Tag Archives: running

5.2 miles on December 22

Today in the park, I thought about the following things: pigeons, carrier pigeons, sunlight, reflective surfaces, seafaring, and coffee.

I have not been sleeping well as of late. Or rather, I have been falling asleep late. Later than usual. It was 245am when I looked at the clock last this morning and then 6:34am when I heard my alarm through the layers of sleep that had accumulated like cotton in my brain. Since I am strange in the morning, obsessively checking the weather and now the sunrise, it might not surprise you to know that I try to leave my house by 6:45am exactly. Otherwise, I allow myself four more minutes, but it is a fitful rest.

In any case, this is all to say that my run this morning was done on 3 hours of sleep, and although there was a certain charm to being so tired and simultaneously so alert and cold, it was a charm that perhaps I could do without for the most part.

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5.2 miles on December 21

The sort of research I do each morning is distinctly weather-related. Today, however, I was up before dawn, and I wanted to know by how much. Did you know that the sunrise currently occurs at 7:16am? For an early riser, this seemed luxuriously late, a small salve to assuage the gloom of a 4:31pm sunset.

In any case, I ran to the park in the dark, leaping over treacherous piles of snow and slush, anxiously watching the sky for any sign of color.

I arrived at the park to find the snow glowing in the light of the lamps that line the central path. It was unbelievably beautiful. I rounded the corner past the hill only to be faced with the lake, the sky, and geese rising and falling off the water. I imagined myself to be a character in a High Romantic poem. I scanned the sky for the sun, but it was just like a reverse sunset, all purple and orange bruises above the treeline.

Emerging at the head of the park, I finally saw the orb of the sun glowing behind the distant ring of trees. I slowed and then stopped to watch the sky fill with light. An elderly woman stopped beside me and we had the sort of conversation I have in my head all the time:

“It’s so beautiful.”

“Yes.”

“I’m so happy to be here.”

4.5 miles on December 12

I ran this morning without my hat and gloves and found myself unexpectedly warm. I had so accustomed myself to the onset of winter that this last gasp of relative comfort outdoors left me surprised and grateful.