The 5 a.m. loop

I run the same loop most mornings. Out along the river, up the one real hill, back through the quiet streets before the trucks start. About seven miles if I do the long version, five if I do not.

When I moved to New York I assumed I would lose the habit. Back home I ran on red clay and pine needles, a few steps behind my brother Matt until he quit, and the only traffic was a neighbor's dog. Here the ground is harder and the air is louder. But the loop turned out to be the thing that made the city feel like mine.

The trick, for me, has always been to take the decision out of it. Same route, same time, same shoes by the door. I do not decide whether to run. I decide whether to do the long version, and only once I am already out.

I have started keeping a small log. Not pace, just the weather and one thing I noticed. A heron in March. The smell of a bakery that opens at 4:30. The morning the river was completely still.

Someday I will train for something with a number on it. For now the loop is enough.