I love running 8 miles before work. I love that gliding feeling that comes when I am zipping down Fifth Avenue, coming in for a landing at my office at 53rd Street. I love Central Park in October, when it is bursting with marathoners-in-training and decorated with flaming foliage. I love Central Park in November, when it is much emptier and the trees are a bit less dressed; I don’t mind sharing but I prefer to share with fewer folks. I love feeling strong and accomplished at 8 AM. I love feeling strong and accomplished at the thought of the run begun in the dark and ended in the sun. I love the memory of the moon as it hovered over the Long Island Expressway on Tuesday, or over the Lower East Side track on Wednesday (first against the light, then against the night). I love country music, I love driving with my windows down and the heat pumping on my feet. I love swooping through a curve dappled with shade on a sunny day, either in a car or on foot. I love when my motion shoos away my fears and exhilirates me with freedom. I love when I stop procrastinating a workout and hammer it out. I love the late afternoon warmth of a fall sun. I love how running can feel like dreaming and how dreaming can feel like running. I love when I honor my body and my health with dedication to training. I love these three acres in the Poconos, how the borders never change but everything within them is constantly in flux. I love the sound of my sneakers on the pebbled path, and of my dog gallopping through the fallen leaves. I love the way she rests her chin on my knee, the way she plays hard to get when I want to rub her tummy. I love the way my trees look like they are on fire, I love the fact that I have trees.
I hate that running can’t erase all the negative emotions that pull me down. I hate that sometimes running alone is more a painful reminder than an uplifting one. I hate that though I can run, I can’t run away. I hate when peace and quiet alternate with loneliness. I hate that it’s usually the best laid plans that go awry. I hate when the only explanation is luck (good, bad or dumb). I hate excuses, and circular talking. I hate that the only lessons worth learning are the ones that really fuck things up. I hate how unconstructed free time leaves me deconstructed and raw. I hate that the truth hurts.
Friday — 8 miles run in 1:15:26. Average pace 9:25; fastest mile 8:59; slowest mile 9:53. Saturday — 5.2 miles run in 50:48. Average pace 9:46; fastest mile 8:48; slowest mile 10:31.