What My Garmin Doesn’t Know About My Morning Run

My Garmin says I ran 3.04 miles today.
Average pace: 8:42.
Heart rate: 143.
Calories burned: 374.

Cool. But also… meaningless.

Because here’s what my Garmin doesn’t know:

It doesn’t know I woke up tired. Not physically tired—soul tired.
That kind of heavy, slow ache that follows a hard season or a conversation that didn’t go the way it should have.

It doesn’t know I almost didn’t go.
That I sat on the edge of my bed in the dark, bargaining with myself like a junkie.
It’s just a run. No one’s watching. No one cares.

Except I care.
And maybe God’s watching.
And maybe this is where I meet Him.

The Run Is More Than the Data

Garmin tracks performance.
God tracks presence.
And this morning… I showed up.

First mile: I said nothing. Just breathed.
Second mile: I started praying. Not eloquent prayers—just muttered, messy stuff. Questions. Regret. Wonder.
Third mile: the sun rose. Not dramatically. But gently, like a whisper pulling back the curtain.

And in that quiet light, I felt something settle. Not solved. Just… still.

This is the Part the Watch Can’t See

• The way cold air can unclog the soul.

• How pain, when met with movement, becomes prayer.

• That strange moment around minute 17 where your body is exhausted but your mind clears.

• When your feet hit the pavement but your spirit lifts.

Garmin doesn’t track grace.
It can’t chart forgiveness.
Or gratitude.
Or the echo of your dad’s voice when you remember what he taught you about grit.

Running Is My Confession Booth

I’ve cried on runs.
Laughed out loud.
Yelled at the sky.
Felt God closer than He ever felt in a pew.
And some days… nothing happens. No fireworks. Just obedience.

Because sometimes showing up is the miracle.

So yeah—my Garmin says I ran 3.04 miles today.
But what really happened?

I stitched myself back together.
I talked to God.
I remembered who I am.
And for a few quiet minutes… I was free.

-Griff