Some days I want to give it up. Some times, I want to sit on the couch, or curl up under a blanket, and forget the world exists. But these roads, these rolling hills, they call to me.
Rolling farms, the smell of cut grass, of rain, of earth... it's better than a drug for me. I start out slow, and curl down hills and around bends, through thickets, and before I know it, I've run 5 miles. And I keep going. And someone mowing their lawn and seeing me run by mouths, "Good Job!" And I feel the tingle of pride start at my toes and I pick up my pace a little more to get up a slight roll of a hill, and I see the countryside opening up around me, and I feel the urge to turn on an unnamed dirt road, and climb to the top of a hill to see just how that sky ends on the other side...
So I run... and I keep running... I don't really care if its road or trail or path, but it's here... this is my home... these are my hills... and I'll run... and if you're ever in the area, and you might want to see, or feel, or smell, or taste this craving that keeps me getting up, even when I'm down... drop me a note... we'll go running...
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