It might be prudent to wonder at the volume which might be written about a simple five klick run through a familiar neighbourhood on a standard route on an unremarkable evening marked by average winter temperatures. It might be worth asking why give such an activity any more notice than a few words of acknowledgement, or just a line in a tracking spreadsheet.
I woke up this morning five minutes before my alarm and lay in bed staring at the clock debating if to get up or wait for the routine. The routine includes letting the radio — yes, broadcast CBC — spur to life and tell me the news that may have passed overnight. As the report ends and the sound devolves into the show host’s morning patter, I crawl from under the sheets and proceed to the shower. The whole effort of waking up, from the radio coming to life to letting the shower door clack shut behind me takes roughly ten minutes. Yet here I was, five minute before the alarm, waiting for the clock to wake me officially. That’s my average morning. And it wasn’t average just then.
Atop this stolen five minutes of day, my mind wandered into a philosophical diversion: these five minutes could be grabbed and claimed and added onto an otherwise average day, or I could just let them slip away and let them be lost to the sprawling desert of passed time. I took the latter option and stared at my clock for five minutes. Five more minutes of my life, staring at a clock. Five minutes for which as I get closer to the waning years of my life I would likely pay dearly for those just five more minutes.
Funny how funny thoughts creep into your head.
So, we went running. An average thirty-five minutes of average running with average conditions through average streets on an average winter evening... and I could sit here and let that fade away, or I can realize that these are the passing moments worth remembering.