My life in running routes

If you put 'Julia' and 'athletic' in the same sentence around my brothers, you would probably hear some laughter. I'm a late bloomer. Thankfully, memories of throwing up after playing tennis have faded, and I have a little more confidence in my ability to play a sport and breathe at the same time.

I started running by small degrees my junior year in college. Somehow, nine years (!) have come and gone, and it has become my favorite hobby.

Do you remember this opening scene from Chariots of Fire?



I totally get those smiles. And how glorious it feels to have mud and sand flung all over your clothes, halfway through a run you feel could last all day. Of course, I would be a few miles behind these guys, and I would be running a fraction of their distance, but I get it.

The best part is that I have run there, along the west sands in St. Andrews where this scene was filmed. This was one of my running routes. I would tie up my shoe laces, leave our flat and be there in five minutes to run along the North Sea while it sprayed my face. After a long day teaching Scottish high school kids a zillion miles away from what I knew and understood, those runs granted perspective. And then some. God met me there in those minutes spent seeing and hearing his creation.

An added benefit is that my running routes have tied me to these places I never imagined inhabiting. I love the landscape of St. Andrews because of those runs where I dodged seaweed and pigeons, looking out across the ocean and back at the cathedral ruins.

The places where I have lived and run are as diverse in their landscapes as one would expect: the country roads of Jefferson City, Tennessee:


the flat, weedy Prairie Path of Wheaton, Illinois:


the haunting, hilly wood of Tübingen, Germany:


Each place affords its own flood of memories and experiences. That hard first year spent in Oxford contained peaceful moments spent running through these yellow fields before dinner:

A couple months ago, I went for a run after a yearlong hiatus. Then I stopped for two weeks, ran again, stopped for two weeks and ran again. I thought it would never feel okay. But a few weeks later, it suddenly felt good. Really good. Chariots of Fire good.

And running along the muddy paths of Port Meadow reminds me of how beautiful Oxford is, this place a zillion miles away from family where we started our own family.

Being back at it has brought, again, great perspective and great peace.