I had a plan. I stayed up with the girls watching Bridesmaids, and drinking yet another bottle of wine, cringing more than laughing. This I thought would earn me a long lie in to prepare me for a long, long day and night ahead.
I awoke early, and instead of lying in darkness, I decided to do it: get up and run. Oddly, I didn’t need much talking to. The devil inside me must have been sleeping of the hangover. The snow was falling as I stepped gingerly over our ice-packed footpath and Banff was waking up, people making their way to work, heads down against the snow. The clouds were on us and all was white. In my luminous yellow jacket, I turned to face Tunnel Mountain and ran.
I was at the top of the hill when I remembered. I know that I love running, but sometimes I know with my mind and not with my heart. The weather is no excuse; on the occasions I venture out, I have no trouble with the ice or the cold or the snow. Yet, my running days have been few and far between.
At the turn around point, I kept going, one foot in front of the other, pulling up by butt, pulling in my stomach and sending my shoulders down my back. I followed the rhythm the snow and patches of ice allowed. I fell and got up and ran on. Falling reminds me that running is a kids game, enjoy it, be playful. I smiled.
I looked around, out through the trees over the valley. I saw the river far below, frozen. The forest went on for miles and miles. The mountain tops were not visible anymore. Running is my reset button. It brings my body and soul in line. It wakes every muscle up and they like it. When I run, I feel more like me that at any other time.
I said a thankyou. For the view, for the run, and for the nudge early this morning to remember to run.
Waking Up In Canada 