The Run She Should’ve Skipped
Every Tuesday at 6:35, Elizabeth shows up at my house for our weekly run. It’s our small weekly ritual—set alarm, lace up, step outside rain or shine, sort out life one mile at a time. This morning, she arrived with a gravelly voice. “You’re sick,” I said. “I know,” she croaked, “Micah questioned my sanity when I said I was going for a run this morning.” She knew she shouldn’t be there, and I knew it too. But she didn’t want to miss it—miss us. So we jogged slowly through the quiet, dark, familiar route that we’ve done countless times together. And I thought: friendship is sometimes foolish, often tender, and exactly this—showing up when no one would blame you for staying home.
run from last spring in Ancient Lakes
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