Yesterday morning's run was hazy and freakishly warm. 50 degrees at 5 a.m. with a soft fog everywhere. I overdressed because it's difficult to get out of the habit of bundling up. When the sun came up I was overwhelmed by lovliness. I happened to be running along the Mystic River, which was wispy and grey. We still don't have leaves on the trees, but the daffodils are blooming. Against the gray water, gray sky, gray trees and gray rock walls the daffodils lit up like torches. The forsythia, too. Bright yellow beacons of the coming spring. The osprey in her high platform nest warned the dogs and me away. It was an eerie kind of screeching from this bird flying pendulums above us in and out of the fog.
Much as I would like to go back out this morning, I'm not going to. My running life is mostly scheduled around my homeschooling life. Today the kids have a 2-hour farm class after lunch, which gives me a 2-hour running window. Normally I would run or swim in the morning and then do the 2-hour run in the afternoon. No brainer. Just go.
But why? Why not stay in this morning and do something else? Blog, write in my journal, make tracks in War and Peace. Two hours of running on a Thursday should be enough. What is this incessant need to get out and run at every available moment?
I just love running. I am going to miss it this morning. But I'm not going.