"Slow and Steady" is a way I describe my running. My 5k pace is currently consistently in the 12-13min/mile range. Sometimes it gets closer to 10-11. During the tri, after swimming and biking, it has been known to creep closer to 14. This used to be a source of anxiety for me. Whenever anyone would offer to do training runs with me, I would counter with "Thanks! But I'm really slow...sorry" as if somehow I was holding people back from achieving their speedy greatness. Because speedy greatness was clearly their point in offering to train with me.
When I went to visit my Dad-o and the rest of the family earlier this month, I needed to get in a run while I was there. My brother Joel offered to take me to one of his (10ish minute/mile pace) running spots, the Riverwalk Trail, and I immediately defaulted to "Thanks! I'm really slow, so you don't have to run with me." He said he'd see, maybe he'd run ahead, maybe he'd run with me. We got to the trail, which is beautiful and peaceful and such a great resource in the community, and as we were both putting in our headphones to get started with our jams, Joel said "I'll run with you." I felt a tightness in my gut as I felt that familiar concern about holding people back from achieving their speedy greatness. I took a breath though and said, "ok, but if you feel like you want to go ahead, I won't mind." We started our playlists (Janelle Monae kicked it off for me!) and we were off in the hot, humid midday sun of southern Virginia.
We ran together for a couple of minutes and then Joel pulled ahead, but he didn't take off like I thought he might. Instead, he settled in about 15 yards ahead. Every once in a while, he would look back with raised eyebrows. I would give a nod or a thumbs up and on we would continue. During our three and a quarter miles together, we kept communicating like that:
"There's the bathroom if you need it"
"Let's go this way"
"Look at the river"
"Here's that turnaround I was talking about"
"you ok?"
"I'm ok, you ok?"
"yeah"
"I'm glad you're here."
All without words. All with him a few paces ahead. It was my first time on the trail, and I realized that Joel was quietly guiding me. He knew I could do it on my own, but he was also committed to being there with me. He was teaching me the trail that he knows so well and he was doing so with patience and a lot of loving care. It reminded me of my Dad. That's the way he has been with me all of my life: teaching me to drive a stick shift, guiding me as I learned to play softball and volleyball, teaching me what commitment to and love of family looks like. That's the way he continues to be with me: gently continuing to guide me as I embark on whatever endeavor is next. He might not always say a lot, but he communicates volumes. He doesn't get ruffled if my pace is different, he sticks with me, he continues to gently guide me through this life.
He is Slow and Steady, just like my running. Thank you, Daddy. I am grateful for your guidance, for your slow and steady.
When I went to visit my Dad-o and the rest of the family earlier this month, I needed to get in a run while I was there. My brother Joel offered to take me to one of his (10ish minute/mile pace) running spots, the Riverwalk Trail, and I immediately defaulted to "Thanks! I'm really slow, so you don't have to run with me." He said he'd see, maybe he'd run ahead, maybe he'd run with me. We got to the trail, which is beautiful and peaceful and such a great resource in the community, and as we were both putting in our headphones to get started with our jams, Joel said "I'll run with you." I felt a tightness in my gut as I felt that familiar concern about holding people back from achieving their speedy greatness. I took a breath though and said, "ok, but if you feel like you want to go ahead, I won't mind." We started our playlists (Janelle Monae kicked it off for me!) and we were off in the hot, humid midday sun of southern Virginia.
We ran together for a couple of minutes and then Joel pulled ahead, but he didn't take off like I thought he might. Instead, he settled in about 15 yards ahead. Every once in a while, he would look back with raised eyebrows. I would give a nod or a thumbs up and on we would continue. During our three and a quarter miles together, we kept communicating like that:
"There's the bathroom if you need it"
"Let's go this way"
"Look at the river"
"Here's that turnaround I was talking about"
"you ok?"
"I'm ok, you ok?"
"yeah"
"I'm glad you're here."
All without words. All with him a few paces ahead. It was my first time on the trail, and I realized that Joel was quietly guiding me. He knew I could do it on my own, but he was also committed to being there with me. He was teaching me the trail that he knows so well and he was doing so with patience and a lot of loving care. It reminded me of my Dad. That's the way he has been with me all of my life: teaching me to drive a stick shift, guiding me as I learned to play softball and volleyball, teaching me what commitment to and love of family looks like. That's the way he continues to be with me: gently continuing to guide me as I embark on whatever endeavor is next. He might not always say a lot, but he communicates volumes. He doesn't get ruffled if my pace is different, he sticks with me, he continues to gently guide me through this life.
He is Slow and Steady, just like my running. Thank you, Daddy. I am grateful for your guidance, for your slow and steady.