Last Monday, I ran a marathon.
It wasn't a race, just something I've wanted to do for a long time. I didn't have any company. I only partly planned the route. I just came home from work, packed as much water as I could and started running. 5:18:45 later, I was done. I was slow and it was hot out. By the time I got home, my legs were so thrashed I could barely climb into the shower.
But I also experienced a moment of pure joy and transcendence at mile 23. I was running down Beargrass Rd from Cherokee Park. It was almost 10pm, pitch black and I had no lights.
There was no one around and I ran in complete silence surrounded by the blinking lights of a thousand fireflies. They were all around me. Along the ground, in the bushes, up in the trees. It was like the stars had fallen.
A tiny moment of peace that let me ignore my cramping legs and stomach to soldier on.