For the first time in four days, I didn't run in the morning.
I ran Friday.
I ran Saturday.
I raced Sunday - good enough for 4th in my age group.
I ran Monday.
Today, I slept.
The girls stayed up a little later tonight to wrap gifts. After I tucked them in bed, I suited up to continue my run streak with a mile in the basement. In pajama pants and a sweatshirt, I walked downstairs and turned on the treadmill. I kept only the stairwell light on since I can barely reach the pull for the bulb in the far corner of the basement. The glow from both the display and the stairwell was enough to cast a shadow of myself on the adjacent wall. I quickly glanced at the wall, then again, back to the wall ahead of me.
I felt so vulnerable among the shadows. In a split second, I could lose my footing, or shift my gait and fly off the back of the treadmill. Everything, without a moment's notice, could be changed forever. The fragility of life began to suffocate me. All that I know, all that I feel, contained in this perfect bubble, could have the air sucked out. The overwhelming possibilities of this reality crushes my chest. I can no longer take a deep breath.
And, with that, the treadmill hit 1 mile.
For now, the rest of those thoughts will have to remain in the shadows until next time.