Wednesday Writers #2

Not from the book. Those pieces aren't ready yet, but here is something from way back when; a personal essay class in which I really had to attack writing. Which was fun and scary and insane all in one small 75 minute period three times a week. This was a running/writing piece I had written. It's two parts so we will get to the next one another time. 

It was a perfect day. Yes, perfection is boring and predictable, but this was just too perfect. It was a crisp, cold, sunny day in November. It was one of those fall days that looked warm, but wen you walked out the door you got goose bumps on your forearms and a shiver up your spine. There wasn't a cloud in the sky. 

I had no idea what was to come. Only a week before I had woken up and knew I would not be running at the District meet. Unfortunately, one of our girls was unable to finish the race the week before and I was next in line. 

On this fateful morning I would be toeing the line with almost two hundred other girls from throughout the state looking for the same thing: a championship. 

Waking up, I glanced around the room seeing my roommates rousing too. We could feel it in the air. Something exciting was going to happen on this day. Something no one else could do. No one, but us. Turning to one another, we smiled. 

Getting ready for the morning shake-out was eerie. The silence was deafening. Was it nerves? Right as we were about to step out the door, I laughed. There was no real rhyme or reason, but to just break the silence. It was goig to be an interesting day. 

Upon reaching the end of our run at the playground, Patty turned to us and said, "Go free." We slid on the slides, swung on the swings and monkeyed around on the monkey bars. After about ten minutes, we returned to the hotel to get ready for the meet. My stomach was churning, but I had to keep it under control. My team was counting on me. 

The bus pulled in the parking lot. We were all unusually quiet on that 20 minute rise. No laughter, not chatter, just focus. 

Everything was starting to move in slow motion. I couldn't let it get that way, not yet. I had to be focused on being calm. This was the team we had built. It took awhile to finally believe, but it had come together, finally, unexpectedly. 

Only four months earlier, sitting on the Lakes High School gym floor, Patty had challenged us, "Who says you can't be a top four team?" Shocked, we all looked at each other, tried to hold back rolling our eyes and said, "Ok, Patty, if that what you say."

We had committed. She trained us that way. Forced us to look deep inside ourself and fight. Fight for that next place. Fight for the last ounce of energy. 

We began the warm-up by finding the secret sanican that no one else knew about. That the Gig girls. The next thing I knew we were headed to the start line, spikes in hand, ready to do battle. Fifteen minutes until show time. 

We had finished the hokey pokey and our sweats were in the garbage bag headed back to the tent. We finished our strides and waiting on the line for the starter to give us our instructions. Looking down the line, there seemed to be hundred of girls. When I looked straight forward, onto the course, it all disappeared. There were no longer any spectators. No other girls, just me and my teammates. Just a tidal wave of bright blue. We were the only ones on the course. The sound of my breath and my heartbeat were all I could hear. 

The gun went off and we shot. The rumbling of hundred of feet climbing the hill was a shot of adrenaline through my system. I made myself smile at the top of the first hill just like Patty had told us to. I tried to relax and race with Karly like I had been told, but I went by. I was passing people, but hadn't even made it to the first mile. From there I flew. I passed people in twos and threes. No one could stop me. I just ran and hard and kept going. 

With 1000 meters to go, I knew I had to lay it on the line. It was decision time. Will you quit or will you be strong? Patty had asked us everyday. She prepared us for this moment, although we didn't realize it until we got there. 

I ran past the fence to make a turn. Matt was there. I couldn't hear anything he was saying. All I knew was that he was yelling. Nothing was going through my mind except getting the next girl ahead of me. 

When I came around the far side of the fairway, someone behind me said, "Come on Meaghan, let's go." So I went. 

Two more girls. 

Three more. 

I topped the hill to the finish. It was time to move again. Only one hundred meters left. I don't even think I touched the ground. Finally, I felt my body hit the line. I hadn't seen my time; I just knew my entire stomach wanted to come out of my mouth. I didn't know what place I was. I didn't see anyone I knew. Everything was rushing to me. The feelings, the smells, the emotions. I had no clue what was going on, but I had finished and I needed my team. 

Just as I was about to blackout, Patty caught me. I finally heard the noise around me. People were crying and cheering. Until that point, I had been deaf to everything but my heartbeat and my breath. 

After we had all cooled down, we had to wait once again. We were waiting of the results. No one knew what was going to happen, we were all just hoping for a top four finish. 

