A love letter.

Dear 6 Miles,

You saved me yesterday.  It was more than rounding the edge off the day or forcing me to breathe deep; it was not just the quiet of your confidence; it was, quite simply, beyond the beauty of you, a celebration of your consistency.  You are always there, right where I left you, waiting to set out and pour your calm out across my path.  

I've found few things in this life more consistent than you, dear 6 mile run, and I know enough of mistakes and disappointment, failures of trust and worthiness, to know that you are something worth holding onto.  

I know that you are the perfect distance.  You push me to run steadily for 56 minutes in one direction.  With that push, you focus me.  You encourage me to unwind in the first mile, suffer through the second, rally in the third and crush the road back.  You always include hills, even in a city, and you make me work to climb and take care on the descent.  You know me.  You understand that sometimes I don't want to talk; not for lack of things to say or some misguided dramatic response to the day.  You realize that these are moments that I need to own, alone, and you accept that silence without judgment. 

You challenge me in ways I'm not sure I fully understand and I love you for it.  When we begin each new run, I fall into you.  During those miles in between beginning and end, you wrap me up and quiet me.  After your miles expire, you slap me high five (in a Karen & Jack naked stomachs sort of way) and send me on my way.  

In that routine, I am comforted that in tomorrow there is hope and in that hope there is yet another day.  Sometimes that's all any of us need.  

Love, JC