I haven’t been running for a long time – since my baby was born. There’s just not enough time and energy for it these days. We wake up for the second or third time that night at about six am, pull the little one out of bed and try to soothe as best we can. By the time we’re all fed and watered, it’s about 8.30 and I’m rushing to the bus stop.
I don’t really miss the long run to work though. It’s a slow four miles along the coast, avoiding traffic lights and the famous San Franciscan hills. I just jog at a steady pace. The distance isn’t hard, just the boredom. Long distance running is pretty dull – you have to have a lot on your mind to be able to run without getting really bored.
It’s running fast that’s more fun.
Not a run, not full speed even.
I mean a full-on sprint.
That extra burst of energy you throw in when you’re already going full speed. When your arms are pumping as hard as your legs, reaching out to claw the air closer. When the skin on your face starts moving against the bone. When you shift your weight down and back, so your feet can make maximum contact with the ground, but it’s still not enough. When you forget about breathing because it’s just another distraction. When every muscle in your body is working maximum power, maximum speed, just to propel you forward.
That’s the kind of running I miss.