As the announcer was about to begin, Patty turned me around and grabbed me into a big hug. All I could hear her saying was that she was proud of me. I could hear the lump in her throat forming. I asked her what was going on. She said I had been our number six runner. We had tied Bellarmine. Their number six had only been ten seconds, ten places ahead of me. They had won on the tie breaker. 

It was a bitter sweet ending. We had tied for first in state. We were second overall. 

As I ascended the steps toward the top of the podium, I heaved a sigh. I was even supposed to run in the meet. I was suppose to be the number eight runner and on that day I was the number six. Only four months earlier we weren't even supposed to be a top four team. We hadn't believed enough. No one had. When we finally realized, we fought. Just like Patty taught us. 

It was a perfect day. It was a great day to run and a great day to race. 

Ten Things.

Don't know why anyone would, but just to have some background here are just a few things about me...

one. I wear white v necks to race.

I don't really know how this all started. I just wanted to be different, but not all at once. And so I was labeled a hipster. So hipster and a runner. Alright, I can work with that. 

always rocking the v.

two. I wear technical shirts and scarves to work.

Ok. Not all the time, but in general. I rarely wear a tech shirt to run in. Only, if it happens to be on top of the pile. But, has to go with my outfit, but also not really go. I don't want it to look like I spent hours on my running outfit. I mean I am going to sweat in the thing. So all those race shirts? Ya, I wear them to work in. 

three. I don't match.

I try to coordinate, but more often than not it is a matter of not clashing. I try, but sometimes I just can't put the outfit together. But baby, I work it... Sort of. 

four. I don't wear socks.

Ok, partially a lie. I rarely wear socks. It is just one less thing to worry about. Yes, my shoes smell horrible. Yes, I get blisters and cuts and scrapes from running. And no, I don't care. The only time I will wear socks is: 12 miles or more, or 40 degrees or less. Simple rule. Less laundry. 

heaven. 

five. I read, like, all the time.

Always will you find me with a book in my bag, or in my car. I have probably 5-10 books in circulation at any given time. The only time I find this difficult is when there are similar story lines and I will confuse them. During the summer, I tone it down and will only overlap a book or two. Currently, I have a nearly 800 pager on my nightstand demanding my focus and attention.  

six. I struggle.

So does everyone right? It is difficult to admit to anyone let alone myself, but there is a constant battle over something going on in my mind. Whether it is running, work, money, writing, my jeans... You name it, I've thought about it. 

photo by Jon Jonkers. 

seven. Friday Night Lights, I want to live that. Sort of...

What Friday Night Lights taught me is find someone passionate. They are passionate about football. I am passionate about a lot of things, and you may not agree. But you are far more attractive if you are passionate about something. Clear eyes, full heart, can't lose. 

eight. I just found out I am gluten intolerant.

So, another struggle. I am slowly learning the ways of gluten and all of its habits. In the last three weeks of weening myself away from it (and adding a more colorful fruits and vegetable plate) I have drastically improved my running and my health. Hmm.. ponder, ponder. Hopefully I can share some recipes and things I find on the blog. How would you like that? 

nine. Warm tea, I still drink that on hot days.

How can you feel sad with a cup of warm tea and a good book? At the end of a long run, I have tea. Always. Even though it is currently 90 some odd degrees out. And just a half teaspoon of sugar please. 

ten. I am probably between the ages of 6 and 12 at all times.

Don't get me wrong, I know how to be responsible (for the most part) and adult like when needed. But I will sit down in the middle of the room, paper and crayons splayed everywhere, perfecting a masterpiece. Hopefully it will look good on my fridge. Oh to be back in simpler times. 

Maybe we will do a "ten things" or something kind of like it every month or so? A week, that would be too much information. 

Tell me a little bit about yourself! Inquiring minds want to know!

Camp. Don't Stop

Admittedly there are certain songs that may emit specific, detailed emotions and ties to memory. As I write this, "Don't Stop Believing" is playing over the store radio; I sit cross-legged on the floor as seemingly thousands of memories course through my mind. And all I really want to do is get up, dance and scream the lyrics at the top of my lungs.

Hundreds upon thousands of times I ahve listened to this song. It has been our go to song as either the entrance or exit to the camp skit. The song can wear on my for sure, when the Glee version. But give me the original Journey tune, and it is going to be hard to stop me.

bowling bellas. 2013

Whether it is Timm, attempting to tip the chair in his socks, or singing it with the Gig girls before the Ekiden relay, or even the race, I will always relate this song to camp.

I don't know if there are words to even describe the passion I ahve for this place. Every time I go back, I fall in love with running all over again. And this year it was definitely needed.

