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.