Reflections on Running 750 Miles

Okay, crappy picture, I know. You can't read the Garmin, but hopefully you can see that the bar at the bottom is completely filled in. Which means I met my goal of running 750 miles in 2012.

I'm a proud lady.

It was a few degrees above freezing when I set out this morning to run the neighborhood loops, but sunny and relatively calm.  I started the Garmin, then covered it up with my outerwear.

Today wasn't about time.

Reflecting on this run, I find that my recall is fragmented . I don't remember if I had to stop for any cars to pass, but I do remember seeing the detritus of Christmas at the curb - overflowing trashcans and over-sized cardboard boxes (some lucky kid got an air hockey table). I don't remember if I saw any one, but I do remember the way the sunlight entered my squinting eyes through my eyelashes - glittering, dazzling.

According to my records, I ran 39 out of 52 Sundays in 2012. And six of the missed Sundays, I ran on Saturday. I ran in North Carolina, Missouri, Virginia, Minnesota, and Georgia and climbed a mountain in Colorado. I ran on trails, greenways, and streets. I ran in sun, wind, and rain, in temperatures ranging from 34° to 95°.

It's no wonder that my recall of these familiar neighborhood loops this morning is fragmented. I know them so well; I've run them alone, quietly, and with friends, chatting. Small particles of my shoes's soles are ground into the pavement.

Small pieces of me are scattered here, too.