Yesterday I ran 16 kilometers.
With only two weeks to go until the Scotiabank half-marathon, this was my second to last long training run before race day itself.
I haven’t been sleeping super well of later – not necessarily badly, just not very long – so I was out the door just a little before eight.
Normally I eat light before any run over 10k, but I my stomach wasn’t feel too great from the day before so I went out after drinking just two cups of water, and one cup of coffee.
(I definitely made sure to go to the bathroom before leaving, lest I be tortured throughout my route by the need to relieve myself; be it a phantom need, or otherwise – I find it’s never best to really challenge those boundaries when the feeling does arise.)
For some reason I always forget how much I love running in the earlier parts of the day. There are fewer people out and about, be it on the road, in the parks, in the woods, on the paths.
Most individuals who are up are with their dogs, out for a stroll to pick up bagels for breakfast, or grab the Sunday paper.
Yesterday morning was cooler, but not cool.
My t-shirt and shorts were a perfect pair against the slightly overcast sky. For most of the route my overgrown bangs were toyed by an inconsistent, but gentle wind – a wind that didn’t seem to so much blow and it did bristle.
As if it too couldn’t believe that it had to be up that early on a Sunday morning.
And that it had been so long since I had cut my hair.
Look at this silly girl, running about when she could be in bed. Let’s give her fringe a little bounce – one to match the speed of her footfalls.
Good thing I always have an extra bobby-pin.
I thought a lot during my run.
I thought about new jokes that I’ve yet to try out, and old jokes that could be made better.
I thought about Father’s Day coming up this weekend, and my dad’s impending visit.
Unfortunately, even the greatest of runs can be upset by the most inane of happenings.
Yesterday it was the sight of a pile of McDonald’s garbage lying off to the side of the beautiful wooded trail that marked kilometers six to eight.
The worst is probably individuals who spit, and don’t look around to see if anyone is approaching them from behind.
If I had a nickel for the number of times I’ve almost been spat on, I would have a handful of nickels.
This is too many nickels.
After the rogue loogie hockers, it has to be the drivers who never bother to look for pedestrians at designated crosswalks.
I’m running to extend my life, not cut it short.
Next, it’s walkers who refuse to briefly walk single file as you run past, forcing you off of the pavement (you can just see their inner monologues of TWO ABREAST! TWO ABREAST OR DIE!), and dog walkers whose leashes are about twenty-feet long.
Why such long leashes dog lovers?
But in the end, these things are just little annoyances that can’t take away from the overall greatness of a run.
If anything, they make you wilier, more adaptable – they ensure that you’re ready for anything.
And you can’t ask for much more than that.
Except for less spit-related nickels of course.