4.27 miles.

I used to be able to tell you, within a tenth of a mile, how far A was from B at any point on one of my routes.  If I ever thought about how odd that ability was, I'd have attributed it to my father's steadfastness; I covet his ability to find his North even when it, too, was running from him.  


It seems this is a skill in my father's daughter that needs a little polishing of late.  Today, for instance, I misjudged the distance from Cochon (incidentally one of the best BYOB's in the city and completely devoted to pork) to the Ben Franklin Bridge by about 3/4 of a mile.  Last August, without hesitation, I would have told you it was close to 2.3 miles. 


Yet as I ran down Christian Street through the rocky, unplowed, un-iced, unloved neighborhoods to Front Street, I was high on the cold air in my lungs and paid little attention to what my Garmin Forerunner was beeping at me - because I was Ben Franklin bound and that's all that mattered.  


The turn onto Front Street actually produced a little improvement, traction-wise, and I was back in the zone marveling at how many different variations of the color red people can think of to paint their front door when the cobblestones at Walnut Street turned my jog into a hopping I-hope-no-one-is-watching-this trot across ice-filled craters.  


Still, I had my eyes on the Bridge (or in the direction thereof) as I made a familiar turn onto Elfreth's Alley with the smile of someone returning home from war on my face.  This is my October Ocean City and my calm before the storm of a huge run.  Elfreth's Alley was traditionally where I stopped to stretch before a double bridge run; where I marveled at the flowers, the age of the homes and the fact that people actually lived in these seemingly inaccessible masterpieces.  How could I have forgotten it is exactly 1.87 Miles from my favorite BYOB?  
   
As I ran back, toward completion of my 4+ Mile run, everything, at once seemed brighter.  As if, for the first time, I put the pace aside and let the miles fall just as they always had and always would ever after. At that moment, something my sage of a friend said to me on Friday came screaming back, "Life becomes life around us and whatever it becomes is just what was meant to be.  We don't have to change anything; we just have to BE."


After rounding the corner up Catharine Street, after the 32nd red door on Front Street was a fading dot over my right shoulder, I decided it was time to actually be in my 4.27 miles for a while and enjoy the ride with no rush to or reservation about where I should be - even if it means the Ben Franklin is a little out of reach for a little longer.