I awake to the “BARZ” of my 70’ alarm clock to the darkness of the fall dawn. I stumble from my bed, and dazedly walk to the bathroom gear in hand. I brush the teeth as I go to the bathroom again poindering why I am up, doing this. Gunnison stares at me groaning, and stretching waiting to go outside.
I open the front door, to the cool damp air of fall. I am enveloped by the early fog that creates a blanket around me. I start my watch, and begin to run. I hear the pounding of my feet on pavement; my breath starts to become rhythmic. As I turn the first corner on my normal route I am confronted by the beauty of my town. I am staring straight into God’s creation. He is a marvelous painter, with reds and blacks smeared across the morning sky.
I pick up my pace as I enter mile two, and up the “heartbreak” hill of my small town, I pound up this hill three days a week and it never gets easier. My arrival is heralded by the fanfare of the various canines in the area. One “passes” me to the other as I make my way into the third mile of my trip.
All the while creating the symphony of the day my feet pounding, Gunni’s nails, scratching, me breathing, and the high notes of the collar Gunnison wears round off the music of my morning run. As we crescendo into a the last mile to our home, cheering ourselves on, the sky has brightened as only it can in the fall, dull and flat lighting my way to the coffee pot at the end of the road.
As I feel the blood pumping into my head, and my breath comes even faster, I look up at my home, my dog by my side, my husband asleep in our bed, I am reminded why I get up to pound the pavement. I feel alive. I am thankful to be alive. Every step I take is a gift from God and I will run, smiling until I can no longer get out of bed. To hear the symphony of the morning with my pal by my side is a glorious way to start the day.