Writer Wednesday: Summer Runs.

My legs, still heavy with sleep, rounded their way through the slumbering neighborhoods. The only people this early on a Friday were either racing to get to their jobs across town or just now grabbing the paper in the drive, with robes a little to carelessly draped. But they didn’t expect to see anyone anyways.

It was going to be another warm one as it was not yet seven but already my skin was tingling and warmed- not just from exertion, but the escalating sun.

“Should have worn a tank top” I thought as my cotton tee would serve not only as a reminder of my first year coaching, but quite possibly leaving a mark of this run- depending on the length.

Morning Miles.

It’s funny, running in Spokane. It’s pretty easy to get lost, but not. There are neighborhoods and then, suddenly, nothing.

I decided to stay suburban today, hoping to get lost amongst the people: hidden in the crowd.

This summer days, you know the ones; already warm even though you woke up early just to get out the door. And even though you woke up early, you feel fully rested, slept and refreshed. The grass actually looks greener. It has either been trimmed or about to be. Either way, that smell, oh that glorious smell in the air. It floats, flitters, and glides along with me. I am sorry to anyone who is allergic to this because honestly it might be one o my favorite smells. Along with bonfire, and roasting marshmallows (even if they catch on fire), it fills me with the great joy of summer. Just like when Maverick and Goose win the first volleyball game. Greatest high five in movie history. All up there with new running shoes and old bookstores.

The green isn’t like any green you can see anywhere else in the world. I call it “Pacific Northwest Green.” It stays year round. It’s the green that has been soaked in freshness. It’s the green that stands strong against the gray, gloom we see far too often in Seattle and so very rarely in Spokane.

And there it is, before the sun rises too high, the pop and fizzle and flow of the sprinklers. That sound, how do you even put it into words? How can the beauty and peace of the moment and sounds be put into a description worthy enough?

Climbing the final hill, I curse myself for the chosen route. It is two more miles to my apartment. And they are all uphill. Hills are good for you thought. They make you strong, make you tough. And they keep you strong, keep you tough.

Sometimes, at this point of my runs, I attempt to trick myself, but today I try to focus: on my breath, my form, my run. I get caught at the light only for a second, just long enough to take in the smell of freshly baking bread at the nearby bakery. And to realize how desperately hot it is getting.

My legs gain a little but more momentum as they drop and rise through the gaps in the sidewalk. Now I am no longer trying to trick myself, I am hungry. No, not the typical runner hungry for more miles, faster times. I want breakfast.

Rounding through the final neighborhood, I am soaked with sweat, completely satisfied. The run filled a void today. Even if just for a little bit.

Changing into my dry clothes, I realize the shirt I am putting on was borrowed not too long ago after a similar long run. That one was with company and a different need was met then. I liked those routes we ran, the trails we trampled those times, those talks. Actually, I miss them.

Enough to want to call those training partners, but there is something holding me back.

Maybe a few more hills on my own, a few more tempos, a few more long, tough ones on my own before I attempt that again. Gotta make sure I can handle it, make sure I can hold my own.

So I’ll just wear the shirt as a reminder I survived it once before. And if you don’t mind, I am going to enjoy the last little bits of summer, barbeques, breakfasts, bonfires, and s’mores.

Wahhooo great balls of fire.