Reviews - Running

by Brian Ritchie

June 3, 2026

Occasionally, we here at Still Bright Hope—that’s me—will pause our normal programming for the purpose of enriching humanity—that’s you—through the power of reviews.

We promise that our reviews will not mock or poke fun but, instead, will be deep, thoughtful dives into products, hobbies, entertainment, and any other significant cultural phenomena that our staff—that’s me again—believe deserve careful examination. Which is just another way to say that I feel like talking about this thing I tried and wrapping it in my opinion about whether you too should try the thing I tried.

Today’s review: Jogging.

Or, as I like to call it: Slapping the earth with your feet, limiting your ability to breathe, and testing your pain threshold.

Enjoy.

Mile 1

A warm, burning sensation developed in my torso and extremities. Oxygen, which under normal conditions I will describe as light and slippery, started to feel dense like cotton candy. And, after an initial spike, my heart rate settled into a hummingbird rhythm, right around 1,100 beats per minute.

Mile 2

The warm burning sensation described in Mile 1 was actually the onset of pain, which soon developed into authentic suffering. It was the kind of abuse Rocky took from Clubber Lang.

Meanwhile, the air consistency had become more viscous like marshmallow fluff, and my heart was frantically operating like a red-lined Toyota Camry climbing a mountain…in July…with a cabin full of clowns.

Mile 3

A unicorn approached, even though non-athletes were strictly not allowed on the course. But all he wanted were directions to the bus station.

Unfortunately, by that point, the marshmallow situation in my lungs had rendered my vocal cords largely decorative. So I could only manage a few wet gargles and some frantic pointing.

As it turned out, unicorns can be a bit peevish, and he grew impatient with my distressed attempts, huffed like a spoiled child, and trotted off.

Mile 4

Praise Jesus, there was no Mile 4 because this was only a 3.1-mile race.

I believe the finish line would have been exciting except that I blacked out somewhere during the final tenth of a mile and only regained consciousness as an elderly speed walker, who finished ahead of me, was in the act of dragging my body to the side of the finish chute like a deer carcass.

Once I was safe from being trampled, he dropped a banana—this is what runners eat after abusing their bodies, like it has some magical restorative properties—onto my chest and whispered: “Congratulations, kid. Now go tell your mother she can be proud of you.”

This was the journal entry from my first running race.

Months earlier, I had decided jogging was going to become my new identity. To be honest, one of the things that triggers many of my life decisions is that I tend to be weak when it comes to knowing who I am. So, I will change my identity aesthetic just about as often as a toddler with peer-pressure weakness.

However, I was excited about this one because runners always seemed healthy, social, and deeply fulfilled. They jog in tight-knit groups while having meaningful conversations. They wear expensive sunglasses and are the only athletic community still holding onto sun visors. To me, they seemed less like people engaged in exercise and more like a traveling community of emotionally stable and fit gypsies.

Naturally, I wanted in.

And, to be fair, I did briefly consider cycling, but eventually decided against it because the uniforms were too snug and pious. Plus, I didn’t want to be a part of something where every workout reminded me that it was time to schedule a colonoscopy.

So I committed fully to jogging.

The first step, obviously, was motivation.

So, I paid a $25 entry fee for a local 5K race and then took out what was essentially a second mortgage on our home to purchase running shoes.

As a person of Scottish descent, I knew that once my money was involved, my feet would become emotionally invested.

My race was two months away, which I believed would give me plenty of preparation time to harden my body and recalibrate my competitive engine.

And by “preparation,” I mostly mean more shopping.

After extensive online research, I learned that proper jogging requires:

* wicking shirts, to suck out all of the water in your body.

* compression socks, to compress, because that’s somehow important.

* special shorts, to show off those muscular thighs.

* motivational playlist, for rhythm and motivation.

* expensive headphones, for fidelity, and to drown out the heavy breathing.

* and a tiny backpack resembling a sports bra that contains three tablespoons of water.

After several shopping trips and a lengthy negotiation with my wife regarding the necessity of these items for survival, I was finally ready to begin training.

