NOTE: I feel rather introspective today since the temps around here are perfect running weather for--I don't know--only an abominable snowman. Let's see how I do with being serious:
My middle school cross-country coach used to bike along side us during our warm up and then subsequently subject us to quarter sprints. I am not built to be a sprinter, even at 12 years old I recognized this fact. I would groan under my breath and mutter to myself,
The winter brings not only the frigged cold to the frozen tundra, it brings the long, dark nights. It tests my resolve in strength, and I pull out my mantra from many years ago. If I dig down deep enough, I can make my mind will away the cold, but I can not create light.
Bundle up in layers, throw on my gaudy reflective shirt on top, and take to the streets.
And on that rare evening when the winter sky is clear and a beautiful full moon is out I find my contentment. The daylight is gone, but the moonlight is alive. It does not warm like the suns rays, but it illuminates bouncing off the snow covered ground.
I wander down pathways and main streets that are alive in the summer with pedestrians, but near silent in the winter. Only the headlights of passing vehicles join in the moonlight.
Five miles, that is all I need this evening. Five miles in the night.
My checks are chapped. My thighs are most likely a bright red under my running tights. The temps are now in the low single digits.
I hit my halfway point and turn back. The moon illuminates the icy patches and I do my best to navigate around them. It is so bright tonight, much better than the street lamps.
I have no sarcastic musings, no deep profound thoughts. Just a girl running in the freezing cold in the light of the moon.
ENDNOTE: This being serious stuff is hard work. How does Anderson Cooper keep a straight face night in and night out?
My middle school cross-country coach used to bike along side us during our warm up and then subsequently subject us to quarter sprints. I am not built to be a sprinter, even at 12 years old I recognized this fact. I would groan under my breath and mutter to myself,
"That which does not kill me will only make me stronger."
The winter brings not only the frigged cold to the frozen tundra, it brings the long, dark nights. It tests my resolve in strength, and I pull out my mantra from many years ago. If I dig down deep enough, I can make my mind will away the cold, but I can not create light.
Bundle up in layers, throw on my gaudy reflective shirt on top, and take to the streets.
And on that rare evening when the winter sky is clear and a beautiful full moon is out I find my contentment. The daylight is gone, but the moonlight is alive. It does not warm like the suns rays, but it illuminates bouncing off the snow covered ground.
I wander down pathways and main streets that are alive in the summer with pedestrians, but near silent in the winter. Only the headlights of passing vehicles join in the moonlight.
Five miles, that is all I need this evening. Five miles in the night.
My checks are chapped. My thighs are most likely a bright red under my running tights. The temps are now in the low single digits.
I hit my halfway point and turn back. The moon illuminates the icy patches and I do my best to navigate around them. It is so bright tonight, much better than the street lamps.
I have no sarcastic musings, no deep profound thoughts. Just a girl running in the freezing cold in the light of the moon.
The Freedom of the Moon by Robert FrostI've tried the new moon tilted in the air
Above a hazy tree-and-farmhouse cluster
As you might try a jewel in your hair.
I've tried it fine with little breadth of luster,
Alone, or in one ornament combining
With one first-water start almost shining.
I put it shining anywhere I please.
By walking slowly on some evening later,
I've pulled it from a crate of crooked trees,
And brought it over glossy water, greater,
And dropped it in, and seen the image wallow,
The color run, all sorts of wonder follow.
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