It felt like “all-or-nothing” every time I would sneak from my home in my early teens--stealing past the front door in sweatpants and sneakers and run under a canvas of still-blinking stars, the moon and Venus fading into the morning’s royal purple. We who train know how little feels more contrary to the body’s convenience than winter morning training in near dark. Yet, like the poet facing the empty page, we create from nothing; we turn this empty feeling into an overflow.


I still hold my breath in suspense before opening the front door, knowing the pain and elation that awaits with this act. We all strike the flint, creating sparks when we open the front door. We launch forward, fanning those sparks as the moon and Venus recede into the rising sun.