"Out of the silver heat mirage he ran. The sky burned, and under him the paving was a black mirror reflecting sun-fire. Sweat sprayed his skin with each foot strike so that he ran in a hot mist of his own creation. With each slap on the softened asphalt, his soles absorbed heat that rose through his arches and ankles and the stems of his shins. It was acarnival of pain, but he loved each stride because running distilled him to his essence and the heat hastened this distillation." - James Tabor, from "The Runner"
I made the decision last night that this morning would be the morning that I would start running again. It's been awhile. Not that I've ever been able to run very fast or very far, but I do enjoy it. And my body craves it.
When the alarm blared at 6 this morning, I hit snooze and rolled over, pressing my eyes shut. I remained huddled under my soft covers until I realized that it was taking more energy to force myself back to sleep than to actually get out of bed. Five minutes later I was slipping into my Nikes, strapping on my iPod and slipping out the door.
My feet found an awkward rhythem on the pavement, but I kept going as the sun kissed the neighborhood houses in soft pink and yellow hues. Sweat trickled from my brow, glistened on my arms, my heart pounded in my chest. I huffed and puffed. And I kept going.
Today I didn't make it too far, but the incredible feeling is still with me. And I can't wait for tomorrow morning when I can do it all over again.