The first blast of cold air sends me back to my apartment -- I exchange my fleece vest for a jacket and I start off again. As I run, I can't decide how warm I am. Gloves on. Gloves off. On. Off. I finally tuck them into my pockets. I slide the zipper of my jacket up and down. Up. Down. Hot. Cold. I give up.
I run towards Southie and I cross the Summer Street bridge -- The silhouettes of industrial rigs and beat up boats are dramatic against the last remnants of the night sky. I'm serious about this run. It's everything a run should be. I don't want to turn around, I want to keep running, and I would, except I do have to go to work. I barely feel the cold and, as I double back and weave towards Fan Pier, daylight suddenly arrives. The harbor is lit up.
Two hours later, I'm running for a bus, paper coffee cup in hand. My sore hip flexors are a reminder of how I started the day.