Sometimes during a long run, I think about Tom Hanks, in Forrest Gump. The scene where he sits up as straight and tall as he can muster, surveying the outside in front of him, a look of pure seriousness on his face. He stands up from the wicker chair, and decides to run.
And run. He runs for miles. It seems he will never stop.
When I first saw that movie, I scoffed at that scene. There was no way my ass was lacing up a pair of running shoes, let alone run outside. For miles and miles.
Times have changed.
This morning I embraced my 14 mile run. Many times during the long distance, I reflected, prayed, and relished the incredible beauty around me. At one point, I was running within a sea of immense fog that had settled down around the running path.
Under a bridge, two muskrats decided to run with me a bit on the path. No joke. I don’t think they realized I was there at first, until I scared the shit out of them, and they went barreling for the creek. I laughed for a while after that. Who runs with muskrats? ::raises hand::
It was fantastic. My guess is, I won’t be feeling so fantastic later today, when the soreness starts to really creep in.
But hell, it was worth it!