Miles To Go

 Over the weekend, I ran some fifteen miles. Averaging more than five miles a day, I had time to consider a few things. 

First, the shelter in place thing has done a world of good for my physical well-being. All this time that I have been stuck with little or nothing to do has had a very positive effect on many facets of my character. I have been surprised how comparatively little television I have watched. Instead of couch surfing, I have found myself out in the yard, clipping watering and cutting whatever seems to need it most. Instead of staring blankly at reruns of Super Bowls past, I have been exercising. This trend is no doubt connected to the mission I undertook somewhere back in the beginning of all this mess to try and shrink my ever-expanding frame. Well, the frame was pretty much the same, I was just lugging around twenty or thirty extra pounds on that chassis, and voices in some quarters suggested that perhaps I could pay a little more attention to the extra luggage I was carrying around. 

These days I find myself going out the gate and onto the street without a set plan about how far I might go. For so long I have been dedicated to what I have lovingly referred to as "maintenance runs." Two and a half miles, then back to the house to settle in for whatever the day might bring. This past Friday morning, I went up the hill and found myself remembering my late bachelor period. Back when I was young and strong, but also without an agenda. I might run across town, then up into the foothills on the edge of Boulder. If I was gone for an hour or more, there was no one to notice I was gone. It could have been days before someone knocked on my door, wondering where the rent was. Or called to see why I hadn't showed up for work. Run Forrest, run. 

When I moved to California, I kept the habit of running. Hard to shake something that I've been doing for nearly forty years now. But there were other things on my plate now: wife, then kid, and career. And a house that seemed to always have some project going on inside or out. That Friday when I was approaching mile four, I considered cutting back and bringing the show to an end. 

But I felt good. I felt like I had a couple more miles in me. And I did. Another three. When I did come chugging back into the driveway, I had run nearly seven miles. More than the ten kilometres I used to run in those sponsored races once a year. Twice as much as I had been doing for maintenance. These were not land speed records, mind you. I wasn't ready to double down on that distance again.

And yet, the next morning, I got up and ran another five. Then I trimmed the branches from the neighbor's juniper tree that had crept out over our yard. 

It felt good. 

Then I went inside to check my email.