Dawn,the awakening, promise of it, was her favorite time to run.
The running itself was just something that had to be done, three days a week, like any other chore or responsibility.
Rosalind Harper did what had to be done.
She ran for her health. A woman who'd just had-she could hardly say "celebrated" at this stage of her life-her forty-seventh birthday had to mind her health.
She ran to keep strong, as she desired and needed strength.
And she ran for vanity. Her body would never again be what it had been at twenty, or even thirty, but, by God, it would be the best body she could manage at forty-seven.
She had no husband, no lover, but she did have an image to uphold. She was a Harper, and Harpers had their pride.
But, Jesus, maintenance was a bitch.
By bigwavephoto / Wikimedia Commons, CC BY-SA 4.0,