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The low hum of a stirring city creeps through the window. The alarm goes off and my eyes flutter open. It takes a few seconds for everything to come into focus. I lay in bed and stretch my legs, pointing my toes toward the opposite wall. I don’t want to get out of bed. I never want to get out of bed, and yet I know that I have never regretted it.

I love running. I love being up high on ridge lines, looking down into valleys, traversing over mountain ranges, drinking from streams, and feeling as if I am the only person around for hundreds of miles. I also hate running. I hate bushwhacking up drainages filled with stinging nettle, getting dehydrated, tripping, falling into the dirt, feeling like a bag of shit. And yet, as miserable as I am sometimes, I find myself on google earth, plotting the next misadventure. Surely I am not alone.

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