Rose at 4:45, escaping one nine year-old heel digging into my back and the edge of the bed left to me for the same desert path I used to complain about. Ran the loop though I'm in no condition to run it. Left at 5:15 and the sun rose while I thought about the impossibility of running and of how far I must go to become even a little more loving. The first mile is always about beating your head clear. After that, something almost tender remains, and you can use it to look around and to see things plainly for the hour or so before it hardens again. By six I'd returned to the dark house full of sleepers. Before they woke with the television and the cats, I could nearly hear you.
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