a return on investment. I unrealistically want to see the result of a hard run and relational investments take shape in goals met, a fuller life, and more needs met. Christian community and my trail have a lot in common. They are both there when needed most; although, I made neither. I have a tendency to take both for granted, but what I get from them is directly related to how much of myself I pour into them. Both show me how self-centered I can be.

Unlike my trail, the Christian community cares when I’m not there. In Christian community it hasn’t been just about me knowing the people there; it has been about them knowing me too. As a leader, this has been a challenge. Everyone thinks they know their leader, but that is only perceived from a surface level. People have only known as much of me as I have let them see. But as a leader, the discipline of remaining let’s people into my world and I into theirs. They are able to get to know my neighborhood, how they can push me, and when to help me limp back home.

Honeymoons won’t last, and chasing after them has only bred greater discontent and less appreciation for the trail that is right before me.