The bells started chiming promptly at 5:30 am. I reached over, grabbed the phone and instinctively hit snooze, like I had done every morning prior for the past several weeks. But just as I was about to close my eyes for a few more minutes of slumber, something happened. I couldn’t fall back to sleep. Instead, I stared at the ceiling. I could hear the voice inside my head calling out, ”Get up. Run!”

My inner voice was demanding this morning. She was almost begging me,  “Run, Michele. It’s not raining that hard. It’s not that dark. RUN!”

It’s as if she was trying to save me from something. So this time…I listened.

My daughter was sound asleep in her bed, unaware that her Mommy was about to take herself for a rainy, dark morning run. Something I’ve never done before. Truth be told, I’m terrified of the dark. I don’t like walking alone on dark streets, or parking garages, or stair wells. And I never enter a dark house alone. It’s terrifying to me.  The fear, I think, stems from a time when I was in my early 20’s and I was being chased through a parking garage by a stranger. I managed to get to my car and pull away before he exited the stair well. But the ordeal has scarred me and left me absolutely terrified of the dark.  So this morning’s dark run was monumental, to say the very least.

I laced up my shoes, put a hat over my tousled locks, and walked to the curb. I stood there for a second staring down Louise avenue. My heart started thumping. The street looked so dark.  The sky was practically invisible. But there I stood. Laced up and ready for a run. So I stepped off the curb, put one foot in front of the other and began my journey.

The air was exhilarating. The sound of my feet pounding the asphalt gave me new energy. It’s as if I was shedding the worst of me with each step. I passed no one on my run. Not one car, not a neighbor walking their dog, or going for their own morning run. It felt as if I had the only glimpse of the world this morning; that I was alone with the universe, and that somehow, today’s morning was just for me.

Running gives me so many things that I am grateful for. But mostly, I am grateful for the way it’s taught me to love myself. I have good runs and bad ones. And each and every one of them makes me feel strong.  I’ve learned to be alone with myself. I’ve learned how to push myself. I’ve learned how to be OK with failure. And I’ve learned that I am capable of so much more than I often realize.  Running is my zen.

The 4.5 mile run was coming to a close and I rounded the corner from Pleasure Road back on to Louise Avenue. The feeling that washed over me at that very second can only be described as joy.  In that moment I felt so very alive. I realized my strength and what it means to really live. As I walked up the steps to my front door the rain started to pick up. I paused for a moment and had this thought: “Life is good. I’m good.”  And there was nothing in my way. No superficial wants. No selfish desires. Not a care in the world. I was content. And if I can feel that good standing alone in the rain on a cold, dark morning, then, man…what do I really have to worry about? Ya know,  I really believe I’m going to be just fine. More than fine, actually. I’ve got this.