Yesterday was my first outdoor run of the season. I went barely three miles and ran most of the way.
Like a fool, I thought I'd be able to do the same run today. I need a day, maybe two, to recover. My recovery strategy: go up and down the stairs as few times as possible.
A month and a half ago while on my way to Phoenix, I drove past a girl in southern Utah running maybe four feet away from gorgeous red rocks. Being behind the driver's seat in an empty part of the state on a long sort of drive, I wistfully pondered the loveliness of running beside red rock every day.
I am embarrassed to admit how long it took me to remember that while I might not have red rock to run beside, I have a beautiful canyon. I suppose sometime during all those years of riding my bike, long board, or feet up and down those canyon paths I forgot how wondrously lucky I am to live right next to it.
I consider my run yesterday to be the most beautiful run I've been on yet. Surprisingly, this has very little to do with my realization of several weeks ago. It was beautiful because I ran outside for the first time in months instead of trudging through my miles on the treadmill. Also because it was perfectly sunny outside and while I was glad for my long-sleeves at the beginning of the run, by the end I wished I had worn short sleeves. The canyon, too, was beautiful, but when I think about my run yesterday that's not what I remember. I remember the sun and the fresh air and looking down at my legs pushing forward step after step after step.
I am inordinately pleased with myself. I went on a run. In February. Outside. And, I've got two more canyon runs already lined up for later this week.
Runs like yesterday were how I ended the season in the fall of 2012. This is why I love running: if you do it, you can't help but get better.
Which is true of most things in life. Make time and do it. You, more than anyone, will be surprised by the results.
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