July always feels like an awkward month for running.

Even more so for me the past couple of years. For two summers now, summer has meant returning to running and trying to regain my fitness as I rehabbed injuries. The body already feels less than optimal to begin with, and add on top of that the fact that July is probably the most awkward month for runners.

For those familiar with the sport/hobby/personality lifestyle, many of us runners are driven by several factors — but one of the main ones is usually racing, and at the very least not wanting to feel like we are dying. For those of us in warmer, more tropical and humid climates — this is what makes July weird.

The watch says one thing and my body says another, and the two of them won’t agree — probably until October. I go out for what should be an easy run, the heat pushes my heart rate somewhere it wouldn’t go until a faster pace on a cooler day, so I back off. That’s not weakness — that’s just how a body works in ninety-degree air. But then I’m standing in my driveway afterward looking at a pace that would’ve embarrassed me in March, wondering if any of this is actually building anything.

I know better than to trust that feeling. I learned it last summer, slowly, over weeks I didn’t enjoy. The paces stayed slow. The runs felt like they were going nowhere. And then November came, and I stood at the start of the Norfolk Harbor Half Marathon with a fitness I couldn’t see all summer and ran a race that told the truth the watch had been hiding in July.

You’d think that would settle it for good. It didn’t. Here I am again — second summer in a row rebuilding through the same heat, having the same argument with the same watch, needing to remember a lesson I already paid for once.

There has to be a lesson in there, right?
This lesson is not about learning to trust effort over pace and then you’re done.
The lesson is that you have to relearn it every single time the season asks you to.

July doesn’t reward you for already knowing better. It just asks the question again.

What helps me answer it isn’t willpower. It’s the community — those who drive me to be my best each and every day.
It’s Tuesday nights: The RunSomeMo crowd that keeps showing up at the brewery in the thick of this. The training plans have barely started. Fall races may be on the calendar — but they are distant goals, measured against the heat and humidity of summer.

It is a time of people logging what feel like slow and sweaty miles that we think will never show up on a race result — in the worst running weather this area offers. If you asked us why, I’m not sure anyone could give you a clean answer. But the showing up is the answer. That’s what’s being built.

Runners are built through consistency. For runners of every fitness level and conditioning, it is about logging the miles and not judging yourself against what you think is your best. All because you are still a work in progress — especially in less than optimal (even downright dangerous) conditions.

I want to remind you of what July actually is: base season.
The slow, unglamorous work of building an engine nobody claps for. Every easy mile in this heat is laying down something October gets to spend. It doesn’t feel like progress because we’ve been taught to only count what we can see. A pace. A medal. A finish line photo. July builds in the dark.

As a pastor I spend my Sundays talking through this exact thing, honestly. The church calendar calls this stretch Ordinary Time, the long season between the big holidays where nothing dramatic happens and everything important does. A season without visible proof is not a season without growth. It’s just growth you don’t get to watch.

So here’s what I’d hand you this week, runner to runner. Take one run where you don’t look at the watch until it’s over. Pick the shadiest route you know. Let the effort be honest and let the pace be whatever the heat decides it gets to be. And when you’re back in your driveway and the number is ugly, say it out loud: this is what building looks like in July.

October is coming either way. The only question is whether you spend the summer arguing with your watch or trusting your body. I’m working on choosing the second one. Again. Come relearn it with me.

Last week, I was in Harrisonburg, Va — and this line kept moving in my mind.

In the mountains of Virginia. At what United Methodists call Annual Conference, the yearly gathering of clergy and laity from across the state. A room full of people who have tied their lives, in some form, to the same tradition, the same questions, the same uncomfortable act of showing up together year after year.

The theme this year: Reclaiming the Heart of Methodism.

I walked in with anticipation.
And guardedness.

Holding both at once. The more I’ve grown into this vocation, the harder it becomes to reconcile the state of the institution with the call itself. But there I was, because the calling has been the same — and I have never loved the church for what it is, but always for what it could be.

What God created it to be. Community.

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The Movement

Through my time at Annual Conference, I reflected on what the Methodist movement actually was when it began. The fledgling groups that made up the early movement had nothing to do with institutions or committees. It was people in motion. Wesley in the open fields, preaching to miners with coal dust on their faces because the established church had decided they weren’t worth the trouble. Rule-benders. People who believed that holiness wasn’t something you polished alone in a pew. It was something you worked toward together, imperfectly, on the move.

Unfortunately, it often feels that’s not the version you encounter now.

More often than not, the version encountered at Annual Conference carries history. It carries hurt. It carries real disagreement about who belongs and how we move forward. You walk in knowing that. You walk in hopeful and braced, and that’s not cynicism. I think it is how we learn and grow as a community. Confronting the uncomfortable to find shared life together.

Real community has never been the comfortable version.
It’s always been the chosen version.

I come back to that every time I want to step back. The alternative to staying in the room is walking away, letting the movement move without you. And isolation has a cost too. It’s just a quieter one. Most people don’t notice they’ve paid it until returning feels impossible.

Community is never easy. But it matters more than it costs.

The Other Kind

I’ve been thinking about movement all week. My mind keeps wandering to the other kind. The kind I find comfort in.

Running has shaped how I move through the world, not just literally, but as a posture. You don’t stand still waiting for conditions to be perfect. You lace up and go, even when the route is uncertain and the mile is hard.

Running has taught me something about staying in motion: you adjust, but you don’t stop. You hit a wall and you don’t quit. You recalibrate your pace and keep going. The goal isn’t to never struggle. It’s to keep going.

There’s a Wesleyan word for that: sanctification. Holiness isn’t a destination. It’s a direction. You don’t arrive. You move toward it. Together.

RunSomeMo

My running community is called RunSomeMo. We meet Tuesday nights and Saturday mornings. We are not a perfect group.

Yet, as I reflect on my presence with them, I don’t show up because it’s always easy. I show up because it’s my community. And community, like running, is something you choose to stay in even when it gets hard.

There’s a moment on a long run, and you know it if you’ve been out there long enough, where you could justify stopping. Everything in you wants to. But you look around at the people moving alongside you, and something holds. Not obligation. Something more like belonging.

That’s a movement too. Small, local, made of ordinary people in running shoes. And it’s practicing the same thing Annual Conference is practicing. Just on different roads.

That line means more now than it did when I first wrote it down. It was always carrying both things at once.

Not working toward a perfect community. Not in the church, not on the road. Working toward each other. That’s the direction. And the direction is enough.

What movement are you part of?
What does it cost you to stay in it?
Is it worth it?

When Running Was Everything

Tuesday evenings at RunSomeMo — 2023 — training for the 2023 Shamrock Half Marathon. This is a time where I see my healthiest nature as a runner. We would get ready to start run club, and Mike and I would look around at who showed up. We would advertise a Run Together Run. We committed to run together — no matter the pace, we all matched it. Didn’t matter if that was a 12-minute mile. That was the pace. That was community.

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I was running 40-50 miles a week back then. PR’d at Shamrock with a 1:33. But that’s not what made that season some of the best running I’ve ever done.

What made it was everything running held. During that time, running wasn’t one thing.

Yes, I had ambitious goals, and I committed myself and trained with those goals in mind. But, it was what happened beyond that, that ensured running never lost its joy. Running had the rhythm — the metaphorical pounding of the pavement that calibrated my neurodivergent brain. It settled me psychologically in an almost therapeutic state. It was time of solitude to think and process what was happening around me. Then, and probably most of all for my extroverted personality, it was community connection — the ability to be fully attentive in that space. I showed up ready to lead. I had cared for myself, and I came ready to encourage others.

What Injury Takes

Now, many of you know this journey takes a turn — and the details aren’t the point. What matters is what it feels like the injuries have taken from me.

They have taken my consistency: I struggle to run — sometimes I make strides and then fall right back into the same cycle — or get derailed by a minor tweak. The rhythm that once regulated me becomes guided by pain instead.

