I stand at the window looking
at the rain obliterating the parking lot below. It is a running morning, and I
have planned to cover four miles before 9:00 am. I momentary hesitate and think
of all the other ways I might exercise that do not involve getting wet and
cold. Then the thought comes, "Are you a runner or a
jogger?" I've asked myself this question for years at the bottom of steep
hills, during blizzards, sub-zero temperatures, and at the almost-end of long
runs. I really want to be a runner, and the vast majority of the time I own up
to the title and put the next shoe forward.
Today is no different, and I find myself running through the downpour. I begin to consider throughout the rainy run that the difference of running to jogging is a bit like spiritual to religious. The nuance between both pairs is so small you just might miss it if you blink. Equally, you cannot watch me jog/run down the sidewalk and decide which I am doing. Only I know if I am running or jogging.
For me, to jog is to exercise without intentionality. It is a movement because I said I would, or always have, or someone told me this is the way it should be done. To run is to live into the challenge of existence and to move forward regardless of its folly. Spirituality is a late December run in Fairbanks, Alaska. Religion is staying home and watching the rain hit the window.
I slip in and out of both—runner and jogger. I think the slippage is part of any faithfully lived life. The spiritual nips at our heels and propels us forward, while religion binds us to what has always been. Granted, it is warm inside; the bread and wine can make all of us sleepy. Even so, more picnics in the rain are what each of us really need.
