Monday, June 11, 2012
The first mile is always the slowest. It doesn't matter if I'm running four or eight miles, I always speed up. I try on the longer runs to stay at a slow pace but it either doesn't work or I don't try hard enough, my body knows a pre-determined speed and I manage to hit it every time.
Summer arrived and the bedtime/wake time shift occurred along with it. Days are long and slow for the kids and every year at this time I marvel at how endless the summer seems. But the Fourth of July comes too soon and camp and vacation and before we all can linger long enough and enjoy what I consider the best part of the year, it is over. Just like that.
Like my long runs I've tried to slow down, pace myself, enjoy every moment possible. I breathe in the warm sun and soak up as much as possible like a lizard on a rock trying to get warm. But the time goes and the summer along with it and the only solution I can muster is a move further South. I even dreamed about it the other night. We had purchased an idyllic cottage on the ocean that needed some work (sounds about right). And being a dream there were the weird parts, like the hungover designer helping us pick out furniture and my mother-in-law too, and of course an underground water park and the part where I walked away in someone else's blue Tom's. Apparently I am a thief in my dreams. But I awoke hoping the basic storyline was true, that water would be nearer our next home, warmer days and salty air more plentiful, and maybe owning some simple white furniture on which to rest our bare feet. No Toms.