and the other disciple ran ahead faster

I have a long history with running.

When I was a kid in a big family in a small house, I often felt so stifled, I'd ask to go outside and run laps around the tiny yard. In school when the PE teachers made us run laps around the indoor gym, I'd be the one running full speed and lapping those others who were halfheartedly trotting in the appearance rather than the spirit of the exercise. My best time in school was a sub 7:00 mile, not bad for someone with tiny legs and a small stride. During college, as a way to deal with grief, I ran the Cambridge loop almost every day for an entire Spring.

I have a long history with running.

When I was a kid in a big family in a small house, I often felt so stifled, I'd lie in bed pretending to sleep, my mind miles away in a fantasy where I wasn't in the family I was in. In school when the teachers would ask us about our summers and holidays I'd make up stories to mask the monotony of poverty and a childhood unlived. My best time in school was every minute I wasn't home, feeling bad as someone with large wells of pain and an infinite depth of sadness. During college, as a way to deal with grief, I almost leapt into the Cambridge depths in some final escape.

I find myself these days both running and running.

I feel as fit as I've been in years, slim and stronghearted. But I also feel as unsettled as I've been in years, discontent and weakhearted. And in both instances, I feel as if I'm going through the motions. Training for a 12K? Sorta. Running just to run? More true. Being obedient and spiritually disciplined? Sorta. Running just to run? More true. Is the solution to keep running till all these things sort themselves out? Or stop for a second just stop for a second and ask myself where. Where. Where is this all going?