I've been heading back to the gym with much more regularity since the worst of winter has passed. It's not like I workout outdoors, but there are times in the middle of winter when the days are so short and so darn cold that I will come up with a multitude of reasons why it's just smarter to go home to my warm living room. Frankly, it really doesn't feel great to emerge from the gym at 5:00 pm and see that it is pitch black outside. In the hour I spent on the treadmill, day turned into night. Oh yay!
Anyway, it's much easier these days. I'm even planning to do an outdoor evening walk on Wednesdays for the next few weeks.
While I'm on the treadmill, I spend a lot of time being my own coach. My inner self-talk elevates to a laughable point. I set my program at the beginning of my workout (usually after a short warm up on the elliptical) and off I go. My music is playing, feet are moving and after the first 20 minutes or so, I need some encouragement. Insert "Coach Voice" here.
"Sue - you set the program, so you have to finish it. If you didn't think you could possibly do it with that incline, speed and run intervals, you would have set the machine to an easier program. Now quit your whining and just do it."
And I do. Thank you Running Shoe With a Wave, for the slogan that plays in my head and gets the workout done. We will talk about your out-sourcing and labour practices another time.
It is Lent.
At the beginning of Lent, I set a program of spiritual discipline for myself that involved written prayer - every. single. day. Well, guess what? About halfway through Lent, my Inner Coach kicked in. It was on a busy morning at the office when I thought "Can't I just start my day as I always do, with prayers for the day and for people I know to be in need of God's healing presence? Isn't that enough? Do I really have to write it down?"
Yes. I had set the program. I have to see it through to the end. So I picked up the pen and continued my spiritual discipline.
When that happened, I thought about how small a thing that was to grow weary of doing. It is just another kind of prayer. It's not like I don't start my morning that way anyhow. And yet, I wanted off the Lenten treadmill. I was getting tired.
Lent is a long season. This year in particular has been filled with some especially challenging moments. But I have managed to maintain the discipline I set for myself. Instead of feeling puffed up about that, I feel quite humbled. I understand why the disciples fell asleep on the job when Jesus asked them to stay awake for one lousy hour. One hour! They were exhausted.
Jesus is exhausting. Especially when we make a deep spiritual committment to stay with him all the way to the cross. But as I have long believed, if we won't or don't do this, then it is really a form of cheap grace to show up for all the joy and celebration on Easter morning.
The first glimpse of a New Day on Easter morning is so much more meaningful when one has spent the last 40 days (plus Sundays) on the treadmill called Lent. When we have truly tasted, even a bit, of the arduous journey to the utter injustice of the cross, that open tomb all but shouts to us the sheer joy of having arrived at grace itself.
Hang in there friends. We're almost there.
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