WYSIWYG

Trying my best to be a good employee, here at 4:50 p.m., but find I am so beat that being productive seems a concept I can’t quite make real in my mind. The question comes up: why am I compelled to run? Yesterday was another disgruntling day, and I awoke early this morning knowing a run was on my schedule. I felt tired, and apprehensive that the world was after my scalp even before I stumbled out of bed. Yet I made myself go. Here’s the why (one of various): by the time I had gone two blocks, my body, ignoring my mind, had hooked into that primal left-right motion, and was at peace. I do believe we humans were born to run, and we’ve had that innate compulsion since long before the caterwauling of Bruce Springsteen. Yes, I’m almost 60 years old, and yes, I’m spaced and tired right now from a long day on top of my 5 ½ miles. But I believe that my being, that pebbly aggregate of body, mind, and soul, is at peace in a way it never would be right now had I not gotten out the door at 4:30 a.m.

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