Last night, I took a late run under the dim light of a crescent moon, scattered streetlights, and assorted glowing orange holiday décor. It was magnificent.

My first full run without knee pain for many months, this one was memorable for other reasons, too.

My body was hesitant – stepping timidly at first. My feet know the way on autopilot, but not being able to see the ground and check for obstacles meant I had to step confidently with complete trust in order to maintain my stride. A wonderful, cool breeze blew me along, and I felt propelled by some unseen hand at my back. I finished up feeling like I could have continued for awhile, but the darkness was heavy and urged me to call it a day.

But the best run of the week goes to Sunday morning. Sunny, warm, and perfect, this run stands out as perhaps one of my all-time favorites.

I usually get one rush of adrenaline on a good run that keeps me going back for more. But this run… oh lord… this run was unlike any other. I felt the big one hit around the beginning of mile 2. It was strong and lasted a long time, originating in my chest and sending tiny electric shivers down my arms and legs that made my hair stand on end. And again… during mile 3. Mile 4 brought a dozen aftershocks that rolled over me like a waterfall of tiny orgasms.

I approached my house without slowing and passed it, continuing the ride for another .25 miles or so.

Divine.

I don’t know… this running thing might rival sex as the ultimate feel-good activity.

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