Running is always an exercise in humility.
If we write our dreams and goals down, we dramatically increase our odds of realization. If we share them with others, they become potent and alive.
I want to get more comfortable being uncomfortable. I want to get more confident being uncertain. I don’t want to shrink back just because something isn’t easy. I want to push back, and make more room in the area between I can’t and I can.
Embrace your sweat. It is your essence and your emancipation.
When it comes down to it, determination has a greater impact than giftedness.
When we focus on our gratitude, the tide of disappointment goes out and the tide of love rushes in.
A run has never returned me exactly the same. I go, I grow.
Running has taken me in, and continues to comfort, heal and challenge me in all kinds of magical ways. I am not a ‘good runner’ because I am me. I am a good ‘me’ because I am a runner.
When the seasons shift, even the subtle beginning, the scent of a promised change, I feel something stir inside me. Hopefulness? Gratitude? Openness? Whatever it is, it’s welcome.
I find significance in all kinds of small details when I run; I’m hyper aware of my surroundings, the sensations in my body, and the thoughts running through my mind. Everything is clearer, heightened. I might be more addicted to this clarity than I am to running itself.
In the midst of regular life, running is the touchstone that breathes adventure into my soul.
Learn to say no, so your yes has some oomph.
I think I run my strongest when I run with joy, with gratitude, with focus, with grace. With that strategy in place I can push myself for pleasure, not punishment. Maybe you can only really go when you let go.
We postpone the finality of heartbreak by clinging to hope. Though this might be acceptable during early or transitional stages of grief, ultimately it is no way to live. We need both hands free to embrace life and accept love, and that’s impossible if one hand has a death grip on the past.
When everything is moving and shifting, the only way to counteract chaos is stillness. When things feel extraordinary, strive for ordinary. When the surface is wavy, dive deeper for quieter waters.
It’s not only moving that creates new starting points. Sometimes all it takes is a subtle shift in perspective, an opening of the mind, an intentional pause and reset, or a new route to start to see new options and new possibilities.
Times of transition are strenuous, but I love them. They are an opportunity to purge, rethink priorities, and be intentional about new habits. We can make our new normal any way we want.
Running fills a need so we make fewer demands on others. Running reveals the roots of negative thinking, so the weeds can be pulled. Running reconnects the soul to the source, inspiring hope and creativity.
It’s easy to lose sight of God when life is sweet and easy, but there is something awesome about despair, and it is the closeness of God when we are at our weakest.
The time I spend in the morning – praying, sipping coffee, and coming up with my list – is a ritual I relish. I have done it for so long now that I subconsciously measure whether or not the things I’m doing match with what I should be doing, what I want to be doing, and the life I want to live.