Morning Egg and You Can, Too

Morning Egg and You Can, Too

Sunrise, Mt. Maunganui, NZ

"The thought of later in the day having to explain to myself why I didn't run that morning is enough to get me out the door."
- Linda Johnson                                

Light brushes my shoulders like a lover’s caress.  I’m running the beach in Mt. Maunganui.  Going. And  glowing.  Behind me, a large orange egg rocks atop an undulating gray-blue skillet. I’ve served myself the morning’s first egg with a side of sneakers.  Sunrise tastes delicious.

My GPS watch (a gift from my late husband, Sean - the device has tracked mileage around the world) tells me it’s 6:30 am. I left the house just in time to catch the show.

To Summit, or Not?

My size 10.5 blue and gray Adidas trail runners pound packed sand  - 2.5 kilometers until Moturiki, Leisure Island. I exit the beach by jogging a small set of wooden stairs to the boardwalk. I’m not sure I can summit The Mount (all 761 feet, or 232 meters) and return home by 7:30 - in time to coax the kids into pouring their own cereal and getting dressed. Pete can help if I’m not back, but still, I want to be there.

Okay, task at hand, task at hand, because this first part is hard work… I run the wood-trimmed steps until arriving at the dreaded stone stairs. I call them dreaded because they’re knee-steep and always stop me, mid- trot. I trudge, instead, waddling back and forth, ascending boulders, one by one. Huh-huh-huh –where'd my breath go? At least I don’t have to climb these steps four times as I did with the Joggers yesterday. Small mercies.

I huff and pant as I pick off the last stone step. My head down, I shuffle the gradual slope of The Mount’s north side. Someone stands before me. That someone is rotund and white. It’s a sheep, ambling across the path. I slow just enough to lock eyes with a lamb several feet away. Its eyes look like two holes in snow.

I run the North Face track, which starts as a gentle set of gravel and wood-hemmed steps and eventually flattens to reveal Matakana Island. This is where Ocean meets Harbor (so pleased to make your acquaintance). How many runs afford this luxury view? Lucky, lucky runners/walkers we are.

38 minutes have elapsed, according to my watch. Can I summit and return home before 7:30? I could turn around at the 40-minute mark. Nah. I’m so close to the top – am I really gonna turn my back on that view?  Keep going, keep shuffling – up, up, up the gravel track, over fist-sized embedded stones, over smaller chunks of crushed rock, hopping fissures from mudslides past.

View from the top (Paula Wilson, l.)

44 minutes after leaving home, I’m standing atop The Mount – Harbor to my right, Pacific Ocean to my left, the skinny peninsula of Mt. Maunganui stretching east. I pause to pick out our rental home. I find the general area (though, without binoculars, I can’t pinpoint the house), by spotting an apartment block.

I bound down the East Face stairs – not flying (I don’t fly steps unless I trip, and that’s happened too many times already) but carefully threading the descent. Back on the gravel track, I can soar – downhill – flying, flying – whee!

This Yoke's for You

You wonder why more people don’t get out early to feel the sun, wind, to reconnect with miracles labeled legs, arms, hearts – our bodies. I formulate a simple tutorial entitled, “How to run or walk in the morning” which goes like this:

1)      Go to bed at a reasonable hour the night before

2)      Wake up an hour earlier than usual

3)      Get dressed in sports clothes  and apply sunscreen

4)      Drink coffee and eat something small (this takes practice and the pre-run coffee won’t work for everyone – it’s essential for me)

5)      Put on sports watch, running (or walking) shoes and hat

6)      Leave the house

7)      Put one foot in front of the other

8)      Repeat for 1,000, 5,000, 10,000 steps –whatever amount time and your body allow

This is how you become a walker or runner (provided you’ve figured a way to ensure your small children – if you have them – are cared for).

I run the road – Marine Parade - back to the house. I pass other runners and cyclists. They, too, milk the morning.  Another watch check:  9.6 kilometers. One more k to go. I finish at 7:26 am, in an hour and eight minutes. It’s not race pace (nowhere near), but good enough to get me home in time to listen to Finley keep up his eternal, full-volume monologue of laughing, gibberish, singing and yelling. I'm home in time to watch Pete inadvertently spill Wheetbix on Fiona’s head and kiss him before he leaves for work. In time to see Fiona spend 15 minutes doing homework she started last night.  In time to hover while kids make their lunches. I kiss my kiddos goodbye as they leave for school.

Noise has vacated the building. In child-free silence, I can envisage the morning’s hour and eight minute gift. Taste the deliciousness of golden egg in gray-blue skillet. Inhale mind-quenching sea air. The memory of effort lodges in my legs; it camps in my memory. It's like American marathoner Amby Burfoot said, "Running is a revival of the spirit, a private oasis for the thirsty mind..."

How I used to Run

Some day, when my knees give out or when my body succumbs more and more frequently to inborn clumsiness, I’ll stop running. Then, I’ll walk. And when I become ill and lie in hospital, I’ll write about how I used to run. And when I’m too weak or nauseous to write, I’ll read about how I used to run. And when I can’t read anymore, I’ll ask someone (maybe you) to read me this story to quench my 'thirsty mind' – to remind me once upon a time, I used to run.  I’ll taste again the morning’s first golden egg. And it will be delicious.

You can taste it, too.