Daylight Savings Time

The Oregon Coast – late afternoon, November.

I’ve often been someone who adheres to the old saying “there’s not enough hours in the day.”  In fact, it’s one of the things that I find myself complaining about the most.  The recent time change, in northern Oregon, has made this saying all the more pertinent for me.  Last week, I came home to the dark and the drizzle, and found myself feeling mad at the world.  Why did I get stuck with such a long commute?  Why did we have this stupid time change anyway?  Why wasn’t my dog more calm, so I wouldn’t have to exercise her no matter what the weather?

After all of the complaints, I decided to run.  Somehow, it made perfect sense.  It would exercise both me and my dog Rosie, and get us through our walking route (and the waning light) quickly.  Also, rushing to get us started before the sun went down each day would force me to really use the time in my day, rather than frittering it away with fifteen minutes on facebook when I got home, and fifteen more on internet articles.

I’ve always liked running.  Jogging, I should say.  I am the most non-competitive person I know, so I was one of the few kids who looked forward to the gym class each week when I could run a mile by myself instead of praying that no one got a ball anywhere near me.  In college, I started a jogging routine, maybe half to keep in shape, but the other half just to get a break from dense books and lecture notes.  I went to school in Washington, DC and some of my best memories are running around the Lincoln Memorial.  I’d go past the State Department to get there, and sometimes on my way back, slightly up hill, nice guards would yell that I could do it, and I’d give them a thumbs up between huffs and puffs.

Then, as I got further into my twenties, I had months of ankylosing spondylitis flare-ups, with short reprieves in between.  Sometimes, I would get a jogging routine going during the time I didn’t hurt, but sometimes, like this past year, I just wouldn’t.  What’s the point – I would think.  I’m just going to have to stop again.

And maybe I will have to stop again this time.  Maybe next week (when I’ll be embarassed I’ve written this blog post), maybe next month, or maybe next year.  But for now, there is a little light.  For now, I can run with Rosie.

Rosie runs back to me.

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