Then the solitude gets lost: It has become an inner anxiety instead of clarity. When the rhythm starts to go, the solitude goes with it. It becomes unenjoyable. And without both, I feel like I have lost a significant part of me.

Then there is the community: In all honesty, this has been the tried and true consistency in these last few years. It doesn’t matter if I am injured or running, the support is there. I’ve never fully thanked them for it. I’ve taken it for granted more than I want to admit.

I remember when running felt easier, I could give at run club — guide folks on the run and it felt like I was running with them. Now, I am typically the one that needs to receive — I need someone to run with me. I need the therapeutic walk (a time of solitude), or someone to push me to run and on a run.

It’s Not the Pace I Miss

Because I miss the runner I used to be. But not in the way you might think...

If I’m honest: I don’t want to chase my old times. I know any PR I achieve will feel incredible. That ambivalence is real. But when I sit with it, what I really miss most isn’t the pace or the mileage. Those are goals I can work back toward. What I miss are those things I labeled earlier — the rhythm, the solitude, and my presence in the community. A presence — not a performance. And without all that running held, I feel like I am trying to perform the runner I used to be without the presence of mind to actually be there.

When Community Carries You

What keeps me showing up anyway is the community.

When those miles fail you, community carries you. It has become a steadfast thing. Sure, it can feel like always being the one on the injured reserve, always making excuses. But real community doesn’t keep score. It carries you — supports you.

It is grace with running shoes on.

I have never stopped belonging in the running community. And I want to get back to the runner I used to be — not to the pace or the finishing time, but to everything running held. The rhythm. The solitude. The presence.

Embodied community is meant to be the thing that holds you. It doesn’t measure you against who you used to be. It meets you where you are and helps you move toward who you can become.

Community is the thing that holds you when you can’t hold yourself.

If you’re in this gap right now — feeling like the journey back to yourself is long — maybe the question isn’t how to find the runner you used to be. Maybe the better question is: who is still showing up for you? Because you don’t need to have it figured out to show up. Sometimes showing up is the only thing, and community makes that possible.

Life is Chaotic…but you know that.

I know haven’t written for a while — well, aside from my regular sermon writing that I do (so I guess I should say — I haven’t written and posted on here in a while). Because of that, I feel like my brain is fighting against me, in a way. I feel stuck in this loop that I should write, but also cannot conceive of what I could write — or even what you all would want me to write.

This feels all too normal for my life with ADHD.

Or at least, it feels like the best way to explain it…
(ADHD paralysis is what I believe they call it)

The strange difference is that this doesn’t just feel like a passing symptom or a moment of distraction. It feels like something deeper — a kind of inward pressure that makes even the act of starting feel overwhelming.

And when that pressure builds, I tend to do what many of us do: I wait, I put things off, and I tell myself I’ll come back to it when I have more clarity, more energy, more space.

If you are like me, then you probably exist (or even have existed) in a kind of quiet, constant tiredness.

For me, it doesn’t feel like burnout (I feel like over time, I have learned that feeling and how to differentiate it), but it does feel close.

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Trying Another Path

And that is why I am considering something that feels especially uncomfortable, for me.

In the United Methodist Church, full-time pastors are given the ability to take what is known as, extended leave for spiritual growth and renewal.

Basically, this is an extended period of paid time off, to focus on self-care and spiritual-care — more so the aspects of of both that are focused on building practices that will aid me in returning to full-time work and ministry once complete.

I feel incredibly blessed to be a part of a denomination that recognizes the need for these extended periods of leave, and how the practice of them can help those who serve in ministry settings across the denomination.

Even though I am often perceived as an advocate for all practices of self-care — the idea of this leave has always felt daunting to say the least.

I first thought about taking this extended leave when I moved to my current appointment in 2020 (however, the “time never felt right…”). As time went on, I kept trying to find space to take the leave, but also kept making excuses on why the timing just wasn’t right at a given time.

I probably used every stock answer to push this leave off as I could

However, there is also another underlying reason it feels scary(?):
I have never been a person who has done well without a sense of purpose.

This is probably not the best way to phrase this; but basically, I always have to be doing something, and my work as a pastor is filled of things to do at all times.

Even as I plan this leave, I keep trying to think of excuses why I shouldn’t, can’t, or don’t need to take this time — or even to take as much time as I am requesting.

Why it feels tough for me

As an Enneagram 3, I definitely most connect with the nature of achiever, and even performer (words used when primarily defining Enneagram 3s), that is attached to how one would describe this enneagram number.

My mind is trying to process:
What I am going to “do” while I am on this leave?
How can I be “productive?”
Who can I please?

This inevitably leads me to pause and recognize that this leave is about me — a deeper part of me. It is meant to be a time when I can work on myself. Give myself the space to practice those things that make me the best human, husband, father, friend, and even reconnect with what makes me the best pastor I can be.

These moments are sacred and holy in their nature, and get lost when we become so entranced in who we think we have to be for others.

Moving Forward

I am slowly, but surely, trying to build a renewal leave that reflects the human being God has created me to be. To ensure I have the space to care for myself, while the church I serve is cared for as well.

This comes with a tough truth, I need to admit:
I don’t fully know what that means or looks like yet.

But, what I am doing, is beginning to trust that this isn’t something I have to solve before I step into it — before the decision to step out and decide to do it.

Maybe part of the work is simply allowing myself the space to not have the answer — to rest without needing to justify it, to receive without needing to produce something from it.

So as I move toward this season, both the uncertainty and the hope that comes with it, I want to be honest about what it takes to even consider it.

Not as someone who has figured this out (because who does?) — but as someone who is learning, slowly, what it might mean to actually receive rest.

And maybe that’s where this begins for more than just me.

I invite you to reflect with me:
What brings your brain, body, soul, and spirit rest and renewal?

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To start, I can’t believe it is already November.

I also cannot believe that I have remained “mostly” healthy all year so far (knocks on wood).

Not only have I managed to stay healthy, but as I have reworked my aerobic endurance—I have also been able to put work into my strength as I have been working with a physical therapist, Dr. Marc Adams (featured in the below Run Build Grow episode) who specializes in PT for active individuals.

This journey has culminated with a seeming reinvigoration with the sport that I had felt had been causing me a lot of needless pain. This time has given me greater respect for the gamut of stuff we may go through as runners throughout various training cycles.

The Struggles and Community

Why?

Because unless you are among that select few—you know who you are—every training cycle can come with its fair share of hiccups, scares, or straight-up crappy injuries.

For myself—this all culminated in what ended up being a rough final four months of 2024. I remained positive in my outlook and I enjoyed the finer points of reorienting my mindset to 100% focus towards community. I remember writing these words last October:

I have wanted this year to just be a regular year. A year of running, a year of community, a year of actually being able to RUN with COMMUNITY.

What Have I Done

Well, I sit here, less than a week to what has literally been my goal race since January 1. In fact, this will only be my fourth race this year. I ran the Shamrock 8k back in March—testing my fitness and remembering what race day felt like. April brought about a fun time hanging out and running with the J&A folks again at the Big Blue 5k. Lastly, I really wanted to have a fitness test, so I did the CHAS Foundation 5k in September—realizing that while I could still run, my body moved differently than it did before and I needed to respect that fact.

I have celebrated with so much joy over the past few months as I began to really ramp up my mileage, running miles I hadn’t done since the lead-up to the 2024 Shamrock Half Marathon (the race where the Achilles pain began). I feel like my more natural running self—that is, I feel as though I have gotten back into my running groove again.

Am I as fast as I was before? No…

Will I get back to that pace again? I don’t know…

Do I care? Not really…

I am having fun, enjoying running, and enjoying the running community all again. It has become a chance for me to explore new things. I have dabbled in race directing—more to come here. I continue to offer my services to coach folks to help them achieve their dreams on the move (check out more info here). And now, I have a chance to get back into the “racing”2 scene and really immerse myself in this side of the running community.

