[Thoughts from the perspective of it being 6:30am on a Saturday morning]
You would think because it's Saturday I would take my time getting out the door for an easy effort 6 miles. Drink my coffee. Eat breakfast. Leisurely put one shoe on at a time. I might even wait until it is light out.
Well, sometimes that can happen on Saturday mornings, but my kid is full of ambition and needs to be at work by 8:15am. I guess I could run after I drop him off, but by that time the other youngsters will be rolling out of bed wrapped in fuzzy blankets or robes and with right expectation that my lap will be available to lounge in and gaze out the living room window at the harshly packed cold drifting snow.
Anyway I'm awake now and I have an hour to pack in the miles so it's out the door.
The miles are easy effort, but which is not the same as no effort. The running part is easy, but the sharp wind that smacks my face is brutal. I've got work twice as hard to go half as far on mornings like this. I'm sure the people driving cars recognize I must be nuts or something. Maybe they mutter under their breath,"crazy runner."
Yeah, maybe I'm a little crazy to spend a perfectly good winter Saturday morning outside running, but I always come back to what a gift it is to be able to move. Especially after last week's bout with COVID and getting couped up in my room for a few days.
This is the season that running really builds character.
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