Running at Dawn

The pounding of my running shoes was the only sound in the still dawn, until I heard the beeping. I ran towards it, unable to find the source, knowing only that the shrill noise had knocked me off my stride.

In my confusion, I tripped over a crack in the street, but before I could hit the ground, I was swimming through murky black towards the noise that got louder and louder.

Until.

I snapped into consciousness and fumbled for my alarm in the dark, eyes still closed. 

Dreaming, I realized, incredibly disappointed to find that I was still in bed and hadn't, in fact, gone for my run yet. But now it was time.

The three miles looming ahead of me might as well have been three hundred for how insurmountable it seemed as I struggled to unravel myself from the toasty tangle of blankets.

My desperation to reset the alarm and sleep another hour bordered on painful, and even as I swung my legs over the side of the bed, I bargained with myself. I could sleep this morning and run tomorrow. I could run Wednesday and Friday instead of Tuesday and Thursday. But even in my exhaustion I knew that argument was a slippery slope. With a marathon looming in the distance, routine was critical.

Up, I ordered myself.

Get dressed.

With an ease born from many mornings picking my way through a pitch black bedroom, I pulled on the running clothes I had laid out the night before.

With a last longing look at my bed piled with pillows and my still-sleeping husband, I left the room.

I floated down the stairs in a cloud of exhaustion and laced up the running shoes that I left right in front of the door. When one gets up before the sun, it is best to leave little to chance.

The street was silent, all the windows still dark as I began to run.

My legs were heavy with fatigue, and my lungs burned as I breathed in the frigid winter air. I fought for every step as I slogged my way through the miles.

I huffed and puffed up the hills, thinking of a hot shower. Hot coffee. More sleep.

Strange pains pricked my knees, shins and feet and I wondered why I subjected myself to this cruel early-morning torture three times a week. I thought how exhausted I would be all day long, and cursed my job for its long hours, leaving me no choice but to run at this ungodly hour of the morning.

But as I rounded the corner towards home, I saw the sun, a brilliant ball of fire, rising in the sky. Wild bursts of color dotted the horizon. Alone on the still quiet street, I stopped for a second to watch, my fatigue slowly draining away.

I felt strong. Powerful. Fierce.

I am a runner.

And a voice inside my head whispered, "this is why."

I ran the last few yards to my house, ready to face the day.