I get one mile.

It’s early. It’s dark. It’s 40 degrees. I could choose to run in the neighborhood, but at this hour the shadows disguise debris that falls from the trees. So, I choose the waterway that is dotted with lights and is traffic free.

The mile starts off choppy. I am to be a marionette, a man governed by a string, because form is important. Unfortunately, for years I had improper form, so even though I have not run in some time, being a marionette does not come naturally. I have to work at it, I must focus.

Focus does not come easy as I must be attuned to everything around me. The sights and the sounds. A cyclist approaching; the steps of a runner behind me; the animals that linger around the water in the early hours of the morning. I was taught to always be aware, but now I must focus on my form. Thus, it takes some time to be a man governed by a string.

Once I have accomplished this I must now lean slightly forward. People who know things tell me this will help propel me effortlessly in the direction I choose. This mile is as much about people telling me everything I need to know about the mile as me running it. In fact, this whole mile, including the stated distance, is controlled by varying people with a variety of degrees who are still in a slumber while I toil physically and mentally.

Success does not come easy. I am the dancer with two left feet, so perhaps I am not a dancer at all. I push forward and eventually the correct form materializes; the man governed by a string with a slight forward lean is moving along the waterway and it occurs to me the people who know things are sometimes right. There is no pain. I look like a runner. I feel like a runner.

There is a duck. I cannot watch the duck. I must continue to focus on my form, because if the pain comes, I know my form is off. I will not quack at the duck today. I will not gaze to see if the duck dunks its head in search of food or paddles to the opposite shore. I focus on my form and the mile slowly melts away.

There are other runners on the waterway. We wave to each other as we pass under the low light of a streetlamp. A silent wave that is a language all its own. “Hey, good to see you.” “Glad you are out here.” “Hope your run is going well.” The pace and the distance does not matter, because we are out here together. It feels good to be a runner again.

The focus is strong this morning. The form holds and the mile comes to an end. I feel like I could do more, but I will stick to the plan. In time, the new form will take hold and will be second nature. Until then, I only get a mile. And I am okay with that. Because running a mile is better than not running at all.