The Feeling

You know the feeling.

Some people call it work. Others call it torture. Still others call it crazy.

You know better.

You know the feeling.

Sailing along a peaceful country road with only the sounds of your footfalls and a sweet, light springtime breeze.

Blasting around a compact oval in powerful mid-stride with the entire world reduced to the concentrated in and out of your diaphragm and your completely relaxed lower lip.

That resounding sense of worth from beating your 0345 alarm out of bed on a frost-covered December Tuesday workday morn because you promised yourself that you would.

The utter joy of tooling along at 4 or 5 mph and being completely awash in your own mind for hours and hours.

The unfailing beauty of the ever-changing pre-dawn light, especially when you're running along a mountain trail with the soft crunch of leaves underfoot.

The peaceful uneven softness of semi-packed ocean sand as the rising sun dots the skyline and early-morning waves give you relentless chase.

The purity that comes about from looking around and having it come home to roost that, yes, you are the only one up here on the top of this mountain. And that you got here by the power of your legs. And your will.

You know the feeling.

Freedom.