I won't say that this year was particularly easy for me. On the contrary, it was by far one of the most difficult I have ever experienced. And now I think I am getting ahead of myself and lumping my whole year into it, rather than just the week we spend at camp. I was way off all my times from the year before, I felt hopeless at times. But things sparked.

I owe a lot to camp and all those involved. They are my family. Too much did I compare my times to last year- or pictures. And how strange I looked, felt this year.

I felt old and out of place, but that is because I let people make me feel that way. I wrote before about how I sometimes need the encouragement behind me to help in my confidence, which leaves me open to criticism, a vulnerable position, but necessity to really understand yourself more fully.

Yes, I was older than most of the counselors, but that doesn't matter. Camp is not about being liked, popular or the coolest. It is about being you. And for some it is about creating and finding yourself. Enjoying your passion.
Cannot wait to go back. Every year I learn something new. Every year I get a little stronger. 

First.

So, what if we do something every month. Say talk about some of our firsts? And since this is a primarily running related blog, we can talk about those. What are some things you would like to talk about? Read?? Let me know!

My first ever ultra marathon. One day I would like to get back to it. I want to be free to run those miles once more. Or many times more. I have other running aspirations as well, but those are just pushed aside until I can once again be healthy. Today, though, I'll recount my first ultra. 

To say I never had any intention of running a marathon, let alone an ultra-marathon, is quite possibly the most extreme understatement one could possibly conjure. Never was in my plan. But those who know me know I am not exactly one for plans. Or rules.

A year ago, I was presented with the idea of running a marathon. Wonderstruck and smitten, I said, “Why the hell not?” Training went pretty well-injuries came and I stubbornly pushed; still making it to the finish after an extremely emotional 26.2 miles. Stating very matter-of-factly, “I will never do that again.” Only after a mandatory 20 minute thought provoking walk, did I change to “Let’s do this, better.”

I signed up for this ultra- marathon, TheBadger MountainChallenge 50k, in a less than emotionally stable mental state. Quite possibly rationalizing the sign-up. I needed something to focus on for a couple of months. And in all actuality it was to keep my mind off of other things. I needed something to keep me occupied. I needed to prove to myself I could do this, I would survive-live another day. And I could do it all on my own. This is not to say that any number of people tried to talk me out of it. They did. I was even told, “it would be impressive if I finished.” Fuel on the fire. But then again, those who know me, knew I would thrive from this competitive jab.

I trained. The majority of it on my own, letting my mind wander and slide through memories and future dreams as I climbed every hill I could think of in and around Spokane.

A relative “newbie” to any distance longer than 13.1, I tried to gather as much information and knowledge as I could. But a lot of things came down to trial and error, experimentation. What would work for me?

the morning of the race. 

Listening to others who had fared distances far exceeding my imagination and my own endeavors, I found a combination which would best suit me.

 Laying out checkpoints for myself in training led to that in the races as well. The week of the race itself was a trying one, to say the least. I let questions and doubts creep into my mind: Could I really do this? I almost quit. I almost just threw it all away, all the hard work, all the time, all the effort, all the emotions. I lost it mentally. And I needed to be fully able on all levels. My heart was in pain. I was not a quitter.

I did not want to put any expectation on myself. Really, I wanted to finish and not feel like absolute death. So, whatever I had to do. However, the largely competitive runner within me put some kinds of goals on the back burner-just in case.

The morning of the race could not have been more majestic and beautiful. Starting at the base of a hilly neighborhood, we were still high enough to see an orangey-pink sunrise over the city, smiling down upon our treacherous endeavor. I actually felt a rising happiness inside as I was about to embark. I had also never felt more alone even in a crowd of nearly seventy runners with varying degrees of wakefulness. But it was an ok feeling. Scary, but ok.

Instructions were laid out and not knowing the area or terrain ( at all!) I only really took to the “follow the green markers” as my guide. Don’t get lost.

Starting on the asphalted incline-some took off charging, while others just got moving. Again, reference the varying degrees of being awake. I was somewhere in the middle, knowing that I did not want to get stuck on the bottleneck of the trail. Unlike most of my races in the past, going out hard would most certainly make me pay dearly later. I had decided to stay within a certain pace on the uphills and that would save me. Or at least, I hoped. Rhythm, in the end, is what kept me going.

Having a full handheld, I smiled at the cheers and called out my number through the first aid station. I could see a small group of strung out runners ahead and there were a couple behind me even. But I was in a place called no-man’s land and I was perfectly fine with that. I had practiced that; letting my mind wander and roam as I traversed through the climbs and downfalls, guided by the little green flags, like breadcrumbs marking my trail.

