There's something about a bridge

I marked January 1, 2013 with what is familiar.  It is a bridge run I've done for three years whether I'm seeking hills in a flat city, an escape a little bit above water-level, a view of Philly or distance from it.  This run is exactly a 7 mile loop from my front door and is as consistent as they come.  The inclines are slight and gradual.  The declines exhilarating and reliable.  The route lined by Front and Race Streets is packed with women doing the walk of shame, dogs out for jogs, war memorials, beautiful tall ships, trash, last night's empty bottles, a striking view of Camden, and enough alone time to focus on anything or nothing.  It is one of those runs I keep safe for when I need it.  Like on the first of the year or the first day of school or the first day of a new job, new challenge, new opportunity or just when I've reached a fork in the road and I need to be reminded of the path I traveled to get there.

2013, for me, will be more about the great "journey" everyone talks about.  I've resolved only to be present in my life, my running, my relationships, my training and my practice.  I expect that I will covet deep breaths and grateful moments and that relationships and interactions will take on a new meaning.  I expect this to be difficult but worth it.  And I expect to have to remind myself of why this is important.

When I get worked up or stressed into a tizzy, I will remind myself that being present and embracing a moment is important not only because it will slow me down, but because there are truly no guarantees.  Not of tomorrow.  Not of next week.  And certainly not of forever.  I simply refuse to realize that too late.  I refuse to be the woman with such an epiphany at age 45.  I'd much rather be the one that figured it out at 32 and lived.

This is what I said to myself as I reached the top of the Ben Franklin on Tuesday, about 3 miles into my 7 mile loop.  It was cold, windy and my face hurt. I loved every second of it.