Low & Slow

The Speed of Obedience

Saturdays are my low and slow days.
Last Saturday was long. Three hours. And it was cold.
I’m still trying to figure out why I do this.

I’m learning that this kind of running is not emotionally fulfilling. Not in the preparation. Not in the execution. And for the last several months, not even in the after action. It’s quiet work. Obedient work. Work that doesn’t reward intensity or urgency.

There’s something about that quiet that makes my mind wander.

When I pray in my head, I notice how quickly I lose the thread. Squirrels. Side paths. Rabbit holes that feel important until I realize I’ve drifted far from where I started. But when I pray aloud, something holds me in place. The words keep me present. Grounded. Here.

Running does that to me too. The rhythm keeps calling me back into my body. Into my breath, my legs, my chest. Into my temple. I can wander, but only so far. Movement keeps me honest.

I Inhale
Exhale

I wonder if the eighteen-degree windchill had something to do with my low heart rate.
I wonder if running alongside my good friend, Ethan, had something to do with it too.

Either way, something shifted.

For the first time in a long while, it felt emotionally gratifying. Not because it was easy—Zone 2 isn’t easy—but because it was finally right. After months of patience and frustration, I was able to hold a genuinely slow but respectable pace deep into Zone 2. No sarcasm. No resentment. Just staying where I was supposed to be.

That ten-beat-per-minute drop matters more than it looks like on paper. It’s not flashy. But it’s real.

And lately, it’s teaching me the difference between peace and ease.

In-hale
Ex-hale

I’m learning that peace can exist in chaos. That joy can exist in suffering. I’ve seen that to be true, again and again. But I’m less certain about where ease and comfort fit. My instinct is that they aren’t a calling. They’re a trap. A subtle one. One that convinces us we’re safe when we’re actually just avoiding formation.

Sometimes I wonder if this applies beyond running.

Maybe this is how relationships are supposed to be formed too. Maybe they aren’t meant to be emotionally gratifying in the immediate sense. Maybe they require long, slow endurance. Not of leisure, but of movement. Steady movement. Side by side. In the wilderness. Not on a treadmill.

Or maybe my mind is just wandering again.

I had to restrain myself at the end. Normally, I finish with a sprint. Something to prove I still have another gear. This time, I didn’t. After three hours of running the bridge in Surf City. Over and back, then over and back again, then over and back again, then… I felt like I could do it all over again. And I stopped anyway.

Breath in
Breath out

Perhaps, that restraint is part of it.

Another thought drifted through, uninvited. Last week marked a year since I’d had a sip of alcohol. It didn’t feel dramatic. Just… consistent. Another place where surrender mattered more than proving I could keep going.

Maybe Zone 2 is what it feels like to move through life at the speed of obedience.

I’ve been thinking about busyness too. It’s starting to feel suspect. Like something we’re supposed to apologize for. But maybe busyness isn’t the problem. Maybe the problem is motion without obedience. Effort without intention. Activity without surrender.

3hrs 3min and 8 seconds in low and slow didn’t feel easy. But it ended in peace. And that feels like an important distinction.

I’m entering a season where my prayer isn’t for a lighter ruck. It’s for wider shoulders and stronger legs. Not less to carry. But the capacity to carry what I’ve been given.

Why do I do this? Really

This feels like preparation.

Through God’s grace alone.

Soli Deo Gloria