Getting up every morning, throwing feet to the cold hard floor. Taking the steps towards the door, realizing "normal people" do not do this.
Thirty minutes from now messengers will gather with one task at hand: spread the word with pounding feet.
Digging through drawers, wishing the clothes had been chosen the night before. One quick check out the door proves the crispness in the air. Smacked in the face, stinging the nostrils, cracking inside ears, choking the breath, burning tears to the eyes. Those same tears causing the dainty lashes to stick together from the slight moisture of the earlier splash of water meant in hopes to a deeper wakening.
In the final moments prior to leaving for the meeting of miles, adjusting hat and gloves while savoring the last moments of warmth. All this while secretly loathing those still asleep in their kindhearted and toasty slumber. Those whose minds are still dreaming of childlike stories and bizarre materializations.
Hoping to trick the body, waiting for it to realize the potential amount of activity which is to take place in the next hours. Miles occurring under hundreds of footfalls. Trial of Miles, Miles of Trials. Who could every possibly understand that?
Reaching the others, falling in stride around the morning loop. Passing through empty streets, the first of the brave exiting houses for the morning paper, some have not even been delivered yet.
Runners' minds wander throughout these treks, some to the homework not yet completed, for the early lab, even to the previous night's dreams even to the rest of the day's events. In the great minds, these things reach only for a moment. The real thoughts being consumed are the senses overwhelming and filling the body as each strike hits and vibrates through and over: The soft groan and "flicka" of feet making contact with snow covered sidewalks and trails, but quickly, efficiently, leaving a trail for others to find. The moist, and yet simply dry taste left on your cotton mouthed tongue. Sweet stinging smell of crisp and brisk and icy all at the same time, left in your nostrils. The emptiness of the open streets-only the expanse of the road limiting how wide the runners gait. And, yet still crowded as the sun rises and light slowly fills the darkness taking space away from the quickening runners. The acceleration floats and pricks cheeks as ever-awakening legs build to speed. Many would think it an icy feeling on the body, but these harriers have layered to perfection- creating warmth and yet cool; pleasant even in these frigid temps.
Rounding turns and streets, the steps strike down forcefully. Smacking the ground with force and determination and yet efficiently that no sound is heard. Toes gaining the last bit of force off the ground; propelling forward to the finish. To goals. To dreams.
