Heaven at Mile Six... and Mile Ten

This weekend while running my 10 miles, I found two moments of absolute literary perfection and beauty. I was running along and had reached a point when my legs were warm and strong and not yet tired, when my heart and lungs were content. The day was clear, the sky brilliant blue, the air warm. I ran through a grove of trees, and the midday sun cast zebra shadows on the trail. And all around, tiny bits of cotton and flower petals floated through the air. At that point, somewhere around mile six, a sense of euphoria and peace settled over me. And I thought, "If only I could capture this on the page and keep it forever..."

Then I hit mile eight, no more trees, blistering sun and blacktop, blisters on toes, and tired legs. I held onto the memory of mile six and picked up the pace.

Then came the end, mile ten (or I think it was actually eleven). My friend is standing near the finish (he's a lot faster than me) and he races me back in. Then we lay on the grass and prop our legs up against a tree (makes them feel better). As I looked up into the branches of the evergreen tree and at the blue sky peeking between them, I felt my heart slow, my breathing steady, and a warm sense of accomplishment and joy settle over me again. Again, I closed my eyes and wished to capture the moment in prose.

How lucky am I to be able to say TWICE in one day, that if I were to die at that moment, I would die a very happy woman indeed...?