I hear you.
I hear you in the rustling of the leaves on a breezy climb up Little Bald. I hear you in my labored breathing whenever I'm pushing really, really hard on that nasty uphill near the top of Hankey Mountain. I hear you in the non-rhythmic click clack of loose rocks on a steep technical trail – especially after dark. And I hear your silky voice nearly every night just as I drift off to sleep.
I feel you.
I feel you in a calming quiet of an early morning run. I feel you with each footfall on a dirt trail. I feel you in the strain of those first several steps on the way to going really, really fast. And I feel you in the wash of joy that happens the glorious moment a finish line first pops into view.
I taste you.
I taste you in that metallic tingle that invades my mouth almost every time when I'm really jamming the accelerator to the red-line edge on a run. And I taste you with that first ice-cold post-run IPA.
I see you.
I see you in every on-the-run sunrise and sunset. I see you in every fog-covered on-the-run sky. I see you in each on-the-run fall trail. And I see you in nearly every dream.
Oh how I hear you.
You are that peaceful melody that urges me to go one more mile, one more race, five more pushups, two more planks. And sometimes as much as two more hours, even when I truly don't feel like it at the time.
With all my senses, I know that you are here with me. That you are my whisper of forever. And you never, ever disappoint.
Sweet, sweet Satisfaction.