Goals for this Weekend

I have had friends, colleagues, family, and even my therapist asking what my goals are for this weekend. Honestly, I am keeping my goal-setting humble—and I am 100% okay with that mentality. This will be my 10th Half Marathon race (holy cow—honestly I figured this out when thinking back while working on this article). There is over an hour difference between my fastest and “slowest” (ugh I hate that word) half marathons—1:33 PR at Shamrock 2023 and 2:35 in Richmond 2016.

Where will this one fall? I am not sure…

As always, I have my “A” Goal3

I feel like on my best day—presently—I could run under 2 hours.

However, this goal is something I put out to give myself a feeling of what an absolutely AMAZING day would be for me. While it would be amazing, I more-so have a sense of contentment for this race. A contentment that is leading me to really wanting to have fun, being my primary goal. I have run a half marathon every year since 2019, and this is my chance to extend what I am calling my “Race A Half A Year Streak.”4

Therefore, all I really care about for this race is my “B” Goal:5

FINISHING!!!

That’s it.

I plan to go out and run 13.1 miles.

For some it seems simple. For others it seems unimaginable, but for me I know it is enough right now, that achieving it will make it all worth it. The injury struggles at the end of 2024, the slow and seemingly steady recovery through the early months of the year, struggling to find any of the fitness I had lost, and feeling like an outsider in my own community (which to be clear, I NEVER actually was). All of it will be worth it knowing that I have completed my favorite race distance for the 10th time in my life!

Support and Encouragement

It will be my first time actually running 13.1 miles since Shamrock 2024 (my training only topped out at 12.5ish), and I know one way or another, I am going to make it to the finish line. The community that has formed and gathered around me is going to be there, and I know the cheers will be loud as I come down the Riverwalk along the water-side in Norfolk.

For those around, know that it is community that has done this, support, encouragement, and that never-give-up attitude. Remember, that when you surround yourself with awesome community, they will not abandon you at the slightest inconvenience, but that will lift you up when you are struggling and help you remember that the ultimate goal never has been speed—but distance. We are on this journey, not to run as fast as we can, but to see how far it can take us. Stacking runs and distances on top of one another, and getting to places we never thought imaginable.

Where is running taking you?

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Scripture: Isaiah 40:28-31

28 The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. He does not faint or grow weary; his understanding is unsearchable. 29 He gives power to the faint and strengthens the powerless. 30 Even youths will faint and be weary, and the young will fall exhausted, 31 but those who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint.

Momentum and Patience

It feels like an all-too-real situation for so many runners—especially on race day. The horn sounds, adrenaline takes over, and before you know it, you’re flying down the course faster than you probably should be. You come hot out of the gate, fueled by energy, excitement, and adrenaline

Come on… you know you’ve done it.

And you know what? It’s okay.

But if you’re anything like me, the moment you cross that finish line, you know exactly what happened—you went out too fast. You spent too much energy early and lost momentum when it mattered most. A good race requires more than speed; it takes pacing and patience. It’s about knowing what you’re capable of and trusting the process mile after mile.

The same is true in life. We push ourselves hard, pouring energy into every demand, every expectation, every need. We run from one thing to the next, often forgetting to pause, breathe, and let God set the pace. Eventually, that constant “go, go, go” catches up to us. We hit the wall.

Isaiah 40 reminds us that even the strongest grow tired, but those who wait on the Lord will renew their strength. Waiting doesn’t mean doing nothing—it’s about trusting God’s timing, learning to match our stride to God’s rhythm, and remembering that endurance is a gift that grows when we slow down enough to receive it.

Just like it can be tough in that race to find that right pacing, in life we can struggle to find the right pacing with the competition of voices around us. However, there is a manner that we can wade through the demands and find what works for us, and over time—just like in our running—we build momentum that carries us forward.

Where are you pushing too hard? Where can you find better patience and pacing? Knowing that in the end, pacing early can help us go further.

Make Every Mile Count

AMEN!!!

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42 They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers. 43 Awe came upon everyone because many wonders and signs were being done through the apostles. 44 All who believed were together and had all things in common; 45 they would sell their possessions and goods and distribute the proceeds to all, as any had need. 46 Day by day, as they spent much time together in the temple, they broke bread at home and ate their food with glad and generous hearts, 47 praising God and having the goodwill of all the people. And day by day the Lord added to their number those who were being saved. — Acts 2:42-47

I’ve always had a deep affinity for community—and not just because I’m an extrovert.

There’s something about creating and living within community that feels deeply human, almost divine—as if it’s an embedded part of the created order. Yet I often see people trying to take as much as they can from community, sometimes at the expense of others, and even worse, in the name of something meant to be “good news.”

That’s what breaks my heart about where we are as a society right now. Too often, we care more about convincing people to join our side than about building relationships that reflect Christ’s heart. Community has become something we consume, not something we contribute to.

But Acts reminds us that the earliest followers of Jesus didn’t start with conversion campaigns or persuasive arguments. They started with fellowship—deep and authentic community that cared for others. With shared meals, shared prayers, shared life. They didn’t just talk about faith—they lived it together.

And maybe that’s why I love the running community so much.

There’s something sacred that happens on the road. No titles, no pretense—just people showing up as they are. We share miles like we share meals, each step a quiet reminder that we’re not meant to go alone. Conversations that start about training or weather often become moments of honesty, encouragement, and connection. It’s where belonging grows naturally, one stride at a time. Yes, we are aware of times, paces, and abilities, but we don’t allow them to be the defining aspect of our relationship together.

6:00 miles or 15:00 miles? Come run anyway.

Marathoner or someone who never wants to run one? You belong.

Runner or walker? There’s room for you here.

That’s the kind of community Acts points to—a life woven together through ordinary, everyday rhythms.

And that’s where the real transformation happened.

Day by day, as they loved one another, as they broke bread, as they met needs, the Lord added to their number.

Faith was born out of belonging.

That’s what we’re called back to—to a kind of community that doesn’t demand belief before welcome, or perfection before participation. The kind of community where grace shows up around a dinner table, on a front porch, or along a stretch of pavement.

So maybe the question for us this week isn’t, “Who can I bring to church?”

Maybe it’s, “Who can I invite to dinner?” or “Who can I share a few miles with?”

Because community always comes before conversion.

And when we live that out, we just might find that God still adds to our number—one relationship, one meal, one act of love at a time.

AMEN!!!

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I’ve often wondered how we got so obsessed with the grind.

Y’all know—work as hard as you can to prove your worth, to show others you deserve to be kept around.

Somewhere along the way, we turned exhaustion into a badge of honor.

But that’s not how we were made to live.

Rest was always meant to be a cornerstone of faith—and life.

As a runner, I feel that in my bones. Every coach I’ve ever had says the same thing: sleep is the most important tool in a runner’s toolbox. It’s when our bodies repair the damage we’ve done. Heart rates slow. Muscles heal. The body resets. Without rest, we break down. Push too hard, too long, and the result isn’t strength—it’s injury and burnout.

I’ve watched generation after generation push through burnout as if it were noble. But this “work, work, work” mentality doesn’t come from Scripture. Throughout his ministry, Jesus modeled rest. He slept through storms, slipped away to pray, and set boundaries even when others demanded more of him.

In Matthew 11, Jesus extends the ultimate invitation: “Come to me…and I will give you rest.” It’s not just physical recovery—it’s soul restoration. Because if we’re always moving, always doing, we never slow down enough to hear God’s voice. There are no “off-days” because every day has a purpose, and rest is wholeheartedly one of those purposes.

So take a rest day. Sleep in. Ease up on the pace.

Remember—rest isn’t weakness. It’s sacred.

You are worth more to God than your productivity.

AMEN!!!

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As you saw in my post from last week (read here), there has been some discernment and regrounding taking place in my life. I was tired, teetering on the edge of burnout. At first, I couldn’t name why. It wasn’t just the busyness or trying to “do all the things.” It was that I was doing them without a clear why.

