The most beautiful music

Still no running for this restless soul. Still coughing up small, delightfully colourful bits of my lungs. Still a few days to go before I can put on my Mirage and make them dirty on muddy forest paths.

This morning I took the bus to work. It was really early when I walked to the bus stop. It was still dark, with just the faintest hint of dawn on the horizon. As soon as I arrived at the bus stop, I heard it: the pandemonium of bird song all around me. How many different kinds were there? Sparrows? Doves? Seagulls? I was spellbound. They were ecstatic.

I remembered similar mornings last year, the air still cool at 5 o'clock, the way the woods smelled, the way I caught fleeting glimpses of deer, the way I had the world all to myself, and my heart ached for that early run. And then I got this irrational fear that I am going to be ill so long that these precious moments will pass and I will miss them. That the first morning light will come earlier and earlier as the year gets older, and by the time I'm healthy again the dawn will come when I'm usually still asleep. I'm a morning person, but I'm not crazy enough to get up at 3am to go for a run.

After work I took the tram into town to meet J for some climbing. I got off at an earlier stop and took a short stroll through Guldheden. I love the houses there. They hide among the tall pines, brown against green. And the crocuses were adding a splash of lilac.

Climbing went less well. I was only supposed to belay J, but you know I had to try climbing as well. I thought I was being smart when I started climbing on the easy 5 and 5+ routes; but not even they were easy enough for me today. My arms were shaking after just two climbs. My humiliation continued when we got home and I vacuum cleaned the flat. I got sore muscles from it. No, really. Less than two weeks ago I ran an ultra. Now I get a backache from vacuum cleaning. Even the mighty shall fall.