About 2 weeks ago, I was able to finally run again after NINE weeks on the sideline with a stress fracture. With new-found patience, I have been taking it relatively slow and steady in getting back some fitness. Easy pace, all my miles on the trail, no watch, no workouts. One problem = no fun.
The first few days were great - even my 11 minute run was a blessing - the sore muscles, the labored breathing, plenty of sweat. The novelty wore off after a couple of days and I just couldn't get motivated. Weather in the 90s, humidity like a swamp, the same old routes, the same faces on the running trail...physically, I was improving - mentally, bored to death.
Until last week.
Likely one of the most storied running routes in America, Magnolia Road -- 'Mags' to those who know -- about 15 minutes down Canyon on the West side of Boulder.
6:00pm. Perched 8200 feet above sea-level - the sleepy sun was cracking a deep red on the Flatirons, the chill made me wish I had a pair of gloves, and all I could see was the crests of the dozens of hills that lay ahead. Save for a few mustangs, not a soul in sight. An hour into the run, eight Kenyans come blitzing behind me...quickly. They pass me as fast as they appeared. A blur of efficiency.
Near dark, and near the finish - it all came back to me - the spectrum of reasons and excuses why I run. I think back to when I started running: the leaf-covered mazes of Forest Park in Queens, the snowy loops of Central Park, the brisk wind snapping across the Reservoir in the lights of the NYC skyline, and the furnace of dry air at The Armory. It all rushes back in a matter of minutes and reminds me of where I started - and it gives me a hint of where I am going...
Happy Miles.
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