Like, 50-60 degrees. In February.
It's spring when it should be winter. And I know that I should be more worried about global warming and droughts and precipitation, but there's nothing I can do to change the weather.
So I'm just enjoying it.
Because honestly, this weather is beautiful and good for the soul.
I have no idea what that purple light is. But it's kinda cool.
This weather has allowed me to run outside a lot more than I have in the past couple of months. Because, as much as everyone loves running in freezing temperatures, strangely, I prefer not to. (Actually, the real reason I don't like running when it's cold and snowy is not because it's cold, but because I'm afraid that I'm going to slip . . . I hate falling on ice . . . and I hate pain.)
But, this weather has allowed me to run. And has reminded me why I do it.
Because, honestly, I'm not really a runner. I only run to stay in shape. I rarely run to train for a race, and I have never experienced a runner's high.
But running does remind me that I live.
There is something exhilarating and invigorating as my feet touch the ground in a steady rhythm on the pavement, matching the pounding music of my heart. Those harmonies together, combined with the melodies on my ipod--songs of dreams, cities, hopes, and love--course through me and keep my soul and body in sync.
but if you close your eyes, does it almost feel like nothing changed at all? and if you close your eyes, does it almost feel like you've been here before? --"pompeii," bastille.
Today's a holiday. That means I'm at home. And so I ran. In my hometown. I haven't done that in a long time. I'm used to running those Provo streets--going past student housing, Center Street, and "Enter to Learn, Go Forth to Serve" signs.
But today I ran along my old bus route, past brick houses, past horses, fields, bridges, and parks. The white peaks of Mt. Timpanogos smiled at me, gleaming with sunlight. And I was reminded of how much more there is to this world. My world. My world is so much more than mountain paths and magic stop signs. But then, that is also what I am made up of.
There was something at once both familiar and new, running these paths I have walked and driven--a new kind of intimacy with these roads, as my heart pounded through my veins and my feet echoed my heart. Becoming one. Like holding someone's hand and feeling their pulse course through your palm. Or placing your head on someone else's chest and hearing--no, not even hearing, but feeling--their beating, living heart . . . or is it yours you feel? After a while, you can't tell the difference. And maybe that's the point.
That life force of a heart--beating, beating, beating--keeps us moving, breathing, bleeding, loving. I am reminded constantly of my heart while I run. I hear it in my ears. I feel it in my feet. I see it in the way my fingers turn red and painful with cold. My heart circulates, beats, believes.
Hearts are incredibly resilient.
How's your heart?
Beating.
Bleeding.
Believing.
Some people's hearts can hold more desires than others' hearts. But that doesn't mean those with big hearts are better than those who might be more contented or vice versa. Size of heart doesn't matter. But those desires do. Because in the end, we all get the desires of our hearts.
Those beating, dreaming, living hearts that can hold and handle so much more than we ever thought possible.
all we can do is try and live like we're still alive. --"chasing the sun," sara bareilles
We can always be chasing the sun.
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