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Run, Don't Walk

I don't walk much anymore. I run. If you were to follow me around all week, you'd probably interpret the rush to mean that I'm the most tardy person on planet earth. But that's not why I run, except today when I almost missed my flight.

I run because it's better than walking. I didn't stop to think about this until recently, but once I did I became fairly well convinced that walking is a waste of time unless I'm intentionally strolling around in the park or something. So now whether I'm on my way to a restaurant or going from the bus station to my RV, I run.

It's great exercise. Most distances I run tend to be between half-a-mile and a mile-and-a-half, which is a nice manageable sprinting distance. Walking such a distance wouldn't get my heart rate up, but flying down the streets, up and down hills and stairs is a good workout. If I have a few runs in a day, my legs will even be a bit sore the next day, whereas they wouldn't have been if I was just walking.

The Race

There's a race going on, but it's not an ordinary marathon. First of all, it's not a mere twenty six point two miles long. We don't know how long it is because we can't see that far; no one has been to the end of the course yet. And, really, it's more of a relay race than a marathon. The entire history of mankind has been running it, passing the baton to future generations. And now the baton has been passed to us, and we're on the course.

Even though we're all entered into the race-- every single one of us-- not all of us are running. Some people are sitting on the side of the road. As you run by, you can see them, staring at the sky with a glazed over look, completely oblivious of the honor that has been passed down to them.