"Run with me, grandma!" That joyous plea, coming from one of my grandchildren, warms my heart, and is impossible to resist. I'm always eager to join the race—running again and again around the yard, or around the block, much to the amazement of my family. It wasn't always that way.

Several years ago, one of my sons came home on leave from military service. He was eager to teach me some new moves he'd learned at a swing dance club. As I followed his lead, it was very disheartening to find that I couldn't finish a single dance without stopping to rest.

As a student of Christian Science, I was used to praying for a more spiritual view of myself; and this idea that I could be exhausted from a normal level of activity had to go. It just didn't fit with what I knew to be true about my spiritual selfhood.

As I listened for divine guidance, this sentence from Science and Health came to thought: "Christian Science explains all cause and effect as mental, not physical" (p. 114). To me, this meant that the exhaustion was in thought, instead of the body. I didn't need to put up with it; it could be faced down mentally. I became aware that I needed a better sense of balance between quiet prayer and spiritual study, and an active expression of energy and strength.

In the following months, I chose to be more active on a regular basis. Given a choice of stairs or an elevator, I'd take the stairs. I'd walk energetically when shopping, doing housework, or yardwork. I'd go dancing or swimming when opportunities arose. Sometimes I'd work out to exercise videos. I loved moving to music and breaking barriers of limitation. When prompted by a video to think about a certain muscle, I'd think about God as the source of all strength. I was simply reflecting Him and expressing my God-given dominion.

Another passage in Science and Health highlights the mental nature of attempting any activity. It talks about a man named Charles Blondin, a tightrope artist, who performed amazing stunts. The passage says: "Had Blondin believed it impossible to walk the rope over Niagara's abyss of waters, he could never have done it. His belief that he could do it gave his thought-forces, called muscles, their flexibility and power ..." (p. 199). The description of "thought-forces" as muscles was enlightening. It helped me understand more clearly that body is a manifestation of thought.

A little over a year later, after consistently praying about where my energy truly came from, I was able to dance freely without feeling a hint of exhaustion at my son's wedding. But more than that, as I continued to grow spiritually, a whole new perspective on physical activity opened up to me.

I began to ponder the question, "Why do my grandchildren run?" Clearly, they don't do it to lose weight or become physically fit. Their thoughts are too innocent to be concerned with such things. They do it for the sheer joy of mastering a new skill. They do it because it's natural to express the joyous activity of divine Spirit, the unbounded energy of divine Life, and God-given dominion over their bodies.

The impact of this major shift in my thinking became clear to me when I recently started bike riding again. I got out my ten-speed that had been doing little more than gathering dust for about 20 years, fixed it up, and took off—focusing on this new spiritual perspective.

About a week later I rode again, covering a distance of 28 miles, including a long, very steep incline. This seemed a bit ambitious, but I was sure God had already provided the strength I needed. As I rode, the phrase from Science and Health, "Let us feel the divine energy of Spirit, bringing us into newness of life ...," resounded in my thought (p. 249). The ride wasn't easy, but it was joyous and exhilarating.

A couple of weeks after that, I began bike riding once a week, with a small group of women from a local recreational biking club. They're on newer, lighter bikes, which simply means that I have to work a little harder than they do, to get to where we're going. I'm having a wonderful time gaining mastery of this sport with my new friends.

One afternoon, I was surprised to hear these more experienced riders talking about suffering with soreness and exhaustion for hours and days after the previous week's ride. They spoke as if it were an expected, normal reaction. I was filled with compassion, and silently affirmed that we're all God's children, so this was no more natural for them than it was for me. I was also grateful to realize that my thought had been so free; effects of pain and soreness had never even crossed my mind.

Whether I'm running with my grandchildren, dancing, or biking—whatever the activity—I'm always grateful for the reminder that God, inexhaustible Life, is the source of my energy. And I'm free to express it! css