Blinding White Joy.

Summer morning.  Chilly track.

"Natalie!  My hands are numb!"
"Mine too!"

Mittens in August?

Heading into the third turn of the second 800 meter interval the sun powers over the top of the building to our east.  Blinding, white, glowing.

We’re overexposed and unbalanced.  Washed in a light that hints of winter.  Low sun like that, you can’t trust it.

There are sweet little birds on Natalie’s calves.  For the first 100 meters of lap two, I stare down at them and watch them flying as her feet turnover: snap-snap-snap. Then I fall into step with her to finish the interval together in that crazy white light.

I can’t explain this brand of joy.  The joy that forgets money and mortgages and bills and life insurance.  The joy that hides in a low, white August sun.  I can’t move my fingers, but there are warm things inside of me singing.

This is why we do it.

Because there is a certain point when you feel your body in motion and it elates you.  It hurts and you push and then you stop and your chest fills with stars and sun.  This is not about being an athlete.  It’s not about being fast or running a PR or having a good track workout.

It’s about being human.  It’s about the organic generation of happiness.  You the little Happy Maker.  You caught up in a moment in which all your dismal human self-doubt is momentarily eclipsed.

It is not ego or hubris.  It’s simple and clear.  Happiness. Calm euphoria. 

This is why I do it.  It’s why I run.  It’s why I ride.  And it’s why I keep getting up every day and hammering away at this crazy thing we call life.

Find your joy.  It’s out there.

Find it and mark it.  Find it and remember it and honor it.

 

 

 

 

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