This whole summer has been a constant battle between my body and my mind. I want to get up and run, to get into shape, to be healthier than I am. But then the other side of my brain kicks in, and I dismiss the thought of running with a lazy wave of my hand. Then the next day I wake up with the nagging thought of running again, but yet again I dismiss the thought.
Finally, today, I got up and did it. I got up and got dressed and went running. I've went a couple of times before this, but my record of running is scattered throughout the summer like a fallen deck of cards.
But this morning made up for that.
The city is at its best in the morning.
After the night has swept through and cleared it of its haze and grime and dirt. Everything is fresher, and I could actually smell pine as I ran past houses of all types. I passed several people driving to work, but mostly the world was still sleeping. Or at least our little neighborhood was. Out on the main road I could hear cars zooming back and forth as always. Those cars never stop. If I live to see a day of silent roads in Southern California, I will wonder why I'm still alive.
I ran past perfectly groomed gardens and wilting lawns. I ran past yards filled with toys and a forgotten teddy bear. I ran past house after house after house until they all blurred together into one streak of beige.
When I came to our street I pushed myself to a sprint and arrived, panting, at our door.
I pulled out my iPod to see how far I had gone, thinking it must have been a ways. At least the panting in my lungs seemed to think so.
But, what? I had only gone 1.54 miles? How could this be?
So I promptly did push-ups and sit-ups and wall sits and burpees until my muscles burned, and then I felt better about only running a mile and a half.
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