Until very recently I was a determined single-minded morning runner. If I couldn’t get out first thing in the morning, chances were that I wouldn’t run at all.
Over Christmas I tried a few lunch runs. I would wait until Talia was up, and then we would go together. It was nothing but fun. (Largely due to the company, I know.) Since then I’ve continued with lunch runs; it’s a whole lot warmer at noon than at 6 a.m.
Today, for the first time, I ran in the evening. And it was wonderful.
I spent a fun afternoon with friends, planning to run when I got home, but it went a little later than I had expected. No problem; we were having too much fun to stop. But then I got home, sat down, and sighed.
Phil looked at me and asked, “You going running?”
Phooey. Moaning just a little, and mostly inside my head, I pulled on my gear, tied my shoes, and headed out. It was 5:30.
The sun was setting as I left the house, and the robins were making those sleepy, we’re-going-to-bed-now noises in the trees. Running through my neighbourhood, there was almost no traffic…no car noise.
Kids ran and shouted.
Smoke from grilling burgers wafted across my path.
The sky grew darker and darker and then….the first star.
A tree frog sang from one yard as I trotted past.
Finally, coming up my street, the neighbours had a Tiffany lamp shining in the window of their darkened house. Church bells rang the quarter-hour.
Best of all, I stepped into the house, and smelled…BACON.
It’s official. I’m converted. Evening runs are the best thing ever.