I have logged many miles with me, myself and I. Short runs, long runs and all runs in-between. When I stride out my mind wanders to many things but nearly every time I run, I pray.
I pray for my children and their future. I pray in thanks for the ability to run. I pray for my uncle who is fighting cancer. I pray for my friend’s cousin who is far too young but still fighting that same battle. I pray in praise for the beauty that I see around me. I lift names of people that I know need lifting. With each footstep I send a missive to God.
On my next run those prayers will include people I don’t even know but with whom I feel a kinship. I will pray for the people who were waiting for their loved one to cross the marathon finish line because I know what it feels like to wait with that special feeling of excitement (and maybe just a tinge of worry). I will pray for the runners who started that day celebrating the joy in a hard-won accomplishment only to have it forever stained or even taken away. I will pray for the people who fought all instinct and ran towards an explosion to help others. I will pray for the people who see senseless violence as a viable option.
When I run, I pray.