This isn't about running but it is. It isn't about icing the homemade cookie cake with the homemade icing and exploding Ziploc bags (they made me do it) to get ready for the birthday party. It isn't about lacing up my shoes or carb loading, pre-hydrating or plotting the perfect route. It isn't about sending out invitations. The minutia of my daily life isn't worth the print because you probably don't care. Especially if you're not a runner or a mother.
I write best when I run, so I think. I am eloquent, have earth-shattering thoughts and get goosebumpy with ideas. Maybe it's the oxygen, the surging brain juices and electricity. Perhaps I'm delusional. Because when it's all over and I sit in front of the computer to type, my hands hover as if frozen above the keyboard and my mind is barren as a desert.
But the theme from yesterday's long run was preparation. That much I remember. Whatever I did to prepare was just the right mix to ensure a favorable outcome. It reminds me of a favorite song. A classic. Goosebumpy.
Yesterday was the kind of day I'd been waiting for, anticipating. Years ago when I thought my life couldn't have gotten any worse (but surely it could have) I knew there'd be sunnier days ahead if I'd just persevere. Now those days are here and I wonder how things could get any better (but surely they will). I realized in one moment that joy is the best preparation for sadness, sadness the necessary curriculum for joy. Today, I will take them both.