441: Waiting, Rebirth, and Renewal: Running as a Form of Devotion

Waiting, Rebirth, and Renewal: Running as a Form of Devotion

In the Christian tradition, Advent is a season of waiting—not passive waiting, but active waiting. A time of preparation, trust, and hope. A season where nothing looks dramatic on the outside, yet everything meaningful is happening underneath.

And the more I reflect on it, the more I realize:
this is exactly what we practice as runners.

As runners, we are constantly waiting.

Waiting for adaptations to take place.
Waiting for strength to accumulate.
Waiting for fitness to catch up to effort.
Waiting for healing after injury.

We can’t rush the process—at least, not successfully. We show up. We stay consistent. We trust what we can’t yet see.

And this doesn’t get celebrated enough. 

The quiet mornings when you lace up before the payoff is visible.
The long stretches where you’re doing the work without knowing exactly how, or when, it will show up.
The discipline of staying awake, present, and committed when progress feels slow.

It’s hard work, and it’s the majority of what we do. 

We stay disciplined, putting in the work, day after day, month after month, year after year. It’s no wonder why so many people fall off the wagon and have a problem staying consistent. 

Running asks us to trust that the payoff will come, just like Advent asks us to wait for the promise of Christmas.

So it got me thinking about discipline. Discipline can tend to have a negative connotation related more to punishment. 

But what if discipline is something else entirely?

What if discipline is how we practice who we are becoming?

What if discipline is the practice of staying on the path that we have chosen to follow? 

To be a runner, you have to be disciplined. 

You run on the days you would rather stay in bed. You go to bed early the night before your long run. You eat the protein and the carbs to fuel your body. You do the things most people don’t do.

And isn’t that a beautiful thing? 

That discipline is not punishment. It is a form of devotion.

Devotion to the person that I have chosen to be. Devotion to caring for myself and my body. Devotion to the process of using my body as a gift and honoring the gift I’ve been given.

Discipline, when rooted in love rather than fear, becomes sacred.

As we age, our relationship with our bodies often changes. What used to respond quickly now asks for patience. What used to tolerate stress now asks for care.

This isn’t a failure.
It’s an invitation.

Strength, mobility, endurance, and health aren’t about vanity. They’re about vitality. They’re about staying capable, present, and engaged in our lives.

When we train with intention—rather than ego—we honor the season we’re in.

And for many of us, that season is now changing as we enter into perimenopause or postmenopause. 

Across spiritual traditions, there is wisdom about seasons.

Some traditions describe years of completion and release, followed by years of initiation and courage. Others use symbolism—like shedding old skins or stepping into forward motion—to describe the same truth:

Before renewal, there is letting go.
Before action, there is waiting.
Before becoming, there is trust.

This rhythm shows up everywhere—faith, nature, and training alike.

You cannot force rebirth.
You prepare for it.

Advent, Identity, and Becoming

Advent reminds us that waiting is not empty time. It’s formative time.

And running, when practiced intentionally, mirrors this beautifully.

We don’t earn identity through outcomes.
We live into identity through practice.

So instead of asking:

• What do I want to achieve next year?

We might ask:

• Who am I becoming in how I care for my body?

• How do I want to show up when the work is quiet and unseen?

• What kind of trust am I practicing through consistency?

Identity always comes before results.

As we move from waiting into renewal, the invitation isn’t to rush.

It’s to move forward with courage rooted in trust.

To show up with intention.
To honor your body.
To practice discipline as devotion.

Not by striving harder, but by becoming more aligned.

Because this next season doesn’t require more from you.

It invites you to become more.

So I leave you with this blessing and prayer as you wrap up the year:

May you trust the season you’re in.
May you honor your body.
And may you become exactly who you’re meant to be.

Reflection Questions to Carry With You

As you move through the rest of this year and begin thinking about the next, take a moment to sit with these:

1. What am I grateful for in my body right now?
   Not someday. Not “when I’m fitter.” Right now.

2. Where am I being asked to trust and wait?
   In running… or in life.

3. What kind of courage am I being invited into this next year?
   What would it look like to say yes to that?

Thank you for being part of the Real Life Runners community this year. We don’t take that lightly. It’s an honor to walk—and run—alongside you.

Merry Christmas, and may this season bring you clarity, renewal, and a deep trust in the path you’re already on.

As always,
Get out there and run your life—with intention, presence, and heart.