You know me:
I love building authentic community. I love running. I love the role genuine faith plays in my life. I care deeply about inclusion, grace, and healthy living. But over time, I realized I was doing it all without a greater vision guiding me.

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Learning from the Church

When I first began serving at my current church, we went through a visioning process. I remember in that process the visioning mentor we worked with, , sharing this video.

That vision we came to discern became our compass. It reshaped our leadership, our ministry, and the way we made decisions. The congregation needed this direction, this purpose behind what we were doing together. We needed something to vet things against when we were discerning ministries and activities as a church community.

As I have watched this unfold—and been a part of this holy work—I realized I needed the same thing in my personal life. A compass. A way to discern whether what I was doing lined up with who God was calling me to be.

Why I Stepped Back

So, I stopped, and I am sure many of you have noticed.

I stopped podcasting (it’s resting, not dead).

I stopped posting here on Substack (again RESTING haha).

I even pulled back from social media (well, posting—doomscrolling still very much alive…maybe the occasional post).

I needed space to reorient myself. To understand how all the pieces—human, husband, father, pastor, runner, podcaster, writer, empath, ALL THE THINGS—fit together.

And I realized I needed what I call churches to create: identity, vision, values, guiding principles. Not just for “The RunninRev.” Not just for “Pastor Andrew.” But for ANDREW—the human being God loves and calls. I needed to define myself, and then allow those other roles to take identity around my human nature and give me direction.

Naming Who I Am

I began by identifying myself—as a human and individual:

I am Andrew Ware:

I am beloved by God, becoming whole, called to cultivate movement, reflection, and belonging. I live not from role or performance, but from grace. I lead, love, and listen in rhythm with Christ.

Then I identified different aspects of who I am (mostly the major ones—this is by no means exhaustive):

I am a Husband and Father:

Rooted in love, grounded in presence. My family is sacred, and we walk together toward joy, resilience, and wholeness, all held in the love of Christ.

I am The RunninRev

I embody a life where faith is not confined to pews, wellness is not individualistic, and justice is not optional. I am forging a path for those who are burnt out, disillusioned, or stuck—showing that renewal is possible in the rhythm of breath, prayer, and forward movement.

I am a Pastor

Called, not titled. I lead with presence, not perfection. I hold space where grace is encountered and lives are honored. I preach as much with my life as with my words, and I walk with others toward wholeness, always in step with Christ who first called me.

My Vision and Values

Grounded in these identities, I began to hear God’s call and see a vision:

This isn’t about being lofty or pious. It’s about honesty. Without vision, I felt like a boat drifting—getting work done, but without direction for where I was going. With vision, I feel I have a compass. Core values, that direct my path, and hopefully, keep me pointed in the right direction. For whatever the road ahead holds for myself, my family, my minsitry as a pastor and the RunninRev, I know that I am being held together by this nature.

These values being:

1. Embodied Grace — God’s grace moves through us—through our bodies, our breath, our rhythms. I value spiritual practices that are lived, not just believed.

2. Authenticity Over Appearance — My worth is not what I produce. I will show up as I am, not as who I think others want me to be.

3. Rooted, Not Rigid — My progressive Wesleyan theology anchors me, but I remain open to mystery, doubt, and the wisdom of others.

4. Community Before Conversion — I choose presence over persuasion. Belonging is the starting point, not the reward.

5. Rest is Resistance — In a world of burnout, I will protect space for rest, stillness, and recovery—for myself and those I serve.

6. Wholeness Over Hustle — My body, brain, and soul are not machines. I will move toward integration, not perfection.

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Where This Leads

In some ways, I’m still discerning how this vision will take shape. But here’s what I know: I want to use spaces like Substack, podcasting, Discord, and social media to create community that’s authentic, sustainable, and life-giving. Ensuring that my presence there is feeding that vision through those core values, offering me the assurance that the work I am doing is the places I have been called.

So, let’s take this journey together. Let’s build a presence that’s whole and grounded in grace.

And here’s where you come in: while this is my personal vision for who I feel called to be, I believe this work is also meant to build up others. That means you—the community around me—play a crucial role. I’d love to hear from you:

• What resonates with this vision?

• What kinds of reflections, conversations, or content would help you live into grace, rest, and wholeness?

• How do you want to experience this vision with me?

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Reply here, drop me a note, or share your thoughts in community. I don’t want to just cast a vision—I want to walk it with you.
*Seriously I want to hear from you—drop a comment or send me an email

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This summer has felt like putting one foot in front of the other—literally and figuratively. I’ve been trying to get things in order, hoping to find some balance in life, even when it felt just out of reach. Still, I can see the direction I’ve been working toward, and I’ve started noticing some fruit from that work.

For the first time in a long time, I’ve been running pain-free—for more than four straight months (knocks on wood). That might not sound like much, but for me it has been fuel for the soul. Running had become something I fought through, something I endured. These past months reminded me that running has always been about joy. It can be a release. It can be the space where my mind and body finally breathe together again.

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Coming back from injury, the miles can feel like a trudge, as if you’ll never rediscover what once fed you. But consistency pays off. It’s not that I ever hated running (well, no more than the usual sarcastic amount). It just felt like something I was fighting for. It took intentionality—showing up for the thing I loved, even when it was hard.

There were no PRs, and as I look back, I haven’t even run a race since April. This summer was about care. Not just physical recovery, but tending to the places in me that were weary. I’ve learned that care can look like slowing down, resting, or simply taking small, steady steps. Looking back, I can see this wasn’t wasted time—it was groundwork.

Yes, my easy pace is over three minutes a mile slower than it once was—and that’s okay. The mileage continues to build and running feels awesome again!

I’ve got a 5k next weekend (Sept. 6), and I know my time will be nowhere near what it used to be. But I don’t care. Because I’m running again, with a new sense of purpose.

And now, somehow, it’s September. Or as my scrambled title suggests, “Step-tember.” I like the pun because it says something about where I am right now. This isn’t step one. I’m not starting over. It’s just the next step forward.

That step has been easing back into rhythm. I want to write more—not on a rigid schedule, but more regularly than I have in months. I’m thinking about how best to bring the podcast back, though I’m in no hurry to force it. I’m holding onto the freedom to build slowly, to create in a way that fits this season. I don’t know exactly what the next few months will bring, but I sense a shift. Something is stirring toward movement again.

A lot of this comes from a summer of discernment. Not only getting back on the run, but also praying and reflecting on direction going forward. I spent time listening—to God and to myself. I spent time visioning, paying attention to what matters most, asking hard questions about what’s possible, and considering the kind of growth I should seek. None of that has fully taken shape yet, but it’s beneath the surface, waiting. I trust it will unfold in time.

Here’s what I can say for sure right now:

• I’m running with joy again.

• I’m writing again (we’ll see how it fleshes itself out).

• I’m considering how best to bring the podcast back in a sustainable way.

That’s where I am. But this isn’t just about me. I want to pause and turn this toward you.

What’s your September step?

Maybe, like me, you’ve come through a season of healing or care, and you’re beginning to feel ready for what’s next. Maybe you’re still in the midst of that healing and your step is giving yourself permission to rest a little longer. Maybe your next step is creative, vocational, relational, or spiritual. Whatever shape it takes, it doesn’t have to be a massive leap. Sometimes the next step is just the smallest movement forward.

So I want to invite you to reflect:

• What restoration have you experienced this summer?

• What rhythms do you sense yourself stepping back into this fall?

• Where might you be called to move forward, even if it’s just a half-step?

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I share my story not just to update you, but to create space for you to ask those same questions for yourself. September always feels like a hinge in the year—the shift from summer into fall, from vacation rhythms back into daily ones. It’s a natural moment to pause, take a breath, and consider what’s next.

