The Unfortunate Brevity of the Running High

I went for a beautiful run this morning. Dawn broke as I sallied forth along the more charming roads of Crouch End, turning the sky pink behind the terraces and trees, lending a rosy glow to the faces of passing commuters.

Two runners smiled as they passed; two cars waved me across at traffic lights. I took it easy, running smoothly up and down the hills and enjoying the growing feeling of comfort and happiness as it became clear that this was going to be a Good Day.

Back at the flat, I held on to that happiness throughout breakfast, ironing, and five minutes playing with the cats. On the 91 bus crawling along the Caledonian Road, it reduced by about half, but was still keeping me afloat. Opening the office door, I walked in and my happiness stayed outside in the hallway.

I made myself a coffee and ate a biscuit. Perhaps that would bring it back? No. By 9:30am, it had gone. I found myself contemplating an extra run tonight.

This is how it starts. One minute you’re a woman who likes a jog, the next you’re putting your name down for Badwater.