Between Thunderstorms.

I woke up yesterday knowing for certain that (1) there would be coffee waiting for me 3 floors below; (2) it would be raining and (3) at some point between my 4:45AM coffee and sunset, I would have to run for 45 minutes, rain or no rain. 

After a few sips of coffee, feeding my terrier "dinner" (yes, in lieu of teaching him "breakfast," we call every meal dinner) and walking him, half in PJ's and half not, I had the great treadmill debate with myself in the shower.  Once again, the poor hamster wheel didn't stand a chance as I took my rain jacket out of the closet and packed for my run. 

Hours later as the windows on my 19th floor office shook, the treadmill found itself back in the running.  This time it's opponent was the old and familiar, "What if I just skip today's run and catch myself back up tomorrow?"  Neither option really "blew my skirt up," as my old boss (at the Butcher Shop where I spent my formative years learning how to cut steaks and fillet fish), Scott, would say. 

Then there was a sign:  Enough stillness and sun between storms to convince me if I changed quickly enough, hurried outside, found the stupid satellites with my GPS watch in record time and headed out for my 45 minutes of therapy at just the right time, I may stay relatively dry.  About 9 minutes later , I was half-dressed in my running gear when another storm rolled through.  Deciding to screw dryness, I headed for the door just in time for another calm to sweep through.  There was a thickness to the air and an unexpected heat that reminded me of warm September days and training in shorts.  Other runners had the same idea.  The streets were alive with hooded, happy people sprinting through the lights and stop signs trying, no doubt, to get in a certain distance before the next storm. 

My 45 minutes took me toward Christian Street and up toward 26th, back around to the South Street Bridge and through to the UPenn campus by Franklin Field.  There are slight inclines back there that make you work despite the lack of warning and an entirely new energy.  Old buildings mixed with modern, bars mixed with libraries and a world, like most college campuses, unto itself.  After Penn, I headed back through the park by the Schuylkill River and into the office without a second thought of rain. 

An hour later, calmer and slightly more focused, I walked down Market Street with one of my best friends, a new runner experiencing for the first time the highs and lows of training for a race (the Broad Street Run) as she told me how she'd come to feel like she owned certain stretches of sidewalk in the city simply because she ran on them. 

I completely understood. 

As a runner, you are likely to feel alone and solitary against an empty sidewalk or path - this is where the therapy mixes with the sport.  There is an intimacy in that emptiness that only a runner can understand.  You develop a relationship not only with yourself but with your surroundings.  And so my dear best friend put it perfectly, "We own where we run."  And, if I may add to that sentiment - I think it owns us too.