On Tuesdays, before the sun, I run.
I repeated this little ditty as I crawled from my warm bed this morning, found my exercise clothes, pulled back my hair into a ponytail.
On Tuesdays, before the sun, I run.
I run three times a week, and once a week it is in the dark of morning.
On Tuesdays, before the sun, I run.
Lace up my shoes, get out the door...don't forget the reflective vest, the bright white sweatshirt. Running in the dark! It makes me feel, all at once, both adult and child - giddy and yet responsible, alert, aware.
On Tuesdays, before the sun, I run.
Today it is cold, it is cold, it is cold...I am running before I even leave my driveway... only in the low 40s, my first cold running day in a long while... thin gloves and fleece headband much-needed...I try to convince myself: it's not bad, not bad, not bad. Maybe even invigorating?
On Tuesdays, before the sun, I run.
I am grateful for my quiet neighborhood, though I would love to see a few more folks out. Where are all the dog-walkers? I suppose they are dog-backyarders at this hour?
On Tuesdays, before the sun, I run.
Where are the stars? My last early morning run, the sky was awash in stars, clear with constellations, bright and comforting. Today, ah, nothing but clouds, yet still comforting - the sky is a blanket of grey-white-blue-black.
On Tuesdays, before the sun, I run.
Tuesdays, Fridays, Sundays,
Tuesdays, Fridays, Sundays,
Tuesdays, Fridays, Sundays,
on and on,
one after another.
One year! Woohoo! One year!
On Tuesdays, before the sun, I run.
