I should’ve knocked on wood when I saw the 10-day weather forecast last week. All 60’s and 70’s and one day with a chance of rain. My running legs were itching to get back on track with the horrible weather we’ve had as of late. But then the flu laid it’s bacterial smackdown upon me, and I went the entire week without witnessing the weather’s beauty, as I was stuck in the confines of my germ-infested couch as I coughed my life away and prayed for my misery to end.
On Friday, I laced up my shoes, stretched some of the illness out of my tight muscles, and set out for my run, which was nothing short of a rebirth on pavement. My legs ached to get moving, but ached because they were moving.
Hello, blue sky.
Hello, unseasonably warm February air, with a hint of Spring in your scent.
Hello, grit under my shoes.
As I rounded a couple corners, not pushing too hard, just keeping an even pace, I felt alive again. This run wasn’t about speed, or endurance, or anything but becoming reacquainted again; with the road, with running, with breathing without hacking up a lung, with fitness after five days of nothingness. This run was about vindication, about celebration, about recovery, rediscovery, and renewal.
Hello, sweat, as you trickle into my eyes and hover dangerously off the cliff of my upper lip.
Hello, wind at my face.
Hello, sun, although setting, your heat fills me with a happiness I can’t begin to put into words.
I am grateful for another week of beautiful, Spring-like weather. And you’d better be sure I’m knocking on wood this time.
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