I’m not a runner. At. All. Too many bits jiggly and wobble for it to be enjoyable. In my head I have a perfect image of how it would be to go out for a run, then I get excited, get up early, try it and remember that I’m not fit, and I hate waking up before the sun. In reality my zen is a quiet cup of coffee watching the sun come up wrapped in a blankie on my lounge.
It was just me and the road.
The sun only just bleaching the sky a pale blue.
Magpies warbled into the clean dawn air.
The sharp inhale of frigid breath warmed in my chest before I exhaled and pumped my arms harder.
A ginger cat scurries under a parked car, it’s small head poking out and watching me as I jog past, making sure I wasn’t a threat.
There was nothing but me and nature, the road and my breath.
It was my zen, my meditation and later when I would shower and get ready for the day I’ll be centred knowing that I did something just for me.
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