The moment in which I felt most alive came in November, on a twilight run on the country roads around my house. I had spent a long day in the computer lab, crunching numbers for my thesis for 9 hours straight, and I was mentally and emotionally exhausted.
I hadn’t been on a run in close to 3 weeks, thanks to said days in the lab, which usually ran close to 13 hours. But I had that feeling in my gut that I had to MOVE.
So I did.
My legs pumped, face numb with cold, lungs burning with cold air.
And as I watched the colors fade from purples and blues to reds and oranges and eventually dark gray, my steps became more sure, my breaths became steady, and my thoughts followed suit. I watched the slow, even swirls of my breath in the cold air and felt more alive than I had for months. Listening to my feet hit the pavement in a slow and steady cadence, up hills and down, curving right and curving left, and back again, dogs barking in front yards and wind rustling through the trees.
By the time I reached my front step, I was new again.