up routed

Last long run before Ironman Los Cabos in two and half weeks. 5:30 alarm goes off. Still dark, light of day just a stain in the eastern sky. What I wouldn’t give for

a partner,
time for a cup of coffee first,
springs for legs.

I take to the streets, freezing at first in my light shirt. How Californian of me. Wind chills skin as road opens to ocean. Exposed. Ducking into the San Elijo Lagoon, I take respite in the low brush, winding trails. I plead with the sun to hurry up and warm my numb hands.

Photo courtesy of San Diego County.

At this point in Ironman training each workout feels charged. Important. For me, memorable. These are the ones that I’ll draw on through those 140.6 miles. Remember that ride? Those 15 miles in the lagoon? They’re the seeds of racing planted through the many months of training.

Upon returning home, I found out that we got the apartment we applied for yesterday. We’re delighted, but with every life change, so begin the necessary goodbyes. Small as they are.

Like the San Elijo Lagoon. I know it’s not really goodbye—we’ll only be a few miles farther north. But still, I’ve loved having that trail so accessible. And as trivial as it sounds, it’s one of the little things I’ll be sad to leave behind.

Why does such an everyday thing—a simple running route—have this effect on me? I remember the same thing happening to me when we left Syracuse, driving by a certain corner along our regular four-mile loop.

The loops we run, over and over, become part of us.

I could say “whatever, there will be new trails.” And there will be. But for today I just want to mourn my loyal lagoon trail and all the quiet mornings, solitude, and forgiving terrain it has lent me this time around.