To Run

The perfect morning.
I lace up my shoes and stretch in the kitchen as the morning sunlight blankets the wooden floor. It calls me. A new day. A fresh start. Better than a cup of steaming coffee. I am excited to meet the morning air. To run. To feel the sleepiness slide from my bones. I feel alive, invigorated. I can conquer the day. The birds are the only sound I hear. And my breathing. I fall into a steady rhythm against the pavement. My heart quickens as my blood begins to throb throughout my veins. I thank God for this new day, for a healthy body, for the ability to be free.
One mile.
I look at the houses that line the streets of my route. People I've never met, yet I feel as if I know them. This house has a young couple with a little boy. I pass the rope hanging from the tree to his secret hideout, the toy trucks strewn around the yard and the SUV in the driveway with the DVD player. The next house bakes the best Cinnamon rolls and bacon on Saturdays. The TV is always on in this yellow house, and nicotine briefly invades my fresh air. They stare at my sometimes as I run by, probably thinking, "There is that crazy runner again." Farther down the road the next house has the most beautiful garden in the spring. And this house has the three legged cat. I know these people. Do they recognize me?
Mile two.
I pass a teenage girl wearing cut off shorts, a black hoodie and hot pink flip flops. Her eyes seem hollow as she gossips on her cell phone. Who is she talking to at this early hour? I think about ten years ago, when I was 17. In some ways it seems like two years ago. In some ways it seems like I was giggling uncontrollably in my girlfriend's car, dancing to Backstreet Boys and shrieking at a jeep packed with cute guys. I'm glad that was 10 years ago, but how I wish I could laugh like that again.
Mile three.
I make a to-do list. The baby shower gift that needs to be bought. The laundry that sits in the machine. The weeds that invade the yard. I need to unload the dishwasher, vacuum up the cat fur balls, return my book to the library. What will I cook for dinner tonight? Do I have any cayenne pepper left? Is there only brown rice in the cabinet or do we have white rice too?
Mile four.
I pass a mother with a baby sleeping in the stroller, holding on to a packet of Ritz crackers. Is the baby hungry, or did the mother give it to him to help him stay content while she got in her workout? What a pain it would be to jog with a stroller! People say babies make you unselfish. Perhaps if I had a child I wouldn't care about pushing a stroller while I ran. Perhaps I wouldn't care about running! Do you lose a sense of who you are when you have a child? What about two children? Or three? Do you just become "a mom?" That scares me. I push the thought away, but something still in the back of my heart knows that it is something I think I might like to do someday.
Mile five.
I love summer. I want to bottle up this moment. I feel inspired. I want to read books this summer. I want to write more. I want to enjoy my friends and make my house even more into a home. I want to call my Grandmother more and write a letter to my cousin. My clothes need organizing and my photos put into albums. I want to run in the mornings. And then drink my banana blueberry smoothie and pet my cat.
Mile six.
I turn onto the final leg of my run. I push myself. I sprint down the deserted road. Faster. Faster. My stomach muscles tighten. My legs scream, but the pain is release. Nothing holding me back. Finish strong is what my Dad used to tell me. I can fly. I can conquer anything that comes my way. Tears slide down my cheek. The blood pulses in my head. Three....two...one. And just as suddenly as I started, I stop. I walk with a sense of accomplishment. I feel purified and renewed.
A perfect morning.
I wonder if I have any frozen blueberries left for my smoothie...