The last week or so I’ve had a skewed sleep schedule. Put it down to jet lag, I suppose, or distraction or simply winter rearing it’s head. But this weekend, I got moving again, pounding out some miles outside. And this morning, when the clock read 4:40 and I found myself contemplating the chaos, the gym felt like the right place for an escape.

I miss the sound of feet crunching through ice; the look of barren trees silhouetted against crisp morning skies, and the lights of homes slowly flickering on as the street lights go back to sleep. These are the perks of solo city running and they are earned in bodies undaunted at the prospect of an easy slip which leads to years of rehabilitation.

Rightly or not, that risk isn’t one I’m taking these days, when, three years after surgery, my femur and hip have reached a pleasant detante. And so, while the moon dropping out of sight on the horizon from the protection of a glass window is not my first idea of fun, and cannot begin to compare to the feel of frost forming on my eyelashes, I cannot lie – the endorphins simply do not care.

Thirty minutes on the treadmill and another thirty spent in awkward positions which confirm I have core work to do have left me sweaty, more relaxed and buzzing- ready for the day.

I send into the universe this morning the hope that you too have the opportunity to find some small bit of peace today, wherever your feet may find you. If you’re lucky, the unexpected reward will be half as beautiful as this surprise, which revealed itself as I wrapped my session. Pretty in pink never sounded so right.

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