Running rhythm

Step. Step. Step. Step. The rhythm is familiar. And this time of year, I not only hear, but see my breath. I breathe, I step. I step, I breathe. It's the way of the road.

I watch people walk to and from their cars. They look at me puzzled. The snow hasn't completed melted, ice lines the sides of the roads, and I'm out pounding the pavement. "Someone chasing you?" Yes. Myself. The non-running Jennifer is back there, reminding me of what I was before I tied on a pair of runners. The Jennifer who didn't understand what it is like to cross a finish line and feel the cold weight of a medal around her neck. She doesn't get the exhilaration of making the impossible happen.

Sometimes I feel her catching up to me. Those moments when my legs feel too tired or the bad running days get the best of me. The days when I don't want to leave my house.

Today was not one of those days. Today I grabbed my balaclava, layered up and waved at the old Jennifer as I raced past. The rhythm of the road has won.