My puppy will wake up me every morning between 4:30AM and 4:45AM by standing on my chest scratching at the covers and kissing my face until I open my eyes;
That there will be skim milk in the refrigerator and Splenda in the navy blue, striped sugar bowl;
That the shower will be hot and my slippers well-holed;
That coconut M & M's will be more than just a fad;
That Amber will be there to cut my hair every 6 weeks waiting with cheap white wine and a salon full of organic;
That my parents will call me each night at 7PM no matter where life has taken them;
The availability of a Jersey tomato;
That my pepper steak will never be better than my mom's; and
the overall clean that the smell of Windex suggests.
No where on this list is the peace that I felt last night mid-mile 5 of what was, by far, my strongest run. Although I do not take the ability to run for granted anymore, I was reminded recently that the peace I get from running is a rarity to some and a distant memory to others - something to be noticed and celebrated because it may not always be there.
Gut check: Not everyone gets to do what they love and even fewer find peace when they do. When you're healthy, you feel untouchable and when you're recovering, you are driven. But when it's taken away, it's gone.
Having skated too close to losing these runs, I needed to refocus on each moment I'm out there. Mission accomplished.
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