Notes
Today, I ran.
Up at the crack of four in the morning, awoken to the pitter of a chilling rainfall outside that cut through the pitch of a December early morning. The wind tearing through the trees penetrated what should have been the predawn stillness. I crawled from my covers, motivated only by the promise to meet friends. And yet despite this motivation, I considered strongly listening to the voices pulling me back to my bed, warm and dry. But I was up, my shoes were waiting and the commitment made. So off I went, into my car to meet my morning partners to grab my planned miles.
I drove off to the park that has for several years now been my running home, conspirator and inspiration. For several years, perhaps, however this past year (now in its waning days) has been generally lackluster from a running perspective. My miles were down, my races average, my base diminishing and my sick days more numerous than I'd wish. So many times I went out and covered the distance, but did not feel like I actually ran. The only consistency in the year was its inconsistency. Far too many beautiful days witnessed my shoes nestled comfortably in the closet. In the end, I covered only a fraction of the distance I had run in prior years. And with only a few days left until the new year my runs feel like work and my legs are too often weak. But I have set goals for the coming year and find encouragement with every new entry in my log. Each run inspires the next. And this morning I would run along the route that winds among the hills and trees that draw me forward every time.
Heavy raindrops splashed on the windshield as I approached the start. The road glistened under the yellow streetlights while a light mist lined the fields and the skeletal winter trees swayed in the strong gusts. I arrived at the park's front to find that it was desolate; not a single car was there to brave the morning's elements. Nobody was there. My morning running partners had chosen, perhaps wisely, to stay inside until the weather passed. But there I was. No reason to turn back. I found the promise of early morning solitude a draw. So out of the car door I stepped, into the soggy inky morning and alone with my thoughts. As I left the street’s lights behind, entering the blackness enshrouding the park, the raindrops slacked off and only the light taps of my shoes on the wet pavement broke the sounds of the rustling branches high above.
Today I ran. I ran through the dark and dank, among the towering hills and shadowy trees, under a sky faintly glowing gray from ponderous clouds lit by distant city lights. With each hill climbed while alone in my thoughts, I felt a gathering strength in my long-neglected legs. All of the illnesses, doubts and false starts that have plagued my year were out of my mind, and only the next mile carried me on. My legs were light, my mind flowing free and my breathing smooth. I was running. Finally running. I felt unencumbered as I climbed the ascents. I floated on the downs, the wind blowing my hair and my legs turning over almost effortlessly. As I thought, I realized that this was no accident. For the past month I have felt a renewed dedication to the miles and had a tightening focus, and I have run more. Getting out the door has been easier and easier with every passing day. The icy cold of the other day did not stop me, nor had the misty rain, nor even a morning made sluggish from the prior evening's reverie. I have been running some now for weeks, and this morning I ran.
I was alone; there were no other runners out there. The only company with me this morning was my shoes and my thoughts. The park's expanse was mine for the taking. The wind's noises and the tapping of my stride were broken only by the scattered sounds from an early morning. Birds and squirrels could be heard rustling in the leaves and among the twigs. In the distance, a train blew its horn as it passed through while coyotes responded with a choir of howls. Occasional squaws dropped rain, sometimes light and tinkling, other times heavy and wet. The splashes from tromping through unseen puddles, the creaking of branches, hoots from the winged beasts above: all these sounds carried me forward. Equally, a symphony unfolded in my mind as I thought about the few successes of the year, including some stacked personal records at the 5k distance, bringing a new child and then a new puppy (future runners, both) into the family and putting together with the community's help the third in a string of successful runnings of one of the hardest marathon races in the country.
Today I ran. I considered the coming year. The rising strength that carried me over this morning's miles and climbs, if harnessed and nurtured, may take me to places I cannot imagine. I hope to improve my times at a number of distances, including the marathon, a race I have yet to figure out despite any number of attempts. Perhaps the answer really is simple: more miles. Running through the predawn, I found that I already had a plan crystallizing in my head. I thought of the races and the workouts and the runs I would need to put into every week. I thought about what it would take to balance running with life and kids and job and all the myriad other commitments. I thought about the illnesses that could yet descend and plague my efforts. But mostly, I thought of the miles I would need to cover. Relentless. Consistent. Ongoing. Day after day, I would need to log the miles and wear down my shoes.
At I counted down the miles this morning, the clouds overhead took on more and more light. The morning was coming, washing away the remnant night that shrouded my run. The wind still blew and rain still burst from above as my shoes carried me to the bittersweet end to the morning's journey. I came out of the woods and down from the hills to find my car and crowds of runners yet to begin their own runs, theirs this morning perhaps more social than I found my own run to have been. As I slowed and stopped, then got in my car to drive away, I pondered how this morning's run was a punctuation on the year that came before, and (I hope) points to the year due soon to arrive. This morning's miles, run in the dark and among the hills, brought a bit of light and life to an otherwise muted year. And this morning's miles, run with strength and ease over a tough terrain, inspired what I hope to come.
I came out to join others and joyfully ran with myself. The solitude, the dark and the wetness only brought me focus. And the hills and miles brought me the sense of strength. Today I ran, and my run carried me forward towards tomorrow's goals.
Today I ran.