I’m gagging for a run. I need to feel the cool December air flow through my lungs. I need to get my heart racing and my blood pumping, I ache for… exercise. This morning is grey, so grey that I can’t even see out my panoramic front windows. So grey and dense that should I put my arm out the window I would come away with clouds in hand. So grey and thick it makes it dangerous to run the curvy mountain roads, so grey and wet it seems it will last for another three days. This happens when you live on the second highest mountain and when that mountain lies  right next to the sea. I’m not complaining, no. I love my mountain/sea life. However this morning there is nothing I want more than to just run. Run. To feel free, to let the thoughts flow. I guess we could say I’m running here, letting my words flow. But it’s not the same blood rushing excitement as being on the road.
Oh I see a break, a small break in the dense sky, will it last?  Can it last for my hour run? Will I even make it out of the house today? Ode to runners who can’t run.