Monday (September 9): 8.05km, avg 6:57km

Wednesday: 13.36km, avg 7:02/km

Thursday CrossFit:

Mobility: 30 jumping jacks, spiderman stretch, Lat ball shoulders, glutes

Speed deadlifts:

Romanian dead lifts (40lbs)

conditioning: 4 rounds for time (3:57), 16 medicine balls, 10 ball slams, 10 Russian twists, 10 wall throws

Saturday: 22.54km, avg 6:08/km

Last week was the last vestiges of summer. 70 on Monday, 99 on Wednesday, 70 on Saturday. Now, fall is in full effect. The air was crisp. Everything is now crisp. The running, the living, the road is crisp.

I stopped going to church some time ago. That’s a big deal. I grew up in church and for much of my life, church was the anchor point and the center of my working and relational identity.

During crises of faith and crises of relationships, I still went to church. There was a real comfort in the sense of routine and predictability and I truly feel God’s presence in (most) services and churches.

It started as an issue of logistics with work but then the real issue came forward. It wasn’t doubt (although there is plenty) or a denial of belief. It wasn’t a particular sermon or pastor or anything like that. I came out of the HOLE with a desire to face failures head-on and make changes. The hardest part to acknowledge was that my relationship with church was no longer working and hadn’t been working for a long time.

It’s like this: When you are a child, you have a certain kind of relationship with your parents. You are completely dependent on your parents, which is a mutually agreed-upon relationship that has benefits for both parent and child.

But you grow up and start to find independence and a sense of self-sufficiency and you confront the reality of the world. That reality drives you away from home and toward your new home, wherever that is and with whoever shares it with you. In order for that to fully happen, the dependency bond with your parents must break.

You get the point: I’m still a believer and always will be. Now, I am a member of the Church of the Long Run. Lately, I’ve been listening to classical music and the Latin hymns of Palestrina. It expedites the centerness that comes at that certain point in the run. It calms the mind, relaxes the shoulders, loosens the back and keeps the legs moving. At that point, it’s about the next step and the next breadth.

On these long runs, I imagine myself running the maratón. How will I feel on mile 5? Mile 20? I think about the crowds, the cheering, the music, the tango dancing. I see my father in the crowds as I finish the race. Achievement. Completeness.

Then, my mind travels to Westminster Abbey in London. The vastness, the beauty of the place. Or St. Paul’s Cathedral, the Cathedral in Canterbury, Urquhart Castle on Loch Ness. Cathedral of St. John the Divine in Morningside Heights. These places built as windows into Heaven. I look up and lose my breath.

I finish the run and I pray that God is pleased and glorified.