Each year for at least a decade I’ve been negating my ability to sleep in on the first day of the year in exchange for the glory of running a simple five klick race. The annual Resolution Run is a weather gamble, bringing out a thousand ambitious runners in sub-zero temperatures — fewer and fewer with each successive degree below freezing.
This year was no different.
Leave the house at 10am to get myself a reasonable parking space at the local YMCA.
Linger in the lobby trying to corner familiar faces, maybe snap some New Years selfies and group shots.
Listen to the typical announcements about start lines and kid’s race and putting your number in for the draw and taking off your shoes when you come back so that the gymnasium floor doesn’t turn into a melted-snow mud pit.
Line up at the start line.
Run through the fresh start of a fresh new year thinking for some reason that the speed and clarity of this race defines the tone of the next twelve months.
Reconvene at the finish for more selfies and obligatory group shots. High five. Linger in the cold, or in the case of this year, mild chill and lovely apricity of the sunshine.
Wander back to the gym for terrible coffee, delicious pancakes. And, of course, win absolutely nothing in the draw. I never do. Why use up all my luck on the first day of 2020.