But I read somewhere that you couldn’t simply run out the door like some reckless amateur. No. A serious athlete prepares their body.

So I developed a vigorous stretching routine.

And honestly? I had never felt so limber and loose in my life. I felt like the tin man with his joints finally loose and supple. Things were truly looking up for my running career.

It was so powerful that, for nearly two weeks, I stuck to stretching with tremendous discipline and consistency.

Finally, with two weeks left before race day, I stepped outside in full running regalia.

Van Halen’s “Jump” thundered in my headphones. I was hydrated, loose, and my confidence was high.

I made it one block before things started to turn sour, and I ended up folded over in someone’s yard like a heaving, broken lawn chair waiting for the bulk garbage truck. I was also negotiating an exit strategy with my stomach.

A concerned woman slowed her car next to me and asked if I needed medical assistance, which I waved off, because athletes play through pain.

That moment was when I realized that I probably hadn’t stretched enough, so I walked home and pushed myself to do better at that for another week.

When race day arrived, I had run several additional blocks and was still optimistic because my gear looked tremendous, and I was sure adrenaline would carry me.

Unfortunately, lungs care very little about optimism.

Conclusion

You may be wondering whether jogging is worth the effort.

Honestly…maybe.

I’ve run several races now, and while I’m still slow and deeply suspicious of anyone claiming to enjoy this activity, I’ve come to appreciate the sense of accomplishment.

However, I’ve never experienced the mythical “runner’s high,” but I have felt the almost spiritual sense of “runner’s relief” that comes the moment you stop running.

Also, a nice thing I’ve discovered about jogging, which isn’t true about most athletic activities, is that there’s room for everybody. Fast people. Slow people. Elderly, sarcastic speed walkers. And, even those of us who are just trying to survive.

And if you ever drop $25 on an actual race, you will discover that no matter how badly you perform, people will still be at the finish line to cheer for you and give you a magic banana.

And there’s something kinda cool about that.

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Thoughts

The truth is, I spent far more time trying to look like a runner than actually becoming one.

None of my gear mattered.

Not the socks.

Not the playlist.

Not the stretching.

Not even the tiny water backpack bra thing.

Because none of those things were substitutes for doing the actual work.

James 1:22 says:

“Be doers of the word, and not hearers only, deceiving yourselves.”

That was my problem.

I had convinced myself that compression socks and research were somehow equivalent to discipline and hard work.

Spiritually, we can do this too.

We surround ourselves with Christian books, devotionals, podcasts, worship music, small groups, church services, and inspirational social media posts. None of those things are bad. In fact, they’re good.

But eventually, there comes a moment when God calls us to stop endlessly preparing and actually obey Him.

To go do as Jesus did and forgive.

Trust.

Serve.

Love difficult people.

And, to tell the world around us about Him.

Paul told Timothy: “Train yourself for godliness.”

And training requires movement.

It means showing up when you feel weak—continuing when you feel uncomfortable—trusting God enough to take the next step.

And if you keep going long enough, you may surprise yourself by finishing stronger than you imagined.

You may even meet a unicorn.

And that, my friends, is how we keep it bright and hopeful.

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Pray

Father,

Only you are great and worthy of my praise. Your ways are beyond my understanding, and your word is my only hope.

Bless me today, Lord with a need for your word. Let me experience it every moment like it is fresh and satisfying. May every word move me toward doing, and may all the doing build my endurance and may my endurance carry me to the finish.

Thank you for this day, Holy Father, and make your presence known to me.

In Jesus name,

Amen

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Going Deeper

1. Where in your spiritual life have you settled for appearance over action? (Are there areas where you feel equipped, informed, or committed in theory—but haven’t yet stepped into obedience or trust?)

2. What “training” for godliness do you tend to avoid because it’s uncomfortable or slow? (Think forgiveness, patience, surrender, or serving others sacrificially.)

3. If growth in faith is like a long race, what does it look like for you to “keep moving” this week—even if it’s not graceful or fast? (What’s one small, faithful step forward you can take?)*

   
   

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