The Morgan Freeman Run

“I plan on having such an awesome run, Morgan Freeman should narrate it”. This was my last Facebook post before heading out for an evening run on one of the nicest days we’ve had in a long time.  And I meant it. I was pumped up, ready to go, ready to pound the pavement for 5 miles of awesomeness. 

First miles are always the worst. They almost never feel great and almost always make me question why I’m out running in the first place. But today was different. Maybe it was the sunshine, maybe it was the warm breeze, or maybe it was my lucky neon socks, but right out of the gate I felt like a well-oiled machine ready to motor through the next 5 miles of pavement bliss. 

Coming up on mile 3, the evening sun was hot and euphorically blinding and I was a gazelle effortlessly chasing butterflies in the vast African Savanna (or close enough). Mile 4, and I should be wearing a cape. I’m super-running-woman with springs in my shoes. My pace is spectacular, my form is tight, I’m looking straight ahead focused on where I’m going. I’m IN THE ZONE. 

Then it happened. Out of absolute nowhere my delirious runners-high came to a screeching halt as I was suddenly tumbling like a dry desert weed across the sidewalk. BAIL. And I was more confused than the rush-hour traffic who got the live action shot of this playing out. Then around my ankle, the culprit. A large wire ring from an adjacent construction site took me down. My perfect run is ruined, my pace is ruined! Then I thought about the hilarity that each person sitting in the bumper-bumper traffic just witnessed and like a champ I ninja-rolled out of the tumbleweed and was back on my feet as if it never happened. 

The last mile was epic. The bail didn’t break me, or my spirit. And I then thought about Morgan Freeman. Maybe my overconfidence with such a presumptuous Facebook post came back to hurt me (literally), but then again, when was the last time Morgan Freeman narrated the story of someone who just went for a run and then went back home. Like, never. Basically I just saved Morgan from a performance that no one writes home about. 

So, to Mr. Freeman, and all the people sitting in traffic who just got some spice added to their stagnant drive home to suburbia, you’re welcome.