Incredibly Ordinary

A tribute to the beauty of the Monday morning jog

Large snowflakes tumble slowly from the gray morning sky. Visibility is limited to the house across the street as low clouds engulf the little neighborhood on a hill that I call home. A fresh blanket of untracked powder covers the driveway and I pull up the weather forecast. Should clear out in the next hour. Warm air pours out of a vent above my head, gently pleading with me to stay inside. My two cats watch me leave, wondering why I’d subject myself to these conditions. They don’t understand, not doing this isn’t an option.

As soon as the door closes behind me it’s not so bad. My thick tights, high socks, hooded jacket, and fuzzy gloves take the edge off. At least it’s not as windy as yesterday. I fumble with my phone through the gloves to start today’s audiobook. Should have done that before I left the house. Part of me wishes I was strong enough to brave this run without distracting myself with a book, podcast, or music. Part of me thinks it’s a productive use of time to multitask and learn while running. The reality at this point is that it is just habit.

Deena Kastor’s voice narrates Let Your Mind Run in my ears as I set off, grateful for Francesco’s book recommendations. Her words weave into the muffled crunch of snow underfoot, creating a soothing rhythm that matches my breathing. Usually running while listening to content about running makes me feel like too much of my life revolves around running so I cycle through a wide variety of books. Today I don’t care. Too much of my life does revolve around running.

In under a minute I’m stamping out the first tracks on the snowy trail closest to my house. I love living here. Proximity to trails brought me here. It was my highest priority and something that makes me happy no matter how routine this trail has become. Winter has started slowly this year, not much of a base of snow cover. Rocks and roots are only dusted enough to be obscured, not buried. No problem, I know where they lurk.

Legs are still wiped from the weekend’s longer runs. Today’s going to be real chill. Accepting this makes the shuffle more enjoyable. Nothing worse than wanting to go fast and feeling slow. But wanting to go slow and feeling slow? That’s the perfect recipe for enjoying my book. My mind drifts as I listen, relating to sentences and applying them to my own memories, or getting lost in future dreams. Turning the corner spooks a dozen wild turkeys. They hurry up an embankment to safety. Meandering through a combination of trails that I know should take me around the hour that I want today, a quick glance at the watch reveals that three miles have already melted away. This is easy.

With the cold, trail conditions have improved. On higher trails, rime ice coats rocks and delicate leaves that have somehow survived this long. Large crystals, all pointing the same direction, jut off one side of the unforgiving scrub oak branches that have so often caused my shins to sting in the shower. Slush and muddy dirt have frozen solid. I float over it without any of the slurping, slipping, squishing that embodied my past two runs. Dry feet are warm feet and warm feet make me want to keep going.

Usually I don’t close my loop by turning here because of mountain bike traffic, but the trailhead parking lot looked empty when I passed earlier and I see no tire tread marks in the snow. Technically now it’s a downhill bike trail, but it used to be the primary hiking route up Lone Peak. A small victory to run this old familiar route today, taking back what was once ours. Sunlight breaks through the parting clouds, soaking into my black tights and heating my legs— a divine blessing of my act of rebellion. There’s another set of footprints. Hope they had a nice run.

The houses and neighborhood reappear. In pursuit of loop integrity, I take the mile back home on the road rather than the same trail I tracked out an hour earlier. Another Monday run down. The legs are flushed, ready for tomorrow. Nick has already cleared the snow from his driveway, I really should do the same. Not a car on the road. Families are inside, enjoying the holidays. Perched on the windowsill, the cats await.