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.
Black Rose
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By bigwavephoto / Wikimedia Commons, CC BY-SA 4.0,
https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=50090597
I run to not only keep my heart pumping to the best of its ability and maybe to burn some calories when I went crazy with pasta servings, but to ease any stress and flip any generally negative emotions, giving the phrase “run it off” another very literal meaning. I've run through breakups. I've run through disagreements with my family and friends. I've run through world conflict and affairs that keep me up at night.
It’s an opportunity to test out mindfulness practices I’ve picked up over the years, the ones I have such a hard time doing while sitting in my apartment.
