Don't surge, Ryan, I say as I put one leg in front of their other. A slight root on the trail emerges seemingly out of nowhere, and my right ankle twists in a way that my body seems to not be able to handle as well as it used to.

The three friends with me sense that something is up, and stop and turn around to wait for me. I've known this pain before that won't just subside when I start running, and I tell them "keep running, I'll walk back," knowing that this is the end of my running habit for the next couple days. I have always been someone who seemingly can stay in shape, eating and drinking whatever I want and staying in peak (aesthetically) physical form. God has gifted me with that grace.

But the truth is that my body has always been at the bottom of my concerns. It is my mind that sometimes tortures me, or my heart and soul that breaks me sometimes, and brings me to the edge of despair. I know, like many of you know, that my biggest obstacle has been nothing other than myself. I have been gifted with so many blessings that few would suspect that I spend so many of my waking moments riddled with shame and melancholy at my past mistakes and how I have done wrong to others.

And sometimes I wonder that if I can just put that obstacle aside, and stop thinking so much of myself, that maybe the ankle rolls or lack of motivation I encounter could just be put away if I put aside my sense of self that torments me so. But as much as I surrender to God, as much as I try, the truth is that I'm not there yet.

"Trust God, no matter what," I tell myself as a mantra.

And I do. I know that sometimes I don't follow God's word in the Scripture directly, and that I fail too often in the ways that I fail others and fail God in my day to day interactions in my new urban environment. But that is God's plan for me, for prosper and not for harm, whether in this life or the next. I fail, also, to express gratitude, gratitude that I can go on a daily basis without worrying about my health, without worrying about anything related to my body or physical well-being.

I am a 2:40 marathoner, someone who is capable of running 100 miles a week (when my schedule allows it). I am someone who exercises daily, and a person in the fortunate and privileged caste of having peak physical fitness.

And, being in that position, I am the first to tell you that that shit doesn't matter.

There were times in the past when I made my whole identity and life defined by my athletic accolades, and whether I was running fast enough to my expectations. The truth is that I rarely did, and the despair that I fell into is not what I'd wish on any person. Your identity is not your accomplishments, I once wrote. I know that to be the truth, but that is a hard truth to accept when our culture so often tells us that our accomplishments are the only things that matter.

I believe, inherently, in mercy that rehabilitates, not one that's punitive. I made my accomplishments as a runner, on the course or on a track, everything that mattered. I made it my God. I made it my idol. And the problem with that, even when it worked out, was that it was inherently unsustainable. You're not always going to meet your expectations.

And it took me a long time to realize that my physical fitness and numerical accomplishments didn't mean shit. Even when I had it all, even when I made it to the mountaintop, then what? My idol didn't make me whole. It didn't make everything else in my life right. Running was a band-aid for deeper issues that I struggled with, and it was not the end-all-be-all to my life.

So the real story of my body is that many people, and many runners would say that I have it all. Some would say that they wish they could have been in the situation I was in, as a runner. And I'm here to tell you that all that doesn't mean anything, because fitness it's not going to make me or you whole.

There are things that matter much more to keep searching for. It was when I realized that that I found God.