Eight Miles

It happens every time.  Without fail, every time I do it. . . it happens. 

The alarm sounds and I glance at the clock. . . 5:40 a.m.  For a moment I bury my head back into my pillow surrendering to exhaustion.  As soon as my eyelids squeeze shut and I feel the comfort of the darkness, I hear the whisper from deep inside . . you won’t regret it.  That’s when my eyes pop open and I throw my legs over the side of the bed.  I pull on my clothes and take care to double knot my shoes, and in moments I am heading toward the door. 

I do it because I know.  I know that every time I do it. . . it happens.

I never take a phone with me when I run.  Never.  I like the escape.  I like the disconnect.  I like that no one can contact me.   Selfish or not, when I’m out on a run it is only me and the open road.  No distractions.  Just me and my thoughts and the beauty that is, well, everywhere.  Today, however, I did something different.  Today, when I saw the dense fog and the burning orange ball in the sky my heart skipped a beat. . . today, I wanted to capture it.

It’s very difficult to explain to someone why I run.  Even more, it’s difficult to explain why I get up early in the morning to run. 

 

In truth, it can’t be done.  You just have to experience it to understand it.

I think the morning hours are the most beautiful hours of the day. . . especially the early morning hours.  When I run I connect with my surroundings differently than any other time.  I love feeling the blanket of dew that covers the earth and watching the birds search for their morning meal.  In the quiet of the morning I see a glow from kitchens and living rooms where I imagine families rushing to begin their days.  I imagine children rousing sleepy from their beds while mom’s and dad’s rush to organize, plan and prepare for all the day holds.  Maybe the reality isn’t that quaint or simple, but the thought makes me happy.

It was 50 degrees this morning.  Perfect in my book.  As my feet pounded the pavement and my eyes took in the spectacular morning, the inevitable thought came to mind. . . I’m so glad I got up.  I’m sure people run for many different reasons–health, weight control, training for an event, etc., etc. As I ran this morning, though, and breathed in the crisp air I thought to myself. . . even if there were no benefits to this. . . I would still do it. 

I’m guessing I sound somewhat like a freak, but it’s true.  When I see the long road stretched out ahead of me and hardly a car in sight, I feel like I’m part of a different world.  Almost a different time. 

I pass by as farmers tend to their work and as livestock inhale their breakfast.  The glow of the morning sun makes colors pop in a way that beckons me forth.  The beauty is nothing short of intoxicating.

When I run I travel all around our community.  I run city roads and I run country roads. . . I enjoy them all.  There is one particular road, though, that I will call my favorite.  For years I have run down this “favorite” road and wished I had a camera.  It never ceases to amaze me all the gifts nature has to offer and this road is particularly full.  It starts with this tiny forest. . .

It reminds me of a scene out of a story book.  When I look in I can almost see Little Red Riding Hood traipsing through the forest or snow white encircled by a crowd of animals.

Down the road a little bit I look up and take in this beautiful sight. . .

I don’t know what it is about this tree, but I love it.  Someday I am going to get brave enough to use it for a self portrait.  For the time being, though, I take in its beauty from afar. 

As the fog begins to disappear and the sun rises higher and higher in the sky the rhythm of my pounding feet is effortless.  Somehow, I get lost in my thoughts. . . in the beauty. . . in the run.  It might sound like an escape, but I think it’s more than that.  When I am out there, pounding out the miles I find myself more connected than ever.  Somehow, the peace of creation does that. 

As I turn the corner from the quiet country road I notice that traffic has begun to steal the quiet of the morning.  I think back to the clock that read 5:40 and remember the doubts I had about getting out of bed just an hour before.  What was I thinking?

In eight miles I experienced the gift of a new day.  I saw, I noticed, I breathed in, and I experienced what it means to be alive. . . to really be alive.

. . . and that is a beautiful thing.

It happens every time.  Without fail, every time I run I learn to love it even more.