The weekend is coming up, and to normal people that means relaxation. To me, it means freedom from a school that I am growing less attached to with each successively boring day and running out on the Ridge. I am currently in track at my high school and although I love my running friend, Amelia, dearly, there is nothing better than a long run on the roads around home, either all alone or with Mary (I thank God that she is a runner, too!). The hills are steep and the routes may be dangerous, but I love every minute of it. I have a feeling that Ridge running will be one of the (few) things I miss most when I head out to Dallas this fall.
Here’s a little poem I composed about one of my favorite Sunday Runs recently. This was a day when Wisconsin was still mired in Winter, but a hint of Spring had appeared to tease us.
The pavement beneath my feet
is cool and dry-and clear of that wretched snow!-
as I run down the road.
The sun is shining, and
the air kisses, rather than bites, my cheeks.
And I beam bright as those sweet rays.
The road is warming
beneath this miraculous winter sun,
and the familiar smell
of musky tar and dry snow plow sand
greets me again for the first time in months.
I could go on like this forever-
just the road, my legs propelling me forward in smooth motion
and an open horizon-
polished and sparkling under a crystal sun.
My own Sunday run under winter sun.