At some point in August the shortening day or the lowering angle of the sun or just a cooler breeze rings a bell in the back of my head.  It happens each year and I find myself thinking about coursing down a trail.  Other times I'm taking quick, smooth strides along a sidewalk under the changing foliage of old oaks and maples.  Some of these thoughts are daydreams and some are memories, but they are all good.  In years past during these times I've found myself drawn to the local running shoe store, but I haven't gone in.  This year I did.  And it is good.

I started running in high school.  I remember the panic I felt at the first cross country practice.  The previous spring we had been required to run a mile on the track during gym twice a week.  I was one of the few that actually tried to do it without stopping.  Four laps later I was done, and the big, dumb jock that had kicked my foot off of the bench while I was tying my shoe in the locker room was still a lap behind.  I hoped that this meant something.  Just trying to keep the others in sight during the warm-up for that first practice made me doubt.  I can't figure out why I kept running.  I ran more during my one and only football practice and turned in my helmet the next day. 

For whatever reason I kept going through high school and college.  I took up cycling along the way, both road and mountain.  I loved them both, but I've had a special relationship with running.  After getting married and adding kids I stopped running for longer than I like to admit.  I stayed active and played a lot of Ultimate, but this year when I heard that bell I gave in to my conditioning.  Now I've retired that pair of shoes I bought in August and am well into another one.  I never was all that fast, and I'm even slower now, but it's good to be back.