Lengthy Plans

East Brookfield MA

My training schedule calls for a 22-mile run tomorrow. It's the longest run I'll attempt until the marathon, and it's filled me with a mixture of enthusiasm and anxiety for the past few days. On one level, there's the pragmatic array of preparations: mapping a route, setting aside my hydration pack and a pair of energy gels to keep me nourished, and double-checking the laces on my running shoes. Yet beyond the practicalities of getting ready, I find myself seriously considering how best to use all that time.

Basic math– 7 minutes per mile multiplied by 22– suggests I'll be passing through rural scenes like the one above for 154 minutes, or just over two and a half hours. On a retreat, that would be enough time for two distinct prayer periods with a break for journaling and a cup of tea. In the office, I could proofread several grant proposals, develop a schedule for a three-day conference, or scrutinize a complicated budget during that interval. In the community, that's more than enough time for Mass, socializing, dinner, and conversation after we've cleared the dishes. In each of these situations, the rhythm of contemplation, the focus of a task, or the presence of my Jesuit brethren causes the time to pass unnoticed, filled as it is with the delight of progressing through a project or engaging in animated conversation.

I'm not one to constantly check my watch while training; I trust my body to find and sustain a natural and sensible rhythm. Yet, conscious of just how much time I'll have on my hands (my feet will be otherwise occupied) during tomorrow's 22-mile odyssey, I'm reluctant to waste it, and wary of passing it in the mindless monotony of my stride. I could play the ornithologist and catalog the birds I glimpse, despite my inability to identify more than a few species. I could attempt to brainstorm poetic verse or creative narratives, letting my visual and linguistic imagination run more wildly than the gently regulated pace of my training. I could delve deeply into the sort of conversational prayer that's been elusive this Lent; after all, if I'm crazy enough to be running through the middle of nowhere on a Saturday morning, speaking aloud to God shouldn't seem any less bizarre.

In any event, the long chunk of time awaiting my usage tomorrow morning is clearly on my mind amidst a quiet Friday in the office at the end of spring break week at Holy Cross. The campus will be much busier by the end of the weekend, and my training will become more intense in the coming weeks, potentially crowding out the luxury of such deliberation on my relationship with the time that I'm given each day. Hopefully, I'll be blessed with some good insights tomorrow as I pursue not only a broad yellow finish line in the heart of Boston, but also the continuing graces and growth that keep me on the best possible course in life.