It was just a run, but, like fingerprints and snowflakes, no two are alike. Familiarity breeds contempt, and I have never scorned running. I have feared it, treasured it, and I have coveted it when I didn't have it. I have loved it, but never loathed it.
Like most mornings, my alarm went off at 4:45. My clock said 4:55. I know I'm not the only one who employs that trick. If the clock reads later than it is, you can convince yourself that you somehow catch that extra few minutes of sleep. We runners can sure be gullible, but running is all about finding ways to trick yourself. Getting up at the sound of the alarm is always my first trick of the day.
Until the run, everything is routine. Pour the coffee, check my E-mail, and wait for by body to give the okay.
Out the door, and the routine ends. The fingerprint starts to develop. The snow starts to fall. Out the door reveals nature's secrets, and nature's gifts. This morning, it was a large sliver of moon, and a cast of stars, leaving no trace of the storms that passed through the evening before. The air held a hint of coolness within its heavy humidity. Perhaps today would be the day we would totally escape the rain, and the mowing could be completed.
My watch went with me on this morning's run. It's been staying home a lot lately, and I have not really missed it. Time is always a focus of a runner. Whether it's not having enough of it, or measuring a marathon to the hundredth of a second, time is always there. The only kind of watches I have worn in the last 17 years have had a black strap on them. When I retire, I better chose something other than a watch as my parting gift. I don't think GTE's watches have 100 lap timers. I pushed a button, heard a beep, and I was on my way.
I appreciate an early AM in the high 60's or low 70's this time of year. Thanks to La Nina, we have seen a goodly number of them this year. It helps take the sting out of summer. I can take cold, and rain, and snow. They are elements to overcome, and I happily do. You can have summer. In it's heat, I feel no accomplishment. I only feel hot.
For the first 3 miles, I saw no one. I was alone, with my thoughts. I felt no pain. The shin, and the back, and the knee were working with the rest of the team known as me. I ran past the motion detection lights by the pool at the head of the neighborhood. They had always flashed on as I passed, in the past. This time, they didn't. That's because they were on already. I wondered as I passed if there had been an incident, which made it wise to have them on all night long. The fingerprint was solidifying. The snow was starting to accumulate.
Soon after, I saw another runner, and, in the shadows, we exchanged a quick hello, and perhaps a glance. It was too dark to tell. He was coming up a cul-de-sac as I was coming down. Soon after, I saw him again, as we twisted and navigated through the neighborhood courts. We seemed to be on the same route, with him a bit ahead of me, and I realized why the floodlights had been on. He must have past through shortly before I did. It was his lights that were shining on me.
Soon, it was time to hit my watch again, and silence it, until the next time. It was the same 10K I have been doing a fair bit recently. But the fingerprint was cast. The snow had fallen. My watch said 57:30. My body said this was a good run. My mind said, "bring on the day. I am now ready to greet it." And I knew once again of the routine uniqueness of the run.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008 04:33 PM