At the end of my mid-day six miler, there was a moment.
It was a long uphill three miles and an easy downhill three miles...at least until the last quarter mile or so. I live in Boulder, where hills are unavoidable, especially if you live on top of one. And I live on top of one. So after virtually every run, unless I really plan it out, I end up climbing up a hill to get home. Which is actually preferable, because it really wears me out and I can rest assured knowing I worked my butt off. But every once in awhile, that hill stares me down like it's going to eat me for dinner. And today was like that.
Today, I began the long battle up 9th street. Depending on my mood, I either choose to take roads up that hill that will hide me from traffic and other people so I can struggle in peace, or I take 9th, which means I need the motivation of knowing that other people will see me if I quit. There's also a stop light on the way, and if you hit it at the wrong time you either have to bop in place so you don't loose momentum or you stop awkardly and just wait for the trusty walking man and then have to boost yourself back to turbo speed and find the last shred of power to make it up the hill. I caught the light at the wrong time. But I decided to embrace my inner renegade and just run through it when I knew there were no cars. And at this point my legs are jello. But then it happened....I hear that familiar beat that I can only associate with house-cleaning days when I was little. My mom blasting this particular album and that meant incredible things were being accomplished around the house. Michael Jackson's sparkling, buttery voice floats into my ears and I begin to smile. Smile! Ha! Halfway up this bully of a hill! I'm sure you're singing along with me now. Because, let's face it, you just can't fight it. And I know you're enjoying it just as much as I was. But try to imagine the absolute cosmic alighnment that must have occured. "Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough." And I didn't stop 'til I got enough.
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