For me, that means writing here, experimenting with rhythm, and seeing what might come alive again in the podcast. For you, it might mean something completely different. But whatever it is, I hope you’ll take a moment to name it. To claim it. To let September be your “Step-tember” too.

It’s not step one. Just the next step. And that feels right.

The 4 Minute Mile

And one of the most historically round numbers in running is the 4 minute mile.

Now, as a note, I would like to remind my readers who are far away from a 4 minute mile mark that I don’t think you should go run one, but I always love drawing inspiration from the amazing feats of strength and speed from pros.

It was in 1954, when Roger Bannister broke the tape of a mile race in 3:59.4, accomplishing the feat for the first time ever in history (to date this is still one of my favorite non-fiction running books). The 4 minute mile mark has since been broken over 2000 times—all by male athletes.

Faith Taking A Shot

This past Thursday (June 26, 2025), Faith Kipyegon of Kenya, stepped onto a track in Paris, France trying to be the first woman to accomplish the feat. An accomplishment that will further cement her in the annals of running lore.

Kipyegon’s attempt was set up to create the perfect conditions for running the mile faster than any women in the history of the event’s recorded history. Nike worked with her, her team, and so many other athletes (she had 13 racers—chosen for their ability for precise pacing and optimal wind-breaking aid) to try and handle all the external factors that may impede her ability to run 1,609 meters (1 mile) in under 4 minutes.

In the end, she did not break 4 minutes, but she did run faster than any woman in the history of the mile (clocking a 4:06.42). To be clear, this was not a failure—this proved just how tough a 4 minute mile can be. Neither will I accuse Kipyegon of treating the attempt with a sense of laissez-faire or an ego of assuredness. There was a sacredness as she approached the event.

Click here to watch the whole event on YouTube—including the pre-run portion where they talk to several folks about the moment, and highlight Kipyegon’s history as a runner, mom, and generally awesome human being.

Mind-Blown

I was entranced by this attempt at history, because the 4 minute mile does feel like this sacred mark set by the history of elite running. It is a mark that, for 70 years, men and boys have focused much of their miling career around. A four minute mile was never in my repotoire as a high schooler—I felt lucky get under 5 minutes once in my life.

This seemingly sacred standard stands out to folks, and to see Kipyegon going after it is a testament to what these times often mean in the grand context of running. Kipyegon—like pioneers before her—set out to show what human bodies are truly capable of and it should be inspiring no matter where you fall in your running journey.

It lays forth this idea of the marks in our journey we treat as “sacred.” When the mythos of what we are working toward matches hard work we have put in. Now yes, Kipyegon is doing something no woman has ever done, and I am sure many of us are in the spot of reaching personal mythos of goals that have been acompliushed by hundreds—if not thousands—of other people.

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Sacred Marks

If we move past history, there is sacredness beyond just a four minute mile. Whether going for a world record, a fastest known time, a personal best, or setting a goal. These time marks are a sacred thing. The only time we really see them that way though are when they are covered in so much lore. We think for something to hold so much value it has to either be rare or it has to be deemed sacred by others.

In running beyond the four minute mile (both on the female and male side of it), we have created sacred marks out of so many other marks—think Boston Qualifiers, 15 minute 5K, World Champinship/Olympic Standards. These times feel especially sacred for middle of the pack runners because many of them seem so unachievable. However, what if I said that a 20, 30, or maybe even a 40 minute 5K could be a sacred mark? What if I said to finish a marathon is a sacred mark (which to be clear it is haha)? What if I said, any goal you set and long for and approach with a serious and sacred mindset is a sacred mark?

Finding Your Own

It was when Faith set the current world record—a mark of 4:07.64—that she truly began setting her sights on the idea that a women could break the four minute mile barrier. Yes, that mark of a four minute mile carries sacredness throughout the running world, and it became something sacred for Faith when she set her sights on it.

I think the same is true for many of us across the world.

I’m not saying we make idols out of these things, but when we think of what is sacred, we think of something that commands our attention, our respect, and something we set our heart towards. To create sacredness out of a running mark is to see it as soemthing that deserves our attention. It is something that commands our respect.

I have a friend who has his sights set on a sub 5 hour marathon. To some that may seem slow. To me, what an incredible accomplishment it will be when he acheives it. Every marathon for him is another chapter in the story. The work he puts in and the time dedicated draws him closer to the goal.

Imagine if we all treated these marks in this way.

Sacredness is something holy, and yes it draws us closer when we treat life and our participation in with the reverance it deserves. These gifts of bodies that can move, of the ability to set marks, of finding joy through living and moving, are given from above. They are a recognition that we do not define our limitations.

Sacred Marks are something we can set our mind to achieve and earnestly strive after it. They are a humbling experience, because in many situations it takes time, energy, and dedication to hit it—unfortunately sometimes the mark never comes.

However, we remember, as in faith, as much as the end of the journey (hitting the mark) is a source of pride. The journey to get there plays as much—if not more of—a role here and now.

Sacredness in Striving

Sacredness is about reverence. And when we move with reverence—toward our goals, our bodies, and our calling—we tap into something holy. These marks we chase remind us of our capacity, our purpose, and our limits. But more importantly, they remind us that limits can move.

Yes, some sacred marks remain out of reach. But the journey toward them? That is where growth happens. That’s where transformation takes root.

Just like our spiritual journey. In faith, we press on toward perfection—not flawlessness, but perfect love. We move forward daily, inching closer to the fullness of who we are called to be.

Sacred marks in life, running, and faith anchor us. They help us set our eyes on something bigger than today. They push us to do the work. And when we meet them—or come close—we find joy that transcends the clock.

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Let’s Here From You:

1. What are your sacred marks—in running, in life, in faith?

2. How are you chasing them with reverence, and how are you finding meaning in the journey—even when the finish line still feels far off?

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Not only does it pose a great threat to your average everyday people who may be outside for even just small amounts of time, but for runners and people trying to get in physical movement activities it can be especially dangerous and even deadly—but really not trying to scare anyone.

I know several well-respected folks who put out their regular “tips for running in heat,” and sometimes I hate to add my voice in the mix to annoy you all with these “tips and tricks” posts, but for this one, I think getting this information as broadly as possible is important. 

Therefore here are some of my tips for taking care of yourself and still getting miles when it is this oppressively hot out.

Some Tips

Know Your Weather

Yea, this one may seem duh, but it really is the first thing you really need to pay attention to. Now, I know there is the old adage—”It’s not the heat, but the humidity”—and there is a lot to that, but understanding what these are is even more important. As I mentioned above, the regular ambient temperature is supposed to be below 100° all week in my area (many of y’all in Arizona, New Mexico, and Texas may chuckle at that when your temps are regularly over 105°). However, we need to understand the danger in both. For my area—the Eastern Seaboard—it really is the humidity that will sneak up on you. While the air temp may only be 95°, with a dew point that is in the mid-upper 70’s your body could think the temperature is well over 110°. So know what the weather is going to be, and those weird weather patterns (look at dew point AND humidity as a pair), to help you make your decisions.

Stay Hydrated

Again, not an outlandish idea—you should be doing this year-round. However, one of the things I impress on many of the kids I coach is that if you are waiting until practice (or waiting until you are hot) to begin drinking water, you are already gravely behind. Make sure—no matter the time of day you run—that you are hydrating throughout the day. The general consensus is around drinking half your body weight in ounces of water each day (for a 200-lb person that is 100ozs of water). However, when it is hotter outside, even sitting outside can cause you to lose hydration, so set that as a baseline and adjust as you need throughout the day—especially if you go for a run. Also, know that hydration shouldn’t be just water. You need to make sure you are drinking electrolytes to replenish the ones you lose from running—especially if you are an overly sweaty runner —like me.

