I just moved to a new town. At first I was scared that my running would be disrupted. How could I find a loop that was as perfect as my old one, the route I had been running for years, past a brook and through beautiful farmland. It took a while but I finally discovered a new run, a five mile loop that follows a dirt road now closed to traffic because of the winter. I see a hawk nearly everyday and the terrain is just perfect, part trail and part pavement. Now I realize that I can always find a perfect place to run, wherever I move.
I had been sick for two weeks, two weeks without running and the first few days back were difficult. But it was this day, as I crested a small hill in southwest Massachusetts, near the Connecticut border, that I remembered why I ran. The air filled my lungs and the road spread out before me. The steady rhythm of my footfalls lured me into a meditative state and the music kept me going.
I was back, I was running, I was alive.