Why You Should Run

Because some night you will not sleep well, and morning will come both too soon and not soon enough. Later, you will not remember standing up, only finding yourself already up, noticing that although this time last week the days were in the 90s and the mornings were still hot and humid, today it is 44 degrees outside, and you do not remember how to dress for a run in cool weather. You will put on a fluorescent orange long-sleeved shirt, because it is still very dark out at 5:30am this time of year, and you will forget to bring gloves.

You should run because even if you went to bed anxious and grumpy, thinking about all of the things that need to get done in an inadequate amount of time in the coming week, you feel like you have a secret advantage, a stop-time machine, perhaps, when you are running through dark neighborhoods full of still-sleeping people. Or if the people in the houses are, in fact, awake, they are still lying in bed, waiting to hit the snooze button again, or standing blearily under the hot shower. Their lights are off. Their children are asleep. The peace of early morning is irresistible, and it seeps into the muscles between your shoulders and your neck, and more things are possible than were last night. Or, perhaps, fewer things really matter.  This moment is about nothing beyond the hypnotic rhythm of your own feet, the effortless strength of your thighs, the feel of cool air on your calf muscles.

You should run because you need a chance to let it all out every now and then. Because you really don't want to scream or punch things in front of your children. Because your husband really is a nice guy who is doing his best. Because no one, not even the people who already love you, really wants to deal with the full force you, but the track doesn't mind. You should run because 400 meters is just long enough to require both concentration and full effort. There isn't room in your head or your arms or you soul for anything else. You have to remind yourself at every footfall to push push push push. To be strong in your abdomen and light in your heels. Not to dig your nails into your palms, but to relax your grip, to fly through discomfort with as much peace as possible. You should run because your heart pounds in your ears and your lungs push on your stomach, but after you've crossed the line in precisely the second you wished to do so, you get a couple of minutes to calm down and look around, and you do.

You should run because some morning, three sandhill cranes might fly, croaking, just over your head and stalk around the infield while you run around them. They will pretend that you are not there, you crazy human running around and around before sunrise. They are nearly bigger than you are, anyway. Or maybe a hawk will swoop down and perch on the scoreboard, watching the field to your south for signs of snakes or rodents. He will squint at you, as if not sure whether or not to believe in you, not sure he recognizes your particular breed, but he will look it up later in his human-watching book. The killdeer will skitter across the track just ahead of you, not wanting to be trampled, but too silly to remember they can fly.

You should run because halfway through your workout, you will notice that the morning is light enough to show you your breath on the calm-down laps. When you are two repeats from finishing, the sun will have risen enough to blaze over the rooftops of the no-longer-sleeping neighborhood and blind you on the back straight so that you cannot see your watch to know if you are hitting your paces. You do not mind.

You should run because as you are running toward home across dew-soaked fields, the first middle school teachers will be arriving in the parking lot, and the high school kids will be peering out from their thick brushed-forward bangs, and you will know that for them, for you, this is another ordinary day, and thank God for that.

You should run because when you arrive home, sweaty and shaky-legged, your seven-year-old might not want his oatmeal and will dawdle instead of brushing his teeth and putting on his shoes, and as you gently shove him out the front door so he doesn't miss the bus, he will tell you that oh yeah, this weekend he had music homework he forgot about until now. You should run because your four year old's music class has been canceled and rescheduled for the same time as preschool. You should run because the kitchen is still a mess from last night's dinner and rabbits have eaten the delphinium you planted last week. But no matter what may not get done during the day or what may go wrong, you have already had an hour that was yours, and for that hour, all the world was as it should be.

Tomorrow, you should run again.