by Lauren Hewitt

Created on: October 02, 2008   Last Updated: October 08, 2008

There's a certain stretch of winding road not far from my house which I know like the back of my hand. I know every turn and twist, and how the air cools between the coral walls. I know that the house on the corner has cats who sit by the door every morning, waiting to be let inside. I know that the road goes from bumpy to smooth, and where to watch for loose gravel. I know all this because I've ran down this road so many times. Every morning, I'd get up early and set out, bleary-eyed, just as the sun started to think about appearing over the horizon. Though the sky was dark, my senses got as much of a workout as my legs did each morning.

As a newcomer to this beautiful island which I now call home, running gave me an opportunity to explore. Though my route options were a bit limited, I got to experience the peace of the early morning alone (save a few fellow runners), watching the sun rise as I made my way back to my apartment. I'd see cruise ships pulling into port, their passengers still fast asleep and totally unaware of the beauty they would be greeted with when they parted their curtains in the morning. I saw the old cemetary, covered in morning dew, the grass sparkling as the first rays of light came through the trees. On windy days, I'd see birds, surfing along the gusts, intermittently diving for fish while the fishermen in their boats headed out for their own daily catch.

There were days when the wind ripped over the island so hard and so fast that I was worried that I'd be blown off of a bridge and into the waves below. Sometimes, it would rain and the frogs would appear, flooded out of the holes they call home. Other mornings were so calm and still that the ocean appeared as a huge sheet of glass, and it was impossible to see the line where the sea met the sky. Though my knees had other plans for me in the end, my morning runs quickly became the best part of my day. The thump of my feet on the pavement mixed with the sounds of the waves became my favorite sounds, relaxing and calming my mind before the busy day ahead.

Now I see this stretch of road only by car. As I drive along it, I remember the way the air smelled in the morning, and the way the waves lap at the shoreline on calm days. I remember the white heron who begins each day standing on one leg on a particular rock, and wonder if he's still there in the early hours of the morning. I have running to thank for these memories.

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