Running Home

Saturday morning I ran a cross country race in a park tucked in the back of Chesapeake. Such a nice change of pace. I really enjoyed it. The fog sat on the hills so thick it made your hair damp and the river and pond off to the side looked like soup. There were birds every where and the best part...you couldn't hear any traffic. Had the hills been bigger (and the air MUCH colder), I could almost imagine I was running at home in Maine. A great way to start the morning :) I wasn't the fastest by any means, but I certainly enjoyed the run and the whole way, I kept looking off to the side at tiny animals popping among the greenery. Home, home, home. Its such a funny place. You can't wait to leave when you are young, but the way you remember it when you are older, it suddenly becomes a mystical place you would love to raise you kids. Trust me, growing up on an island mid-coast Maine, is incomparable. I can remember running up hill, (yes, both ways- we lived at the top of a hill) the wet air tasted like cold sea, and the bite of the cold could seep through the wool layers, but you felt so alive when you ran, as fast as I could, just a mile, just long enough to get rid of whatever adolescent anger I had that day-chasing my mind, even then.