Seattle gets this stretch every winter when, for about a week or so, it feels like spring’s come early. The skies are clear, it’s “warm” (50s), and you get to peel of a couple layers. Inevitably, it snaps back a week later and we plunge into at least three more months of cold and darkness.
But, man…that stretch is for real.
It happened just this past weekend, so I threw on some running shorts and headed out the door.
At one point, I ended up on the western shores of West Seattle, facing the Olympic Peninsula. I’d run this particular trail about a million times before. But for whatever the reason, this was the first time it hit me:
I’ve run on this trail. I’ve sailed that Sound. I’ve hiked through those mountains.
There was something weirdly satisfying in that realization. Part of it was that sense of ownership that comes with having spent a significant amount of time in any particular place. Another part was a feeling of accomplishment for having actually gotten out and done stuff. And maybe that was all it was.
But whatever — I kicked up my pace a little after that. I felt excited. This was just a slice of where I lived. There are thousands more trails to run, waters to sail, and hills to conquer. It’s the New Year. It’s a new day. Let’s get out and do all this shit.