The edges of evening are curling up earlier these days, a sure sign that soon I’ll be able to broaden the borders of my safe, early a.m. route and incorporate new neighborhoods and more mileage into my sunrise routine.
I don’t know about you, but I’m going to miss the moonlight.
I’m going to miss that minor feeling of accomplishment just getting out of a warm bed before everyone else in the house, waiting in a semi-comatose state for my first cup of tea to kick in, checking the temperature and applying layers accordingly. That I rarely “run into” anyone at that hour has led to some serious lapses in appearance. If you were to look closely, you’d see I run with mascara residue under my eyes, bad breath, wrinkled sweats (and maybe flannel pajama bottoms a time or two), a jingly Jogbra and hair only half-contained in an elastic band due to some shoddy “hand combing.”
This unkempt look might work for a slender 22-year-old, but not on someone who appears twice her age and weight. Not even if she’s the only runner on the road.
Such laxness needs to be abandoned, but I thank the moon and the stars (and dim streetlights) for shielding me from public scrutiny all these months.