When my alarm went off to run this morning the first thing I heard was the sound of the rain beating down on the air conditioner outside of our window. Something you may or may not know is that I really like running in the elements. Rain, snow, heat, cold, I love them all. So it was not the sound of the rain that made me re-think getting out of bed this morning. Instead, it was my complete and utter exhaustion, and lack of sleep last night.
But, thinking ahead to our big move in less than two weeks, and knowing that my morning runs in Central Park are numbered, I dragged myself out of bed and to the park. By the time I got there, there was a break in the rain, and I paused at the top of the hill off of 72nd street just to look for a second.
Usually by 7am, the park is crowded with runners and bikers, but not this morning. Because of the rain, the park was still quiet, and as empty as I have ever seen it. So for a minute, I stood at the top of the hill, taking in the rain-soaked road and steely sky. I thought that there was something vaguely mysterious about the shot above. The park that I know so well, seen in a different light (and through the filter of my super cool new photo editing app).
I wish I could say that this morning's run through a park shrouded in clouds and mist was a Good Run. One of those transcendental experiences where I feel like I could run forever. It wasn't. It was actually a very, very Bad Run. One of those runs where I feel like I weigh 500 pounds, can't breathe, and can't wait for it to be over.
But actually, this morning the Bad Run was ok with me. Good Runs, Bad Runs, we've been through a lot, this park and I. And for a few more days, I'll take whatever I can get, before it's time to say good-bye.