Rounding the corner. Nearing the end. Drawing to a close. Wrapping it up. Sometimes the last mile is the hardest. Sometimes it is the best.
My husband and I went on a long run yesterday, something we don’t get to do together very often. But, yesterday, thanks to very generous grandparents, we got the chance. We compared heart rates on our watches, talked about what furniture to put on our new porch, laughed at the funny things our kids do. It was nice– a word that doesn’t quite seem to do it justice.
We ended the run a little faster than we’d started. And that’s looking like the case for me during this 31. Day 1, all I wanted was to go slow. Be methodical, adventurous, patient. But here I am 25 days in, and I feel my heart rate increasing, my pace quickening. I feel myself rushing to the finish line, kind of like a little killdeer you can see dashing across a yard or beach. I love the way they run– such haste and without much grace. I love their black stripes, their red eyes.