Lately, I've been enjoying my chill Sunday night runs. I'm alone, it's quiet, and I'm packing on a few extra much-needed miles. Maybe I'll run them tempo speed, or just use the time as a recovery run. Either way, I wouldn't dare think to use my headphones - they would ruin the moment.
I leave later than I intend, always. Writing, or straightening up, or studying Spanish. And then I'm out the door, flying down the block.
The neighbors all recognize me by now as the runner. They say hi as I blur past them, and I smile. I'm in my favourite time. Running. Nothing else gets me feeling like this.
The sun is setting over the buildings. The buildings to the north have half of their tops shadowed pink; the south is a glorious mixture of pink and orange and heaven. I could take a photo but it wouldn't be the same; you have to be there to experience a sunset like this.
I run past people practicing tai chi and children laughing and couples sharing coffees. I run past Brooklyn Flea and the smells and the temporary set-up reminds me of Leon, Nicaragua and so many other places I've traveled. I push on.
I push until I feel like I'm flying.
And then I'm there.