works of wanderlust

Sunday. Run Day.

It’s lonely out there on the trails these days.

I laced up and logged a quick eight klick run through the locals this morning. The snowy paths were worn down with thousands of footprints. The crisp air was calm but dry. Stragglers from another universe were out walking their dogs.

For the last decade I have run almost every Sunday morning.

For the last year, company on those runs has been sporadic or limited at best.

The pandemic gave us a summer of cautious gatherings. This was followed by an autumn of wary runners. In turn, that was followed by a strict lockdown with little tolerance for mixed company.

So I run alone lately.

Others bend the rules. Only a little, true. But bending is bending.

Running solo is lonely, with just the trail, your thoughts, and maybe some tunes. Eight klicks is well under an hour of action, but as the year presses on and the prospect of actually training kicks into full gear, those eight klicks are going to need to stretch to ten … fifteen … then over twenty. Twenty klicks is an easy two hour run.

Two hours of solo running is lonely.

So lonely.

And my motivation is fueled by good company.

But bending is bending.