Reality bites

It is the dawn of a beautiful spring day, a rare and blessed event in this God-forsaken land we call South Dakota.
A pale blue seeps into the sky as the sun rises and starts taking the chill out of the morning air. Yesterday's rain has greened up the lawns and settled the dirt. Buds are bursting into leaves on the trees and bushes.
Heading out on the daily run, I have every reason to feel joyful, bounding across the miles carefree and effortless. And yet, every step feels leaden and tired.
As blessed and reaffirming as running is, the sport can be equal parts painful and depressing. How can it be that you feel like a gazelle one day and a sodden, lumpy piece of dead wood the next?
Other than the mirror or old photos, I know of nothing else that serves as such a cruel reminder that not only does life go on, but often times it just flat-out stomps on you from head to toe.
Days and weeks pass with a mixed blessing of runs good and bad, mediocre and forgetful, so at what point do you get to the tipping point?
Or, more importantly, how do you know it's not just a bad cycle of runs, but rather the start of the long, slow decline? When do you go from trying to improve to trying to hang on?
Running, like life in general, is much more enjoyable when you are feeling good, all powerful and ready to conquer the world. No one wants to slog through mile after painful mile, reminded every step of what once was and no hope offered for what will be.
The only comfort is to crawl back into bed, pull up the covers and push the aging, aching thoughts out of the head. Then, another new day appears on the horizon, seemingly like every day before it.
Within a few steps, though, instead of yearning for the couch, the body responds to what I am asking of it. Running feels not quite effortless, but not dreadful either.
The heart sings and the spirit soars. I'm back, and ready to fight on ... at least for another day.