There is a 60 minute/ 6.5 mile run I do to loosen up during the week. It includes a few parks, the river, an ever-growing family of geese complete with one gray little guy that still doesn't have his black and white feathers, the occasional Tropicana train and an entirely new cast of people filling this early morning hour. It is beautiful, consistent and a bit like coming home should be.
Perhaps not surprisingly, Rittenhouse Square is a great place to run or walk in circles in the morning and so the older couples watch me as I set out to do just that a few times before I stretch on a fantastic stoop half a block toward the river. They look at me like the kid I am compared to them. Some with books in hand, others chatting and, more often then not, the men struggling to keep up with their power-walking-women.
Next to my stretching stoop is a church where the same man, mid-thirties, blonde hair and about 6'2 with leathery tan skin and what I would imagine are worker's hands, sleeps off whatever happened to him the day before. Up at the corner, I watch a nurse with her two sleepy kids get on the bus just as my achilles decides to unwind ever so slightly. She's throwing down her coffee like her life depends on it and they are begging to give the bus driver the tokens - every morning.
Down on the path, heading back toward Locust Street to get the full loop in, I am immediately greeted by a boot camp just beginning, instructor already hyper-involved in creating the perfect pre-workout stretch, and a group of biker's leaned up against the fence waiting for their last guy who appears to be consistently 17 minutes late for the 5:30AM ride.
Setting out, the family of geese wait in a clearing just before the one mile tree and across from the clearing where the Art Museum rises up to meet the sky for the first time. Not fully awake yet, they are stretching out, flapping their wings and river-bound, babies in toe.
Just past the Art Museum and the Waterworks is another yoga class beginning with peaceful faces carrying pastel mats toward a spot on the water where they will undoubtedly ease lightly into the day without the evidence of footsteps. This ease of yoga is set against the rowers just around the corner, coffee in hand, half in bathing suits, running toward their houses, ripping boats out of the garages and throwing themselves into the water - complete chaos until the moment they are all in tandem cutting the water without leaving a mark.
A turn just past the last boat house puts you back the same direction with new faces to look for. The older woman with the long gray ponytail and aging hound following her in their slow jog should be first - just past the waterworks as the yoga class is reaching for the sky. They seem to share the same easy pace, all reaching.
Just over the last hill at the clearing the geese left for the water, I start to look for the man with a cane, always in khaki pants, brown shoes and a light colored, collared, short sleeved shirt. He is pensive in his walk along the water, looking for something in the flowers; waiting for something in the trees. Down the hill from the old man and the cane is a heard of new faces every day - runners just starting out on their 6AM run - bright faces and gear, all fresh and ready to crush the run. They provide the energy for the last mile of my run up the Market Street steps and back to where I began.
Not a bad way to ease into the day.
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