I could feel the flush in my face and the sweat beading on my forehead as my legs ached with a sort of half-memory of what they once could do.
It’s been difficult getting my fitness back up to where it was, pre-injury, mostly because of the frustration. My warm-up used to be a brisk 5 mile jog, and now it had become my goal not to stop running until I hit that distance, no matter how much everything hurt. I remembered how far I could run and I remembered how it should’ve felt, but nothing was the way it was supposed to be.
Every breath was already a desperate gasp for air when I heard a small voice in my ear: “Sing something.” Even as I thought, “how the frick am I supposed to do that”, I could hear, in my head, a song that I once knew very well, but the memory was so distant now I could hardly remember the chorus and bridge:
Christ is risen from the dead
Trampling over death by death
Come awake, come awake
Come and rise up from the grave
And oh, death, where is your sting?
And oh, hell, where is your victory?
And oh, church, come stand in the light
Our God is not dead, he’s alive, he’s alive
It was not music at first as I forced out a syllable with each exhalation. I continued to obey even as I told myself I was wasting precious air and energy.
I was still pounding the pavement when I realized that I was no longer grunting the words, but actually sustaining entire phrases with each breath. There was a feeling of freedom as my legs automatically increased their pace, the faint memory now becoming reality once more.
It was no longer my weak body supporting me, but the Spirit, blessing my run.
And of course, that’s the best kind of run there is.
You found Me on this special day, He whispered, and I won’t ever forsake you.