Last night I watched the city darken under a low cloud cover that held the promise of icy drops. I measured my chances against it and decided the time had come.

Mother Nature and I have been dancing for months now, she twirls me in towards her with her strong embrace, enveloping me in sixty degree days (through the sealed windows of my imprisonment) only to unfurl and release me into rain and daytime highs near freezing.

She’s passive-aggressive, that one, and I’m sick of her shit.

Last night was just warm enough to offer encouragement and I donned bits of my winter running garb to find myself alone on the city streets again.

The first five minutes of the run my knees sounded like Rice Krispies, and the rest of my run reminded me that running is not like cycling. They say you don’t forget how to ride a bike but I felt like Elaine dancing as I struggled to find my stride again. It remained elusive.

My thoughts wandered as I moved clumsily through a low cloud cover that shadowed the streets and the park, making little icy halos around the street lights and threatening precipitation, a dampness that inspired me to keep moving though my body was clearly confused and rebellious.

I remembered that I need to write Champion a love note about their sports bras (I’m not *that* big, I wear two and I still jiggle more than I want to). I reflected on how heavy my 2nd gen iPod is in comparison to the Shuffle I received for V-day (which, PS, fits perfectly in my cleavage, who knew?!). I was reminded that I’ll have to run the rest of my life if I want to remain a petite flower, something that made me bitter and happy at the same time – realizing I have a friend who won’t leave me as long as I have shoes to strap on the end of my legs.

Three months and fourteen pounds since my last go on the pavement didn’t erase my love of the movement. It didn’t eradicate my giddiness when I feel the sweat building, or the glow I find myself wrapped in at the end of it all.

It’s been strange, these months without the pounding. In the beginning I felt empty, like something was missing. I’d check my keys, my wallet, my e-mail, and realize it wasn’t something physical that was lacking per se, but something bigger and mental. Something significant and familiar: a release.

This morning the air is warmer than it was late last night, though not by much. It’s chilled enough that I can see my breath hang lazy in the air before me, but not enough to reinstate an aversion to it. I may never seek to win a race, I may never be graceful, but I’ll never stop moving.

w00t!