Two glasses of wine? Or a twenty-minute run?
Yesterday I went for the wine. Today the run.
Running’s been less attractive the last few months, with rain and wind tamping down winter’s attempts to give way to spring. But it burns off the restlessness that winds up my mind and body, keeping me from sitting still before a computer screen or falling to sleep at bedtime. When I can’t get outdoors and move, or at least get indoors and unleash the beast with weights and boxing gloves, wine sounds increasingly attractive.
And I am a cheap date, granted. One Moscow Mule, or gin and tonic, or glass of Pinot Grigio, and I’m pleasantly buzzed. With a second, I’m no longer entirely sure what you just asked me, or whether my answer matched; but who cares? Followed shortly by sleepiness. So, if you really want my brain open and bouncing creatively about, feed me iced tea or coffee. Happy Hour is a temporary reprieve from caring about the fire in my belly, and how to harness it. And once in a while, that choice is the right one.
But today the run was much more satisfying. The breeze was piercing, but my body warmed itself. The last daylight turned the clouds pink, the daffodils looked cheery, and a young woman in a hijab returned my smile and wave with a genuine smile of her own as I jogged through her nearly-empty campus. My thoughts wandered freely, my body felt alive, and by the time I got home a hot shower and healthy dinner were all I needed. Tonight I’ll sleep soundly. Tomorrow my body will tell me to stretch more, and my brain will be clear. The fire in my belly will still be there, but it won’t hurt or feel out of control. And a glass of forgetting won’t seem nearly so tempting.