We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospection.
- Anaïs Nin
If you had told me five years ago that I would not only run 4-5 days a week, but that I would also enjoy it, I would have laughed at you. Given the choice of things to do, I would have watched a movie, read a book, or enjoyed a conversation with a friend. I would not have picked running. Up until the age of 24, I had never even run a mile in my life. When we had to run a mile in P.E. in high school I walked it, instead choosing to take the grade deduction. So shortly after turning 24 my friends decided to help me run a mile, even dubbing it the “Courtney Marathon.” It’s pathetic now that I think about it. I mean, I practiced for it, slowly building my way up to a mile. But I really hated running. I hated all physical exertion. If my heart rate got too high or I felt any sort of pain, I would simply quit.
And now that I’m a runner, I see that my response to running all these years (and all physical activity) is actually a parallel to how I respond to difficulty in the Christian life.
The summer between my 7th and 8th grade years our golden retriever had puppies. On the last day of school we woke up to eight black lab/golden retriever mix puppies, making that summer one of the most memorable I’ve ever had. We watched Montana go from playful family dog to protective mother literally overnight. She birthed those puppies on her own in her doghouse. She nursed those babies whenever they were hungry. She snapped at my youngest brother when he tried to touch one of them. She never left them in those early days.
And then she weaned them.
I’m not exactly sure how the weaning process goes for dogs, but as quickly as she went from jovial family dog to protective momma dog, she went right back to her former life without batting an eye. We gave away most of the puppies, but kept one for my brother (he loved dogs), and her relationship with that dog was filled with contention. He bothered her. He had more energy than her. In many ways the way she acted around him was like any other dog that invaded her personal space. Sure, she birthed him and nursed him. But once that process was over she forgot it even happened. She forgot he was her son.
Not so with humans, right?
In January 2007 I started a blog. I had been out of college for over half a year and wanted to practice the craft I had gone to college for. So I wrote and wrote and wrote. Here I am nine years later. I'm married. I have kids. I've written a book. And it was time to move my site over to a more permanent and professional place.