Stone Markers Along the Path

I park the car in my usual spot, in that deserted parking lot overlooking the river. I reach into my purse to extract my cell phone and my car keys, leaving behind the rest of my daily baggage in my crowded purse. I toss it on the passenger seat and fling my coat carelessly over it to shield it from prying eyes.

As I step out into the freshness of the day, my breath escapes from my mouth in little puffs of white. I breathe deeply, filling my lungs with the peace and quiet of the moment. The car emits a chipper little beep as it locks, and I shove my keys deep into the pocket of my sweatshirt.

All material things now taken care of, nothing stands between me and the pounding of my feet on the path. I stretch, lifting my legs one at time to the back bumper of the car, pushing my muscles until they waken with a slight twinge of pain. My body is ready. Humming. Awakened from the torpor of the day.

And so I begin. Transitioning quickly from walk, to jog, to all out run. Delighting in the effort of putting one foot in front of the other, pushing my legs to pump faster and faster, straining for the milestones ahead. As I run, I pretend not to notice the stone markers along the way, ticking off the distance I'm achieving. But each marker validates the burning in my lungs and lessens the heaviness of my feet. As the numbers climb, I feel lighter, faster, capable of anything.

I am running, faster and faster, wind whipping at my face, sweat pooling on my brow, heart thumping in my chest. I am alive. Soon my run will be done and I will resume my place in the car pool pick up line, but the milestones will remain, silent testaments of my solitary accomplishment on this glorious, chilly winter's day.

Tonight's Sunday Scribblings prompt is Milestone. It happens to be the 200th Sunday Scribblings post. What milestone have you crossed lately?