My alarm this morning was the sweet insistent warbles, trills and tweets of all manner of ornithology outside my window. I lingered in bed, drifting in the lilts and tweedles for a bit before sliding my legs off the side of the bed and reaching for my running togs. I laid them out last night knowing I would start today with a run.
I put in my contact lenses, sipped a bit of water and slipped my feet into an old pair of speedo flip flops. I strode down the laneway, slid out of the speedo’s and felt the asphalt against my soul.
The run was sweet, the entire 7km route filled with birdsong which floated like silk ribbons around me. The smell of warm earth and the sighs of breathing fields collected in my chest. Crows mentioned my passing, woodpeckers tapped my footfalls, lambspeak engaged me in brief joyful conversation. The chickadees tweaked their usual melody, calling to me as I passed “chick-a-wen-dy-dy-dy-dy”.
The sun slowly climbed the sky. Hazy and paling from the intense corals it was on the horizon when I stepped out of the house, its early morning heat making promise of another beautiful beach day.
The pavement beneath me was neither cool nor warm. I dodged and weaved seeking the smoother parts of the road, enjoying the solitude and the movement of my joints. I let my arms dangle loosely whenever I felt the familiar tightness creeping into my upper traps and I noted the lack of discomfort in my hips and knees.
But for about 7 or 8 minutes of playing out a conversation several times in my head, I was just in the run. In the run in the sun, permeable and content to just feel, to be and not be at the very same moment.
Walking up the laneway with the familiar squish of those speedo’s keeping me company I was sure I had started the day off right.