Run Into The Fog

Running out my door I look to my right and see a fog bank descending into the city.  Turning up my street I begin to climb into the last pocket of sunlight.  My cadence begins, one foot after the other.  No slow build here.  Just a pure, aggressive start to my run.

Its been a long week.  I'm tired.  And yet I still head out on foot into the hills, into the fog. 

I hear myself say "come on", as I climb the top of the first hill.  By now the fog is rolling and consuming the last of the sun.  I find myself looking out into a landscape of gray, incomplete outlines, into a dull, cold, face-hurling wind.

The streets are empty.  The city feels deserted.  I am the last one, the last fighter, the last survivor.  I like that feeling; the feeling of being stronger, of deserving to live.

One hill peaks, as my breath follows suite, and I descend into another valley.  The climb and descent is repeated over and over again.  Harder and easier.  Push it and recover.  Cycles.  My mind is quieting to this repetition. 

I climb to the top of Twin Peaks and look out.  The contrast between my vision now of the city, with its faintness, and that of a clear, blue-skied day marvel me.  I feel heightened now.  More awake than I'll ever be.  More aware of my positioning in life, connected by a larger perspective, one which is from above looking down below, where my scope encompasses the entire city.

This is my city.  San Francisco.

Smiling and invigorated I head home with a quickened, excited pace.  The hills and valleys fly past me as I outrun the grasp of the fog and find myself looking back at my run.  There she is: Twin Peaks.

The sun is descending now, highlighting the edges of the fog bank with its glow.  The blue sky floats above.  Nothing is more beautiful than this moment.  I am at peace.

And that is why I run.