At mile 4.5 of my last (7 mile) run in my baby blue Asics Gels, I ran back across the South Street Bridge, with Penn behind me and the skyline just ahead lit up by a red sky. At that time of day, nothing else existed but that red sky and my steady footsteps. There were no cars, no other runners and not an anxious thought to be had. It was, quite frankly, a peaceful moment in a city that slept in that morning.
My Asics and I crossed the bridge and headed back toward the river path, racing a train that may or may not have existed, but was nonetheless capable of blocking access at Locust Street. And so we sprinted on.
Access gained, I took my loyal pre and post injury shoes to the very tip of the path and back around to the boat houses. The rowers were skipping their high knees and stretching out before a cool morning in the water began; the statues of unidentifiable figures were lit up by that ever-present red glow; and geese flew low over the flat river.
This run was as close to one of those brilliant summer mornings as we'd come in at least 8 months - strong, true and without the pretense of injury. It was the kind of sendoff any loyal pair of shoes deserved and a power move in the right direction for this (sometimes) wary runner.
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