We don’t do much around here on Sundays. Purposefully. It’s true that sometimes John isn’t able to finish the yard work on Saturday so he’ll have grass to cut, or edging to do, or shrubbery to trim, or beds to turn, and sometimes while John’s outside working in the yard I’ll vacuum and mop our floors, or wash the windows, or dust the furniture. There’s always laundry to wash and dry, fold and put away on Sunday afternoons, and someone usually ends up at the grocery store late Sunday morning, but we like to keep it simple on this, the week’s last day.

But Saturday is a different story. Entirely. There are always errands to run, and projects to begin or complete. There’s a trip to the dry cleaner’s, and usually one to Target, or Barnes and Noble, or the mall, too. Sometimes Archie, or Kit and Jack, or all three kids are invited to a friend’s birthday party and we’re off to a neighborhood house or the neighborhood pool, the jumping place or the city park. Every now and then we go to a friend’s house for dinner, or our friend’s come here. Last weekend I took Archie, Kit and Jack to the Children’s Museum with my mom, my brother, his wife and their two boys. Yesterday my parents took all of us out to lunch, and then after that my dad took Archie to get his haircut.

But on Saturday mornings before we begin our errands, our projects and our playing, I get up when it’s still dark, guzzle orange juice straight from the carton, and then go outside to run. Most days I don’t wash my face or brush my teeth first, but I always tie my shoelaces in double knots and grab my baseball hat from its hook on the wall in the laundry room before I slip outside our sleeping house and soundlessly shut the front door behind me.

Yesterday the roads were cloaked in fog and I was at least six miles into my run before I could see a significant distance in front of me. That’s why my steps were hesitant at first, and I was halfway through my long run before I felt comfortable cranking up my cadence. Even still I managed to maintain a seven minute and fifty-five second per mile pace for 13 steep and sloping miles, one that’s significantly faster than my former half-marathon race pace and one that’s closer to my former 5 and 10K race paces.

There’s that, and then there’s this, too. On Friday, at the gym, I eked out a mile in five minutes and thirty-six seconds. We were logging that mile as part of our physical fitness test. We’d tested earlier this summer as well, and then I ran that same mile in six minutes and fifteen seconds. I mean it when I write that I’m amazed what three months of focused training has done for my speed, my pace, my cadence. When I texted Brian, the trainer at the gym, my long run results last night he replied, “It’s getting a bit gross, Anne Moore. A bit gross, indeed.” I will happily take his compliment.

I usually run on Monday mornings, too, but I won’t tomorrow. Archie has an early-morning appointment at the ophthalmologist’s, and it’s the twins’ picture day at school. I’ll save my run for Tuesday morning when I won’t have children to dress in special outfits, or a little girl’s hair to style, or a little boy to rush off to another doctor’s office. The road will be out there waiting for me to fit it into my schedule, happy to play second fiddle to my life’s first endeavor.