Day 539: Get Higher

Mile zero: A hint of light has crept in. Before 5 am the first rays of the sun just barely light the sky as it rises. I am quiet in my bed, rubbing my feet lightly together under soft covers. This snuggling up with my covers has got to be some sort of meditation that I am doing before the alarms go off. Blaring. Louder now. It's time.

I am dressing in the dark. My clothes feel scratchy against my skin compared to the soft bed sheets. Part of me longs to go back to the bed and lie there till the sky is filled up with light. But the other half would hate myself for being so lazy at 5am on a Wednesday morning. I am dressed. My CamelBak is full. I am going. 

Mile one: It's no longer cold outside in the morning. The earth has rotated and now it is 75 degrees or hotter before sunrise. Beads of sweat stream my face as I clock in mile one. But it’s okay because my legs are springy. They and I are ready for morning miles turned in before most people eat their first meal of the day.

Mile two: Downhill. The coiling and uncoiling beneath me as I hold my breath steady. Inhale strong through my nose. Lungs full of air. Exhale through the mouth. Just like when I do yoga and when I climb. I am strong today. I feel my core contracting and pushing as my legs pump out a going-too-fast-gonna-tumble-over, kid-like rhythm beneath me. I have always loved the downhill. Downhill for me is the last doughnut in the box. I should know better, but some days I just don't care.

Mile three: Dawn is finally here with me, as constant and expected as my shadow. The sun is done tip-toeing around the horizon and is rising steadily now. I feel the heat rising, as the humidity brings bead after bead of sweat down my face. I wipe my nose and tell myself to stop complaining. The river glistens as the rowers move in unison. I watch them, but I can’t make out the coach’s words over the mega-phone. I pretend he is saying, “One foot in front of the other” over and over again. I pretend that bull horn is speaking for me and I charge up to the Lincoln.

I’ve been in DC for about 4 years now, but the only thing I really love is the monuments. For too long, I’ve watched partisan politics destroy my naïve concept of how good government should be and have seen too many good initiatives fail. I can happily tell you that I stopped reading the news this year. I’ve given up on DC. But for right now, I’ll take what I can from this run around the monuments and enjoy the quiet morning air.

Mile four and five: The Mall. I may not love DC, but I love this running route. Early in the morning before people are awake, let alone out and about, the city is quiet. And in that quiet, it is a beautiful place to be. When Georgetown is empty, save for the street sweepers and taxicabs. When the National Mall is not plagued by tourists and black sedans with tinted windows. Before the cannons go off at Arlington Cemetery, and the only thing to be heard is the wind moving the grass around loved ones passed. I am moved by the silence of this place of great history and the dedication of those who gave their lives serving our country and all of its ideals. The only other people on the streets right now are runners and cyclists and I wonder if they think the same things on their morning workout.

Mile six: The sun is edging its way above the cloud line. My thoughts turn to the swarm of females running the stairs at the National Gallery of Art. This strikes me as immensely funny; ladies of every shape in all kinds of different stylish clothing, moving at all different speeds up and down these stairs. What’s even funnier is how fast your brain switches thought processes. As I think about these ladies, my mind wanders over to a topic I get asked about all the time: why do I like running? It’s a valid question seeing how much I love running, but at the same time it’s almost impossible to explain. I have several go-to metaphors (like food, cheese, sleep, etc) to try and explain to others why and just how deep my love for the long run goes. Because this love runs very very deep into the core of who I am.

Mile eight: Why do I love running? Because it fills up every void, it completes every ‘almost there’ feeling; it makes me feel accomplished and successful. Running makes me happy. “Why?” “How?” And “You’re nuts” usually follow that explanation, but it’s the best I got. Running makes me feel confident about who I am. It makes even the worst of worst days better. It gives me the sense of purpose other people spend their entire lives trying to find.

Mile nine: Next question: Can I make you love running like I do? No. But I can tell you why I love it, help you understand all of the amazing benefits I’ve gleaned from it, run along side you when you get tired and frustrated, and tell you how awesome you’re doing when you feel like you’re gonna die? Absolutely. Then maybe, if you’re lucky and if you stick with it, you’ll hit that runner’s high and you’ll completely get what I mean.

I smile while reveling in these thoughts, because it just affirms everything out there in my future. My newest goal? I’m going to get my Road Runners Club of America coaching certification. Being a running coach, helping people feel that love for running, and sharing that with others is the best kind of job I can think of doing. I am happy with that and pick up the pace as I pass the ball fields on my right and the Potomac on my left. Contentment is that I can run for hours in the dim rising light of the morning and that makes everything all right with me.

Mile ten: Memorial Bridge. The sun is chasing me home now. The hotter it gets, the faster I want to go. It’s not that I want to end my run, but that I don’t want to be caught in the humid wave that will flow over me in about 25 more minutes if I’m still out here. The sun driving me forward with it’s whip lashing at my back. I close my eyes for a minute with the planes from Regan overhead. Breathe. Keep calm and carry on. I am learning.

Last mile: Iwo Jima means going home. I take solace in the fact that the love I have for my legs and feet will power me through the end of this run. I remind my body that this is not time for a power down jog, but in fact it is time to gut it out, suck it up and finish strong. I am made of steel. I am a machine. There is nothing that can touch my last mile that I’ll clock in in under 7 minutes uphill. I am strong as I let it all out, like tears held back for too long. In a fleeting moment I realize that I am the end and the beginning and then without much warning I sprint the last 200 feet home.

The end: My lungs are burning. My feet are slightly numb. My legs feel like lead. My hands are puffy. My eyes are filled with that familiar salty sweat. I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the glass. Some people may see me and my 11 mile morning run as crazy, gross, sweaty, and a big mess, but all I see is me, and I am happy in my sweaty skin. It has taken me 25 years to find home, but I have and it's right here in these beat up running shoes.