This is a story of falling in love.
No, that's not quite true.
This is a story about falling in love all over again.
It's not a pretty story.
It starts with socks. Most stories usually do.
It starts with forgetting socks. And digging up dirty, used socks in the back of one's car.
But, remember, this is about love. And the lengths people go for love.
Like, sticking a car key down your shirt. For love.
Last night, I ran a love story. I ran my favorite trail. And it was hot. And it was hard. I had forgotten the beautiful feeling of uneven ground below my feet. The wind and the dirt and the animals. Everything smelled like fennel.
Last night I fell in love.
Hello, trail. I have missed you.
And I can tell from the burn in my lungs and the sweat dripping down my butt crack that you missed me, too.
This is a love story, about a girl who laced up her shoes, took to the trails, saw two bunnies and a coyote, and fell in love with running all over again. It was tough. I took the easy loop (though, I went the hard direction). And once I was warmed up, my brain was flooded with one thought: This is why I love to run.
This is a love story written in dirty legs and sweaty arm pits.
This is a love story written in silly faces and giddy emotions.
This is a love story written in sweat down my butt crack.
Also, thank goodness I didn't drop my car key.
Every love story has a happy ending (well, that's a lie, for for today we'll consider it true), and mine is this:
No hip pain.
When was the last time you fell in love with running?