A quick post from a jubilant runner. Why so jubilant? The time was right today at noon. The conditions were perfect. Pearly, luminescent sky with a few broody clouds. Still, cold dark canal reflecting the arches and the sky. Calm, quiet, crisp air. A healthy cohort of other runners, from the pink-clad ladies group, to the trying-hard indie kid who restarted guiltily as I approached, to the stony-faced wiry veterans (nod) in their woolly hats. All smiling inside because we'd chosen to pack the kit, clear the diary and sit in afternoon meetings a little achey today.
When else is it the right time to run? I know we can't always run at the Right Time. Life gets in the way, and the snatched half-hours in the dark on the streets, or the miserable sleet-blasted slog along the familiar hateful paths with a runny nose are the ones we are proud of having done when we cross the line.
The Right Time runs make us elated though. 6am in June, avoiding the heat and flies, watching the dew evaporate off the grass accompanied by orchestras of songbirds. 5.30pm in October counting the full buses of new-term kids and students who aren't getting home any quicker, or logging a training run. 9.30 on a Sunday in February, icicles tinkling to the ground, mist swirling and the trails all to yourself. 9.30 pm in July on the moors watching the sun sink over your working life. These are the runs which keep us going. I hope to run lots of them this year. Happy 2013.
When else is it the right time to run? I know we can't always run at the Right Time. Life gets in the way, and the snatched half-hours in the dark on the streets, or the miserable sleet-blasted slog along the familiar hateful paths with a runny nose are the ones we are proud of having done when we cross the line.
The Right Time runs make us elated though. 6am in June, avoiding the heat and flies, watching the dew evaporate off the grass accompanied by orchestras of songbirds. 5.30pm in October counting the full buses of new-term kids and students who aren't getting home any quicker, or logging a training run. 9.30 on a Sunday in February, icicles tinkling to the ground, mist swirling and the trails all to yourself. 9.30 pm in July on the moors watching the sun sink over your working life. These are the runs which keep us going. I hope to run lots of them this year. Happy 2013.
