The weather was reasonable. Not warm by any standards, but for a February day in Northeast Ohio it was tolerable. A slight breeze whipped through campus, but it wasn’t enough to deter me.
I had an hour and half before I had to be back in the newsroom. Plenty of time for a run.
Every run begins differently for me. On some days, my legs feel strong. Energy pent up through the day flows through my body. I am invincible. I can run for miles. Those are the best days.
Other days, my body screams in protest like a young boy who didn’t get his nap. I run for miles before the cranky child settles. Those days are the worst.
Today though, it’s neither. My body is indifferent to my decision to run. It takes a little coxing to get my legs moving. “Just a short run,” I tell myself.
A mile into my run the cold starts to invade. My breath billows out in front of me like a steam engine. My stride and breathing sound mechanical, a train chugging through the snowy suburbs. My arms work back and forth like pistons, driving my legs forward.
“Haaaa.” Thump. Thump.
“Haaaa.” Thump. Thump.
Cars rush by. Their exhaust mingles with the cold, clear air I had been filling my lungs with. Fast food restaurants across the street send the odor of cheap greasy tacos and hamburgers into the mix. The smell is nauseating. But I run through it.
I’m nearing the end of a gradual downhill slope. I’ve run this route before. My body knows what approaches. The muscles in my legs tighten, bearing down for the war.
“Not yet,” I tell my legs. “Just a little farther.”
I turn the corner. The hill ahead stretches a third of a mile and a hundred feet into the sky.
“Time to go, let’s go! Attack the hill!”
I’m no longer speaking to myself. My voice is barely heard over the cars rushing by. Still, my body hears the command.
My ascent begins. My pace quickens. The pistons driving my legs swing faster.
“Come on! Keep going! Attack!”
The hill steepens as if to drive off the attack. I drive harder. My breath now trails behind me, temporarily leaving a trail.
I’m now running at full speed. The hill seems to ascend straight up. After turning a corner I can see the summit.
And then the ice comes.
Northeast Ohio is not forgiving in the winter, especially to runners. Patches of ice cover the sidewalk. My strides quickly become evasive maneuvers, avoiding the slippery surface.
Finally I reach the top. As I slow down to a normal job, my breath still billowing out like the smoke from a steam engine. An engine slowing down, coming to a stop.
you are such a writer, this is good stuff!
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