New Years Day dawned clear and cold. It was 10:30 by the time I dragged myself out of bed and pulled on running clothes. After a late night I was still pretty exhausted, and with visions of a warm blanket on the couch, vats of coffee and some kind of delicious breakfast, exercise was the very last thing I wanted to do.
But that didn't much matter.
Because certain traditions we keep, whether we feel like it or not. And a New Years Day run is one of my most sacred traditions. It is one I learned from my dad back in his long distance running days. He taught me to begin each year as I mean to go on. And I am a runner. So I start each and every year with a run. Not necessarily a long one, but just enough to breathe cold air as my muscles warm, to remind me of how much I love this solo sport.
And I love it most especially in the winter.
It was 27 degrees when I got in my car.
I could have run the streets of my neighborhood. It would have been easier, and wouldn't have required a car ride, but my Bronx River Pathway was calling me, pulling at me, so it was there that I went, and I was rewarded with this view, and this stunning winter sky:.
And even though I was tired, once I got going I felt great. My last mile was the fastest that I have ever run, so I think we're starting off the year exactly right.
|Happy (and tired) girl, post record-setting mile|
|Discerning eyes will count 5 here. I ate one before I remembered|
to take the "after" picture.
Hope your New Years Day was equally delicious. Happy January!