I walk out of my apartment and bump into a neighbor -- I ask how she is and she replies, "Life is good. It's a fantastic day."
At 6:30, it's a dark, misty, drizzly morning... puddles and patches of fog. I don't mind at all. It's actually perfect.
.... running into Cambridge, the bridges and sidewalks are empty and there's a moment or two when I feel like the only runner in the world
..... looking back to Boston, the fog is so thick that the Citgo sign is only the faintest glow
..... drops of sweat mixing with the mist, my forehead is damp
..... knowing that breakfast is waiting for me at home, that it's almost the weekend, that there will be celebrations and friends and maybe a little sunshine
.... running in a straight line, my watch hits 22:30 and I call that my destination, turning around
It's Friday. Life is good. It's a fantastic day.