Momentum can change everything. It is the quiet force that builds when you keep moving in the same direction over time. In running, it strengthens the body and teaches the mind to endure. In faith, it deepens trust and draws the heart closer to God. Both are built the same way, not through a single burst of effort, but through steady and consistent steps that add up to something you could not have imagined at the start.

Momentum in running is not built in a single day. It is earned in the miles no one else sees, the ones that happen after work when you are tired, on mornings when the bed is warm, and on those days when the air feels heavy before you even take the first step.

When I look back, I can see exactly where my momentum began. It was not during a big race or a record-breaking run. It was in the middle of January, stringing together thirty to forty miles a week. Some runs were smooth. Others were a grind. Every one of them was a deposit in the account I would later draw from when the miles became harder.

Training for my first half marathon with my sons was where the rhythm truly set in. We mapped out a plan, stuck to it, and counted down the days. There were long runs that left me exhausted and shorter ones that felt like a gift. I remember the excitement building, twenty-four days to go, then seventeen, then just over a week. Each run brought me closer, not only to the race, but to a different version of myself.

Some days momentum came from pushing through something new. My first hill run was not glamorous. It was not even fun. My son said it was about an eighth of a mile, but I was convinced it was twice that. My legs burned. My lungs protested. When I reached the top, I felt like I had claimed new ground. That is how momentum works. Every challenge you take on makes the next one a little more possible.

By the time race week arrived for the Mercedes Half Marathon, I could feel the strength I had built. The final week was a balance of rest and light runs, my mind replaying the miles behind me. I was not just hoping I could finish. I knew I could. The work was already in the bank.

That same sense of readiness came in smaller ways as well. The first time I moved beyond a 5K, it was not because of a perfect training plan. It was because momentum carried me. I had been stacking runs for weeks, and one day I simply kept going, realizing I was capable of more than I had believed. Those are the moments when you realize that momentum is not just physical. It changes how you see yourself.

Not every run felt like a victory in the moment. I remember a training day where I ran 13.1 miles under nine minutes per mile. It was a personal best, but during the run my legs ached and my mind told me to stop. Momentum is like that at times. It does not always feel like flying. Sometimes it feels like grinding through when everything in you says to quit.

Week after week, the runs stacked up. They built something in my legs, in my breathing, and in my confidence. By the time race day came, whether it was a 5K or a half marathon, I lined up knowing the result was not decided in that moment. It had been decided in the quiet miles, the tired evenings, and the early mornings when I showed up anyway.

Momentum does not mean every run is perfect. It means you have put in enough work that even on the bad days, you can keep moving forward. It is the strength you build when no one is watching, the rhythm that carries you up hills and through late miles. In running, that kind of momentum changes everything.

Momentum in faith grows the same way, through consistency, persistence, and showing up even when you do not feel like it. It is not built on one emotional high or a single mountaintop experience. It is shaped in the quiet and ordinary days when you choose to seek God, trust His Word, and walk in obedience.

There have been seasons when my faith felt like those early training days, slow, awkward, and uncertain. I did not always feel like praying. I did not always feel like reading Scripture. But I kept showing up. Over time, something began to shift. Just as my legs learned to move more efficiently and my lungs learned to carry more air, my soul learned to rest in His presence and to trust Him more deeply.

The same truth that carried me through miles carried me through the spiritual miles of life. You cannot build momentum if you keep stopping completely. In running, even a slow jog forward keeps the rhythm alive. In faith, even a whispered prayer or a moment spent reading one verse keeps the connection alive.

There were times when life threatened to break my spiritual stride. Stress, loss, temptation, and distraction all tried to pull me off course. I learned that momentum in faith is not about never stumbling. It is about returning quickly. It is getting back to prayer when you have neglected it. It is opening your Bible again after a dry season. It is worshipping even when you feel heavy.

When spiritual momentum takes hold, you face challenges differently. You still encounter hills and headwinds, but you climb them with the steady trust that God will carry you. The small acts of obedience have strengthened your faith for the big tests. And just as in running, the rhythm you have built in the quiet moments becomes the strength that carries you through the storms.

Momentum in faith is not only about progress. It is about becoming the kind of person who keeps showing up for God, who keeps running the race marked out before them, who keeps their eyes fixed on Jesus even when the road is long. Because in the end, faith, like running, is not about speed. It is about endurance. And endurance comes from momentum.

“Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith. For the joy set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.”

Hebrews 12:1–2 (NIV)