After working a couple of nights in a row, I wake up from my daytime slumber in somewhat of a fog. My sleep cycle has been thoroughly turned upside down, and it’s difficult for my brain to kick itself into gear. I feel like a slug, both inside and out. These are the days when I want nothing more than to curl up under a blanket and zone out in front of the TV. But these are the days it’s most important for me to run.
My runs are supposed to be refreshing. They’re meant to wake me up, to sharpen my thinking. And, on most days, they do just that. With every step I take, my mood lightens and I bring myself just a smidge closer to reality. But today’s run was different. It did almost the exact opposite, more like a backslide into the stupor of my dreams.
I blame it on the fog, which was already rolling in, thick and cold, as I took my first steps and began finding my stride. Its density was impressive, blurring the lines between land, water, and sky. My usual landmarks were obscured beyond recognition. The entire beach seemed distant and muted. It was disorienting, feeling so lost in what should be familiar territory. That haziness and uncertainty settled into my psyche, just as the cold penetrated my skin. I didn’t feel refreshed at all, but rather like I was being held in some sort of trance. It wasn’t until I walked through our front door and into the welcoming warmth of our little beach bungalow that I knew for sure I was truly awake. What a strange way to begin my day…
No comments:
Post a Comment