I laugh now, but my strong suit is not downhills. Especially steep, rocky ones. And there were times I wish I had been watching myself, only to garner a laugh.

While I know that my mind did wander, it must have gone much farther than I though, because I do not remember a lot of the race, just getting into some kind of rhythmic run. I stopped caring about everything outside of me. I just moved forward, onward. The final major climb before my turn-around was difficult. The incline itself would prove to be taxing, but add in the steady, heavy sidewind-I was in for it.

One of my weakness as a runner has always been mental toughness. Let’s face it- as a person it has been difficult. And it has already been an extremely long year of testing that. Admittedly I had broken already on a few runs and workouts. And in a few life moments. And I was adding to the difficulty by doing this on my own. I could not break. I didn’t have anyone to pick me. I was not going to have anyone at the end to hold me if I broke down and cried. No one could be there, but me. It came down to simply telling myself I was tougher. And I did not allow myself to question it. Each step was that much closer.

At the halfway point aid station, I chatted and thanked the volunteers for everything. I did not stay long because I was actually on pace for one of my goals. The competitor in me was creeping up and growing stronger as the miles, piled on. No expectations, but it would be pretty cool…

Fueled with a bit of coca-cola, some m’n’ms and peanut butter, I was ready for my second 15.5 mile run of the day. Staying contained and within myself was going to be a key to finishing. I could not get crazy. Having done most of training at a much faster pace was falling into my benefit. I had strengthened myself in my own way, and I had found what was best for me. And all I could do was just keep going. Climbingg was taking its toll of course, but I kept telling myself that I was ok. Hitting sections of basalt rock with rough footing, I remembered a warning I had received back in December. Laughing I was blown off the course by the wind, only heightening the difficulty. I was again alone with no protection. It took some strength, but I powered through the gusts.

At this point, I broke down the remainder of the race by aid stations. I knew where they were and I just focused on each section. Checking in with myself, I continued the rhythm and the wandering.

Hitting the second to last aid station, I caught a woman about my age and we kept each other going-discussing previous races we had run. She laughed when I told her this was my first ultra. I told her she was awesome and that we’d see how I was doing in a couple of miles. Eventually we separated, but she would pass me later on, after an intense trial of my own. But she was the first person I ran with. And there was only nine miles left at this point. Reaching the second to last climb, I could feel myself reaching a breaking point. Mentally I had made some kind of misstep. I could not really tell you exactly what it was, but I could feel everything breaking down. The bricks and stones I had used to build the wall around myself, protecting myself, were cracking and slowly crumbling. I was letting things inside and get to me throughout the previous week. I couldn’t do that now; not if I wanted to finish. I felt a mirage form in front of me. Something I knew may happen, but didn’t want to. Well, who are we kidding; I did, but knew it wouldn’t be good for me. I fell into the mirage and followed it for a couple miles, feeling comfortable in the warmth of its presence. It spoke to me in soft words, never getting too personal, but trying to edge around touchy subjects. Finally, I realized I needed to guard my heart. That was the thing I needed to keep beating. I didn’t want to lose this mirage though. I wanted it to still be there at the end. I wanted it back. I would rather live in the uncomfortable knowing of that mirage than without it. 

running strong in my brooks cascadia.
blister free!

But I needed this for me. Not anyone or anything else. I dropped it. I got to the final aid station and pushed everything aside. Or tried to. I fought through the pain. I fought through the tears and finally I crossed the line. No one was there to hold me. No one was there to hug me. I found friendly faces, sure. But I was by myself. And that was a pretty ok place to be. Not ideal, and maybe not exactly what I want, but I was ok. I was going to be ok. I did it on my own. 

I would survive. I would live to see another day. I made it thirty one miles.

What’s next?

Race Recap: Hot Summer Nights #1

Alright, I wouldn't really call this a race for me, as cocky as that sounds. I am not ready mentally or physically to race. This is a test effort.

Or that is what I kept telling myself.

running is better with friends. 

I'm not ready to be racing. At least I didn't think I was. I'm not. I'm so far behind in shape... I don't know what shape they would even call me. And day to day it could be different. Consistency has been lacking and I am finally finishing a month of running. I have taken days off, but have been active in other ways on those days. So I've been in and out. No speed work, just runs. Hilly runs, yes, but just some running. Hopefully a half an hour at least. It depends on how my body feels.

I promised to run with a friend to help him try to break the major barrier of 20 minutes.

