Remember Eric Liddell, the Presbyterian missionary in Chariots of Fire, and how he feels when he runs? That’s how I feel.
“I believe God made me for a purpose, but he also made me fast. And when I run I feel His pleasure.” When I am on the track where I am most fleet of foot, I feel Meaning, like a gust of wind down my throat, and I feel the world shed from my track like sweat and salt spray, and I know only that this is salvation.
Compare Liddell’s mind to that of his opponent Harold M. Abrahams: “If I can’t win, I won’t run.” And there you have the difference between two kinds of men, two kinds of men that easily both lurk in any one of us – though perhaps there are men of more character than me, who never felt a moment of weakness that turned into years.
But I see the track before me now. My eyes are fixed on it. And God help me if I ever stop again.
Another way I often feel like Liddell: “My arrogance, sir, extends just as far as my conscience demands.” Mine extends, sometimes, a little farther, but always at least that far.