It’s a quiet sleepy morning. The rains are falling softly. And my partner grabs the extra covers within seconds of me getting up. He gurgles comfy snuggling sounds into the darkness which seem to mock my efforts to ready myself for my training run.
The air is mild and misty this November morning. The gentle breeze doing nothing to slow my efforts as I head into the winds to start my day. The quiet solitude the cover of pre-dawn affords is at once invigorating and calming. Without wanting to jinx things by checking my watch I know I’m running well. Today is going to be a good day.
I climb subtle slopes and angle again and again into headwinds. Knowing all the way, the more challenging the first half of my run the easier my return home. Before long I count off the 11th buzz from my watch signalling my turnaround point. Gleefully I gallop, retracing my steps with a floating ease. In my mind I am lithe and graceful, the last 3 years of efforts culminating in these precious moments of facile. This must be the runners’ high I’ve heard so much about. That euphoric feeling of flying and soaring invincibility.
Today is a good day.