I'm running up Beacon Street towards the State House -- tall hill, cold air, tired legs. But suddenly I hit the right cadence and I have a perfect moment of running, of physical effort... or, I should say, effortlessness.
I'm sprinting down on State Street when I nearly collide with a tall man in a heavy, wool overcoat. He says, "Go," I say, "Go," and then he urges me on: "Go, go, go!" So I do.
I run through the Seaport and turn around when I reach Temazcal. And there's Boston, spread out for me and all lit up. This view never fails to impress. Hey there, Boston. How you doin'.