Marshall Ramsey

The Moon admires its reflection.

I turn the lock and open the door.  The warm, moist breath of the morning greets me, covering my body with a wet blanket of misery.  I reach down and turn on my GPS watch.  It begins to seek satellites that orbit far above.  I carefully walk down my dark front sidewalk steps to go to the corner of my yard to stretch. I grab the stop sign and begin to stretch my legs.  Most of my injuries comes from my impatience and lack of stretching. The only sound I can hear is the hum of my neighbors’ air-conditioning units. My watch is ready to go. So am I.

I have two choices: Right — which is downhill. Or left — which goes straight up. This morning, I take the tough choice and go left. My heart rate quickly responds and leaps to 151 beats a minutes.  I crest the first hill of the morning, see Venus and Jupiter lined up in the sky and notice a feint hint of the coming sunrise.  I run down the hill (the biggest in my neighborhood) and come to the end of the street.  My watch reads, “.25 of a mile.”  Sweat is beginning to form on my forehead. It’s 79 degrees at 4:45 a.m.

My headphones are in but my iPhone’s music is not too loud.  Although there aren’t many cars out at this time of the morning, I don’t want to risk a confrontation.  It’d be a confrontation I know I’d lose. I’m listening to Tupelo Singer/Songwriter Paul Thorn as I turn to the right and back up a big, long hill.  I enter another neighborhood and run another mile to their lake.  There I watch as the Moon admires its reflection in the rippled water.  A slight breeze blows across the water.  I turn and run back the way I came and listen to my feet crunch the gravel beneath them.   Soon, I’ve crossed the two-mile threshold.  My lack of sleep from the past few days makes me feel like I’m running with the parking break. But I keep putting one foot in front of another.  Sweat soaks my shirt.  It’s a fluorescent-yellow Run from the Sun shirt.

The eastern sky is starting to lighten. Dawn has hit the snooze, but now realizes it must get out of bed.  I hit mile three right at the base of a long, steep hill.   I feel my legs burn, which is expected, as I climb it.  Hills are mental, I keep reminding myself.  I push myself harder and my heart rate climbs into the 160’s. I’m over the hill in a little over a minute.

I’m soaked by now.  The high humidity means my body can’t as efficiently cool itself, but it will keep trying.  I’ve noticed that when cooler weather comes, my heart rate will drop by ten beats a minute.

My path, the main road of my neighborhood, is lit by yellow street lights. And occasionally breeze will blow the oaks, maples, pines and crepe myrtles blocking the light, creating monster-like shadows.  I leave my neighborhood, go into the one across the street and then come back in. I have one mile and change to go.

My shoes are starting to get wet.  Sweat pours down my body and my heart and lungs ache. I’ve picked up my pace and am near sprinting. It’s literarily downhill from here.

I make it back to my house, climb the steps to the front porch and bend over to catch my breath. My heart rate drops quickly back into its normal zone as I rush in to get my shower. As I go in, the sun began to creep over the horizon. I beat it once again.

Distance: 5.25 miles.

Calories Burned: 856 calories burned.

Satisfaction that I had gotten out of my bed and completed another run: Off the charts.

You never really know how worn-out your running shoes are until you get a new pair.  I ran for the first time in my new Brooks Beasts (fat-boy running shoes as I like to call them) and it felt like I was running on pillows.  I took a look at my old pair (which have been retired to walking around in and lawn-mowing duties) and they were visibly worn on the outside heel of both shoes. I’m what’s called an overpronator. I run on the outside of my feet.  But the shoes served me well. I haven’t tallied the milage on them yet, but I got over 450 miles on them since April 1. I was wearing them when I ended up in the Buffalo River by surprise on Good Friday. They have been soaked and worn.  But they served their purpose well.

If you’re looking for new shoes, I recommend a good full-service running shoe store. Why? The people who work in the store are trained to fit you and are usually runners themselves. You may pay a few bucks more, but it’s cheaper than knee surgery. I’ve worn the same type of shoes since San Diego.  My wife teases me, but I’ve had minimal knee trouble in 18 years of running.  I told her, “when it comes to shoes and wives, I know when to stick with a good thing.”  She wasn’t amused.

I ran 5.25 miles this morning.  Yes, it was hot. Yes, it was humid. Once again, I went sans shirt (yes world, behold my pasty skin covered with scars!).  By .7 miles, I was sweating like it was execution day. My new shoes got soaked just like rest of me.

So my old shoes and I are about to head to the Neshoba County Fair.  We’ll both be covered in red dust by tomorrow night.