The River Widens

The sun has risen before six am this Saturday morning and the world is golden brown cold, warmth hints through shadows of branches which decorate the path on which I run. Birds warble and sing in one ear and Kanye West spouts rhyme in my other and my breathing begins to regulate with each new step. This time I will go all the way, I tell myself. All the way to the end of the iTunes mix and all the way to the end of the path and back-I am certain it is a full five miles and I am certain my body is capable even if my mind is somewhat leery and skeptical.

In and out of each breath is a new prayer, this one for the day’s beauty, this one for my legs that are still moving, this one for the dream that I hope will one day come true, this one for patience and tolerance in the face of weekly tests, and this one for perserverance. At this point it is not really a question of getting there, there being the day of the actual race, or being able to make it to the finish line. I know I can do it, but each run becomes a gauge of my mental state. Sunshine and morning peace aside, thoughts swirl about my head and the conversation continues. It’s a modest start for me, I tell myself, and in the world of runners 6.2 miles is something of a whiz. But in the world of non-runners (where I lived for at least 28 years) it is something of a miraculous feat, and as I have progressed on this journey I have had all sorts of people tell me things about how dangerous it is or how much I will hurt the next day and in the moment their enthusiasm always manages to ensnare my belief.

But here, here on the road, where my pulse is quickened and my entire soul has learned to keep time with nature, I rework the conversations in my head. I will not feel pain so much as joy and I have been blessed with a body capable of accomplishing feats ever so much more than this even. So the words are pounded out step after step of convincing argument. To the left is the river and to the right are the tennis courts, and then the playground, and then a grassy knoll, and then some benches. On the water swims a lone duck, meandering down the way as though this alone were his sole purpose. And then around the next bend, the river widens and my breath catches and I pick up the pace. This is what it means to be alive and happy. This is what it means let your soul soar. And tomorrow, I am going to do it again.