She was exhausted.  She couldn’t remember how long she’d been running, but it had been a really long time.  Years ago, when she started the journey she had a nice relaxed gait.  The experience was new and fresh and invigorating and her pace matched her contentment.  She told everyone about this journey, not out of obligation, but because she was so excited about it and wanted others to be able to enjoy the experience as well. 

As she followed the path, many walked with her, joining her in her endeavor to enjoy the scenery and get the most out of the journey.  Conversations and comraderie made the time pass quickly.  The road they were on signified joy.  The stride was easy.

But after a time, she began to hear a whisper in her ear telling her to “run faster”.  To quiet the whisper, she would increase her speed.  Others could not keep up with her pace.  Both communication and comraderie suffered.  But she looked good.  She appeared strong and healthy.  Though it took some getting used to, her body adjusted to the new speed and as long as she kept going, the voice was silent.

At first people were impressed.  She seemed to be able to go forever without stopping or resting.  They began to look to her for inspiration. She encouraged people to keep the pace and keep running.  She began to be the voice in others’ ears to “run faster”.  

But people began to ask her to slow down. Some would fall.  Others would lag behind.  And there were those that needed to rest a while.  But she had no time to walk or sit  or fall behind.  She had to keep running.  To run faster.  And faster.  And faster.

Soon she realized that she was running alone.  The conversation with others was no longer possible.  There was a race to be run.  She couldn’t slow down or the voice would return telling her to speed it up.  Telling her that unless she could keep the frenetic pace, she might as well just give up the run altogether.   She was no longer motivated by the joy of the path, but by guilt and her fear of the voice. And there was no one left to tell about the journey.  Even if there was, she outran the pleasure of the path and didn’t remember why anyone else would want to join her.

And so now, here she was.  Running with all that was in her.  Exhausted and panting.  Needing to rest but afraid to stop.  Afraid to even slow down.  The voice treatening to return. Sweat dripped from her forehead, landing on her nose and lips.  The salty taste made her more thirsty than she already was.  How much longer could she go on?  Panic began to emerge which only gave her a boost of speed and false energy.

There was nothing that could stop her.  She wouldn’t allow it.  She couldn’t.  Faster, faster, faster. 

And then it happened.  Her shoe hit a small rock, just enough to make her slip, and she fell.  It was as if she were in slow motion, moving closer and closer to the ground, face first.  And then she landed, with a painful thud, on the ground. 

She was completely disoriented.  How had this happened?  She was running so well.   She had never slowed down.  She had never fallen before.   She sat, head in her hands, crying.  Feeling like a failure.  Hurting.  Afraid of the voice returning.  Putting her hand to her throbbing head, she felt the warm blood trickling down.  How would she run again?  How would she make up for the time she had just lost?

Through tears, she looked up to see a man standing next to her.  He offered her his hand to help her up.  As she rose from the ground,  he dabbed at her bleeding skull with a cold, wet cloth. It felt so good.  So refreshing. Then he took her face in his hands and gently kissed away each of the tears that marked her cheek. She didn’t understand this overwhelming kindness and tenderness.  Suddenly, his face became familiar to her.  He was the one who had begun the journey with her.  He had been her walking partner in the beginning, so long ago.  He had provided friendship, conversation and encouragement on the path.  Those were the days before the voice that told her to “run faster”.  Those were the days when she loved the journey and was enjoying the scenery along the way.  He would point out things to her and share his wisdom and knowledge about the journey with her. 

A painful memory came to mind…One day she had decided to run ahead.  To be efficient and speed up the process.  And he had let her go, but had asked her to stay.  How had she forgotten him?  She had exchanged his sweet voice for the voice that scared her, that insisted that she “run faster”. 

Her look of sorrow and regret met his look of love and understanding.  He smiled and reached for her hand. He asked her to accompany him. Together they walked.  Oh, that wonderful pace of walking.  And she knew that as long as she was holding his hand and listening to his encouraging voice, she would never need to run at that frenetic pace again.  With a smile, she let out a heartfelt sigh that was long overdue…