Holly and I started our day together. I tied on my running shoes, opened the van door to let Holly hop in, and off we drove to our favorite running spot.
She loves it here. She loves to run, sniff, pee, and of course swim.
If I swam here with Holly and they caught me I'd be in quite a bit of trouble. I have to admit there have been times when I've wanted to try it. You know, just to see what would happen. Who's gonna see me at 6:00 am?
My reason for loving this place isn't because it offers me a chance to break the rules and to jump into some mischief. I love it here because it's quiet and still. It's me and Holly. The sound of her leash, the sound of my feet hitting the pavement, and the sound of my breathing, which thanks to my allergies has been quiet melodious lately. It's a celebration of a new day.
There are days when I join in the celebration and grab joy to carry with me all day like a glorious party favor. Other days I struggle through my run, focus on my aches, my pains, my lack of breath, and then surprisingly carry struggle with me throughout my day.
I can't forget to mention those days when I get passed by a younger runner and I feel like I have to kick it in. Run faster, stride longer, run like she was. Those days leave me with stressed out lungs and cramps in places I didn't even know existed. I carry with me a sense of my age, my limitations, and a desire to be something I'm not. She was so cute in her running shorts. I'm so jiggly in mine. I jiggle when I run. Jiggle, jiggle, jiggle down the running path.
I suppose no matter what kind of day I'm having, whether I make it to my favorite running spot or not, joy is always there. Joy in the jiggles? Joy in the cramps? Joy in the struggle? Really? I have to believe the answer is yes.
Joy. Tomorrow, jiggles or not, I'm going for joy.