The night before. We check in. The usual. Simply confirming. Still 7:30am? In case one of us wants to push up or push back. For whatever reason. In case one of us admits to premeditated excessive drinking leading to being hung over the next morning. Possible. And there is always grace for that.
It’s looking like rain all night. And next morning.
V: Do we still run tomorrow at 7:30?
V: Run later at 2pm?
M: Can’t do. Got adult plans. Washer/Dryer.
V: Right! Sunday?
M: Yeah, could work. Tomorrow could clear up. Let’s play it by ear.
6:30am: rain stopped
M: It’s not raining, we have a small window until about 9am. Might not get 10 miles, but to the water and back. Still good for 7:30?
7:00am: still no rain
M: It’s cool, you’re probably still sleep. I’ll head over. Run with me if you wake up in time.
7:28am: warming up the car
7:30am: headed over (continued to buy some time)
7:45am: parked, waited a few moment
7:50ish? finally running out
8am: running, rhythm and glance left–
He’s getting out of his car. He sees me. Playfully pretends it’s hard to identity me.
M: Didn’t you get LASIK?
The fucking timing. The rain delay and delay.
What are the fucking chances? How did we get a few minutes uninterrupted?
What? Why? How?
I could have rolled over and slept in. I could have knocked on her front door to get her up. I could have run an entirely different path. No.
That’s the path I enjoy best. To the ocean and back. To the familiar tower 26 and back. With hills. With plenty space. With safe space. Not necessarily my path. But again, the path that brings me the most joy.
This the year of constant work. Hustle. Getting the job done. With sprinkles of joy. And my joy is that much more important to me. That much more critical. Not willing to compromise it. Not willing to run another path. Even if the risk is a clear and present danger.
Possibly to the left. And there is grace for that.