A Saturday's Morning Run

Saturday morning is a morning that I look forward to all week. Not just for the obvious either. Since my days of running marathons, Saturdays have been the day that I fit my long run in. I don't run marathons anymore, but I still anticipate and enjoy my Saturday morning run. There is something that is cleansing about a long run. It is where I am able to work the kinks out of both my body and my mind. Usually these runs are done alone. However, every now and then my close friend Scott comes down to join me, and it is from our runs that some of our best conversations spring to life.

This past Saturday was a great day for a run; it was in the mid-fifties, overcast, a light breeze of about 5 knots out of the East. In this part of the state, a breeze out of the East, North-East brings in cooler air from from the cooler Atlantic currents. A wind out of the South-West brings in warm, humid air from the Gulf Stream. Thankfully, that was not the case this morning.

I left the house in clad only in running shorts and my new "cool max" T-shirt. No Elizabeth, not THOSE shorts. I walk down to the end of our lane as a warm up. I also use this time to accurately gauge the weather. This morning it is as the window forecast and so I commit. The first kilometer brings the sounds and sights of men working in their garages. Sundry projects and the weekly honey-do's no doubt. Otherwise the community is quiet and still; perfect. I notice that some of the young trees are trying to produce buds. A result no doubt of the aforementioned South-West breeze we have been enjoying for the better part of a week. The older trees wisely hold their buds in as if lecturing the youngsters to not get their dander up so early...we still have two months they say.

A dash across the state highway lands me back into a more rural area. The land of the Churches of Christ I call it. The first Church that I pass is built out of stuccato and the front forms a big, grey "W". Signs litter their grass parking lot warning not to do this and that. A large Oak tree leans over the building as if weeping. Is the building a reflection of their Theology? I hope not. But, I am afraid that it is. Further down the road I pass a nice lady who comments how nice it must be to be able to run. I comment to her that indeed it is. I praise her for getting out for a walk. She thanks me and I am alone with my thoughts once again.

Approaching me from the left is a large farm, or the remnants of one. I do not think that it is actively farmed anymore, though I have seen them cutting hay this past summer. It is a lovely piece of land. An old barn, used for Tobacco no doubt, stands in disrepair near the tree line. I hang a right and turn down a quiet lane surrounded by trees and observe the small half acre clearings of land used to grow soybeans, they are empty and waiting. The clouds have now come down so low as to seemingly touch the trees. I also note that is a bit more humid than I had previously assumed.

No worries though. I dash across a railroad crossing, retrace my steps across the highway and head back home. For the last half-mile I pick up my pace. I once read that the Kenyans, who are the best runners on Earth, train by picking up their pace in the last mile or so. And so I pretend to follow their methods. The last rise leads to our lane, and so I slowly pull up to a walk and start my cool down.

My head clear, my body relaxed, I anticipate the large breakfast that Electra is preparing. In fact, I already smell the bacon! Ahead of me is a day of rest and the activities that lead to our call to worship on Sunday morning.