It’s a hair after 6 a.m. and I’ve just gotten back from my run. I’m in Scottsdale, Arizona with the family, visiting friends, hence the early hour. Wait for the sun to rise fully before starting an outside workout around here and…. sizzlefrysizzlefrysizzlefry. It’s not pretty.
But now? Now is good. Now I feel quiet, and pleased with the sweat on my skin, and grateful.
I’m grateful that I’m 22 weeks pregnant and can trot 3.2 miles and manage to smile at people along the way.
I’m grateful for this beautiful place in which to run, with its lakes and palm trees and and saguaros and mountains, shimmering in the heat even at sunrise.
I’m grateful for a break from hilly runs, as much as I appreciate them.
I’m grateful for how I feel after running, no matter the pace or distance.
I’m grateful for my amazing friends and their bright, energetic, beautiful kids, who never allow a moment to get dull.
I’m very, very grateful that they have a pool in their backyard.
I’m grateful for my husband, who’s willing to be middle-of-the-night parent for Caroline when she needs one, allowing me to stay in bed and feel Caroline’s little sister do a flamenco dance inside me in response to her big sis’s noises.
I’m grateful for that flamenco dance.
I’m grateful for the thoughts I have while running, envisioning my first half and full marathons as a mom, and getting so choked up (mid-stride, not highly recommended) that I know it’s absolutely going to happen, even if it’s years from now.
I’m grateful for the long game.
And for the short game. This moment — this quiet, sweat-beginning-to-dry time, pregnant in so many ways, this tiny little window when I finally let grace overtake me — this is good.