To be honest, I had no idea if I could even break twenty. I could at least get him through the first two miles, it was going to be that last one that would be a difficult one.

John and I at mile 1. 

Others even questioned if I could run it. Thanks, real nice support. Not looking for criticism. Just needed to believe I could run two miles.

Two miles. I could do that. Two miles. 6:26 per mile is break 20 minutes. Or really, it is right at 20. All I had to do was push. It was going to be hard, but that's what makes it worth it right?

That's something I had been lacking recently. Well more than recently, try the last year or so. Maybe just less. I forgot what it was like to run and feel running pain. The tough stuff, you know, the burning lungs, the labored breath, the lactic acid filling in your legs. That running hurts. Bad. But it is so good. It's pushing beyond the pain and into the ever-cliche euphoria of the beauty of running. The mixture of loneliness and companionship, the pain and the spirit, the agony and the achievement.

The crowd moved forward and I had to duck and weave between little kids and seasoned vets. My mind, though foggy and cobwebbed, felt familiar feelings, and so did my legs. The heavy and dead feeling quickly were thrown away as I forced myself to quicken. But instead of what I had once thought as quick, short strides, lots of times, I lengthened and floated, but quick, pretty. Or what I thought was pretty. It's how we used to run strides in high school, just run pretty. And then run fast. It was all the same. I went back. I went back to when it was simple, when I had fallen in love with all that is running. I went back to when I just enjoyed all of it. When it wasn't arduous or taxing. It just was.

Mile one passed and John asked me how we were doing. We were slow, but I said we were fine, and I started to pick it up. You always want to settle in that second mile, but it really should be attacked at least a little. Downhill mostly and I smiled my way past the water station. Afraid of knocking all the water off the table, I said thanks and kept going. John was dropping and I was trying to encourage and coax him to keep going, we could still break twenty, but we were going to have to work.

The third mile is uphill, so I trudged up, knowing John would be ok on his own. I pushed. I pushed and tried to keep my breath moving forward. Actually I was trying to remember to breathe. I talked to those around me, not trying to get into their heads, rather, stay out of mine! Trying not to over think.I got to the top of the hill and there was no way I would break twenty. Which at this time last year I would have already been finished. But that is ok. I'm ahead of where I was six months ago. And that is what matters, I am moving forward.

Racing to the finish line I felt speed I hadn't had for so long. I almost caught at least two more, but not quite. I didn't break twenty. No where close really, but I did better than I had expected, and the others too. If I go out a little quicker, who knows. I know I can run that far now. Looking back, I ran my last mile faster than my high school PR. So there is at least some hope.

There are still two more races. Two more chances. Two more test efforts.

Thank you to the Hot Summer Nights and Trifusion. You do so much for our sport!

Rain is a good thing...

Oh Luke Bryan... You make my heart sigh.

It is hard, as a runner who grew up in the Pacific Northwest, to not enjoy running in the rain.

There is a quiet slumber even throughout a whole day of rain. We curl up with blankets and hot chocolate and read to our hearts content. Wait, that's just me...

And that is post run.

During the run, there is so much to be felt, seen, heard. You could be on the busiest trail, or the most secluded road in town, and it is always just the same.

The earth literally breathes beneath your feet. The sounds of any other human life, from cars, to busses, to literally other people disappears as footfalls quicken and the fwip of spray coming off your worn rubber shoes

Today was just, perfect.

I had a teacher in high school, and English teacher, who taught us perfection is boring. But I think it depends on how you define perfection.

Is perfect everything falling into place? Or is perfect seeing the imperfection and embracing it?

Some would find a rainy day imperfect, it messes up plans, ruins picnics, trips to the beach. 

For me, it is the best time to run. 

Today, I ran, I floated, I felt. I finally felt something beyond pain. It was a beautiful, perfect kind of pain. I wore an oversized cotton T-shirt as the rain poured down from the sky, drenching the earth and overflowing into the streets. The earth quieted and all I felt was the breath it breathed as I felt the ground quickly racing beneath my feet. The fwip fwip was almost nonexistent as breath matched breath. No cars were heard, although seen as people sped through the raindrops to jobs awaiting. Rivers flowed through trees and bushes, and concrete barriers as it was overcome from the summer long drought we have had. We needed the rain. I needed the rain. To cleanse is the simplest of things a rainy day can do. My heart has been hidden, my feelings too deep, afraid to be shown. I had forgotten what they were. And finally it all came back. I wiped away more than sweat, more than rain from my ruddy cheeks, nearing the final stretch; a giant puddle the only thing in my way from the ascent to my home. The rain washed away dirt, pain, sweat, blood. So much. 

