“Rabbi, it’s weird that you run.”
“Why?” “It just is.”
I was surprised by this and told her that it was my rabbi when I was about her age, Rabbi Albert M. Lewis, who first took me to the track and taught me that I could run. It was Rabbi Dick Israel, z’l who kept me running through several Boston Marathons.  There are so many rabbis-in-training at the Academy for Jewish Religion that run we have joked that we should start a marathon team! Each of those rabbis run for different reasons, no doubt,

When I was in college the movie “Chariots of Fire” was released. The Sh’ma can be sung to the theme song. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RY3XiM7oGj0. Try it. Singing this kept me going through many miles. So did a song they sing at Catholic Masses based on Isaiah. “You shall run and not be weary. You shall walk and not faint.”  (Isaiah 40:31)

Running increased my endorphins. And kept me healthy. And deepened my spirituality. Then I stopped. Why? I am not sure. I grew uncomfortable with my body, like many women. I broke a leg and that ended my serious training. I had a kid (though she is not to blame, sir). I had a successful business. I was commuting to New York for rabbinical school while working full time, raising a child, being a wife and being active in a congregation and as a Girl Scout leader. I had no time. I had a serious car accident that that ended any serious dream of returning. All of those are excuses.

Ultimately, I no longer thought I could do it. Running, as a coach explained to me this week, is 90% mental. That is especially true for long distance running.

Here is what I have learned since I am back. I CAN do it. I can be mentally tough (although at the moment I struggle with Mile 2 to Mile 3). It does augment what I am doing at Weight Watchers. It helps me sleep better (unless I overdo!). It helps my blood sugar numbers and my mood. It gives me something to do outside of my synagogue life and sometimes, if the weather is good, outside. It role models something important (although there are days I am not sure what). I have rejoined the running community. And there is a running community. Never was that more obvious than in the immediate aftermath of last year’s Boston Marathon bombing. Or when Mayyim Hayyim announced it was putting together a ritual for Jewish runners of the Boston Marathon.

For me, as a rabbi, there is something else. There is a deep connection to spirituality. To G-d. This is how I become one with G-d. I think there is something about running, like mikveh, that is a whole body experience. So much of what I do, like writing this blog, is in my head. Running gets me out of that mode.

These days it is also an opportunity to give back. My first race back was the Disney Princess Half Marathon. My daughter and I raised over $5200 for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society to help save lives and had fun (most of the time) while doing it. My next race is for the Gail Borden Public Library. We Jews are, after all, People of the Book.

This 10 year old, had just gotten her hair cut. I told her that running isn’t weird for rabbis. What is weird, and totally special and awesome, was the 50 rabbis were going to shave their heads–even the women rabbis. That day is today. It is not something I think I could do and I don’t think I am particularly vain. One rabbi to help make this transition easier for her immersed at Mayyim Hayyim. The rabbis are here in Chicago for the Central Conference of American Rabbis national convention.

Why are they doing this brave thing? Because earlier this year, a little boy, Sammy, Superman Sam, lost his battle with Leukemia. Before that he lost his hair. His mother, a rabbi in Chicago, wrote a blog about the experience. http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com. Many of us followed the family’s painful (does that even begin to describe it?) journey. We talked recently about Aaron’s silence. Rabbi Phyllis Sommer has handled her grief with grace (although I am sure there were tears and screams and silence) and by writing powerfully about it, by not keeping silent.

The 10 year old did not think shaving a head was weird at all. “That’s cool,” she said, “But running for a rabbi is still weird.”

So this is what I learned this week. Rabbis make a difference in the world. Having whole body experiences, immersing in a mikveh, shaving a head, running a race are important to spirituality. Like much of Judaism there are many choices about how to express that whole body experience and different people have different ways and different needs. Some may be weird and some may be cool. Consider making a donation to the 36+ Rabbis who Shave for the Brave. I just did.