On Running and God

Running really is the closest I ever feel to God. And I think that’s partially why I love it so much.

Sep 02, 2025

Every time I sit down to write about running, I end up writing about God. It’s not that I think running is God or that God and running are the same. I know they’re not. But running really is the closest I ever feel to God. And I think that’s partially why I love it so much.

I started running over a decade ago. Literally and metaphorically. At first it wasn’t spiritual, it was survival. I was running from myself. From what happened to me. From everything I couldn’t control. From everything I lost. Running provided some sense of stability, some form of structure, some sort of peace in chaos. And more than anything, I was scared of the person I would see in the mirror if I stopped running. I didn’t think I would recognize that person. So I kept running.

Somewhere along the way though, the running changed, or maybe the running changed me. I wasn’t so much running from myself as I was running for myself. I found myself getting stronger, both mentally and physically. I found myself grounded in routine. I found myself connected once again to my body. See, running has this way of connecting the mind and the body. It is so subtle, so gradual, you hardly notice it happening until one day you find the two inseparable. The body is the mind, the mind is the body. Running brought the two together for me, and really what that did was bring me back home to myself. Running brought me home, and I think that’s ultimately what we’re trying to do, just find our way back home.

See, running has this way of connecting the mind and the body. It is so subtle, so gradual, you hardly notice it happening until one day you find the two inseparable. The body is the mind, the mind is the body.

Humans, at their core, are always searching for something. Some meaning. Some deeper truth. Some person. As soon as we get that next job, the new relationship, the dream apartment, the better car, then everything will fall into place. Then we can finally be happy. The problem is though, those things happen, and shortly after they do, we return to the same base level of happiness we have always been. And then we’re off searching for the next thing, the next high. Whatever it is that will scratch that itch. It’s human nature. It’s how we’re wired, so I can’t really blame us.

However, I am convinced that we never really find “it” because the it that we’re searching for is God. God is home, and He is in us. He was in us the whole time, we just had to get still enough to listen, which is counterintuitive when you think about it in terms of running since running is the opposite of stillness.

Your body is in motion, but the mind goes quiet. It is still. It is the only time that I can hear, truly hear, what God is trying to tell me, what He is trying to show me. The real growth happens in the stillness. The truth is revealed in the silence.

For example, when the run is hard and you think, “I can’t go another step,” but then you do. That is what you focus on. The focus is simply on the next step, the next breath. In both life and running, you just have to do the next right thing. You focus on your feet in front of you. You trust that the path will reveal itself to you as you go. You don’t even have to know where you’re going, in fact, most of the time you won’t know. Most of the time you’ll think you’re going one direction and God will take you completely off course and lead you somewhere new, somewhere better than you could’ve ever dreamed of. The best part about getting lost is finding yourself in unexpected places, the places God wants you to be. The places God needs you to be. You have to remember that God’s plans are greater, you have to trust the process, you have to trust that you are exactly where you are supposed to be, according to God.

Learning to listen, to trust, and to obey is a practice. It is a discipline in running and in faith. You keep showing up, even when you don’t want to (maybe especially when you don’t want to).

Those are the best runs, the ones you don’t want to do because after you do them you remind yourself that you can do hard things. And this bleeds over into every other aspect of your life. You know you can do hard things, even when you don’t want to. You know this because you have shown yourself, in the running, that you already did.

I don’t run or have faith because I “want” to. I do because I need to. Running makes me better. Faith makes me better. Both allow me to show up as the best, or at least better, version of myself. Running is self-mastery. It’s remembering that it is simply you vs. you. Can you be better than you were yesterday? What decisions can you make today that will take you to the place you want to go, that will lead you to the person you want to be?

Life is a game of cards. And while you may be playing, God holds the whole deck. We’re not hopeless in our situation. We have the power to change things. We make decisions because God, the most creative being in the universe, has given us the power to make them, to be creative, to create our own lives, to have some sort of agency over who and what we decide to be. We have free will, and the daily practice of running reminds us of that. Every day we choose – to run or not, to stay the same or to do something different. The choice really is up to us. Can we make a better choice, even when it feels like the cards are stacked against us? Even when we’re suffering, we still have a choice.

That’s the thing about running. It teaches us how to suffer well. We know it does not last, it's simply part of it. And maybe that’s the whole point. To recognize the good, when we have it, and to embrace the bad, when it inevitably comes our way. To choose to get up, again and again, even when it’s hard, even when it hurts. To try again to be better than we were yesterday. To remind ourselves that when we feel stuck, when we get lost, we just need to take the next step, and then the next one. We can always find our way back home. And maybe along the way we’ll catch the glimpses of God we forgot were in us all along.

This piece was written by Rachel Seymour. Get her book WHISKEY THINKING, a collection of poems, thoughts and essays in paperback here. You can read more of her work on her Substack at rachcorrine.substack.com. You can also follow Rachel on X @rachcorrine.