After a few months of neglecting diet and exercise, I’m back on the horse again.1 I’m tracking what I eat and being very careful to avoid mindless snacking. But that’s not what I’m happiest about. It’s my morning runs on Bayshore.
The Complimentary Spouse and I live close to Bayshore Boulevard, the longest continuous sidewalk in the country.2 It hugs Hillsborough Bay for 4½ miles in South Tampa. It’s pretty much the only place I run in Tampa, and this video I shot should show you why:
That was the view from my run this morning. Like, literally, just a few hours ago. Spectacular, right?
Pictures like this can show you what I see, but they can’t really capture the essence of the experience. You’re in the dark and, suddenly, you notice a thin slit the color of fire between the inky blue sky and the dark shimmery water. You swear it wasn’t there just a few seconds ago. The orange glow strengthens, illuminating the undersides of the clouds. If there are any ripples on the water that morning, the crests begin to lighten.
It’s at this moment that you’re most likely to see pinks in the sky. Not the wispy pink of cotton candy or the synthetic pink of Pepto-Bismol, but a vibrant pink that seems to be lit from within.
You can sense the moment right before the sun peeks over the horizon and — with no fanfare — there it is, bathing everything in red, or gold, or orange, or copper — the color shifts from moment to moment and day to day. You take a moment to stop and appreciate this. As the sun rises, the color of the sky transitions to a shade of blue. The glow is gone, and everything is bathed in beautiful natural light.
The running and sunrise — actually, let’s call it the runrise — is an important part of my day. I’m glad I’m running again and can enjoy these moments.
1 Not a literal horse, of course, of course.
2 Or so I’ve been told. I haven’t measured the other ones.