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Morning Rituals

October 9, 2010

Some days I just don’t feel like it.

I am not a morning person.  Never have been.  However, the dog is.

Long ago, I gave up begging and pleading her for five more minutes, which is managed by talking really slowly (fiiiive mooore minutesssss) and holding my palm out, showing my five fingers.  Because, ya know, that’ll close that interspecies communication chasm.

My acceptance of the situation does not make it feel any better.

I groaned out of bed around 5:45 am this morning determined not to run.  There are days when the weight of exhaustion is crushing.  Today is that day.

This feeling always dissipates by the time I get outside.  The compulsion to move briskly can’t be ignored.  Today was no different.

It’s warm and beautifully dark.  The feet move as they will.  Now I’m running.

I can’t see the ground and must trust in the strides of the dog to judge the terrain.  At every footfall and each intake of breath, my left side feels like the ribs are ripping apart.  Yet I am outside among the trees, under the last of the moon’s light, and there is beauty.  And a sense of serenity….


I am only one end of a dipole system.  The other end is tethered to me.  A careening beast on the hunt.  The eyes are black and seemingly soulless.  The mouth hangs open, revealing the ripping tools.  She changes direction without warning.  Sudden, spastic movements.  Following scents and glints of motion in the dark.  Rabbits and birds flow forward from us like a receding wave.  I don’t blame them, but their panic only agitates her more.

In the end, it is always worth it.  I feel refreshed and the dog, having consumed at least part of her energy reserve, will be less of a holy terror for the rest of the morning.


You betta run!



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