Wear Proper Gear—and don’t Forget Sunscreen

Make sure the gear you are wearing is suitable for summer and warm-weather running. I know folks will run with shirts (for women, I know that means sports bras), and the clothing you do wear should more often try to be lighter in color and should have some kind of moisture-wicking (and quick-drying for that matter) technology. This helps dissipate sweat and keep your body cooler. Hats and sunglasses are essential to help protect your eyes—and even the top of your head. And don’t forget to put on sunscreen, and have a plan to reapply if you are going to be out for a while. I would suggest a sunscreen that is sport-safe, and won’t come off when you start sweating—which also means applying it enough in advance for it to be effective as well.

You Need To Acclimate

Even without oppressive heat warnings, it can take almost 2 weeks for your body to adapt to warmer temperatures. Now, I don’t know that I ever actually acclimate, but I’ll play along, haha. You cannot expect to feel great in the heat, and you will need to adjust in your first handful of runs (talk more about that in the last point). However, take the proper time for your body to acclimate to the change in weather, and listen to your body when it comes to getting in runs. If you’re listening more to your watch, then you may hurt yourself by going to hard.

Adjust timing, pace, and even expectations.

OK, this one probably should be higher—and this is why I am thankful this isn’t a ranked list. You will not be able to run the same way you run when it is in the 50’s or 60’s. You are going to need to adjust either how long, how hard, or even what you are trying to get from a run. You may even need to opt to NOT run, because the conditions are downright unsafe for activities outside. In hotter conditions, such as the ones we are experiencing on the East Coast, you probably should be taking between 60-90 secs/mi off your regular pace. And depending on how hot it actually is, you really should consider not running—especially at certain times of day. You might even need to turn a 30 min run into a 20 min run, or a 5 mile run into a 3 mile run. The name of the game right now is giving yourself grace and being flexible to stay safe.

Got any others? Leave a comment and share with the community!

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Closing

There are numerous more things that could be considered in this list, but these are just a few that I often mentally work myself through as I plan my own running schedule. 

I get it; it can be tough in these conditions. As runners, many of us desperately want to run. However, we must also consider at what cost we are doing so. 

Can we adjust to run at safer times of day?—I will identify this as safety in terms of weather—and add that for many it is tough to balance this with other forms of safety on the run, which sucks to have to consider in our world. 

Can we adjust our training to meet the exertion we will be giving given the temperatures?

Make sure you are aware of what is happening in your area, and take any necessary steps needed to get your run in in a safe and healthy manner. We have a running bit at our run club that the first rule of our run club is, “Don’t die.” We then joke and jest that if you break the rule of the run club, you are out of the run —a sad and morbid reality and one I hope we never have to deal with. 

So make sure to care for yourselves, and make every mile count.

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In this powerful and honest conversation, Andrew sits down with India Calloway, a dynamic voice in the running community, race announcer, podcast host, and passionate advocate for everyday runners. From her first solo runs after work to calling finishers across the line at the 2024 New York City Marathon, India shares a journey that is deeply personal and widely relatable.

She opens up about the elitist mentality that often permeates running spaces, how she’s worked to break it down, and what it really takes to create a community where every pace is celebrated. Whether you’re a weekend jogger, a race-day regular, or someone just finding their stride, this episode is for you.

Run Build Grow is hosted by Andrew Ware, The RunninRev. Thank you for joining us as we explore the communal spirit of running. Make sure to follow and subscribe to the podcast to never miss an episode, and it would mean the world if you left a rating and review on Apple Podcasts or Spotify.

Please help support the RunninRev and Run Build Grow Podcast by going to Buy Me A Coffee

As a primarily listener/reader-supported creator, your support in all forms means everything to me. If you would like to take the extra step to support me and make this podcast sustainable, you can set up a recurring donation or leave a tip.

Follow the RunninRev on Social Media:

• Instagram: @runnin_rev

• BlueSky: @runninrev.com

• Substack: On A Long Run

• YouTube: @Runnin_Rev

(c) Andrew Ware 2024

Music Provided By:

‘Keep Running’

I'm Nazar Rybak, as the author of 'Keep Running' www.melodyloops.com/tracks/keep-running/, grants Melody Loops and its licensees, including Andrew Ware, permission to use this Music.

This Music may be used in commercial and personal projects and monetized videos (such as YouTube or Vimeo) without paying additional fees or royalties to the author. The Music must be used in accordance with the Melody Loops End User License Agreement https://www.melodyloops.com/support/full-license/

License #: 81265837172

As many of you know, it has been a tough time lately. Dealing with an on-and-off injury that finally contributed to a lot of time off the last four months of last year (2024). However, I finally feel like I am back—well, kind of…and that is part of my issue.

One would think that you spend time away from the thing you love, and when you come back, the relationship should jump right back in where it is. When I think emotionally about running, my relationship has never been stronger. I had missed the time where I exhausted myself. I had missed being able to move my body in the way that I truly wanted to.

I MISSED RUNNING—from the deepest depths of my heart.

However, there was something beyond the emotional that felt off.

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I had thought in my recovery that I needed to take time away from running completely. Let my Achilles feel better, rebuild from the ground up, and work my way back with a combination of strength and logging the miles. However, now that I am almost 6 months back, the progress feels so small.

I am realizing how much fitness I lost. How hard it is to run. How much the weight I gained during my time off because I didn’t care for myself is making things harder. But most of all, the hardest thing is not even competing against those that I see are faster or stronger.

The hardest part is competing with myself—more specifically, my former self. I feel like I should have been able to start right where I left off with running, not just emotionally but physically as well. What felt so easy, a year or so ago, now feels like it takes every ounce of energy I have. What was my easy before my injury and other issues is now what I might use for a speed workout (and it feels sooo hard).

I just keep on asking myself, why can’t I run like I used to?

A question that feels so foreign to me.

In my last return to run in 2019, I felt so free-spirited (in some ways—don’t get carried away haha), my goals were to feel great on the run. As I thought about goals, I considered that the PR’s from my youth were unlikely at this junction in my life. I figured my journey would progress and I could gain fitness, maybe even get some strong times.

However, I saw the light. I saw what was fully possible in that last time. I was right there, ready for a 1:30 half. I could feel the sub 40 min 10k. And the sub 20 min 5k was basically a guarantee.

And now that I have seen the potential, my brain wants to return to that so badly. In fact, in further reflection, I think that is one of the things that made my Achilles injury worse over the course of last year. Yes, I was resting it, but everything was about returning to the glory-filled feeling of setting those PR’s.

Now, as I return, that image of myself as a runner is one I struggle to get out of my head. It’s easy to see the crazy thing pros are doing and know that it is beyond my capabilities, but we are talking about my own achievements only a couple of years ago. My body hasn’t changed that much? Has it?

The thing is, runners play comparison games all the time (tell me you don’t get the surge of energy when passing someone on the trail or when someone comes to pass you). I’ve spent time on my podcast speaking against that comparison game. However, never did I think that the person I would try and compare myself against would be myself. I know it seems trivial, but it is where I am. You may think it easy to name that it is the past and I need to be comfortable and focus on my needs now—and I hear you, but the comparison is still there.

My brain tells me I have built a brand as a runner. I see myself at a certain pace. I see myself holding a certain ability, and it sucks that I can’t be there. I feel as though it affects my stride, my pacing, and my demeanor on the run. I can’t even blame my community for pacing this burden on me. I feel like I have done this to myself, and now any run and even any conversation feels contextual to “getting back to where I was.”

I am competing with the RunninRev of 2023.

I need to get back and be that. He looked so good. Ran so smoothly. He knew how to get it done.

However, now, over the past couple of weeks I have realized this, and I wish I had noticed sooner. I have felt the need to just let myself reside in the present—in my present abilities. It is tough to see a past version of ourselves that felt so healthy, and not think that we have to do everything possible to return as soon as possible, but as I am learning in running, that is not a linear journey.

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Yes, there are things we can learn from our past, but it does not do us justice to force the past upon ourselves to make it return. Instead, we recognize where we are, and in many ways give thanks for our present abilities. It means to release our fixation on goals defined by that former place (even if just for a time).

