The Road Ahead

Here I go again. It's 6:47 AM and I'm awake. You'd think that I'd rather sleep in to catch up on the hours I've missed this week, but here I am staring at the clock. I quietly slip out of bed, careful not to disturb my long-suffering wife. I know that she doesn't understand why I do this, but she's understands enough to know that this is something I need to do to feel complete.

I quietly root around in my gym bag trying to find that last, elusive pair of socks hiding somewhere at the bottom. It's the last clean pair until the laundry gets done. I know this because I dumped the rest of my smelly and damp gear in the clothes hamper late last night. I finally track down the errant pair, hiding inside a T-shirt. I pull on my shorts, T-shirt socks and tiptoe down the hall, carefully closing the door behind me.

I stand in front of the bathroom mirror and say "Good Morning" to the man in the mirror. I take care of the usual morning business, wincing as I flush the toilet, hoping that it doesn't disturb anyone's sleep. I check the few grey hairs, the shadow of the nights beard growth, the lines around my eyes, then my weight on the scale. Nope, still not getting any younger or lighter. I think to myself, there's always hope for tomorrow.

Careful not to trip over the dog lying in the doorway, I traverse the mine field of computer parts, kids toys, beanie babies, a wheel chair, and assorted shoes, all put there by the evening elves to catch sleepwalkers unawares. I flip on the light over the kitchen sink and try to decide if I'm going to grab more than a coffee this morning. Well, I've got some time, so I open a yogurt and a banana as well. I wait for the microwave to count down to five and catch it before the beep at the end. Slowly and quietly, I eat, pondering life, the universe and well, everything. It's quiet here,  just a banana skin   and my thoughts. I check the clock and cross the obstacle course to grab the newspaper. I read Dilbert, the rest of the comics, the editorial page and the advertising flyers. There is nothing of import, nothing that I can change or anything that affects me directly.

Pull on my running shoes and double tie them. I look at the clock one more time, inhale a glass of water, snatch my water bottle from the fridge, grab my sunglasses and jacket, lift my truck keys from the hook and turn the door handle. I ease the door closed and take a deep breath of the air. Made it. Dad one, family nothing.

I turn around on the porch and take in the view across the bay, wondering what happened over night at work. The sky is grey with hints that there really is a sun behind the clouds. I hope it puts in an appearance, to take the edge off the chill morning air. I slide on my funky glasses and head down the steps to the truck.

I fire up the engine and consider once again the absurdity of driving. It's less than five minutes down the road by vehicle, ten to twenty minutes by foot. I stop at the light and watch the traffic slide by, under the bridge like so much water. Trucks and cars, each on their own separate paths, following the stream of tail lights in front of them to their separate ends. The lights change and I continue towards my own destination.

I round the corner and turn into the school parking lot. I wonder who else will show up today. I see a few people talking, all jittery in the cool air, trying to stay warm by movement only. I pull the keys out of the ignition, stuff them in the pocket in my shorts and step out to brave the cool morning air. I shed my jacket, lock the truck door and wander over to one of the groups with a few familiar faces. John the club president calls the stragglers to order, offers up a few words about the up coming club race and congratulates a few on their participation in the race last week. We group up, people calling out what distances they are running today.

I trot out on the road as the sun pokes through the clouds, warming my back. I nod, wave and say "good morning" to the usual suspects, as well as one or two new faces. I listen in on a few conversations, add my own comments, warming up my muscles and mind to the journey ahead. The group stretches out, rabbits to the front, the rest of us at our own chosen pace following behind. The sound of footfalls, breathing and chatter surround me, make me feel as warm as the sun behind me.

I look inside and try to decide what kind of day it's going to be. Is it time to stretch out, see if the ol' legs have a fast one in them this morning? Maybe I'll try to pace some of the veterans and let my ego take another beating. It could be one of those days to coast and socialize.

I let the road decide, I follow my own pace. I leave the chatter behind, chasing the beat of my feet on the ground below me. I feel the heat of exertion in my thighs as it sings to the rhythm of my breathing, the pounding of my heart. I pump my arms and follow the call of my own path, the road I am traveling. I leave my cares and concerns behind as I pick up the pace, looking forward to the hills ahead.

By Mark G. Collis

Revised: December 24, 2003.