Compromising with Hope

There's a comforting rhythm and ritual evolving in this training process. Following a day of rest (which just so happened to be the coolest, least humid, most perfect running-weather day we've had since we began - hmph), I wake to early light knowing today is easy to moderate 4.5 miler. Hope dog follows me into the walk-in closet with her question-mark eyes - "Which drawer will she open? Are those running clothes? Are you taking me with you this time?" - her eyes ask... no, plead. As I reach for my shoes, my voice assures her that today she gets to come along, too. Her tail laughs happily as she eagerly watches me stretch. Stretching is becoming a truly spiritual practice - I swear I hear the angels sing as those muscles and tendons ease - I am thankful for the miracle that is a functioning body.
Short purple leash - the running leash- clicks, front door opens, and out we go into the fresh, sacred morning. Hope is hopeless, I'm afraid, when it comes to a training run - she pulls and stops, sniffs and yanks in spurts and fits and bolts like a frightened bunny along the entire street where the train goes by (whether the train is chug-whistling down the tracks or not). Yes, she's a bit of a freak on the leash, but she just loves it - it is the highlight of her doggy days. So.... on these easy/moderate training days, the ritual has become for her to join me round our block, putting in the 1st 1.5 miles. Then, I drop her off, feed her ice cubes, guzzle water, stretch a bit more and head back out for the remaining mileage, which today was 3 - and, after the random tug-o-war run from which I just returned, this self-directed, smooth, even-paced running is delightful.... well, except for the hills - going up hill hurts.
Which is why I come home, lean into the massive strength and beauty of my giant oak and s-t-r-e-t-c-h some more....