I truly believe in my heart that I will run a sub 1:30 Half Marathon, but right now that is not me. I can’t even compare myself to the 1:33 I ran in 2023, and my fixation to be there now, isn’t going to help my present growth. I can look back on what helped me in those training cycles, without feeling the need to compare my times during that time. I can look at where I am and celebrate what lies ahead of me.

It doesn’t prevent me from setting great goals. It sets me up to give myself grace for not being where I was a couple of years ago.

“Are you chasing your past, or training for your future?”

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💬 Listen in as we discuss:

• What “community” means beyond geography

• The power of team support in personal development

• How running bridges cultures and continents

• Balancing sport, life, and ambition across borders

Whether you’re pounding the pavement solo or surrounded by a crew, this episode is a reminder that growth is a global effort. 🌎👟

Run Build Grow is hosted by Andrew Ware, The RunninRev. Thank you for joining us as we explore the communal spirit of running. Make sure to follow and subscribe to the podcast to never miss an episode, and it would mean the world if you left a rating and review on Apple Podcasts or Spotify.

Please help support the RunninRev and Run Build Grow Podcast by going to Buy Me A Coffee

As a primarily listener/reader-supported creator, your support in all forms means everything to me. If you would like to take the extra step to support me and make this podcast sustainable, you can set up a recurring donation or leave a tip.

Follow the RunninRev on Social Media:

• Instagram: @runnin_rev

• BlueSky: @runninrev.com

• Substack: On A Long Run

• YouTube: @Runnin_Rev

(c) Andrew Ware 2024

Music Provided By:

‘Keep Running’

I'm Nazar Rybak, as the author of 'Keep Running' www.melodyloops.com/tracks/keep-running/, grants Melody Loops and its licensees, including Andrew Ware, permission to use this Music.

This Music may be used in commercial and personal projects and monetized videos (such as YouTube or Vimeo) without paying additional fees or royalties to the author. The Music must be used in accordance with the Melody Loops End User License Agreement https://www.melodyloops.com/support/full-license/

License #: 81265837172

Tune in as Christi shares how the supportive and vibrant Central Indiana running community helped shape her path as an athlete and leader. We dive into:

• The unexpected start to her running story

• Why Orange Theory and running clubs are more than just places to train

• How community pushes us to become better—mentally, physically, and emotionally

• The role of peer encouragement in getting started (and staying committed)

• Her involvement in organizing races like those under the Vashigamisha Track Club banner

Whether you’re new to running or years into your journey, this episode is a reminder that we are always stronger when we run together.

Run Build Grow is hosted by Andrew Ware, The RunninRev. Thank you for joining us as we explore the communal spirit of running. Make sure to follow and subscribe to the podcast to never miss an episode, and it would mean the world if you left a rating and review on Apple Podcasts or Spotify.

Please help support the RunninRev and Run Build Grow Podcast by going to Buy Me A Coffee

As a primarily listener/reader-supported creator, your support in all forms means everything to me. If you would like to take the extra step to support me and make this podcast sustainable, you can set up a recurring donation or leave a tip.

Follow the RunninRev on Social Media:

• Instagram: @runnin_rev

• BlueSky: @runninrev.com

• Substack: On A Long Run

• YouTube: @Runnin_Rev

(c) Andrew Ware 2024

Music Provided By:

‘Keep Running’

I'm Nazar Rybak, as the author of 'Keep Running' www.melodyloops.com/tracks/keep-running/, grants Melody Loops and its licensees, including Andrew Ware, permission to use this Music.

This Music may be used in commercial and personal projects and monetized videos (such as YouTube or Vimeo) without paying additional fees or royalties to the author. The Music must be used in accordance with the Melody Loops End User License Agreement https://www.melodyloops.com/support/full-license/

License #: 81265837172

Returning to the Roads: Big Blue 5K Recap

I was planning to start this post by sharing my thoughts on my Shamrock Weekend Race, but I realized I never wrote a post-race reflection for my 2025 Shamrock Weekend experience. It was my first race since September 2024, and had no real expectations going into the weekend—aside from having fun with the running community that was gathered. At the time, I was deep into my 40 days of devotionals, and I probably figured it best not to overwhelm your inbox.

But truthfully, now I still don’t feel the need to revisit Shamrock in detail. Not because it wasn’t a good race—it absolutely was, and I surprised myself with the progress I had made. But this race—J&A Racing’s Big Blue 5K—felt like my real return to the roads.

It was the first race I actually made a plan for, trained for, and showed up mentally prepared for. That last part, especially, meant a lot to me. I was fully sold on having a solid day on the streets, sidewalks, and fields of Old Dominion University in Norfolk, Virginia.

Of course, feeling solid and racing solidly are two very different things. Luckily, I went in with low time expectations. And in what some might call a rough outing, I ended up having one of the best days I’ve had in a long time. I regained confidence. I rediscovered my ability to run—not just run, but move at a decent pace—without pain in my Achilles or my back. (Seriously, when am I not dealing with some kind of injury?)

My A Goal for the race was simple: finish pain-free. ✔️

With a goal like that, finishing time became almost irrelevant. A successful race wasn’t about the clock—it was about how I felt. That doesn’t mean I didn’t push myself. I gave it what I had, meter by meter. But when I needed to walk (mostly due to fitness, not injury), I didn’t beat myself up. I was still achieving what I came to do, and showing off what fitness I did have in the process.

I finished in 29:49—about 10 minutes off my PR and 7–9 minutes slower than my pre-injury fitness. I’m not sharing that to boast, but to offer some perspective on “the journey.”

The Nonlinear Path of Running

We often wish our running journeys were linear. We tell ourselves: If I run, I’ll get faster. The more consistent I am, the better I’ll get. And while there’s some truth in that, those statements can overlook so much—especially the reality that the only truly linear thing in life is the calendar.

Being a runner means living in the tension of mountaintops, valleys, plateaus, and everything in between. Our journeys are more roller coaster than straight line, shaped by work, family, and—perhaps most frustratingly—injury. (I’m this close to calling injury the “Dreaded ‘I’ Word.”)

Expecting every run to be “better” than the last ignores the ebb and flow of life. Yes, the days may tick by in a neat order, but what we experience in those days rarely follows suit.

Right now, as I ease back into consistent running and emerge from yet another injury, I’m choosing to celebrate where I am. My goals are based on this season of life, not some idealized version of myself.

Here were my goals for the Big Blue 5k:

• A Goal: Finish pain-free.

• B Goal: Just finish.

• C Goal: Don’t end up at the doctor.

And you know what? Hitting that A Goal often meant that the B and C Goals followed (as they normally do). They’re there to give grace when conditions—whether environmental or personal—aren’t perfect.

Heading into race day, I was intentional about not setting time-based goals. That’s just not the season I’m in right now. Would it have been cool to run a 26- or 27-minute 5K? Sure. But my true test of fitness wasn’t time. It was how it felt to race again—to hit the roads with a few thousand other people, just like I love to do.

Running Forward with Joy

What I’m learning—again—is to embrace the nonlinear nature of the run. To center myself in the moment. To know my abilities, accept my reality, and respond accordingly.

Do I hope to PR again one day? Absolutely. I’d love to break all my previous times from the 5K to the half marathon (most of all including that sub 1:30 half marathon). But that’s for another day—another season.

For now, I’m basking in the joy of a fun and fulfilling race day with my RunSomeMo and J&A Communities. I’m grateful for a year that tested me deeply—mostly off the roads—but helped me come back stronger in spirit.

Next up: summer training. And let’s be real—summer running in Hampton Roads, Virginia, is the worst. But I’m embracing it. My fall goal is to race more, show up for community events, and be more present as an ambassador for the running community I love.

In the meantime, stay connected and keep following the journey.

Have a topic suggestion or podcast guest idea? Send it my way.

