The sun shone bright in the cold December sky. Temps sat at a brisk 35 degrees. The coldness in the air hits my lungs hard as I walk out from the warmth of my home. My 10 year old is climbing onto his bike. While I run, my son Dane will ride next to me; giving us alone time together. Today's run will be short in hopes the shins behave.
Normally a 5 a.m. runner, it feels good to be running in the daylight. A slight wind makes the temperature seem chillier than it is. I should have worn gloves. I look over at Dane who quietly wraps his coat around his hands to protect them from the cold. He doesn't complain. I am impressed with him. He has a marathoner's determination.
Our neighborhood is quiet as the laziness of a Sunday morning is evident. Frost makes the grass sparkle. Dane and I are side by side as we make our way down the street lined with homes emitting curls of smoke from chimneys high on rooftops.
Turning onto the main road, I pull ahead and Dane falls single file behind me. It's a comfortable silence, neither of us saying much; both lost in thought. I wonder what a 10 year old thinks about in quiet, reflective moments. The sun shines on Mount Baker making the snow capped mountain beckon its skiers. A tractor hums in the distance.
My left shin hurts reminding me of my 52.4 mile adventure the weekend before. I wonder how long the recovery will be. We turn toward home, Dane is in no hurry to race home, but rather perfectly content riding next to me. Very little was said bewteen us as we shared the miles; just mom and son together.
We turn onto our street and I break the silence, "Thank you Dane for coming with me on my run, I really enjoyed spending the time with you."
"Me too Mom. Thanks."
Sometimes life's biggest moments are shared in silence on a quiet Sunday morning.
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