I’ve always been a runner. Not a competitive runner (except for one ill-fated year in high school), but someone whose body was meant for running, for whom running comes easy, who finds it calming and pleasurable to run. Contrast this to Robbi, who gets angry when she has to run. Angry to the point of cursing. I know because I tried running with her once. Never again, I say.

I’ve always wanted to be the kind of person who gets up early and runs with the sunrise, who starts the day with vigorous exercise, getting my heart pounding and my brain cells firing so that I might be awake and alert and ready to go when the day’s industry begins. But I’ve always been defeated by the improbable transition from the stiffness of sleep to the warm, loose muscles needed for running. I’ve just never been able to get past the mental block.

Lately, however, I’ve been waking up early. Earlier than my kids, which means earlier than I technically have to. But I’ve been awake and unable to get back to sleep and not really ready to start working. And so, a few weeks ago, I decided to take a run. Just to see what would happen. The experience was not unpleasant. In fact, my body warmed up more quickly than I thought it might. The air was still cool and the sun was still low. And the morning was beautiful. The long shadows of the early light, the muted hues, the quiet stillness of a world not fully awake.

I liked it. And so the next day I tried it again. And so on. And suddenly, without really planning or trying to, I’ve become the morning runner I always wanted to be.

I track my runs on my iPhone using a GPS-enhanced app called RunKeeper. Among the many satisfying features (pace, elevation, splits, etc), the app lets you take one photo as an memento for that day’s run. And so I’ve been trying to capture one moment each morning.

Here are the shots from the past seven days.

Monday (Chester River Bridge)

Tuesday (Water Street,  just shy of the intersection with High; coincidentally, this is where I stop when I finish my long run)

Wednesday (Truslow Farm Road)

Thursday (Chestertown bike path)

Friday (base of the water tower)

Saturday (bike path, approaching the Washington College footbridge).

Sunday (River Road)

It’s too early to make pronouncements about whether this is a lasting phenomenon or whether it signals some larger shift in my life. I remember when my grandma told me that she started getting up earlier as she got older. And I wonder if that’s starting to happen to me. Perhaps the scales have tipped just enough that being present for the morning light has become slightly more appealing than gazing a bit longer at the backs of my eyelids. Or maybe it’s just the time of year; I can’t imagine doing this in winter. Maybe it’s just a phase.

But whatever the reason, I’ll take it without question. I’m living in a kind of dream, walking in a formerly forbidden realm. Perhaps tomorrow I’ll sleep in. But for the first time in a long time, I hope I don’t.