MAKE EVERY MILE COUNT!

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Run Build Grow Latest

This latest episode of Run Build Grow, features Denver native Abiye Okuchaba. As I reflect again on his journey, I see that non-linear nature of running showing itself. Take a listen as he talks about the highs and lows of his journey as a runner.

What You’ll Hear in This Episode:

• How a traumatic experience while running alone sparked the creation of a 5 AM running community

• Why inclusion, visibility, and runner safety matter—especially for Black runners and those from underrepresented groups

• The magic of consistent early morning runs and building accountability in community

• How a coach and structured training turned a disastrous first marathon into a joyful and disciplined routine

• The challenge and grace of balancing work, parenting, running, and healing

• Honest reflections on race, representation, and dismantling gatekeeping in the sport of running

• The importance of “getting lost in your own journey” instead of comparing yourself to others

Notable Quotes:

“No one finishes a marathon alone.”

“Sometimes the motivation to show up isn’t for me—it’s so someone else doesn’t get left behind.”

“Being seen matters—especially for those who haven’t always seen themselves in this sport.”

Connect with Abiye:

Instagram: @okrunit1

Run Build Grow is hosted by Andrew Ware, The RunninRev. Thank you for joining us as we explore the communal spirit of running. Make sure to follow and subscribe to the podcast to never miss an episode, and it would mean the world if you left a rating and review on Apple Podcasts or Spotify.

Please help support the RunninRev and Run Build Grow Podcast by going to Buy Me A Coffee

As a primarily listener/reader-supported creator, your support in all forms means everything to me. If you would like to take the extra step to support me and make this podcast sustainable, you can set up a recurring donation or leave a tip.

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28 After the sabbath, as the first day of the week was dawning, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to see the tomb. 2 And suddenly there was a great earthquake; for an angel of the Lord, descending from heaven, came and rolled back the stone and sat on it. 3 His appearance was like lightning, and his clothing white as snow. 4 For fear of him the guards shook and became like dead men. 5 But the angel said to the women, ‘Do not be afraid; I know that you are looking for Jesus who was crucified. 6 He is not here; for he has been raised, as he said. Come, see the place where he lay. 7 Then go quickly and tell his disciples, “He has been raised from the dead, and indeed he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him.” This is my message for you.’ 8 So they left the tomb quickly with fear and great joy, and ran to tell his disciples. 9 Suddenly Jesus met them and said, ‘Greetings!’ And they came to him, took hold of his feet, and worshipped him. 10 Then Jesus said to them, ‘Do not be afraid; go and tell my brothers to go to Galilee; there they will see me.’
— Matthew 28:1-10

It was the kind of moment those who witnessed it would never forget—not because it was planned, but because it was pure. And no, I’m not talking about the resurrection… well, at least not yet.

First, I want to take you to a track in Eugene, Oregon. That’s right—Hayward Field (the old one).

Many runners know the name Steve Prefontaine. “Pre.” The man. The myth. The mustache. He’s often credited with helping ignite the running boom of the 1980s, but more than that, he was a force—a gutsy, front-running firebrand who raced like he owned the track and he was going to win or collapse trying (in fact he quite literally did on a few occasions).

He didn’t play it safe. He didn’t hold back for a kick. He ran from the front and dared you to try to hang on. His popularity soared—but not everyone was a fan. Some folks—maybe rival fans, maybe just some clever jokers—started wearing shirts that said just two bold words: “Stop Pre.”

Maybe it was meant to get under his skin. Maybe it was meant to humble him. But then came one of those moments—the kind you don’t forget. After yet another dominant win at Hayward Field, Pre didn’t just walk off the track. He spotted a fan in the stands wearing that shirt—“Stop Pre.” And depending on who’s telling the story, he either traded for it… or just took it. And then—with the crowd roaring and his sweat still fresh—he pulled it over his head and ran his victory lap in it.

That’s what I’m talking about.

Because you see, in that one gesture, he flipped the script. He took what was meant to shame or stop him, and made it part of the celebration. The shirt meant to limit him became the uniform of his triumph.

And that… that’s Resurrection Joy.

The very first Easter morning didn’t start with shouts of victory. It started in the hush of grief. The women came with spices, not champagne. They weren’t expecting resurrection—they were coming to mourn.

But then the earth shook. An angel rolled the stone away, not so Jesus could get out—he was already gone—but so the women could see in.

“He is not here. He has been raised.”

It’s the ultimate “you thought” moment. You thought death had the final say. You thought the cross was the end of the story. You thought the empire had won again.

But the tomb was already empty.

And friends, this isn’t just about Jesus crossing a finish line and striking a pose. This is about Jesus lapping the forces of death and despair. This is about a Savior who doesn’t just survive—he conquers. Not with violence or power, but with love that cannot be stopped.

He doesn’t take a victory lap despite the suffering—he takes it through the suffering.

That’s what makes this joy so real. Resurrection Joy isn’t naive. It doesn’t skip the pain. It acknowledges the betrayal, the loss, the tomb. But then it says, “Even here—especially here—God shows up.”

By humble means we are reminded that the places in your life that look like dead ends might be resurrection spaces.

It means what the world throws at you—your failures, your fears, the voices that try to stop you—can be picked up and worn as part of your testimony.

It means joy is not an afterthought. It is the declaration that death didn’t get the last word. And it never will.

Jesus takes the shame, the mockery, the cross—and wears it like that “Stop Pre” shirt (…dang I hope that doesn’t sound too corny).

Except now it says, “Stop God”—and guess what? You can’t.

Because God keeps running. God keeps loving. God keeps raising people from things that were meant to destroy them.

And now we—resurrection people—are called to join the lap.

We don’t run it alone. We run it together. In joy. In hope. In the power of a Savior who’s already finished the hardest part and says, Come on, run with me.

This is where “Lent on the Run” has been headed all along.

Through the wilderness, through the testing, through the foot-washing and the weeping, through the cross—we arrive here: The Victory Lap. Not because we’ve done everything right. Not because we’re fast enough or faithful enough. But because Jesus is alive.

And we join him.
So lace up.
Take heart.
The grave is empty.
And the track is calling.

Christ is risen.

He’s already taken the hardest steps.
Now it’s your turn.
Let joy be your pace.
Let love be your form.
Let resurrection be your rhythm.

MAKE EVERY MILE COUNT!!

AMEN!!!

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So Joseph took the body and wrapped it in a clean linen cloth and laid it in his own new tomb, which he had hewn in the rock. He then rolled a great stone to the door of the tomb and went away.
— Matthew 27:59-60

In the practice of church, today is probably one of the more awkward days on the church liturgical calendar. Day 2 of Jesus being dead. The day between Good Friday (Christ’s Death) and Easter Sunday (The celebration of the Resurrection).

Yet this day is meant to be awkward—weird in many ways. It occupies that liminal space of true death—before the hope of resurrection occurs. Yet this nature of unknown is where the hope and promise of resurrection and salvation are lived.

This time of waiting and often silence is anticipatory, we know what’s coming—in a sense that is—yet, we still struggle to see or even trust in the outcome. However, that is what is needed most in this time.

To rest in the unknown is to trust in the mysterious work that God is doing, not just in seasons of waiting, but throughout our lives.

Like those moments after a race is done, you have crossed the finish line, and the pain of you effort takes over. Another race feels far out of the cards, yet, to me, the signs of a mature runner is one that doesn’t make a deicision about “the next race” until they have recovered.

Very often we want to say, “Oh I’m never doing that again…” or “YES!!! Let’s run that back around.”

However, resting in the unknown, is trusting the mystery of that liminal time after a race.

What comes next?

God knows, and lets rest in the silence, the unknown, the waiting, so that we may better here and be ready for the voice that will call out in the resurrection.

Today we still grieve, but there is hope when we rest and trust in God’s presence and even mystery.

Let yourself settle into the silence of this day, and listen for God’s whisper.

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