I awake with stiff legs from yesterday’s miles and from last night’s immobility.
My first thought every single day is something along the lines of “This morning’s run is going to be difficult.”
Already I feel apprehension, yet I arise, knowing that movement is the cure. Through the morning routine I flow.
The sun is not up, but through the trees it teases us with waves of orange, blue, and red. As I step out through the threshold, there is a chill in the air. No wind touches my face, yet the cold air soaks through my clothing.
Autumn in South Dakota has taught me many things about being cold. Chiefly, and ironically, that it’s never as cold outside as I think it is looking out through the windows.
I also know that movement is the best way to keep the cold at bay. As I run, the negative thoughts recede and I am taken over by the flow of the run.
All mortal thoughts and feelings have disappeared. My feet barely touch the ground. The air disappears as I no longer feel its resistance and my lungs no longer require its use. I’ve transcended, if only for a few miles, to something not of this Earth. I no longer experience suffering, resistance, or even happiness.
I simply experience the flow.