I'd start with what you have and then say, "And then what?"
For example:
More falling than running I scrambled, speed, speed and more speed until I could not see or even feel the forest as it flew by, all sound drowned out by the steady boom of my heart, the singing sigh of the air through my throat and lungs highlighted by the irregular tattoo of my boots as they leapt and fell across the broken terrain.
The image I had was of a young man running up into a wooded hill side, leaping over rocks, spinning about young hardwood trees, splashing through a creek and then climbing the face of a waterfall, all in an all consuming terrible flight.
"And then?"
The wind sighing between the trees, none the less stole that warmth and strength that had so impelled my flight. Shackled now with sodden boots and chain in water logged clothes, chest bound by the biting cold, lungs heaving like bellows merely to find the strength to stand against the suddenly monstrous strength of that mountain flow. Whether crawl or collapse, after an eternity of effort I slumped upon the frozen muddy shore a steaming pile of heaving exhaustion. There was no air to think or move or curse what horror had driven me here. My vision was a red rimmed tunnel inexorably darkening, as if the icy death that stalked me found the collection of my life's spark an odious task.
Some distant part of me knew I was in trouble when I felt my skin burning beneath my sodden clothes. If I had had the mental faculties then to be scared I would have, and yet that part of me that knew and recognized the signs of rapidly advancing hypothermia was so terribly distant and faint. And I kept forgetting why it was I should listen to it. The darkness was nice; I'd always hated the sun; too fair skinned don't you know.
"And then?"
Basically start with a scene and figure out how your characters respond to it. You don't need to have "non-action scenes" unless you feel it necessary to explain why your character is doing something really weird.
Like...
"You're freaking insane!" she was pounding on me, trying to make me see reason. I knew she meant well. Hell, she was probably right, but...
"You don't have to do this." she pleaded.
"Yes. I. Do." It sounded harsher than I'd wanted. "I don't expect you to understand or accept it."
"He'll kill you." she'd stopped, slumped resigned, defeated.
I raised her chin and waited until she sought my eyes again. "There are worse things. Far worse. And I'll never go back there again."
Please use responsibly,
Cheers
