But then here, a few days before the Autumnal equinox, I feel the air break. Suddenly, I am lighter. Unburdened, I can almost taste fall--dry leaves, brisk air, and wind. Unexpectedly, like a summer storm, it embraces me--the magic run; the endorphin fix I've been waiting for.
For sure, it is a temporary band aid for this forever healing wound. Only to be ripped off each day from the stress and the toil of the work day. It is a bandage that I willing reapply at the end of the day-- and sometimes in the morning too. A prophy-lactic acid fix.
It is the best part of the day.
After that double book-ended crawl on Johnson's Ferry, peeling off my work clothes and replacing my heels with light weight trainers I bolt out the door the same way I use to when I was 9: just off the school bus and running down the road to meet my friends and roam the neighborhood.
Now, I chase the sun. Catching the last bit of daylight before all the colors turn to dark and stars and glowy moon. The temperature and the humidity drop and I feel like finally, I can breathe. So I drop the pace and go for breathless, rushing home to my family, a better person.
9 miles. It fixed the day.
And I just wanted to say that I am still here.
Putting one foot in front of the other with relentless, forward motion.