Rain cleanses deep, revealing the most beautiful of perfect imperfections. 

Wednesday Writers #1

I am still working the name out, but I would like to start showcasing some writing. From everyone. Some that I've done, some you've done, anything! And I know it is Thursday, but I didn't get it posted. Woop! This is something I've been working on lately. It is incomplete, but maybe you all can help! 

Enjoy. All critique is welcome!!!

WEDNESDAY

This morning was like any of her other mornings, but so different from your own. The garble came from just outside her bedroom door. Some mornings the hesitant thought of keeping her eyes shut for just five more minutes was all too appealing, but the blaring bolt from across the room brushed those aside like the Cheyenne winds sweeping the early fall reds, oranges and crispy yellows across the hills in late September.

Left, then a begrudging right hit the floor. She had mastered pouring coffee in the dark so as not to wake her roommate, who always had a knack of leaving her door open down the hallway. The trick was to use your other senses- right hand to pour while your left thumb was knuckle deep to trace the line, gauging the distance from brim to coffee, leaving you will a beautifully full mug.

Taking it straight just like her whisky, she plodded back to her room. Like other Wednesdays, really any day, she let her eyes adjust to the light of her desk lamp before turning on the others. However unlike her other mornings, deep thoughts began striding through her barely woken brain. Gearing up for what would seem a difficult race. None menacing or dangerous, but ones in which a hope and a sadness rose within her heart.

At rest, her heart beat no more than 39 per minute, scaring her once boyfriend into waking her mid dream to ensure her existence in reality was palpable. So strong, those beats ha been known to shake the bed on many an afternoon nap or weekend getaway. So deep and quiet and yet in a fully, hollow way, her breaths had barely moved her body in rest. Deathlike in her fitness.

But in work and awake, boy could she move.

Her heart was strong, but like any heart the strength bore a fragility, the surface too deep to know her reality. She was not false with anyone, only protective of the scars which had callused and regrown with time and patience; only known to her and maybe those who had caused them.

On this day, the thought running through her slowly caffeinated mind, tore slightly at those scars and played with her ever lacking confidence.

“Who else is doing exactly this?”

Certainly not her roommate who would awaken several hours into this woman’s detailed day. The roommate had only just gotten back in from a night of Tuesday Trivia.

The ones awake at this hour were not just the dedicated or the late night/ early morning party animals. No, they were the crazies, the dreamers, the doers, the movers and the shakers. They were fighting for their beliefs, their dreams, one morning at a time.

Some had these mornings easier than others. Natural ability and talent had been gifted to them, not always requiring the miles and extras of those with somewhat less ability. Their God given grace floated and carried naturally in their stride. Whereas this woman had spent hours, days, weeks, months, years in perfecting the effortless speed of the float and kick.

Today her sweat logged laces left the grease on her fingers and she left it there, another reminder known to few of the extremities of the miles and the heart that had been given and so easily taken by those trails, roads and rubber.

Still not yet springtime, the air was damp and icy, causing breath to condensate and blow whispy clouds above her head, quick and puffy at first, but within a mile or two, they began to become more uniform, slower in rising and rhythmically through her as she cantered down the darkened city streets. Light was just coming more quickly each day that passed, but only would she the full beacon of sun, nearly halfway through this morning’s run.

As a youth, routines had accrued which in turn just became habit. Her workouts shifted depending on the plan, but most plans had similar themes. Wednesdays had become a rest day of sorts. Over the years, mileage had gained but the goal of the day remained the same: relaxed, beautiful miles.

            AM: 45-60 minutes- No watch.

            PM: 45-60 minutes- No faster than 7:3 pace.

With no watch it became a guessing game, but over time her boy had adapted and learned to know length and pace-her own internal stopwatch.

She picked a favored route, a light dusting of snow, a sleepy reminder of the chill of night, would not slow her any. But she assuredly soaked in the quiet crunch of grasping snowflakes beneath her rubber soles.

The miles had worn the outsoles slicker than when new, but there were still routes to be run. There was a bit more left. There always was.

Many lights still not awaked, her foot falls the only sound on the slumbering south side of town.

As she neared the main street, one or two motors were heard in the distance. Those who hit the job early. Or on their way to class for just a few more minutes of study.

Turning right to head up the hill, the streetlight flickered above her. Maybe it sensed it too early to try anything overly active, only testing the waters.

 TBC.