I (re)started running last month. I picked a route – from our flat to St. Paul’s Cathedral and back – that was about the 2 miles I had been running on the treadmill.
One morning I deviated from my planned course – mostly-but-not-entirely on-purpose. When I got home it turned out I’d run 5k at a reasonable pace, so I decided to make that “the new normal” and started sticking to that route. (Except for one morning when I took a different turn sorta on purpose, ended up turned around and basically lost, but that’s a different story.)
The route approached Saint Paul’s from the back, continued past, and returned to our flat via most of a mile straight down a major road. One morning on a whim I decided to reverse the route. Run the boring bit first, jog through a few turns (there are few rectilinear intersections in London) and run toward Saint Paul’s.
That simple change made a dramatic difference.
This morning I ran up to Saint Paul’s as the hourly bells started to chime.
I took off my headphones and stood – silent and still, not another soul in sight – and got lost in the sound of the bells.