Today, I remember Ahmaud Arbery.
On this day in 2020, he was tragically murdered while out for a run. Even years later, that truth sits heavy on my heart.
As a former runner myself, this tragedy hit me in a deeply personal way. Running, for many of us, is sacred space. It’s the rhythm of your feet hitting the pavement before the world wakes up. It’s lungs burning in the cold air. It’s the quiet stretch of road where your thoughts finally settle into place. Like me, I’m sure Mr. Arbery loved the feel of a great run—the steady stride, the challenge of a hill, the satisfaction of pushing through when your legs want to quit.
Maybe he had a running playlist like I used to -songs that flip a switch inside you, that give you that extra motivation when the miles get long. Maybe certain lyrics helped him dig deeper, find another gear. Or maybe he preferred silence. Maybe his runs were his time to pray, to think about his day, to sort through life one step at a time.
Running is freedom. Or at least, it’s supposed to be.
The one visible difference between Mr. Arbery and myself was the color of our skin. I’m a white guy. In all my days as a runner, I never worried about being followed. I never worried about someone questioning why I was in a particular neighborhood. I never feared the police trailing me for no reason. I never considered that a routine jog could end in violence.
That’s a privilege I didn’t earn. It’s simply something I was born into because of the color of my skin.
Today, I think about Mr. Arbery’s family and friends—the empty chair at the table, the birthdays that feel incomplete, the runs that now carry grief instead of joy. I pray that the love of God surrounds them in ways that bring comfort beyond understanding.
I also think about my brothers and sisters of color as they lace up their shoes and head out the door. Something as simple as a run should not require courage. It should not require vigilance. It should not require a mental calculation of safety.
And yet, for many, it does.
So today my prayer is simple:
Dear God, protect my brothers and sisters of color.
Allow them to have a wonderful run.
Let the miles strengthen their bodies and clear their minds.
And bring them safely back home to their families.
May we build a world where every runner—no matter their skin color—can experience the road as it was meant to be: open, freeing, and safe. ~OC
The Blessed Overcomer 
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